Demon Blood

floor. A bargain with a demon was a nightmare for Deacon.
    She understood that. And she knew that her understanding didn’t help; if anything, it must seem worse to him, that she’d seen what he’d gone through . . . and yet asked him to do it again.
    “So this is what you’ve been leading up to all this time,” he said softly. “You find Malkvial, and then send me his way.”
    “Yes.” Her throat worked, but she couldn’t get any more out.
    “Jesus, Rosie.”
    It was barely a whisper under his breath. She waited for more—anything—but he only looked down the palm-lined street again, and began walking. Uncertain, she watched him go, and with his every step, her vision blurred.
    After a few seconds, he said without stopping or turning around, “Come on, princess. We’ve got a head to deliver.”
    His statement didn’t bring any relief. Even if she’d heard humor in his voice instead of flat resignation, she couldn’t have laughed. Her chest ached. He hadn’t left, but she’d gotten a taste of what his leaving might be like.
    What it would be like, after he discovered how she’d influenced his life. She hadn’t been playing him, but he’d surely see it that way. And after the demons were slain and his revenge complete, he wouldn’t have any reason to stay.
    She took her time catching up to him—long enough that her tears had dried and she’d been able to tuck her despair beneath her emotional shields.
    As soon as she fell into step beside him, he said, “When we arrive, how should I explain you?”
    “I’ll be Anna Vanek’s sister, Eliska.” She named one of his community members in Prague. If anyone had a reason to help Deacon take his revenge, it would be one of the vampire’s relations. “My general description matches Eliska’s records.”
    “Anna didn’t have a sister.”
    Not anymore. Rosalia wouldn’t paint a target on a living human. “Eliska had childhood leukemia. Anna was twelve when she passed.”
    He glanced at her in surprise, his face tightening with emotion. “Anna was one of our youngest.”
    “Well. She began seeking immortality a little earlier than most people do.”
    “And thanks to Belial’s demons, only got five years of it.” The grief in his voice hardened, his mouth flattening. “So, your plan: The demons are all together, knocking off the nephilim one at a time. What happens to the demons when they’re done?”
    “They die.” Just as she’d promised him.
    “Goddammit, Rosie. How? ”
    “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure out a way.” Hopefully a way that didn’t kill anyone but the demons.
    Deacon’s jaw clenched, as if he barely held back his response. When he finally spoke, it was only, “Fuck.”

    Rosalia would have preferred to remain outside in the dark when they arrived at the vampire’s house. The front walk led through a walled garden, designed with both day- and night-dwellers in mind. Palms and eucalyptus trees sheltered camellias and rhododendrons. Beside the verandah, water bubbled over Moorish tiles and splashed into a small pond stocked with fat gold and white koi.
    Deacon rang the bell and announced his name through the speaker. A few seconds later, she caught his fleeting surprise when they heard the locks disengage. He hadn’t expected that the vampire would open the door to him.
    Tall and dark, José Carvalho wore buff trousers and a loose white linen shirt. Gray peppered his hair, and faint lines fanned around his eyes and bracketed his mouth. Behind him waited his wife, Maria, her blond hair loosely gathered at her nape, looking cool and elegant in a vintage sleeveless dress.
    They’d been middle-aged when they’d transformed, with two grown children. One had become a vampire. The other was now a grandparent.
    She didn’t want to be here. In this house, she couldn’t escape what it meant to be an immortal with children who weren’t—and it hurt her heart.
    José smiled. “Come in, my friends, before the heat does.”
    The couple led them to a comfortable room, lined with books and a large- screen television. Games were tucked away in a shelf. A small stuffed animal was caught between the cushions of a sofa. Not just a room—a family room. Too easily, Rosalia could imagine gatherings in this room, of humans and vampires.
    Focusing on Deacon instead, she watched him set the bag on a low table and open it. José took a look. Satisfaction flashed over his expression. He didn’t show his fear, but Rosalia