Demon Blood

gory, certainly—but it wouldn’t kill the vampire. When Deacon destroyed this demon, Malkvial wouldn’t be losing a particularly clever ally.
    And Malkvial must have known what he’d sent.
    Rosalia’s gaze searched the vampires’ faces as Deacon steered her to the left. She recognized all the vampires, except for two standing near the doors. Not blocking the exit, but just close enough for the vampires here to realize that they wouldn’t make it through.
    Not vampires at all, she thought. Demons, shape-shifted.
    But probably not here to kill Deacon. Malkvial had sent a challenge, testing the vampire. What good would that be if the messenger was killed and no one reported the results to him?
    Deacon pushed her toward the line of vampires. “You all watch over her. If one hair is harmed, you’ll pray for the sun.”
    The vampires nodded. Cool hands welcomed her in, urging her behind them. Good. Their protection made her seem weaker than anything else could have. The demon barely looked at her.
    Everyone was looking at Deacon, who came to a stop less than ten feet from the demon. “You’re wasting my time.”
    “Am I?” His leg flexed, and Stefan’s skull cracked. Blood gushed from his nose.
    Around her, the vampires sucked in breath. From the circle at the left side of the room, Stefan’s lover, Gilles, screamed and tried to leap toward the demon. Two others caught the auburn-haired vampire, dragged him back into the circle. The demon glanced at the male, his pleasure at Gilles’s distress evident, before returning his attention to Deacon.
    “A complete waste of time.” Deacon absently tapped the side of his blade against his leg, as if the demon concerned him not at all. “See, I’ve come across a demon like you before. He got off on pain, too.”
    That description pleased the demon. He grinned. “I do love it so.”
    “Except Caym only beat up on those weaker than him, and he couldn’t take any pain himself. I think you’re like that, too. The second I cut into him, he started screaming.”
    That was a lie. Deacon hadn’t given Caym time to scream.
    But it was effective, sparking the demon’s anger. Rosalia smiled. Anger could act as fuel in a battle, but didn’t help thought—and this demon needed all the help he could get.
    “And he was dumb as a brick,” Deacon added. “He always had to be told what to do, where to go, who to kill.”
    The demon didn’t like that much, either. His grin had vanished, replaced by a sneer. He opened his mouth, but Deacon didn’t give him a chance to speak.
    “So, you’re of no use to me. You don’t have the brains to pull off what I have in mind. But run back home and tell Malkvial that I have a proposition for him, and that I’ll expect he’s got brains enough to find me tomorrow at midnight. And I won’t waste his time.”
    “I’m not a vampire’s messenger boy.”
    “All right. You’re not a messenger boy. You will be the message, instead.” Deacon’s voice hardened. “And you’ll tell Malkvial this: We vampires won’t be fucked with. We won’t be your pawns. And when you crush our head, two will rise up in its place. In this case, it’ll be me and Gilles.” Deacon flipped his sword around, holding it by the blade and swinging it toward the circle of vampires. “So come on up, Gilles. We’ll send this message together.”
    Deacon tossed the weapon in a slow high arc toward the other vampire. The demon looked to the side, his gaze following the path of the sword. Deacon whipped out his second blade from the sheath beneath his jacket.
    Dumb as a brick.
    The demon’s head fell that heavily, too, thudding to the floor beside Stefan.
    When the cheers erupted, Rosalia was already pushing through the vampires. She sprinted to the center of the room. As Deacon turned, she leapt up and flung her arms around his neck. Pressing her mouth to his ear, she breathed, “Two by the door.”
    Holding her at the waist, Deacon swung around. “Run back to Munich,” he called out. “If he finds me at midnight tomorrow, we’ll negotiate.”
    She watched them slip through the door. “They’re going.”
    He looked down at her. His gaze focused on her lips, and Rosalia’s heart began to race. The arm around her waist tightened, lifting her to his mouth. Then the vampires were on them, jostling Rosalia hard from behind, celebrating, hugging Deacon, shouting—and forgetting their strength. A human shouldn’t be in the middle of