Demon Blood

out against straining muscle. Heavens, he was strong. But she had the advantage here.
    A part of him must have realized it. Though his body fought, relief rose through his psychic scent.
    “I can hold you,” she told him. “But the bloodlust won’t fade. And when dawn comes, you won’t fall asleep. Until you’ve been sated with blood, you’ll keep trying to come after me.”
    He shook his head, his chest heaving. “Run,” he grated, his voice unrecognizable. “Get out.”
    “Why? I want this. I’ve hated every single day we haven’t touched.” Her hands clenched as he roared, his body bucking as he tried to throw her off. She rode it through, and said as he quieted, “But if you don’t want me or my blood, I can hold you like this all night, until the vampires fall asleep. By then I’ll have thought up a way out of this. Or I can feed you here and prevent you from taking me. It’s up to you, but either way, my blood—everything I am—is yours.”
    “Hurt you.”
    “You can’t. I’m not a delicate princess.” She felt him fighting through the haze of bloodlust, his body shaking. She bent and kissed his clenched fist. His hand opened, reaching for her. “My blood or me. Just tell me which you want.”
    His head fell forward. Self-hatred and longing battled through his psychic scent. Through clenched teeth, he ground out his answer.
    “You.”
    She let him go.

CHAPTER 20
    Free, Deacon exploded upward. She slipped from his back, landing hard on the floor, rolling onto her side as if to get up. Don’t let her get away. Unable to stop the growl tearing from his chest, he caught her slim ankle, dragging her toward him, using his knees to shove her thighs wide. Her fingers clenched on his shoulders and she tilted her head back, exposing her neck.
    Mine.
    He drove up, fangs spearing into her throat. Rosalia gasped, arching beneath him. Her hot blood poured over his tongue, a frantic rush of sound and light, driving away thought.
    His fingers found her wet. Ripping aside her panties, he thrust deep, her silken heat clenching around him, sucking him in. She cried out, and her hips rose to meet his. Her strong blood rushed through his body, her thoughts lost beneath the psychic roar, a raging storm of emotion and thought that battered his mind about, leaving him only pieces of her to see.
    Hidden from him. He needed more.
    Drawing hard from her vein, he pounded into her, and she took every inch. Her nails shredded his shirt, his back, then scraped downward to dig into his ass, urging him to take more. So sweet and warm and welcoming. She’d given him this, given him the hero’s welcome upstairs, where he’d been met with hope instead of the hatred he’d deserved since a demon had poured Eva’s and Petra’s ashes to the floor.
    He didn’t fucking deserve any of what she’d given.
    Rosalia’s legs tightened around his waist, her arms around his neck, repeating his name with every rough pis-toning of his hips. Her voice had become hoarse as if she’d been crying out for too long, with pleasure and grief and loss. Maybe they were just his. He couldn’t sense her emotions, the blood an overwhelming roar in his head. Then Rosalia shuddered and stiffened, arching back with a primal scream, liquid warmth flooding her sheath. Her orgasm slammed through her veins, into his mouth. The bloodlust shattered and he came hard, jetting into her, thick as the blood that heated him and he could only think that he was cold, cold.
    Then sense returned, and the cold became worse.
    He’d hurt her. He had to have hurt her. Guardians were tough, but not impervious, and he’d used the softness of her throat and pussy like a ravaging beast. His cock still throbbed deep inside her. He lifted his head, began to pull out.
    Rosalia caught his face, and he froze. For a long moment, her warm brown eyes stared right through him. He wanted to get up, to take care of her, but she wanted him here and so he didn’t move. Then, gently, she kissed his forehead. His lips. His jaw. Every kiss felt like a healing balm, soothing his grief, easing his guilt.
    Dear God, how he loved her. And he’d have given anything in the world to deserve the comfort she offered so easily.
    Her fingers threaded into his hair, and when he looked at her again, tears stood in her eyes. “I miss my friends, too. And nothing we do ever seems to make up for not saving them.”
    Christ. He hadn’t felt anything from her, just that raging psychic