Demon Blood

slaying demons until they killed him. No, he could take them all now. One by one, and it might take time, but he could destroy them all and come out the other end. He could take off now and avenge his people.
    That wouldn’t stop the nephilim, and the communities would still be in danger from them—but a part of Deacon still thought, Fuck ’em all. Every vampire in Europe had turned their back on him. He didn’t owe them anything. He didn’t want to be a hero to them. He didn’t care what they thought of him making a deal with a demon— another deal.
    It mattered to him, though. Even as a trick, the thought of bargaining with Malkvial grated at his soul, churned like vomit in his gut.
    But it was important to her. And if he did this, and she pulled off this whole plan, when he left the sadness wouldn’t be there. He had two goals now: Avenge his people. Take the sadness from her eyes.
    So he was here, listening as Rosalia told him how Malkvial would fuck him up.
    “He’ll test you, primarily to see if you have someone waiting to save you.”
    “Like a Guardian?”
    “Yes.” Her gentle gaze saw right through him. No wonder she’d known a declaration of love would affect him. “You’ll have to take it.”
    “You think I can’t?”
    “I know you can take anything a demon has to dish out, but your instinct will be to fight back.” She lifted his hands, her thumb smoothing over the scars on his knuckles. “Don’t. He can’t lead the demons if there’s an unanswered challenge—so if he feels challenged, he’ll need to put you in your place . . . no matter what you’re offering him.”
    Too bad he did know his place. “What if you’re wrong?”
    “You’ll be able to tell. When he’s testing you, he’ll wind up to it, try to scare you and pull in any cavalry you’ve got waiting. If he wants to kill you, it’ll be fast.”
    “Then I fight back?”
    “Yes. If it’s fast, defend yourself as best you can.”
    As best he could? “Can I beat him?”
    “I don’t know. Malkvial didn’t get where he is just by laying low and being smart. There’s a reason the strong ones haven’t challenged him. They must know he’s not just brains.”
    That made a hell of a lot of sense. “All right. So, try not to fight him.”
    “Yes. And Deacon—” She caught his face between her hands, staring solemnly into his eyes. “There will be a cavalry. If you feel the threat is genuine, just say my name. I’ll be there. I swear to God on high, I will be there.”
    “Of course you would. If Malkvial killed me, your plan is shot anyway.”
    Her mouth hardened. Her hands fell away. Ashamed, he caught them, holding her wrists while he struggled.
    She’d been right about his need to fight back—and that had been against the blow she’d landed last night. But she hadn’t deserved it. She might not love him, but she was a Guardian. And she was Rosalia. Her heart wasn’t his, but it was a good heart. Too big, maybe. He wouldn’t have loved her so much if it wasn’t.
    And if she vowed to be there, she wouldn’t give a thought to her plan—her only thought would be of saving him. Deacon believed that, down to his soul.
    “I’m a bastard. A sorry one.”
    She gave a sharp nod. “Apology accepted.”
    She didn’t say it was all right. He was glad for that.
    But not so glad when she pulled her wrists from his, and walked away.

    Still in his human form as Karl Geier—nondescript and blond, wearing a navy polo shirt and khaki pants—Malkvial arrived an hour early. From an empty apartment in a building flanking the old church, Rosalia watched him leap over the surrounding fence and break the lock at the front doors. Hidden in the high arched ceiling, her cameras covered almost every angle of the interior. Paint-dotted plastic sheets covered the pews, left over from an incomplete renovation. Dust had settled thick on the floor, the altar, on every stained window sill. She’d been careful not to disturb any of it while installing her equipment, but she still held her breath as he crouched to examine the floor, as he quickly checked the chambers beyond the sanctuary.
    She checked the time. Taylor had teleported Deacon to Naples after sunset, where he’d caught a flight back to Rome. He’d be arriving within a few minutes.
    If he came. He could take off now, if he wanted to. He had strength enough to complete his revenge, and he thought she’d manipulated him at every turn. And this bargain with