Demon Blood

Malkvial . . . There were very few things that would be worse for him.
    “You look awful, Rosa.” With a sigh, Gemma sat next to her. “Is it this place?”
    “It is many things.”
    Gemma smiled, watching Malkvial open the door in a chamber floor, revealing the stairwell that led to the underground chambers. “I looked for you here. Not in the catacombs. But I came here.”
    Rosalia didn’t glance at the screen showing the ossuary, where her blood still stained a stone column. “Thank you.”
    “The others said, If she hasn’t come back, she’s not going to . I looked, though. At Lorenzo’s house—”
    “You did what ?” Rosalia burst out, and heard the male echo from her son.
    Disbelieving, Rosalia shared a look with Vin. She didn’t know who was more horrified.
    Gemma rolled her eyes. “I went during the day.”
    “He could have smelled you. Tracked you back to the abbey.”
    “I was careful. You’d threatened him; then you went missing. So I had to check. I’d hoped to find you in the dungeon.”
    Rosalia shook her head, trying to calm herself. She touched Gemma’s hand. “You looked for me. That means more than I can say. Thank you.” She drew in a deep breath. “I can’t remember any of it. But I remember waking up and learning that everyone was gone. For a while I thought you were, too—and I was ready to recruit Vin and track you down.”
    “You knew where I was after I left?” He glanced at her face. “Okay. That was a stupid question. And I damn well would have looked for both of you.”
    She’d never doubted that. Smiling, she glanced back at the monitors, and tensed when Deacon appeared. He walked into the church. No hesitation. No bravado. Just confidence.
    Malkvial waited, casually sitting back against the altar rail, his hands braced on the top. They stared at each other down the aisle. Rosalia’s heart pounded, terror suddenly digging in. She’d have given anything to do this part.
    Gemma leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped in front of her mouth. “What’s the script going to be?”
    “I didn’t give him one.” She saw the younger woman’s shock, and the same on Vin’s face. They both knew she hadn’t given up control like that before. She explained, “Deacon has his reasons for doing this. I can’t just give him mine. Malkvial would never believe it.”
    Vin stared at her. “You wouldn’t even let me go in without a script. And you had vampires with you for a hundred years who still had line-by-line points to make whenever they faced someone.”
    “Deacon knows what we need to do,” she said. “But he can decide how to get there.”
    She fell silent as Malkvial suddenly smiled. Vin’s hands came over her shoulders, and he circled his thumbs over taut muscles.
    “Hello, Mr. Deacon.”
    Deacon’s expression didn’t change, but Rosalia knew that bothered him. Caym and Rael’s lieutenant had called him Mr. Deacon.
    “Hello, Karl,” he replied.
    Good. Oh, good. Deacon positioned himself above the demon without a single challenge. Thank God for St. Croix.
    “I understand you have a proposal for me.” Malkvial spread his hands. “This is a place for making vows. Not for leading friends astray.”
    The demon went straight for Deacon’s heart, reminding him of how he’d betrayed Irena. Deacon responded as if it hadn’t touched him. “I have a mutually beneficial business proposition. But we aren’t friends. Let’s not pretend.”
    Malkvial straightened up, ripping off a piece of the wooden altar rail as he stood. Rosalia hugged herself, and Vin’s hands tightened on her shoulders. Not just massaging now. Reminding her to stay in place.
    “Yes, let’s not pretend.” The demon approached Deacon with slow, measured steps down the aisle. The sharp point of the splintered wood dragged along the stone floor. “Let’s not pretend that a vampire can be of any use to me.”
    “ ‘And the blood that heals shall bring the dead unto judgment, and the judged unto Heaven.’ ” Deacon quoted from the prophecy that predicted that vampire blood would help destroy the nephilim, and send Belial to the throne in Hell. “It sounds to me that we’re of some use.”
    “Your blood . Not you, Mr. Deacon.” Malkvial’s eyes flashed crimson. “And let us not pretend to forget that you have shed the blood of my demons.”
    “I brought my proposal to Valeotes, but he wouldn’t deliver the message. And the message you tried to deliver in Amsterdam