Demon Blood

Camille, and gave him new people.
    She glanced at the phone. Camille. She should have contacted the vampire. Too late, now that the sun had risen. Camille would be in her daysleep. Courtesy dictated that a visiting vampire alert the city’s elders, especially if he didn’t have a partner to feed from. A bloodsharer would be provided to reduce the risk of human discovery. Rosalia wondered if Deacon had bothered to alert Camille and her partner, Yves.
    Asking Camille would be particularly hard for him. Not because they’d parted sixty years ago as enemies, but because they’d remained friends. And because Deacon had trouble asking for help from anyone.
    Maybe if he had, this would all have turned out differently. No betrayal. His community still alive. And with Lorenzo dead, maybe Rosalia could have come forward and told him how she’d met him so many years ago. Told him why she’d sent Camille.
    And maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference at all.
    A sigh moved through her. Rosalia turned toward her desk, where her computer waited. It was time to find out what Deacon had been doing the past six months.

    He had been busy.
    Not right away. There had been nothing the first month after Deacon had left Rome. Then he’d spent three months liquidating his assets. They’d amounted to a substantial sum, but he’d been using them carefully. He apparently intended to be doing this a long time.
    She leaned back in her chair, pleased by what she’d found. The past two months showed a financial trail through Spain and London. A few demons’ deaths she’d thought were a result of the infighting were probably Deacon’s kills. Good for him. He’d known where to start—Legion Laboratories. Although not every executive in the company was a demon, careful observation would reveal who was. He’d only been in Paris a week and a half, though, so Theriault must have given himself away quickly. Arrogant and careless.
    Her smile faded. So was she. She should have been spending this time trying to discover who Malkvial was.
    She glanced at the clock. Only eight in the morning. After such a late night, Gemma would sleep in—until Vincente arrived, and then sleep in more, afterward. Heading up to the suite before noon risked hearing her son engaged in activities that Rosalia preferred to remain ignorant about.
    Less than twenty minutes later, however, a scratch sounded at her door, and Rosalia opened it to find both Gemma and Vincente. Her heart immediately leapt into her throat. Vincente looked shell-shocked. His color was ashen beneath his tan.
    “Are you all right?” She tucked her hands into her elbows to keep herself from running to him—and to prevent herself from brushing the dark curl that had fallen across his forehead. He’d stepped back too many times for her to try it now, when something might genuinely be wrong. “Is everything all right?”
    “Everything is fine, Rosa.” Gemma came into the room, pulling Vincente with her. Rosalia finally saw beneath his shock, encountered an emotion that might have been thrilled . But surely not. He was within ten feet of her; based on his behavior the past six months, she could expect brooding resentment, not excitement. “We had something to tell you, and wanted to do it together.”
    “Oh?” Rosalia doubted that. Gemma had wanted to, and Vincente had reluctantly agreed. Then the only reason she could possibly imagine struck her. Scared. Thrilled. Her gaze dropped to Gemma’s flat stomach. Her hands clapped together. “Oh!”
    Gemma sighed. “He said we wouldn’t have to tell you, that you’d just sniff it out—”
    Rosalia stopped that nonsense by flinging her arms around Gemma, laughing. She turned to Vincente. If he stepped back now, she would smack him—and Fall for it, if necessary. But he didn’t move as she slid her arms around his waist. She held him tight. Though stiff, he hugged her back. Good. Stubborn boy, but he hadn’t forgotten all of his manners.
    She stepped back, placed her hands on his cheeks. Her eyes had filmed over. “Congratulations. You will be a wonderful father.”
    His guard dropped slightly, and his wry humor came out. “Considering who your father was, you would say that to anyone.”
    “But I would mean it when I say it to you.” She laughed again at his expression, and flicked back that distracting curl. This would not last long. She would not push more than this. She faced Gemma again. “May I listen?”
    “To the