Demon Blood

were all dead.
    “And she always needs an army to stand with her,” Taylor said hoarsely. Her throat ached. Her heart ached, as it had been crushed along with Michael’s when he’d ordered his sister’s execution. “I suppose if you can bear that, then I bear this.”
    As if satisfied, he retreated into the screams that always lingered in the back of her head, and quieted them.
    Taylor began to breathe again. She breathed until the presence of another Guardian drew her gaze up. Irena hovered above her, motionless but for the wings holding her aloft. The serpent tattoos winding around her arms seethed.
    “You cow-fucking idiot.”
    Ah, shit. Khavi must have told her that Taylor had run into Anaria . . . several times.
    “I really prefer goats. Or ducks. I would love to hear you say that.” But although they’d become friends in the past several months, Taylor could only push the Guardians’ leader so far. When Irena’s eyes narrowed and began to glow a poisonous green, she added, “She obviously didn’t harm me. And if you’re going to worry, add in a couple more: I attacked Rosalia, almost killed Deacon, and helped them slay one of the nephilim. I think I’ve also slain a demon and a nosferatu, but I’m not certain. And there might be more that I can’t remember.”
    Irena’s mouth dropped open, and she landed in a crouch on the tower. “Michael?”
    “He asks for permission now. Kind of.”
    The other Guardian closed her eyes. “Rosalia and Deacon?”
    “All right.” If you could ignore the heartache and longing wailing from both. “Just getting ready to kill a shitload of nephilim and demons.”
    “Already?” Irena blinked her eyes open. “I do not know Rosalia, though Alejandro speaks well of her. Do you think what she has done is feasible? Will she and Deacon be safe?”
    Taylor hoped so. “Yes.”
    “Will you be safe?”
    “I don’t think Anaria will hurt me, no.”
    Irena seemed to choke. “Anaria is involved?”
    “Not really by her choice.”
    The other woman stared at her. Probably debating whether to chain her somewhere, then realizing that Taylor could just teleport out. Finally, she let out a heavy breath.
    “You are certain you wish to do this?”
    She hadn’t been a little while ago. Now she was. “Yes.”
    “Then take this.”
    A steel spear appeared in Irena’s palms, and Taylor had to stop herself from lurching forward, snatching it from the Guardian’s hands. Power hummed from that weapon, which could pierce stone like a blade into water. The heat of a dragon’s blood drew her . . . and drew Michael.
    “I cannot make it flame,” Irena said as Taylor reached for it. “Michael told me that only those with the dragon blood in their veins can.”
    So she wouldn’t, either. That was all right. As soon as her fingers closed around the shaft, she could feel the power of it burning through her. When she vanished the spear into her cache, she still sensed it, a quiet, warm hum through her mind.
    Irena smiled slightly, but the worry in her eyes hadn’t disappeared. “When the time comes, I would like to be there with you, Rosalia, and Deacon—if it does not upset her plan. I want you all to have someone watching your backs.”
    And that right there was why Taylor liked this woman so much. Watching each other’s backs. The Guardians weren’t always so different from the family and job she’d known.
    “If it doesn’t upset her plan, I’ll bring you in,” Taylor promised.

    Just before dawn, Rosalia forced herself out of bed, and dressed while Deacon laughed at her heavy sigh. She’d have preferred to stay with him, but she’d spent the whole of the previous day—and a good portion of the night—neglecting everything else. She pushed him off into the shower and then to his garage before heading out into her courtyard. The garden needed tending before Gemma’s wedding planner arrived for a tour of the abbey.
    But when the knock came, she found Irena waiting there instead, dressed not in her outlandish longstockings and rabbit-fur mantle, but simple gray trousers and a long-sleeved shirt.
    Rosalia did not even know what to think. Guardians could change their appearance, yet she’d never seen Irena as anything but the barbarian.
    But Irena herself wasn’t wholly unexpected. The Guardian had known Rosalia intended to use Deacon, but she hadn’t told Irena that included his bargaining with a demon.
    “I came quietly,” Irena said, her Italian marked by