Demon Blood

out.”
    Her gaze searched his face. Suddenly she turned away from him, and he was staring at the back of her head. A fine tremor shook the hand that grasped at the sheet and pulled it up around her.
    His fists clenched. It was easier this way .
    But she didn’t get up and leave him, as he expected. In an even voice, she asked, “What if you’re called during the day?”
    If a demon broke the Rules? “It doesn’t happen often. And it’ll happen a lot less with most of Belial’s demons dead.”
    “But it will eventually happen. My Gift can protect you when it does.”
    So she was going to babysit him every day, hovering over him? Fuck that. And why the hell wasn’t she letting this go? Just a few minutes before, she’d been heading out, not giving a thought to any of this.
    “And you were going to protect me while you were shopping?”
    “I planned to monitor your psychic scent.” The words were stiff. “I wouldn’t have left without knowing you would be okay.”
    No. Of course she wouldn’t.
    The anger that had boiled up only moments before evaporated. She’d worry for him, because she was Rosalia. “I’ll figure out something for the days. A cloak, a hood, gloves—and if I’m pulled into the sun, I’m covered.”
    She shook her head, but didn’t say anything.
    “We’re done here, Rosie. So let’s just make it clean and quick.”
    “Clean and quick,” she echoed.
    “Yeah. You aren’t the type to wallow in bed like this with me. You’ve got Guardian stuff to do, a wedding in three days—and you don’t need me here. Do you have any more reasons for me to stay?”
    Christ. He shouldn’t have asked. Now he hoped she did. Anything. Any stupid little reason, and he knew he’d stay.
    Her sudden, hoarse laugh hit like a sucker punch to his heart. “I’ve already given you all my reasons, Deacon. I don’t have any more.”
    His throat closed up. All right, then. All right. Needing to move, he got up, hauled on his jeans. She had everything so nicely folded and stacked it took all of two seconds to throw all of his shit in his bag.
    He glanced over at her once. She watched him, her eyes dark and sad, and he couldn’t bear to look again.
    “Where will you go?”
    He grabbed Eva and Petra’s sculpted urn from the wardrobe. “Paris, first. Theriault wasn’t with the demons in the church.”
    “And then?”
    “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
    “Yes.”
    With that simple reply, she clasped the sheet over her breasts and rose from the bed. He braced himself as she approached. She adjusted his collar and smoothed his sleeve before looking up at him. Her expression was serene, but he could have drowned in the darkness of her eyes.
    “So this is good-bye, then?”
    “Yeah,” he said gruffly.
    She nodded. With a final adjustment of his collar, she rose up on her toes, and he realized she was going to kiss him farewell. Going to break him with her soft lips. She’d given him no reason to stay, but he’d beg, because even trying to leave was killing him.
    But he didn’t resist it. The moment her mouth touched his, he caved, his hands cupping her face, holding her to him. God, he couldn’t let go. She had no use for him now, but she’d become as vital as his heartbeat, as necessary as the night. Her arms circled his shoulders and her mouth opened to his, and her Gift suddenly pressed against his shields, dark and oppressive. She wrapped shadows around them, and if she wanted, he would stay, even here in this darkness, forever.
    She kissed him deeper, until his head spun, until he felt pulled in ten directions at once, with Rosalia as the focus. His hands slid down to her waist.
    Her body slipped like mist through his fingers. Her lips had softened, the touch of her mouth no more substantial than a breath.
    No more substantial than a shadow.
    Dread wrapped his throat in a cold hand. His eyes popped open but she was already pulling away, and he was staring through a dark veil at a framed photograph of the Eiffel Tower. His hotel room in Paris. His bag lay at his feet. The urn sat on the bed.
    For an instant, the veil held her shape. Then it stretched into a thin string, and snapped.
    Clean and quick—and straight through his heart.
    He stared at the place she’d been, his gut scraped raw. “Rosie?”
    Only the noise from the other rooms answered him.

    Curled up on the bed in the hotel room across from Theriault’s apartment, Rosalia was crying her eyes out