Demon Blood

when she felt someone in the room with her. When she smelled the sulphur, the rot. She shot up to her knees, staring at Taylor, sprawled on the floor beside the bed. Red sand trickled from her bare feet onto the white carpet.
    The detective stared back, her blue eyes dazed. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Just a lot of sand. And a giant statue of a Guardian—Anaria started crying all over him. I think that’s the same place Khavi hid those two thousand years.” She rolled over to sitting, huffed out a breath. “Holy shit. It’s done.”
    “For now,” Rosalia said.
    “Good enough to catch our breath.” She looked at Rosalia for another second. “Are you okay?”
    Since the question and the genuine concern behind it almost started her sobbing again, Rosalia forced herself to just stop. Stop thinking of Deacon. Stop thinking of how much it hurt. “Yes,” she said, and because it didn’t come out with much conviction, went on with something that was genuine. “Thank you, Taylor. I honestly don’t know if I could have come up with another way out. And I know that I asked a lot of you—and of Michael.”
    “Well, considering that you gave me a pool to lounge in and a place to regain my sanity, even though I was trying to kill the guy you’re in love with, I think we can call it even.”
    “All right. And you’re always welcome to the pool, or a room.”
    “I might take you up on that.” Taylor stood, looked around the empty room. Rosalia had already removed the surveillance equipment. Finally, she glanced back at Rosalia. “He likes you, I think. Not in the same way as the others. Or, not quite the same way. Some Guardians he admires, and some are his friends. Some he just can’t figure out.”
    Rosalia had been lost for a moment. Now she guessed, “Michael?”
    Taylor nodded. “I think it’s because of Anaria. He sees in you what he wishes Anaria was. You’re both full of plans and good intentions. You just do ‘good’ the right way.”
    Tears starting to her eyes again, Rosalia shook her head. “What of the humans?”
    “I wasn’t the one teleporting them out of there, you know. I didn’t want to make a rookie mistake, so I let him take over. They didn’t end up in the sewer. I’m not sure where it was, but it was the middle of nowhere . . . and he scared the piss out them.”
    A laugh slipped from her. “That never works like it should.”
    “Maybe not. But even if he didn’t agree with the way you used them, I think he perfectly understood the reason you chose them. Your reason for all of it. Your reason s , actually. I noticed you never have just one.”
    “I don’t think any Guardian does.”
    Something in Taylor’s eyes flickered. “Even Michael?”
    “Especially Michael.”
    With the tips of her fingers, Taylor touched her lips and smiled faintly. “That’s good to know.” She focused on Rosalia again. “I’m going to head out. You sure you’re okay?”
    “No.” Not right now. Not this moment. But she had hope. “I eventually will be.”

    Sunset was only thirty minutes gone when some pissant vampire waylaid Deacon on his way to Theriault’s. One of those younger shits who wrote poetry to Mother Darkness and thought becoming a vampire would make him sparkle. Hot and hungry and aching through to his soul, Deacon was in no kind of mood to deal with him.
    The little pissant could see it on his face. Shifting uneasily in his Converse, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He said in a rush, “Yves and Camille request your presence at their home.”
    “What the hell for?”
    The kid hunched his shoulders a little. “It’s about feeding, monsieur .”
    Oh, Christ Jesus. Feeding. With a single word, he stared bleakly into his future. No Rosalia. And taking his blood from other women.
    “I’m sorry, monsieur ,” the kid whispered, and Deacon realized the vampire had read the despair in his psychic scent.
    His anger was suddenly gone, leaving only that huge black hole in his chest. “Haul off, then,” Deacon said quietly. “Tell them I’ll come.”
    But not for feeding. Not tonight. Just to pay his respects like any vampire should when coming into a city. Then maybe he’d see how far he could get living off animal blood. It might leave him shaky, stupid, and with a limp dick—but Deacon didn’t want to fuck anyone, anyway.
    He made his way to Camille’s place, then almost stopped when he realized how many vampires were there,