Demon Blood

what I should have told Anaria that day, when she said that vampires would overrun Earth and then demons would just kill them, destroying all of humanity. I should have said: That’s not going to happen, because there’s going to be whole lotta motherfucking Guardians standing in the way.”
    She thought his laughter sounded in the back of her head—she knew it came into his eyes. But there was fear, too, rising. A lot more fear than she’d expected. And she was holding, but she wouldn’t hold him back much longer.
    “So I just want to say, Thank you for watching my back and saving my ass. Multiple times. And as soon as I figure out how, I promise I’ll save yours.”
    Then the darkness almost overwhelmed her, pushing, pushing . . . and she felt the shiver under her feet. Even if you can’t see or hear them coming, you can feel them.
    Taylor whirled around, calling in Irena’s spear. Terror sucked her mouth dry, shriveled her heart. A hellhound. Oh, Jesus. So much bigger than any she’d seen, at least three times her height, each of his three heads the size of a SUV. She couldn’t hear his growls, but his lips peeled back over teeth as long as her arm.
    Not just any hellhound, she realized in horror. Lucifer’s hellhound, Cerberus. The master might not be far behind.
    The ground shivered again as Cerberus exploded into a run, circling around her, faster and faster, thrashing his heads, exposing his giant maw, as if sensing her fear and trying to twist it to unbearable heights before eating her.
    Oh, hell no. Anger burst through her, a rush of heat to her hands.
    The spear caught fire. Flames leapt along the steel length, roaring high from the tip. Cerberus cringed away from it, turning suddenly, slinking back to watch her with wary, glowing eyes.
    Her astonishment forced out a shout, lost in the silence. Cerberus slowly rose to his feet again, his surprise fading. And from the tower, she felt something else—searching, focusing, a dark scream of a psyche that Michael suddenly rose up and blocked . . . pushing her again, his desperation clear.
    Taylor finally took Michael’s hint, and got the hell out of there. Not out of fear. Of course not. She was a motherfucking Guardian.
    And, anyway—she had a wedding to attend.

    Unconcerned with night and day and sleeping patterns, the girls’ night had spilled over into a second evening, then into the next morning, and by the time they began to ready the abbey for the reception, almost every female Guardian and several of their vampire friends had passed through Rosalia’s courtyard, danced and swam. Rosalia fastened Gemma into her wedding dress and straightened Vincente’s waistcoat, and although she’d been determined not to cry, she wept through the vows. The reception culminated with more dancing—though the only one to take off his clothes was a neighbor who’d had too much champagne—and had finally wound down in the wee morning.
    Now everyone was gone, and Rosalia sat on the bench near her fountain, feeling lighter than at any other moment in her life. For three days, she’d renewed both her friendships and her purpose as a mother, as a Guardian, as Rosalia. Her heart ached beyond bearing, true—but for the first time, she owed no one. All of her debts were gone, her obligations fulfilled.
    Perhaps this could be a new beginning for her, as well as her son.
    Smiling, she pulled her heel to the edge of the bench seat and rested her chin on her knee, watching the fall of sparkling water. The calla lilies’ perfume was strong and heady, the orange blossoms sweet. The house had never been so quiet, but it did not seem empty. After the past three days, the silence felt peaceful and soothing, instead. Not waiting to be filled, but complete.
    Over the splashing of the fountain came the click of a door opening. Lifting her head, Rosalia looked toward the abbey’s entrance. She could not see it from here, but there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps.
    She no longer needed to hide her abilities. Reaching out with a psychic probe, she touched his shields.
    Deacon.
    Her heart leapt into her throat. Forcing herself to move slowly, she stood and waited for him to emerge from the house. She knew why he had come. Camille had come to the abbey for both the girls’ night and the reception, and upon her first visit had expressed her surprise that Deacon wasn’t here.
    On behalf of the vampire communities, he would be asking for the protection from the