Demon Blood

was all over.
    “You think he’ll help you? Yes, he was forced to give up the info about us. Yes, he was used. But he didn’t ask for help. He didn’t think we could help him. Why do you think he’ll believe you can do this?”
    “I don’t know.” Rosalia heard the despair in her voice. She didn’t know if Deacon would believe in her. And now he’d resist her even more, because with the nephilim threatening London, she’d have to force the issue. Use him. She couldn’t wait for him to soften and agree to help her. And with one word from Deacon to a demon, to another vampire, her game would be up. “I want it done. All at once. And if it goes wrong, he already expects to die seeking his revenge. He’s already on this route.”
    “What route are you on?” When Rosalia didn’t answer, Mariko clenched her teeth and looked away. “We’re only supposed to sacrifice once.”
    “Tell that to Michael.”
    “He did that so you wouldn’t have to, too.”
    “No.” Rosalia shook her head. “He did that so we all wouldn’t have to. And that’s why you have to go.”
    “Dammit, Rosa—”
    “I’m not dead yet. And I don’t intend to be. But there’s little I can control now, and the more people who are involved, the more variables, the less I can predict the outcome . . . and the harder it will be to make the decisions I might need to. But believe me, Mariko—sacrificing myself is never going to be my first decision.”
    She had a son. A grandchild on the way. If she had any choice at all, never would leaving them alone be her decision.
    Mariko let out a heavy, frustrated breath. “And him ? You can anticipate him?”
    “Yes.” An ache bloomed in her chest. “He’s going to be very, very angry with me.”
    “But not that kind of angry,” Mariko said, narrowing her eyes at Conley. Obviously thinking of those bruises again.
    No, Deacon wouldn’t be that kind of angry.
    “Excuse me,” Rosalia said, and rose from her chair.
    With the sun lightly warming her face, she walked across the brick-paved street. The small table that Conley and Nikki shared had been cleared of their meal. He scribbled on a receipt; Nikki had lapsed into a sulking silence.
    Rosalia stopped beside her, and brushed her fingers lightly over the other woman’s wrist. “You don’t have to stay.”
    Nikki yanked her hand back. “What the—”
    “You deserve better than this,” she said.
    Conley’s chair scraped as he shot to his feet. His hand clamped around Rosalia’s upper arm.
    A warm hand. Not hot. Not a demon’s.
    A vein throbbed in his temple. “Get the hell away from her, bitch.”
    When he shoved, Rosalia didn’t move. She addressed Nikki alone. “I cared for a man who would as soon spit on me as talk to me, and he never changed. No matter what I did, he never changed. What do you owe this man that you haven’t paid for, over and over? You deserve better,” she repeated.
    Nikki’s gaze dropped to her wrist, shutting her out. Conley stopped trying to push Rosalia, spinning around and shouting for the management.
    Rosalia sighed and turned. Mariko shot her a thumbs-up, which changed to a flip of her middle finger when Conley yelled after her.
    “I still say a dog would have been better,” Mariko said when Rosalia reached her seat. “One bite, right to the balls.”
    “Conley is the type who’d kick a dog.”
    “So, better that he kicks us?”
    “Yes. And better than kicking her.”
    “True.” Mariko sighed, and they both watched Conley hurry the woman off, his anger radiating against Rosalia’s psychic senses like heat. “She might take a few anyway.”
    Rosalia wasn’t so sure. Nikki glanced back at her. When she looked up at Conley again, a new hardness had entered her eyes.
    It wouldn’t be that easy. It was never that easy. But at least it was something.

    Four hours later, Rosalia sat cross- legged on the bed in Deacon’s hotel room, watching him sleep. Afternoon light formed a glow around the edges of the heavy curtains, but didn’t penetrate. This was her element. The darkness. Where she was most powerful, most certain.
    She did not feel so powerful or certain now.
    Like all vampires in their daysleep, Deacon appeared dead. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, and she could barely discern his heartbeat. But he had a heartbeat. And if she made one mistake, took one wrong step, she risked both their lives.
    She should let him go. She should try to carry this out on her own. But even a