Demon Blood

fu—”
    “He goes by the name Benedek Farkas. He’s made himself part of the vampire community, pretending to be one of you. Tomás hasn’t caught on. Soon, Farkas will slay him and take over the community to strengthen Theriault’s bid for leadership.”
    Goddammit. Deacon liked Tomás Lakatos. He led the vampires in Budapest well.
    “It’s a Guardian’s job to protect him.” Not Deacon’s.
    She offered a brittle smile. “And so a Guardian has brought you here.”
    Fuck. Now, that was a neat answer, wasn’t it? He pulled on his shirt, then slipped into the harness that held his swords against his back. “How do you know this?”
    “My surveillance on Theriault.” Rosalia moved closer, and while he buttoned up the front of his shirt, she began straightening the material that bunched around the harness straps. “I know Farkas will be at Tomás’s club with the rest of the community tonight. You won’t have to wait outside his apartment. You won’t have to hide from humans. You can just slay him.”
    He barely heard any of that. Just felt the warmth of her fingers through cotton. What the hell was this? She was smoothing out his wrinkles? Touching him, when he was pissed and hungry, and for six months had been wondering how she tasted.
    Touching him was the surest way of finding herself shoved up against a wall, his fangs in her throat, and fucked until his knees gave out.
    When she reached for his collar, he caught her wrists. Startled, her gaze met his.
    “Don’t,” he said.
    For an instant, her face became still, her eyes flat. Then she nodded and pulled her hands away, tucking them into her elbows and moving toward the corner of the room. Almost, Deacon thought, as if she was searching for somewhere to hide, which made him feel like the biggest asshole on Earth.
    Which was exactly what he needed to be: a bastard, so that she’d leave him the hell alone.
    He picked up his jacket and bag. “You’re looking at the wrong guy, sister, but you’ll find another easy enough. You’re gorgeous, desperate, and lonely. Some sap out there will be panting to kill demons with you.”
    She looked over her shoulder, her brows arched. And she said just dryly enough that he couldn’t help but like her for it, “Thanks.”
    He turned for the door before he ended up smiling or some shit. Christ.
    “By the time you reach Paris, you’ll have wasted the night,” she said after him. “At least here, you’ll accomplish something.”
    Another low fucking blow. Did she think he’d just take that? He dropped his bag and stalked toward her. To his gratification, she retreated until her back was up against the wall.
    He slapped his palms to the wall on either side of her head and got in her face. “So the fuck what? What happens if I don’t, sister? No skin off your nose.”
    The gentle brown of her eyes darkened, so goddamn sad. He hated that, wanted to make everything better for her. He hated wanting that more.
    “Then people die,” she said softly.
    Jesus. Trapping him with people’s lives—the same fucking thing that Caym had done to him.
    Anger exploded inside him. He pulled back and slammed his hands against the wall again. Plaster cracked. She flinched, and it felt good. He didn’t give two shits about her reasons for playing him. All that mattered was that she played like a demon, and he needed to make her pay.
    He pushed in closer, until he could feel the warmth coming off her. Her perfume smelled like flowers. He wanted to breathe in that scent while he drank her down.
    “Offer your neck,” he commanded.
    Her eyes widened. Her gaze flicked to his fangs before lifting to his again. “I have blood for you.”
    “But I want to get into your head. To know your reasons. And make sure you aren’t fucking with me the same way Caym did.”
    “I’ll tell you my reasons—”
    “That’s not good enough.” He didn’t care what they were anyway. He was just tired of being used.
    Her heart began racing. He could hear desperation in every wild beat. “What about your bloodlust?”
    His laugh was bitter. It wouldn’t matter. The bloodlust wouldn’t take over a vampire unless the women he drank from wanted him. And Rosalia was . . .
    Breathing hard. Her moistened lips had parted, as if expecting a kiss. Her nipples formed hard bumps beneath red silk. A slight tremor shook her hands before they fisted at her sides.
    She wanted him?
    Ravaging need tore through his blood. Rosalia, soft and