Demon Blood

sweet—so perfect a man would be glad to beg at her feet—wanted him ?
    Yeah, right.
    More likely, she just got off on fear. Or on playing off his fear of losing control. Deacon imagined the bloodlust taking him over and forcing him on her.
    Like the nosferatu probably had.
    His stomach seemed to crawl up into his throat. He could still picture how Irena had found Rosalia in the catacombs, her body crusted with her own dried blood, her skull gaping open where the spike had been shoved through it. Rosalia’s brother and Belial’s lieutenant had made a bargain, and as a result, the nosferatu got their claws on Rosalia. They’d fed on her for over a year.
    And now she was trembling after he threatened to drink from her. Fuck.
    He ripped away. “Give me the blood.”
    She held out a plastic bag. After being close to her, hungry, his cock felt like heated stone. Dark and rich, the demon blood soothed some of that hunger. Rosalia waited by the window while he drank, looking out into the night, her arms around herself again.
    What was she holding in?
    Why the hell did he care? “So the demon is at Tomás’s club?”
    Her smile came out on a relieved breath. She could save it. This was a onetime thing, and only because he liked Tomás.
    “Yes,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
    No need for that. Deacon had been there several times. He’d find his way. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know a Guardian was behind all of this.”
    “I’m going as a human. Vampires can’t get beneath my psychic shields to see the difference.”
    “The demon can.”
    Her smile widened. “But he’ll be dead.”
    He looked her over. That red dress skimmed her knees, and the sleeveless cut was relatively modest—except that it covered her incredible body. The fairy-tale princess with thick dark hair, perfect ripe tits, and lush crimson lips, which needed to be kissed. Any human man who looked at her would have but one thought in his head: getting Rosalia under him. Pampering her, taking care of her—but mostly just getting her in a bed with her legs wrapped around his hips and her nails digging into his back.
    But if she walked into a vampire club, they’d treat her like a whore. Simply for showing up on his arm.
    All right then.
    She’d see what it meant to accompany a vampire that everyone considered a traitor. She wouldn’t be a princess, then. And tomorrow, maybe she wouldn’t be so eager to stick her nose in his life.

    Deacon had agreed to come, but Rosalia knew she hadn’t won him over. She suspected he’d only capitulated because he thought that her plan would come back and kick her in the face.
    Did he mean to reveal her as a Guardian to the vampires?
    She squashed that uncertainty. No. Deacon was upset with her, but he wouldn’t do anything that might endanger the other vampires if demons discovered that a Guardian had been a part of this.
    But when he’d made his deal with Caym, Deacon had thought the Guardians could take care of themselves. That no matter what he did, the Guardians could handle it. He might assume she would handle herself now, too—even posing as a human. And although he might use the knowledge against her, she had to let him know she couldn’t.
    She waited until they crossed a street, still busy with evening traffic. Cooler than Paris, but still warm enough for short sleeves and sundresses, humans strolled along the sidewalks, looking into shop windows, stopping at cafés and restaurants.
    “I can’t protect myself.”
    Deacon threw a hard glance her way. They weren’t going to pass as the most loving couple, were they? It didn’t matter. The vampires would just assume he was using her as food.
    “I’m supposed to be human.” She wouldn’t have to worry about breaking the Rules with vampires if she was forced to defend herself, but if she wanted to maintain the appearance of a human, she couldn’t whip her crossbow out of her cache, either. In a club full of vampires hostile toward Deacon, Rosalia would be vulnerable.
    “I’m here for the demon, sister. Not saving your ass.” His voice was colder, harsher than usual, like the scrape of a blade over broken concrete. “And if you’re human , that means you can’t save my ass, either. So we’re even.”
    She would, though. If it came to that, she’d drop her human mask and save him. She’d risk ruining everything. But she couldn’t blame him for not doing the same. He didn’t owe her anything.
    Her chest