Demon Blood

tightened. “All right. That’s fair. You don’t have to help me. Just please don’t expose me.”
    Deacon glanced at her again, but whatever he saw he didn’t like. He swore under his breath and looked away.

    When he’d been an asshole at the chateau, Rosalia had hit back at him. Deacon kept expecting her to snap at him again. What had changed between now and then that she just took his shit?
    Maybe she felt like crap for forcing this on him. She didn’t strike him as the type to go against a Guardian’s principles, and pushing a man—even a vampire—into something against his will. So if she was still pushing the issue, whatever she was planning must mean a lot to her.
    Not that it mattered. Whatever her reasons, the fact remained that she was grabbing his strings and trying to play him.
    The club lay a few streets off from any main thoroughfares. Surrounded by buildings more run-down than the tourist-friendly parts of the city, the façade appeared flat, gray, and industrial. Nothing interesting to see there, except when someone was looking for it.
    Twenty years ago, after slaying the head of the community and stepping into his position, Tomás had taken care to give his people a place to run if threatened—by humans, by demons, even by Guardians. The back of the club hid a reinforced chamber that even a nephil would have difficulty breaking into.
    It also offered the vampires a place to gather. Tonight, if they’d heard about London, many of the city’s vampires would probably already be here.
    As they neared the entrance, Rosalia’s fingers slipped into the crook of his elbow. She looked up at him, and in her eyes Deacon could see the expectation that he’d shrug her off, combined with her silent request for him not to.
    All right. He’d play this her way. It didn’t hurt him to walk in with a gorgeous woman on his arm.
    He’d been right: The place was full. Even before they opened the doors, he could sense the number of vampires inside.
    “They’ve heard about London,” she said softly.
    “Yeah.” He could feel their panic and their helpless anger from here. They’d be looking for someone to take that out on. Deacon would be an obvious target, but Rosalia would be, too. This riled up, they might not just leer and give her a hard time. They might take it further. “So you wait here while I—”
    A male vampire with long dark hair and lined eyes swung the door open and held it while another passed through. He glanced at Deacon, then looked again before stopping his friend in the entrance. The friend caught sight of Deacon. His lips drew back over his fangs.
    No doubt they’d recognized him. So leaving Rosalia out here alone wasn’t an option anymore.
    “Just keep on walking, traitor.” The first vampire’s gaze ran over Rosalia. Snakelike, he slid his tongue between his fangs and licked his upper lip. “She can stay.”
    Any other time, that would have been enough for Deacon to take him down. But a demon waited inside, and Deacon didn’t want to reveal the one advantage he had—his speed—while teaching this pissant a lesson. And if he started a fight out here, he might not make it into the club.
    And these vampires might talk about fighting, but they wouldn’t make a move against him without Tomás’s permission. Gripping Rosalia’s hand, Deacon pushed past them and through the door.
    The two vampires followed, flanking them. Rosalia looked up at Deacon with a smile.
    Wouldn’t a human be showing a little more fear? But she was pretending that having him at her side filled her with confidence. Shit. Even knowing she was acting, that felt damn good.
    Inside, the setup was more like a gentleman’s club than the dance club preferred by a few other vampire communities. Amber pendant lights hung from a high ceiling, casting warm light on the paneled walls and wooden floors. Two billiard tables sat on the right side of the large, open room. Multiple groupings of velvet sofas and leather chairs encouraged pockets of conversation. The smaller tables ringing the floor held laptops or hosted several varieties of poker games.
    One by one, the vampires quieted and turned to look at them.
    From a table at the back of the room, Tomás frowned and rose to his feet, a big man with blond hair pulled back into a queue and a bushy yellow beard. Rosalia hadn’t given Deacon a description of Benedek Farkas, but the demon wasn’t hard to spot. Dark-haired and slick, he’d shape-shifted