Demon Blood

into a good-looking bastard, like they all did. Seated on a sofa in the middle of the club, he was the only one not giving Deacon the evil eye. He looked amused, even. And he was the only man who hadn’t looked Rosalia over twice.
    Maybe she had a good reason for wearing that dress and her current form, and it wasn’t just so Deacon would be thinking of sucking her dry. She could walk through the club naked, and a demon wouldn’t get hot. Couldn’t get hot. A demon only faked it.
    Farkas wasn’t even bothering to do that.
    Deacon led her to a small table on the left, a location that would offer him a direct line to Tomás, with Farkas in the middle. The click of her heels echoed in the silent room, and beneath it came the pounding of the vampires’ hearts. Almost fifty, by his count. He heard the rustle of clothes as vampires got to their feet. Oh, yeah, they wanted to fight. He felt their psychic probes, aimed at him, aimed at Rosalia.
    He got Rosalia into a seat. She smiled at him, a sweet curve of her lips that could have sent a man off to war with steel in his spine, not just heading out to slay one demon.
    Deacon turned. Vampires, male and female, faced him with fangs exposed. Farkas just seemed to be smiling. Deacon looked over the demon’s head at Tomás.
    “This isn’t much of a welcome, old friend.”
    “Just turn around, Deacon.” Tall, with a chest to match, Tomás’s deep voice carried easily across the club. “Take your human and get out.”
    Deacon lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I just want to talk bloodsharing until my woman can—”
    “Get out .”
    Fuck. Tomás must be thinking that Deacon was here to kill him, was gunning for his position. So he probably wasn’t going to invite Deacon over to his table, fearing that once Deacon got in close he’d try to take Tomás out.
    All right. Deacon didn’t need to be invited over there. He could do this another way.
    One thing about vampire communities: no one interfered if a leader was challenged. Deacon reached back and drew his swords.
    Tomás quickly retrieved his own weapons. The vampire kicked aside his table, giving himself room to fight—but as Deacon anticipated, Tomás stayed where he was. A reinforced steel wall lay at Tomás’s back; he wouldn’t give that protection up.
    Deacon stalked closer, his gaze fixed on Tomás. His path took him behind Farkas’s sofa.
    The demon made it too easy, rising up in his seat so that he could watch the showdown. Obviously, he never once considered Deacon a threat. As Deacon passed him, Farkas turned his head to follow his progress, facing the opposite direction and leaving his neck exposed above the level of the sofa’s back.
    Deacon struck, fast and hard. His blade cut cleanly through the demon’s neck. Shock ripped through the vampires’ psychic scents, holding them silent.
    Until Farkas’s head fell over the back of the sofa, thudding to the floor. Blood spurted. The female sitting next to him shrieked, scrambling back.
    With an enraged roar, Tomás charged. Deacon stepped back from the spreading pool of blood. He’d expected this attack. The vampire had remained near the wall when his own life was threatened, but Tomás wouldn’t stand for anyone killing his people.
    “Listen, Tom—!” Deacon’s shout was cut short by the swing of Tomás’s sword.
    All right. Stop Tomás now. Explain later.
    Deacon dodged Tomás’s blade and led with a right hook to the vampire’s bearded jaw. Blood and spit flew. Tomás staggered. A hammering blow to his chin laid him out. Not unconscious, just stunned. Shaking out the pain in his hand, Deacon placed his boot on the vampire’s neck and held him down.
    He looked back at Rosalia. Her fingers of her left hand were clenched on the table’s edge, her knuckles white. Beneath the table, he saw the glint of steel clutched in her right hand. “Rosie, get over here.”
    She vanished her weapon and hurried forward, threading through vampires who bared their fangs at her passing. Several abruptly stopped, glancing at Deacon, as if they’d just realized that they might have a new community leader in about ten seconds.
    They could rest easy there. Even if he’d killed Tomás, Deacon wouldn’t have taken that on.
    “Pick his head up,” he said as Rosalia passed the demon’s sofa.
    Gingerly, she grabbed Farkas’s severed head by the hair.
    “Put it on the floor in front of Tomás’s face.” He waited until she did, then took