Demon Blood

London and went after Wells-Down.”
    The bastard. “Did he get it?”
    “He did. And five years ago, he just shut everything down, closed up shop.”
    A cruel bastard. Breaking up the company and selling it for pieces would have hurt less. “And his mother?”
    “Disappeared right after. But not just Madelyn—her personal assistant, Rachel Boyle, vanished at the same time.”
    Rosalia closed her eyes. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
    “The police and Boyle’s family didn’t think so, either. But there were no bodies and nothing to hang on him, so whatever he did to get rid of them, he got away with it. He went on to eat a few more companies, then joined Legion three years ago. He’s based in London, though he travels everywhere Legion is.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “Here in Rome. He arrived today. I’ve already got the info on his hotel. I’ll start surveillance tomorrow.”
    Rosalia sucked in a sharp breath. Legion didn’t have offices in Rome. And that was much too close to Gemma and Vin for her liking. She held the phone to her ear, torn between the impulse to return and her need to stay in Paris.
    Gemma easily read her silence. “Stop worrying, Rosa. I have it covered until you arrive.”
    And she could handle it—both of them could. Even though Vin had been gone for ten years, he’d spent that decade building a security and investigations firm. If Gemma needed backup, there were few people with more knowledge and experience than her son.
    “All right,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll try to return tomorrow night. Sleep well.”
    “No chance of that,” Gemma said lightly, but the truth behind her statement struck Rosalia hard. Because of the nephilim, the young woman wouldn’t sleep well. Perhaps she never would again.
    And Rosalia would do everything in her power to make the nephilim pay for that.

    Taylor swam up out of the dark, into the sun, and collapsed to her hands and knees in hot white sand. Her body heaved, again and again, as if she tried to expel him, but he was already gone, sitting quietly at the back of her mind, like he hadn’t just taken her over and raped her will.
    Bastard. The goddamn bastard.
    Her breath came in sobs. She sat back on her ass, the lone person on an empty beach, turquoise waves crashing in on her left. Blood covered her hands. A part of her recognized the smell— demon blood —and she had a broken memory of crimson skin, of a sweltering jungle, of the sword in her grip. Slaying a demon, just like a Guardian should be. But she wasn’t a Guardian. She was Michael’s fucking puppet.
    Rage and frustration boiled into a scream, but she bit it back. He wouldn’t drive her to that. She focused inward and thought, I hate you , hoping that he would hear it, hoping he would understand it was for him.
    She hadn’t wanted to become a Guardian. But when it had come down to the decision between dying or living, she’d signed on. But she hadn’t signed on for this .
    And she was so damn tired of fighting him. Exhausted, down to her soul.
    Bracing her elbows on her knees and pushing her hands into her hair, she stared out over the sea. She didn’t even know where she was—or why he’d brought her here. But she had to leave soon, find Rosalia, and teleport her and the vampire to another city.
    Soon.
    She closed her eyes. The waves should have lulled her to sleep. Should have given her a little release. She could only feel him.
    I hate you.
    A harmonious voice answered her, “I hope that emotion is not directed at me.”
    Taylor lurched to her feet, her toes flinging sand as she spun around. Only the grigori had voices like that, but the only ones that Taylor knew were Michael and Khavi. This wasn’t Khavi, though she had the same bronze skin and black hair, the delicate frame. This one had the regal bearing of a queen, and a soft, understanding expression on her exquisite features. Her dress looked something between a toga and a sari, white cloth twisted at her narrow shoulders, crossing over her breasts. The separate skirt tied at the waist and was fluttering around her ankles in the breeze.
    Anaria.
    Ohfuckshit.
    “Stay,” Anaria said, and Taylor’s intention to teleport the hell away seemed to fizzle out with that command.
    She expected Michael to take over, the darkness to ascend—and though she felt him, tense and watchful, he didn’t rise up.
    Anaria tilted her head, studying her. “Why did he come?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t even