Demon Blood

Guardians are still fighting. They will keep fighting for as long as they exist.
    When the girl heard this she was overjoyed, for it meant that although her brother had become a vampire, he could still be saved. His transformation had not corrupted his soul; the demon had. She persuaded Michael not to slay her brother and allow her the chance to undo what the demon had done.
    She could not immediately begin, however—first, she had to complete one hundred years of training in Caelum. Those years were filled with hope. Even the discovery of her Gift to manipulate darkness and shadows, so painful to use beneath Caelum’s sun-filled sky, did not diminish her happiness. After a century, she returned to Earth, her hope still bright within her chest.
    It took almost two more centuries for her brother to kill that hope. Then he was killed, too.
    And so the tale closes with the girl left alone and her hopes shattered, with no one to save—and the demon, though defeated, ultimately the victor. Unlike other stories, this does not have a happy ending.
    Not yet.

CHAPTER 1
    The string quartet in the corner of the ballroom slipped from a sleepy minuet into a sleepy waltz. Rosalia lifted her champagne flute to her lips to cover her sigh. Thank God for the demons. If not for their conspiring, boredom would have killed her by now.
    The small circle of humans she’d joined burst into laughter. Rosalia smiled vacuously in response. She hadn’t heard the joke, but no one at the gala would expect a reply, anyway. She’d changed her dark hair to a wispy, baby blond, donned a vapid expression over soft features, and paired them with an insubstantial pink dress for that very reason: She wouldn’t be expected to talk. She only needed to stand and look pretty. So she stood with humans she didn’t know in the center of a chateau ballroom, watching three of Belial’s demons solidify an alliance.
    Others watched them, too. Some humans glanced in their direction; some stared. Rosalia could not blame them. Like every demon she’d known, they’d disguised themselves in sinfully handsome human forms—sensual lips and blade-straight noses, black hair glinting under the crystal chandeliers, as if they’d each used an advertisement in a men’s fashion magazine as a template. With a backdrop of priceless paintings mounted on gold-painted walls, they formed a would-be triumvirate with Bernard and Gavel as the base and Pierre Theriault at the top.
    Of the three, Theriault ranked the highest in both Belial’s army and Legion Laboratories, the corporation that both concealed and supported their activities on Earth. Two years ago, when the Gates to Hell had closed, preventing Belial from overseeing the demons that remained on Earth, Legion began to serve as a communication network. Through it, one of Belial’s lieutenants issued orders and received reports—until he’d been slain by the Guardians. Now, with no clear successor to the lieutenant and no contact from Hell, Belial’s demons were maneuvering for his position, and all of them were arrogant enough to imagine themselves in the spot. But if Bernard and Gavel thought they’d ride the wake of Theriault’s ascent, they were as foolish as he was. Theriault’s particular brand of arrogance bordered on stupidity.
    No, Rosalia amended. Not bordering stupidity. He’d flung himself over that line the second he’d begun discussing the alliance in a public room, and using English instead of the demonic language. Good Lord, the idiocy. Though the chateau was just north of Paris, perhaps fifteen people out of the hundreds in the ballroom didn’t understand at least rudimentary English.
    Even if Theriault imagined that the string music floating over the room and the crowd’s chatter would conceal their voices from humans, he hadn’t made sure there weren’t any Guardians or other demons in the vicinity. Though strong enough for Rosalia to feel, Theriault’s psychic sweep hadn’t penetrated her mental shields. At that shallow depth, her mind would seem no different from a human’s.
    Careless. Stupid. Rosalia had many reasons to slay the demons, but at this moment, making the consequences of that carelessness the last thing they ever saw was the most tempting reason to shove her swords through their eyes.
    But she wouldn’t slay them. Not tonight. She’d come to the gala to observe Theriault, and to judge how much of a threat he’d be if he led Belial’s demons. Not much. But it