Demon Blood

“Let the demon kill him.”
    “Valeotes—the demon—doesn’t intend to slay Sardis. At least not yet. He’s put Sardis and the community into his pocket. Valeotes promises protection; they give up blood in return.”
    And how long before the demon asked Sardis to do worse? “Everyone knows the shit Caym pulled on me, yet Sardis is taking that risk and working with him?”
    “As you said, he’s a prick. An arrogant one.”
    Her lip curled slightly, as if she’d smelled something foul. So Sardis disgusted her. Deacon couldn’t fault her taste in people.
    Heh. She must think it unfortunate that her plan included hanging around him . “And what’d you think of me when you found out about Caym? That I was a prick? Arrogant?”
    Rosalia looked at him. Her smile formed slowly, as if she held secrets behind it that she didn’t want to let out too soon.
    Or let them out at all. She didn’t answer him, but said, “After Caym destroyed your people, the Guardians visited every vampire community and killed any demons leading them. Most were Lucifer’s demons, but Belial’s demons obviously learned from it. Now they aren’t leading the vampires directly—either to avoid notice by the Guardians or because the nephilim kill the vampires’ leaders.”
    “What about Farkas?” The demon had planned to take over Budapest.
    “Farkas was Theriault’s demon. Not as smart, twice as arrogant. Valeotes follows Malkvial.”
    Was she still looking for that one? “Are you hoping to get Malkvial’s human name out of him, then?”
    “No. Taking the time to question him would be too dangerous for you—and Valeotes would just lie. I simply don’t want Valeotes’s fingers on any of Sardis’s buttons when you bring the European communities together.”
    She really thought that was going to happen? She didn’t give up easily. He couldn’t decide whether her determination despite certain failure made her foolish or admirable.
    But he imagined that his quest for revenge probably looked the same from her end.
    “You said Malkvial intends to slaughter vampires once he’s taken the lieutenant’s position. So why would one of his demons pair up with Sardis?”
    “Because Sardis might be useful.”
    Yes. Vampires could kill humans. God knew what else. “So we kill Valeotes before that happens. Before he can use anyone.”
    “You’ll kill him, yes. We’ll be arriving in Athens just after sunset. That will give us time to look over Sardis’s compound before you go in.”
    A compound. Deacon knew the general layout only through other vampires’ descriptions. He’d never visited Sardis.
    What she’d said finally struck him. “ After sunset?”
    “Yes.” She smiled slightly. “I do not imagine that anyone will detect my Gift, unless they are also flying at 35,000 feet.”
    He still couldn’t grasp it. “It’s daytime. Outside. Now.”
    “Yes.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Her brows lifted. “Look.”
    Pulling in a deep breath, Deacon turned toward the windows and reached for the shade. Rosalia didn’t stop him. Taking her silence as a sign that he wouldn’t burst into flames, he slid the window shade up.
    His knees almost buckled. Daylight spilled through the glass onto his hand and arm. In ninety years, he hadn’t felt that warmth. Swallowing hard, he looked through the window. A shadow lay across the glass, like seeing through sunglasses, but outside it was unmistakably day. White clouds floated against a blue sky. And . . . the sun.
    He’d forgotten how bright it was. Even through the shadow that Rosalia’s Gift created, he had to squint. Incredible.
    About to say as much, he turned, but the distress on Rosalia’s face stopped him. Her skin had paled, and her eyes were tightly closed. Pain bracketed her mouth, held her body rigid.
    As if his silence tipped off Rosalia that he was looking at her, she glanced up at him before closing her eyes again. “My Gift isn’t . . . compatible . . . with the sun.”
    And hadn’t been since he’d woken up, Deacon realized. Maintaining this shield inside the cabin had been the reason for her blank stare—and obviously the direct sunlight, even the sliver coming through the window, made it worse.
    With a final look outside, he lowered the shade, then sat to pull on his boots. Her sigh indicated some relief, but her fingers still clutched the folds of her cloak and her eyes remained closed.
    Deacon laced up his boots, feeling a little shaky himself. Though he’d come to