Demon Blood

accept the differences between living as a vampire and as a human, he had no idea how a vampire fell asleep at sunrise and caught fire at the touch of the sun. Natural law couldn’t account for it. Obviously something bigger was at work, a force more powerful than nature.
    And he’d accepted that the Guardians’ Gifts could rewrite natural rules, too. Irena shaped metal to her will. Alejandro could create fire from nothing and control the flames’ intensity. Other Guardians could teleport or instantly heal wounds.
    But accepting that Rosalia’s Gift could rewrite even the powerful unnatural rules that governed vampires knocked him for a loop . . . and humbled him.
    Leaning back in his seat, he looked down at her. With her legs curled under her, she had to sit sideways. The cushioned seatback pillowed her cheek. Her dark hair hung in tangled waves over her shoulder. The pain had eased from her features, so that she almost appeared to be sleeping.
    The princess, waiting for her kiss. Deacon wasn’t even close to qualifying for a prince.
    And maybe “princess” didn’t fit her so well, either. A Guardian’s Gift reflected some part of their human life. He couldn’t figure out why a woman like Rosalia would have darkness for a Gift.
    “So,” he said, and saw that a single word opened her eyes as quickly as a kiss would have, “what’s the story behind your Gift?”
    “I don’t know. It could be the manner in which I died—my connection to vampires.”
    She didn’t sound convinced of that. “You must’ve thought of other reasons.”
    “Oh, I have.” She laughed softly, but it didn’t last. Looking up into his eyes, she seemed to hesitate, as if uncertain whether to reveal the rest. Then her mouth firmed, determination slipped into her psychic scent, and she continued. “Perhaps from when I was a girl. My father . . . I do not know if a demon arranged for his death, or if my father died of natural causes and a demon took advantage of the opportunity. But one day, my father was no longer himself.”
    “A demon took his place?”
    “Yes. Lorenzo and I didn’t know then what had happened. And my mother . . . she didn’t last long.”
    That had to have been rough. “But you?”
    “Lorenzo and I avoided him as much as possible. My father didn’t care about us, anyway. Not until we were useful . . .” She stumbled and broke eye contact before finishing quietly, “. . . to him.”
    Useful. So he’d been right; she didn’t like forcing him into this. He didn’t like it much, either, but he didn’t have the urge to tell her to fuck off. Seeing this side of her had gotten to him.
    That didn’t sit well with him, either—but he wasn’t going to stop her from revealing herself, now that she’d started.
    “I challenged him once,” she continued. “I told him I knew what he was, and he ordered one of the servants to lock me into a wardrobe. No light, no food or water. He left me there for three days.”
    He could picture that all too easily. Alone in the dark, in her own filth. Hungry and terrified.
    But her voice warmed as she remembered. “Lorenzo was on the other side of the door. He tried to help me, to open the wardrobe. And when he couldn’t—he was so young then—he sat talking to me. At night, he slept outside the wardrobe doors. That’s what I remember best. The dark, yes—but also Lorenzo’s voice. They were both comforting. I felt safe. The dark was less frightening than being outside with Father.”
    Jesus. And that explained why she hadn’t slain her brother. Deacon and every other vampire in Europe just knew Lorenzo Acciaioli as a sadistic, tyrannical bastard. But he and Rosalia had probably spent most of their human lives protecting each other.
    “But your father didn’t let you die.”
    “No. Eventually I would be useful. He could marry me off.”
    The revulsion in her expression didn’t surprise Deacon, but his own anger did. This had all happened centuries ago. The thought of Rosalia being forced to marry shouldn’t feel like a punch to his gut. “Did he?”
    “No. I ran away to the convent. I thought Lorenzo would be safe, too—he’d already left our home. But he was not.”
    “Your father talked him into the transformation.”
    Acciaioli would have to be convinced. Most humans died after being transformed against their will.
    “Yes. He became a vampire and visited the abbey with my father. And that was the end of my human life—and the end of the