Demon Blood

with a strange sense of relief. Even if the nephilim hadn’t killed Lorenzo, Rosalia’s obligation toward her brother could have ended by now. Paid in full.
    “Would you have protected him from a strong challenger?”
    “No. Not from you. Not from anyone.”
    That answer apparently wasn’t what he’d expected. He glanced away from the road to read her face, as if making sure she wasn’t lying. “Not even from a Guardian?”
    “No.”
    “You didn’t interfere with his challenges?”
    “Oh, I did. If I could, I protected the vampires who challenged him.”
    He frowned. “I thought your thing—whatever you owed your brother from when you were kids—meant you protected him.”
    “Only from himself.” When Deacon still looked confused, she said, “I never tried to save his life. Only his soul. I just tried to undo what our father did, to make Lorenzo see that he should have been a better man. A better leader.”
    “But you didn’t make him see.”
    “No.”
    She’d failed Lorenzo, or he’d failed her. Rosalia didn’t know which it was—except that, of the two of them, she’d been the only one to make any effort at all.
    At the prompt of the navigational system, Deacon slowed to turn, then accelerated up a narrow winding road. A grassy verge rolled down from the road down into a rocky incline, where enormous houses overlooked the sea. The tang of salt flavored every breath. Rosalia savored the taste, the view, until Deacon’s voice brought her back into the car with him.
    “You ever consider that it wasn’t your father who fucked him up?”
    Had she ever thought that, even without a demon’s influence, Lorenzo would inevitably become a corrupted, power-hungry bastard? “Of course I’ve considered that. And if I believed it to be true, perhaps slaying him would have been easier.”
    He stole another glance at her face. “So if he’d turned out the same without your father’s influence, you would have killed him?”
    “I think so.” And wouldn’t have begged Michael to give her the opportunity to change him.
    Deacon looked away from her, shaking his head in disbelief. “So every vampire he faced wasn’t physically strong enough to defeat him. And you were—”
    “Too weak?”
    “You said it, sister.”
    “Everyone tells me the same.” She leaned her head back, stared up at the night sky. The full moon sat behind thin clouds shredded by the wind. “But I cannot believe that refusing to slay my own brother is a weakness—particularly as his only sin was being a complete and utter bastard. He never broke the Rules or the community’s rules.”
    “Except for when he killed you.”
    She lifted her head to look at him. “And I thought he deserved a second chance.”
    “Yeah. You’re just full of those.”
    Amusement speared through her as she realized what he meant. “I’m not asking for your help as a way of offering you a second chance.”
    “Everything I know about your bleeding heart says that it is, sister.”
    “You don’t know enough. A second chance suggests that you failed after the first one. And you’ve never disappointed me.”
    “Bullshit.”
    She had to laugh. No, he’d never believe that. He simply couldn’t see himself as she did. Ah, well.
    His jaw clenched as if he held in a response. He wouldn’t have had time, anyway. As they sped around the next curve, Rosalia leaned forward in her seat.
    “There it is,” she said.

CHAPTER 9
    If Sardis’s ego hadn’t created such a grim reality for his community, the layout of his compound would have invited Rosalia to question not just the vampire’s taste, but whether he was secure in his masculinity. But the disparity between the main house—an enormous, templelike structure complete with Ionic columns—and the squat outbuildings that quartered the vampires living on the property was too great to ignore. And Rosalia wished she could believe Sardis’s extreme self-love had been the reason behind the marble statues bearing his face that dotted the landscaping, but she suspected that he never wanted anyone to forget who lorded over them.
    “Jesus.” Deacon pulled the car up to the gates and let it idle. “How many live here?”
    “Sixty.” And not one of them was out walking the grounds. Even on a night this hot, surely someone would rather be outside than cooped up within a building. “It’s a community rule: Anyone transformed has to serve Sardis for twenty years or buy their way out of service.