Demon Blood

in.
    Deacon was here.
    And still alive.
    She hadn’t known if he was. Once the leader of the Prague vampire community, he’d betrayed the Guardians in a desperate gamble to save his people, and lost. Belial’s lieutenant and a second demon, Caym, had done everything to destroy Deacon without actually killing him. Caym had beaten Deacon bloody, crushed his bones and his pride, then held his community and lovers hostage in exchange for information about the Guardians. As a result of that information, a Guardian had been killed—a woman Rosalia hadn’t known well, but had liked very much. After learning of the Guardian’s death, Rosalia had watched Belial’s lieutenant use Deacon to transform a human murderer into a vampire, then finally break him by showing Deacon the ashen remains of his companions. Though Deacon had managed to slay Caym, Belial’s lieutenant had stopped the vampire by stabbing an iron spike through his forehead, and had left Deacon for the Guardians to find and kill. But Irena, a Guardian and the friend Deacon had betrayed, had stayed her hand, and Rosalia had taken him to her home in Rome. She hadn’t known what she was going to do with him. She only knew why she’d taken him.
    Deacon had rescued her. Once, ninety years ago, and again more recently, when she’d had an iron spike through her own head and three nosferatu feeding from her throat. And so she owed him.
    When they’d reached Rome, Deacon had still been unconscious, healing from the damage to his brain. She’d taken him to her room and had left him to his daysleep. When she’d returned, night had fallen and Deacon had already gone. Gemma had reported that he’d walked out the door without saying a word.
    Rosalia had thought he’d left to die. He’d been broken. She’d felt his despair when he’d realized all that he’d lost; he’d welcomed death when the demon had shoved the spike through his forehead. She’d been certain he’d face the sun the next morning.
    But he was here, instead. Why? Never would he ally himself with Belial’s demons. The launch of a new skin-care line and this party couldn’t interest him. She couldn’t picture him mingling comfortably. The people glittered; conversation sparkled. Deacon wouldn’t.
    Had he somehow known she would be here? Rosalia’s heart gave a heavy, slow thump. Hope bubbled within her bloodstream. Ruthlessly, she squashed it. Deacon couldn’t have known she’d intended to observe Theriault tonight.
    Or could he?
    If he had known, he wouldn’t recognize her like this. Not with blond hair and this baby face—
    Rosalia closed her eyes. Stop. She wouldn’t let her thoughts head in this direction. Whatever his reasons, he wasn’t here for her.
    “He’s at the rear of the chateau, Mother. I’ve lost him on infrared.”
    A vampire didn’t need an invitation to enter a building, but he did to gain admittance into this gala. So did a Guardian. She’d come through the back disguised as one of the caterers. Though Deacon couldn’t shape-shift, he could easily climb the exterior wall to the second floor or speed through the doors unseen.
    She opened her eyes. The demon Gavel was approaching her group, his gaze fixed on the CEO of a cosmetics company standing beside her. Rosalia excused herself and threaded through the crowd toward the refreshment table, smiling brightly and nodding at anyone who met her eyes. She joined another group of humans at the side of the ballroom. Now that Theriault, Bernard, and Gavel had split up, she needed a wider angle to keep an eye on them. It also let her see both the enormous staircase that led from the second floor, and the main entrance from the gallery—the route Deacon would take if he approached the ballroom from the back of the chateau.
    Assuming, of course, that the ballroom was his destination. And if he didn’t come, she would not seek him out. She’d spent most of her life trying to save her brother, Lorenzo, from himself. She refused to spend the rest of it on another lost cause, no matter how much she owed him.
    But she could thank God he was alive. She’d allow herself that.
    She waited. Around her, the humans’ laughter and voices seemed too loud. The musicians finally switched to an arrangement with a quick tempo, but every draw of their bows sawed across her senses.
    She glanced at the wide marble staircase. He wasn’t there. Disappointment weighted her chest. Accustomed to the feeling, she ignored it.
    Returning