Demon Blood

file somewhere?”
    “No. She’s got it all up there.” Vin tapped his forehead. “You could find some info on the community leaders and a list of vampires within the communities, but everything else about them, she keeps as stories in her head.” He stopped to take another bite and swallow. “She tells them now and then. I grew up hearing about you and Camille moving groups of refugees out of Nazi-occupied territory. Her favorite is the night you razed through a battalion of Nazi soldiers.”
    “She was there?”
    “You didn’t see her, did you?” Vin seemed to enjoy that. “She set it all up and ran the whole thing with Camille and a few others.”
    He struggled to keep his surprise from showing. He hadn’t known that. So even though Rosalia must already be acquainted with Camille—had run operations with her before—she’d asked Deacon to help her now. That couldn’t just be about Yves. What the hell could he do that Camille couldn’t?
    “She set all of that up?” It hadn’t been enough; it could never have been enough—but everything they’d managed to accomplish had pulled through, beautifully.
    Just like every demon kill she’d set up so far.
    “Yes. Why do you think you were never discovered during the daytime?”
    He’d always thought they’d just been lucky. He’d still been in his early years as a vampire—not even twenty years with fangs, and had only just begun to resent how Camille managed him. But now he saw how every person involved had always been in the perfect position, each according to his skill set. How everyone had the information they needed. And how they’d always had a backup plan, so that every human who’d come with them had made it through.
    Realizing that Vin waited for an answer, he said, “Camille chose secure locations.”
    The other man nodded. “Camille is good. Mother is better.”
    Deacon was beginning to believe that.

    The sun was rising when Taylor disappeared again. Hoping she’d found a little solace, Rosalia left the pool and flew upstairs. In her chambers, Deacon lay on the bed, a sheet draped over his hips, his bare chest unmoving. Even in sleep, his muscles retained their definition. The ridged plane of his abdomen seemed to call her fingers to explore.
    She resisted the impulse, marveling instead that he was here. God, she couldn’t believe he’d returned, willing to help. For some reason, between Athens and Rome, he’d decided that destroying the nephilim and Belial’s demons mattered to him. Considering that he’d left Rosalia on the side of a road, that reason probably hadn’t anything to do with her . . . but she didn’t care. She didn’t know what had brought him back, but she thanked God with all of her heart that he’d come.
    She watched him for a few moments before shaking herself and crossing into the War Room, where Vincente was still at it—and looking exhausted.
    She switched on the microphone. “Go home and sleep.”
    Vin yawned and stretched. “The tracker’s on his vehicle.”
    “Good. Thank you.”
    “How’s Gemma?”
    She’s fine. Rosalia almost gave that automatic answer, then realized it wasn’t her place to protect him from this. “She had a bad moment. She’s sleeping now, but it was a rough night.”
    His haunted expression tore at her heart. “I don’t know what to do. How to help her. I wish to God I’d been here with her that night.”
    As much as Rosalia wished that he’d never left, it wouldn’t have changed anything. The nephilim would still have come. “Just hold her when she needs it.”
    “I intend to—Father Wojcinski be damned. So don’t be surprised when I show up at the abbey in about thirty minutes.”
    She’d only have been surprised if he hadn’t come. “All right.”
    “Good night, Mama.” He flipped off the monitor.
    Rosalia smiled to herself and moved back into the bedroom. Resisting the temptation to spend a few minutes on the bed, simply soaking in Deacon’s presence, she crossed the room and vanished her clothes. Painfully aware that this marked the first time she’d been naked in the same room with a man—even a sleeping one—she showered to rinse off the scent of chlorine. As she dressed, her gaze fell on Deacon again. She could look upon him forever and never tire of the view.
    She couldn’t help herself. Climbing onto the bed, she curled around him and drew in his scent. She wouldn’t sleep. But every day, she took a few quiet minutes to think, to