Demon Blood

of those reasons, and held up his glass.
    “This is one.”
    She accepted that easily enough. “Yes. I imagine that without a partner—partners—it’s better than the alternative.”
    She had that right: Drinking demon’s blood from a glass was much better than fucking a stranger almost every night. And he didn’t want to think about how finding a new partner would become necessary once the demons and nephilim were gone.
    He remembered the stories in her head, wondered if she had two for Eva and Petra. “You knew them?”
    “I knew of them better than I knew them. I only spoke with them a few times—the latest at Eva’s gallery showing in ’ninety-five.”
    She’d been there? He thought back, trying to remember faces. She hadn’t used this one, he was certain. But he recalled the painting in her room . . . and standing in front of the same canvas during the showing. A woman—a human woman, he’d thought—her dark hair streaked with gray and her face gently lined, had come to stand beside him. She’d told him that painting was her favorite, that Eva was both talented and lovely.
    Shit. Only fourteen years ago, she’d been close enough to touch—and he hadn’t recognized her for the Guardian she was.
    “You said I was lucky to have her.”
    Her brows shot up, as if surprised that he remembered. Hell, so was he.
    “You were,” she said. Her lashes swept down, but not before he saw the shadows in her eyes. He just didn’t know why they were there. “I liked them. And I liked knowing that Prague’s leader had such strong personalities behind him. That he had partners loyal to him.”
    “They gave me hell.”
    “Because they could. Two women in love with each other at a time when vampire communities weren’t open? They went through hell. And women who’ve been through hell don’t play with a man’s ego unless they know he won’t strike back at them. They don’t tease him. But they trusted you. And they chose to be with you.” Her smile widened almost to the edge of a laugh. “Them giving you hell probably did you good.”
    Yeah, it had. But he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat hurt too damn much.
    He finished off the glass. His hunger receded, and discomfort took its place. He’d chosen blood as his reason because it would reveal the least, yet she’d managed to peel off part of him, anyway. And he wanted to expose her in return.
    “Your son said you overcompensate.”
    Her brows arched. “He did?”
    “Yes. If something goes wrong, you go overboard fixing it.”
    She pursed her lips. “Maybe so.”
    “How do I fit into that?”
    Her brows lifted again.
    “Sister, it’s easy to see what you’ve been doing here. You want to kill demons? You’re smart enough you could have made it seem like a vampire was doing it without anyone being the wiser. Hell, you could go in looking like me, and no one probably would have noticed anything different. But instead, you’re helping me out. Letting me kill them. What I can’t figure is why . What failure of yours is so bad that you’re overcompensating with me?”
    “You’re wrong. It does have to be you.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Laughing a little, she shook her head. “You don’t even recognize . . .” She trailed off, her expression becoming serious as she studied him. “All right. You’re correct—I am trying to make up for something.”
    “Then spill it.”
    She did, but only after a moment, as if she chose her words carefully. “There was a man once. For no reason at all, he helped me . . . and when I’ve been helped, I feel as though I owe someone.”
    Her wry smile invited him in. But his gut had tightened up. A man. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know more. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. “Go on.”
    Her eyes softened. “So I kept returning to him, looking for some way to help him out, to return the favor. And I . . . got to know him.”
    “Started talking to him?”
    “No!” The denial came out on a burst of laughter, and fire swept over her cheeks. “No. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t have done that.”
    So she’d just stalked him. Didn’t see her, did you?
    “You got hot for him.” Jealousy brought out the bastard. “I get it.”
    The look she gave him said he didn’t get it. “It wasn’t like that. I couldn’t be with anyone. Especially not a human. Lorenzo would have killed him, just to hurt me. And I . . . I thought he must be too good to be true. That eventually he’d be a