Demon Blood

“Yes.”
    “Come here, then.”
    Here, in this courtyard, she was a Guardian, not a human. She’d say no if she didn’t want to.
    And if she wanted him—even just as a replacement—Deacon wouldn’t object to being used. Not when he knew this was the only way he would have her.
    He was a bastard again, after all.
    “Come here and kiss me, Rosie. You need my scent on you. You’ll get it.”
    Her lips parted. She seemed about to say something, then stopped herself. Leaning forward, she lifted her knees onto the bench and stalked toward him like a cat. She paused in front of him, rising up on her knees between his legs.
    Her hair slipped over her shoulder, curling against her breast. Peaches perfumed her breath. For a moment, she looked down at him—maybe through him. Then she lowered her head, and her mouth settled gently on his. The tentative movement of her lips whispered through him, so sweet. He remembered her awkward kiss, his callous response.
    You’ve got other parts I like better.
    No. A thousand perfect tits couldn’t equal one touch of her lips.
    His hand closed around her nape, and he brought her in for a deeper kiss. A vampire couldn’t taste, but he could smell her luscious scent. Feel the heat of her mouth.
    She moaned softly in her throat when his tongue pushed against hers. She licked his fangs, and the heat of her tongue speared straight to his cock. He strained toward her. Her fingers searched his jaw, his hair, then down over his shoulders. Touching all of him. Her breasts brushed his chest, then pressed harder against his pecs as if she loved the feeling. As if she wanted to surround him, devour him.
    He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Come over me, Rosie. Like this.”
    Lifting her, he brought her knees forward until her thighs spread wide over his. When she settled back down, her warm center tucked hard against his stomach. Her breath caught, her eyes closed, and then she rocked into him, as if testing the sensation.
    His hands found her hips, urged her to rock against him again. Her heart pounded, her breath came fast. She was all heat and softness. And need—as if she couldn’t get enough of him. When was the last time he’d felt that? Had he ever felt that?
    Not like this. She claimed his mouth in a wild, desperate kiss. Sensing the scrape and tear of skin against his fang, he pulled back . . . and stared.
    Her eyes glowed. No longer brown but yellow, as if a sun burned within. Her skin had flushed, her hands fisted in his hair. She hadn’t noticed the cut, the blood that beaded on her lip.
    Temptation gripped him. He’d just fed, his hunger and bloodlust sated. He wouldn’t lose control with a taste, and he only wanted to know . . . wanted to know more. Her mental shields couldn’t hold when he was in her blood. She closed her eyes as he brought her down. A niggle of guilt made him hesitate, but pausing only fueled his need. Gently, he drew her bottom lip between his.
    Just a drop, but her blood was strong, stronger than he’d imagined, crashing into his veins like the crest of an orgasm. His mind hurtled into hers. Longing poured through him, fierce and sweet, and the hectic thread of her thoughts.
    . . . shouldn’t have waited so long wish I could hold on forever . . .
    Her lip healed, breaking the connection. Deacon struggled up from the deep psychic well, aware that something had gone wrong. His bloodlust lurked just below the surface, on the verge of taking him over. Rosalia had stiffened against him; he gripped her hips painfully tight, grinding her sex against his raging erection.
    Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stop. Shock held him quiet, staring up at Rosalia. The bloodlust had never hit him like that before. Not from one drop, taken after he’d already drunk his fill. But he shouldn’t have risked it, risked her .
    Her eyes weren’t glowing anymore. She licked her lip, and fear fluttered over her expression. Her voice seemed thick.
    “You tasted my blood.”
    A flash of memory brought him the image of Rosalia, with dried blood crusting her skin. Her shattered skull. The nosferatu, feeding from her. “Christ, I’m a thoughtless bastard. You were in the catacombs for more than a fucking year, and here I am—”
    “I don’t remember anything that happened to me there.” She cut him off, her gaze searching his face as if worried that she’d find . . . what? “Did you hear inside me?”
    Just her regret and her need for the other guy. But she