Demon Blood

didn’t need to know that—she looked too vulnerable as it was. He shook his head.
    Her relief punched through him. So she didn’t want him peeking in, taking her blood? He wouldn’t. Not again. Never again.
    She swung her leg to the ground and stood up. “We should get started anyway.”
    Her wings formed, and he realized—“We’re flying there?”
    “Yes.”
    So she’d be holding him against her as she flew. By the time they arrived in Monaco, his scent would be all over her.
    “You didn’t need my shirt.” Or his kiss. “Why didn’t you say so?”
    Her smile appeared, wicked and sly and embarrassed, all at once. She seemed to struggle for a reply, and finally settled on, “ ‘I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.’ ”
    She quoted Scripture to explain why she’d come in for his kiss? “I see now why the Church kicked you out.”
    Her laugh rolled out, light and surprised. She nodded, as if agreeing, then laughed harder, the sound emerging from deep within her.
    God, she was beautiful. “Are my lips like lilies, then?”
    She wiped her eyes, looking him up and down, and he knew she must be choosing another verse. But when she spoke, he heard reverence in her voice, not amusement.
    “ ‘His legs are of pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars. His mouth is most sweet.’ ” Her gaze locked with his. A soft smile curved her lips. “ ‘Yea, he is altogether lovely.’ ”
    He’d heard conviction in her voice before, and he had no doubt that she believed what she’d spoken. But he’d looked in a mirror. His mug didn’t qualify for ugly, but he wasn’t a prize, either. It only followed that when she looked at him, she saw someone else.
    And for now, that didn’t matter at all.

CHAPTER 12
    The best part of having a vampire computer-genius friend with legal access to many countries’ police databases, and illegal access to dozens of others, was that tracking down convictions and dates of death was a damn sight easier. In a conference room at Special Investigations, armed with a computer and the list of names, Taylor began searching for the nephil who’d raped and murdered the London couple.
    All of the nephilim had possessed humans who’d been bound for Hell. No one knew exactly how the judgments were made or exactly why a soul went Above or Below, but Taylor preferred to believe that it wasn’t for the petty stuff—and considering how much free will mattered, so that even demons had to follow the Rules, Taylor thought that was where the line was drawn. Getting down and dirty with seven naked friends? You still get a pass through the golden gates. Rape? Not so much.
    She’d met all of Anaria’s children, in their human forms. She remembered faces. And so far, she’d been able to match fifteen of them to convicted murderers, rapists, and one child predator.
    The rapists, she scrutinized closely, looking for the same MO as used in London. Facedown, hands behind the backs—and the victim could be male or female. Nothing had popped, yet.
    Maybe it wouldn’t. There was a good chance he’d never been caught, or he’d be in a database her friend hadn’t accessed. Or she’d miss him because the database didn’t have a picture, or the conviction was too old. Or he’d been convicted of something else. Taylor knew the chances of nailing him down this way were slim.
    But this kind of work was familiar, and Michael was quiet, so she kept on.
    As another name matched yet another face, she began hoping that Anaria was right about her children—that they were in control—because otherwise the woman had her own personal village of the damned living under her roof.
    And Taylor’s mind kept heading back to those body resonances. To possess the body, the nephil had to alter his own resonance until it matched the human’s psyche; if it didn’t match, the body rejected him. And the nephil possessed all of the human’s memories, used the same brain that the human had. So maybe the nephil was in control—but Taylor wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the nephil had undergone a hell of a personality change.
    She was almost through the list when Michael seemed to bristle, and a moment later, Taylor realized that someone was in the room with her. She swiveled the chair.
    With black hair in narrow braids, a face sharper and harder than Anaria’s, and wearing giant wading boots over