Demon Blood

vampires came through, she could deal with them.
    Deacon tossed St. Croix into the chair by the desk. “You’ve got three words to explain why there’s a human tied up downstairs, and why I shouldn’t rip your throat out for it.”
    St. Croix rubbed at his neck, where the marks from Deacon’s fingers were still vivid. His psychic scent radiated anger, but not a bit of it showed on his face. A cold bastard. “He’s not human.”
    “Try again.”
    “He killed vampires in London.”
    “He killed vampires, but he can’t break out of restraints?”
    “Apparently not. We’ve chained him, put him behind those thick bars. That’ll keep even one of them.” A London accent clipped St. Croix’s words. Not a lofty one, despite the self-satisfaction that bled through the anger. “And once he’s in a cage, we won’t have to keep pumping him full of the damned vampire blood.”
    Deacon’s veins ran cold. He glanced back at Rosalia, at her wide eyes and suddenly pale face. She’d come to the same conclusion: St. Croix hadn’t caught a human. He had one of the nephilim.
    Vampire blood weakened the creatures, made it revert to the human form it possessed. Though that form wasn’t as weak as a human, a vampire could defeat a nephil before it shape-shifted. But once it shifted into its demonic form, even a Guardian wasn’t as strong.
    Icy sweat broke out over his skin. Jesus Christ, anyone in this house who wasn’t human was in serious trouble. “Are you still pumping the blood into him?”
    If yes, they had a chance. Rosalia could get down there and kill the nephil before it shifted.
    St. Croix shook his head. “Now that he’s in chains, they took the IV line out—”
    Rosalia flung open the door. To save the vampires, Deacon guessed.
    Too late. Before she could take another step, a scream ripped up the stairs and was cut short by the wet sound of tearing flesh.
    Her swords at the ready, Rosalia backed away from the open door. She glanced over her shoulder at Deacon, then lifted her sword to point at the front of the house.
    Her message was clear: Get the hell out of here.
    Not a chance. Deacon knew she was staying on the thin possibility that the second vampire was still alive downstairs, and to slow the nephil down if it came up and went after him. Nephilim had a hard-on for killing vampires, but they’d also slay a Guardian to get to one. He wouldn’t let her stand in the way to save him. They were going to beat this fucker.
    Her eyes turned pleading. She tilted her head toward Vin, standing at the edge of the open door, then pointed at the entrance again.
    Not asking Deacon to save her son. A nephilim couldn’t hurt a human. She was begging him to take Vin outside so that her son wouldn’t see her die.
    Goddammit. No one was dying here. He started for her, drawing his swords.
    Before he could take two steps, the nephil filled the doorway. Huge, with red skin and feathered black wings that arched behind the height of the door frame, he held two swords, the blades already bloodied. His eyes glowed crimson.
    Deacon saw Rosalia’s muscles tighten in preparation. An instant later, she was nothing but a dark blur of movement, so fast he couldn’t track her. They fought in a whirlwind of crimson and black at the head of the stairs. He heard the clash of metal. A broken sword flew across the room—Rosalia’s. Then everything seemed to slow as she skidded backward.
    She’d slipped on her blood.
    Her stomach lay open.
    Deacon had barely been able to run two more steps in that time. She’d be dead before he could cross half the room.
    Eight steps away.
    She called in another sword. The nephil laughed— laughed , the fucking bastard, as if her determination amused him.
    Good. The more the nephil dicked around, the more time he gave Deacon.
    And enough time for Vin to register what was happening. Then her son was moving, too. Already standing next to the door, he only needed to take one step. One human step.
    An eternity.
    But Deacon was just six steps away.
    The nephil played with Rosalia again. Their blades rang in a furious cacophony of steel. Blood spattered the walls—all hers. She lost another sword. The nephil caught her arm, wrenched it backward. Deacon heard her bones snap.
    Just two more fucking steps .
    The nephil saw Deacon was almost on him and slapped her away. Rosalia crashed into wall, her crossbow splintering. The nephilim turn to Deacon and grinned, exposing long fangs.
    Deacon braced