Demon Blood

a moment, she realized he was no longer searching the crowd. She looked to see who he’d focused on.
    Theriault.
    She should have guessed. A man like Deacon would not rest until he’d avenged his people. The two demons who destroyed his community were dead, but not all of Belial’s demons were. One by one, he would hunt them down and slay them.
    For a vampire, it was an impossible task. Perhaps he might slay two, or ten, or fifty. Eventually, though, one of the demons would kill him first.
    Deacon had to know that. And so he was not only seeking revenge. He still sought death. It just wouldn’t be in the face of the sun. He’d go out fighting, instead of broken.
    Good for you, preacher. Rosalia mentally lifted her glass to him as she took a sip of champagne. She understood the need to avenge her people, no matter how impossible the odds. So she still wouldn’t try to save Deacon from himself—she wouldn’t —but she could help him a little.
    And make sure he didn’t get in her way.
    “Mia piccola bambina?”
    “Yes, Mother?”
    She heard the laugh in Gemma’s response, as she did every time she referred to the young woman as her tiny little girl. In her bare feet, the lanky blonde stood at eye level with Rosalia in heels, and Rosalia’s current fashion-model height was only slightly taller than her natural one.
    “I want to know where he’s staying, his financial situation. Where he’s been in the past six months and who he’s been with.” Rosalia hadn’t looked before, afraid that she wouldn’t find anything. “He came alone, but does he have a new partner? Who is he feeding from?”
    He must have been feeding. After two or three days without blood, a vampire began showing it—pale, tired, and thin. None of those described Deacon. Neither did careless or stupid, so he’d likely already fed that night. His psychic blocks were good, but he wouldn’t risk the demons sensing his bloodlust by coming in hungry.
    So he’d either found a new vampire partner or was using different human women each night. He’d been forced to do that before, while his consorts had been held hostage. Offer the women so much to drink that they won’t remember. Heal the bite, so that even if they do remember, they won’t have evidence. Rosalia thought he must hate that. To her knowledge, he hadn’t been to bed with anyone he didn’t want since Camille had transformed him. Soon after he and Camille parted ways and he’d taken over the community in Prague, Eva and Petra became his lovers and companions. But the bloodlust wouldn’t give him the same choice if he fed from strangers. If the woman was interested, he wouldn’t be able to stop his response. He’d have sex with her.
    The bloodlust wouldn’t always rise and overwhelm his free will, and not every woman he fed from would desire him. So it wouldn’t always happen—but it would happen often enough that he must feel as if the bloodlust controlled him.
    Her gaze fell to his uneven collar again. Maybe that was where he’d lost his tie. Some woman’s bedroom. The restroom in a Parisian bar. An alley.
    Her fingers flexed. She needed to fix that collar.
    Gemma broke in, her voice holding a hint of apology. “It will take me longer to send that information to you than it used to, Mother.”
    Oh, God. Rosalia’s throat closed. Grief hit her so hard that only practice and discipline kept it from showing. Once, a team of vampires would have been in the van with Gemma. More would have been at a converted abbey in Rome, which they’d all shared and called home. She’d trained all of them, had raised most of them, and had known some for more than a century.
    Not just a team. Her family. And they were all gone. Slaughtered by the nephilim, a race of demons that Rosalia hadn’t known existed until six months ago. While she’d been trapped in the catacombs beneath a church, with a spike through her head, the nephilim had killed her friends and family. They’d slain every vampire in Rome, including Lorenzo, and she hadn’t been there to protect them. But Gemma had. She’d been in the abbey when the nephilim had come, and because she was human, she’d been the only one to survive.
    Gemma still woke up screaming from the nightmares.
    “Oh, Gemma, I am so sorry. I was not thinking.” Because she could hardly bear to think about it. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll begin looking together.”
    “Vin’s coming up tomorrow. He’ll help.”
    “And have it all to me