Demon Blood

being careful as he took every step.
    Was he still hurting?
    Vin brushed past her, carrying an armful of white cloth. St. Croix stopped him, took the first sheet, took care of his friends.
    Rosalia turned toward the stairs. Deacon had almost reached the bottom, and her heart clenched when she saw the way he was moving.
    She’d seen it before—more than ninety years ago, when he’d lost himself in a bottle almost every night. She recognized the precision of every step, as if the world was spinning around him, but he’d be damned before he let anyone know it.
    But he’d healed well. She’d expected to still see marks on his throat, like a newly formed scar where the blade had sliced his jugular, but not even a hint of pink was left.
    Perhaps he hadn’t taken as much blood as he’d lost. That might account for some disorientation. Was it just physical, or was it mental as well?
    Though the upstairs door had been open and he must have heard every question and response, she told him, “Mr. St. Croix picked up the demon in London.”
    “That’s too bad for the vampires who came with him.” To her relief, his reply was clear, his eyes sharp. His gaze ran over her, searching out her injuries—almost healed now. The tightness around his mouth eased. “Where’d he pick the vampires up?”
    St. Croix straightened up from beside the covered bodies. “Also in London, three years ago. They are my associates.”
    “Your associates.” Deacon took in the cell, the overturned gurney, the splatters of blood. “In what kind of business?”
    “Finding someone.”
    “A demon?”
    Though he stiffened, St. Croix said, “Yes.”
    But not the nephil, Rosalia thought. So what had St. Croix hoped to gain by bringing him here? “Did you think this demon might help you find the one you’re looking for?”
    “Yes.” His pale eyes narrowed. “How did you happen upon us tonight?”
    “We’re looking for a demon, too,” she said. “But we didn’t join Legion to do it.”
    He hadn’t expected her to know his connection to Legion, and in his moment of surprise, she felt his hatred, his determination. This man had no love for demons, she thought. Now he knew that she felt the same—but he didn’t know if a mutual enemy meant they shared the same goals. He studied her for a long, calculating moment.
    She truly disliked that look. “You’re wondering how to use me to get what you need,” she said. “So I’ll make this easy: If what you need means that a demon dies, I’ll offer the help.”
    “A demon will definitely die.”
    Dark pleasure suffused his chiseled features. At that moment, St. Croix looked very much like the creature he wanted to kill. Rosalia tamped down her revulsion.
    “Then we can share information. With your associates gone, you’ll need new ones—the difference being that our information is accurate.” The offer sounded cold, even to herself. Gerald and Sally still lay in pieces on the ground. Not being able to vanish their bodies and to take care of them hurt.
    St. Croix only took a moment to decide. “That is acceptable.”
    “Good.” Rosalia glanced down at the covered bodies. “Will you make the proper arrangements for them, or shall we?”
    “I’ll see it done.”
    Rosalia nodded. “I’ll meet with you tomorrow, then.” She gave him the name of Father Wojcinski’s church. “I will look for you there at eleven in the morning, and we will talk, Mr. St. Croix.”

    Deacon hadn’t expected her to say farewell to St. Croix so quickly. Although the man didn’t know what she was, he’d seen what she could do. Rosalia was so damn set on keeping anyone from knowing about her, yet she hadn’t even extracted a promise of silence from St. Croix—or frightened him into keeping his mouth shut.
    So Deacon would.
    His expression must have tipped her off, though. After telling St. Croix that they’d talk, she’d barely finished turning around before pressing her hand against Deacon’s chest, as if holding him back. She looked up at him with warm eyes and an expression that asked him to trust her.
    All right. He could do that. But it didn’t hurt to smile and give the smug bastard a good look at his fangs before following her up the stairs.
    She had the curviest ass he’d ever set eyes on. He wanted to fill his hands with each sweet cheek and take a good bite. He had to settle for just walking up the stairs without tripping.
    The first few minutes on the nephil’s blood had felt