Demon Blood

he loved it when she slapped back at him.
    But this time, she’d missed. There was a world of difference between Deacon blaming himself for what had happened to his community and Rosalia taking the blame for what had happened here. “You can’t win everything.”
    “I have to try, and to believe I can.”
    “You’ll set yourself up for a lot of failure if you take that view.”
    Her ferocity receded, leaving a bleak smile in its place and her eyes dark. “I know.”
    A faint noise came from one of the speakers—St. Croix, making a phone call from the bugged library. Rosalia turned away from Deacon, listening close.
    Deacon watched her profile, wondering about her last reply. She’d sounded as if she had a close acquaintance with failure, as if she’d fallen down too many times in her life.
    In all of that time, why hadn’t anyone been there to catch her?

CHAPTER 14
    A few minutes before dawn found Deacon in bed, listening to Rosalia working in the War Room. She’d been busy, but not with anything Deacon could help her with. Mostly trailing through financial information, searching for anything about St. Croix they might have missed.
    St. Croix had given her more to look at. Over the course of the night, he’d called in several favors. Someone to provide coffins, another to provide transport to the airport. Another to smooth his way through customs, so that no questions would be asked. He took care of the vampires, and each person he contacted was a link to his past. Now Rosalia was discovering how he’d intersected with these people, and why they owed him.
    And that was all she’d been doing. Though she hadn’t pushed Deacon out of her space, she’d shut down emotionally. He could still hear her, though—that strange new sound, a strong psychic sense. Pain sang a dirge just below her shields, and told him that her shutting down had been a defense.
    A defense against what, he had no fucking clue. He posed no danger to her. Christ, if anyone was in trouble, it was him. Every look, every smile, and those hooks she’d gotten into him sank deeper.
    Hell, she could probably see it. After years of watching people, she had the ability to read them like no one he’d ever met. No surprise, then, that she was so good at managing a potential enemy and arranging situations to her advantage.
    What he wouldn’t have given to have someone like her around six months ago, Guardian or not. Caym wouldn’t have known which way was up.
    Of course, maybe Deacon wouldn’t have, either. She might be able to read him, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of her—like why she was sitting in the next room, her psyche humming like her heart ached. He only knew that it tore at him.
    Christ. As soon as they were done with the demons and the nephilim, he needed to get the hell out of here.
    He closed his eyes, waiting for dawn, for that instant drop into sleep. The black would fall over him and the dreams would start. Maybe tonight, they’d be of Rosalia. Her silken skin. Her gorgeous lips and hot mouth.
    But if he didn’t stop thinking of it now, he’d end up forming a tent of her sheets before he fell asleep and stay hard throughout the day. Daylight had to be coming soon. A few minutes felt like it had stretched into a dozen—the nephil blood, still slowing his perception. Maybe it’d wear off as he slept.
    In the War Room, the quiet clacking of the keyboard fell silent. Rosalia’s sigh floated across the corridor, and was followed by her approaching footsteps as she entered the bedchamber. She paused, as if she stood near the bed, looking at him.
    Unbelievably, Deacon felt the mattress dip beneath her weight. His eyes popped open as her cheek came down on his chest. Her hair spread over his shoulder. She inhaled his skin. Her body pressed against his side, and she seemed to do a fluid roll as if snuggling in as close as possible.
    What the hell?
    She stiffened. Her head jerked up from his chest and she stared into his face. Shock rounded her eyes. “You’re awake!”
    Was he? Deacon wasn’t convinced he hadn’t slipped into daysleep and begun a vivid dream. “Am I?”
    “Yes! The sun is . . .” Her eyes darkened. That subtle shift was the only thing that saved him, the only thing that gave him time to catch her wrist before her bladed fan sliced through his neck.
    Jesus Christ. He’d reacted fast enough to catch her wrist . . . and was strong enough to hold it .
    Rosalia still had the advantage of