Demon Blood

position and leverage. Shaking with effort, she shoved the tips of the blades into his skin.
    “Demon! Where is he? Where’s Deacon?”
    Fear and anger screamed through her psychic scent. She thought someone had killed him, took his place.
    “Rosie . . . feel.” Her skin was hot against his. His must be cool against hers. Whatever else had changed, he was still the same temperature. “Feel.”
    Her hand trembled. “The sun is up. How are you up?”
    Realization hit hard. “The nephil’s blood.”
    And afterward, everything around him had seemed slow, but that wasn’t right. He was faster. His senses were stronger—and his body, too.
    Deacon prayed it wouldn’t wear off.
    Her eyes rounded again. Beyond her amazement, however, Deacon recognized one clear thing: She’d come to hold him while he was sleeping. Using him as a substitute for the other guy, most likely. He didn’t give a fuck. If she’d come, she probably wanted someone to grab onto.
    That guy wasn’t here. Deacon was.
    And God knew he wanted her, too.

    Rosalia could not wind back her astonishment. The sky outside had been light when she’d come in here. Yet he was awake.
    The realization in Deacon’s expression shifted into something heated and intense. “You’re in my bed,” he said.
    And he was awake . Incredible. So far as she knew, only one other vampire could resist the daysleep—and that vampire could also survive the sunlight. Could Deacon? They’d have to be careful, but they had to try.
    She vanished her fan and tugged on his hand, half rising. “Let’s see if you can go out—”
    His hand closed over hers, pulled her back down. She recalled how he’d caught her before. Not just awake. Strong. Fast.
    “You came to my bed. Wrapped yourself around me.”
    Oh. Now she felt a hint of color in her cheeks. “Yes. But Deacon, you’re awake .”
    How could that not overwhelm any other concern right now? But he wouldn’t be put off.
    “Have you come before?”
    “Yes,” she said, and tugged again, but he wouldn’t let her move.
    So he wanted to deal with this first. All right. He did deserve to know. She settled against him again, and with her astonishment fading, became aware of his body beneath hers, the cool hardness of muscle. She looked into his green eyes, focused intently on her face. Waiting for her explanation.
    She moistened her lips. How to say this? His body beneath hers was the explanation.
    “I do it to think,” she said.
    His eyes narrowed. “To think?”
    “Yes. To remind myself why I’m risking so much. It’s easier when I can . . . hold on to someone.”
    He looked doubtful, but it wasn’t a lie. Although she didn’t just want someone . It had to be Deacon, who risked the most with everything she did. Who she had to send into battle over and over. Who she’d almost lost that very night, in a battle she hadn’t foreseen.
    And who she could have lost again, because he’d turned down the offer of her blood and risked the nephil’s, instead. She’d spent the rest of the night trying to suppress the ache of that rejection—and now, faced with the amazing fact of Deacon awake in her bed, that pain seemed far away.
    “You want to smell someone, too?”
    Her cheeks caught fire. So he hadn’t missed that. “I wanted . . .”
    To imagine this. That he wouldn’t be sleeping. That he’d take her into his arms. That her mouth would find his. That he could know her—know everything she’d felt for him.
    “What did you want?”
    Her heart seemed to shrink in on itself. When she told him, he could reject her again. But she could show him instead, and take a little first—just a little bit of what she’d wanted.
    “Damn you,” she whispered, and lurched forward.
    Though Deacon was fast enough to stop her, he didn’t. His mouth opened beneath hers. Her stomach performed a long, slow dive and she stroked her tongue against his.
    He kissed her back as if he’d been waiting for the touch of her lips. As if he was relieved. And so careful with his fangs, though with every lick and taste, she felt her control slipping.
    Need rushed over her, like a whirlwind catching her wings, spinning her about. Her fingers framed his face and ran down to clench on his wide shoulders. She couldn’t taste him enough, touch him enough. Her heart pounded. Fear crashed into her. She didn’t know how to manage this.
    She pulled back.
    Deacon caught her waist, rolled her beneath him. The linen sheet wrapped her left