Demon Forged

square, two modern apartment buildings flanked a narrow church. Scaffolding climbed its ornate façade, the stone used for the repairs darker than the weathered original. Aluminum fencing separated the square from the broken plaster and limestone rubble piled just inside the chained and padlocked gate. Despite the Renaissance-era façade, the church was nearer to Irena’s age than Alejandro’s. Like many other churches in Rome, this one had been rebuilt on an ancient site.
    A plastic sign wired to the chain-link fence said the church would reopen to visitors by the next season. Alejandro’s gaze searched the upper levels of the building for light; he heard no movement from within.
    Irena cocked her head as she listened, then turned to him. A question joined the glitter of anticipation in her green eyes.
    Her Gift could slice through the metal locks. It’d give them away, but Irena wouldn’t want to take the nosferatu by surprise. No, she wanted it to run, so that they could hunt it down.
    Alejandro didn’t want to give it the opportunity to escape. He shook his head.
    “We climb,” he said for Deacon’s benefit. Flying or jumping over the gate would also reveal them to the nosferatu—and would risk them being seen by humans.
    Irena narrowed her eyes, but a smile curved her lips as she clambered over the fence. They traversed it more quickly than humans would—but lingering would risk exposure, too, and the authorities being notified. Although Alejandro had developed connections within the Roman police force when he’d led the Guardian team that had covered up the vampire massacre, they’d be smarter to avoid police involvement from the outset.
    Deacon produced a set of lock picks and made quick work of the front doors. Alejandro dipped his fingers into the stoup of holy water as he entered.
    Irena’s mouth flattened when he made the sign of the cross, and she followed Deacon down the nave’s bare aisle. Carpets had been rolled up and tucked beneath benches; paint-dotted plastic draped the altar and the pews. “You will give Deacon the wrong impression of Guardians by performing such an empty ritual.”
    His eyebrows drawn, Deacon glanced over his shoulder at Irena. “Don’t drag me into this.”
    Ah, it hadn’t taken much time for the vampire to catch on. Alejandro allowed himself a smile. At least his Latin invocation had not invited comment. The first time Irena had heard him recite a prayer, she’d laughed tears into her eyes. Then she’d taught him the language as she’d once known it, bringing life to a tongue that had grown stale over the centuries.
    Her laughter would have been a welcome interruption to many a boyhood mass.
    “It has meaning to me, and therefore it is not an empty ritual,” he countered, walking beside the altar rails surrounding the sanctuary. “When you hunt, Irena, you eat a piece of the animal’s heart— that is meaningless. It does not sustain you. You receive no strength from it.”
    “It is respect. I honor the life that was given.”
    “So do I. Self-sacrifice is the one thing all Guardians can appreciate.” Every Guardian had sacrificed his life to save another, earning him the right to transformation.
    Irena looked to the plastic-wrapped figure hanging behind the altar. Her brief smile kicked at his stomach. “As you like,” she said. “I’ll be grateful my sacrifice didn’t take that form—or yours—and leave it at that.”
    On the left side of the sanctuary, Deacon pushed aside a heavy curtain, revealing a hallway. He turned to frown at Alejandro. “I know Irena jumped over a cliff with a nosferatu. What happened to you?”
    She hadn’t just jumped over a cliff—she’d saved the tribe of slaves she’d led after escaping Rome. And he . . .
    “I was named a heretic and burned at the stake.” He could not suppress the irony in his tone.
    Alejandro’s mother had been a Moor and a convert. With the words whispered into the right ears, that had been enough to cast suspicion on him and his family.
    Alejandro had seen the inquiry coming, though he hadn’t known the man behind the whispers was a demon. He’d secreted his family away, but remained behind, believing—arrogantly, perhaps—that he would be acquitted. Despite the torture, he hadn’t confessed, and he hadn’t revealed his family’s location. If the demon hadn’t been so greedy, had just gone after Alejandro, he’d never have become a Guardian. But he’d saved them by refusing