Demon Forged

of his free will. Instead, I see a man who was broken and used by at least two demons.”
    Yes. They’d discovered that, as well. The origin and time of the messages hadn’t matched Rael’s movements. Another demon—probably one of Rael’s subordinates—had been pulling Deacon’s strings.
    But Deacon could have cut those strings. “He made a decision when he contacted SI. He made one with every message he sent—”
    “And attempted, in one, to refuse their orders. He did not stop fighting.”
    “But he gave in. He decided to do as they asked. He could have decided to come to me.” Her throat was tightening. Her insides felt as if they’d been flayed. “He could have told us. We’d never have refused to help him. He knew I would fight for him, yet he decided against it, every time.”
    “Perhaps he did not believe that we could.”
    Her heart twisted. “That is our purpose. He knows that’s what Guardians are for.”
    “But we don’t always win. He would know that, too.”
    He sighed when she didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to tell him that she remained silent not because her answer was obvious, but because she had no answers.
    “I do believe punishment is appropriate, Irena. But I do not think that death is.”
    What sort of punishment could possibly be appropriate—what was even an option? “Shall we beat him again? Shall we lock him away with only pig blood? Guardians have never been jailers.”
    “Perhaps we should start.” He paused. “Are you slaying Deacon to punish him, or to punish yourself for bringing him to SI?”
    She couldn’t answer that, either. “You see too many sides, Olek.”
    “That doesn’t sound like the insult is used to be.”
    “Because it is not.”
    He pulled her closer. She turned, wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his heart. His wings folded forward, the white feathers coming around her in a warm, weightless embrace. How had she ever thought she didn’t want comfort from him? This was comfort, and more. And she’d had no idea how much she’d needed it. Especially now.
    Her voice was thick, the words a physical ache. “When will the gathering for Dru be?”
    “Selah and Jake are sending word to the others. It will be in two or three days.”
    Her eyes burned, and she pressed her face harder into his chest, as if the pressure could hold back the tears. “She fought me. Every step of the way, she fought me.”
    Olek held her, his hands running up and down her back. Irena gulped in air. The pain threatened to rip her apart. And she felt it. By the gods, how she felt it. She turned again. His wings parted. Cool air swept her face.
    “You can never prepare for this,” she whispered, and her chest would not stop shuddering. “The hand, the leg. You can be ready when you lose them. Not this.”
    “As it should be,” he said softly.
    Her breath hitched. And when Olek said, “I am at your back,” she let go and screamed. She doubled over and he held her as she screamed and screamed. Her grief echoed through the city’s metal canyons, sent startled birds winging into the heavens.
    But it could never be loud enough.

CHAPTER 19
    When Deacon awoke in his own bed, he knew he was dead.
    A demon wouldn’t care about his comfort—and if everything had gone right, Eva and Petra would be here with him. But, no. This wasn’t Heaven or Hell or a dream, but a demon’s way of twisting the blade in his gut before chopping off his head. Of making him hope before ripping hope away.
    But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need hope. He just needed to follow this through, so that tomorrow, Eva and Petra would be waking up in this bed.
    Even if he wasn’t here with them.
    He could hear Stafford and Caym talking in the living room or the library—he didn’t recognize the language they used. Someone else was out there with them, but not saying much. A human. His psychic shields were soft; Deacon slid inside them easily. He sensed anticipation and fear, and a coldness similar to what he’d felt from the congressman’s butler—but with a fragile edge, like ice that had been chipped into thin slivers.
    Probably not someone who was here to help him.
    Deacon sat up. Whoever had tucked him in had also stripped him down to his trousers, but they hadn’t taken his weapons. His swords and the gun that prince Alejandro had given him lay atop his bureau, clearly stating just how much an armed vampire concerned the demons: not at all. Just another