Demon Forged

slow child. “I have told Michael that she ”—Taylor felt a poke on her shoulder—“will never love him .”
    “Love Michael ?” Could Khavi be serious? “As in, love love? Why would you tell him that? Why would it even cross your mind?”
    It sure as hell had never crossed hers. For god’s sake, she hadn’t even gotten beyond thinking about rolling around on a bed with him—and when she did she pushed the image away as quickly as possible. He was the Doyen. It felt wrong, somehow, to think of rolling around on a bed with him, no matter how freaking gorgeous he was. Sure, he gave her a shiver now and then—but he wasn’t exactly human.
    And he wasn’t in her league, anyway. When it came to romance, Taylor preferred reality.
    Still, her stomach did a crazy little flip when Khavi said, “Because I saw that he will love you. But you will not love him, even though you will know him better than anyone—perhaps it is because you will know him. I do not know why you do not, only that you never return his feelings. So I told him, that he might guard his heart. And a door has shut. He will not love you now.”
    Taylor’s throat tightened. Jesus, how fucking stupid was it that she felt as if she’d lost something that she never wanted or even thought about having? Something that, according to Khavi, she never would want.
    Michael would have loved her?
    But now he wouldn’t.
    “Do not feel sad,” Khavi said, patting her shoulder. “You will no longer take his heart, but he will still take you to his bed. Many times.”
    “Wha—?” The word came up at the same time her breath went down the wrong way. She coughed and tried to convince herself that she hadn’t heard that.
    Joe made a choking noise. “Jesus, lady! That’s just too far!” he exploded. “Where do you get off?”
    Khavi frowned and looked out the window. “Here, I suppose. Continue on, detective. I will watch you.”
    She vanished.
    Taylor couldn’t stop coughing. Fuck vampires—the goddamn cigarettes and crazy Guardians were going to end up killing her. Joe offered her a bottled water. She took it, drank.
    To his bed. Many times.
    She’d bet he had a great big bed, covered in white linen. Not too soft, but the kind that was firm—so that when he got going, she wouldn’t sink into the mattress beneath his heavy weight but feel the full force of every deep . . .
    Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Lifting the bottle again, she gulped more water. She was not going there.
    But the image got into her head.
    It didn’t go away.

    Irena woke up on the sofa in her forge. She sat up. Her heart filled.
    Alejandro watched her from the bath, his eyes dark. She must have been unconscious for some time; his hair and eyebrows had already grown in, the beautiful structure of his face had reformed, and his flesh had healed. His fingers no longer resembled flippers. And though his skin was still shiny and pink, at least he had skin again.
    She walked to him. Ice floated in the bathwater. She realized the shine of his skin came from some kind of gel, not the burn. Or not all from the burn.
    She kneeled beside the tub. “You frightened me.”
    “If we are to compare levels of terror, I warn you now that you will not win. Nothing you have will trump watching you fight that dragon.” He studied her for a long moment. “If you fear that a kiss will hurt me, please choose this time to remember that I enjoy the pain.”
    She’d never needed anything as much as she needed that kiss. With a shuddering laugh, she surged forward. She held her hands back, gripping the edge of the tub, but her mouth found his and explored, reclaimed. Olek, my Olek. He lifted his arms from the water, thrust his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. Icy water dripped down her nape.
    A sigh came from behind her.
    As Irena looked around, she contained her snarl—barely.
    Michael stood in his linen tunic and pants, holding her spear and her kukri knife. The blades flamed with magical fire before he extinguished them. “You will want these.”
    She did want them. Everything in her leapt toward them, but she remained kneeling beside Alejandro. “Will they not be most useful in your hands?”
    He shook his head. “No. They will be more useful in yours— and if you should ever face another dragon, it will not be so difficult to defeat.”
    Yes. His sword could slice through stone like it was water. The dragon’s scales would part beneath these blades, too.
    She rose to her feet. “Will