Demon Forged

you show me how to make them burn?”
    “I cannot. Unless you wish to drink the dragon blood first.” A smile played around his mouth when she shook her head. “I thought not.”
    He passed them to her. Irena’s fingers wrapped around the weapons; they looked no different than before, but she felt the heat within. She vanished them, and felt their presence in her cache like a gentle burn against her tongue.
    When she returned to Olek’s side, he sat up, as if he intended to stand. She placed her hand on his shoulder and held him there.
    His gaze warred with hers. Finally, he relented and sat back into the water. “What of Anaria? When do we plan to return to Chaos?”
    “Anaria has already left the realm.”
    Irena wondered if she only imagined that resigned tone in Michael’s voice. But if so, she wasn’t alone. Olek’s face tightened.
    “What has she done?” he asked.
    “She killed a small dragon. Its blood, its heart—they are hers. I have closed the portal beneath the sea . . . but it does not matter so much now.”
    Irena’s blood ran as cold as the bathwater. “What does that mean?”
    “It means she used the dragon’s blood to weave a spell that weakens the barrier between Chaos and Hell. She will return to Chaos and smash through it, and take her nephilim army into Hell—or Lucifer will see its weakness and break through to Chaos . . . and then to Earth, bringing with him more dragons.”
    Olek’s hand gripped hers. “So either Anaria will take the throne, and the nephilim will gain the power to enslave human will—or Hell will soon find its way to Earth, with Chaos behind it.”
    “Yes.”
    Irena tasted the heat of her blade and spear. “How do we stop it?”
    “Khavi has seen a way. Dragon blood can weaken the barrier—but it can also make the barrier as unbreakable as the will of the person who casts the spell.”
    Relief lightened Olek’s grip. “You have dragon blood now.”
    “Yes.” Michael’s psychic scent darkened. Irena’s hand began to shake in Olek’s. “And I was born of it, when my father drank the blood so that I could be conceived.”
    And so was Khavi. Together, could they stop Anaria? “Is she preparing the spell?”
    “We cannot prepare. It can only be done when it is to be done.”
    Irena’s hands did not stop shaking. His every word had increased her dread.
    Olek said, “Where is Khavi now?”
    “With Detective Taylor.” Michael paused. He bowed his head before looking up at them again. His eyes were obsidian. “You have done well, the both of you. And I—”
    His head snapped back as if he’d been struck. “Irena,” he said without emotion. “I need use of your knife.”
    She called in the kukri knife and threw it to him.
    He caught the blade and vanished.

    Taylor knew it would go bad the second Wren opened the door. Lukacs—a vampire now—stood in the foyer behind her.
    With her hand behind her back, Taylor signaled to Joe. He stepped casually to the side of the door, out of Lukacs’s sight, and drew his gun.
    Taylor hadn’t seen Khavi since the car. Was she watching? Was she seeing this?
    Why wasn’t she down here kicking Lukacs’s ass yet?
    “Good evening, detective,” Wren said, then mouthed, Go.
    “Good evening, Miss Wren. I apologize for the lateness of our visit and for failing to notify you that we were coming, but an issue with the security arrangements for tomorrow’s ceremony has arisen. If you can accompany us to the funeral home, I believe we can quickly sort it out and return you to your duties.”
    Sheer relief filled Wren’s usually expressionless eyes. “Of course, detective.” She stepped out of the house, onto the porch.
    Taylor didn’t see Lukacs move. One second, Joe stood beside the door. The next, Lukacs had ahold of his jacket and was dragging him past the foyer.
    Joe fired up at the vampire, hit his gut. The vampire snatched the gun away, and hauled her partner up. His fangs gleamed.
    Taylor burst through the door, gun in hand. She aimed for the forehead, fired.
    The vampire reeled back, dropping her partner. A bullet in the head sometimes stopped a vampire. Not always. This was one of the ‘not always’ times—but he’d released Joe, and that was what mattered.
    Taylor sprinted for him. Behind her, Wren fired into Lukacs’s chest. Should have told her to go for the head. Lukacs didn’t have the same problem. The vampire lifted his gun, aiming for Joe’s face.
    Not a chance in hell was that