Demon Forged

her.
    He took his time. His thumb and forefinger stroked from the corners of his mouth to the point of his goatee. His dark gaze ran her length, settled on her hips.
    “Rear,” he decided.
    Pig. Irena threw her knife at his head, and didn’t wait to see him catch the blade before it split his skull. She struck out for the stairs, smiling.
    It had been a good fight.

CHAPTER 3
    Her fine temper lasted until Olek said, “Special Investigations has no use for a weak man, Irena.”
    As if she would befriend a milksop. Irena snarled at Alejandro over Deacon’s body before hauling the sleeping vampire off the floor and tossing him onto a narrow bunk. The sun shone over San Francisco, and he’d dropped into his daysleep—and onto the wooden floor of the windowless dormitory room that Selah had teleported them into—the moment they’d arrived.
    Anticipating Deacon’s collapse, Selah had held Rosalia when she’d teleported them. Then she’d jumped again, taking Rosalia to a Guardian healer and leaving Irena and Alejandro alone with Deacon.
    And, most likely, Deacon would be alone when he woke at sunset.
    “You are blind, Olek,” Irena said as she turned to search the small desk for a pencil and paper. If she didn’t leave a message for the vampire, he might venture out into the city, seeking blood. “He is not weak. He is broken.”
    “You believe losing his community destroyed his confidence?”
    “Yes. Never have I seen him like this.”
    Irena painstakingly composed a short note in English, instructing Deacon to wait for her return. She slipped the folded paper into the vampire’s mouth and stabbed the note onto his right fang. If she’d made the effort to write the message, then she wouldn’t risk him overlooking it—or mistaking her penmanship for a six-year-old’s.
    Alejandro stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes shadowed as he looked over the vampire. “And so you brought him to SI for repairs?”
    She strode into the narrow hallway that led to the warehouse’s common room. “Yes.”
    Irena felt his surprise. No, she’d made no secret of her hatred for Lilith and Special Investigations. Irena could barely tolerate knowing a halfling demon was SI’s director, giving Guardians their assignments; more than that, Irena despised the idea that Congressman Thomas Stafford—a demon known as Rael—had been instrumental in SI’s creation. Now, SI depended on Rael’s support in Washington for its continued operation. Despite the demon’s involvement, however, Irena couldn’t deny that the novices and vampires received the best possible training from Hugh and the Guardians who worked for SI. It was the best place for Deacon.
    “He only needs to be given a task. To be made useful. Perhaps”—she tossed over her shoulder—“he will kill Lilith for me.”
    Irena couldn’t slay the halfling demon without breaking the Rules—not since Lilith had become human again.
    “If you believed she was evil, you would kill her yourself. Even if it meant you had to Fall.”
    “You know nothing, Olek. She continues to live not because I think she is good, but because she poses no threat to anyone.”
    “Lilith, no threat? You either lie or have become a spitting fool.”
    Irena swung around, and found him closer than she’d expected. Too close. She planted her feet. It would not be she who backed away. “ I am a fool and a liar? If you truly believed her a threat, you’d have finished her.”
    “No threat to us.” Alejandro stared down at her over his aristocratic nose. He’d vanished the nosferatu’s blood from his skin and clothes; hers were still streaked and splattered with crimson.
    She bared her teeth in a smile. “Us? Perhaps not to me.”
    “Us, the Guardians.” He lowered his mouth to her ear, and added softly, “There has been no us for four hundred years. You know that, yet observe how easily you twisted my meaning. You say in one moment that Lilith is no threat, then say she is a threat to me. Your tongue might as well be a demon’s.”
    Irena stood motionless when he straightened. Her blood pounded in her ears; fury blurred her vision.
    But never would she strike in anger. Instead, she audibly inhaled as he moved past her, and let the pleasure she took in his subtly smoky scent slip through her psychic shields.
    Pleasure and arousal—but this time, shame did not accompany them. Olek’s scent was one of the few things the demon hadn’t been able to replicate.
    She saw the