Demon Forged

going to happen. Taylor threw herself over her partner.
    Sharp bursts of gunfire rang in her ears. Her chest and stomach felt as if she were punched—once, twice. Fire burned in her gut, in her lungs. Bullets. Holy shit. She hadn’t worn her vest. The vampire had shot her. Maybe killed her.
    She’d thought it was going to be fangs.
    Her head swam. She couldn’t breathe. She heard Joe’s hoarse voice, then his shout to help her, please help her.
    Taylor opened her eyes. Oh, look. Michael. Not Khavi. Lukacs must have caught her when they were switching shifts. Bad luck. Just bad luck.
    God, she didn’t want to die.
    She turned her head. The vampire’s head lay on the floor next to her, staring. His body was somewhere else.
    Pain shot through her like another bullet when Joe touched her. His wrinkled face filled her vision. She hadn’t seen him cry before. Not even at her dad’s funeral.
    “Let him save you, kid. Okay? For me.”
    She thought she said okay. Then looking down at her was Michael, who wasn’t going to love her anymore. His hand touched her face. His eyes were so black. She couldn’t even see herself in them.
    His harmonious voice sang in her head, so beautiful. “You have sacrificed your life to save another, Andromeda Marie Taylor, and so I can offer to you a transformation. You will be a Guardian, you will be immortal, and you will serve.”
    “All right—but only if you never use my full name again.” Her reply sounded stronger than she was. Maybe it was only in her mind.
    If so, he must have heard it. “No conditions. A yes, or a no.”
    How could she say no? She’d already promised Joe. “Yes.”
    Taylor thought she felt his relief. She knew she saw a brief smile on his hard mouth. He sat back, his gaze still on her, and vanished his tunic. Thick muscle carved his broad chest.
    And there was Khavi, with one of Irena’s knives, which suddenly caught fire. With the burning point, she sliced symbols into Michael’s bronze skin. Blood welled. His gaze never left Taylor’s. Soon the symbols covered his torso, his arms—and when Khavi moved behind him, Taylor thought his back must now be bleeding, too. Khavi cut a final symbol into the side of his neck.
    Then Michael leaned over her again, lifted her to his throat. “You must drink.”
    Taylor fought her revulsion. Savi had never told her about this part of the transformation. With vampires, yes. Not with Guardians.
    But maybe they kept it secret, like they tried to do with everything else.
    “Please, Andromeda,” Michael said—then, “Taylor.”
    She put her mouth to his neck. Gagging, but she managed to swallow once, twice. Michael pulled away. She thought she saw regret in his expression as he looked down at her. Then he lowered his head, and his mouth opened over hers.
    Oh, she thought. His lips weren’t hard at all, but just firm—and so warm. His tongue stroked into her as if he wanted her to taste him, as if he needed her flavor in return. She gave herself over to the sensation.
    Then a brilliant white light came and burned all sensation away.

    Irena did not hold Olek down again. Five seconds after Michael left, he was out of the tub and dressed. They both paced the forge. Olek used his phone; no one knew what was happening.
    A few minutes later, when Irena was ready to scream with not knowing, Khavi appeared with Irena’s knife.
    Irena could not believe she was glad to see the woman.
    Khavi passed her the blade, and Irena scented the blood on it. Her breath stopped in her throat.
    “Michael?”
    “He is transforming Taylor. Come with me.”
    Taylor? Irena held out her hand, not hesitating, and let the sorrow and relief circle within her. The detective had not wanted to be a Guardian, would not want to lose her life, her home, and Irena was sorry for that. And yet she was fiercely glad the woman would live—was glad Taylor would fight beside them.
    She glanced at Olek, saw the same mixture of emotion before the room spun, dissolved. She held onto his hand as her feet steadied. The heavy scent of flowers filled her lungs. Gunpowder, blood—Michael’s, Taylor’s, a vampire’s. She looked around, recognized the room, the furnishings. Rael’s home.
    They’d been teleported into his large living area, near the window overlooking the bay. In the middle of the room, a brilliant light surrounded Michael and Taylor—too bright. Irena had to look away. Wren stood near the fireplace, her face expressionless, her