Demon Forged

his chair. “In August of last year, Michael and Selah killed seven demons in Rome. Michael told me that he couldn’t find you then, but we thought you must have been shielding.”
    Even Michael couldn’t teleport to someone if they completely shielded their psyche. With the iron spike through her head, Rosalia hadn’t been shielded—she’d simply not been there.
    “The demons are dead?” Rosalia’s voice was even, but wrath burned through her psychic scent. Wrath—and disappointment.
    Was she hoping to avenge herself? Irena approved. “Yes,” she said. “But only those ones. There are others to kill, and demons are all the same.”
    “That isn’t true,” Alejandro said. “There are those who follow Lucifer, and those who support Belial in his rebellion against Lucifer—”
    “You split hairs again. Demons, nosferatu—the Guardians’ only purpose is to slay them. You create a meaningless difference so that you do not feel dishonored by being here. Here, where you are supported” —Irena let the full force of her anger turn the word into an accusation—“by one of Belial’s demons.”
    Alejandro’s profile was a rigid mask. “Our purpose is to protect humans.”
    “By killing demons.”
    “Even those demons who can be useful to our purpose?”
    “Yes.”
    On the bed, Rosalia tore her wide-eyed gaze from them and looked to Hugh. “Dru said Michael created Special Investigations so that we’d have a human avenue when we need one. That you are training the novices here . . . with Lilith.”
    Hugh smiled slightly. “Lilith has Fallen—or rather, the demon equivalent of Falling. She’d only been a halfling demon: A human changed by a ritual,” he added when Rosalia’s brow creased.
    “A willing ritual,” Irena said.
    It wasn’t as if Lilith had been forced to become a demon; she’d had a choice. And given the options of serving Lucifer or death, Irena would’ve chosen much differently than Lilith had.
    Hugh inclined his head, acknowledging Irena’s clarification. “Michael asked Lilith to head the agency. She spent almost two decades working for the FBI, and so she was most qualified for the position here.” He pulled off his spectacles and began to clean them against his shirt before adding, “And I’m with her, Rosalia. Not just here at SI.”
    Rosalia’s brows rose in surprise before she smiled. “You always had a soft spot for her.”
    Irena curled her lip. “And do we also love Rael?”
    Alejandro sighed. “We could not do this without the access we are afforded by the American government.”
    “Yes, we could—”
    “Could not do it as easily .” His fingers clenched at his sides.
    “You don’t know Rael’s motive.”
    “No, we don’t,” Alejandro admitted.
    “Do you believe it’s in our interest?”
    “Do you believe we’re blind to his nature?”
    “So you get in bed with a demon because it’s easier.” Irena sneered up at him. “It is sickening.”
    Alejandro faced her, his silken voice deceptively mild. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I thought you’d understand this, Irena. The Ascension has put a knife to our throat.”
    Irena’s breath left her in a rush. She took a step back, then another.
    But it lay unspoken between them: Olek wasn’t the one who had chosen to get into bed with a demon.
    And she could still see the blade that had been against his throat.
    The only way to stop the pain and anger crushing her chest would be to cut out her heart—and so she did now the same thing she’d done then.
    She left. She didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 4
    Always, everything went back to his misstep. Back to that blood-spattered room.
    With regret digging a hole in his chest, Alejandro listened to the door close behind Irena. Only his will prevented him from succumbing to his need to follow her.
    His will versus his need. For centuries, they’d battled each other. One day, he knew, either his will or his need would crumble into nothing. He didn’t know which it would be.
    And he didn’t know which he wanted it to be.
    But even if he went after her, nothing more could be said. On the matter of demons, Irena was as capable of compromising as an armless man was capable of holding a sword. The only outcome would be more anger, and sharp words, and another return to the room he’d burned four hundred years ago.
    And he still wouldn’t be certain if it was her stubbornness that infuriated him, or the knowledge that she was right: It was sickening that