Demon Forged

smile on her lips.
    And thanks to Jake’s ridiculous comment, Irena was smiling now, too. Even with Khavi circling closer, she let herself relax, and watch the subtle play of irritation and attraction between Alice and Jake.
    They made a strange couple, but Irena had to admit they were a good match. Relationships between Guardians were difficult, even at the best of times. Violence filled their lives, and some took on long assignments where they had to adopt identities that had no resemblance to their role in Caelum. Over time, many lovers burned out or grew bored. Guardians had no institution like marriage, although some followed human traditions. They couldn’t reproduce. And, in Guardian society, a separating couple didn’t face disapproval or disgrace—or the stigma that a divorcing human couple might.
    So when Guardians made a commitment to stay together, it wasn’t for children or cultural expectations, but just because they loved each other that much. Some relationships were hotter than others, but in those Irena had seen endure, there’d always been deep respect and true friendship between the partners.
    Irena hadn’t been sure whether Alice’s strangeness had been a challenge for Jake or if Alice had just been desperate when she’d met him. But they’d settled into Alice’s quarters on Caelum, shared their free time and many of their assignments—and frequently disappeared together, returning with Alice’s hair unbound. Disappeared, often after Alice gave Jake the slight smile that she was giving him now.
    Which, in Irena’s opinion, was worth praising the gods for. Alice had been in severe need of a good bedding for more than a century.
    But Alice didn’t just appear well fucked; she looked well kissed, too. She and Jake had obviously found that deep respect and intimacy that would carry them through the centuries—or millennia.
    Irena suppressed the urge to rub away the soft little ache forming behind her breast. She was happy for her friend; this wasn’t envy. But maybe it was . . . a wish.
    But she wouldn’t look at Olek. And she wouldn’t dwell on what she didn’t have.
    Beside her, Khavi pointed at the ceiling. Irena couldn’t stop her reaction; she tensed, shifted her weight, and prepared to defend her space.
    She didn’t need to. Khavi only asked, “Who painted this? It is not the same person who has painted Caelum.”
    Like Michael’s voice, Khavi’s seemed to come from several tongues at once, melded into a harmonious one. Beautiful, soothing. Not unlike a Scitalis serpent that mesmerizes its prey before striking, Irena thought.
    And like that mythical serpent, Khavi was physically stunning, with the fine bone structure and bearing of an ancient queen. But she wasn’t elegant. She moved with the bold purpose of a warrior—if sometimes a quiet one. Her hair was the same as when she’d come back from Hell, a black cloud held in check by tiny braids. Bronze Age cornrows, Irena had once heard Becca call them. Khavi’s clothes were no longer ancient, however. She didn’t bother with the toga that Michael sometimes still wore; she’d traded them in for jeans and sandals. She looked no older than a teenager—except for her eyes.
    Those were old. And although at this moment she had dark brown irises instead of pure black orbs, nothing human lay behind them.
    That was what Michael was. He’d fooled them. He’d given them the appearance of a being who’d once been a man, but he was really this. The grigori, unlike other Guardians and vampires, had never been human.
    Appearances are almost always deceiving. It was the first lesson taught to Guardians. Irena should have known that meant Michael’s appearance, too.
    “No, those were painted by Ames-Beaumont.” Drifter glanced up. “This one, Dru did.”
    “Drusilla, the healer,” Alice clarified.
    “Drusilla,” Khavi repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. Like her clothes, she’d updated her language, but her speech was a jumble of styles. Jake had said Khavi had learned English by looking into both his and Alice’s futures; Irena thought that, since then, she’d glimpsed more than just that.
    “I haven’t seen much of her,” Khavi said.
    No. Many of the Guardians kept away from Khavi. Her psychic scent was unreadable—except that it was dark, and it lay heavily across the mind unless they kept their psychic blocks high.
    And Irena knew very few Guardians who appreciated the grigori seeing parts of their