Demon Forged

partner had stood with the Guardians against Lucifer and the nest of nosferatu.
    What she remembered of the woman had been sleek and collected. There was little of that on display now. She looked fragile, her skin drawn tightly over her bones. Her hair color wasn’t much different from Irena’s, but appeared dull and brittle. Her clothes were creased.
    It happened like that, sometimes. Discovering that demons, vampires, and Guardians walked the Earth didn’t always sit easy.
    “Her partner, Preston, is at a post on the other side of the crowd,” Alejandro said. “He has not yet spotted us.”
    Their presence here meant she and Alejandro were back in San Francisco. Irena looked at the courthouse steps again. “Who is up there with Rael?”
    “The mayor of the city stands on his left. Behind and to the right is Rael’s wife, Julia Stafford.”
    It didn’t matter what era or country—a woman like Rael’s wife was unmistakable. Her highlighted hair swept back into an elegant chignon. Pearls circled her neck. Perhaps they didn’t have titles in America, but the woman was undoubtedly an aristocrat.
    “Does she know what he is?”
    “We don’t think so.”
    By we , Irena assumed he meant those at SI. Which meant Rael had been a topic of discussion, along with the consequences of slaying him.
    There was that, at least.
    “Perhaps it wouldn’t matter to her. Stafford is being groomed by his party, and she’s ambitious,” Alejandro continued.
    Irena frowned. Why not pursue a position of power for herself, then? Women could in this era, and Julia Stafford would have the necessary education and connections.
    The crowd cheered again. Rael smiled and nodded.
    Perhaps that was why. He had charisma. So many demons did. But still, Irena could not imagine being satisfied by the position her partner attained. What kind of ambition was it to have a powerful husband? It said nothing of Julia Stafford except that she’d married well.
    Irena eyed the pearls again. Rael had married well, too. And groomed by his party? Did that mean he would rise higher than congressman? She frowned. Aside from the presidency, what was higher than a congressman in America? Irena had no idea.
    “How do you know he’s being groomed? Do you follow American politics?”
    He glanced at her, amusement in his eyes. “You don’t?”
    Her laugh was lost in the cheering of the crowd. Her question had been as idiotic as his, though for exactly the opposite reasons. Of course Olek followed politics—probably in this country and elsewhere. And of course she didn’t.
    Rael staggered. Blood spattered over his wife’s pearls. She jerked, her smile freezing. Rael fell.
    The gunshot cracked over the shocked, silent crowd—the sound delayed by distance, Irena realized. Julia Stafford collapsed, out of Irena’s sight. She began to turn, but Olek was at her back. He wrapped his arms around her and waited, waited, his body shielding hers.
    Only a second or two. The screams started, the panic. People crouched, covering their heads. Others were running, bumping into one another. No more shots rang out.
    “The wife was hit, Olek. Help her.”
    Alejandro would be safe up there with the demon. Rael couldn’t touch him in front of all these people, the cameras.
    She felt his nod against her hair. “And you?”
    “I’ll go hunting. Be safe, Olek.”
    His heat left her back. He slipped through the panicking crowd, shape-shifting and altering his clothing as he ran.
    “Guardian!”
    Irena turned. Detective Taylor bore down on her, gun drawn. Though her badge was visible on her trousers’ waistband, humans were veering away from her.
    Irena pointed. “Your shooter is in that direction. Are you coming with me?”

    Alejandro ran up the stairs, flashing his federal badge at the officers who tried to stop him. The scent of blood was sharp here. Demon blood, human blood.
    He immediately saw that nothing could be done for Rael’s wife. The bullet that passed through the side of the demon’s throat had hit hers square on. Beneath the roar of voices and screams, he heard her heartbeat cease.
    A woman knelt over Julia Stafford’s body, trying to staunch the wound with a folded cloth. Blood covered her hands. Pale hair, Alejandro saw. Her black suit, vest, and starched white shirt were too precise to be anything but a uniform.
    Alejandro crouched beside her. “She’s gone,” he said quietly.
    The woman’s eyes were flat and gray. “Yes.”
    Sirens