Demon Forged

“Are they the ones who made a bargain with Lucifer?”
    “Those are the ones. So the Guardians got rid of them.”
    Deacon knew that. And he also knew that he was supposed to think “got rid of them” meant the Guardians had slain the nosferatu. But that wasn’t what had happened. No, somehow the nosferatu had ended up in the Chaos realm, trapped in a hellish dimension with dragons and God knew what other terrors.
    No one had access to that realm. Yet the Guardians still managed to trap the nosferatu there.
    “How?”
    One question. And if he got the answer, got what Caym wanted—Deacon’s people would be safe.
    Darkwolf’s eyes went flat and wary. “I don’t know.”
    He was lying. Deacon’s blood pounded. He could drag Darkwolf over the table, beat it out of him. But getting the answer with violence would just draw attention to what he was doing. Would just jeopardize it all.
    But if that risk hadn’t held him back, he’d have done it. He would have beaten a friend to get what he needed. Caym had made him into this.
    And he’d get the bastard what he wanted. Then spend the rest of his life seeing the demon dead.
    “Then we had problems with a demon trying to take us over, a nosferatu . . .” Darkwolf shrugged. “Ames-Beaumont got rid of them. He and his partner.”
    And they’d obviously both secured Darkwolf’s loyalty. So even a beating wouldn’t get it out of the vampire.
    Deacon made a show of looking around, taking a few seconds to calm himself. “This is their place, yeah? They don’t let humans in?”
    Darkwolf’s lips quirked. “We do at ten. Someone’s got to buy the drinks, keep this place running. But before ten, it’s just the community.” He glanced at Rosalia. “And guests.”
    So that any community business Ames-Beaumont needed to handle could be done without humans observing.
    “So, you’re here to see him?”
    Deacon nodded and steeled himself before admitting, “I lost Prague.”
    He expected Darkwolf’s surprise. Not Rosalia’s.
    She choked on her drink. “How?”
    His pride raged inside. Wanted to rage out loud. He went with the cover story, and kept it short. “One of the nosferatu-born moved in, so I moved out.”
    “And your consorts?”
    Were being held hostage by a demon with a plan. “They didn’t want to fuck a beaten vampire.”
    “When did this happen?”
    That was still Rosalia, when he’d expected Darkwolf to be asking the questions. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. His humiliation was hot.
    “About three weeks ago.”
    “That’s why you were in Rome?”
    “Yeah.” That, and because that’s where the demon had told him to go. He grabbed her drink, took a gulp. He couldn’t taste it, but it was cold, drowning the heat of humiliation.
    “Rome?” Darkwolf leaned forward, and as if sensing Deacon’s humiliation, changed the subject. A damn good friend. “Now that’s some bad shit, man—those nephilim coming in and killing them all.”
    “Yeah.” Deacon laughed without humor. “Bad for most of them. A few deserved it.”
    “Acciaioli?” Darkwolf grimaced and shook his head. “Now that’s the truth.”
    Rosalia made a small sound. Deacon glanced over. She stared down into her drink with a lost expression in her eyes. Hell, she’d said she’d had friends in Rome. Lorenzo Acciaioli, the asshole who’d led the community, probably hadn’t counted among them, but he and Darkwolf probably shouldn’t start running a list of vampires in Rome who’d deserved to die.
    He changed the subject again. “So SI brought me in, but I need a blood-sharer.”
    Darkwolf frowned. “The Guardians didn’t hook you up?”
    He thought of Irena, her note. “No.”
    With a nod, Darkwolf stood. “I’ll get it rolling. We have a few threesomes where there isn’t any commitment. One of them might want a break.”
    Meaning that the vampires were in a threesome out of necessity, not desire—and trading in two partners for Deacon didn’t make any difference.
    A second dose of humiliation didn’t get any easier to swallow, but he choked it down. “Thanks.”
    “Any time.”
    Rosalia’s silence continued after Darkwolf left. Deacon tried to think of something worth saying, and couldn’t.
    Christ, he missed Eva and Petra. Missed their snarky banter, their softness with each other. Friends didn’t come any better than those two. Any real desire between them had faded decades ago, but he trusted them at his side, in his bed.
    No real