Demon Forged

Michael’s sword, he’s half-Guardian, or half-demon. Whatever it was, he can walk in the sun, only goes into his daysleep once a week, can’t see his reflection—”
    “ Can’t see his reflection? ” Everything else he could buy, but no reflection was ridiculous. Vampires not casting reflections was just an old wives’ tale that Deacon proved wrong every time he looked into a mirror. He searched Rosalia’s face for a sign that she was joking, and found none. “You’re serious.”
    “Yes.” She nodded. “And the novices also said that he is as strong as a Guardian.”
    Even a nosferatu-born vampire wasn’t that powerful. And it meant that Ames-Beaumont would be able to handle himself against a demon.
    So he’d pass that info on. Pass it on and hope it was what the demon needed.
    Suddenly, he just wanted to get this over with. “Ready?”
    In answer, she scooted out. He should have followed her faster. She slid in next to Ames-Beaumont before Deacon got to the seat. He couldn’t protect her from the other vampire if she was between them. Couldn’t—
    Jesus. What was wrong with him? A Guardian didn’t need help from a vampire. And he couldn’t protect her from Ames-Beaumont, anyway. That much had been made perfectly clear.
    At least Ames-Beaumont’s effect wasn’t so bad now. The kick in the chest had mellowed into a soft compulsion to look, and Deacon’s brain was working again.
    Rosalia wasn’t looking at Ames-Beaumont yet. Her gaze rested on his partner. “So,” she said. “You’re Hugh’s little sister.”
    Hugh Castleford? The one who could read lies?
    It just got better and better, Deacon thought grimly.
    “And SI’s resident geek,” Savitri said brightly, but her face became more serious as she added, “I’ll be helping Jake dig through the church’s financial records, tracing any money that went into the upkeep. We’ll figure out how the nosferatu managed to stay down there so long without anyone raising an alarm. And I’ll keep you updated.”
    Deacon decided he wouldn’t tell the demon that. The fucker had better hope he’d covered his ass and hidden the money trail.
    Rosalia looked baffled. “But I know who owns the building—it was my brother’s. It is not one of the Church’s. It was the vampire community’s.”
    Ames-Beaumont’s brows rose. “Your brother?”
    “Lorenzo Acciaioli,” Deacon said.
    Ames-Beaumont gave Rosalia a hard look, as if deciding whether she was something repulsive.
    “Oh. I—Okay.” Savitri floundered, gathered herself, and glanced at Deacon. “And you need a partner?”
    Deacon gave a short nod, and Ames-Beaumont frowned.
    “The Guardians haven’t made arrangements for you?”
    Both he and Darkwolf had asked that. What kind of arrangements could the Guardians make? A vampire had one long-term option for feeding, and that was to drink living blood. And Deacon would rather take it from a vampire who went through exactly what he did than as charity from a goddamn novice, or whoever else they could convince to get into his bed and donate their blood.
    “No,” he said tightly.
    Ames-Beaumont and Savitri exchanged a surprised glance. “Okay,” she said. “There’s one—”
    “Oh, good God,” Ames-Beaumont interrupted. “The barbarian has made it through the gate.” He looked away from the club entrance and met Deacon’s gaze. “Are you certain the Guardians haven’t made arrangements for you? Because I know that look in her eyes: She’s hunting, and she’s coming for you.”
    Deacon turned, caught sight of the red hair, the white fur mantle. His stomach dropped to his knees.
    Irena.
    Fucking perfect.

    Irena loved Polidori’s. Loved the vampires that smelled of sex and blood, and the music that beat like a strong heart. She loved Hugh’s adopted sister, who barely knew how to hold a sword—and who, through sheer determination, had ripped out a demon’s throat less than a week after she’d been transformed. Irena even liked the vain, affected, irreverent, cursed, and dragon-tainted vampire Savi planned to marry.
    A vampire who also happened to be Lilith’s best friend. Irena didn’t hold that against him.
    Despite his numerous faults, Colin Ames-Beaumont could hold a sword. Could stand his ground with it, and damage anyone who crossed him. And she had to admire that Caesar himself probably hadn’t had Ames-Beaumont’s self-confidence . . . or his ego.
    Unlike another vampire she knew. Her gaze settled on