Demon Forged

the visit.
    Khavi spilled your blood?
    Taylor stopped the car very quickly. Reminded, she pulled the restraining belt across her shoulder and clicked it home. I did not stop until my head met the glass.
    He rubbed his thumb back and forth over his chin, obviously amused. His gaze left hers when Taylor spoke from the front seat.
    “So, we head back to SI and report to Lilith?”
    “And Castleford, yes,” Alejandro said. “When he watches the recording of your interview with Rael, Castleford will know when the demon lied.”
    Taylor snapped a glance at Irena. “You recorded it?”
    “Yes.”
    Her jaw clenched. She faced forward again.
    The detective would struggle with that, Irena thought. Taylor would come to terms with it, or not. The Guardians’ methods of gathering evidence were different than the methods allowed by human courts. Demons had already been judged and sentenced by those Above. Rael would never stand trial on Earth, he would never be imprisoned—and, if they chose to kill him, Guardians would be the executioners.
    Whether humans liked their methods or not.
    Alejandro signed, Bradshaw is a Guardian. His Gift is a psychic mask.
    A Guardian? She’d had no idea. Who was he in Caelum? Luther.
    She did not recognize the name. How long has he been with the FBI?
    Since before the Ascension.
    And Rael does not know?
    No one does but Lilith, Hugh, and Michael. When Bradshaw is not at the office, he does, essentially, what I do.
    Irena smiled, pleased. Carrying out a human life on top of a Guardian’s would be difficult, but she could see how Bradshaw’s position was necessary. She glanced over at Alejandro; he seemed pleased as well, though she could not decide the reason for it. So much of him was still a mystery to her.
    Good , she replied, then spoke aloud to include Taylor and Preston. “Were any demons among Rael’s staff? Did any know what he was? His household employees did not.”
    “Nor did his office staff.”
    Disappointment wound through her. A demon like Rael would have subordinates; she wanted to know where and who the demons closest to him were.
    “What about the staff in D.C.?” Preston said. He’d produced a bag of peanuts from somewhere; the crinkle of plastic and the scent filled the car. “He’s got an office there, right?”
    “Yes, but I met with each of them as Senator Brandt. They are not demons.”
    Taylor frowned. “So where are all of his flunkies?”
    “We believe they are at Legion,” Alejandro said.
    Not in government, but in the corporate world. Irena had no real knowledge of either. She turned to look out the window, once again feeling the uncomfortable fit of this role.
    “And how short does he keep their leash?” Taylor asked.
    “Not tight enough to choke them.”
    Alejandro’s voice was soft—and nearer to her. Irena looked at him, startled as he reached across and pressed at the buttons on her door. Glass lowered. Night air and frigid drizzle washed her face.
    But she did not breathe easier. Her eyes locked with Alejandro’s, and she watched their color deepen.
    That was the only alteration in his expression. His psychic blocks prevented her from sensing anything else of his emotions.
    She wanted to tear the blocks away. To see what lay beneath. To strip away everything that hid him from her, to examine him piece by piece, not just the bits he let slip through.
    He wasn’t looking at her hands, so she couldn’t sign to him. But she could not speak to him in French. That language was for watching her words—and those words had helped hold them apart for four hundred years.
    “I want to rip you apart,” she said beneath her breath in Russian.
    There. Something in his expression. Was it hurt or anger? She didn’t know. She wanted, needed to know.
    In Spanish, he murmured, “I do not look down at you.”
    I want to destroy you. Yes, she remembered when she’d said that, too. But her words held a different meaning now.
    She shook her head. “So that when I put you back together, I will see what you are made of.”
    And there, in his eyes—another change. It looked like wonder, or hope. He laid his hand on her thigh, his grip bold and possessive. “Do it, then.”
    He challenged her. Everything within Irena called for her to rise and meet it.
    But if she did, a piece would still be missing. Something that she had not given him. Something she was afraid to give him.
    She had to tell him the truth about what had happened in that iron-locked