Demon Forged

join in; he regarded her curiously. Do you not know how the younger Guardians see you? Not just the novices, but all of those who are still young.
    She did not think of it much. I can imagine.
    Then you imagine poorly. He stopped halfway down the stairs, and she turned to face him. It is almost with the same reverence that they have for Michael.
    Reverence? She snorted. It is fear, perhaps.
    And respect. He started down again. They wouldn’t have been so conflicted if they cared nothing for your opinion, and only feared you.
    She followed him, unease dancing through her belly. All of her life, she’d urged young Guardians to find a path true to themselves. She’d never thought they might look to hers as a model.
    But it had not always been that way, she knew.
    “When you were young, Olek,” she began in Russian, and continued with her hands when he turned to face her, you did not regard me with reverence.
    Yes, I did. I’d heard the same stories as every other novice, he replied. But after I saw you, I only wanted to sheathe myself between your thighs.
    Her breath caught. Never would she forget her own powerful response upon seeing him staring at her across that courtyard. She thought of his promise to meet her at the forge later, and hoped the evening would pass quickly.
    The color in his eyes deepened. Yes, he hoped so, too. They reached the bottom of the stairs; the hub was empty.
    “Taylor and Preston are in the conference room,” he said quietly. “We wait for Lilith and Castleford to join us—and for Michael.”
    Though hearing him respond to her in his native language felt so perfectly right, Irena couldn’t mistake the unsettled note in Olek’s voice at his mention of Michael. What has happened?
    Nothing. He intercepted her frown, and shook his head. I do not lie. I’ll tell you as we wait with Taylor. Hopefully, the Doyen will be himself again when we next see him.
    Oh. Irena understood all too well; he’d met with Michael, and the Doyen’s shields hadn’t held firm. And she still had no idea what Khavi had told Michael. Did your hands shake?
    Alejandro gave her a sharp glance, followed by a reluctant nod.
    So did mine, she said.

    The giant flat-screened TV mounted behind a sliding wall panel in the SI conference room probably cost more than all of the rolling-cart monstrosities and half the detectives’ computers at Ingleside station, Taylor mused. If Rael had managed to talk Uncle Sam into setting this up for the Guardians, then the SFPD obviously needed a demon sitting in on the city budget meetings.
    She glanced over at Joe, who sat in the chair beside hers, eating candy. He jerked his bushy eyebrows at the screen, then tapped his fingers on the table. Unlike the screen, the long, metal folding table was better suited to Ingleside than here, and clearly didn’t match the buttery-soft leather seats that cushioned their asses. She shrugged, then held out her hand so that he could pour M&M’s into her cupped palm.
    Waiting wasn’t so bad, Taylor decided, separating out the red candies to eat first. She’d already called her mother, saying she’d be home late. No surprise there. She’d left a message for Savi, telling the vampire that she’d wait at SI so they could begin digging into Wren’s history—which actually meant that Savi would be digging while Taylor watched her perform magic on the computer.
    And by the time Lilith and Castleford showed up, she might have figured out why the hell she and Joe were really here.
    Her gaze settled on Cordoba, who stood against the far wall. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Irena since she’d come into the room. Irena stood against the wall opposite the tall Guardian.
    Guardians apparently had a problem with parking their butts in a seat, but no problems talking. Their hands had been flying in that sign language. A bit rude.
    But, to be fair, she and Preston hadn’t shared their M&M’s, either.
    She moved on to the orange. One color at a time, one question at a time.
    The first big question was Cordoba. Although the Guardian currently looked less like a federal agent and more like a brooding romantic hero with his black breeches and boots—and a heavy twist of a villain thrown in with that devilish little goatee—the man knew his way around an investigation. Unlike Irena, Cordoba hadn’t been in the background. And Joe got a little starry-eyed around the Guardians, but he was a cop to his bones. He wouldn’t still be looking at Cordoba