Demon Forged

with any kind of respect if the Guardian had bumbled around.
    And though Cordoba had crossed lines, he hadn’t bumbled his way over them.
    Lilith had lied. SI didn’t need them here.
    Taylor picked out a yellow M&M’s candy, the only one in the bunch. This one, she’d let melt instead of chewing it.
    So SI didn’t need them, and yet . . . here they were. Lilith had no reason to do her any favors. And Lilith could be a bitch, but Taylor couldn’t see how bringing Joe and her in on the investigation was sticking it to them. Lilith wouldn’t stick it to Joe, in any case.
    Hell, Lilith probably wouldn’t stick it to anyone unless there was a point to it. Whatever Lilith was, at least she always had a purpose behind the bitchiness.
    And then there’d been that visit from Khavi. Taylor had gotten the impression from Irena that the grigori was just a nut, but that nut had also had a purpose. Khavi had shown up in her car for a reason—and Taylor didn’t think it was just to rip her heart out over Jason.
    But why would an ancient grigori give a flying flip about her?
    Two greens sat in her palm like little eyes. Taylor stared at them, then let them drop to the table. She swiveled her seat around. Irena was back in her leather longstockings and that white fur mantle. Her Guardian outfit. Not playing agent anymore. Good. Taylor wanted the Guardian in front of her, not the pretend cop.
    “Irena.”
    Irena’s gaze left Cordoba. Her brows lifted.
    “Is it me, or is it Joe?”
    She wondered if the Guardian would lie. Wondered if Irena would pretend not to know what she was talking about.
    But Irena didn’t even hesitate. “You.”
    Preston turned in his chair, frowning.
    “How?” Taylor pressed before he could say anything. “What’d she see?”
    “A vampire. That is all we know.”
    Fear rose hot and bitter in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I thought you would refuse our protection,” Irena said. Something flickered in her eyes, and she added, “And we are not used to sharing with humans.”
    No shit. But she couldn’t even spit that out. Trying to absorb the idea that Khavi had seen her death took every brain cell she had.
    “Jesus,” Joe said, catching up quick. “Can you change it?”
    “We will try.”
    Which was a far cry from Yes , Taylor thought. But she remembered Khavi had said she’d altered her future by refusing to ask about Jason. So it could be changed.
    And maybe Irena was right; Taylor probably would have told them to go screw themselves if they’d mentioned this to her yesterday. But Khavi showing up in her car had changed that, too.
    “I’ll take protection,” she said. Her fingers didn’t shake when she picked up the two green M&M’s and tossed them in her mouth. So she was cool. She was okay with this. Everything would be all right. “I have faith in you guys.”
    And lucky for her, Castleford hadn’t shown up yet, because that was a big fucking lie.

    The rooms in the Special Investigations warehouse housed only the necessities and were as austere as a monastery’s—but where a penitent might use a cold shower, a vampire used hot. Deacon sweated and gritted his teeth against the scalding blast of water.
    He still felt unclean to his soul. Sleep hadn’t been an escape, but had given him dreams as vivid and as dark as death. Dreams of Petra screaming, of his bones shattering.
    Not just dreams. Memories.
    Refusing to look in the mirror, he wiped down, then slung the towel around his hips. He anchored it with one hand, slicked the other through his hair.
    Ferocious tension gripped him as he emerged from the bathroom. Someone was in his room. The lights were still off, just as he’d left them. Darkness wasn’t dark to a vampire—and he couldn’t see anyone.
    Then she was there, coalescing out of the shadows.
    Rosalia.
    Instead of releasing his tension, her appearance squeezed it tighter. She was temptation, every sin in a single package. Crimson silk skimmed her curves from her incredible breasts to her knees and didn’t look half as smooth as the pale silk of her skin. The straps of her shoes glittered.
    Her smile was sweet and open.
    Fuck him. She wasn’t sin. Any man could sin. They couldn’t have something like Rosalia.
    He sure as hell couldn’t. “What do you want?”
    Unperturbed by his rough greeting, she lifted her hand. A black suit jacket appeared, its collar hooked on her index finger. A pair of