Demon Forged

by Meljean Brook

  “Yes.”

  She smiled slightly, as if she hadn’t just dropped about three bombshells on him in the past minute. A nun. Holy shit. And that probably meant the sisters she’d been saving weren’t her blood relatives.

  But she’d still been left with one screwed up family. “So you lost two brothers.”

  Her brow furrowed, then cleared. “No.”

  What the hell? So the queer little brother—“Oh, fuck.”

  It’d been Rosalia. Shape-shifted.

  The humiliation just kept on coming, didn’t it?

  Her laugh was quiet, and didn’t last. She sighed. “I could not kill Lorenzo, so I managed him.” She pushed her empty glass away. “Tried to.”

  “And that was all you did?” A waste of a Guardian.

  Obviously, she thought so, too. “No, of course not.” She frowned at him, but before it could settle on her mouth, she stiffened. Her gaze shifted to the club entrance. “Ames-Beaumont is here.”

  Deacon turned. Just going by his size, Ames-Beaumont wasn’t much to speak of. Tall, but not intimidating. Deacon had a few inches on him—and about thirty pounds of muscle. But muscle didn’t mean much to a vampire; their strength depended on age and the blood that had transformed them. The vampire’s trousers and shirt screamed money and were as neat as a magazine spread. His clothes might have been called prissy in their perfection, but his blond hair obviously hadn’t seen a comb in some time.

  Deacon’s lip curled. He’d bet anything that messy look had been influenced by a recent vampire movie that had been popular with humans, and where the creatures had sparkled. Yeah, prissy fit just right.

  He couldn’t deny that Ames-Beaumont was good-looking, though. Pretty as hell. Deacon didn’t usually notice that about men, but with a face like Ames-Beaumont’s, he couldn’t not notice.

  “The novices said that the effect wears off the longer you look at him. The better you know him.”

  “What effect?” Deacon couldn’t stop staring at the guy, but that wasn’t an effect. It was damn smart, now that the vampire was walking in their direction.

  “I don’t—” Beneath the table, Rosalia’s hand suddenly gripped his, hard. Her fingers rubbed up and down his knuckles like they were a rosary. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered.

  Maybe the lights shifted just right. Maybe it was just that Ames-Beaumont had come close enough. Deacon didn’t know, but one second he was seeing an overly-pretty vampire, and the next he saw beauty so striking, it was a physical blow to his chest. His fingers clamped down on Rosalia’s.

  Ames-Beaumont stopped at their table. Jesus Christ, Deacon actually wanted to get up and touch the guy. Kiss him. He sat dumb, transfixed by the impossible beauty of that mouth.

  Cool gray eyes met his. Then Ames-Beaumont bent his head, and the small female beside him rose to her toes and whispered into his ear. A low, incredibly fast whisper, mostly covered by the music, but Deacon heard his and Rosalia’s names—and “Irena.”

  Jesus, he hadn’t even noticed the slim woman until now, but he assumed it was Savitri Murray, Ames-Beaumont’s partner. Deacon forced his gaze away from Ames-Beaumont and focused on her. Her black hair was almost as short as her partner’s, but tamed into little spikes. Her cinnamon skin would never pale as many vampires’ did. Her face was sharp, her chin pointed, and her dark brown eyes were lively. Eva often looked at him with the same combination of mischief and intelligence that this woman had, but where Eva was sturdy and rounded, this woman was delicate.

  When Ames-Beaumont straightened, he wore a slight smile. “Deacon, Rosalia. We did not expect the pleasure of your company this evening.”

  That accent had upper-class and British all over it. He should have guessed. “You are something unexpected, too.”

  The vampire’s grin sent his heart racing. The bloodlust roared to life in his veins. Fucking unbelievable. Another second, and he’d be sporting wood under the table.

  “I imagine I am.” Ames-Beaumont threaded his fingers through his partner’s and began to draw her away. “Come join us when it pleases you. We will be here most of the night.”

  Ames-Beaumont turned his back to them. That was some relief.

  Rosalia let go of his hand. Her breath was as unsteady as his. “That was kind of him. Giving us time.”

  “Yeah.” Maybe not kind, though. Ames-Beaumont probably just didn’t like speaking with awestruck idiots. Deacon dragged his fingers through his hair. “The novices warned you?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t understand . . . Wow.” She shifted a little on the seat.

  Oh, Jesus. Was she aroused? Wet?

  Nothing Ames-Beaumont could have done equaled the need that raced through him then.

  “They said it can be worse if he’s upset,” she added. “Or if his emotions are worked up.”

  Worse? What did that mean—an instant orgasm? “What kind of worse?”

  “Terrifying. Becca said, and I quote, ‘One look makes you cream your panties, the other makes you piss in them.’ ”

  Even quoted, some of those words came a little too easily from her tongue. “It’s been a while since you’ve been a nun, hasn’t it?”

  “A very long time.” She lifted her glass, tipped a piece of ice into her mouth, and started chewing. With a deep breath, she glanced over at Ames-Beaumont’s table . . . and kept looking.

  Getting used to it, Deacon realized, and did the same. Darkwolf joined the couple, sliding into Savitri’s side of the bench. She leaned toward Darkwolf as she spoke with him—and Ames-Beaumont stared at her with an enraptured expression that might have been on Deacon’s own face a minute before.

  “They are both nosferatu-born,” Rosalia murmured.

  Hearing that Ames-Beaumont was didn’t surprise him, but Savitri . . . ? That small, delicate woman was several times stronger than Deacon was?

  “You can tell by looking at them?”

  “The novices said she was.”

  He should have hung around the novices a little longer. “How does he do that . . . effect?”

  “They don’t know, though they each have their theories: a curse, 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 up
keep. 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 Deacon’s trapped expression, and she grinned. It widened when he turned his back to her.

  She vanished her mantle as she reached the booth. Though she recognized the dark vampire on the other side of the table, she shoved in next to Deacon. He bumped against Rosalia, who braced herself against the curve of the seat. Irena’s apology to her was answered with a quiet laugh.

  Irena half-turned toward Deacon, leaned her elbow on the table, and propped her jaw in her hand. “You’re an idiot. I told you to wait.”

  “I chose not to listen.”

  His pulse throbbed in his neck, his jaw was tense. Not trapped now, but angry. Maybe insulted.

  Good. A man without pride couldn’t be insulted. So Deacon had a bit left.

  The lights flickered before she could respond. Irena frowned, calling in a knife. When she saw Jake had teleported into the middle of the dance floor, Radha and Mariko at his sides, she vanished it again.

  Ames-Beaumont muttered, “Bloody hell. Shall we just invite all of Caelum?”

  “Oh,” Rosalia said on a quiet breath. Her eyes shone with moisture and joy radiated through her psychic scent. “Oh.”

  Irena got out of the way, but Deacon wasn’t quick enough. Rosalia scooted over him, her ass dragging across his lap. He tensed. Looked pained and hungry, all at once. His gaze remained on Rosalia as she rushed out to meet her friends.

  Interesting. He’d never looked at Eva or Petra like that.

  Irena dropped into the seat again. Jake strolled over, toothpick lodged in the corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets. Savi looked up at him, her brow creased. “Was that you? The lights?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Your second Gift?”

  “Yep. Although I hope it turns out to be something a little better than making the power go on and off.” He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “And that I’ll be able to control it soon, because computers haven’t been so great around me lately. You got my message about the church, and digging around in the financials?”

  Savi shook her head. “Apparently, we don’t need to.”

  “Why?”

  “It was the community’s church. Her brother’s, apparently. Lorenzo Acciaioli.”

  Jake sucked in his breath through his teeth.

  Irena frowned. “Did he know she was there?”

  “Knowing Acciaioli, there’s a damn good chance of that,” Deacon said.

  “Yes,” Ames-Beaumont agreed.

  Then he was better off dead. Irena glanced up at Jake again. “Were there any more nosferatu?”

  “Nope, and it’s just past dawn there now. If there were, none came back to the catacombs. I’m heading back in a second; Alice is there by herself.” He looked around, to where the three Guardians were embracing in the center of the dance floor. Tears streaked Rosalia’s cheeks, but her smile could have lit the room. “I, uh, guess I’ll be back for them later so I don’t break up their reunion.”

  Ames-Beaumont looked to Darkwolf. “A private room, I think.”

  The vampire left the table. Jake glanced at Irena.

  “One hell of a day, huh?”

  “Yes.” She’d seen worse, but she couldn’t argue with his assessment. “Be safe.”

  Though she felt the thrust of his teleporting Gift, the lights didn’t flicker when he disappeared. Then Savi laughed, her gaze on Irena’s hair.

  She reached up. Static stood each strand on end.

  “You need a ground,” Savi told her. “Try touching—”

  Deacon hissed as Irena brushed her hand against his, and a painful spark arced between them. She yanked her hand back, shook out the sting. That discharge had been a lot stronger than she’d expected.

  “I was going to say one of the metal pipes, but that works, too.” Savi leaned back into the cradle of Ames-Beaumont’s arm. “Deacon tells us he needs a partner.”

  “And he will get one, eventually.” Irena met Deacon’s eyes and lowered her voice until the music covered it from anyone not at that table. “But until you find someone suitable, someone you want,” she stressed, “there are alternatives. I’ll give you the first here. The second, I’ll explain later . . . because there simply isn’t enough for everyone.”

  She thought she saw understanding in his face. He couldn’t know that the alternative was demon blood from a living demon. But he’d have realized that if an alternative was available and word of it became public, every vampire unhappy with their blood-sharing partners would want it.

  The Guardians’ supply was limited. Just one demon, who was bound in a bargain to give them a pint a day. That amount could feed one vampire, maybe two. Not more than that.

  He said cautiously, “What is the first?”

  She pulled a lead goblet out of her cache, used her Gift to expand the size of the bowl, and looked to Ames-Beaumont. “No humans are here?” She didn’t sense any, couldn’t smell any—but it was best to check.

  “If there were, Hawkins’ disappearing act would have set them talking, don’t you think?”

  Perhaps Jake’s teleporting hadn’t, but this probably would. She called in a nosferatu’s head between her palms. Blood dripped from its severed neck into the goblet. Savi’s eyes widened; Ames-Beaumont began laughing.

  There were other noises, gasps. Soon, all of the community would know that a Guardian had given Deacon nosferatu blood. That he was
unique among them. And when his shock had passed, Deacon would realize that the community knew of it, too.

  “Jesus Christ,” Deacon said. “You expect me to drink that?”

  Despite his words, his gaze was fixed on the blood. The scent was thick, and because it was nosferatu, strong and dark. The other two vampires didn’t appear as affected—but then, they’d probably fed from each other already.

  Irena squeezed, hoping to get the blood running faster. Some had drained out onto the ossuary floor before she’d vanished the head. That spilled blood was in her cache, too, but mixed with dirt. At least this was clean.

  “It’s dead blood, so even though it will suppress the bloodlust, it won’t feed you for long.” Too many days without living blood and vampires became weak and stupid. “But it might make you stronger.”

  Need flared in Deacon’s eyes and was quickly covered. “I’ve never heard that.”

  “Neither have I,” Ames-Beaumont put in.

  “That is because, as far as I know, no vampire has ever drunk a significant amount of blood from a nosferatu. Have you heard of such?”

  All of them shook their heads.

  “That is why I said might.” With two fingers, Irena ripped out the nosferatu’s tongue, vanished it, and poured more blood from its mouth. Savi half-laughed, half-moaned, and covered her eyes. “But even if it doesn’t do anything, drinking this won’t hurt you.”

  “What makes you think might?” Deacon asked.

  “Jake,” Irena said simply. “He has had two transformations, and has become as strong and as fast as a Guardian four times his age. Vampire blood and nosferatu blood are the only bloods that transform. If you, a vampire already, drink vampire blood . . .” She lifted her shoulder. “No difference. But if it is this? Perhaps it will.”

  Savi peeked through her fingers. After a brief hesitation, she said, “Colin and I . . . I am not as strong as he is, but I am stronger than when I first began drinking his blood. There was a difference. Some of the changes—like the additional strength—have been slow. Other changes were immediate.”

  Such as both of them being able to see Chaos in a mirror, instead of just the cursed and tainted Ames-Beaumont being able to. Such as having a strong anchor to Chaos—strong enough that no one but Michael could teleport them anywhere without ending up in that realm.