Demon Blood

by Meljean Brook

  Like a normal vampire. Like Deacon had been before the nosferatu blood, before the nephil blood.

  He didn’t let her trail off and take the easy way out. He finished for her, “One of the weaker ones.”

  “Yes. Right or wrong, that’s how I would feel. If what I am brings violence into my son’s life, then I want him to have the defenses to handle it. Right now, as a human, his best defense against demons and nephilim is the Rules. He wouldn’t have that as a vampire. So I’d want him to be one of the strong ones, too.”

  “Right or wrong?” He shook his head. “You think I’d blame you for that? Who wouldn’t want it?”

  “Exactly. Everyone would want it, but not everyone could have it. What happened to you—or when one of the nosferatu-born is made—that difference in strength almost always comes by luck or chance, and it doesn’t happen often. But for Guardians or vampires to gather the blood and distribute it creates a difference. It creates widespread envy and superiority in communities where there is none.”

  “Except for what is already there from when we were human.”

  “Well, yes. Because vampires, Guardians—in many ways, we’re still all human.” She paused, holding his gaze. And despite every claim she’d just made, despite the reasons behind her uneasiness, she had to admit, “And because of that, I would have given anything for my friends to have been strong enough to fight the nephilim. Or for you to have been strong enough to fight back against Caym.”

  “So, if you could, you’d let vampires have the nephil blood.”

  “Probably. But the better solution is: Slay all of the demons and the nephilim. Then vampires won’t need it.”

  His wide grin exposed his fangs. “One thing’s for certain: When you have a plan, Rosie, you stay focused.” His gaze dropped again. Leaning forward, he cupped her breasts in his large hands. “But when you’re sitting naked like this, I can’t say the same for me.”

  She breathed slowly, fighting the urge to throw herself against him. “I’ll hang bells from them, next time.”

  “And win every argument we might have.” His thumbs stroked her nipples, and he smiled when she shivered. “Are we still getting out of bed?”

  “Yes.” And with another sigh, she made the effort. Aware that Deacon was watching her, she formed her panties and put them on as humans did, a long slow glide up her legs.

  “Rosie,” he warned.

  Laughing, she pulled in a brassiere—a scrap of lace that supported very little and displayed too much.

  “I’m going to rip that off with my teeth.”

  Oh, she hoped so. “Later,” she said, and to remove temptation, covered the lingerie with her black trousers and shirt. As she walked across the room, the hunger in his gaze told her that she hadn’t buried temptation very deep.

  He reached for his jeans. “If you did have to choose vampires to give the blood to, who would it be? Community elders?”

  If Deacon hadn’t already been strengthened, he’d have been at the top of her list. She didn’t think he’d believe her, though.

  “No, not necessarily the elders. I’d find vampires who would fight with the Guardians—like those vampires who’ve begun training at Special Investigations. God knows we need the help.”

  “Guardians need the help?”

  “Considering that there are only fifty of us left . . . Yes, we do.” When he stared at her, she said, “I thought you knew. That Irena or someone—”

  “No. She didn’t.”

  “Oh. Well, the Ascension happened ten years ago, and even I didn’t know until six months ago. The Guardians have kept it quiet, so that the demons don’t find out. They don’t know about Michael, either.”

  Deacon still looked slightly stunned. She couldn’t blame him. Fifteen years ago, there had been thousands of Guardians. She couldn’t even imagine how empty Caelum must seem with so many gone. Just sun and stone and water—beautiful, but more like a tomb than a city.

  In a low voice he said, “So Belial’s demons could wipe you all out.”

  “If they knew, yes. And unfortunately, Taylor is the only Guardian who can transform humans and create more of us . . . which also depends on a human sacrificing himself to save someone else from a demon. So we haven’t been able to rebuild our numbers.” She opened the bedchamber door. Early afternoon light spilled into the far end of the corridor, but it wouldn’t touch Deacon as they crossed to the War Room. “So there you have another reason for my focus. If the demons find out how small our numbers are—and I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t realize it, eventually—both vampires and Guardians are in danger of being destroyed. So I have to stop them before that happens.”

  He followed her into the War Room, wearing only his jeans. Heavy muscle and hard flesh invited a long, slow look, but it was his face that fascinated her. So strong and uncompromising, so often unreadable, yet the irregular lines revealed so much of his life. His features told the story of a man who hadn’t come through every fight unscathed, but he’d come through—and despite the hardness, he could still soften with a laugh or a kiss.

  She wanted to kiss him now. She wanted to touch him. Not to straighten, and not to lead him to bed, but the kind of casual caresses that she’d seen between lovers and friends. The kind that said, I love that you are here.

  Pulling out her chair, she sat at her desk instead. She could touch him that way while lying in bed. She did not know how to here.

  “Theriault spent the morning telling his pregnant wife she is a fat whore.” Resting his shoulders against the wall, Deacon leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I’d have considered killing him even if he wasn’t a demon.”

  And if Deacon had, Rosalia would have considered not stopping him.

  “It’s unfortunate his wife cannot do it.” Of course she wouldn’t. Humans had rules, too.

  “Unfortunate that she won’t fight back?”

  The sudden edge in his voice made her look up. Warily, she took in his rigid stance, his dark brows drawn together over a hard stare. “What?”

  “I don’t know what pisses me off more, Rosie. That Vin said all that shit to your face, or that you took it without calling him an ungrateful little—” He clenched his teeth, cutting himself off.

  “You tell me to my face that Lorenzo deserved to die, but won’t call my son a . . . ?” She raised her brows, inviting him to finish it.

  “You didn’t love your brother. Only felt responsible for him. Your son’s a different matter.” While she dealt with her surprise that he saw that so clearly, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Didn’t you turn that neatly?”

  Stalking forward, he grabbed the chair next to hers, flipped it around, and straddled the seat. “You just deflected me away from you sitting out there, your son’s hand holding your bloody heart, and you letting him squeeze it.”

  “Deacon—”

  He lifted his hand, cutting her off. “I didn’t believe it, you know. That first night here, I heard Gemma say you don’t fight back. And I was thinking, Rosie’s put me in my place so many times, snapped back at me—Gemma’s got it all wrong. But she was right. And you sat out there, just taking it.”

  And that had upset him? It must have. Anger rolled off him, dark and hot. “Is that why you called me up here?”

  “To fuck it out of you? Yeah.” His jaw clenched. Grabbing her seat, he hauled her close, until only inches separated their noses. “You did it again. Deflected me away from you and Vin. You don’t want me to push on this? Fine. Tell me to back the fuck off. Or convince me that you deserved it, because the next time Vin throws that shit at you, I’m not going to sit—”

  “He was right.” Her own anger boiled up. He wanted to know? Fine. Another item for the list of things a Guardian didn’t do. “Everything he said was true. A Guardian has no business being a mother. It flips everything around. So back off.”

  “No business . . . You believe that?”

  “I know it.”

  His voice lowe
red, all gravel and frustration. “Oh, I get it. You beat him. No, you can’t do that—you had a human do it. And you didn’t care for him, didn’t feed him or clothe him, didn’t kiss him good night, and you never made sure he had support when he needed it.” He paused, watching her. With a shake of his head, he spread his arms out wide. “Do you see why that makes no fucking sense? If you were anything like the mother I imagine you were, he should be on his knees thanking you for what was probably the best childhood any kid could want.”

  Rosalia couldn’t remain angry when he said things like that. But it didn’t change the facts.

  She stood, began to pace the room. “Vampires and Guardians . . . we can’t have children after we’re transformed. Can’t. Don’t you think that’s for a reason?”

  “I don’t know what the big guy Above was thinking. But if you’re about to argue that it all has a purpose, my response is that I don’t give a fuck what He plans.”

  Though she’d suspected he felt that way, she had to catch her breath at such blasphemy. But she understood why: His community had been slaughtered. Thinking that their deaths had a purpose didn’t offer any comfort. The opposite, in fact.

  But in Rosalia’s opinion, that hadn’t anything to do with those Above. What happened to Deacon’s community, what happened to her friends . . . that was on the shoulders of the demons.

  “No. That’s not what I mean. We can’t take care of them. Not as babies. Who would care for a vampire’s child during the day? A Guardian has to follow the Rules, and has responsibilities that often take her away from home. But it is more than that, and it is not just babies. There are times when a child must be led where it doesn’t want to go, just to keep it safe.” She turned to him, spreading her hands, hoping he’d see. “I had Gemma’s grandmother to help me. Thank God I had her. But I should have known better. I did know better. But Father Wojcinski brought Vin here, and he was so small, and so afraid and angry and I just . . . fell in love. I didn’t want anything more than to see him happy.”

  And she’d loved that little boy so fiercely—so unexpectedly. She’d never dreamed of being a mother. The others had called her “Mother” as a joke, because she’d had the habit of straightening their clothes. She’d never thought a child would come into her life and change everything.

  “And you think you were wrong to take him in?” He remained sitting, but his green eyes followed her every move.

  “I think that the moment I decided to be a mother, I should have stopped being a Guardian. I should have Fallen and become human again, so that I could have been what he needed. Not always holding myself back. Not always finding ways around him.” She sighed when he shook his head, and repeated, “I should have Fallen. But before I Fell I would have to kill Lorenzo, just to be safe . . . and I still had hope that he could change. I still wanted to work with my vampires. I wanted to be both mother and Guardian—and I loved Vin, so I kept him. But I should have chosen one or the other. It was a selfish decision.”

  “Because you didn’t Fall? Jesus, Rosie. Are you telling me that if he’d been standing in front of a bus and wouldn’t move, you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way to save him?”

  “Of course I would. But motherhood and love aren’t the grand, hypothetical gestures. They are the little, everyday ones.”

  He shook his head again, but she cut him off before he could argue.

  “And you must see that it is more than that. He said everything is turned around . . . and it is. He’s not immortal, Deacon. And even if I became human again today, I’d be younger than him.” She saw the understanding in his face. Good. Just knowing that one day she would experience what no mother should squeezed her heart into nothing. She couldn’t have explained without breaking down. “Every day, every single day, I realize: I should have Fallen when I took him in. But now I have to live with what I’ve chosen. And so does Vin.”

  His chest lifted on a heavy breath. “Would it do any good to tell you that you’ve gone overboard punishing yourself?”

  “No. Some burdens cannot be taken away with words.”

  Deacon gave a short laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

  He would. No words could take away what he bore, thanks to the demons and the decisions he made.

  Smiling, she returned to her chair. “But I cannot regret for a moment that he is mine. Even when he is a . . . whatever you would have said he is.”

  His laugh became a grin, and her heart turned over. She could regret nothing here, either. And no matter his reaction when he learned her part in his past, she would live with the decisions she’d made.

  “Did you want children?” she wondered.

  “You don’t keep that in your story file?”

  “No.” And she loved that there was so much still to learn about him. “Did you?”

  “Yeah. I wanted kids.”

  “You did?” Anxiety rushed through her; she hadn’t really expected that answer. “Did you know that choice would be gone? Did Camille tell you?”

  “Yes. She laid it all out. Everything.”

  “Oh.” It came out on a breathy laugh. “Good.”

  Leaning forward against the back of the chair, he put his hands on her knees, squeezed gently. “That’s a lot of relief. You didn’t make that choice?”

  “I did before taking my vows. But vampires . . . so many are disappointed later. It’s best that they know before they transform.”

  Wicked humor lit his gaze. “Maybe the nephil blood changed that. We should test whether I’m fertile now. Test hard, and test often.”

  Her laugh came out in a rush, and she thought: This was when lovers touched, and showed affection for the person with them. Her stomach in knots, she leaned forward, brushed her mouth over his.

  He palmed the back of her head before she could pull away. “You want me to try now, just give the word.”

  Oh, how she did. She wanted him inside her all the time, her body against his, overwhelmed by emotion and release. She wanted to lie against him afterward, stroking his skin.

  But she thought of those vampires, in their little world for thirty years. And sighed.

  “I’m beginning to hate that sound,” he said, kissing her briefly and letting her go. He sat back. “You did good with St. Croix.”

  And so, back to work. “I hope so.”

  “He could have been a wild card.”

  “He still is.” But hopefully he’d wait to play until they’d finished.

  “You reeled him in with that story about your mother.” When she looked at him, he asked quietly, “You think that’s true—that killing herself was part of a bargain?”

  “No,” she said, and could see his surprise. “But it’s possible that’s what his father did.”

  His green eyes pierced her, as if trying to see into her. He thought she was deflecting again, she realized. He didn’t want to hear about St. Croix’s father—he wanted to know about her.

  “My mother was a strong woman,” Rosalia explained. “But he beat her down, and she gave up.”

  He nodded, as if she’d just confirmed something he’d thought. “And now you can’t give up. And it’s why you can’t get back into bed when you have work to do.”

  He thought he’d pinned her with that one thing? “It’s not that simple.”

  “No? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought how different your and your brother’s life would be if she had stuck in there and protected you, or gotten you out of there.”

  Rosalia had thought about it. A thousand times. And just as often, she’d ruminated on how evil a demon must be, that he could take a strong-willed human and break her down so that death seemed a better option than living and protecting her children. Rosalia had her own child now. She couldn’t fathom the depth of evil that would lead her to leave him unprotected.

  Her mother had faced that evil and lost; Rosalia would fight until her last breath to destroy it. But she wasn’t stronger than her mother. She just had more knowledge . . . and a better pla
n.

  “My life would have been different, but it could have been better or worse. I only know what is—and now I’m a Guardian. Perhaps my mother’s suicide shaped me, but my mother is not the only reason I cannot give up. Vin, Gemma, you . . . my Guardian friends, the vampires I’ve watched and known for centuries. You are all reasons. And, if Anaria has her way, every human’s free will is in danger—perhaps their lives. I have many reasons not to quit. It’s not as simple as my mother.”

  “So you’re a woman with a mission.” His expression remained serious, his gaze still penetrating. “A mission you meant to convince me to join. London forced you into doing it faster.”

  Her stomach sank. He had heard Father Wojcinski. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t like the idea of using me, so you convinced me instead. And I’m here, willingly, so you must have. Hell, I came running back after you. What did you do?”

  “Deacon—”

  “What string in me did you pull?”

  “That you’re a good man. That you’ve always been a good man, and a strong one.”

  He shot to his feet. “Cut the bullshit, Rosie. Specifically.”

  It wasn’t bullshit, but the truth. Because if it hadn’t been, nothing she’d done would have made a difference to him.

  “I made myself a person to you, because you can’t ignore a person in need. And instead of asking you to do it for humans or vampires . . . I gave you me.”

  Deacon stared at her, as if he didn’t recognize the woman before him. “So when I woke up in that plane, you weren’t exposing yourself to me. You weren’t confessing your guts. It was calculated, designed to get me to go along with you.”

  “Yes.” Though it made her more vulnerable to him. Though it meant he could tear her apart.

  Her heart ached. She tried to brace herself. He could tear her apart now, with a few words. He looked angry enough to do it.