Demon Blood (57 page)

Though he’d hoped to find Rosalia at the hotel across from Theriault’s apartment, her surveillance equipment was missing, and humans occupied the room.

All right. So she’d helped him out tonight by giving him that message, but she wasn’t hanging around, waiting for him, trying to make it all better between them.

He’d have given anything to see her, but it was good that she was gone. He’d fucked up. He’d hurt her. But considering that she had a habit of overcompensating and trying to fix everything she’d felt she’d done wrong, this meant she wasn’t blaming herself for his mistakes. She knew exactly where to lay the blame: squarely on him.

And that meant working his ass off proving to her that she’d never regret taking him back. He’d have to think it out, and plan—and by God, if he had to manage Rosalia a little bit to get her in a place to listen, he’d do it.

But first things first. She’d given him info, and he needed to use it. He crossed the street and pulled his swords from beneath his jacket.

Any demon living in this city was a threat to the vampire community here—and Deacon had a new job to do.

Rosalia took the long route to Caelum, passing over three Gates before diving through a portal in South Africa. She dragged in a breath of warm, dry air.

The city was still beautiful. Domes and towers of white marble reached up against a brilliant blue sky. Graceful arches and columns welcomed her into courtyards, into the temples. But it was just as sterile. No soil softened her steps; her heels clicked against unyielding stone. Nothing grew here. Nothing fragranced the air: no perfume, no rot, so smell of life. And the sun was still too bright.

Ten years ago, she’d stopped coming here, and she’d told herself that Pasquale had been the reason why. That she didn’t deserve to be here. Now she wondered if she’d just been searching for a reason not to return. As beautiful as this city was, she didn’t love it.

And she loved it even less when it was all but empty.

Mariko’s quarters lay at the edge of the city, overlooking the sea, but Rosalia found her friend more quickly than that. The clash of weapons and the pulse of a familiar Gift drew her to a building that speared into the sky. Beside it, at the center of a round courtyard, Mariko spun around, sending a flying kick toward her opponent, a small woman with long black hair, whose only covering were the red scarves binding her breasts and fluttering around her pelvis and backside, and the paint that dyed her skin blue. Radha possessed a Gift of forcing an illusion past the strongest mental shields, and Rosalia didn’t know what she’d made Mariko see and hear, but the Guardian’s kick missed Radha completely. Mariko slammed into the side of the building, and Radha burst into laughter.

Her laughter abruptly died when she caught sight of Rosalia. Her eyes widened in disbelief. When she shrieked, Rosalia braced herself.

Radha tackled her with a hug, a tiny blue dynamo who lifted Rosalia off her feet and swung her around like a sock monkey. Limping, Mariko joined them.

With a huge grin, Radha set her down and stepped back, clapping her blue hands to a happy beat, quickly picked up by her dancing feet. “Mariko and I were just coming to see you—with this!”

A white satin ribbon dangled from her grip. It held up a solid gold medal, its face inscribed with Rosalia’s name and engraved with a laurel.

“It’s plastic and she found it in a discount bin,” Mariko said dryly.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Hopping forward, Radha placed the ribbon over Rosalia’s head. For an instant, the Guardian’s dark eyes lost their sparkle, and her serious gaze met Rosalia’s. “It’s the intention, right?”

Rosalia’s throat swelled. “Right.”

“Just like Radha doesn’t
intend
to show everyone her tits. It”—Mariko made quote marks with her fingers—“ ‘just happens.’ ”

“I’m doing my part to make the world a better place.” Radha stepped back. “But I’m going to have to run around naked all of the time if I want to catch up to Rosa. You’re our hero now.”

“Stop that.” Laughing, Rosalia shook her head. She’d worried about their reaction. This might be worse than the cold shoulder she imagined. “There are still plenty of demons and nosferatu—”

“Oh, God!” Mariko threw up her hands. “Shut up, Rosa. Tonight, we party.”

“Actually, I have to—”

“Don’t even argue,” Radha warned her.

“—clean the abbey, and prepare for the wedding.”

They gaped at her. Mariko croaked, “To
Deacon
?”

Pain stabbed through her heart, but she swallowed back the tears. She’d shed enough for one day. “No. That’s over. It’s my son’s wedding, three days from now. That’s why I’m here—to invite you both.”

“Oh, congratulations! Of course we’ll come,” Radha said sweetly, and immediately followed with—“What the hell do you mean, it’s over? Does that mean it started?”

“And
already
ended?” Mariko stared at her.

“Quick and clean,” she confirmed.

Mariko shook her head. “That’s not your style.”

“That’s how he wanted it.” Her chest was aching. It’d been aching since she’d left him in that hotel room. She didn’t know when it would stop—but it wouldn’t be tonight. Probably not for many, many nights.

“Oh, my God,” Radha said in disbelief. “Is he stupid? Look at you!”

Yes, look at her.
Look at everything you are.
Deacon’s outburst had echoed in her mind for days. It wasn’t that Deacon didn’t believe she
loved
him, but rather: He couldn’t believe that
she
loved
him
. He saw himself as too damaged, too ruined. She’d tried to tell him, to show him that he wasn’t—but there was nothing she could do unless he saw it, too. And knowing she couldn’t change that ripped her apart.

“He’s not,” Rosalia said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mariko snapped her mouth shut. A second later she opened it again. “All right. I declare girls’ night at the abbey, then. We get naked, we swim, we eat until we shape-shift into pigs, and Radha will entertain us with oiled, dancing men. Then we clean up and help you get the place ready.”

Rosalia couldn’t think of anything better—and she was grateful for any activity that might take her mind from Deacon and the enormous hole in her heart. “All right.”

Radha grinned. “And should we spread the word?”

Her abbey, full of laughter and voices again? And she had so much food that still needed to be eaten. “Definitely,” she said.

The moment Taylor teleported into Hell, Michael tried to take over—tried to teleport her out. She fought him, stumbling across the frozen faces. Jesus God they were cold, burning her bare feet. Every breath seared her lungs, then billowed out in ragged clouds. Silence reigned. She couldn’t hear her footsteps or her heartbeat, but the screams filled her head, the familiar screams, so loud here.

She hadn’t known how many of the damned were down here. The field stretched almost as far as she could see, faces packed together with no room between. And rising over them all, their eyes all frozen on its great height, Lucifer’s black tower speared against a crimson sky.

And she found Michael, right where she’d known he’d be. His amber eyes were frozen open, staring at the tower, but she saw that he was in there, aware. Crouching beside him, her toes digging into an eye, her heel into a mouth, she blocked his view of the tower with her face.

For an instant, the darkness within her stilled. Then he was pushing again, harder, trying to take her over and take her out of here. She put her hand against his cheek—an ice block, painfully cold. But if she could feel his cold, perhaps he could feel her warmth.

“I figured it out,” she told him, but the words didn’t emerge, just silence. She thought he understood anyway. “I figured out what I should have told Anaria that day, when she said that vampires would overrun Earth and then demons would just kill them, destroying all of humanity. I should have said: That’s not going to happen, because there’s going to be whole lotta motherfucking Guardians standing in the way.”

She thought his laughter sounded in the back of her head—she knew it came into his eyes. But there was fear, too, rising. A lot more fear than she’d expected. And she was holding, but she wouldn’t hold him back much longer.

“So I just want to say, Thank you for watching my back and saving my ass. Multiple times. And as soon as I figure out how, I promise I’ll save yours.”

Then the darkness almost overwhelmed her, pushing, pushing . . . and she felt the shiver under her feet.
Even if you can’t see or hear them coming, you can feel them.

Taylor whirled around, calling in Irena’s spear. Terror sucked her mouth dry, shriveled her heart. A hellhound. Oh, Jesus. So much bigger than any she’d seen, at least three times her height, each of his three heads the size of a SUV. She couldn’t hear his growls, but his lips peeled back over teeth as long as her arm.

Not just any hellhound, she realized in horror. Lucifer’s hellhound, Cerberus. The master might not be far behind.

The ground shivered again as Cerberus exploded into a run, circling around her, faster and faster, thrashing his heads, exposing his giant maw, as if sensing her fear and trying to twist it to unbearable heights before eating her.

Oh,
hell
no. Anger burst through her, a rush of heat to her hands.

The spear caught fire. Flames leapt along the steel length, roaring high from the tip. Cerberus cringed away from it, turning suddenly, slinking back to watch her with wary, glowing eyes.

Her astonishment forced out a shout, lost in the silence. Cerberus slowly rose to his feet again, his surprise fading. And from the tower, she felt something else—searching, focusing, a dark scream of a psyche that Michael suddenly rose up and blocked . . . pushing her again, his desperation clear.

Taylor finally took Michael’s hint, and got the hell out of there. Not out of fear. Of course not. She was a motherfucking Guardian.

And, anyway—she had a wedding to attend.

Unconcerned with night and day and sleeping patterns, the girls’ night had spilled over into a second evening, then into the next morning, and by the time they began to ready the abbey for the reception, almost every female Guardian and several of their vampire friends had passed through Rosalia’s courtyard, danced and swam. Rosalia fastened Gemma into her wedding dress and straightened Vincente’s waistcoat, and although she’d been determined not to cry, she wept through the vows. The reception culminated with more dancing—though the only one to take off his clothes was a neighbor who’d had too much champagne—and had finally wound down in the wee morning.

Now everyone was gone, and Rosalia sat on the bench near her fountain, feeling lighter than at any other moment in her life. For three days, she’d renewed both her friendships and her purpose as a mother, as a Guardian, as Rosalia. Her heart ached beyond bearing, true—but for the first time, she owed no one. All of her debts were gone, her obligations fulfilled.

Perhaps this could be a new beginning for her, as well as her son.

Smiling, she pulled her heel to the edge of the bench seat and rested her chin on her knee, watching the fall of sparkling water. The calla lilies’ perfume was strong and heady, the orange blossoms sweet. The house had never been so quiet, but it did not seem empty. After the past three days, the silence felt peaceful and soothing, instead. Not waiting to be filled, but complete.

Over the splashing of the fountain came the click of a door opening. Lifting her head, Rosalia looked toward the abbey’s entrance. She could not see it from here, but there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps.

She no longer needed to hide her abilities. Reaching out with a psychic probe, she touched his shields.

Deacon.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Forcing herself to move slowly, she stood and waited for him to emerge from the house. She knew why he had come. Camille had come to the abbey for both the girls’ night and the reception, and upon her first visit had expressed her surprise that Deacon wasn’t here.