Demon Forged (32 page)

Alejandro couldn’t speak. Horror, rage, and agony howled within him, but he couldn’t speak.

The anger in her voice faded. Only resignation remained. “I could not tell you, Olek. I only do now because something has changed between us. And I could not go forward until it was said.”

Go forward . . . without him?

“And so it is done.” She turned her face. “Let me go.”

His hands tightened. “No.”

Her eyes flashed. She pushed at him.

He dragged her higher up the wall and heard her jacket scraping against the bricks. Though he wanted to, he couldn’t be gentle. His words had deserted him, yet he had to make clear that he couldn’t let her go.

He lowered his head, took her mouth. Her lips were wet and cool. Her breath shuddered, her thighs wrapped his hips, and suddenly he wasn’t showing her anything but was rendered helpless to his need. Raw desire rappelled through him, drawing him up hard and tight against her. Her teeth dug into his bottom lip. His groan vibrated deep in his throat.

As if mollified by the sound, Irena softened. She opened her mouth beneath his. Her hands buried in his hair, pulling him closer.

He barely felt the pain that lanced through him as her fingers found the lump on the back of his head, but she must have realized what she’d touched. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily.

“Let go, Olek.”

He never wanted to deny her will. That didn’t mean he’d obey. “I will only come after you.”

Her eyes flared again. “I won’t leave. I will meet you at SI.” Her gaze slid to the left. “It is after sunset. We cannot leave Taylor alone.”

Damn duty. Damn everything but Irena. But he could not deny her this—and it would give him time to put his thoughts in order, as well.

He stepped back. She touched his cheek, then stroked her fingers down his bare chin. Silently, she turned and walked away.

He watched until she rounded a corner before starting back toward the detectives. Rain soaked the insides of his shoes, squelching with every step. It dripped down the back of his neck. He changed clothes as he passed through the shadows, trading shoes for his comfortable boots. He touched his jaw where Irena had and formed his beard.

The detectives’ car was only a block away when a harmonious voice sliced through the air like blades.

“Alejandro Sandoval de Córdoba y Hacén.”

He pivoted, seeking Michael. Across the street, the Doyen perched on the roof of a building, his black wings folded against his back. His obsidian eyes seemed to absorb the light. Alejandro had seen them many times, but they’d never appeared to him as empty—as soulless—as they did now.

They had never appeared as the nephilim’s eyes did.

“You left her unguarded.”

As if the words snaked through Michael’s psychic blocks, the air suddenly seethed with the Doyen’s anger. Alejandro’s stomach lurched. In five centuries, he had seen Michael cold, had seen him ruthless—but never terrifying.

And he’d never felt the raw, unleashed power that Michael emitted now. Two years ago, he’d felt something similar from Lucifer . . . but this was worse.

Because he thought he’d known Michael. Thought he’d had some idea what the Doyen was capable of.

He remembered Irena’s claim that Khavi had told Michael something more than the vision about Taylor.
Yes,
Alejandro thought. Irena must have been right. And whatever Khavi had told him stripped away some of Michael’s layers.

He made a short bow, kept his voice low and respectful. “It will not happen again.”

“It will not. From this point forward, she is mine after sunset. You may go.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
She is mine?
That was a peculiar way to phrase it. Perhaps there was more to Michael’s behavior than just concern for Taylor . . . but Alejandro would not leave her alone with the Doyen like this. Not until Michael’s anger had passed.

“I would, Michael,” he said, and crossed the distance to the car. “But I dislike the rain, and prefer to ride back to SI.”

He got in, unsurprised to find his fingers shaking. Taylor gave a pointed look at the shattered window before pulling away from the curb.

Preston was laughing to himself. “For a minute there, I thought we’d be citing you both for public indecency.”

“Cite both your asses for destroying public property,” Taylor muttered. “But I’d still have to explain it to Jorgenson.”

If Michael’s words earlier had opened his blocks, Taylor’s seemed to close them. The Doyen’s seething anger vanished. No other emotion replaced it.

Alejandro didn’t find that reassuring.

Irena felt the tension immediately upon her return to Special Investigations. As she strode into the hub, she heard the conversation from the novices upstairs fade, as if they were listening. A sigh escaped her. She could not walk into a room without everyone around her expecting a fight.

Standing in the center of the hub, Taylor and Preston appeared to be waiting for Alejandro, who was speaking with Selah, making plans to teleport to Buenos Aires later. After he was done here, he still had more to do.

Irena had something she needed to do, too. She jogged upstairs, across the common room, and into the dormitory hallway, noting how the novices avoided her eyes.

Rosalia waited in front of Deacon’s room. Her black knee-high boots sported heels that Irena would have twisted her ankle in. A hooded cloak draped her shoulders, creating swirling shadows that now concealed, now revealed the black form-fitting pants and shirt she wore. She’d strapped a crossbow to her back.

Obviously, she spent far too much time among vampires.

“It is good to see you well,” Irena said.

“It is good to be well.” Rosalia didn’t move away from Deacon’s door. “He is in the shower. Are you bringing him the nosferatu’s blood?”

“Nosferatu and demon.”

“If you don’t object, I’d like to give the blood to him.”

Surprised, Irena regarded her closely. Rosalia’s expression, though friendly, had a strange intensity that Irena couldn’t read. She remembered Deacon’s reaction to the Guardian at the club. Perhaps that interest was reciprocated.

“Why?”

“Because it is good to be well.” A small, sad smile tilted her lips. “And I owe him for that.”

Irena still didn’t see why, but many Guardians had different notions of debts and obligations than she did. She wouldn’t prevent Rosalia from repaying hers.

The novices in the common room remained quiet while she passed the blood to Rosalia. Signing, instead of talking aloud. Irena frowned, her irritation with the novices mounting. Why didn’t they just say what they thought? Were they truly so uncertain about her intentions? And if they were—why did it make them so hesitant? What
she
did had no bearing on
them
.

She stalked back to the common room, her shields open and projecting the dull edge of her anger. Eyes wide and wary, the novices watched her approach. Becca sat beside Pim, both twisted around so that they could see over the back of the sofa. Randall, Garth, and Nadia stood stiffly beside the game table. Almost half of all the current novices—and Echo, Ben, and Mackenzie were also at the game table, a few vampires, too. Good.

Irena heard Alejandro’s light step on the stairs, but didn’t glance that way. She stopped in front of Becca, braced her hands on top of the sofa’s back, and leaned in.

“I’m heading downstairs to kill Lilith. What are
you
going to do?”

A heartbeat of shocked silence fell over the room. The novices barraged her with objections an instant later, but Irena only paid attention to Becca’s.

Her fists curled. Her gaze held Irena’s. “I’ll stop you.”

Irena grinned. “Will you?”

She grabbed the novice’s shoulders, hauled her over the sofa. Before novices or vampires could react, Irena had Becca flat on the floor, her knee in the novice’s back and her knife against the side of Becca’s throat. The novice struggled to get up. Irena held her easily.

She gave a warning glance to the novices surrounding them—each with their weapons drawn, she noted with approval. Behind her, running footsteps suddenly halted, and a shout was muffled as Olek stopped the only one in the room who, given his feelings for Becca, might have posed a danger—to himself, when Irena defended against his attack.

On the floor, Becca tried to pull herself forward. She gasped as Irena pressed her knee down harder. The rug ripped beneath the novice’s fingers.

With a soft sound of alarm, Pim stepped forward, lowering her sword. “Irena,
please
.”

Irena ignored her. She bent to speak into Becca’s ear. “I’m stronger than you. Faster than you. I could tear you apart without lifting a finger, and you do not yet even have your Gift,” she said. “Will you still try to come between Lilith and me?”

“Yes.” The novice’s ragged breaths were almost sobs now.

“Why?” Irena sneered. “Because you are
loyal
to Lilith?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, you crazy cunt bitch!”

Irena flipped her over. She blocked Becca’s fist, then captured her wrists. The novice could have hurt Irena with a knee to her back, but Becca must have realized there was nothing left to fight. She stared up at Irena, absolutely still.

“Yes,” Irena said. “That is the right answer. Your loyalty should not be to me, to Lilith, to the Guardians. Only to this.” She laid her hand over Becca’s racing heart. “
Only
this. Do you see?”

Becca nodded, and Irena knew that the novice did see. This one was the youngest here, but she was not stupid. And if the others were not stupid, they would see as well.

Irena hauled the novice to her feet. “Then you will be worthy of your wings.”

She began to turn, but Becca’s voice stopped her. “And what if I don’t know what’s right?”

Irena sighed. She hated questions such as these. “Then ask your friends.” She gestured to the novices around them. “Surely one of them will say something sensible. Or ask your mentor, or Micha—” She cut herself off. The novice bit her lip. Irena drew a deep breath and finished, “Or Michael.”

Humor lit Becca’s eyes. “Lilith?”

Irena chuckled, more amused by the novice’s daring than the question. “No.”

“You?”

Her laughter took off. When she finally wrestled it under control, she wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

The novice looked genuinely perplexed. “No? Why not?”

Irena stared at her. The novice had been afraid that she might kill Lilith—and if circumstances had been different, if Lilith had been different, Irena
would
have slain the former demon—and yet she looked to Irena for guidance? “Why would you?”

“You’re . . . you.”

Irena frowned. That made no sense. But the other novices were nodding, and so obviously the only person it didn’t make sense to was Irena.

“Come to me, then,” she said. “But know that my answer will always be ‘Kill the demon.’ Painfully, if possible.”

Becca gave a little smile, as if that pleased her. “Okay.”

Still frowning, Irena turned away from her toward the stairs. Across the common room, Alejandro stood with his forearm against Mackenzie’s throat and his sword angled between the vampire’s legs. Mackenzie’s rage had not yet cooled.

Alejandro’s tone remained calm, but demanded that the vampire listen. “Your desire to protect your woman speaks well of you—but do not forget that she is a Guardian. You must learn to recognize when she needs protection, and when she does not.”

From behind her, Becca snapped, “I don’t need protection, you stupid jerk.”

Irena wasn’t sure if
stupid jerk
referred to Alejandro or Mackenzie, but the vampire must have thought it was him. Chagrin flashed through his psychic scent before he bared his fangs. “Be quiet, my woman.”

The novices snickered. Perhaps they’d seen this argument before. Irena left them to it, continuing toward the stairs.

Alejandro released the vampire, adding, “You’ll likely find that when she needs it and when she wants it will rarely coincide.”

Irena gave him a look as he caught up to her at the head of the stairs.
When she wants it?
she signed.

The corners of his mouth deepened and his cheeks hollowed. His not-quite-a-smile. But his eyes didn’t 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.