I knew, though, that Guthrie would rather die than be taken to Hell. His soul was already bound to a different demon—one who wanted all of us dead. That particular demon had very nearly succeeded in killing Guthrie and reaping his soul, before Rans had intervened to save him by turning him. If Guthrie went to Hell, he’d be trapped there forever, unless the demon to whom he was bound deigned to transport him back through the gate between realms.
To say that Guthrie wasn’t a huge fan of demons was putting it mildly.
I also got the distinct impression that there was some quasi-paternal protectiveness going on right now with Rans. If my mental library of trashy vampire novels and movies was to be believed, siring a new vampire involved the creation of a bond that was basically familial in nature. Which was ironic, really, since I’d recently learned that Guthrie’s DNA had been used without his knowledge decades ago. That theft of genetic material had allowed the succubus who’d bound his soul to get a human woman pregnant with a half-human, half-demon child—something no demon could do on its own.
That child... had been my mother.
I’d only met Guthrie a few weeks ago. But as far as I was concerned, he already had a better claim to being my grandfather than the demon asshole who’d screwed over my family. Not that I had any idea whether Guthrie would even want the title of grandparent. I supposed we’d have to figure that part out once we’d successfully survived the next few minutes.
Or not.
Nigellus rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full—and rather impressive—height. His features smoothed into a cool mask.
“Ah,” said the demon. “I had rather wondered how long it would take you to realize. I assume I have Ms. Bright to blame for this... wrinkle?”
“Damn right you do,” I gritted out. “Maybe next time, you should try calling the blood wine something a bit less obvious. Like ‘elixir of health’ or ‘potion of eternal youth.’ Oh, and by the way. While I’m thinking about it—fuck you, Nigellus.”
The demon raised an eyebrow, and I wondered if I was about to get my ass smote on the spot. Did demons smite people? Or was that just angels? Whatever the case, now that Nigellus had Guthrie as a potential vampire blood source, he technically no longer needed Rans. That meant, by extension, he no longer needed me, either.
It was an uncomfortable realization.
“Why.” Rans flung the word down like a gauntlet rather than a question. He stood coiled like a predator ready to spring, eyes glowing and fangs bared. “Why would you use me like this for centuries—for centuries, Nigellus—and not tell me?”
Nigellus gave him a thin smile that did not reach his eyes. “Believe it or not, I didn’t tell you because I made an oath not to.”
“An oath?” Rans snarled.
I shifted in place beside him. I could count the number of times I’d seen Rans lose his shit on... well... one finger, really. Maybe two, if you counted throwing an iron sword at Albigard’s head. Somehow, I doubted a full-on vampire meltdown was going to help this situation, but then again—what did I know?
A small furrow appeared in Nigellus’ brow. “An... agreement, then, if you prefer. By holding my peace, I am keeping a confidence that takes precedence over your current emotional upset.” He regarded us with interest for a moment. “Though I must say, I’m somewhat impressed by the mercenary nature of your recent actions. You’ve clearly known of this for some time, yet you didn’t hesitate to use me for protection from Myrial, or the Fae.”
“Are we supposed to feel bad about that?” I asked in disbelief.
Dark eyes met mine, not even a hint of hellfire lurking in their depths. “No, not at all, Ms. Bright. On the contrary, it’s a lesson I’ve been attempting to drum into Ransley’s skull for centuries.”
For a moment, I imagined I could actually hear Rans’ molars grinding together in barely controlled rage.
“Fucking demons,” I muttered, not caring that Nigellus could hear me... or that I was essentially insulting myself as well as him.
“So, what is it to be, Nigellus?” Rans asked, his tone hard as steel. “I won’t allow you to take Guthrie while I still live. Are we to battle right here? No doubt you’ll win if we do, whether you’re weakened or not. Do you truly wish for that to become the final chapter of our long and storied association?”
Nigellus looked at him and sighed. “Hardly. Do take a moment and think, Ransley. If I desired to defy your ultimatum, I would simply bend your mind and alter your memories as I’ve done countless times before. Though admittedly, Ms. Bright’s demonic heritage gives her some slight resistance to my powers... as it does to your mesmeric influence, I would imagine. Nonetheless, a sufficient application of my will would still render her confused enough for me to leave with Mr. Leonides if I chose to do so.”
“And why haven’t you done that?” I asked, caught between being seriously freaked out and genuinely curious about the answer.
His eyebrow twitched upward again. “Because I do not, in fact, wish for that to be the final chapter of my long centuries of association with your paramour.”
Rans’ bearing cooled by a degree or two, until I no longer felt like I was standing next to a nuclear reactor going critical.
“Then start talking, damn you,” he said. “Why use my blood to stockpile the human tithelings in Hell by preventing them from aging? Why not simply force me to turn one of them, and get that one to turn the rest?”
Nigellus flicked one hand in a brushing-off gesture. “It’s a simple matter of logistics. You’re not thinking strategically, Ransley. Those new vampires would need to feed. If hundreds of demon-bound vampires suddenly appeared on Earth and started drinking the humans’ blood, it would hardly remain a stealth
