Demon Marked (42 page)

“I love you,” she said, in case he hadn't realized it yet. “I came here to tell you, but I was distracted by the sex.”

His kiss was long and sweet, and muffled her noise of protest when he began to roll over. He didn't stop kissing her until she lay atop his body—with him still hard inside her, and so she was satisfied.

“I don't need to breathe,” she reminded him.

“That's not the point.” His new wings vanished, but a single feather lay on the sheets. She picked it up as he said, “I don't want to ever hold you down in
any
way.”

“I think I'd like you to hold me down and just fuck away sometime. We could play ‘demon almost broke the Rules.'”

“Only if we follow up with ‘Guardian almost broke the Rules,” he said, but the stirring of his flesh told her that a part of him wasn't averse to her idea now. His expression turned serious, however, so she assumed that wasn't in store just yet. “That's not what I meant, though. I can't bear the idea of you beneath anyone, Ash.”

She didn't really want that, either. “Unless I'm beneath you, and you're inside me.”

“That's different. Sex and play are different. But this is . . .” His brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to find the right way to express it. “This is the
more
, Ash. What I'm waiting for—what I might
always
be waiting for, but that I'll do everything I can to get there.”

“Where?”

“To become the man who deserves you. Who is worthy of you.” When her mouth fell open, he shook his head, swept his thumb over her lips as if to seal them closed. “You can't say anything. I've hurt you, Ash. I can't take that back. And you might have forgiven me, or you might say that the grenade made up for it—”

“I did. I would.”

“But it's not yours to give. Not this one. It has to be me, doing my damn best to be the man
I
think might deserve you—not just some bastard who got lucky enough. As it is, it's almost impossible, but I'll spend forever trying.”

Well, Ash thought that was
totally unnecessary
, but it obviously made a difference to him, so much that during his explanation, the determination filling his words seemed to fill his physical form, too, shifting and changing his—

“Oh,” she gasped at the same time his eyes closed, a tortured moan rising from his chest. The feather fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. “Nicholas, you—I think you shape-shifted. Not much, you just became . . . more.”

Stretching. Almost painful . . . but not. She sat up and cried out as his cock pushed deeper. Her nails dug into his chest.

His eyes were already shining. His hands moved to her hips, tried to lift her off. “I'm hurting you.”

“You're
not
hurting—” She broke off as he managed to slide her up over his length. Ecstasy shot through her veins, sparking new fires. Her inner muscles clamped around him. Her head swam with the unexpected, overwhelming pleasure of it. “Oh, my God.
Stop.
”

He froze. Already needing more, she pushed down, and his entire body clenched, a groan ripping from him. Trembling, she waited for him to recover.

He looked up at her. She leaned forward, braced her hands, and gave him her wickedest grin.

“So, Guardian. Let's see just how long you can hold on.”

Nicholas could hold on for a long time, as it turned out. He'd adapted well to his heightened senses, though his glowing eyes and abruptly appearing wings showed the same lack of control that Ash once had.

She'd never experienced Enthrallment, though, and had only sensed it once, when a novice became fixated on the fragrance of baking bread wafting from a sandwich shop near the warehouse. That Guardian's psychic scent had gone into a long, slow spin—as if he were dizzy, and the bread formed his only remaining anchor.

When it happened to Nicholas, that anchor was the taste of her, as if his world had narrowed down to her flavor against his tongue. Ash held onto him through each searching lick, crying out again and again, and though her body remained strong, inexhaustible, by the time he came back to himself she was wrung out with the ecstasy of it.

Then he lifted his body over hers, pushed deep inside, and wrung her out again.

When they finally emerged from the bedroom, night had long since fallen and the fire had died down, leaving the cabin stone cold. From her rocking chair, Ash watched him lay the kindling in the stove, the lamplight playing over the muscles of his back.

He
had
gotten bigger. Not in any one direction, but overall taller and wider, and proportioned in exactly the same way. Without anyone standing next to him as comparison, the difference was hard to immediately see. The only evidence of it was in the tighter fit of his pajama pants, the higher hem.

“Unless you figure out how to shape-shift back or make your own clothes in the next few weeks, you're going to have to buy a new wardrobe.”

“I'll hire someone.” He reached for the lighter. “So you already have a penthouse in San Francisco?”

“It's awkward masturbating to my fantasies of you in a warehouse full of Guardians with superhearing,” she said. “So I split my time between training and the penthouse, where I've been setting up these accounts that Lilith wants, and taking over your company.”

The icy challenge in the glance he shot her sent a thrill through her blood. “You can try, demon.”

She would. “You'll be training, too, but I'd love it if you'd work with me on these investments. I could use another eye and another brain, especially at this stage.”

“Is sex included?”

“Yes.”

“That easy? No negotiation?”

“I'll throw in a
lot
of sex.”

“Then I'm in.”

Perfect. “It's almost like training, anyway. Investing and trying to negotiate with a demon both mean a lot of waiting for the right opportunity, making the right queries to discover what they're not saying or reporting, and deciding whether the high-risk moves are worth the reward.”

“I think the last high-risk move that I made was,” he said softly. The kindling began crackling a moment later, and he stood, regarding her with his serious face. “When the training's over—thirty or so years, I guess—I'll probably hand Reticle over to you, start fighting full-time.”

“I know,” she said.

“I won't leave you, but—”

“I know, Nicholas.” She'd seen the new purpose in him, and his company wouldn't serve it the same way the money had supported his revenge. “I'll hold on to it for when you need a cover or any other reason. As long as we're together, I'm happy. Especially since I plan to own half the world in the next two or three hundred years, but very few people will know. All that matters is that you're with me, and you're impressed by my financial acumen.”

“Everything about you astonishes me, Ash.”

“Because you love me.”

“No, because
you
love
me
. I'm coming to you a completely different man than you knew before. I shouldn't expect anything, and you give me forever.”

“That's what I want, too. Anyway, you're wrong. You weren't a man when we met. You were like me—essentially a child in many ways. Maybe a teenager.”

Nicholas shook his head, but she knew he wasn't disagreeing. He knew himself too well. His life had stopped when he'd decided to pursue his revenge.

“The essentials are the same, though,” she said. “You sought revenge as a way to right the wrongs Madelyn did to you. Yes, you were myopic and obsessive and incredibly paranoid, but there wasn't any cruelty in you, just as there isn't now. And I like to think we grew up a bit together, that week we spent here.”

“You are amazing.” He bent and kissed her hard. “And fantasies in the warehouse, really?”

“Only once. What do I care, right? But apparently it makes everyone uncomfortable, so they told me about the spell that can keep anyone from hearing what's going on inside a room. Did you offend the bears?”

“I didn't. I don't.”

“Think about me?” Impossible.

“All the time. But not . . . I can't.” He turned away, set the lighter on its shelf. “I see Madelyn, walking in on me. Laughing.”

Oh. When he faced her again, his features were washed in red light.

“I'm so glad she's dead,” Ash said, and he gave a short laugh of agreement. “And that reminds me, I have something for you, thanks to Jake the teleporting Guardian. Straight from a brick oven in New York, to his cache, to my cache, and now to your table—still piping hot. Now you can celebrate the end of Madelyn as you planned.”

The cardboard box appeared in her hands, bringing with it an explosion of scents: cheese, charred crust, tomato, and spices. Nicholas didn't even allow her time to open the lid. He tossed the box aside, and it slapped against the floorboards. He hauled her out of the chair, his mouth all over hers, sweet possession, gratitude, and wonder filling his kiss.

He let her feet touch the floor again, following her down, his forehead against hers and his breath ragged. “I love you. I don't deserve you, but I won't let you go. Ever.”

Another voice answered him—a harmonious voice. “Make sure that you don't.”

Khavi.
Ash whipped around, boomstick coming to her hand. She froze. Khavi stood near the door, and she'd brought a hellhound with her. Not as big as Sir Pup, but it didn't matter—the venom in Ash's shotgun shells wouldn't affect either of them.

Human in appearance except for brown eyes that never appeared so ancient in so young a face, Khavi looked at the pizza box. “Oh, I came just in time. You will be very, very glad not to have eaten first.”

“What do you want, Khavi?” But Ash feared she knew. Vanishing the boomstick, she said, “If this is about the frozen field, I am
not
exchanging myself for Michael.”

“I know. Your unwillingness has been noted, and adjustments have been made.” She looked at Nicholas, who watched her warily. “You are finally healed, I see. Strong. And I am very sorry—I intended to wait until your Gift manifested itself naturally, but I cannot any longer. He will pull it from you anyway, just to determine whether you're useful. When he does, you'll have to look deep, and
see
what I cannot.”

“What does that mean?” Nicholas pushed in front of Ash, shielded her. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I have seen. But it must be done.” Determination replaced the regret in her voice. “You need to call Special Investigations, Nicholas. Now, because you will need their help.”

Dread filled Ash's chest. “Why?”

“Because I'm taking you both to Hell and giving you to Lucifer.” Khavi sighed when Ash's crossbow was suddenly in her hand, aimed at the grigori's face. “No, no. Do not fight. It is no use—I will easily defeat you. I have already seen it.”

 

Ash staggered, fell to her knees in the hot red sand. The world tilted wildly. God. Her stomach heaved, and she heard Nicholas fighting the same dizzying effects of the teleportation. She drew in a deep breath, almost retched again.
The stink.
Rotten, burning flesh.

No more breathing. Not here. Just listening, making certain . . .

They were alone for the moment. No heartbeats nearby. Only his.

Nicholas's arm slid around her. Though still not steady, he lifted her, waited until she planted her feet. “Are you okay?”

No.
But there was no other choice to nod. “Next time, we'll know better than to try fighting a crazy teleporter who can see the future. Are you hurt?”

“She never even touched me, except to bring us here. And—” He broke off. “Ash, look.”

She heard the bleakness in his voice, and didn't want to turn. In the direction she faced, there was only an endless stretch of red sand, a bruised crimson sky. But she couldn't pretend. Bracing herself, she turned.

Oh, God.
Terror caught her throat, her heart in an icy, clawed grip. They stood at the edge of the frozen field. A few steps away, red sand bled into open mouths and eyes, a frozen carpet of faces locked in ice. So many locked together, with no space between.
So many.
She couldn't see the borders on the sides, only Lucifer's tower rising in the center like an enormous black spear.
How long had she stared at that, screaming, screaming?
Forever. And they were all there now, screaming, and she knew that there was no other sound, only silence, and just the tortured, endless screaming of the millions trapped—