Demon Marked

by Meljean Brook

  And he needed to know what had happened to Rachel’s body after her lifeless form had vanished from his arms. At the very least, she deserved that for saving his life. For loving him.

  Nicholas only wished he’d loved her back. She’d deserved that, too.

  He’d continue to let this demon think he had loved Rachel, though. Growing up with Madelyn for a mother had taught him that emotion could—and would—be used against him. He’d pretend to have once loved Rachel and let the demon try to manipulate an emotion he’d never felt, rather than let her rip him open with the guilt he did feel.

  He’d lock away that guilt, just as he locked away almost every emotion. If he thanked Madelyn for anything, it was that she’d given him the ability to conceal his feelings and to think like she did. Now he’d use that against her.

  He tossed the crossbow to the foot of the bed. The weapon would be useful later, but first he had to make certain she didn’t try to run—and a demon could run fast enough that he wouldn’t have time to blink before she’d gone. He bent to haul her onto the mattress. Beneath his hands, her wings felt like old leather left out in the hot sun. Roughly, he pushed them aside and gripped her shoulders, dragging her up. Her head rocked forward, as if weighted by the horns.

  No need to worry about waking her; she couldn’t hurt him without breaking the Rules. When he held her, she couldn’t even try to loosen his grasp.

  He let her flop back onto the bed and shoved her legs up. She didn’t stir, but he couldn’t have much time left. With one hand locked around her left wrist, he opened the nightstand’s top drawer, scanning the weapons there.

  She wouldn’t give him a chance to shock her with the Taser again. His pistol was useless against a demon. She could easily break the handcuffs. The darts filled with hellhound venom would paralyze her, but he needed her to talk. And though he could prevent her escape by holding on to her wrist, Nicholas preferred not to touch her.

  The collar, then. A quarter-inch thick and constructed of steel, she wouldn’t be able to rip it from her neck. Its heavy battery pack could be activated by remote to deliver another electric shock, briefly incapacitating her.

  With the crossbow backing him up, “briefly” was all that he needed. He snapped the collar around her neck. Snagging his shirt from the bench at the end of the bed, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and waited, the remote in hand. Not long now—she was coming around. The crimson had faded from her skin; her wings had vanished. For the first time since he’d electrocuted her, she took a breath.

  God, she looked so much like Rachel. Her gestures had been Rachel’s, too. When he’d come into the room and she’d turned to face him, the way she’d swept her long blond bangs away from her forehead as if to get a better look at him had been so familiar.

  Those red symbols weren’t. He realized now that the tattoos didn’t just cover the side of her face, but continued down her neck and arms. Hundreds more of the inch-high symbols were tattooed over her torso and halfway down her legs, and an elaborate, palm-sized glyph decorated the skin between her breasts.

  Why was this demon wearing those markings if she’d meant to impersonate Rachel? Nicholas couldn’t understand the purpose of it, not when a demon could imitate a person’s appearance so precisely. He couldn’t believe the tattoos were a mistake, not when she’d made certain to get the other details exactly right. Hell, the demon had even worn Rachel’s favorite clothing: the black leather jacket she loved, the knee-high boots with their three-inch heels, the snug jeans.

  Would Madelyn have known about that jacket, those boots? Rachel had never dressed like that around her. It hadn’t been professional. Rachel had worn those clothes only away from work, and on the few weekends she and Nicholas had taken . . .

  God. Nicholas shook his head. He couldn’t let himself do that. He couldn’t go back to those few months when he’d cared for her, as much as he could care for anyone. It hadn’t been love, but when this demon woke up, it would twist any available emotion, and those memories brought his guilt and his grief too close to the surface. So he couldn’t think about Rachel.

  And he had to remember that every word coming from a demon’s mouth was a lie designed to mislead him—or a truth designed to fulfill some other destructive goal. He couldn’t risk listening to her, or believe anything she said.

  He only needed to know if this demon was Madelyn. If she wasn’t, he’d slay her.

  Or he’d use her to find Madelyn . . . then slay them both.

  Three minutes later, the demon opened her eyes. Her gaze immediately found him standing at the end of the bed, his crossbow aimed at her chest. Without a word, Nicholas showed her the remote in his left hand, his thumb resting on the red activator button.

  Her brow furrowed, but she caught on quickly. Her fingers flew to the heavy rectangular battery at her neck.

  “It’s an explosive collar,” Nicholas said. “If you move, your head is gone.”

  Lies. It would only stun her and give him time to capture her again. He didn’t mention that the broadheads of his crossbow bolts would detonate on impact. She’d discover that for herself if he had to use one.

  She nodded and looked down at her naked form. No shock or embarrassment registered on her features. Rachel had always been a bit nervous when they’d undressed. This demon’s lips tilted, but he wasn’t certain if that faint smile indicated amusement. It didn’t seem to indicate much of anything.

  Of course, Nicholas’s reaction to the beautiful woman lying naked on the bed wasn’t his typical response, either. No thoughts of sex intruded—only a sharp awareness that this demon might have killed his mother and driven his father to suicide.

  Unexpectedly, she didn’t seem interested in trying to arouse him. She didn’t adopt a seductive posture; he couldn’t detect a hint of suggestion in her movements or her expression. Her clothes simply reappeared. She began to rise from the bed, but froze when he followed her up with the crossbow.

  “I knew handguns were hard to come by in England,” she said, sitting at the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t realize crossbows were easier to find.”

  “A gun won’t kill you.”

  “It wouldn’t?” She glanced down at her chest, as if imagining a bullet slamming into it.

  Nicholas imagined it, too—all too clearly. This demon would bleed. It would feel pain. Then it would heal. Rachel hadn’t. She’d thrashed and choked on her own blood, and nothing that Nicholas did to help had—

  No. Determinedly, Nicholas forced that memory away. Within seconds of this demon waking, he was already thinking of Rachel. This had to be what she’d wanted.

  He wouldn’t play her games. “You know a gun can’t kill you.”

  “No. I didn’t know.” She tilted her head as if taking his measure. Just like Rachel. “If you know I can’t be killed by a gun, then you know who I am?”

  “You’re not Rachel.”

  “No, I’m not,” she agreed. “I don’t know why I look like her. Or why I feel as if I should remember something. Perhaps this is her body, and there is an imprint of her memories in my brain? I don’t know. I hoped that you would.”

  Playing dumb. Six months ago, Nicholas might not have known what the demon was doing. Then he’d met Rosalia, a Guardian who could have given a demon lessons in extracting the information she wanted without offering any of her own. Thanks to Rosalia, he recognized this tactic: The demon pretended ignorance to discover how much he knew. She couldn’t physically fight him, and so her only power came from possessing more knowledge than he did. So she was trying to figure out what lies to tell.

  Nicholas was just as interested in seeing what lies she tried to spin when he didn’t give her anything first. “What do you know?”

  She answered more easily than he’d anticipated. “That almost three years ago, Madelyn St. Croix brought me to a private psychiatric hospital and left me. I don’t remember where I was before that. I don’t remember anything from before that.” If that frustrated he
r, she gave no sign of it. “And until a few months ago, I didn’t care. Now I do. I want to know who I am, what I am. And I think you might have the answers.”

  Weren’t demons better liars than this? She’d barely gotten into her story, and already he saw holes in it.

  “You have no memory, but you recalled Madelyn’s name?”

  “Not until a month ago. I looked up pictures of Rachel Boyle’s associates online, and recognized Madelyn as the woman who brought me to Nightingale House.”

  Nightingale House. Jesus. No question that this demon either was Madelyn or connected to her.

  When Nicholas had been a boy, she’d had his father committed to Nightingale House—and it had destroyed his business, his reputation, his life. It had been Madelyn’s first step in driving him toward suicide.

  Fucking demons. His finger tightened on the crossbow trigger. As if she heard the movement, her gaze fell to his hand.

  “I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t,” she said. “I’d rather not die.” Bullshit. She didn’t sound grateful or concerned.

  “What happens if you die?” He let curiosity lighten his tone, as if he was considering pulling the trigger just to find out. Let her sweat. “Do you return to Hell?”

  “I don’t know.” She watched him steadily. No sweating. Dammit. “Nicholas, I need your help. Somehow, I’m connected to Madelyn St. Croix, just as Rachel was. And your mother—”

  “She’s not my mother,” he stated flatly. The idea sent fury through his veins, but he wouldn’t let her see that.

  Her brows rose. “Then who is she?”

  “A demon.”

  “A demon,” she echoed. Something sparked in her eyes. Excitement ? Whatever it was, the emotion quickly vanished. “Is that what I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are, too? You seem to suffer the same lack of affect that I do.”

  The demon probably intended that observation to hurt him, to make him question his humanity, but to Nicholas, it only showed that she couldn’t read his emotions. Good. Rosalia’s tutelage had paid off there, too. She’d taught him to guard his mind—and obviously she’d done it well enough, as this demon couldn’t sense anything that he didn’t want to give her.

  “I’m human,” he said.

  “How can you tell?” Her gaze searched his face, as if looking for the differences. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Was Rachel a demon, too?”

  Oh, that was clever. Introduce doubt about Rachel, throw him off-kilter. Too bad Nicholas had already considered the possibility that Rachel had been Madelyn’s lackey all along.

  Considered the possibility and discarded it. He’d been skinto-skin with her too many times. She’d been human—and the only reason the idea had ever occurred to him was because it could assuage his guilt. If she’d been a demon and her death had been a setup designed by Madelyn, then Nicholas had nothing to be sorry for. An attractive thought, but not true. He preferred to live with his regret rather than blame Rachel.

  “Try again,” he said.

  She didn’t. Almost dismissively, she looked away from Nicholas and scanned the room. “Are any of Rachel’s things still here?”

  “No.” He had a few items, including the overnight bag she’d packed for the weekend they’d intended to spend together—Madelyn had shot her before they’d left town. The rest of Rachel’s belongings had been returned to her family. “Her parents took them back to the States. Why?”

  “If you can’t help me, perhaps they can.” She touched the steel collar. “So let me go, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Not a fucking chance, especially if she truly meant to see Rachel’s parents. Goddamned demons. If this was a threat, she’d chosen the perfect one.

  Unlike the police and the press, Rachel’s parents had believed Nicholas. When he’d told them that Rachel had thrown herself in front of him, they hadn’t asked what Nicholas had done to deserve such a sacrifice; they’d only said Rachel’s selfless act was exactly what they’d have expected from her. And though they hadn’t understood how her body had disappeared any better than Nicholas had, they’d believed that, too.

  And they were still looking for her. If this demon showed up at their home, no doubt they’d welcome her with open arms and call it a miracle.

  The Boyles didn’t deserve that. They’d suffered enough. No way in hell would Nicholas let a demon arrive at their house wearing their dead daughter’s face. But he couldn’t let her know that he felt the need to protect Rachel’s family from her, because she’d use it against him.

  Nicholas focused on how he intended to use the demon, instead. “So you want me to just let you walk away?” He shook his head. “The way I see it, you’re the last person to have contact with Madelyn. That means you’re my best chance of finding her. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And he wouldn’t get anywhere as long as she kept lying. All right, then. He’d call her bluff. She wanted to know who she really was? He’d discover how much she’d risk to find out.

  “Okay.” He lowered the crossbow. “Then I propose a bargain: You help me track Madelyn down, and I’ll help you discover who you are.”

  She hesitated. Damn right she did. A bargain was the most dangerous agreement a demon could make. Any party to a bargain that didn’t follow through on the terms would find their soul trapped in Hell’s frozen field when they died, tortured for eternity. A human who didn’t fulfill the terms would be trapped, too, but Nicholas was willing to take that risk to find Madelyn.

  An emotion that might have been wariness entered her voice. “What would the bargain entail, exactly?”

  “As I said. You use the knowledge you have to help me find the demon who impersonated my mother. And no lying to me for as long as we’re bound together—that’s part of this bargain. You can’t conceal information about the demon who pretended to be Madelyn, or anything that might lead me to her. Every relevant bit of info, no matter how trivial, you give to me the moment you think of it. In return, I’ll help you discover who you are.”

  “I won’t be of use to you. I don’t know where Madelyn is,” she said.

  Hedging, delaying. Nicholas hadn’t expected anything different. He raised the crossbow again. “So that’s a no.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, as if forcing herself to think. Rachel used to do the same, but her eyes had never begun turning crimson as this demon’s eyes were. “I just . . . I’ve entered into a bargain before. I don’t know what. But I know that it’s not something I should do quickly. So I’m telling you now that you’ll be disappointed, because I don’t have answers for you.”

  No. She was telling him now because if she entered into the bargain, she couldn’t lie.

  “I don’t care,” Nicholas said. “If you don’t know where she is now, you can still agree to help. And I’ll help you in return.”

  “What if we don’t find Madelyn or discover who I am?”

  “It only matters that we help each other, not that we succeed. It only matters that you don’t conceal information or lie.”

  She nodded. God, what a terrible bargainer she was. She hadn’t asked the same from him—probably because finding out who she was didn’t really matter.

  It mattered to him. If she was telling the truth and didn’t know who Madelyn was, then tracing this demon’s history might lead him to Madelyn, anyway. They were obviously connected.

  The glow receded from her eyes, leaving them clear and blue. “And if we fail, are we stuck together for the rest of our lives?”

  “If we exhaust every possibility, we’ll agree to release each other from the bargain,” he said. Even if they never did, her life would be much longer than his. Surely her immortality was a detail that every demon couldn’t forget. “So, you help me, and I’ll help you. Are we agreed? You have to say it.”

  She took a deep breath before slowly nodding. “Yes. We have a bargain.”

  She’d actu
ally agreed? Nicholas stared at her, replaying each step, making certain he hadn’t missed anything. He hadn’t expected that she’d go through with it. But she’d said it clearly: Yes.

  Surprise shifted to triumph. He had her.

  “Are you Madelyn?” But no, that was the wrong question. She might not be able to lie, but technically, the demon he sought had never been Madelyn St. Croix; she’d just stolen a human woman’s identity. He clarified, “Are you the demon who impersonated my mother?”

  “What do you mean, am I your moth—” She broke off. “Can’t you tell by looking?”

  “I know demons can shape-shift.” How ignorant did she think he was?

  She blinked. “We can?”

  Jesus, even a bargain didn’t stop her from playing stupid. A direct question, then. She couldn’t evade that.

  “Are you that demon?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Her lips pursed briefly. “I don’t know who I am, so if I can shape-shift, I suppose that means I could be anyone. But I saw Madelyn St. Croix, or someone who could have been her twin, and she wasn’t me.”

  Whoever she saw could have been any demon shape-shifted—but most likely, the other demon had been Madelyn. So Nicholas had to accept that this wasn’t Madelyn . . . and that she truly didn’t know who she was.

  He fought his disappointment. Even if this demon didn’t remember who she was, that didn’t mean she had no other useful knowledge.

  “Where is Madelyn now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  For God’s sake. With effort, Nicholas concealed his frustration. “Who gave you the code to the house?”

  “I don’t know. The pattern was familiar, and I just . . . entered it.” She demonstrated in the air, as if inputting a number into a keypad, then spread her hands. “But I don’t remember where I learned the code.”