Demon Marked

by Meljean Brook

  Up. Ash’s scream pierced the air—abruptly cut off. Silhouetted against the dark sky, her limp body dropped to the ground. Lungs aching with effort and cold, Nicholas raced to catch her. Not fast enough. God. The snow billowed around her when she landed. She didn’t move.

  Rage gripped him, gave him speed. Almost to her—and no, not dead. Thank God. No blood on her chest, her head still attached. Her eyes open and staring. Her neck, twisted.

  The demon had broken her neck.

  “I like to play with them.”

  Leathery wings spread wide, the demon glided to a stop beside Ash’s motionless body. His feet sank into the snow as he landed, facing Nicholas. The malevolent glee on his face churned bile through Nicholas’s stomach.

  Stay in place for one second, fucker. I’ll give you something to play with.

  He fired the crossbow. Too late. The bolt passed through air, and detonated thirty yards beyond the target in a muffled geyser of snow. Ash’s body was gone, too—but a trail through the snow showed where the demon had dragged her. Nicholas turned, aimed again at the demon’s grin.

  And realized the demon wasn’t just playing with Ash. It was playing with him.

  “Aw. Is the human going to quit now? You were doing so well.” The demon bent over Ash’s body. “How about this: I’ll give her back to you a piece at a time. You just have to ask nicely—”

  The ground beneath the demon suddenly erupted, tossing him off balance. He recovered, just as the snow in front of Nicholas seemed to explode in a frenzy of metal and white feathers. The Guardians. Thank God.

  Swords clashed. Demon and Guardian moved too fast—Nicholas couldn’t see what was happening, only the blur of feathers and shapes. The dark-haired Guardian male was fighting the demon, he realized. And Taylor was . . . bending over Ash.

  “No!” Nicholas plowed forward through the snow, finger tightening on the crossbow trigger. He’d kill the Guardian first. “Don’t—fucking—touch her!”

  Taylor looked up. Eyes of pure black stared back at him, like a glistening abyss. No . . . that wasn’t Taylor. That was Michael. Nicholas had seen this before in Rome. He knew how Michael protected the woman . . . and Nicholas held an explosive bolt pointed at her head. Shock and dread rammed through Nicholas’s chest, but he didn’t stop.

  “Let her go!”

  The voice that came from Taylor’s mouth wasn’t hers, either, but a terrifying harmony of many voices, man and woman. “She’s ours.”

  “She’s bound to me!”

  “She’s bound to a demon. With you, she’s a danger to all.”

  Fuck that. Nicholas dropped to his knee beside Ash, blindly searching for her wrist, holding the crossbow aimed at the Guardian. “Let Ash go, Michael, or by God I will shoot Taylor with this.”

  A grunt of pain came from behind them. Taylor turned her head.

  Nicholas didn’t look, but he could guess. “Your friend needs a little help, Michael.”

  Those obsidian eyes looked into Nicholas’s for a long second. Then Taylor was gone, swinging her sword into the fray.

  Not daring to put the crossbow down, Nicholas got his arm around Ash as best he could, began dragging her back to the car. Through the snow, it was like pulling a sack of lead. Two hours in a gym every day hadn’t prepared him for this battle. His chest ached. His muscles felt ready to rip in half.

  Behind him, the sounds of fighting stopped. He turned to look. The demon lay on the ground in two pieces. Taylor—herself again—was holding up an injured Revoire, who wore a bashful grin and was saying something about how goddamned slippery blood made the snow. Her eyes met Nicholas’s.

  He raised the crossbow again. “Explosive broadheads. You take your friend somewhere to be healed, and don’t come back until we’re gone. Or I’ll blow you both to Hell.”

  Taylor began, “You don’t even know—”

  “GO!”

  Firming her lips, Taylor stared at him for another second. Finally, she nodded. They both disappeared. Teleported.

  Not wasting a second, Nicholas slung the crossbow over his shoulder and bent to pick up Ash. Her eyes were still open. He couldn’t see any pain in them, just frustration and confusion. She blinked as he looked at her. He couldn’t even try for a smile.

  He trudged to the SUV, Michael’s voice echoing in his head. She’s ours.

  Bullshit. Ash wasn’t theirs to slay. She wasn’t theirs for any reason.

  She was his.

  CHAPTER 10

  A broken neck wasn’t quite what Ash had in mind when she’d told Nicholas that she’d rather not feel anything.

  Nicholas had laid her on the backseat, but she couldn’t even feel the pressure of the cushion against her body. Terror began to set in then, but she couldn’t make a sound. Trapped in her mind, she’d waited for him to stop at a hospital, to tell her that he knew how to help her. He didn’t.

  Then her toes began tingling, and Ash realized this was another of those times when he must have assumed she knew something that she didn’t. In this instance, the something was that her body could heal a broken neck.

  So she waited in silence for it to happen, her panic fading . . . just like it should. Her grief and dread had receded, too, though she could still feel them pressing against the corner of her heart, heavy and sodden.

  And she had more to think about now. Not the memory of those obsidian eyes boring into hers, the powerful mind that had seemed to squeeze her brain in its grip, wringing out every one of her thoughts, or that terrifying voice echoing in her ears. She’s ours. She’d skip that memory for now. It reminded her too much of that other dark figure—it reminded her too much of Lucifer.

  But she liked to remember Nicholas fighting for her, even though he’d been outclassed. Far outclassed. Ash had been, too. She hadn’t realized how fast, how powerful demons and Guardians were. Nicholas had warned her, so many times. She still hadn’t understood, not really.

  Was she that powerful? Maybe not. The demon had called her a halfling. It wasn’t a stretch to think that meant she had half of whatever powers they did.

  Still, even half as strong should have put up a better showing that the pathetic kicks she’d gotten in before he’d snapped her neck.

  She had to do better. She had to be better. Stronger. Smarter.

  Starting now.

  Carefully, Ash tested the movement of her fingers. All good. She drew a breath. That worked, too. She sat up. A two-lane highway lined with snow-covered pines stretched out in front of them. How long had they been driving?

  Not long. The dashboard computer showed that they were only about thirty miles west of Duluth.

  As if he heard her movement, Nicholas glanced back at her. “You’re up already?”

  “Seems so.”

  He returned his gaze to the road. “We’ve got to ditch this rig. They’ve seen what we’re driving, so they can track us through that GPS.”

  Ash climbed into the front seat, found the owner’s manual in the glove box. She located the necessary page, studied the wiring diagram. There was no easy access to the GPS connection. Well, that’s why she was a demon.

  “You’ve got insurance against damages on this thing?”

  “Yes.” He sounded amused. “Not that it matters.”

  “I guess it doesn’t.” She ran her hand down the front of the dash, curled her fingers under, and found the edge of the molded plastic console. She pulled.

  A thick chunk of the facing snapped off in her hand. Perfect. Ash bent her head to look at the exposed wires, almost resting her cheek on Nicholas’s thigh. Her hair spilled into his lap.

  Since no Guardians came for her, she assumed her hair wasn’t breaking the Rules.

  He cleared his throat. “Do you need a light?”

  “No.” She could see perfectly. “I’m a demon.”

  His short laugh drew out her own smile. She consulted the wiring diagram again, reached into the dash, and yanked.

  “Is the GPS offline?”


  “It is. And you managed not to kill the rest of the computer system.”

  “Good.” She sat up.

  Nicholas glanced over at her again. Making certain she was all right? If so, he didn’t ask whether she was, so she must have looked fine.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “West. I know a place that will suit our needs.”

  “Any more specific than that?”

  “Not until I’m certain that no one’s following or listening.”

  Ah. His paranoia at work again. Fine by her. “So what are our needs that are being suited?”

  “Isolation until you learn to shield your emotions,” he said. “And training. A lot of training. We were both too slow. Unprepared. I’m sure as hell not ready for Madelyn.”

  No, he wasn’t. “How are you going to get faster?”

  “Not faster. Better able to anticipate a demon’s movements and speed. I’ve never been able to practice before. Now we can.”

  “So you’ll try to shoot at me?”

  “Something like that. And I’ll teach you to fight, so that if a demon grabs you again, you can get at least a punch in.” His gaze lingered on her face this time. “The way I see it, we’re just fulfilling our bargains—because neither of us will be able to help the other with anything if we’re dead.”

  “I’m not arguing.”

  “All right.” He looked back at the road. Comfortable silence stretched between them, until his lips quirked and he said, “We got our asses handed to us, didn’t we?”

  Ash laughed. “Yes, we sure did.”

  “It can’t happen again.” Serious now, he glanced at her. “And time for the first lesson.”

  “In the car?”

  “You won’t have to move. This isn’t fighting; it’s learning to block your mind. I’ll tell you exactly what Rosalia told me, but I can’t test it for you. So understand this, Ash: You have to do it right, and have to keep your shields strong. Because if you don’t, they’ll find us again. So are you ready?”

  She took a deep breath, nodded.

  “I’m ready.”

  So Michael wasn’t completely gone. But the shattering pain that Taylor had felt from him didn’t make that knowledge reassuring. God. Whatever he was going through down there, whatever he’d been hiding from her . . . she had to get him out.

  Revoire wouldn’t return to SI to seek out a healer for his injuries, but they’d heal up soon enough, anyway. Taylor dropped him off at the cottage he called his home, where he could celebrate in his quiet, farmerly way that he’d finally taken down Basriel.

  Taylor sought out another teleporter. Only a few other Guardians had the Gift, but Michael couldn’t stop them from checking on him. Jake, maybe. In possession of two Gifts, including a powerful electric burst that could incapacitate most demons, he’d probably be safe—but he was also the youngest Guardian in active service aside from Taylor. Selah was older, more skilled, but at this time of night, she’d probably be with her vampire lover, and Taylor didn’t want to jump into that.

  That left Khavi, who was undoubtedly the best choice, anyway. As old and as strong as Michael, she’d been one of the first Guardians—and like Michael, wasn’t completely human. Michael and Khavi were both grigori, the offspring of a demon who’d been made fertile with dragon blood and a human.

  And after living alone in Hell for over two thousand years, combined with her Gift of foresight, Khavi was also either completely freaking nuts, or the most brilliant strategist the world had ever seen hiding behind a wall of crazy. Taylor didn’t completely trust her, and was certain that Khavi had an agenda that she forwarded with her Gift. Her dedication to Michael was unquestionable, however—as was her ability to kick demon ass to Hell and back.

  The only problem was finding her. The grigori often disappeared for weeks or months at a time, searching for a spell that might free Michael.

  Or . . . her Gift of foresight had told her to return to the Special Investigations warehouse exactly when Taylor needed her. As soon as she teleported, Taylor found herself staring into Khavi’s eyes—fully obsidian, just as Michael’s sometimes were when he was angry, or suppressing deep emotion. Just as Taylor’s were when Michael took over.

  Khavi’s voice was similar, too. A feminine harmony, like many voices speaking together, and didn’t match the rest of her. A woman this powerful didn’t walk around in ripped jeans and a powder blue tank top featuring a glittery unicorn prancing across her breasts. Yet Khavi did.

  She said softly, “Who is it that you’ve met, Andromeda Taylor?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Not yet. Only that something has changed. Doors have opened.” The beads at the ends of her small black braids tinkled when she shook her head. “But I cannot see what I do not already know. So tell me: Who have you met? Show me.”

  It could only be the demon, Ash. Taylor had met St. Croix and Revoire before. Closing her eyes, she pictured the blonde in her head, the vermillion tattoos along the side of her face, and projected it into Khavi’s psyche.

  The grigori’s breath stopped. “Who is she?”

  “St. Croix called her Ash.”

  “No. That is not her name. She hasn’t found it yet.” Khavi tilted her head a little, as if examining the image in her mind. “When she does, it all begins to end.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, which Taylor knew just meant that Khavi didn’t want to tell her. “Where is she?”

  “Minnesota. For now. What do you see in her future?”

  “Not hers. I haven’t met her. I only see yours.”

  “And I’m doing what?”

  The black cleared from Khavi’s eyes, leaving them dark brown. Human, except that no human ever had eyes that looked so ancient. “Sacrificing her.”

  No. Taylor really couldn’t imagine herself doing that. “I don’t think so.”

  “Not even to save Michael?” Khavi smiled when Taylor’s breath caught. “It is so amazing to me, the lengths to which people will go for love.”

  “I’m not in love with him. You said I never would be in love with him. You saw it.”

  “But I didn’t say that I was speaking of you now.”

  No . . . she hadn’t. Khavi had said “people.” God. Taylor hated talking to this woman, sometimes. “And what about Michael? I—”

  “Want to ask me to teleport to the frozen field to check things out. I know. I already did.”

  Oh, thank God. “And?”

  “And Lucifer found him.”

  The psychic reaction to that softly spoken announcement reverberated throughout the warehouse. Guardians, all with perfect hearing, all listening—a practice that most would usually consider rude, but not when the Doyen and the grigori were discussing Michael. Now they began to appear at the top of the stairs, at the edge of the hub. Leaving the gymnasium, gathering around. But all silent, all waiting for more.

  Their horror echoed Taylor’s. “So what’s happening to him?”

  Khavi closed her eyes, but not before Taylor saw the moisture glistening in them. “What do you think? No, no—that is the wrong way to put it. You can’t think of what is happening, because you are not a demon. Because you are not Lucifer.”

  “So maybe I’m imagining worse.”

  But no. The truth was, she wasn’t sure what could be done to him. Only his face was exposed, and that was a block of ice. Would they scratch him? Poke at him? Try to stab him? He was frozen solid.

  She looked to the faces of the other Guardians. She was not alone, Taylor realized. They, too, knew it would be horrible. But they didn’t know exactly what that meant. Only . . .

  Taylor turned toward the director’s offices—and yes, there was Lilith, standing at the end of the hallway. Her hand rested on the scruff of Sir Pup’s center neck. Shape-shifted down to the size of a Labrador, he was rubbing his left head against the former demon’s leg. Comforting her, though it was almost impossible to tell by her face
that she needed it. But the hellhound knew.

  So did Hugh Castleford. He’d come up behind Lilith, slid his hand around her waist.

  “Lilith?”

  Taylor’s voice cracked when she spoke her name. She didn’t want to know. But she had to. Michael had made this sacrifice for them. They would all bear it, too.

  Lilith’s hand found Castleford’s at her waist, and she threaded her fingers through his before she began. “An ice pick would be first, because it’s instant gratification. The eyes are open, so Lucifer would focus on those at the beginning, digging all the way in, but then he’d realize that pain was pain, and it didn’t matter where it came from, so he’d start in on the rest of the face. Hammers, maybe to finish shattering the ice, and he’s strong enough to do it. And when the face and eyes regenerate, he can do it all again.”

  Oh, God. Taylor covered her mouth, uncertain whether she’d scream or begin crying. A few of the novices already were.

  “You go easy on them,” Khavi said, and Taylor couldn’t determine whether there was appreciation or accusation in her voice.

  But how could there be more? How could there be worse?

  She looked to Lilith, and knew that it was true. “How?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Taylor—” Lilith stopped, glanced up the stairs at the novices. “He’s being eaten by dragons in Chaos. Over and over, chewed and devoured, and then torn apart and eaten again. Do you really think that an ice pick to the eye is worse? Lucifer knows it’s not. Especially to someone like Michael. The pain is fun for Lucifer, but it doesn’t really hurt Michael. It doesn’t get to the heart of him. So he’d wait until Michael’s eyes healed, and then he’d drag up humans from the Pit. Now imagine your favorite torture, then imagine it a thousand times worse, and then imagine it being done to those human souls. That is what Michael’s watching right now. And once they’re down there, it doesn’t matter so much that they’re murderers, that they are the shit of humanity. Down there, they are only people, they’re in agony, pointless agony, because they aren’t burning so they don’t give Lucifer power and they won’t find release, and Michael can’t help them.”