“And a lot of cold.”
“Oh, that matters to a demon?” Jesus Christ. He shook his head, and found a damn excuse. “I’m going to put the snowmobile in the shed. There are books and other shit in the storage upstairs if you want to look through them. Just knock yourself out.”
Her expression remained impassive through his tirade, but now another little smile curved her gorgeous mouth. “All right. I will.”
Uneasy, Nicholas waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. So why did he have the feeling that he’d just exposed another bit of himself to her?
Fuck it. He pulled on his gloves, headed for the door. He’d go crazy trying to figure her out.
If he didn’t go crazy with wanting her first.
Nicholas obviously didn’t handle sexual frustration well.
Sitting opposite from him at the small table, Ash watched him sort through boxes of ammunition by the light of a kerosene lamp. In jeans and black cable-knit sweater, he didn’t bother with the tailored perfection from the city. Out here, there was no point—and it would have been ridiculous. A man couldn’t trot around snowdrifts in handmade Italian shoes, and he’d been working steadily since they’d arrived. All but ignoring her, but she didn’t mind. She liked watching him, studying him—and she already knew that retreat was his favored way of dealing with his attraction to her.
Had he never been frustrated before, had no experience with it? She thought it was possible. With his money and looks, and as long as that need wasn’t directed at a specific person, he could easily scratch a sexual itch with anyone. And if there’d been anyone he did want, but for some reason couldn’t have, he’d probably have quickly moved on if the emotion—or the woman—didn’t prove useful.
Ash didn’t have any experience with it, either—not that she remembered—but she also wouldn’t have called the desire she felt frustration. She wanted him so much that she ached, but there was no conflict. She liked him, she wanted him, but she didn’t feel impatience. It was simple. On the other hand, although Nicholas desired her, he didn’t want to. And although they had both begun treating her plots and any discussion of her demonic nature in a lighthearted manner, Nicholas became much more serious about it when sex entered the picture. It had become a recognizable pattern: He reminded himself that she was a demon and put physical space between them. Or he put a table between them.
But he was apparently finished with ignoring her. He glanced up, saw her watching him, but didn’t look away. Instead, he reached into his weapons bag and set a sawed-off shotgun between them.
“All right. You can’t fight yet, but you can pull a trigger—and for now, this will work best for you. Your aim won’t have to be as good, and you can aim fast enough that it’ll shoot in the right direction.” He opened one of the ammunition shells, showed her the pellets inside. “And the birdshot will scatter, do the most damage.”
Ash wasn’t so sure. “I healed from a broken neck. Are those little bits of metal going to slow them down?”
“No. The hellhound venom is.” He set a vial of golden liquid next to the shotgun barrel. “A trace amount of this will slow a demon down. A little more will paralyze one. I’ve got darts, and I’ve dipped my handgun bullets in this stuff—but for you, we’ll make sure the birdshot is covered in it. So those pellets don’t have to do much damage. They just have to pierce the skin.”
“So it’ll stop them before they get in close.”
“Yes. The sawed-off barrel will make close-range shooting easier. But if they’re already in that close—”
“Then I’m screwed.”
“Yes.” He pulled the box of shotgun shells toward him. “I’ll fix these up for you now. We’ll begin practicing tomorrow with regular ammunition so that we don’t waste the venom, but when we aren’t practicing, I want you to keep the gun with you and loaded with the poisoned shells. You keep it with you at all times, either right next to your hand or in your cache, when you figure out how to use that. All right?”
“Yes.” Her very own boomstick. She liked it. “Thank you.”
His gaze locked with hers. “Don’t let a demon close to you again.”
Her chest tightened, like a strange little coil straight through her heart. She didn’t know what Nicholas had felt when the demon had been dragging her around like a rag doll. Afterward, he’d never asked if she was all right.
But she knew now that he never wanted to see it happen to her again.
“Thank you,” she said again, even though “I won’t” might have been a more appropriate response.
He nodded, stood. Her chest still caught in that sweet ache, she watched him cross to the bedroom. He’d left, but not because of sexual frustration this time. Would he hate for her to know that he cared? She thought he would.
He returned a moment later with a set of scales and a small, dusty machine. Except for the empty bottles on the top that fed into a steel tube, it resembled a standing car jack. A lever handle jutted from one side.
“What is that?”
“A reloading press. To seal the shells after I poison the shot.”
“You didn’t bring that with you?”
“No.”
“But you’ve used it before.”
“Yes.” He glanced up from the press. “Why?”
“You’ve been here before, then—after you were old enough to handle guns, ammunition.”
“A few times, in the summer after I came to America.”
“So your grandfather wasn’t a complete hermit.”
“No.”
He set out a line of empty cartridges—a perfectly straight line, she noted, that he gave his full concentration. But that wasn’t just focusing; he was focusing on not looking at her.
Was he lying? Hiding something? She couldn’t be certain, but she thought so.
She had no idea what he could be lying about, though. Perhaps he was just trying to conceal that he cared about someone again—but this time, that he cared about his grandfather.
“It took a while to hear back from him,” Nicholas surprised her by offering. “He only checked his mail twice a year: at Christmas and tax time, in April. I finally heard back in May, and spent my sixteenth summer here. Chopping wood, mostly. Dropping about forty pounds.”
“But you didn’t stay?”
“Revenge isn’t easily served while hiding at a cabin in the woods.”
So he’d left to destroy Madelyn. “Wouldn’t revenge also have been staying here, and completely forgetting about her? By proving that she hadn’t destroyed you?”
His brows snapped together. He looked up from his line of cartridges. “She didn’t. But she did fuck me up pretty well. Pretending she didn’t wouldn’t be proof of anything—it would just be denial. And sticking my head in the sand sure as hell wouldn’t make her pay for any of it.”
He had a point. And the demon had killed his mother, his father, and his girlfriend. Maybe forgetting about her wasn’t enough. Ash wouldn’t soon be forgetting about Steve Johnson; that was for damn certain.
The heat left his voice. “Anyway, whether I live or die, she doesn’t care. Before I left England, I was kicked out of school, arrested for heroin possession, all kinds of shit. Whether I was first in my class or expelled, none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered to Madelyn was Wells-Down, and so the only way to get back at her was by taking it.”
“And you did.”
“I did. And then I found out she was worse, that the business wasn’t enough. She has to be destroyed.”
“And that’s all you’ve done, all these years. What will you do when she’s dead?”
Nicholas blinked, then stared across the table at her with an expression she’d never seen on him . . . but she recognized what it was. He was at a loss. A complete loss, as if he’d never even considered the question before.
“I don’t know.” His lips twitched, as if in sudden humor. “Eat a slice of pizza, probably.”
Ash laughed, and his smile wide
ned into a grin.
“Maybe two pieces,” he said. “And I’d run for thirty minutes instead of the full hour, do half as many sets.”
He could do zero, for all that Ash cared. “I’d still want to see you naked.”
“If you end up helping me slay Madelyn, I’ll shake my ass for you.”
“Naked ass.”
His eyes narrowed. “You drive a hard bargain, demon.”
“I do.” And she was relieved that despite the naked talk, Nicholas was still amused, still playing along, instead of putting distance between them. “Though I didn’t ask for Reticle yet. Will you begin working again afterward?”
“Probably. I enjoy it. Though with Madelyn gone, I’d probably focus on more speculation, less takeover.”
“Oh, speculation. I think I’d enjoy that, too.” Just as she enjoyed reading financial journals. Just as she surfed to the stock listings the moment she got onto a computer. “So if you ever decide that you don’t want to work anymore, you can pass the reins to me.”
“I see.” He sat back. “This is your plot, isn’t it?”
“Taking over your company and making you a ton of money? Eeeeevil.”
His laugh shook right through her chest, seemed to loosen pieces of her there. Was this how emotions deepened? They rattled everything apart, then rebuilt on a stronger foundation?
She didn’t know. She only knew that her emotions were growing all over inside her now, like climbing vines that rooted deep and twisted around every available surface. There was contentment, as she sat and watched him drip a small amount of venom into the birdshot and stir it around. A hint of surprise when she smelled the venom’s fragrance, sweet like a peach. And trepidation when she remembered that he’d said it affected demons.
“Does the venom work on Guardians?”
“No. That’s why we’ll also start working on your hand-to-hand, and I’ll teach what I know of fencing.”
Sword fighting? She really preferred her boomstick. No need to get near anyone, no chance of being cut into pieces.
Her doubt and fear must have shown in her expression. Nicholas glanced up, studied her for a long moment. “All right. We’ll work on a little hand-to-hand now—and start with what will probably benefit you the most: avoidance and getting away.”
She looked around the small room. “Here?”
“We won’t need a lot of space.” His chair scraped back as he stood. He held out his hand. “Come on.”
She could get up on her own, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to touch him. His fingers wrapped around hers, and he tugged Ash to her feet.
And let go.
That wasn’t enough. She clenched her fingers together, trying to hold on to the feel of him.
He faced her in the center of the room. “You’re a demon. That means you’re thousands of years old, if not older. You fought in a war with Heaven—and this will come back to you, just like remembering that security code.”
That made sense. That made a lot of sense. Her procedural memory was intact. If she’d ever known how to fight, she’d remember how.
Of course, she hadn’t remembered how to fight when the demon had attacked her.
Nicholas raised his fists—a classic boxer’s stance. She recognized that, at least. Maybe she wasn’t a lost cause, after all.
“Wait. What about the Rules? How can I block you if I’m not allowed to touch you?”
A flat, icy tension moved into his expression, and she remembered: He’d been waiting for this. You’ll say, “Oh, Nicholas! I wish I could touch you, but I have to follow the Rules!”—and moments after I give you permission, you’ll punch through my chest and rip my heart out.
“I won’t rip your heart out,” she promised.
Some of the ice melted. “All right. I’ll give you permission to block me, and to make a hit in return. A soft hit, by demon standards. Nothing that could seriously injure a man.”
Because a demon wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hurt one, if he gave her permission. Ash couldn’t imagine it. And with her strength, it might be easy to make a mistake and hit too hard.
So she couldn’t make a mistake. She had to be careful.
“All right,” she agreed on a deep breath. “I’m ready. What are we doing first?”
“Just avoiding me. It’ll be easy for you—too easy, actually. But if you practice with someone slower, it’ll still be more natural for you to react quickly if it’s a demon or a Guardian.”
Building up her reflexes. “Okay. I’m ready then. Go for it.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t throw a punch. He looked at her over his fists. His mouth firmed.
Silence hung in the air for a moment.
Then he whipped around, shoving his hands through his hair. “Jesus!”
“What?”
“Even knowing what you are, that you can cross the room in a blink . . .” He shook his head, turned back, raised his fists again. Still, he hesitated.
She supposed he wasn’t used to punching women. She liked him for that. “Are you going to dick around like this when you’re up against Madelyn?”
His eyes narrowed. “No. I do wish you could shape-shift, though.”
“To look like her? No, thanks. You’d probably lose control and kill me.”
“Hardly.” He smiled a little. “All right. Are you ready now?”
Ash didn’t point out that she hadn’t been the one delaying. She only nodded.
His fist snapped toward her face. Oh my God, so fast. Her heart leapt . . . and his fist all but stopped. So he was pulling back anyway, throwing a little practice punch. It moved toward her at only a fraction of an inch every second or two—and okay, that was ridiculous. A baby could avoid that. Hell, a baby would be an old man before it hit him.
She frowned at Nicholas, wondering if he was just joking with her now. But no, he stared at her, his eyes and expression almost frozen. And she couldn’t hear his heartbeat. She couldn’t hear her own heartbeat. What the hell?
Her mouth dropped open as she realized: It wasn’t that they had no heartbeats. They were between heartbeats. Either time had frozen . . . or her perception of it had really, really sped up.
Incredible. How long did it take to throw a punch? A second? Yet his fist had only traveled three-quarters of the distance between them. She could have run around the room several times before it would touch her. Maybe outside to the tree line and back. Was the clock frozen, too? She glanced at it. The second hand didn’t move. Maybe next time, she’d try to time everything.
Unless her perception was stuck this way now? Oh, God, she hoped not. Maybe it had just been an involuntary reaction, like a spurt of adrenaline into her system. A reflex, kicked into gear by instinct. If so, how long would it last? Would Nicholas be stuck like this for what felt like forever, or would Holy shit he was going to hit—
His fist smashed into her mouth. Ash’s head snapped back, and she staggered into the table. Pain shot through her lips, her teeth. Blood spilled over her tongue.
Gross. And, ow.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” His heart pounding—and her perception obviously back to normal now—Nicholas reached for her, cupping her jaw in both hands and raising her face to his. Horror and shock whitened his face. “Jesus. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, but the blood she could feel spilling from her split lip must not have convinced him.
“Ah, fuck. Goddammit. Come here into the light.” Though his voice was rough, his fingers were gentle as he touched her lip, her teeth. “Why the hell didn’t you move?”
Hot anger leaked through his shields. Not at her, though, she realized. Anger at himself. Guilt was mixed in with it.
“I meant to get out of the way, but I ran out of time.” She ran her tongue along her teeth, didn’t feel any broken edges. “Is my lip bad?”
“No. No, it’s already healed. You just need to wash it.” His gaze lifted from her mouth, but he didn’t let her go. Still
cupping her jaw in both hands, he said, “Don’t do that again.”
“It didn’t hurt much,” she said. “Either that or I can take more pain that I realized. And I didn’t know how quickly a cut would heal. Now I do. It’s better to know both of those things.”
“Don’t do it again.”
She hadn’t meant to this time. But maybe she should have. “I should have made it part of my plot: how to make Nicholas St. Croix feel bad.”
His fingers tightened. That familiar flatness moved across his expression, the coldness into his eyes, as if to say that No, Nicholas St. Croix didn’t give a shit whether he hit a demon. But he couldn’t say that, because they both knew he did.
“Just don’t do it again.”
And now he wasn’t talking about forgetting to move, she knew. He didn’t want her to do anything that might reveal how much he cared.
She nodded.
He let her go, moving back to the center of the room. “What do you mean, you ran out of time?”
“My perception changed, all of a sudden. I was watching your fist come at me, and it was like in slow motion. It was strange. So I was looking around, seeing what else appeared different, trying to figure it out . . . and I didn’t look back in time to miss your fist.”
He closed his eyes. Stopping himself from laughing—and it had sounded pretty ridiculous. Which made her believe that he’d stopped himself from laughing only because he didn’t want her to feel ridiculous, as if he were laughing at her. He need not have bothered. Embarrassment apparently hadn’t taken root among her other emotions yet.
Still, it was nice.
“So . . .” He cleared his throat. “You sped up. Did you do it on purpose?”
“No. It just happened after you threw the punch. Like a reflex.”
“Did it happen when the demon attacked you?”
Had it? “I don’t know. How much time passed from the moment he grabbed me by the car to when he stopped at the fence?”
“Less than a second.” A rough note entered his voice.
“It felt like forever. I tried to hit him about thirty times along the way. So maybe the reflex did kick in.”
Demon Marked Page 18
