“Ash . . .”
He didn’t want to say. And God—she didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t tell me.” She stood abruptly, almost stumbled as the backs of her knees hit the bed frame. Nicholas sat up, arms extended as if to catch her, steady her, but she jerked her hands away, out of his reach. “This wasn’t what I planned. I had a plot. I’m a demon. So I was going to come in, do this, leave you hard and frustrated.”
“I know.” He drew his hand back, his gaze searching her face. “I was going to let you. It would be torture. But it would be sweet, Ash.”
It had been sweet for her, too. But now . . .
“I can’t.” She pushed her fist against her chest, trying to stop the bile that was still rising up, rising. Oh, God. She knew the word that fit this emotion. “Because I’m jealous. I’m jealous of a dead woman, because she got to touch you and I can’t. And I don’t want to feel this. I don’t like this. I don’t want to feel any more of this shit that hurts and tears at me. I want to go. I just want to go and let it fade away. I want to go back to feeling nothing again.”
Nicholas stood, a cascade of water sheeting away from him. His face stark, he reached for her. “Ash—”
“No!” She slipped over the bed before he could touch her, before he could grab her and hold on to her. “Don’t touch me. Just release me from our bargain. Let me go.”
His hand dropped to his side, clenched into a fist. “I can’t.”
“Let me go!”
But she knew it was futile, even before he answered her again. He stood utterly naked in front of her, his obsession plain to see in every sculpted muscle. His body reminded her of everything she’d almost forgotten, what her need and desire had blinded her to: He only lived for revenge. And he wouldn’t let her go as long as she was bound to help him get it.
“I can’t let you go, Ash.” His hoarse reply confirmed everything she already knew. “I need you.”
But not for the reason she wanted him to need her. And she didn’t want to see him naked anymore.
She turned and left the room, closing her ears to him when he said her name. When she reached the front door, she kept going.
Lying awake in his darkened bedroom, Nicholas heard the cabin’s front door open, and the familiar sound of Ash’s boots against the floorboards.
Relief struck him like a punch to the heart, and he clenched his teeth against the need to get up and to seek her out now. He’d stayed up, waiting for her to come back, keeping the fire high and the cabin warm, but when 2 a.m. passed and Ash still hadn’t returned, he realized she might not want to return until she was certain she’d be alone.
He probably should have realized it earlier. Leaving the house had made the message pretty clear: Even the cold was better than in the cabin with him.
But she had returned, if only because of the bargain. And since it was his only hold on her, Nicholas still wouldn’t release her. It was the only reason the bargain mattered now. He didn’t care if Madelyn came.
He just didn’t want Ash to go.
But she already was. He shot out of bed when he realized her footsteps were crossing back to the door—as if she’d only come in to retrieve something, and was leaving again.
Not yet. “Ash?”
At his voice, she paused in the doorway, her shotgun in hand. The moonlight gleamed on her pale hair, left her face in shadow. “It’s one of the wolves, I think. I’ll take care of it.”
The door closed. Nicholas shook his head. The wolves. What was she taking care of?
He crossed to the front door. The freezing air immediately bit at his bare skin. The moonlit clearing lay empty, and the darkness beyond the tree line impenetrable. She could have gone any direction, and the snow wasn’t fresh enough to follow her tracks.
Disappointment eating a hole in his chest, he turned back—and heard the faint noise. A sharp, plaintive bark followed a series of ululating yips. An animal, obviously in pain. What was Ash planning to do? Take care of it?
Jesus. She shouldn’t do that alone. Helping it might mean getting close to it, and even as fast and strong as she was, an animal—a fucking wolf—could still hurt her, and one that was trapped or in pain would be more likely to lash out.
And if was hurt so badly it had to be put down, she shouldn’t have to do that, either.
He headed back inside, hauled on his clothes in the dark. Grabbing a flashlight and his rifle, he slung the weapon over his shoulder and picked up the snowmobile keys. Outside, he listened, searching for the direction again. All was quiet. Was it already done?
No movement in the tree line—though he didn’t know if she was coming back. Maybe he’d take the snowmobile out anyway, look for any recent tracks, make certain she was all right.
Halfway to the shed, he realized that the possibility she’d hurt the wolf had never even occurred to him.
Stunned to the core, he stopped, staring blankly into the night. It hadn’t occurred to him. And even now that he realized it hadn’t, not a single doubt existed within him. It was the perfect opportunity for a demon to torture an animal—isolated, with no one to hear and the evidence easily erased. But when he considered Ash, he rejected the idea as impossible.
Ash simply wouldn’t. Maybe every other demon on Earth and in Hell would, but Ash wouldn’t.
If he went out there looking for her, got lost in the snow, needed help, every other demon would ignore his shouts—or maybe even come in close enough to gloat while he froze to death. Ash wouldn’t. She’d simply come. Even tonight, when she couldn’t stand the sight of him, she’d come.
He’d been wrong, all this time. Not wrong to doubt at first, but to doubt for so long. He’d been waiting to get his head on straight, to figure out how to make sense of her, and now finally, finally, it did. She was an exception. He didn’t know how, but he’d help her find out.
For now, he just needed to find her. Tell her. And pray it wasn’t too late to matter.
Almost laughing at the lightness the realization left in him, he scanned the tree line again. And there she was. The soft red glow moving toward the cabin through the trees.
He went to meet her.
Up and down, up and down. Her emotions had gone through the most insane day of her life—that she could remember—and this was an up again. Her eyes glowed with it. She needed to learn how to control that, eventually. Right now, she didn’t care.
She glanced at the dog limping along beside her. His foot had been caught in an old, rusty trap—probably one that Nicholas’s survivalist grandfather had used, but hadn’t been pulled up after he died. Not the wolf she’d expected, but a black Labrador, and friendly enough after eating the chunk of meat she’d collected from the cabin’s icebox. Not a stray, either. Too well fed and wearing a collar, he’d obviously belonged to someone until recently, and had either gotten lost or had been dumped by his previous owners.
Too bad for them. He was hers now. She liked him—even if he had bitten her when she’d pressed the trap’s jaws open. But she’d understood that, all too well. Being hurt made her want to bite someone, too.
Not just someone. Nicholas.
Who was in the distance, trudging through the snow toward her, almost like a wild man. What in the world?
“Ash!”
She’d never heard him call her name like that, an almost desperate note to the deep tones. Did he need help? She glanced at the limping dog. He’d already resisted when she’d tried to carry him.
“I’ll be back for you. I’ll be right back.”
As if in reply, the dog chuffed. Her boomstick tucked beneath her arm, Ash gave a little laugh and took off through the snow. Slowing as she neared Nicholas, she searched his appearance for any sign of injury. No. His breathing was labored from plowing through the deep snow, but he moved with strength, speed. He just seemed . . . intent. Focused. On her. She reached him, stopped knee-deep in the snow, but he didn’t. For an instant she thought he’d plow right over her, but then he stoppe
d, and his gloved hands came up to gently capture her face.
He kissed her.
Not like before. Not like ever before. His lips icy from the cold, but firm, and sweet, he kissed her as if it were the first time, the last, as if it were the only thing that mattered.
His mouth broke from hers. His breath was ragged. “I’m sorry, Ash. I was wrong. And I’m so damn sorry.”
She didn’t understand—or couldn’t believe it. “What?”
“You’re an exception. Maybe the exception, I don’t know.” His pale blue gaze held hers. Not icy at all, and hers washed his face in a red glow, but he wasn’t drawing away. “And I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. This was a good feeling, the happiness bubbling through her. So why did it seem to crush her chest, sting her eyes, make her want to cry with it? She thought her smile wobbled a little, but it didn’t matter, because he kissed it away, and this time there was more beneath it—more strength, more heat, more need. Almost perfect.
Except she couldn’t lift her hands and hold him to her. Couldn’t push her fingers through his hair.
A soft whine broke them apart. Nicholas frowned, looking through the dark.
He couldn’t see the dog, she realized. She turned, and let her eyes provide the light he needed. “His leg was in a trap.”
Nicholas nodded before crouching, pulling off his glove and holding out his hand. The dog came over, sniffed, and then seemed to groan when Nicholas’s long fingers moved to scratch behind his ear.
“Is the leg broken?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s hurt enough that he lashed out at me, knocked me over onto my ass.” And apparently broke open some of her shotgun shells in the process. She could still smell the sweet hellhound venom. “I’ll look at his leg again in the cabin, see how bad it is.”
Nicholas’s eyes closed, almost as if in relief. His voice roughened. “So we are taking him in?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then.”
Nicholas stood, pulled on his glove. He gave her a hard kiss before pushing into the already furrowed trench he’d made through the snow. They made quick time back to the cabin, and Ash got the dog settled in with a blanket near the stove and a bowl of water while Nicholas changed out of his heavy clothes.
He returned to the living room wearing only his pajama bottoms, and sank onto his heels next to her while she examined the dog’s leg. “Diagnosis?”
“Just bruised, I think. I can’t find any puncture wounds, and he doesn’t react when I press on it.”
“We’ll take him to town tomorrow, have him checked out at the vet’s. We’ll need food for him, anyway.”
The dog lifted his head at the mention of food. Nicholas grinned, scratching the pup behind the ears again, and Ash found herself looking at Nicholas instead, examining his every feature. Only a few hours ago, she’d been jealous, and horrified by what she’d been feeling. Now, she couldn’t imagine not wanting to feel like this again.
He met her eyes, and his grin faded. Slowly, as if giving her the chance to retreat, he moved to her, brought her to her feet. His head bent, and he brushed his lips over hers. “I’m sorry for the bath, too.”
“Nicholas—”
“And the floor.”
She smiled against his mouth. “I liked the floor. Except the end.”
“It won’t happen again.”
His lips pressed to her cheek. Again, and again. Her tattoos, she realized.
“Will you kiss every symbol?”
She felt his laugh, a soft rumble through his chest. “I’ll damn well try.”
His lips moved to her neck, and she let her head fall back. Her hands lifted to his shoulders—but she stopped. Her throat tightened.
She wanted this, so much. But she didn’t want it like this.
“Stop, Nicholas. Stop.” When he stiffened against her, she said, “I can’t.”
He immediately drew back, face carefully blank. Not cold. A mask of tension and pain. His gaze searched hers, and he finally closed his eyes and nodded.
“All right.” His voice was the same, rough with strain. “But don’t go back outside. I’ll build up the fire again. Or you can stay in the bed. I’ll keep you warm.”
And torture her? “I can’t do that, either. I can’t touch you.”
“Can’t touch—No. No, Ash.” He gave a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “You can. Anywhere. Any way you like. Anything. Punch through my chest if you want. My free will, that’s yours. Whatever you want to do to me, I want it, too.”
Trembling, Ash looked to his chest. He offered a measure of trust that she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t even the qualified bending of the Rules they used in training. Her hand shook as she flattened her palm over his heart.
It pounded, but not in fear.
“For how long?” she wondered.
“Until you don’t want to touch me anymore.”
That might be longer than he thought.
She grinned up at him, and he’d just begun to smile in return when she was on him, her hands in his hair, dragging him down to her mouth. Hotter now, and his hands slid to her ass, lifted her against his rigid length. Ash’s head fell back, and she panted.
“Naked,” she said. “Get naked now. And on the bed.”
Nicholas went out of order. Pants still on, he swung her up, carried her into the bedroom. She reached around, tried to shove down his waistband, and the moment he set her down beside the bed, she pushed him over. He fell back on the mattress, his laugh shaking the bed. She followed him down with her knee braced beside his thigh, and hooked her fingers into his pajama pants.
She paused. “Am I going too fast?”
He sat up. “Do you plan on going demon-fast?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’d like to see what’s happening.” He unzipped her jacket, pushed it off her shoulders. “I’d like to feel it, too.”
“You will.”
“We’ll do slow next time, then.”
He pulled her hoodie and T-shirt over her head in one motion. Her hair spilled down, slipping across her breasts.
“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed, pushing the strands aside to expose the vermillion symbols again. “I’ll kiss every one. Just so that I know I’ve kissed every inch of you.”
His pulled her toward his lips, but not to kiss. Ash cried out as he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened tip. Searing pleasure burned down her spine along the path of his fingers. Red light glinted against the dark of his hair. She gripped his shoulders, lost in the heat of his mouth, the tease of his tongue.
“I can’t stop my eyes from glowing,” she whispered.
He lifted his head, bent to press a kiss to the large glyph between her breasts. “Good.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” She had to ask.
“No.” He rose up, kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re beautiful to me.”
Her heart swelled. “I have horns.”
“And I’m a bastard who should have known what might happen when you lost control. I saw you change in London. I should have been prepared for the same when you came.”
“You have scars. And you have good reason not to trust demons.”
“But not you.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “And I don’t care if your skin turns red. I don’t care if your wings form. I don’t care if your scales come out—”
“I have scales? Like a judging angel, or like a dragon?”
“A dragon.” He held her face between his hands. “But for now, just shut up and let me tell you that you’re beautiful.”
Not with words. He told her with another kiss, sweet and thorough. He told her with each lick as he moved down her body, teeth tugging at her nipples, tasting his way down her stomach. He told her with his eyes when her jeans vanished and he parted her thighs, spread her open to his gaze, when looking wasn’t enough.
His mouth covered her, tongue sliding between her slick folds. Fi
re shot through Ash’s blood, burning every nerve. She cried out, lifting against his mouth. With a groan, Nicholas bent his head, took another long swirling taste that left her panting, writhing.
“God, Ash. So sweet and hot.” Coming up for breath, he pushed her knee wide. “And we’re going to go slow now.”
So slow. An eternity of the thrust of his fingers and the flick of his tongue, the bed creaking with the desperate jerk of her hips, his hungry assault against her slick flesh, the raucous pounding of their hearts.
And then it all disappeared, narrowing down to just the ecstasy bursting through her, white-hot. She screamed with it, her back arching as it burnt her down.
Slowly, she built her awareness again, of Nicholas’s soft kiss against her thigh, her stomach, moving up until she opened her eyes and he was there, too. She smiled up at him, and his gaze slipped to her mouth.
“Don’t move,” he said.
His head dipped, and he flicked his tongue across her lips before sliding between. Ash moaned at the subtle penetration, then stiffened when he licked the long point of her left fang. A shiver ripped over her skin, a sweet and painful tightening. She cried out in surprise.
He lifted his head again, studying her face. “Do you like that?”
“Yes.” She licked her own, but it wasn’t the same. “How did you know to do that?”
“I heard it about vampires once. But it looks like you get the benefits, with none of the bloodsucking.”
She grinned, and realized that the fangs were already gone. A laugh escaped her when she saw Nicholas’s disappointment. She’d make up for it. Rising up, she caught his mouth in a kiss, her fingers sliding down and curling around the thick shaft behind thin cotton. Somehow, he wasn’t naked yet. But she—
Had to let the dog out.
Slipping out of the kiss, Ash groaned her frustration, hoping she’d been mistaken. The sound came again. A scratch at the front door, an anxious whine.
Nicholas froze, as if suddenly aware that she’d heard something. “Ash?”
“The dog. I’ll be one second.”
Demon Marked Page 22
