Demon Marked tg-7

by Meljean Brook

  . . . and nothing happened.

  Dammit. What kind of lousy demon was she? There had to be a trick to shape-shifting, but whatever that trick was, her procedural memory couldn’t recall it.

  Her attention returned to the tattoos on her face. Okay. So she couldn’t make her face resemble Florence Henderson’s, but she could find out what the symbols meant. Turning away from the window, she stripped off her jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair.

  When she slid down her sweatshirt’s zipper, Nicholas glanced up from his dinner and newspaper. He looked again when her T-shirt came off. For a moment, he didn’t react, then that cold amusement overtook his expression. His lips thinned and tilted upward just at the corners, his eyebrows lifting a fraction of an inch.

  He sat back in his chair, his gaze running the length of her naked torso and pausing on her breasts. “Dinner comes with a show?”

  She bent over to haul off her boots. “It’s so we can take pictures of these symbols and send them to the Guardians.”

  “That’s not happening tonight.”

  “Why?” Barefoot, she straightened and unbuttoned her jeans. “You had to use a credit card to reserve the hotel. How long do you think it’ll be before they find us?”

  “Not long. We’ll find another place that takes cash tomorrow morning, but stay checked-in here so they won’t know we’ve gone.”

  “So it won’t matter if we send the pictures.”

  “It will, because they might not have connected my name to the card I used. We might have a few days. An e-mail would bring them in right away.” His gaze lifted to her face as she lowered her zipper. “Whatever you’re doing right now, it won’t work. You can choose that body or any other. You look gorgeous, perfect—but I know you’re still a demon.”

  Perfect. Ash liked that, too. And was it evil to be glad he thought so, despite his obvious desire not to? If it was, she didn’t care. It felt good. Nicholas thought she looked gorgeous. Too bad he’d gotten the rest of it wrong.

  “I didn’t choose this body,” she pointed out. “I have no idea why I look like this.”

  “Right.”

  Oh, yes. Her plot. “So you’re attracted to me, just as you were to Rachel. And you think I deliberately chose this body to foster that attraction. I didn’t.”

  “Don’t compare yourself to Rachel. You look similar, but there’s a critical difference: She wanted me in return.”

  Not much of a difference, then. “I do, too.”

  “Jesus. You expect me to believe that?” He shook his head, then dismissed her by returning his attention to the paper.

  So he’d decided to take the irritating route again, conveniently forgetting the portion of their bargain that made it impossible for her to deceive him.

  “I can’t lie,” she said. “You made certain of that.”

  Oh, that little smile again. But this time, he didn’t bother to look at her. Now that was interesting. She knew he liked her body. Why not look at it, unless he felt her nudity threatened him in some way?

  “I made it part of our agreement,” he said. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t been lying. It only means that you’re fucked if you do lie. For all I know, you’ve been lying since the moment we struck that bargain.”

  “So basically, I’m either lying about everything, or I’m not. But you choose to believe that I’m lying. You chose to believe that I was breaking our bargain from the word go.”

  “Making any other choice would be stupid. You’re a demon.”

  Maybe he was right, and any other choice would be stupid; he did know more about demons than she did. But he also had to know that there was no middle ground here. Either she’d lied . . . or he’d made the wrong choice.

  And if he believed that she’d lied, why keep her around? If she’d broken her bargain, Nicholas had no use for her. He lived for revenge. He discarded anything that got in the way of his goal, and a lying demon wouldn’t be any different.

  So despite his response, he must be allowing for the possibility that he might be wrong. That he didn’t know everything. He might not admit it to her, but he must acknowledge the possibility to himself. Otherwise, he’d have already dumped her off on the side of the road.

  She liked that about him, too.

  Nicholas looked up. He’d been waiting for her to answer, she realized. Maybe waiting for her to argue. But when his gaze dropped to her bare chest and he took a long, slow breath, Ash decided she’d rather do something else.

  “I want to have sex.”

  He met her eyes again. Aside from that small movement, Nicholas didn’t react.

  His body did. A slight darkening of his skin followed the increase of his heartbeat. A flush, a quickening. Born of anger or arousal? Maybe caused by both—and both pleased her. She liked provoking that reaction, whatever it was.

  And even if it was physical arousal, it wasn’t desire. He didn’t want her. His cold blue stare communicated that perfectly across a room full of silence: Don’t fuck with me.

  Too bad, because she fully intended to. She didn’t expect him to fulfill her request for sex, but she wanted—needed—to push him about this. To make him acknowledge that she felt something.

  Holding his gaze, Ash arched her brows. She could do cool and amused, too—and she could stare longer than he could. Whatever he thought that icy look would accomplish, she wasn’t capable of feeling intimidated or discomfited. She wouldn’t back down, and he’d have to eventually respond.

  What would he say? Would he tell her to go screw a stranger on the street? She would have, if the thought appealed to her even a fraction as much as the prospect of sex with him did, and even though she knew Nicholas wouldn’t climb into bed with her. Telling him what she wanted and forcing him to respond satisfied a deep-seated need that she hadn’t known existed until a few moments ago. And yes, it was a little evil, a little mean.

  Maybe she was getting the hang of this demon gig, after all.

  Finally, he set his knife and fork onto this plate, so carefully that she didn’t detect a clink. Oooooh, such restraint. She could hear his blood raging through his veins, yet he was so determined not to betray anything he felt. Simply fascinating.

  Honestly, what did he think she’d do if he did reveal his emotions?

  Perhaps she was about to find out. Nicholas rose from the table, all coiled tension and deliberation. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he crossed the room. Despite the icy threat emanating from him, Ash held her ground. The last time he’d come so close, he’d kissed her. He’d also electrocuted her, but he didn’t carry a weapon now.

  Unless that weapon was his hand—not to hit, but to hold. Her pulse leapt when he cupped her jaw, when she felt the faint rasp of calluses against her skin, the sweep of his thumbs across her cheeks. Too late, Ash remembered: She couldn’t pull away until he let go.

  She didn’t him want to, not yet. Heart pounding, she held his gaze. His eyes so cold and his expression so flat, though his blood raced, too.

  The same restraint and tension flattened his voice. “You say that you didn’t choose this body on purpose, and yet you offer it to me.”

  “I’m not ‘offering’ my body to you. It won’t be yours. I just want your penis in me, and to discover whether I’d enjoy it.”

  Almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightened. “You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  “You’re so terrible in bed?” Ash doubted that. “Don’t worry, I’ll make the best of it.”

  The brief clenching of his jaw betrayed his frustration. Because she’d continued pushing, or because a part of him wanted to make the best of it, too? Either way, his reaction pleased her.

  Despite his frustration, his voice remained smooth as silk. “You think I don’t know, demon? You can’t want sex, let alone enjoy it.”

  “What do you mean, I can’t?” A spark of fear burned through her. “It’s against the Rules?”

  “You can’t. It’s impossible, physically.” His head lowered, mou
th hovering over hers. “I could kiss you, and you’d feel my lips and tongue. You won’t feel the need that comes with it, when you don’t know if it’s your mind wanting or your body taking over.”

  Mind or body? Ash didn’t know. She tore her gaze from his and studied his mouth. She only had to lift onto her toes, and she’d taste him. She wanted to.

  She couldn’t. Not without permission. Her hands had to remain fisted at her sides instead of drawing him down to her lips.

  But no matter what Nicholas thought he knew, she felt this need. God, how she felt it.

  “Look at you, Ash. Your eyes beginning to glow, your nipples hard. Pretend all you like, but I know that’s not from wanting me. I could suck on them all day, and you wouldn’t get hot. Not really hot.” His voice roughened. “Maybe you could even make yourself wet. I don’t know.”

  As far as Ash knew, she couldn’t make herself wet. But she was now. Her muscles seemed to turn to water, all of her warm and liquid. She wanted to sway against him, feel the hardness of his chest against her breasts—and if his body had reacted like hers, to rub herself against the thrust of his erection. Nicholas obviously didn’t believe that he could do this to her, but she could feel the slick need, the delicious ache.

  Ash met his eyes again. “I am.”

  For a moment, desire flared through the cool amusement, before hardening to ice again. “So I could have you. You’d surround my cock with heat, like nothing I’ve ever had . . . and it’d be like fucking a blow-up doll. Every reaction, faked.”

  Her body didn’t agree. “Then what is it I’m feeling?”

  “Lies.” He lifted his head. “Not from your lips, but pretending without words.”

  “No.” Her nipples and sex ached for a touch. That wasn’t faked. “This is real.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “It is.”

  But Ash understood that he couldn’t do anything but assume that she lied. She tilted her head, considering him, and his hands slid from her jaw to her shoulders. Still holding her in place—because he knew the Rules. Yet didn’t he know that a demon could feel something like this?

  “Are you certain your Guardian informant knows what she’s talking about?”

  “I’m sure.” Almost absently, his thumbs stroked her collarbones. Nicholas didn’t look at the skin he touched, however; his gaze continued to hold hers. “Don’t try to discredit her.”

  Ash wouldn’t. “And there’s no room for exceptions?”

  His lips quirked. Not cold, disdainful amusement this time, but the sort of smile that existed on the edge of a laugh.

  “Is this your new plot? You’ll persuade me that you’re some kind of exception, different from every other demon, and that you want me in bed. And when I’m finally in there with you, 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 out my heart.”

  Ash blinked. His imitation of her accent had been spot on, and as for the rest—“You’ve given that scenario a lot of thought.”

  “I like to remind myself what will happen if I let my dick do my thinking.” His fingers tightened, as if he thought she might pull away when he asked the next question. “The nurses from Nightingale House said that you suffered from a lack of affect. That you didn’t feel any emotion or empathy. Three years of that. So don’t try to change your story now and pretend to feel anything.”

  “I won’t pretend,” she said. Let him take that as he liked. For now, she was more interested in the rest of what he’d just told her. “You’ve already verified everything I told you about Nightingale House?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you know I told the truth.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “My investigator might be a demon, too. Or Madelyn might have some kind of hold over him—or you might—and now he’s just parroting your lies.”

  Holy good God, what a ridiculous response. Either Nicholas was a completely paranoid lunatic who thought demons had some awesome conspiratorial power . . . or he wasn’t serious at all. Was he? Ash watched him struggle against a grin, and that was answer enough.

  “So you know it was the truth,” she said.

  “At least part of it,” he agreed. “But I still can’t trust that all of it is.”

  Which was either a smart decision, or insanely paranoid. Maybe both. Whatever it turned out to be, she already liked his sense of self-preservation.

  No, it was more than that. She didn’t just like the things he did and how he did them.

  “I like you,” Ash said. And she enjoyed liking him, so much that her enjoyment spread into a smile—a physical response to an emotion. How odd, that being around this cold and obsessive man made her happy. “I truly like you.”

  His expression froze, and she realized that either her confession or her smile had surprised him. He recovered quickly, with a mocking grin and an arid tone—a defense, Ash recognized.

  “Demons also like torturing animals. So coming from you, that’s hardly a compliment.”

  “What would be a compliment, then?” Something evil, she supposed. “Oh, Nicholas, you’re looking so coldhearted and sardonic tonight, as if you’re dreaming about punching a baby.”

  She saw it—the beginning of a laugh. Heard it in his sharp intake of breath. But he forced it back, his strong fingers digging into her shoulders.

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  Yes, God forbid. Oh, and she knew this emotion welling up within her now: irritation. She felt the change of her teeth, the odd pointed pressure of fangs against her lips. She saw the wash of red light across his skin, the pink glow on his white collar. Suddenly, she hated that he could hold her here like this.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she said—hissed. “Why don’t you give me permission to smash your balls in with my knee? I guarantee you wouldn’t like me after that, and wouldn’t have to stop yourself from laughing.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That bothers you?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t lie. Nor could she hold on to the irritation and anger. They’d already faded—yet she still liked him. Why didn’t that go away? “It also bothers me that my fangs apparently give me a lisp, and I don’t know how to make them appear so that I can practice.”

  Nicholas didn’t respond, and she couldn’t read his expression again—which meant that he was thinking something that she could use against him. But she saw the moment when his thoughts turned to something that he didn’t mind her knowing: That cold little smile formed again and his gaze dropped to his hands, still holding her shoulders. Icy satisfaction bled though the shield over his emotions.

  “What is it?” she asked. No doubt more about how evil demons were, rinse and repeat.

  “I was remembering what Rosalia once told me: Fill a room with hundreds of demons and Guardians who can each fly and throw city buses around, then add one human . . . and that one weak person would be the most powerful being in the room.”

  That was far more interesting than evil and lies. “Because of the Rules?”

  “Yes. A demon has little physical power against a human. But a human can do anything to a demon.”

  Suddenly, though he’d loosened his grip until it would take little effort to step away from him, Nicholas’s hold on her seemed like a threat. Was that what he wanted her to feel?

  “You want me vulnerable?”

  “I don’t know if vulnerable is possible for a demon. I just wanted the upper hand—and I almost forgot that I’ve always had it.” He let go of her shoulders and stepped back. His gaze swept from her head to her toes. “So do what you like, demon. Try to lure me into bed, try to make me laugh. It won’t matter in the end. The only power you can ever have over a human is an emotional one, and I’ll never care for you.”

  Oh. Well, she already knew that.

  It was strange, though. He’d let her go, but she did feel suddenly vulnerable, experiencing the brief impulse to cover her naked
chest, to back away from him. And she didn’t know whether the sharp stab of disappointment came because he’d stopped touching her or because of his declaration that he’d never care for her . . . but she felt that, too.

  Then those emotions passed, and she could only be vaguely dissatisfied that she had, once again, somehow messed up this whole demon thing. He’d just admitted to worrying that he’d lost the upper hand, and she hadn’t even realized it or taken advantage of the situation.

  Really, she needed to step up her game. The plots he imagined her forming were much better than those she came up with herself.

  Except for the last plot he’d imagined. That was just dumb.

  She watched him return to the table, distracted for a second by the fit of his trousers over his ass and the broadness of his shoulders. Only a slight dampness at his collar ruined the tailored perfection of it all—and she’d have loved to run her hands through his wet hair, messing up the neatly combed strands, then dragging him down to the floor to strip away every bit of clothing.

  “You really thought I invited you to have sex so that you’d begin to care about me?”

  He sat, looked at her over the top of his newspaper. “Didn’t you?”

  “I have amnesia, not a rampant case of the stupids. I’d have to be an idiot to think that any man mistakes sex for affection.”

  His short exhalation sounded like the precursor to a laugh, and she felt his grin down to her toes.

  “So you would,” he said. “What is your plot, then?”

  “To tell you about all of the dried semen in this room. I’m hoping that it makes you feel skeevy enough to take another shower, and gives me another chance to see you naked.”

  He didn’t seem that concerned. Slowly, he folded his paper, studying her all the while.

  Finally, he asked, “Why do you want to see me naked?”

  “Because you don’t want me to see you naked. I want to know why.” Though if she was completely honest, there was more to it. “I also think that I’d like looking at your ass, and I want to see whether you lied about your not-monstrous genitals. For all I know, the truth is that you really only have one leg, but you prop yourself up with a dragon-sized penis.”