Demon Marked tg-7

by Meljean Brook

  And fuck it all, he wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her until it wasn’t just familiar, but the taste and feel of him had been branded into her memory—as hers was branded into his.

  He’d kissed her before, but he knew why this one hadn’t been familiar: He’d never kissed any woman like that. Not without calculation, not without considering the consequences or as a means to an end. He hadn’t given a thought to anything but the need to have her mouth open to his, to know the heat and taste of her. To reassure himself that she was alive, unhurt.

  But although she’d quickly healed, Nicholas wasn’t so certain she was unhurt.

  Something had changed in her. He realized now that the Ash he’d met in London might have very well fit the nurses’ description of a flat affect, a lack of emotion. By the time they’d reached Duluth, however, there’d already been more—amusement, irritation, joy—all clear and easily readable, and all of them unaffected by what anyone else said or did to her, and always unoffended.

  He didn’t think that was the case any longer. Nicholas had begun to believe that her capability for emotion had expanded, deepened. He’d begun to believe that she could be hurt now.

  And then he always wondered if that was what she wanted him to believe.

  Jesus Christ, he was so fucked up. Perhaps that was Madelyn’s legacy: He’d never be able to trust anyone, anything, even if he wanted to. Even if he knew that it was hurting Ash that he couldn’t let himself trust her, that he couldn’t let himself believe her.

  Then again, maybe he was right not to.

  God, this would all drive him mad—if seeing her dive out of the sky didn’t do it first.

  But whether he went mad didn’t matter. All that mattered was protecting her, keeping her safe—and if safe meant watching her jump over and over, until she had the ability to fly away from a demon or a Guardian as fast as she could, then by God he would help her do it.

  They still had hours of daylight left. Maybe she could be flying by the end of it.

  She didn’t look up when he came into the cabin. Sitting at the small table, she had the shotgun on her lap, cleaning the barrel with an oily rag.

  “Do you want to try the tree again?”

  “There’s no point. I don’t know how to fly. I’ll just fall and fall and fall again.” She popped open the chamber and removed a cartridge, replacing it with one of the shells prepared with hellhound venom. So she didn’t intend to practice shooting, either. “You know what I want to learn, more than anything?”

  “Tell me.” And he’d do anything he could to help her.

  “I want to know how to get around the damn Rules.”

  Shit. Nicholas couldn’t do that. And the only being that could change those Rules hadn’t been on Nicholas’s side for a while now. “That requires a higher power than we have.”

  “No. I don’t mean ‘how can I break the Rules with no consequences.’ I mean, how to get free, how to move without breaking them.” She set the shotgun aside and stood. “Like before, on the floor. I didn’t really try to get out from beneath you. I want to try again and see if I can think of a way to get you off of me without breaking the Rules.”

  “You want to get on the floor again?” With her body beneath him. It would be torture. But he’d suffer through it. “All right.”

  “Right here is good enough.” Ash leaned forward, placed her hands in the middle of the table. “Grab my wrists like you did before.”

  Nicholas approached the opposite side of the table and pushed the chair out of the way with his foot. She wasn’t a small woman, but his hands easily encircled her wrists. Her pulse pounded beneath his fingers, her skin hot against his palms.

  Her hair slid forward over her shoulder as she studied their hands. “I can’t lift up, because your will is to hold my hands down like this.”

  “Yes.” Though he’d really like to hold her a lot closer than this.

  If she heard the wry note in his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. “If I was human, what would I do? I’d pull, I’d try to scratch, I’d kick you in the balls. I can’t do any of that.”

  “No.” And thank God for the lack of ball kicking, at least.

  Frustration flattened her mouth. Her gaze left their hands to search the tabletop. “Okay. But what if I’m not trying to get away? What if I’m not trying to impede your free will . . . I’m just making it difficult for you to keep holding me?”

  “Make it so that you aren’t stopping me from holding you, but so that I want to let go?”

  “Yes.”

  “That would work. How would you do it?”

  Her mouth twisted into a small, ironic smile. “If I could fly, I’d say: ‘You can hold on to me if you like, but I’m going up.’ It would be different than trying to lift your hands, because then I’m trying to break your hold. But flying, I wouldn’t be trying to break your hold, I’d just be warning you that you’d be in trouble if you can’t hold on when I’m a thousand feet high. Then if you let go—before or after I’m in the air—it’s your choice.”

  The intention made a difference, he realized. That made a hell of a lot of sense. And good for him to know, too, if he ever did get ahold of Madelyn.

  “But I can’t fly,” she said. “Here, I could say . . . I’m going to fall, Nicholas. Hold on to me if you like, but if you do, you might get hurt.”

  That might work next to a cliff. But here? “Where would you—”

  With a crash, the table collapsed toward her. The support for her hands gone, Ash’s weight suddenly pulled hard on him, hauling him off-balance. Oh, fuck. He couldn’t compensate, not at this angle.

  He held on anyway.

  His gut slammed into the edge of the upended table, his arms stretched over the top, pulled halfway over by Ash’s dead weight. She lay on the floor on her stomach, her torso lifted by the hold he still had on her wrists.

  She hadn’t gotten away, but she was laughing, triumphant. “Did you see? That was close.”

  “Close.” It came out as a wheeze.

  Her smile faded a little. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” Fucking proud of her, actually. A lot of people would have let her go.

  “I’ll fix the table. I kicked out the legs on my side.” She got her knees beneath her, easing the pressure of her weight on his arms. She studied their positions, Nicholas overbalanced and bent over the upended table, her own proximity to the wall. By the time she spoke again, he’d gotten his wind back. “I think this would be the same thing: I’m going to fall backward. You can hold on to me, but that’s probably going to pull you and tip the table right over.”

  “On top of you,” Nicholas pointed out.

  “Your head might smash into the wall.”

  He glanced at the wall. Yeah, it might. That would hurt like a fucker. “All right. Go.”

  She didn’t, not right away. She was looking up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Are you planning to let go?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you bluffing? Seeing if I’ll do it?”

  “I hope you’ll do it. Because if you’re in this situation with some asshole human, you damn well better.”

  “I am in this situation with an asshole human.”

  His laugh hurt his bruised stomach. God. He couldn’t argue that.

  Her smile faded, replaced by determination. “Nicholas, I’m going to.”

  She held his eyes. He could almost feel her willing him to let go as she slowly tipped backward—not actively doing anything, just not supporting her own weight anymore. He tightened his grip when she fell back as far as she could go without tipping the table over, and he hung there, suspended for an endless moment—wondering if her weight wouldn’t be enough to bring him over anyway. Then her heels skidded. Her weight suddenly shifted, yanking him over. He twisted as he tipped, trying to avoid the wall, avoid smashing her. She gave a yelp of surprise as he crashed into the floor on his side.

  Still holding on to her wris
ts.

  “Dammit,” she spat. Her breath came in short bursts. Her fangs had appeared. “Why can’t you let go?”

  A million reasons. “You want me to make it easy?”

  Her anger was gone, that quickly. Frustration remained—not directed at him, but at the situation, he recognized. At the Rules keeping her there.

  “No.” Her eyes closed briefly. When she opened them again, she was back to studying their hands. They both lay on their sides, facing each other, Nicholas’s fingers locked around her wrists. “All right. There’s nowhere left to fall. So there has to be something else to make you want to let go.”

  “An exchange?” Nicholas suggested.

  She considered that before shaking her head. “With someone else, maybe. If they’re greedy, I could offer money.”

  “You could lie and offer anything,” he reminded her. “Say you’ll do something and don’t. Unless it’s a real bargain—a demon’s bargain—you can lie.”

  “Trick them?”

  “Yes. Maybe they’ll believe you.”

  “And if it’s someone like you, who doesn’t trust demons? Who believes everything I say is a lie?”

  That was a punch to the gut . . . but true. “You’d have to come up with something else.”

  “Something that they fear. Something that makes them sick, makes them want to get away.” She looked at her arm. “I could start chewing on it. Blood all over. Ripping away the meat—Oh, God.”

  He watched her gag, turning her face against the floor. If he let himself imagine it, Nicholas was sure he’d be losing his breakfast, too.

  “I’d let go,” he said. “Because I couldn’t stand to see you do it.”

  She nodded, her tattooed cheek scrubbing the floor. “But also because it’s me. If Madelyn did it, you’d be disgusted, I think. But you wouldn’t care if she hurt herself.”

  That was true enough. “Yes,” he admitted.

  “So if it was someone who hated me, who didn’t mind the blood, it wouldn’t work. But if it’s someone with any humanity, I can hurt myself. I can see how much they could stand before they have to let go.”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s not about what I can do at all. It’s about what the human can stand to do. If they are willing to risk being hurt. If they’re willing to stomach a demon being hurt. Everything I did would really be about finding their limits.”

  “And yours,” he pointed out. “You could stand knocking my head into a wall. But what if it meant throwing me in front of a bus? Into a fire?”

  “No.” She smiled a little. “But I already know your limits.”

  “The arm chewing? That’s a sure thing.”

  “Not even that. Just, ‘Oh, let’s have sex.’ And off you go.”

  God. God. Was it that easy for her? Teeth clenched, Nicholas reared up. Her eyes widened, but he still held her wrists. He shoved her back against the floor. He braced his knees alongside her thighs and pinned her wrists on either side of her head.

  Looming over her, he ground out, “Try it now.”

  Ash swallowed, hard. “I want to have sex.”

  “But I’m not leaving.”

  Her gaze darted to her arm.

  Nicholas shook his head. “Can’t reach it with your teeth.”

  Her eyes began to glow. “I’ll slam my head against the floor so hard that my brains will pop out.”

  That would do it. Anything that meant hurting herself would. But he didn’t have to worry about that one.

  “Go on, then.”

  Her lips flattened, as if in determination. He felt her shake beneath him.

  “You can’t,” he said. “There’s a limit for you, too. Maybe you can be pushed over it, but you haven’t been yet.”

  “And you?” It came out as a hiss. “I’ll push you past yours, and you’ll let go.”

  No. He’d already been pushed past them, and he was still holding on.

  He dipped his mouth closer to hers. “Try.”

  Trembling, she closed her eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”

  If she really did, he might oblige her. “Is that the truth?”

  Her eyes flew open, and he saw the sudden, stark terror in them. Fear that she’d broken her bargain. That in her attempt to get him off, she’d inadvertently lied.

  Jesus. He hadn’t meant to do that. He’d rather release her from their bargain than ever see her in the frozen field. He’d rather give her permission to kill him than see her hunted down for breaking the Rules.

  “No.” She relaxed beneath him, a soft sigh escaping her. “It’s not a lie. It wasn’t something that I meant at that moment, it was just something I said . . . but it’s not a lie.”

  And he believed her. Maybe he was a fool for it, but God—he believed her.

  Smiling, he pushed her wrists up and over her head, held them together in his left hand. Ash drew a sharp breath.

  “What is this?”

  “We’re going to see what my limit is. And yours.”

  Her lips parted. As he bent to them, she whispered, “How?”

  “We’ll see how long it takes before I have to let go. Before I have to touch you with both hands. Before I have to let you touch me.”

  Her chest hitched with excitement. “Let me go now.”

  “No, you’re still playing ‘get away without breaking the Rules.’ ”

  “I’m not trying to get away.”

  Playfully, he narrowed his eyes at her. “But how do I know it’s not a trick?”

  She laughed. God, he loved when she did that. So soft and clear. Pure enjoyment.

  “Can you vanish your jacket?”

  Her breath stilled. Her brow furrowed, as if concentrating. Then, “No.”

  With only one hand available to undress them both, that complicated things—but probably for the best. He should do better than fucking her on the floor next to a broken table, fully dressed except for what he’d been able to open one-handed.

  So he’d just push to her limits, instead. How far he could take her. How fast. His hand slid down over leather, found the hem of her jacket, her hoodie, her T-shirt. So many layers, and he slipped beneath them all, found the hot, smooth skin at her waist.

  “Your choice, Ash,” he said, and watched her eyes flare with crimson. “Up or down?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Down.”

  “Impatient?” God, so was he. He couldn’t remember ever being this hard, and he’d barely touched her. And he wanted to touch all of her, but he wanted to please her more. He held her hands; he could at least give her control over his.

  “Yes.” She laughed again, as if delighted by that. “So impatient.”

  Watching her face, he unsnapped her jeans. He’d take her mouth in a moment, but right now he wanted to see her eyes as he slipped his hand beneath the denim. Her lids half-closed in anticipation, her lips parted, her breath coming in pants, she was beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.

  And wet.

  His fingers slid over slick, burning flesh. Nicholas groaned, already imagining his tongue delving through that soft heat, his cock sliding deep. He shook, his head bending under the effort not to rip her jeans open, spread her wide, take her now.

  “Give me more.” Ash’s back arched. “More.”

  “More, yes. God. I can almost taste you.” But not yet. Her eyes had closed, and the agonized pleasure on her face deepened as he circled her clit. The small nub had stiffened, the only part of her that wasn’t soft, but still so wet, so hot. “Like this? Or faster?”

  Her head turned to the side, cheek pressing to the floor. Her hips rolled, and she cried out.

  Jesus, so beautiful. “Like that?”

  “Yes. Don’t stop that.”

  He never would. Frenzied, Nicholas bent his head, licked the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted under his. Her moans came from deep in her chest, pulled answering sounds from him. Her legs widened as far as his knees allowed, and his fingers slid deeper.

  Oh, fuck. Nicholas sh
ook, battling the need to rip off her jeans now, ram deep. Her passage squeezed at his fingers, so tight. With a soft cry, Ash rocked her hips, writhing, pumping against him, her wetness flooding his palm. Pinned by his hands above and below, out of control, her ecstasy so unadulterated, so clear, so obviously her only thought, she was the most incredible, sexiest thing Nicholas had ever seen. He could have watched her forever, taking his own pleasure just in this.

  But she wasn’t waiting for him. Her body jerked, stiffened. She cried out, exposing her fangs. Her sex clamped around his fingers, sweet fucking heaven. Her eyes opened, shining red—crimson swept across her skin. Obsidian horns erupted from her forehead, curling back to her temples.

  Demon. Nicholas froze.

  What the fuck was he doing? Had he forgotten what she was, or stopped caring? Had this been her plan all along, to make him stop caring?

  Shaken, he slipped his fingers from inside her. He released her wrists. Ash trembled beneath him, then fell back to the floor, panting. A soft laugh erupted from her, and she looked up at his face. She stilled.

  “Nicholas?”

  “Well done. You got me to let you go,” he said.

  She blinked and half rose. Her head wobbled a little. Frowning, she reached up. Her mouth fell open when she touched the horns. She pulled her hand back, looked at her skin.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “I see. I found what disgusts you.”

  Disgust? Nicholas rose to his feet. Not disgust. His cock was still hard, aching. And he wanted her. He still wanted her. Even now, with all this on display, she was beautiful to him.

  No, the problem wasn’t that he was disgusted. It was that he wasn’t . . . but he should have been.

  He should have been.

  “Nicholas?”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t. Rounding the broken table, he headed for the door. He heard her get to her feet, but he couldn’t stop. Not until he got his head together again.

  A soft noise made him look back. She hadn’t come for him. She stared at herself in the small mirror over the sink, instead, her fingers tracing the reflection of the horns in the glass.

  “This is who I am?”

  His chest tightened. His heart told him to keep quiet, to figure this out, to work it through. He didn’t listen to it. Didn’t know if he could trust it.