“Yes. As I’ve said.”
“So you have,” she whispered. Her hand fell away from the mirror. “ Again and again. So you were right . . . and now you’ve fulfilled your part of your bargain. I know what I am now. A demon.”
“No.” That wasn’t all she was. “We’re not done. We don’t know your name. We don’t know where you came from.”
“The bargain was ‘Who I am’—and I’m a demon. Anyway, it’s not your choice. I’m releasing you.”
God. She was right. He couldn’t do a damn thing about that. But he didn’t have to let her go. “You’re still bound to me.”
She fixed those glowing eyes on him. “Only until I find your limit. Then you’ll release me.”
No, he wouldn’t. Not with Madelyn still out there, posing a threat. Not as long as he drew breath.
“I won’t.” He started across the room toward her—and she vanished.
No, not vanished. He heard the door open, and turned just in time to see her leave.
The tightness in his chest hardened to a deep ache. God, he’d fucked up. How many times had he seen her fangs, her glowing eyes? And only thirty minutes ago, her wings. But throw in the red skin and horns, and suddenly that mattered? Jesus. Yes, she was a demon. She was also the only woman who’d ever gotten to him like this . . . and he’d hurt her.
Somehow, he had to pay for it, make it right. He’d get his head on straight, so that he wouldn’t hurt her again.
But he wasn’t letting her go.
CHAPTER 13
Ash came back to the cabin when she heard Nicholas start the bath. Finally washing her off, probably. She was only surprised he hadn’t done it earlier—and she wasn’t sure she blamed him.
No, screw that. She blamed the hell out of him.
But it was difficult to stay angry, though she tried to nurture the emotion. After she’d looked in the mirror, Ash hadn’t known what to think. She had horns. Heavy, shiny horns. The wings looked like a bat’s, but at least they were useful. But horns were just . . . she didn’t even know. For hours, she’d been trying to decide whether they changed anything, whether they mattered, or if they only bothered her because they’d bothered him.
If so, it was too bad she’d begun caring about what Nicholas thought of her. Eventually, though, it would probably fade. So really, the horns didn’t matter at all, except that they’d finally driven home what Nicholas had been reminding himself about all along.
She was a demon.
Now, she planned to act like one. She was going to frustrate him, use him. And even though, judging by her experience, that sounded more like what Nicholas St. Croix would do than what any demon would do, it just made everything more fitting.
A splash sounded as he got into the tub. Though it would be better if she could make the horns, wings, and fangs show themselves now, she didn’t need them. Appearing human, but feeling like a demon must, Ash opened the door to his room.
The small clawfoot bathtub sat in the opposite corner to the bed. She knew Nicholas hated it, that he preferred a shower that washed away the grime and sweat rather than sitting in a shallow, diluted pool of it, but he’d been making do. He’d lain back against the sloped, rounded end of the tub, elbows hooked over the sides, his head resting against the upper edge as if he were exhausted, knees bent and his feet braced beneath the spigot. She’d hoped he would seem crunched up in there, his long body in that short space, but no—and the narrowness of the tub only emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, the long muscles of his thighs.
His eyes opened when she crossed the room toward the bed, and although he seemed tired, burdened, he immediately sat up, his expression alert.
“Ash? Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She gripped the iron rail that served as a footboard, began dragging the bed to the tub. “I’m just coming in to see you naked.”
“Ah.” He smiled a little, but there wasn’t amusement in it. Regret, maybe. Sitting back again, he said, “You deserve that much from me.”
“Yes, I do.”
The feet of the bed frame were scraping up a trail of splinters from the floorboards. She didn’t care. She dragged it to the side of the bath, sat on the mattress, and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the edge of the tub.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ash.”
She met his eyes. He appeared sincere. And since he’d never had any compunction against telling her how much he didn’t want to care about her, he probably had no reason to lie now.
His lying had never been the problem, however. She finished the rest for him. “But also, you’re not even really sure whether you did hurt me, or whether I just want you to think you did. Am I right?”
His silence was confirmation enough. And if that confirmation made her chest ache, it didn’t matter. It would eventually fade.
And she was here to see him naked, so she looked. A thin trail of silken dark hair ran down the defined line of his lower stomach. His penis lay against his thigh, thickening even as she watched. Her presence, arousing him—and he didn’t attempt to conceal his reaction to her.
That might have mattered, if he’d attempted to conceal his reaction to her earlier.
“The red skin, the horns. That’s what you’ve always seen when you look at me. Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said softly. “But I always remind myself that it’s under there.”
“And you have to remind yourself, because I’ve never done anything to remind you. Except for this one time, when I came around your fingers.” She met his eyes, challenged him to say differently. When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you think I faked that, too?”
He didn’t. He didn’t. She could see that he didn’t. But he didn’t know what else to think. He didn’t have another explanation.
She had an explanation. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how, but she knew: “You were wrong about me.”
“I want to be,” he said simply.
The constriction around her heart eased. I want to be. Before, he’d wanted to believe she was a liar. It was so much better that he wanted to believe she wasn’t.
She looked into the tub again. His cock now stood fully engorged, rising up out of the water, though she wasn’t even undressed. Though they hadn’t been talking about sex.
He wanted to be wrong, and he wanted her.
And he was just shy of monstrous. The familiar ache started between her legs—something that she hadn’t planned on feeling when she’d come here. She’d been plotting something else.
“I’ve been thinking about the Rules,” she said. “And I’ve realized that it can’t just be that I break them whenever I touch someone without their permission. I accidentally bumped into people in London all the time—especially in the Tube. But I didn’t have any Guardians coming after me.”
“Yes,” he said, his gaze watchful. Maybe wary. She hoped it was wary. “In a situation like that, you’re not impeding anyone’s free will.”
“Unless they’ve already said, ‘Hands off.’ Like you’ve made certain I know very clearly: Hands off, Ash.”
His jaw tightened for a second. Then, “Yes. I did.”
“But I want hands on. Right now, I want to stroke your cock. I want to take you into my mouth, suck on you until you come, drink you all down. I could do it now. I wouldn’t even have to come up for air.”
Nicholas didn’t respond, but his heart began to pound, a flush sweeping beneath his skin. His fingers clenched on the edge of the tub.
Careful not to touch him, she slipped her hand into the water between his thighs.
“Ash—”
He broke off on a groan when she flicked her hand, splashing water against his thick shaft. Again and again, quick, sharp flicks with the tips of her fingers that transformed beads of water into a heavy massage raining over his cock, his chest. Nicholas set his jaw, dropping his head as he bore the onslaught. When the straining muscles in his thighs began to shake, when a thick drop of pre-come formed at
the head of his cock, she stopped.
“Ah, God, no!”
His hips lifted, as if reaching for her hand to touch him, to finish him, before he clenched his teeth and settled back in. He watched her again, his eyes hot.
She’d planned to undress, lie back on the bed, spread her thighs, and make herself come without letting him touch her, but she couldn’t look away from the thickness of his cock. She wanted him, still. She hadn’t planned that—and she could only imagine how he’d feel inside her.
But maybe that would be familiar, too.
Frowning, she swirled her fingers through the water again, watching it run up in tiny waves around the base of his shaft. A hot emotion began to rise up from her stomach, almost choking her. Not desire. Something else, and it tasted like acid.
“Ash?” A soft query prompted her.
“I’m wondering,” she said. “So far, almost everything of Rachel’s has been familiar to me. Even you, that first time you kissed me. So I wonder: If I take you inside, would you feel familiar then? It might hurt a little. But then I’d take you so deep.”
His voice roughened. “Yes.”
“Maybe you’d feel familiar in my mouth, too. Did she do that? Did you let her go down on you?”
She looked at Nicholas for an answer, saw him watching her, his dark brows lowered, shadowing his eyes.
“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 Labrad
or, 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 stopped, 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.
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