by Jessa Slade
Teasing, he withdrew, plunged himself in the heat of her again, and then again. She stared up at him, eyes wide open. He could not escape the coruscating whirl of violet and glazed gold as the demon and her climax rose within her.
He gritted his teeth against the urge to come. He was fucking immortal; he would wait. He would wait.
He flattened her hand against his chest again. Maybe better if she held him away. His pulse was a deafening hammer, and her fingers curled into his chest as if to hold it tight.
For a heartbeat, gold eclipsed the violet in her eyes. Then, in utter silence, she arched her back and came. The convulsion drew a gasping shout from him as he found his own release with a shuddering violence.
His vision grayed. Not the demon realm, just la petite mort. His strength failed him and he collapsed, half on her and half teetering off the edge of the couch.
Gradually, his breath evened.
“Erk,” she said.
He grunted, his cheek nestled against her shoulder. From this angle, the shadows elongated the wings of the butterfly alighted on her breast, like the afterburner contrail of a fighter jet across the sky, but black instead of white.
Then he realized there was nothing to cast those curling shadows.
He sat up.
She dragged in a deep breath. “Thanks for the air.”
He turned her gently to her side.
“Hey, air good, yes, but I’m not an inflatable toy here.”
“No,” he murmured. “Not a toy. A weapon.”
The reven unfurled from below her left breast down across her rib cage to the point of her hip, and rose up to the butterfly tattoo. The lines spiraled off, confusing his eye, though he traced a fingertip along one path.
He tried to ignore the pain that unfolded through his chest as if in echo. “Welcome to the league of demon-possessed warriors, Jilly Chan.”
CHAPTER 7
Jilly craned her neck to follow the course of his finger down the side of her breast where the knot of the knife scar had faded to a mere memory on her skin. “Instatattoo. Not temporary, I’m guessing.” She shivered at the tangled memories of trickling blood and now her new boss’s erotic touch. God, it was all fading. Her scars that reminded her of bad choices, her courage, and—oh yeah—her very life. She scooted away and snatched up the T-shirt flung over the back of the couch.
Liam wiped a hand down his face. “The reven is the teshuva’s mark on you. Once, the patterns told the league how strong and what sort of demon had crossed into our realm. I’ve read accounts from previous leaders who organized their ranks by teshuva class and power.” A tick beside his eye jerked once. “I don’t have enough talyan to give me choices.”
She studied the mark at his temple. “What’s yours? How strong is it?”
“Ravager class. And strong enough.” He returned her narrowed, assessing gaze. “I don’t need to check the archives on yours. Discord class, undoubtedly.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “The reven shows you passed the first ascension, and the conflicting emanations are balanced enough that you won’t be pulled into the demon realm. Against your will anyway.”
She frowned. “Why would I go willingly? As if this hasn’t been bad enough.” When his expression went blank, she winced inwardly. She hadn’t meant that quite the way it sounded. But she didn’t correct herself. Not like they were going anywhere with that anyway. Discord, right?
All these negative thoughts—blood, demons, the sad lack of long-term relationship potential despite her new immortality—were really taking the shine off her afterglow.
He pushed to his feet. “There is much about being talya that you don’t know, that none of us know. Despite all Sera has apparently shared with you.”
“You could share more,” she pointed out. “Or have we shared enough for tonight?”
He gave her another unreadable look, then bent to collect his clothes.
She indulged a wistful mental sigh at the sight. Too lean by half, though the sensuous play of muscle under his skin made her fingers tingle. But she knew better now than to be tempted. Twice anyway.
Not only was he her new boss; he was her eternal boss. Meetings around the watercooler could get way complicated after a few hundred years of clandestine sex.
Or, considering the lamp, table, and transmitter she’d smashed, even more awkward after not- so-clandestine sex.
“What have I done?” she whispered as she tugged her shirt over her head.
In the dim lighting, Liam’s gaze flickered toward violet. “What we had to do.” He zipped his jeans with a touch more force than necessary. “It’s how we survive long enough to erase some of the stain on our souls.”
Here she was worrying about the mark on her skin when the fatal stain was on her soul. Silly her.
She wiggled into her jeans while Liam searched for the scraps of his shirt. Sera had promised her a metabolic boost, but the jeans seemed snug as ever.
Letting the demon in her soul, then the demon- killer into her body. She was becoming quite the slut. She tried to dredge up a silver lining. At least she could kick some of the ass that so seriously needed kicking, now that she’d finally identified an appropriate target. That target being all of evil. And she was always telling the kids to set specific, realistic, and achievable goals.
She was fiercely glad they couldn’t see her now. She’d always considered herself an outsider, and now continuing the fight from the shadows would have to satisfy her forever.
As for the satisfaction glowing through her body tonight . . . She steeled herself against the faint after-sex pang and pleasure. If Liam could stand there and glower in his shirt with a handful ripped out of the front, then she could cultivate a demon-slaying ’tude.
She cocked her hip to kick off her new look. “So now what?”
His hand scraped through his hair to reveal the mark at his temple. “Hell if I know.” Then he seemed to realize he was losing his composure. “You survived the transformation, so we add you to the league register with your demon’s subclass. Then I’d like to see what we can learn about that bracelet, so don’t let it out of your sight. And you still haven’t picked out a weapon.”
She eyed him disbelievingly. “I’m possessed by a demon, and we’re going to do paperwork?”
“Paper, rock, or scissors, I don’t care what you use against the horde-tenebrae,” he grumbled.
She blinked. “Ooh-kay. I gotta pee.”
As she walked away, she swore she heard, “Well, that won’t work against them.”
The bracelet clanked against the porcelain when she gripped the sink and stared into the mirror. Did she see a glimmer of the demon in her own eyes? Nope, just a wink of light off her nose ring. She switched it out for a tiny sapphire stud to match her hair color. No sense getting her nostril ripped in some demon scuffle.
She slicked on some cherry lip balm and worked more gel into her hair. She doubted the spikes were much defense against anything either, but at least she felt a little taller. She needed to get her boots back on too.
When she returned to the living room, Liam stood staring out the window, a tumbler of water in his hand. The streetlamp outside, shining through raindrops on the glass, added spangles of light to his pensive face.
For God’s sake, the man killed monsters for a living. Was being with her so terrible?
And why did she care what he thought?
Anger prickled through her, adding sharp edges to the room despite the low light. The lingering scent of sex prodded her temper even higher. This must be what Liam meant when he talked about the demon rising.
He glanced back at her. From the glint of violet in his eye, she knew he was responding to her simmering violence.
“Let’s go, then,” she prodded. Anything to get away from the scene of the crime.
He took a long drink of the water. She couldn’t help but trace the line of his throat with her eyes. With the rain behind him, her overwrought senses tricked h
er with the feel of cool water in her own mouth. She swallowed hard to clear the sensation. She wasn’t interested in living in his skin, no matter how good he had felt moving against her.
She’d seen how being wrapped in another person only led to both souls smothering. She could only imagine how much worse it was when the demon-pocked souls in question had all the structural integrity of a Star Trek spaceship at the forty-eight-minute commercial break.
In two separate bubbles of silence, they descended to the street.
To Jilly’s relief, the herb shop was closed, and Lau- lau was nowhere in sight.
Liam stalked across the street toward a dark town car. Jilly hung back as the window went down, but Liam seemed unsurprised.
The man inside studied them. “Lost the audio.”
“Technical glitch,” Liam said.
“ESF readings caught the spike. So she made the transition.”
Jilly angled closer. “ ‘She’ is a badass demon-exterminating mama now, heading for another shopping spree in your weapons room, who hates being talked about like she’s not here.”
The man lifted one eyebrow. “But doesn’t mind referring to herself in the third person.”
After a moment, she grinned. “Presumptuousness is okay when I’m doing it. I’m Jilly.”
His dark brown eyes glinted with amusement. “Archer. Sera’s mate.”
It was her turn to lift an eyebrow. “Mate.”
“She’s still working on a scientific term that doesn’t make me want to smash something.”
“I’ve heard compromise is the heart of any good relationship.” She tried to sound encouraging.
He just shrugged. “She is my heart.”
The flat finality of his voice—leaving no room for argument—set her back a step. To proclaim himself with such irrevocable simplicity . . . For a heartbeat, she thought she could hate Sera, and not just for her size-four ass.
Liam growled under his breath and opened the car door. “Come on.”
She slid in and was relieved when he closed the door gently and went around to the front passenger seat. The town car was big, but not big enough. She wanted her space.
Liam hadn’t said anything to her about mating.
She caught Archer’s glance in the rearview mirror and focused her attention out the window. But she eavesdropped shamelessly as Liam made a half dozen calls organizing what sounded like a covert tactical sweep of the city’s least loved neighborhoods.
“I’m not coming back before everyone heads out tonight,” he was saying. “Send Jonah to check the data recorders at the haint clusters. The mass at Pickers Park had an odd moment this afternoon and I want to catch if they’re tweaking on something we’ve missed.” He paused, listening. “Just odd. If I knew why it was odd, I wouldn’t have to send Jonah, now, would I?”
She snorted to herself. There was more to that story, but if he didn’t want to explain the kiss, she’d never tell.
He closed the phone with a snap. “Drop us off at the Coil.”
Archer’s gaze snapped between them. “Little late to go the drinking route.”
Archer knew, of course, Jilly realized. He’d gone through the same experience with Sera.
Fury pulsed off Liam in palpable waves. “It’s never too late for a drink or a fight, and the Coil is always good for both.”
His unfocused anger seemed to spill into Jilly’s space, begging to be picked up and stoked high. She’d worked with enough wayward teens to recognize that pointless spiral, where no one could reach outside the shattered expectations and hurt. She wouldn’t get trapped with him.
But she wondered how a man as strong and dedicated as the league’s leader could subtly remind her of a lost and frightened child.
Then she steeled herself against the yearning to soothe his ire. Her mother had catered to a string of men like that; not a heritage Jilly was interested in perpetuating, especially with the eternity angle. He wasn’t one of her unofficial wards; if anything, she was one of his. When Liam glanced over the seat back at her, she studied her nails as if the slightly ragged blue paint held the secrets of the universe.
He straightened in his seat with a muttered curse.
As she’d surmised, the Mortal Coil was a bar, but she hadn’t thought it would be so trendy. Liam seemed more a pint-at-a-pub man than a vodka-martini-by-the-dance-floor boy.
The neighborhood around them was in flux, torn halfway between art gallery and pawnshop—one loft balcony was strung in delicate paper lanterns, while the one below had been tagged with an illegible scrawl of gang sign. The place seemed poised to pull itself out of the muck. Or collapse again and die.
Despite the sketchy surroundings and early hour, a line of shivering hipsters snaked halfway down the block. Archer stopped the car at the front of the line.
Liam stepped out and opened the door for her. She got out, felt the weight of stares on her less-than-red-carpet-ready self. Liam nodded to the bouncer, who returned the nod, and they slipped inside.
She glanced back as the neon and heat of the club enveloped them. “Does he know what you are? He can’t have guessed you’re anyone, not with the crappy cars you drive.”
“The league’s investments have seen better days,” Liam admitted. “But his boss still likes to see me.”
She persisted. “Does the boss know what you are?”
Liam hesitated. “She knows more than she lets on. About many things. Which is why I want to talk to her.”
Though the stuffy darkness of the club was utterly different from the open chill of the park, Jilly was uncomfortably reminded of the soulless cluster by the way this crowd also stood in random array, absorbed in their drinks and the blue-green glow of their cell phones. She sheltered behind Liam’s height and let the flare of his duster clear a path to the bar.
He wedged a hip between two patrons and made a place for her under his arm. She gritted her teeth at the casually possessive gesture and slipped in, since she wanted to hear the conversation.
Her gaze skipped over the two bullet-headed bar-tenders and went directly to the curvaceous woman whose red beehive was just a few shades off her red baby-doll tee, so that she seemed to vibrate at that end of the spectrum. Her eyes behind the cat’s-eye glasses, however, were almost eerily devoid of color.
“She’s blind,” Liam murmured. “Don’t let that fool you.” He raised his voice. “Bella.”
The woman took a few steps down the bar, overshot them, then edged back again. “Liam, darling. How good to see you.” Her smile was sharp, bordering on cruel. “And who is this charming little thing with you tonight?”
Jilly shifted, wishing there was room to move out from under Liam’s arm. She hated feeling petite. Almost as much as she hated feeling laughed at. “Hello, Bella.” She resisted the urge to add “Lugosi.” No self-respecting vampire would keep that hairdo. Maybe the woman couldn’t see, but she was as blind as a vampire was vegan.
Liam dropped his hand to her shoulder as if he sensed the snark-attack coming on. “This is Jilly. I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk.”
“Have you brought her for my blessing?” On the word “blessing,” Bella’s smile widened. “Or will you be busting up my bar like you do with your boys?”
“Just talk,” Liam said.
Bella lifted her face as if to scan the room. “It’s quiet for now. Let’s go in back.”
Considering the techno beat coming from the dance floor, it wasn’t quiet at all even in the cramped storeroom. A spindly chair next to an overflowing ashtray was the only seat beside the cases of liquor bottles, and Bella settled herself there with a sigh.
She kicked off her Mary Janes. “Sorry for the stink, darlings, but my feet are killing me.” She smiled at Liam, more coy this time. “Or are you here to tell me something even worse is coming?”
“I try to keep you in the loop. You’ve been good about the men blowing off steam here.”
She reached unerringly for a pack of cigaret
tes and a lighter on the shelf behind her. “You always pay the damages, and your boys—even at their worst—tend to keep those even-worse things at bay.” She tapped up a cigarette. “So what is it this time?”
“I’m hoping you can tell me. When I warned you to keep the solvo out of here, you’d already noticed there were . . .” He hesitated. “Untoward effects.”
Her expression was shuttered. “You don’t stay in this business long if you can’t tell the difference between a drunk and a real danger. I knew solvo was no good-time club drug.”
“You’ve been keeping track of the addicts. Jonah saw you at one of the clusters. Why?”
She pursed her lips, rouged yet another shade of red. “They interested me.” When he waited, she shrugged. “I find them very peaceful. Like watching fish.”
Jilly jerked once.
Bella angled toward her, the upswept corner of her glasses catching the light from the bare bulb hanging overhead. “You think that’s sick?”
“You could do something instead of just feeding off them.” Jilly bit off the rest of the words.
Bella turned back to Liam. “She is very new on your crew, isn’t she? What do your boys think of your fresh meat?”
“It’s not like that. Besides, the shine wears off quickly.” He rubbed the mark at his temple as if, Jilly thought, he could feel her dagger glare. “I want to know if you’ve seen anything odd in the clusters lately.”
Neither he nor Bella seemed to think his choice of “seen” was inappropriate. Jilly realized he was willing to make use of any resource, however weird—or more weird, she supposed—to pursue his mission.
Bella tilted back in the chair. “I haven’t been out lately.”
“Fish get boring,” Jilly growled.
“After a while, you get the sense they might be a little more like waiting piranha. Then they do not seem so peaceful.”
Liam perked up. “Piranha? Did you see—?”
“Nothing,” Bella said. “Just an impression. But I can tell you there’s more solvo on the street now than ever. James tosses out at least one pusher a night, and if I eighty-sixed everyone at the bar who shows signs of having indulged . . .” She shook her head. “But you’ve never told me why it’s so bad.”
