Demon Marked (21 page)

Ash couldn't remember staying at a bed-and-breakfast before, but this one didn't fit the mental image she had of them. Instead of small, cozy rooms filled with overstuffed furniture and quilts, everything in their suite appeared spare and elegant. Just as well. Better not to have rooms that seemed to invite her to hide beneath the blankets, or curl up in a ball and eat a tub of ice cream. The Victorian restraint, the straight-backed wooden chairs, served as a guide for Ash. She, too, remained stiff and composed.

She'd thought the grief and fear would have faded by now. They hadn't. And she'd forgotten—or maybe she'd never known—how much effort it took to constrain them. By the time afternoon had come and gone, and Nicholas still hadn't returned with any information, that effort had crept into a souldeep exhaustion. Never before had she wished that sleep would come to her; she wished it now, if only to make the time pass more quickly. If only so that she wouldn't feel this emptiness—an emptiness that, for the first time that she could remember, seemed hollow.

She wished Nicholas were here. Not only so that he could confirm the news Ash feared she already knew, but so that he would be here
with
her when she learned for certain. He made her happy. He also irritated and frustrated her, but any of those emotions had to be better than this unending dread.

Where was he?

Night fell. The innkeeper's wife knocked on the door and invited Ash down to dinner. Roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes, by the scent of it. She could taste the woman's sweet concern, and the piquant bite of her pity. Though she was tempted to join them downstairs for no other reason than to ask whether they had a newspaper from that morning, or even a computer and an Internet connection that she could use, Ash had to plead a headache and decline without opening the door.

Her eyes wouldn't stop glowing.

In the red wash of light, she studied the picture of Rachel and her parents over and over again, searching for a simple emotional association, any hint of familiarity. A little girl's tiara could remind her of Cinderella and send Ash on a search through her memories, but there were no similar connections to find here. Nothing in the Boyles' shirts, their smiles, the sparkle of the mother's wedding ring. Yet seeing their blood had torn her apart.
Why?

She found no answers in the photo. Perhaps the answers were coming, however, as was the familiar sound of the engine that she'd listened to for a thousand miles. Nicholas. Unable to see the road from her room, she pushed through the doors leading onto the balcony, where she had a better angle on the winding street leading to the house. His headlights swept across the snow as he rounded the final curve. He wasn't even to the driveway yet. Minutes might pass before he arrived at the mansion and walked up the stairs.

Ash couldn't wait that long.

She dropped from the balcony, landing in a knee-deep pile of snow. Behind her, light from the dining room spilled across her body, casting a long shadow. She didn't give anyone eating inside time to see her. Up on her feet, she sprinted across the unbroken blanket of white. It should have been harder, she thought, but her legs churned a trail through the heavy snow, strong, unstoppable. Within seconds, she was at the driveway, racing in front of Nicholas's vehicle and into the splash of his bright headlights.

He slammed on the brakes. She heard his shouted curse—though she supposed even a human might have heard that. Rushing to his door, she pulled it open.

Nicholas was still yelling. “Jesus, Ash! What? Are you being chased?”

“No,” she said, but he must not have believed her.

Grabbing a crossbow already in the passenger seat, Nicholas jumped out of the car. He turned, searching the empty field, then looked up at the sky. As if satisfied that no one was after her, he finally looked to Ash again.

“What the hell?”

He couldn't guess?

“I need to know,” Ash said. His expression changed suddenly—and she knew. She'd been right. Oh, God. Pain hit her gut again, ripping, tearing. “What happened?”

“One of Rachel's old boyfriends did it.”

“What did he do?” She didn't really need to ask. The blood had said it all. And a
boyfriend
had done that? “My God, did she just attract the psychos?”

Surprise and pained humor flashed across Nicholas's features. “Apparently.”

No. No, not him. He wouldn't have done this. He wouldn't have torn them apart. Maybe a demon, but not a human. What kind of person did that?

Not the kind that deserved to live.

The stabbing pain hardened into something else. Ash didn't know what. But she knew what she had to do. “Where is the boyfriend at now?”

“They caught him. He's in the county lockup.”

“All right. Move aside, and give me the keys.”

Nicholas frowned at her. “Why?”

“Because I'm going there to kill him.”

“What?” His confusion changed to disbelief as he looked at her face. “You're serious.”

Completely. And since he wasn't getting out of her way, she went around him, reached for the driver side door. He caught her wrist.

“You can't. He's human. It'll break the Rules, and the Guardians will have you. You'll be the next one dead.”

“I don't care.” She didn't.

“Then care about this: You'll be breaking your bargain. Getting killed isn't helping me find Madelyn.”

“Fuck that.” The response sprang so easily to her mouth. “Release me from the bargain.”

“Fuck
that
.” His hold tightened and he whipped her around, shoving her back against the side of the SUV. “You break away, you break our bargain, you'll end up in that frozen field. You want that, Ash? Tortured for eternity, all for a little piece of shit?”

Not for the piece-of-shit boyfriend. For the parents. Not even
her
parents. Ah, God—and the pain was coming back now. She could feel it welling up, closing her throat and stinging her eyes.

A wail of grief poured out.

Nicholas's eyes widened. He clapped a palm over her mouth, cutting it off. “Stop that.”

She couldn't. She stared at him over the top of his hand. Heat itched over her cheeks. Crying.
Crying.
Why?

Nicholas jerked his hand away as if her tears burned. He stared at her in shock.

“Let me go,” she whispered hoarsely. If he didn't, something was going to break. Maybe his hold on her. Maybe the Rules. Maybe just something inside her.

“Shut up.”

He set his crossbow on the hood and shoved her face against his neck. Hard warmth wrapped around her shoulders. Was he holding her? Nicholas? The kindness hurt almost as much as the rest. She let it come up, the inexplicable rage, the grief, sobbing it out against his throat.

And when it was over, she was exhausted again. Her body strong, but something inside her just . . . tired.

She tried to pull away, but Nicholas wouldn't let her. Still afraid she'd take off for the county jail? That had passed. Now she just felt the cold coming in all around her.

“You have to be freezing,” she said.

“Actually, no. You kept me warm.” He drew back just enough to look down at her. “You don't remember the Boyles. Why do you care so much?”

“I don't know.”

His thumb swept the lingering wetness from her cheek before he met her gaze again. “I won't believe these are real. Not from a demon.”

Was he reminding himself or her? “Right now, I wish that you were right. I'd rather feel nothing than this.”

A strange expression passed over his face—humor and sadness, all at once. “I've thought that before. Revenge is better.”

“Then let me have it.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Johnson isn't going anywhere. You can come back after our bargain is finished and do it.”

She could do that. “Or maybe a quick death is too good for him. Maybe I could spend the rest of my life making his a living hell.”

Nicholas grinned. “Now
that's
a demon talking—and it wouldn't break the Rules. Though I'm disappointed that your first good plot isn't designed to ruin me.”

“Oh, me too.” Ash laughed. Oh, that felt better. So much better. “I'll have to come up with something that—”

His fingers tightened and his expression changed so quickly that Ash was left reeling. Abruptly, he let her go, grabbed his crossbow from the hood.

“Get behind me, Ash.”

Why? She turned, scanning the field. Nicholas had frozen beside her, his gaze fixed on a point at the edge of the driveway. In the dark, she easily made out the shape of the man standing on the wrought-iron fence, his feet balanced on two points.

Ash blinked. Dark haired, handsome, and slickly dressed, he could have been Nicholas's brother. Except Nicholas's blue eyes didn't turn crimson like that. Fascinating.

Her heart leapt as she realized: This was a demon. He might have answers. He might know who she was. Unless . . .

She edged back behind Nicholas. “Is it Madelyn?”

 

No, Nicholas didn't think so. Demons were creatures of habit, and that included the genders they preferred to adopt in their human forms. This was someone different . . . and he didn't want to wait around and find out who.

“Get in the car, Ash.”

“In the car?” The demon hopped down from the fence. “Oh, she won't be safe there.”

Fuck.
Nicholas swung the crossbow up, the explosive bolts ready. He couldn't control the pacing of his heart, but as long as the pounding didn't shake his aim, he didn't care if the demon heard it.

Heedless of the weapon pointed at him, the demon walked forward. “I'll admit, when I felt your grief from across the city, I wondered what had struck one of my brethren so. A demon, pained by loss? I thought it might be a trap. But now I see it is worse. It's pathetic.”

Oh, Jesus. Ash had brought this thing here? “You didn't shield your emotions?”

Her back pressed to the side of the rig, Ash shook her head. “I don't know.”

Shit.
Shit.
That meant the Guardians probably felt it, too. Though right now, that might be a good thing.

“And look at you.” The demon's eyes narrowed to glowing crimson slits. “Why, you're not brethren at all, but a little halfling? I thought you all dead or frozen.”

Ash drew a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

“No, no. No questions. There's one that's so much more important.” Five yards away, the demon stopped. “Lucifer must have let you out. Why?”

“I don't know.”

God.
Nicholas clenched his teeth. Why wasn't she lying to this demon? She needed to be. Did she not recognize the danger he posed to her?

“What use could you have been? And he must have bound you to someone. Not to himself, because he can't control you from Hell. Not now.”

“I'm bound to him.” She indicated Nicholas with a tip of her chin.

The demon's gaze raked over Nicholas and paused on the crossbow. With a laugh, he asked, “Do you truly think you can aim that fast enough, human?”

“We'll see.”

“Keep up, then.”

Nicholas blinked. The demon appeared beside him, breath hot on his cheek.
Jesus.
And gone before he could react, thirty feet away and laughing. Footprints in the snow marked every step that Nicholas hadn't been able to track.

They had to get out of here.

“Ash, get in the backseat,
now
. Grab a weapon. Any one.”

He reached behind for the door handle. Ash turned to do the same. A hot wind rushed past him.

She was gone.

Nicholas spun around. “Ash!”

There, by the fence. The demon had her by the throat, was looking at her face, pulling back the collar of her jacket. She shrieked, rammed up her knee. The demon blocked it.

Nicholas ran to them, slowed by the heavy snow. “Let her go!”

The demon didn't even look at him, just angled his body to keep Ash between his and the crossbow. “The symbols, this spell. Is this for a Gate? Does Lucifer think he can return early? No, no, ha! No. Not if you're dead, halfling.”

Gone again. Nicholas slid to a stop, chest heaving. Fuck.
Where?

Up. Ash's scream pierced the air—abruptly cut off. Silhouetted against the dark sky, her limp body dropped to the ground. Lungs aching with effort and cold, Nicholas raced to catch her. Not fast enough. God. The snow billowed around her when she landed. She didn't move.

Rage gripped him, gave him speed. Almost to her—and no, not dead. Thank God. No blood on her chest, her head still attached. Her eyes open and staring. Her neck, twisted.

The demon had broken her neck.

“I like to play with them.”

Leathery wings spread wide, the demon glided to a stop beside Ash's motionless body. His feet sank into the snow as he landed, facing Nicholas. The malevolent glee on his face churned bile through Nicholas's stomach.

He fired the crossbow. Too late. The bolt passed through air, and detonated thirty yards beyond the target in a muffled geyser of snow. Ash's body was gone, too—but a trail through the snow showed where the demon had dragged her. Nicholas turned, aimed again at the demon's grin.

And realized the demon wasn't just playing with Ash. It was playing with
him
.

“Aw. Is the human going to quit now? You were doing so well.” The demon bent over Ash's body. “How about this: I'll give her back to you a piece at a time. You just have to ask nicely—”