Demon Bound

by Meljean Brook

  And one pinpoint lay directly over the Dardanelles.

  Over the water, she realized, and her excitement faded. They hadn’t had time to sketch or measure Khavi’s chamber, so the placement couldn’t have been exact. “This is still an estimate—the approximate location of Anaria’s temple.”

  Which they’d already had, thanks to the nephilim.

  “Ye-e-e-ah,” Jake said, and rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “About that.”

  Alice’s blood froze. “You went to Hell without me?”

  “What, you wanted to go again?” He held his hands up when she rose to her feet in a swift movement. “Look, it was just popping in and out of the chamber. A few minutes to measure. Khavi wasn’t even there.”

  “You went alone?” She shrieked the word.

  “No.” His brows snapped together. “Hell, no. You think I’m stupid? Maybe there’ll be times I have to go alone. But if I’ve got a choice, you bet your ass I’m bringing backup. So I took Drifter.”

  “Took—Oh.” She stared at him, her body still vibrating with anger, fear.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. A toothpick appeared in his mouth, and slowly, a smirk formed around it. “So. I guess I don’t feel like such a dick for going off on you earlier.”

  Shocked by her response, Alice averted her face, smoothed her hair. “Perhaps. But you are to blame for my screaming.”

  “It’s music to me, goddess.”

  “I don’t know why you make me want to—” She stopped, met his eyes. “That was a lovely thing to say. And I . . . Do you know, I have something for you. Two things, actually.”

  “I am trying so hard not to ruin my one-hit lovely streak by letting something out of my filter.”

  Her laugh felt full instead of thin and nervous, and when she pulled his swords from her cache, her hands did not shake. “Irena had these ready for you.”

  He made a sound of pure male pleasure when his hands closed over the grips. “Oh, damn. Feel that. A guy doesn’t even need a dick if he’s got these.” The air whistled around the blades as he gave them a spin. “Want to practice before we head to Turkey?”

  “We will soon.” She called in her gift, closed her fingers over it. “I also have this, but I must first explain it. And you must realize how very brave I was to get them for you. Irena had just frightened me a little, yet I remained, and asked her to make them.”

  His brow creased, as if he could see that she wasn’t completely joking. “What did she—?”

  “Nothing. It is nothing; I am just delaying.”

  He vanished his swords, glanced down at her closed hand. “Then go on.”

  Oh, dear. Now she was not quite steady. “I find,” she said, “that I have been very foolish. It has been some time now that I have been looking at many things upside-down. The box, for one. And when I thought of the novices who Ascended, I blamed myself for not inspiring them—for not being able to make them understand why Guardians are so very important. I have thought that perhaps they sensed my cowardice and my fear, and that with me as a model and mentor, they could find nothing honorable in being a Guardian.”

  Jake touched her cheek. “Alice. That is such bullshit.”

  “Yes.” She smiled weakly. “But you have done the same. You wonder if we are nothing but pawns, unimportant and replaceable, manipulated by the demons, the grigori—perhaps even the angels. You wonder if their only purpose is to grab power or to rule, that we have been lied to about our reasons for fighting, that it taints our purpose. And you feel it here.” She rested the back of her hand against his stomach. “I know you do.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “But we don’t fight for them. We fight for your daughter, and her family. We fight for young wives tormented by demons and young men hunted by nosferatu. That is what I told my novices, and if they could not grasp the importance of that, it is not my failing.”

  “Damn right it’s not.”

  “But you do know what is important, and you still doubt. Yet no matter what the purpose of those stronger than us is, so long as your reasons for fighting and your actions reflect what you believe, there is nothing that could taint you. We could discover that Michael’s only purpose is to enslave every human on Earth, and it would not make our fight less worthy—it would only mean that we would begin to wage our war against him, as well. And that is why I made you these.”

  She opened her fingers, and lifted a pair of platinum tags by the chain.

  “Dog tags?” His breath seemed shallow as he cupped them in his palm, used his other hand to turn them over.

  She hadn’t known what to inscribe, so she’d only had Irena write his name, with “Guardian” below it. “Yes. I have heard it is customary for soldiers to have these. I thought you should have a pair now that you’re fighting a war you can believe in.”

  Jake turned them over again in his palm.

  She twisted her fingers together. “If you want something else written—”

  “No.” His voice was thick. “No. It’s just right.”

  Relief shuddered through her, and she held up her hands. “May I?”

  He nodded. His gaze never left her face as she placed the chain over his head. She sighed when the tags jingled.

  “They make noise. They’ll give your location away.”

  “Let them find me. They aren’t coming off.”

  She touched the tags, then let her forefingers separate and follow the curving line of his pectorals. “Perhaps I can wrap them in a transparent web to muffle the sound.”

  “Alice. Jesus, Alice. You can do whatever you want. I’m such a dick. I don’t have anything to give you. Except this.” Jake caught her right hand, pressed it flat over his heart. “But the truth is, it’s already yours.”

  Oh, God. Oh, dear God. Her chest tightened unbearably. She pressed her lips to the hand over hers, his throat, his mouth.

  He cupped her cheek and lingered over the kiss, slowing it before lifting his head. “You’re afraid.”

  And in front of that keen gaze, so exposed. Without moving her hand from over his pounding heart, she slid around his arm, held him with her cheek against the back of his shoulder.

  It had been so simple before. One look at Henry, and love had fallen neatly into its place—and had eventually been battered and squeezed and bruised by every other emotion crowding around it.

  But with Jake . . .

  She raised her head, opened her eyes. With Jake, it would not settle, no matter how long she waited. No, her love for him was not a small piece to be put in its place. It shifted and changed, was both made up of her emotions and more than the combination: a complicated web whose pattern and texture altered as threads were weaved in or cut—but always remaining a web.

  And even the razor threads were silk.

  Turning her head, she kissed his shoulder. His heart beat steadily beneath her hand; Jake stood motionless, but his posture wasn’t rigid as he waited for her to speak.

  Comfortable with his feelings. Secure in himself. And likely with more confidence in her than she had.

  She traced the fingers of her right hand down the hollow of his spine, and watched his muscles flex in the wake of her touch. The whole of her body seemed to react in the same way, as if the warmth of his skin seeped into her through her fingertips. “Oh, dear.”

  Jake turned his head to look over his shoulder, his brows lifted.

  “Since the moment you teleported to Kansas, I have not been able to go more than a few minutes without having a salacious thought. Even when I ought to be attending to other thoughts.”

  He grinned and faced forward again, and she marveled at how his neck looked just as strong and masculine with the chain against it. Strange, but she supposed that although it was a necklace, it was not jewelry.

  “Are you having one now?”

  “Not salacious. Admiring.” She skimmed her fingers over his shoulder blade. “I wonder that you do not wear your wings. I would find it ver
y difficult not to wear them even while on Earth.”

  “They’re a little too stubby for that, goddess.”

  Stubby? He could not be serious. “You lost them so that I would not be hurt. Because you knelt when you could have easily jumped—when you had to fight not to jump. It was the bravest act I have ever witnessed, and while they heal, your wings are a visible badge of your courage. I would wear them, and wave them, and parade myself through the streets of Caelum.”

  Jake made a strangled noise, and his shoulders began shaking.

  Alice sighed. “The tags even jingle when you laugh. But you should not laugh at this. You hide your wings, as if you should be ashamed of their appearance. I see them much differently. No,” she said, when she felt his weight shift. “Do not yet turn, or kiss me. There is more I have to say before my next salacious thought.”

  He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed her fingertips. “I’ve already had several.”

  “I wonder how you function; I find them quite distracting. Always before, I’d determine when they would come. I would choose erotica to read or allow myself a fantasy. But these are completely unbidden.” She glanced down at her fingertips, which were rubbing themselves along the ridge of muscle above his hip. She would have to delve into his jeans to explore it farther. “Not unwelcome, however.”

  “I just had about ten more, Alice.”

  She laughed and rested her brow on the hard curve of his shoulder. “Very well.” With an effort, she made herself stop rubbing. Anxiety fluttered high in her throat, and she swallowed it down. “Earlier, you said that there was a bonus attached to you.”

  “Yeah, and I was being a dickhead.”

  “Perhaps. But you were correct—except that it is not teleporting.” She met his eyes when he looked over his shoulder. “You make me uncertain,” she admitted.

  “And that’s a bonus?”

  “Yes. Not very long ago, I was utterly certain.”

  Understanding smoothed the crease from his brow. “About Teqon.”

  “Yes. Because of the bargain, I would either be in the frozen field, in a box, or standing with Michael’s heart in my hand. I had hope—very small hope—that I might find a way out. But I didn’t believe I would.” She searched his eyes. “That is something you have given me. Something I know didn’t come out of me by itself. You irritated it out. Now I am uncertain of what the future holds. I believe, truly believe, we can find a real solution—believe it even over predictions and probability.”

  He looked down at her hand on his chest. His throat worked before he said, “I’m all for that kind of thinking. But you know, believing in something despite the odds might be just craziness, not optimism.”

  “Very well.” She linked her arms around his shoulders. “If I am crazy, then at least I shall live up to the novices’ expectations.”

  “Yeah, well—I’m going to be talking to them about some of the stuff we’ve been saying.”

  “Oh. Must you?”

  “Don’t tell me you enjoy it.”

  She cackled against his neck.

  “Witch. You creeped us out on purpose?”

  “Not on purpose. I am how I am. But I am not unaware of how people see me.”

  “So you made sure you were extra creepy when we were around.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He reached back, caught her hips. “Why? Aside from the entertainment, because it wouldn’t be efficient for you to go out of your way to creep us out just so you could get a good laugh. Was it to get rid of us?”

  Of course it was. She glanced over his shoulder, but could only see the hard angle of his jaw. “Is that surprising to you?”

  “No. No. But you know, they’re not that bad. The novices.”

  “I never thought they were.” She pulled back to look at the taut line of his shoulders, wondering at his tension.

  “You never—Okay. Forget it.”

  Oh, how very obtuse she was. These were his friends. “I would not try to make them uncomfortable now. Not deliberately.”

  His hands flexed on her hips, and he bumped lightly back against her. “Unless it’d be entertaining. Then go for it.”

  “Well, yes. Sometimes they are unsettled so easily I cannot help myself.”

  “Hey, that’s good for them. My creeped-out threshold is pretty high now.”

  She bit his shoulder.

  “Yeah, see? But don’t do that to them. Will you bite me if I turn around?”

  “Yes.” She laughed and held on when he did anyway, lifting her feet so that she was still at his back when he stopped. “I would have said no if I’d realized you wanted it.”

  “You haven’t had even one dirty thought yet?”

  “Yes.” But mostly wonderful thoughts of pleasing him, of concentrating wholly on him, of returning even a small amount of what he’d given her. Her hands fell to his abdomen, and she slid her fingers over ripples of muscle, circled his navel, and traced a narrow path of coarse hair toward his waistband. “And that is why you cannot turn around.”

  “Hot damn. But listen, goddess—if you’ve shape-shifted, be gentle.”

  She smothered her cackle against his shoulder, attempted to pinch the taut skin below his navel. She couldn’t be sorry that her fingers didn’t find any extra flesh to squeeze. She settled for tugging hair, then traveled lower when he pretended a wince.

  “You are a little evil.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed, in the moment before her fingers encountered the bulb of hot flesh that protruded above his waistband. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, his voice strained. “I’m about to do that, too.”

  Heat roared through her as she swept her thumb over the broad head of his penis. So unexpected. She’d anticipated unfastening a button, lowering a zipper, teasing, then finally touching.

  Now she ripped open his jeans to fill her hands with him. Oh, dear heavens. How incredible. The few times she’d practiced shape-shifting into a male form, the genitals had always produced the most acute discomfort, as if an alien appendage grew from her form—a discomfort that had intensified if the flesh hadn’t remained flaccid. She’d certainly felt nothing like this fascination now, as she explored Jake’s rampant erection.

  Jake groaned through each tentative stroke, locking his fingers together behind his head as if forcing himself to let her touch him as she willed, without direction or interruption.

  And once her initial curiosity had passed, there was so much more to learn. A firm grip made his knuckles whiten, and if she went fast, his head fell forward and he gritted his teeth.

  Oh, why hadn’t she done this before? Why hadn’t she known she would love this—that simply by touching him, her center would be wet and her nipples aching, as if he’d taken his tongue to both.

  She pictured that, tried to imagine his reaction, and her need wound tighter, until she could think of nothing but tasting him.

  Slowly, she drew her left hand up the length of his rod and collected the moisture at the head against her forefinger. Her right hand continued stroking him as she brought her finger to her mouth.

  “Alice, Alice, Alice,” he chanted, shaking. “What are you doing?”

  Her lips closed over her finger, and she knew he would hear the slide of her tongue as she licked the salty drop. Odd, but not unpleasant, and her excitement heightened when he stiffened.

  “Oh, God.” He bent forward a little, as if in pain. “Don’t do that again.”

  She took him firmly in both her hands again. “Shall I do this?”

  “Yes. No—not like that. Hard’s only for emergencies.”

  Her touch lightened. “Such as?”

  “Such as: my head will explode if I don’t come in three seconds.”

  “I see. And if I cannot bring your wetness to my mouth again, shall I come around and taste it directly?”

  His ragged groan might have been a denial or a plea.

  “May I? My tongue here”—her fingers
danced over his crown—“and here, and suckling you, and when you finish, I will drink—”

  His hands clamped over hers, stroked hard once, twice. A rough sound vibrated through his chest; his shaft pulsed beneath her hands. He shuddered. The next stroke was slick, and the slide of her palm easier.

  Yes, she decided. Next time, she would use her mouth.

  Jake weaved on his feet. She licked the nape of his neck, then caught the chain in her teeth, drawing it back, letting it fall in a loop between his shoulder blades.

  When he took her face-to-face, those tags would jingle between her breasts.

  Her skin flushed with heat. Her gaze fell to the gap between his backside and his jeans, and her lips parted. She tugged at his belt loops and exposed just enough to see the Vietnamese characters tattooed on his right buttock.

  She read the black lines, frowning. No fear but fear.

  “Oh, no.” Jake groaned, then added in a rush, “Okay, so I was in Saigon, and walked into this place, asked the guy there to do it. I was trying to inspire myself, right? I was thinking that if I actually made it a part of me, I’d be able to accept everything.”

  Oh, she realized. Nothing to fear but fear itself. The translation was imprecise, and she could easily imagine him in a small parlor, trying to communicate exactly what he’d wanted the tattoo to say. Attempting to make sense of where he’d ended up and why he was there, and how he would get through it.

  She smoothed her fingers over it. No, a tattoo would not magically change him—but over the years, this had become a part of him.

  “Anyway.” He shrugged, still vaguely embarrassed. “It made sense when I did it.”

  “You were drinking?”

  “Yep.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I forget about it most of the time; I can’t see it.”

  “Oh,” Alice said, and firmed her lips. “Then you haven’t made certain the translation is correct?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It says, ‘Only simpletons ask for tattoos they can’t read.’ ”

  “What?” His psychic scent shot arrows of disbelief, and Jake turned around and around, looking over his shoulder, as if he turned far enough about he would see it.