Devil's Punch

my hands, and I took him in my hands with bold demand, tugging, stroking. Arching, he watched my face, his gaze laser-focused on my mouth. I rose up to kiss him, hotly, endlessly. Chance gasped into my mouth and his heart slammed against mine, racing in time to his thrusts. There was no careful judgment now. His harsh breaths melted into groans, and then he peaked in my hands. Lost to everything but me. He gave himself completely, and I went wild with the surrender.

We fell together onto the bed, and he wrapped his arms around me. Fast and frantic, I came over him and worked to a quick finish against his trembling thigh. He petted my back with clumsy hands, his eyes dazed. His lashes fluttered toward his cheeks. Once, twice. I’d never seen him so utterly undone.

This Chance could destroy me. And he was irresistible.

By the time Greydusk came back, we had tidied up, Butch was done eating and taking his stroll around the patio, and I was decently covered in Chance’s shirt.

The demon paused on the threshold, sniffed, and sighed. “It reeks of copulation in here.”

Fire washed my cheeks. “Hi to you too.”

“I suppose one must be thankful you have one another with whom to sate these urges. It would be disastrous if you succumbed to a Luren. Gilder or Lash, for instance.”

“Disastrous for whom?”

“Everyone. If you take any native as your lover, you make him—or her—your consort here in Sheol, should you ascend.”

“Anyone who tries to touch her comes through me,” Chance bit out. “I need better weapons, demon.”

His eyes were scary-fierce, primal in intensity; I’d seen the last of my hypercontrolled, calculating ex. That genie was out of the bottle for good. I suspected he’d always had these tendencies, carefully leashed, but something in Sheol—demon magick maybe—seemed to draw it out of him. Neither of us might be entirely ourselves, but I didn’t regret what we’d done. Not when I felt so good.

Greydusk studied us for a moment longer and then shook its head. “I was afraid of this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve chosen him as your consort. That will affect his thinking. He can’t help but respond to the ancient magick.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop it?” I asked.

“No. Once chosen, the consort belongs to the queen until death.”

“But I’m not the queen.”

“Near enough.” Greydusk thrust a package toward me. “Clothing for both of you. I’ll wait in the next room.” It turned with precision for such long limbs and went out.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Chance answered in reflex, and then he gazed at his curled fist as if surprised. “No. I’m not. Tell me you’re mine. To guard and keep and protect. Please.” The last word came from him on a pained groan.

I sensed it wasn’t the time for questions or exceptions. Quietly worried, I took his hands in mine, stilling them. Unfurling the tight fingers. “I’m yours.”

A heavy sigh slid out of him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This place fucks with my head.”

Just like Greydusk warned.

“I know. But we have a week to find Shannon and get out. I’ll keep you safe if you do the same for me.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

Dark City

Before we left, Greydusk took us to the armory.

The guards at either side of the door were beautiful, like all Luren, but at this point, the effect was starting to wear off. I imagined our sojourn here was sort of like a supermodel convention. At first you’re totally overwhelmed by the sheer amount of physical perfection surrounding you, and then slowly you build up immunity. You started wondering if any of them could sing or hold a decent conversation. And these demons looked like the answer was no to both questions; their eyes were pretty blank.

They let us pass because they had orders not to impede us, I supposed, or maybe Greydusk had some pull. Either way, I stood marveling at the range of weapons—not that I knew how to use any of them. But Chance was in his element. He tested several blades before choosing a set of gloves that glimmered faintly with magick. Since he usually fought bare-handed, the gloves would help. They weighted his blows with knuckle guards, and I was sure the spell would make his strikes more effective.

“Can you tell what these do?” he asked the demon.

Greydusk took them and whispered in demontongue. In response, the gloves spat fire and then ice. How cool.

“They augment your strikes with elemental strength. There are two effects on the gloves, but you choose which to use with a command word. Only one can be active at a time.” The demon set the gloves down, and then whispered to Chance, I guessed to prevent activating the magic.

“I don’t need a weapon,” I said.

“Perhaps not. But what about an athame?”

Those generally weren’t used for stabbing or fighting; they were ceremonial blades used in rituals, though some witches kept them sharp in case a spell called for a small blood sacrifice. I had the one I’d purchased in Laredo, but one from Sheol might help with my casting. It might also come with a price.

“Will it show in the human realm if I cast spells here?”

Greydusk cocked its head. “You mean will it be evident you’ve been using demon magick?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course, Binder. The only energy you can access at this time belongs to us—and you shape it through your father’s lineage.”

“Wait—so I’m casting my mother’s spells via dear old Dad?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Crazy. But it was also making a mess of my halo. By the time I got out of here, the other practitioners in Mexico City would put me on the Most Wanted List. I shoved that worry aside and joined the demon where it stood before a polished, lacquered shelf. Blue velvet sheathed this athame; it was carved of smooth obsidian with ominous sigils etched all the way down the blade. The handle shone like sanded bone—I hoped it was ivory—and the symbols circled the hilt as well, which was banded in shining platinum. The whole knife looked old, well preserved, and priceless; it was also razor sharp.

“Sybella would allow me to take this?”

“Perhaps allow is the wrong word,” Greydusk said.

I grinned. “She doesn’t even know we’re in here, does she?”

“Not as such. She did not expressly forbid it, however.”

Which just went to prove how careful one had to be in dealing with demons. If they did this to each other, imagine how much more thoroughly they could screw humans, who weren’t used to crossing all the t’s and dotting all the i’s in a verbal agreement. I resolved to be on my guard.

Before I could talk myself out of it, considering the damage I might do to my spirit, I forced myself to think of Shannon. If this magical athame could help me save her, I couldn’t afford to be squeamish. It would be selfish not to grasp every advantage. And that brought me right back to making evil choices for the right reasons. Stomach churning with dread, I snatched the artifact off the shelf. It seemed to nuzzle into my palm, not exactly a movement, but a vibration, eerily in sync with my heartbeat.

“The more you use it,” Greydusk told me, “the more it will attune to you, and the more powerful your spells will become.”

“I wonder why the magick still hurts here, if it’s different than the energy I use in the other world.” The human one. Which was already starting to feel far away.

I didn’t ask in expectation of an answer, more musing aloud, but Greydusk gave it real thought. “Since I don’t