Demon Marked

She frowned at him. “If I’m a demon, why aren’t I plotting your downfall?”

“Because we have a bargain,” he said. “If you don’t help me, you’re screwed.”

“But why aren’t I already making plans for after we fulfill our parts of the bargain?” If Ash could have been disappointed in herself, she would have been. She obviously suffered from a severe lack of initiative. “I must be a shortsighted demon.”

“Good.” A spark of genuine humor seemed to flash across his expression before he added, “But I’ll assume that you’re only saying that to mislead me.”

“To lure you into complacency?”

No doubt of his amusement now. He smiled, just a tilt at the corners of his lips, but it didn’t seem cold at all.

“Yes,” he said.

So, a demon misled men to make them feel safe. She’d have to use that tactic after she recalled how to be a demon.

How did her amnesia fit, anyway? “Do you suppose my memory loss is part of an elaborate demonic scheme?”

“Yes,” he said—still smiling, but Ash could see that he meant it. “I’d have to be an idiot to believe that everything a demon said and did wasn’t designed to fulfill some other motive.”

“I must be an idiot demon, not to have some other motive.”

Nicholas arched a brow, as if in silent agreement that she might be an idiot. Ash arched hers in response, and felt her mouth curve. Smiling, if only a little.

Oh. She knew this emotion: amusement. A pleasant feeling, really, even when it seemed so thin and light.

Nicholas’s gaze fell to her lips, then to the dress on her lap. His expression cooled again, leaving a smile that wasn’t pleasant at all.

“Leave those things on the plane. The dress, the shoes. I’ll arrange for their return to the hotel in London.”

“Why?” Didn’t he travel with them?

“They aren’t Rachel’s.” He met her eyes, and she saw the satisfaction in his gaze, as if he’d just proven something. Whether he was proving it to her or to himself, she couldn’t guess. “I took them from a rack of luggage in the elevator.”

He’d stolen someone’s clothes? How fascinating. What made Nicholas St. Croix break a basic human law?

And did the theft mean everything Ash thought she’d learned about him was wrong? Guilt, driven by a dress and underwear. But that didn’t fit now, did it? Did he even have anything of Rachel’s aside from the passport, or had he tossed it all six years ago?

“Why?” she asked.

“Do you truly think I’d give a demon anything of hers?”

“I obviously shouldn’t have,” Ash said. The passport had seemed to legitimize the other items. He hadn’t faked or stolen that. “Why give me the identification?”

“You needed the passport to board the flight. It was necessary. I’d never have given you anything of Rachel’s for any other reason.”

That didn’t surprise her. She wondered, “So you do have more of her things?”

“Yes.” He lifted his computer again and focused on the screen, effectively dismissing her. “But they’re not for you to ever touch.”

Because he’d cared for Rachel and hated demons, Nicholas would apparently break human laws while seeking his revenge . . . or just to play a game on a demon who’d lost her memory.

Well, now. Ash’s smile widened. That was so much more interesting than guilt.

CHAPTER 4

Nicholas ignored her for the remainder of the flight, but Ash didn’t mind. She passed the time watching the attendants; one of them hated the other two, yet spent hours pretending that she didn’t. Why the hatred? Ash didn’t care enough to ask. Simply observing the attendant proved to be an intriguing study: The woman concealed her feelings, yet so desperately wanted the others to know how she felt.

The others weren’t completely blind to it. Unease and uncertainty coated Ash’s tongue in their vinegary flavors when a smile became too brittle, a laugh sounded too shrill, or a gesture appeared too abrupt.

Yet each time, the other attendants shrugged their unease away. Why? Didn’t they trust their perception? Or was it just simpler to pretend they didn’t notice?

Whatever their reasons, people were endlessly fascinating, Ash decided. And the man across her probably only seemed all the more fascinating because she couldn’t read him as easily. Perhaps, unlike humans, demons didn’t like everything to be simple.

Perhaps it was only Ash who didn’t.

She turned her attention to Nicholas again, trying to sense beyond his emotional barriers. Did he have to consciously maintain those after erecting them? She waited, but they held strong—only cracking once, when the plane shook through a spat of turbulence.

Even then, she barely sensed anything from him other than mild surprise, followed by expectation. No fear. No dread. He only met her eyes and said, “If it’s Rosalia, I hope that you’ll catch me.”

Rosalia, the woman he’d spoken to on the phone earlier—the one he’d called a Guardian. Did he truly think she’d attack a plane, or was he playing with the amnesiac demon again?

Ash decided that he was jerking her chain when he told her, “Or it could be a dragon.”

Sure. Ash gave him a disbelieving look. He smiled that unpleasant little smile and resumed his work. By the time one of the flight attendants came over to assure them that the turbulence would pass soon, the cracks in his emotional barriers had closed again.

But the cracks had been there. His expectation had been real. And he had said something about demons having wings. Guardians might, too.

Did Ash have wings? She hoped so.

Ash didn’t know if she’d bother to catch Nicholas St. Croix, though.

Fortunately for him, he never needed her to. The plane landed without incident in New York shortly afterward. Ash pretended to be Rachel through customs, where, despite the story she’d prepared in anticipation of questions about Rachel’s disappearance, the officer spent more time reminding Ash to update her passport photo to include her tattoos than asking about the years she’d spent in England. After they verified her status as a U.S. citizen, she followed Nicholas to their waiting rental, a black luxury SUV.

Outside the terminal, the air hit Ash with an icy blast to her face, far colder than London had been. She gritted her teeth and shoved her hands into her pockets, only to yank them out again when Nicholas tossed the SUV’s key fob at her. She caught it and stared at him over the hood of the vehicle.

He moved to the passenger door. “You know how to drive?”

“Yes,” she responded automatically. But did she know how to?

She supposed they’d soon find out. He got in, and after she climbed into the driver’s side—yes, all the controls and pedals felt familiar—he reclined his seat and closed his eyes.

“You don’t need sleep. I do. So you drive.”

So he knew Ash didn’t need sleep. How much more did he know but hadn’t yet told her? Maybe she’d catch him, after all.

And she had to admit, he did look tired. Nicholas St. Croix couldn’t conceal everything he felt. Shadows darkened his eyes and stubble roughened his jaw. Though it