Demon Marked

that chance. To the point where he thought that running from Madelyn and protecting Ash was the far better choice.

Which was more important to him, revenge or Ash? A week ago in Duluth, that answer had been an easy one. It wasn’t easy any longer. He wanted revenge. More than that, he wanted Ash to be safe.

And fuck it all, he wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her until it wasn’t just familiar, but the taste and feel of him had been branded into her memory—as hers was branded into his.

He’d kissed her before, but he knew why this one hadn’t been familiar: He’d never kissed any woman like that. Not without calculation, not without considering the consequences or as a means to an end. He hadn’t given a thought to anything but the need to have her mouth open to his, to know the heat and taste of her. To reassure himself that she was alive, unhurt.

But although she’d quickly healed, Nicholas wasn’t so certain she was unhurt.

Something had changed in her. He realized now that the Ash he’d met in London might have very well fit the nurses’ description of a flat affect, a lack of emotion. By the time they’d reached Duluth, however, there’d already been more—amusement, irritation, joy—all clear and easily readable, and all of them unaffected by what anyone else said or did to her, and always unoffended.

He didn’t think that was the case any longer. Nicholas had begun to believe that her capability for emotion had expanded, deepened. He’d begun to believe that she could be hurt now.

And then he always wondered if that was what she wanted him to believe.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked up. Perhaps that was Madelyn’s legacy: He’d never be able to trust anyone, anything, even if he wanted to. Even if he knew that it was hurting Ash that he couldn’t let himself trust her, that he couldn’t let himself believe her.

Then again, maybe he was right not to.

God, this would all drive him mad—if seeing her dive out of the sky didn’t do it first.

But whether he went mad didn’t matter. All that mattered was protecting her, keeping her safe—and if safe meant watching her jump over and over, until she had the ability to fly away from a demon or a Guardian as fast as she could, then by God he would help her do it.

They still had hours of daylight left. Maybe she could be flying by the end of it.

She didn’t look up when he came into the cabin. Sitting at the small table, she had the shotgun on her lap, cleaning the barrel with an oily rag.

“Do you want to try the tree again?”

“There’s no point. I don’t know how to fly. I’ll just fall and fall and fall again.” She popped open the chamber and removed a cartridge, replacing it with one of the shells prepared with hellhound venom. So she didn’t intend to practice shooting, either. “You know what I want to learn, more than anything?”

“Tell me.” And he’d do anything he could to help her.

“I want to know how to get around the damn Rules.”

Shit. Nicholas couldn’t do that. And the only being that could change those Rules hadn’t been on Nicholas’s side for a while now. “That requires a higher power than we have.”

“No. I don’t mean ‘how can I break the Rules with no consequences.’ I mean, how to get free, how to move without breaking them.” She set the shotgun aside and stood. “Like before, on the floor. I didn’t really try to get out from beneath you. I want to try again and see if I can think of a way to get you off of me without breaking the Rules.”

“You want to get on the floor again?” With her body beneath him. It would be torture. But he’d suffer through it. “All right.”

“Right here is good enough.” Ash leaned forward, placed her hands in the middle of the table. “Grab my wrists like you did before.”

Nicholas approached the opposite side of the table and pushed the chair out of the way with his foot. She wasn’t a small woman, but his hands easily encircled her wrists. Her pulse pounded beneath his fingers, her skin hot against his palms.

Her hair slid forward over her shoulder as she studied their hands. “I can’t lift up, because your will is to hold my hands down like this.”

“Yes.” Though he’d really like to hold her a lot closer than this.

If she heard the wry note in his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. “If I was human, what would I do? I’d pull, I’d try to scratch, I’d kick you in the balls. I can’t do any of that.”

“No.” And thank God for the lack of ball kicking, at least.

Frustration flattened her mouth. Her gaze left their hands to search the tabletop. “Okay. But what if I’m not trying to get away? What if I’m not trying to impede your free will . . . I’m just making it difficult for you to keep holding me?”

“Make it so that you aren’t stopping me from holding you, but so that I want to let go?”

“Yes.”

“That would work. How would you do it?”

Her mouth twisted into a small, ironic smile. “If I could fly, I’d say: ‘You can hold on to me if you like, but I’m going up.’ It would be different than trying to lift your hands, because then I’m trying to break your hold. But flying, I wouldn’t be trying to break your hold, I’d just be warning you that you’d be in trouble if you can’t hold on when I’m a thousand feet high. Then if you let go—before or after I’m in the air—it’s your choice.”

The intention made a difference, he realized. That made a hell of a lot of sense. And good for him to know, too, if he ever did get ahold of Madelyn.

“But I can’t fly,” she said. “Here, I could say . . . I’m going to fall, Nicholas. Hold on to me if you like, but if you do, you might get hurt.”

That might work next to a cliff. But here? “Where would you—”

With a crash, the table collapsed toward her. The support for her hands gone, Ash’s weight suddenly pulled hard on him, hauling him off-balance. Oh, fuck. He couldn’t compensate, not at this angle.

He held on anyway.

His gut slammed into the edge of the upended table, his arms stretched over the top, pulled halfway over by Ash’s dead weight. She lay on the floor on her stomach, her torso lifted by the hold he still had on her wrists.

She hadn’t gotten away, but she was laughing, triumphant. “Did you see? That was close.”

“Close.” It came out as a wheeze.

Her smile faded a little. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Fucking proud of her, actually. A lot of people would have let her go.

“I’ll fix the table. I kicked out the legs on my side.” She got her knees beneath her, easing the pressure of her weight on his arms. She studied their positions, Nicholas overbalanced and bent over the upended table, her own proximity to the wall. By the time she spoke again, he’d gotten his wind back. “I think this would be the same thing: I’m going to fall backward. You can hold on to me, but that’s probably going to pull you and tip the table right over.”

“On top of you,” Nicholas pointed out.

“Your head might smash into the wall.”

He glanced at the wall. Yeah, it might. That would hurt like a fucker. “All right. Go.”

She didn’t, not right away. She was looking up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Are you planning to let go?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you bluffing? Seeing if I’ll do it?”

“I hope you’ll do it. Because if you’re in this situation with some asshole human, you damn well better.”

“I am in this situation with an asshole human.”

His laugh hurt his bruised stomach. God. He couldn’t argue that.

Her smile faded, replaced by determination. “Nicholas, I’m going to.”

She held his eyes. He could almost feel her willing him to let go as she slowly tipped backward—not actively doing anything, just not supporting her own weight anymore. He tightened his grip when she fell back as far as she