The Demon’s Surrender

fraction of the tension going out of his shoulders, and pressed his face hard against the inside of her wrist.

It lasted for only a moment, and then he lifted his head, pulling away. Sin turned to the counter and picked up her own cup of coffee.

She was making for the door when she heard the sound of the chair being pushed back.

“Cynthia,” Alan said.

Apparently Sin was a glutton for punishment, because she turned around. They stood together, Alan leaning against the kitchen wall, and Sin might really have to speak to someone about these masochistic urges, because she found herself taking the one step closer necessary to touch him.

Alan put his arm around her neck immediately, drawing her in. Sin put her head down, resting her forehead against his collarbone to avoid any further acts of madness. He smelled familiar and comforting, like steel and gun oil. He stroked her knotted hair.

“I was really worried about you,” Alan whispered in her ear.

Sin was startled enough to look up. It was a terrible mistake. Alan was very close, glasses catching glints of silver in the moonlight, eyes troubled behind them. It would be easy to pull his head down an inch closer.

“Yeah?” Sin asked roughly.

She held her body taut. She could control it: She was a dancer. She wasn’t going to shake, and she was not going to make a fool of herself again.

Alan’s hand stroking her hair went still. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes and kissed her.

At the first touch of his mouth Sin dropped her coffee cup, hearing it break and not caring, and slid both her arms around his neck. He kissed her and kissed her again, mouth warm, curls sliding through her fingers, body pressed against hers. She kept losing track of her hands, but she knew where his were, one at the small of her back keeping her close. She was so happy, warm all at once and filled with delight, and he kissed her soft and deep and slow, then pressed a light kiss on the side of her smile.

They stumbled into the kitchen table.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Sin asked, breaking the kiss. Alan nodded, and Sin slid onto the table to eliminate that problem and drew him back by her grip on his shirt. “Thank God for that,” she murmured, and kissed him again.

“Wait,” Alan said, and tried to step back.

This proved impossible when Sin did not let go of his shirt.

Alan looked down at her and said, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Sin said patiently. “I think I can be persuaded to forgive you if you come back here right now.”

“No,” Alan told her. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m really sorry. I apologize. That was very wrong of me.”

“What? Why?” Sin demanded.

Alan gestured at her. It was usually something she liked, seeing him talk with his hands, but right now she could think of about a hundred things she’d rather he be doing with his hands.

“I realize after tonight you probably think you owe me even more than you did before, but I’ve tried to explain to you that it’s not like that. I don’t want you to do anything because you owe me. I also realize that I just sent you rather a mixed message and as I’ve said, I apologize. I’m disgusted with myself. I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t even have been tempted, and I’m so terribly—I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what?” Sin asked. “You think this is about owing you? My God, that’s insulting. I’m a Market girl. You don’t think I know better than to keep making the same offer over and over again?”

Alan seemed at a loss for words. Sin felt delighted and calm. So that was why, then. She looked up at him, looking so worried and trying to do the right thing. His hair was ruffled crazily.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be so smart,” Sin said. She tugged him down sharply; he wasn’t actively resisting anymore, so she managed it. Then she let go of his shirt and laid her palms on either side of his face, smiling up at him. “Fool,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Alan jerked back. Sin was left with empty hands.

His body had actually recoiled, as if she’d shot him. His chest was rising and falling hard.

“What is it now?” Sin asked, and heard her voice waver. She almost hated him for doing this to her again, for being able to make her so happy and taking it away. “You don’t have to say it back, you know. I realize the idea is new to you. Just—turn it over in your mind. See what you think.”

His mouth curled into a sneer, too much like an expression that belonged on Nick’s face, and Sin thought, Raised with a demon. She felt hollow inside.

“See what I think?” Alan repeated, his voice cold. “I think it’s ridiculous!”

Sin pulled her robe tighter at her throat. “Okay,” she said. “I think I’m done here.”

“About when did this great romance start?” Alan inquired. “Was all that looking as if you wanted to get sick every time you saw me walk some sort of clever cover? What do I have to do to get you to stop, smash my kneecap with a hammer? I bet that would do it.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sin said. “I thought we were past this. Do I have to remind you that until five minutes ago you assumed I’d throw myself at someone a hundred times as if I was merchandise that could be used to settle a debt?”

“You were the one who leaned in to kiss me and told me how very grateful you were in the same breath,” Alan said. He had the absolute gall to look distraught, as if it was his heart being thrown aside as if it was rubbish. “Tell me, what else was I supposed to think?”