Forged of Shadows: A Novel of the Marked Souls (11 page)

“If I had, we wouldn’t be here.” The tremble in her voice made him pause.

She didn’t mean to state the obvious, he understood. She was asking him whether it would have been better to die. In the face of her vulnerability, having nothing to do with her nakedness, his demon quieted, and he foundered in the sudden loss of its bracing fury. “You couldn’t save your sister, or yourself at that moment, but what you will become now may help us save the world.”

From the flicker across her face, he knew he had not said the right thing. But it was only the truth, or the only truth he had anyway.

“That is all I can offer,” he said softly to the unspoken disillusionment in her eyes.

“I guess that’s more than I had before.”

A gray shadow like encroaching ice rimed her gaze. He felt the chill on her skin. “No. Whatever sorrow started you down this path, you cannot return there. You strive forward or your soul is forfeit.”

He flattened his hand in the small of her back and raised her up against him. Her dark nipples were a lure he could not resist. He skimmed off her shirt and loose bra in the same motion as he dipped his head so that her gasp of surprise filled his mouth with her warm flesh.

But she was no quiet lover to let him feast in peace. Her hands roamed from his shoulders to his flanks, her nails raising shivers from his bones.

When she fumbled down his fly, a chill of caution swept in along with the breath of air on his cock. He lifted himself awkwardly on the angles of the couch to stare down at her.

She must have seen the hesitation in his eyes because she clamped her hands on his hips. “I won’t let this thing take me to the dark place. I told myself I’d never let anyone do that to me again.”

He wanted to smash all those unnamed anyones whose inflicted hurts had so toughened her. Regret that he was her only choice—her only chance—swept him. As league leader, he had failed her already. But he’d told her their only way out led forward. Outside, the day had faded, and in the gloom, her skin flushed with restless demon ethers he sensed more than saw. He had to channel that confusion of power until she could control it herself. He could give her that, at least. Then she’d be free of him, if not of her demon.

Deliberately echoing the pattern of her hands over his body, as if he could re-create the ancient meditations that had once guided the league possessed through ascension, he unbuckled her belt and slid the denim down the width of her hips, the generous arch of her backside.

Even the light dance of her hands threatened to unbalance him, so he slid free of her touch, dropping kisses along each inch he uncovered, from her navel, across the matching red and orange panties, down her thigh to her raised knee. She had barely finished fumbling with the laces on her big black boots when he yanked away the whole tangle of denim and lacy underwear and leather and fell back on her, afraid to let her go.

Because now he sensed it too, the yawning of the abyss, hell as close as it ever came, as her demon ascended and other-realm mists breathed around them.

He said it aloud, for anything listening. “I won’t let you go.”

“How will you get your pants off?”

“You started this.”

Then his jeans were somewhere in the pile with hers. His knees drove into the couch cushions, rocking her toward him as he centered himself between her thighs.

“Now,” she said.

“No.” He anchored her hips by the double handful. “Take it slow.”

“Why?”

What to say? Because he needed a moment to remember how this went? He didn’t want her to laugh. Because he feared no such chance would come to him again, and he wanted to savor every feeling? That thought revealed even more vulnerability than the first.

Rather than speak, he smoothed his erection over her cleft. That silenced her, and widened her eyes so the cinnamon-honey gleam eclipsed the creeping icy gray. When she gripped his shoulders, the force of her fingers drove muscle almost painfully against bone. He didn’t mind. If only she could leave bruises to mark him forever.

He slid against her, down to cover her mouth with his. He tasted the lotus, sweet and innocuous, not the dream-inducing drug of legend. And yet somehow . . . He slid lower yet, his lips finding the puckered flesh of her nipple, then the taut quiver of her belly as she caught her breath, and then . . . Ah, there was the bloom he sought.

The dark flowering between her thighs was no sweet dream but a wild fantasy of silk curls and musk. She opened to him with a sigh that started as his name and ended as a hum of passion, and his entire body zinged with the force of shared pleasure between them, a ratcheting tension that threatened to destroy his hard-won equilibrium.

The hunger in him grew despite the attention he lavished on the core of her. This time, when her fingers raked his shoulders, urging him up, he did not resist but surged over her.

He paused with his cock at the ready. If Sera had explained about talya sex, Jilly already knew he carried no disease and could never give her children. She’d bear no consequences from this liaison.

Would he be able to say the same about himself?

Poised on the desperate, heedless edge of his oblivion, he struggled to remind himself of his mission. If he couldn’t keep himself in hand, how could he hope to control the fierce and brutal talyan? If he found solace in her touch, how could he still expect those wounded souls under his command to fight on, eternally, without release?

The bone-dust winds of the demon realm coursed around them. Right. Death and damnation, just as he’d warned Archer.

He could not leave her to face that alone. For her sake, for the league, for the world itself. Ah, the sacrifice.

He buried himself in her with a hiss at the exquisite hot grasp of her flesh around him.

When he would have gathered her close, she held him at arm’s length, palm braced against his chest. The bracelet fell to her elbow, and the dull metal gleamed at him. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist where her pulse surged with frantic power.

Another kiss, then tongue, then his teeth nipping lightly at her flesh until, with a moan, she loosened her locked arm and let him closer.

Teasing, he withdrew, plunged himself in the heat of her again, and then again. She stared up at him, eyes wide open. He could not escape the coruscating whirl of violet and glazed gold as the demon and her climax rose within her.

He gritted his teeth against the urge to come. He was fucking immortal; he would wait. He would wait.

He flattened her hand against his chest again. Maybe better if she held him away. His pulse was a deafening hammer, and her fingers curled into his chest as if to hold it tight.

For a heartbeat, gold eclipsed the violet in her eyes. Then, in utter silence, she arched her back and came. The convulsion drew a gasping shout from him as he found his own release with a shuddering violence.

His vision grayed. Not the demon realm, just
la petite mort
. His strength failed him and he collapsed, half on her and half teetering off the edge of the couch.

Gradually, his breath evened.

“Erk,” she said.

He grunted, his cheek nestled against her shoulder. From this angle, the shadows elongated the wings of the butterfly alighted on her breast, like the afterburner contrail of a fighter jet across the sky, but black instead of white.

Then he realized there was nothing to cast those curling shadows.

He sat up.

She dragged in a deep breath. “Thanks for the air.”

He turned her gently to her side.

“Hey, air good, yes, but I’m not an inflatable toy here.”

“No,” he murmured. “Not a toy. A weapon.”

The
reven
unfurled from below her left breast down across her rib cage to the point of her hip, and rose up to the butterfly tattoo. The lines spiraled off, confusing his eye, though he traced a fingertip along one path.

He tried to ignore the pain that unfolded through his chest as if in echo. “Welcome to the league of demon-possessed warriors, Jilly Chan.”

Jilly craned her neck to follow the course of his finger down the side of her breast where the knot of the knife scar had faded to a mere memory on her skin. “Instatattoo. Not temporary, I’m guessing.” She shivered at the tangled memories of trickling blood and now her new boss’s erotic touch. God, it was all fading. Her scars that reminded her of bad choices, her courage, and—oh yeah—her very
life
. She scooted away and snatched up the T-shirt flung over the back of the couch.

Liam wiped a hand down his face. “The
reven
is the teshuva’s mark on you. Once, the patterns told the league how strong and what sort of demon had crossed into our realm. I’ve read accounts from previous leaders who organized their ranks by teshuva class and power.” A tick beside his eye jerked once. “I don’t have enough talyan to give me choices.”

She studied the mark at his temple. “What’s yours? How strong is it?”

“Ravager class. And strong enough.” He returned her narrowed, assessing gaze. “I don’t need to check the archives on yours. Discord class, undoubtedly.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “The
reven
shows you passed the first ascension, and the conflicting emanations are balanced enough that you won’t be pulled into the demon realm. Against your will anyway.”

She frowned. “Why would I go willingly? As if this hasn’t been bad enough.” When his expression went blank, she winced inwardly. She hadn’t meant that quite the way it sounded. But she didn’t correct herself. Not like they were going anywhere with that anyway. Discord, right?

All these negative thoughts—blood, demons, the sad lack of long-term relationship potential despite her new immortality—were really taking the shine off her afterglow.

He pushed to his feet. “There is much about being talya that you don’t know, that none of us know. Despite all Sera has apparently shared with you.”

“You could share more,” she pointed out. “Or have we shared enough for tonight?”

He gave her another unreadable look, then bent to collect his clothes.

She indulged a wistful mental sigh at the sight. Too lean by half, though the sensuous play of muscle under his skin made her fingers tingle. But she knew better now than to be tempted. Twice anyway.

Not only was he her new boss; he was her eternal boss. Meetings around the watercooler could get way complicated after a few hundred years of clandestine sex.

Or, considering the lamp, table, and transmitter she’d smashed, even more awkward after not- so-clandestine sex.

“What have I done?” she whispered as she tugged her shirt over her head.

In the dim lighting, Liam’s gaze flickered toward violet. “What we had to do.” He zipped his jeans with a touch more force than necessary. “It’s how we survive long enough to erase some of the stain on our souls.”

Here she was worrying about the mark on her skin when the fatal stain was on her soul. Silly her.

She wiggled into her jeans while Liam searched for the scraps of his shirt. Sera had promised her a metabolic boost, but the jeans seemed snug as ever.

Letting the demon in her soul, then the demon- killer into her body. She was becoming quite the slut. She tried to dredge up a silver lining. At least she could kick some of the ass that so seriously needed kicking, now that she’d finally identified an appropriate target. That target being all of evil. And she was always telling the kids to set specific, realistic, and achievable goals.

She was fiercely glad they couldn’t see her now. She’d always considered herself an outsider, and now continuing the fight from the shadows would have to satisfy her forever.

As for the satisfaction glowing through her body tonight . . . She steeled herself against the faint after-sex pang and pleasure. If Liam could stand there and glower in his shirt with a handful ripped out of the front, then she could cultivate a demon-slaying ’tude.

She cocked her hip to kick off her new look. “So now what?”

His hand scraped through his hair to reveal the mark at his temple. “Hell if I know.” Then he seemed to realize he was losing his composure. “You survived the transformation, so we add you to the league register with your demon’s subclass. Then I’d like to see what we can learn about that bracelet, so don’t let it out of your sight. And you still haven’t picked out a weapon.”

She eyed him disbelievingly. “I’m possessed by a demon, and we’re going to do paperwork?”

“Paper, rock, or scissors, I don’t care what you use against the horde-tenebrae,” he grumbled.

She blinked. “Ooh-kay. I gotta pee.”

As she walked away, she swore she heard, “Well, that won’t work against them.”

The bracelet clanked against the porcelain when she gripped the sink and stared into the mirror. Did she see a glimmer of the demon in her own eyes? Nope, just a wink of light off her nose ring. She switched it out for a tiny sapphire stud to match her hair color. No sense getting her nostril ripped in some demon scuffle.

She slicked on some cherry lip balm and worked more gel into her hair. She doubted the spikes were much defense against anything either, but at least she felt a little taller. She needed to get her boots back on too.

When she returned to the living room, Liam stood staring out the window, a tumbler of water in his hand. The streetlamp outside, shining through raindrops on the glass, added spangles of light to his pensive face.

For God’s sake, the man killed monsters for a living. Was being with her so terrible?

And why did she care what he thought?

Anger prickled through her, adding sharp edges to the room despite the low light. The lingering scent of sex prodded her temper even higher. This must be what Liam meant when he talked about the demon rising.