Demon Bound (31 page)

“Yes.”

“Just unhappy, huh?”

She smiled a little to acknowledge the understatement. After her second miscarriage, she'd been desperate to return to her family. “I had little choice. Henry had begun vetting my letters, saying to any request for my parents to visit that it would be too dangerous. My father was so old, you see. And surely news of my melancholy—which could be cured if I would simply take Henry's advice—would only upset my father's health.”

She stopped, surprised by the bitterness in her voice. Not that it was there, but that she was expressing it. “But don't we do the same? Determine what to say based on what we think is best for others?”

Jake, bless him, let her take that step back. “You mean Michael,” he said. “And whether we're going to mention what Belial said in the prison about being Michael's father. Or if it's different than Drifter deciding last spring to keep what Belial said about teaching Michael from the others.”

“Yes.”

“What's your gut say?”

“To let it out there. If it is true, Michael can explain it—after all, it still wouldn't change what he is now. And if it is not true, he can put it to rest.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “That's what mine's saying, too. But it isn't the same as what your husband did, not letting you talk to your family. Marriage isn't war.”

“In theory.”

His grin flashed over his lips, then faded as he said, “Michael
has
been hiding what he knows about Zakril and the temples. And maybe he has a reason for keeping silent, just like Drifter did. But whatever the reason, it's not staying buried.”

“And if Michael is Belial's son?” But how could it be? To her knowledge, demons couldn't reproduce. Lucifer had created the nephilim, just as he had the hellhounds and spiders—but she did not know by what method. Halfling demons—like Lilith—had been humans once, transformed in a sacrifice. “If it is true, what then?”

“Maybe nothing,” Jake said. “Or maybe we reevaluate what we know of demons.”

“And feel guilty for slaying them?”

“What, and toss my cookies whenever I kill one?” He shook his head. “Have you ever met one that wasn't evil at its core? Can you think of any demon that the universe wouldn't be a better place without?”

She had to admit she couldn't.

“So, Michael's not a demon like the others—he's something else,” Jake said. “That's not such a surprise.”

No, it wasn't. He'd always been more powerful, had always been
more
than the rest of them. “How strange that I would rather be lied to by someone with good intentions or ill—to have them hide the truth—than be aware that good intentions were making my decisions for me.”

“You mean, having a choice? Yeah, I prefer to fuck up on my own, too.” He studied her face for a moment. “So, those good intentions. You didn't get away.”

She took a long breath, wondering if she was ready to go back there. And she was.

CHAPTER 14

“Henry caught up to me in London.” At the docks—and the smell there, she reflected, hadn't been much more pleasant than the odors in Hell. Of everything that day—the blinding sun, the cacophony of voices, horses, whistles, and engines—it was the stink that remained at the forefront of her memories. “I made such a scene—was such an embarrassment. When we returned to Manchester, he tucked me away. And I was restrained so that I couldn't run again. For my own good, of course.”

“Jesus, Alice.”

She knew he was remembering the attic, the bed there. “Henry brought in a physician, and I was diagnosed with female hysteria. And, despite my protests, was treated for it.”

“Treated?” His brows drew together in a heavy frown. “You mean the doctor was . . . Onan's little helper?”

“Yes.”

Alice took a small amount of pride in knowing that her voice didn't betray her humiliation. The physician had seen more of her than her husband ever had, and in his clinical manner had produced more of a response. Not attraction or arousal, but release. And Henry hadn't thought it degrading at all.

She continued in the same lighthearted vein. “But I had an outlet, after that—a way to settle my nerves that Henry could not prevent. It was, after all, his suggestion to let me be treated. And so I settled them quite often.”

Jake didn't smile, didn't laugh. She dropped her gaze from his.

“And it was better, for a while. We traveled to Bath for an extended holiday, away from his family. It was supposed to be a restorative for me.”

“But?”

“I believe Henry was trying to make amends. To give me a bit of home. And so he invited a man that we'd known in Egypt—an acquaintance through the exploration society—who would never have been welcomed in the same way by Henry's family.”

“Teqon.”

“Yes. And it began with simple tricks. He would shape-shift into Henry's form before my eyes, but look like himself again immediately thereafter. I would have conversations with Henry, who would later claim to have no memory of them. Eventually, Teqon flared his eyes, showed me his demonic face. And I tried to avoid him, certain I was mad—but it was impossible. Henry was determined to put us together, because it would make me happy.”

“So you told him,” Jake guessed. His gaze wasn't on her face, but searching behind them. “And he thought you were nuts.”

Alice nodded. “I look back, and I see how easily Teqon manipulated me—and I want to call myself a fool. But I cannot. I do not blame myself for that. Only the bargain.”

“What happened?”

“Henry had begun restraining me again—for my own good, of course. It should have been soothing; I had
such
a lovely view of the garden from my bed.” Bitterness had crept into her voice. She smoothed it before continuing, “Teqon came to me in his demon form, and told me that he would not kill Henry as long as I brought Michael's heart to him. I had no idea who Michael was—and despite everything, I loved Henry. So I made the bargain.”

“How does that make you a coward?”

Alice stopped walking, her brow furrowed. “Who trades the life of a stranger for another? I didn't fight Teqon—not physically, not with words. I begged him to go, to leave Henry alone, to leave me alone. But I didn't fight. Yet if I had, perhaps I'd have learned that he
couldn't
kill Henry—not without breaking the Rules and receiving Punishment from Lucifer. But I assumed he had that power, and bowed down before it.” Thinking of it made her stomach churn with self-disgust.

Jake shook his head. “You're too hard on yourself.”

“What if Michael had been a child? I didn't ask—didn't care to know. Yet I agreed to kill him.” She watched Jake's expression, the struggle there. “You want to be kind to me. Don't be.”

He scrubbed his hand over his hair, dropped it back to his side. “Okay, yeah—maybe you could have been tougher. But it's not worth spending eternity in Hell for. Did you know that was part of it?”

“Yes. But I was determined to save Henry, to follow through. I didn't consider the implications of it—that it would be murder.” She sighed. “And of course, once I was transformed, I realized who Michael was.”

Understanding spread over Jake's features. “Teqon gambled that it would happen—that you'd have access to Michael and Caelum. Did you die saving your husband?”

She nodded. “He and Teqon would spend hours talking together, and Henry's ‘care' became even more caring.” And always accompanied by his crying, his pleading with her to be happy. “One evening—after he'd spent the day with Teqon—he came to bed, lay down next to me. He removed all but one of the restraints, asked me to hold him. He told me that everything would be perfect.”

“And then?” Jake prompted when she paused.

“Then I smelled the smoke.”

“Jesus Christ. He set the house on fire?”

“Intending for us to die together,” she confirmed. “So I coshed him over the head, kicked him through the window to the garden below.”

“A delicate flower, huh?” An admiring smile curved his mouth. “And you were transformed, so he must have lived. But you didn't make it?”

“I knew I would not have much time, but with him there and fighting me, both of us would have died. So I saved him by pushing him out, then tried to save myself.” Alice wrapped her hand around her wrist like a manacle. “But I couldn't get the last one off. I couldn't go out the window, and I couldn't drag the bed through the door.”

“Jesus Christ in Heaven.”

“It wasn't so terrible. Fortunately, I succumbed to the smoke, not the flames. I'm not certain if I was dead when Michael came, but most assuredly I was on the verge of it.”

Jake was silent for almost ten yards. “I'm going to say two things.”

“Oh, dear. Must you?”

His nod pulled a laugh from her. “One,” he said, “that's badass. And you call it cowardly?”

“Perhaps not that part,” she admitted.

“Damn straight. Two, your husband was a flippin' idiot.”

“Yes, well. He could translate hieroglyphs and converse in ancient Greek, so it was a surprise to me, too.” As was the discovery that she was capable of loving an idiot almost as much as she was sickened by his weakness and condescension. “But he was very handsome, and kind, and so I'm certain he found another wife to care for—one who wouldn't reduce him to tears on a daily basis. I hope, however, that he
did
cry every day.” She fell silent, thinking. After a few minutes, she asked, “How do you suppose anyone could choose England over Egypt?”

Jake shrugged. “Beats me.”

 

Alice was describing the excitement that had surrounded the discovery of the Amarna Letters when Jake lost his focus again.

She pursed her lips, waved her hand. “How often do you do that?”

Despite her tone, she was not irritated—she was amazed. Surely his mental stamina was unmatched among mortals and immortals alike.

“Think about banging you? Once a minute or so,” he said. “But this wasn't about that.”

“Oh?”

“Nope. I was thinking about making a Gate.”

She blinked, surprised by her disappointment that it
hadn't
been about her. And intrigued, as well. Hell's Gates had been formed through sacrifices and rituals, death and negative psychic energy—but there was no indication in the Scrolls as to how a Gate to Caelum was made.

“Go on,” she said.

Jake crammed his hands into his pockets, his gaze intent on her face, his expression thoughtful. “Well, maybe we could just draw a circle in the sand, scribble a few symbols around it, and then have sex in the middle.”

It took a heroic effort to maintain her composure. “What position would we have to take?”

His lips didn't even twitch. “I dunno. We could run the gamut. Eventually, we'd hit on the right one.”

“Oh, yes. Excellent idea, Hawkins. And while we are both facing the same direction in an animal position, the hellhound puppies will surprise us from behind.”

“Yeah, and my hot ass would go first. So that's out.”

“It would have to be the Lotus position,” she determined. “We could keep watch over each other's shoulders.”

She met his eyes. They should have been laughing, she thought. Instead, she was only imagining herself sitting with him, her legs around his waist, her mouth against his. Rocking slowly, with Jake deep inside her.

Oh, dear. She wanted to stop walking. Wanted to lie very still, with her thighs pressed tightly together.

And she would
not
look away first.

Jake's sword appeared in his hand.

Alice swiftly glanced around them, saw nothing. “What is it?”

He dragged the tip of his sword through the sand, drawing a circle. When she laughed his name, he raised his brows at her. “No? Dammit,” he said, straightening. “Okay, so you aren't gungho for opening-a-portal sex. What about saving-the-world sex?”

“Would that require the missionary position?”

“However you like it.”

She feared she might be agreeable to any he had in mind. “If it would save the world, I would likely say yes.”

“Hot damn.” He vanished his sword. “When we get back, I'm going to put the world in danger.”

Her small, self-contained world was already in danger of cracking apart. He hadn't battered her defenses, but snuck through them. Just as now, he was walking backward directly in front of her, but slowing, slowing until her next step would bring her up against him.

Her gaze felt weighted; she couldn't lift it above his lips. Sense made her say, “This is not the wisest course to take now. Not with hellhounds behind us.”

“Is there a Lotus kiss?”

“No. And you have a habit of jumping when we attempt one.” She flattened her hand against his chest—touching him, holding herself back. His heart was pounding. Did she produce that intense reaction? “You did not even need a spider the last time.”

“Hey,” he said in a wry tone, but beneath it she felt the sharp point of his self-reproach. “That got us down here, didn't it? Started this fun little vacation?”

She looked up into his eyes. Oh, that had come out very badly. She shouldn't have said anything—should have just kissed him. “I didn't mean—”

“I freaked out over something.” He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Not over you. Well, not over kissing you.”