Demon Bound

didn’t feel any fear in her.
    And Barbara had given her his last name, even though he hadn’t made it back, hadn’t given her anything but a promise he wasn’t able to keep. He swallowed over the constriction in his throat. “Probably not tonight, Lindsey. But pretty soon.”
    “I’ll tell her you scared away the monsters.”
    “Okay.”
    When she lay back against her pillows, he moved to the chair. After vanishing his boots, he propped his feet up on the end of her bed, and recognized the blue patchwork beneath them. “This quilt used to be mine, you know. My grandma made it for me.”
    “I wanted a pink one.”
    Jake grinned, and settled in to wait. “Sorry.”

    Alice was in the widows’ room when she heard the “flippin’ hell” from the next chamber—her bathing chamber. She glanced down at Nefertari, standing at her knee, and sighed. More than five hours had passed since Jake had left her in the Archives; though she could have justified sending Nefertari out in those first minutes, when Alice’s blood had been simmering with frustration, using the tarantula now would just be petty.
    Still, she kept Nefertari by her side as she entered the bathing chamber. The humidity was still high, but aside from the large porcelain tub, the room was empty.
    Jake turned to face her, his expression unreadable, a toothpick motionless in the corner of his mouth. This time, his clothing did not offer a clue; the logo on his T-shirt named a mythological river in the Greek underworld.
    How very strange he was.
    And his greeting didn’t make her alter that assessment. “I’ve had an interesting day so far. But good. How about you?”
    She crossed her arms, wondered if she would ever understand him. “It has been acceptable.”
    A lie. It had been remarkable. She’d thought of him as she’d bathed, remembered the glowing of his eyes—and an activity that had become a chore in the past seventy-five years had regained excitement, ardor.
    But she was uncertain how to respond to that yet.
    “Only acceptable? That’s too bad. Do you know what it smells like in here?”
    Baffled, she drew in a breath. There was, perhaps, a very slight odor. Not soap or shampoo, because she didn’t need to use them, and perfume might give her location away when she stalked demons or nosferatu. And it was not her , either, because Guardians’ bodies had almost no scent.
    “No,” he said, and removed the toothpick from between his lips. “It’s psychic.”
    Alice frowned and reached out, felt nothing—then abruptly shielded as she realized what he’d sensed.
    With enough time, with enough intensity, a location could absorb the psychic energy from the people around it. But it dissipated quickly; within a few days of the Ascension, all of the empty quarters in Caelum had been erased of their former inhabitants.
    She used this room not just for bathing, but to settle her nerves—and she’d used it almost every day for over a century. But she couldn’t detect what her psyche had left, because it was hers . . . and only hers.
    “Yeah,” he said, and was in front of her an instant later. His grin was slow and, Alice thought, as cocksure as any she’d ever seen. “Did you imagine it was me?”
    How dare he! Outrage bloomed though her, fierce and dark. “You presume too much, Hawkins.”
    “Probably,” he said. “So let’s forget I asked.”
    His mouth covered hers, as quick and unexpected as the first time. Alice gripped his arms to steady herself, kept her lips pressed firmly together.
    He made a disappointed sound in his throat and pulled her in harder against him. His mouth moved more roughly now, more insistently, but she did not soften, even at the touch of his tongue.
    Abruptly he let her go, turned away. Be silent, she told herself. Dismiss it completely.
    But his muttered “fuck” shattered that intention.
    “What did you imagine?” The cold anger in her voice sent Nefertari scurrying away, leaving a trail of urticating hairs. Just as well. If Jake left, too, better that it was because of her, not a blasted spider. “That I would melt at your feet? That I would beg for another kiss?”
    “Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hoped.”
    “You arrogant, insensitive lout! Does playing with me amuse you so much? What are you attempting to gain—to prove? That you can turn the Black Widow into—”
    “Jesus Christ! How screwed up is your head?” He faced her again, his expression