Demon Bound

side, then began to pull ahead. “Surely that isn’t necessary. A thank-you is enough.”
    And that wasn’t a no. He caught up to her. “It’s not about thanks. It’s about my tongue, and exercising extraordinary control.”
    For two beats of her wings, she didn’t speak. Her gaze was focused straight ahead, and Jake felt the familiar disappointment begin to harden in his gut.
    “I can’t,” she finally said. “Surely you must see that.”
    “You know, I really don’t.” He only saw her set face, the collar that he wanted to unfasten one button at a time, until he’d stripped that dress all the way off.
    The Black Widow.
    The thought exploded through him, struck like shrapnel into his chest. “Jesus Christ. You can’t seriously be staying loyal to Henry Grey?”
    Her wings snapped vertical. She drew up, her face pale, her eyes cold. “You cross a line.”
    “Yeah. I do.” And he wished to hell he’d managed to dig up more than her husband’s name by now. “Are you?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s been dead eighty years.”
    That didn’t mean shit. Thousands of people remained true to their spouses decades after they’d died.
    But if Alice was one of them, would she have kissed him?
    He didn’t think so. And if she thought staying loyal to Grey after his death was ridiculous, then any obligation she felt must have died with him. The date was too clear-cut; Jake would bet love had disappeared before that.
    Her sigh made him conscious of how long he’d been studying her, working it through. Enough time, at least, for the color to return to her face, for her shoulders to droop.
    “Jake.” When she met his eyes, there was the same haunted expression he’d seen before. “Surely you must realize that there is scarce hope for me.”
    “No. I don’t realize.” He was hoarse, and he used anger to combat the fear gripping his throat. “But if you’re doomed anyway, why not grab on and ride?” He felt, for an instant, the yearning in her psychic scent. It pissed him off more. “But hell if you’ll stick your head out of your hole, right? If I hadn’t butted in, you’d be hiding, avoiding any contact, waiting for the end. And why not? It’s not like you’re alone. You’ve got your spiders to worship you.”
    She laughed, a thin and withering sound. “My, how imaginative you are! They are spiders . They feel no more for me than a roach feels for a human who drops a crumb.”
    “Oh, now I see. You die, you’re tortured in Hell forever—but they won’t care. Won’t be hurt if you never come back, won’t ever feel betrayed when you give up. And that makes them even safer, doesn’t it?”
    Alice averted her face. Jesus. Now he was just being an asshole. Was just spitting his own failures and fuckups out on her.
    He had to dial the anger back, even if it meant Alice would see that it scared him shitless to imagine she wouldn’t escape her bargain.
    “Yes,” she said quietly. “It does.”
    Shocked by her admission, Jake didn’t immediately follow her when she flew around him, continuing on. Her psychic scent was both stiff and vulnerable—just as when he’d found her in the hypogeum and she’d projected a mule onto her back. The cracks in her armor showing, after being under pressure for too long.
    “Hey.” Christ, he was always going after her. Maybe one day, he’d figure out why he was incapable of just letting her go. For now though, he’d follow his gut.
    Jake slipped under her left wing, rolled onto his back, caught her mouth with his.
    She stopped in midair, but didn’t pull away. And she didn’t deepen the kiss, but her hands cupped the back of his head, held his lips to the softness of hers.
    “You are mistaken,” she said. And only Alice, he thought, could sound so prim while her mouth was on a man’s. “I haven’t given up. I am still trying—but I also must be realistic about my chances.”
    “If realistic means that you’re already seeing yourself screaming in Hell, what good is it? Screw realistic.”
    He felt her lips move into a smile, but a shuddery breath passed between them. A brave face, he thought—with fear behind it, as if she was imagining, even now, the tortures that waited Below.
    But he’d follow her there, too. He knew fear. He was on intimate, naked, well-lubed terms with fear. Nothing Hell had to throw at him would be worse than what he pushed into his own head on a daily basis. He’d go after her and . . .
    Holy shit. He