Demon Bound

quietly, and stroked the backs of his fingers down her wet cheek. “But I can’t imagine how we’d get to the symbols, and survive. Not with all of these sentinels. Can you?”
    “No, novice.” Her denial was soft and sad, and his heart began pounding. “I cannot. And once we got out, we’d still have to make it past the army. Can you imagine a way to do that?”
    He shook his head, and signaled he was lying in the same way she’d used. “No, widow. I can’t.”
    “Then I suppose I must resign myself to the dark.” She pulled back, and her eyes, bright and shining, met his. “Perhaps I shall occupy myself by weaving. It will settle my poor nerves.”
    But she didn’t begin right away. First, she knelt in front of the lantern, and wailed again when it died.

    If Alice hadn’t pretended that the darkness frightened her, Jake was pretty sure that twelve pairs of eyes would be lighting the room. Instead, the demons must have been tracking their movements by their heartbeats, the sound of their steps.
    He’d bet anything that the assholes were enjoying her rapid, shallow breaths and the fear that occasionally leaked through her psychic scent. Jake mostly just enjoyed that that they were falling for it.
    And, guessing that darkness was exactly what she’d wanted, Jake didn’t pull anything out of his hammerspace to brighten it. He sat, formed his wing stumps, and gritted his teeth through the healing.
    About fifteen hours after the lantern went out, the cackling started. Even knowing that it was an act, it lifted the hairs on his arms. And it apparently creeped out the demons, too. A few seconds after it ended, the sentinels flared their eyes. In the red glow, he saw Alice crouching on a sarcophagus, muttering into her gloved hands. Her waist-length hair was unbound. She cut a hank off and began to play with it: measuring it between her fingers, curling it into loops, then finally tying the ends together until she had a single, long strand.
    The light disappeared, then blinked on when she began to run, cackling again. She passed Jake, a rush of wind in her wake, then leapt high into the air. Her fingers touched the ceiling, leaving a gossamer strand dangling almost to the floor. She landed lightly, sat, and cut off more hair.
    They left her in darkness after that, and Jake lost count of the times the cackling and running were followed by that eerie muttering. He stayed where he was, sure that after what he’d seen, it wasn’t a good idea to be walking around.
    She’d been harvesting the spider silk for ten years. How much had gone into her dresses, and how much was stored in her hammerspace?
    Judging by how long it was taking her, a hell of a lot.
    By the time she began to skitter around the floor on her hands and knees, his wings were about as big as a cherub’s. They probably looked pretty flippin’ stupid—but at least they didn’t hurt anymore.
    He vanished them when she approached his row of sarcophagi. His legs were in the way. Jake bent his knees, expecting her to crawl by.
    She climbed into his lap, cradled the back of his head in her hands, and kissed the astonishment from his mouth.
    Her teeth nibbled lightly at his bottom lip, and Jake knew that he was missing something, knew that there was a message in all of this somewhere. But, hot damn, she couldn’t really expect him to think? Not when she tugged his head closer so that she could tap her tongue against his teeth, then lick, and not when her thumbs were stroking that same rhythm behind his ears. Tap, lick, slow, lick, a slight hesitation, tap, lick, on and on, and the tease of it was going to drive him crazy.
    It was going to . . . It was . . . It was his name . Morse code. J, A, K, E, over and over.
    His hands were on her hips, and he squeezed her name back. He felt her open smile against his mouth, her silent laugh.
    God. He’d thought he was falling for her? He’d been wrong. That had been nothing compared to the insane exhilaration he felt now. Nothing like his amazement that he’d been lucky enough to cross paths with this strange, brilliant woman.
    And in a few seconds, he’d talk with her. But now, he let the moment roll over him, leaning in and taking a taste of her laugh. It faded from her lips, and she was kissing him back. No message there. Just the sweet clench of her fingers, the heat of her mouth.
    It couldn’t last, though. It wasn’t the time, and definitely wasn’t the place. And the slight perspiration on