Demon Bound

fevered and romantic imaginings when she’d met Henry. But those dreams had been hotter than the marriage bed. There had been the warmth of love, but it hadn’t been enough to thaw solicitous restraint and propriety. And there had been little help from Henry’s family; he might have called her his delicate, exotic flower, but on English soil, she’d been a weed.
    And Teqon’s lies had been the manure that had let it all grow wildly out of control.
    Oh, my. Those rarely visited memories were a cold bath—but only to her body. And Alice hadn’t needed more anger and resentment to fuel her, but now that she’d sparked it, she would put it to good use against the sentinels.
    With a vial of hellhound venom in her hand, she crawled toward the doors, where the six sentinels guarded the symbols. There were two spears to poison, but she would delay coating the spear-heads until the last moment. Trace amounts of venom would slow the demons if it entered their bloodstream—or, in great enough quantities, paralyze them—but it had a distinctive scent, like a ripened peach.
    Jake’s heartbeat had returned to a normal pace. The wait before a battle was often the most harrowing part of it, but she couldn’t sense any fear in him. She hoped he was reviewing the route he had to take through the sarcophagi—she’d made him repeat it until amusement had curved his lips and exasperation had hardened his fingers. He’d subjected her to a deep, toe-curling kiss that had ended only after she’d agreed to stop plaguing him, and to trust that he’d memorized it.
    She did. But she still feared for him.
    If he was moving at speed, one of the razor threads she’d stretched across the room could shear off a limb, or his head. The other webs she’d woven were sticky with adhesive as powerful as instant glue. Though they were not as dangerous as the razor threads, anyone running—or flying—headlong into them would become tangled in silk that was stronger than steel.
    Jake sighed, signaling that there were two minutes left. Alice shifted into a demon form, mimicking one of the sentinels as closely as she could. The demons had been in the dark as long as Alice and Jake had—even a half second of confusion might make a difference.
    And Jake’s insane plan depended upon her using this form.
    The more she considered it, however, the more she found that she could not argue with his reasoning. They could defeat twelve demons in combat. But against an army of unknown size and in unknown terrain, they only stood a chance by creating disorientation or fear—and with a head start.
    And then sending beaucoup prayers to Heaven, Thor, and Superman.
    Alice smiled into the dark. He’d said that with his hands, yet she could easily imagine the words in his deep voice, the laughter beneath. It was a sound she’d missed over the past few days.
    And it wasn’t through prayer that she’d hear it again.
    She stood, familiarizing herself with the light armor she’d created, her movement and reach. The sickness was weighing her down, but he’d made her agree that they’d fight in tandem—that she’d avoid, if she could, a one-on-one confrontation.
    Hopefully, Belial had ordered the sentinels not to kill them—only to subdue. If so, Jake and she would have a slight advantage: they’d slay without hesitation.
    A half second here, a slight advantage there; they had to add up to enough. To consider any other outcome was impossible.
    Perhaps that was why she felt utterly calm when she cackled the final time and uncapped the vial of venom. Jake would call in his weapon three seconds after her laughter began, coat his with venom as well. There was no stopping now.
    Before one second passed, Alice had liberally doused the spear tips and poisoned the blade of her naginata with the remaining venom. She dropped to the ground. Her cackle hurt her own ears. Was it loud enough to cover the sound of her dagger slicing through the silk anchoring the spears?
    It wouldn’t matter. The threads she’d stretched like a bowstring and notched behind the spears shot forward. She heard the wet thunks, the shouts.
    Crimson light flooded the prison. Her aim had been true. Two down—paralyzed.
    Jake’s crossbow bolts hit two more by the doors. A shriek sliced through the air above. Half of a leathery wing sailed in a flat spin over Alice’s head, spraying blood.
    Then Jake was at her back, covering her. His guns fired as she sprinted forward. Another screech