Demon Bound

neck.
    His cell phone lit the scene. Blood pooled beneath the mound of demon bodies. The Guardian began cleaning off her blade with the hem of her robe.
    Jake carelessly wiped his sword on his jeans and made himself look at the demon he’d slain.
    To his surprise, his knees didn’t wobble, his stomach didn’t churn.
    Hot damn. His first kill since becoming a Guardian, but he wasn’t staggering off to the side and blowing chunks. The miracles just kept on coming.
    Grinning, he vanished his sword and shoved his hands into his pockets, told his feet to stay still. Slaying his first demon deserved a victory dance, but judging by the sharp glance she gave him, the Guardian probably wouldn’t appreciate his version of the twist.
    Then her naginata disappeared, and he thought, What the hell.
    He caught her beneath her arms, swept her around in a circle. She didn’t try to stop him, though her lips clamped together. Probably to stifle a shriek of delight or laughter, he guessed, because it was flippin’ impossible not to be thrilled at this moment. The demons were dead, he didn’t have a bullet in his head, and this chamber was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen—on Earth, anyway.
    Her mouth didn’t relax when he put her down, and Jake suddenly found the tight line irresistible.
    He closed his eyes and swooped in.
    Her fists balled at his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. Nor did her lips soften.
    Her clothes did. The robes disappeared beneath his hands, and his palms slid from her underarms to a slim, silk-covered waist.
    God, what made women feel so good?
    Even the unreceptive ones. Damn, damn, damn. He broke the kiss, fighting his disappointment. The nice thing about female Guardians, though—and he knew from experience—was that they generally wouldn’t kill a man just for making a move.
    Jake lifted his head, and his blood froze.
    Her eyes were blue now, and icy with disapproval. A heavy brown braid snaked over her shoulder. Her dress wreathed her in black from her neck to her pointy witch-boots.
    The Black Widow smiled, and Jake’s stomach lurched. Something moved inside her mouth. A hairy, segmented leg thrust between her parted lips—
    Oh, Jesus—
    A tarantula crawled out.
    —Jesus, Jesus—
    Jake stumbled back, tripped. Wood thudded beneath his ass. Sunlight speared his eyes.
    “Jesus Christ in Heaven!” he shouted, then scrubbed at his lips, his tongue. He could almost feel that thing in his mouth. He’d kissed a flippin’ nut job.
    A shadow fell across his face, and Jake looked up. A long way up. His mentor wasn’t a short man, by any measure.
    “I reckon you yelling that name means you didn’t make it to the Archives,” Drifter said, his gaze running over the bloodstains on Jake’s jeans. “Though I’m doubting it was him who scared you back here.”
    Seattle. Jake flopped back on the deck outside Drifter’s house, breathed in the clean scent of Lake Washington. “I ran into the Black Widow.”
    “Alice?”
    That was her name? If he’d ever learned it in his forty years as a Guardian, Jake had forgotten it.
    “The Black Widow fits better,” he said. Alice was a soft, sweet name. It belonged on girls in pretty dresses chasing after white rabbits and attending tea parties.
    The Guardian was more like the frightening side of Wonder-land. The Jabberwock, or the queen who ordered beheadings.
    Scowling, Drifter shoved a flat-brimmed hat over his brown hair. “She ain’t as bad as you novices make out. You all oughta—”
    “I kissed her.”
    “Well, hell.” Drifter whistled low, shaking his head. “I never figured you as suicidal. Why do a fool thing like that?”
    Ah, that sweet elation was washing over him again. Jake grinned, laced his fingers behind his head. “I killed a demon.”
    “I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.” With a short nod, Drifter turned for the house. The wind from the lake kicked up the tails of his duster. “She do that spider-out-of-her-mouth trick?”
    Jake jackknifed up to sitting. “That was a trick ?”

    Oh, dear God.
    The light had vanished along with the novice. Surrounded by darkness, Alice stood absolutely still, holding in the scream that swelled in her throat.
    Teqon had sent the demons to tell her that his patience was at an end.
    But she would not think of it yet—not until she mended the cracks in her composure and in her psychic shields. For a short time, she would allow herself to push thoughts of her