Demon Bound

seen. And the tight mask of his face told her it was worse than she’d imagined.
    His lips moved. She couldn’t hear him, but she knew what he was saying. Anywhere in Hell but here.
    Somewhere no one was being tortured, no one was screaming. Death was preferable to this.

    She felt Jake’s teeth slide out of her wrist. They were falling, and somehow her wings were gone, so she formed them again. Feathers, this time, spreading wide.
    Jake’s weight was a painful strain on her arm, across her back—and it was an effort to carry him.
    Alice sucked in a sharp breath. How could that be? A Guardian could lift his weight a hundred times over.
    The ache in her shoulder flared bright as she pulled Jake up and wrapped both arms around his chest to hold him. She looked at the ground far below, the glistening red wet of it, thinking of the symbols carved into her skin, the sword used to make them, and she did not immediately comprehend what she was seeing.
    But it was the death she had wanted.
    Demons—and what must have been a battlefield. They lay thick on the sand, four and five deep, as if they’d been fighting on top the bodies of their brethren.
    No, she realized. They’d fallen out of the sky. Now they all were piled together.
    It wasn’t silent, however. Enormous hellhounds, several times larger than Sir Pup, bounded across the bodies. Two fought over a demon corpse. Smaller creatures squirmed between broken limbs and peeked out from clean-picked skulls.
    “How many?” she whispered.
    Jake’s voice was flat. “A couple hundred thousand. Half million, maybe.”
    Dear God. “I had no idea there were so many demons alive in Hell, let alone dead. And to think that one battle could kill this number . . .” She could hardly conceive of it. How many were left in the cities, in the armies? Millions, altogether? “I think we Guardians are very lucky that more did not escape to Earth through the Gates before they were closed.”
    “Yeah.” He stared out over the carnage. “It looks like Lucifer lost this one.”
    Yes. Fewer of the dead wore Belial’s armor. She let her gaze slide over them all. Shouldn’t she have been heartened by this? They were demons. Heaven knew how many she and Jake had killed escaping the prison, how many the spiders had devoured. She didn’t grieve for them, and didn’t grieve for these. Yet all that she could think was—
    “What a fucking waste,” Jake muttered.
    “Yes.” It shuddered from her, and her chest was heaving. She bore down against it, feeling as if she was one of those horrid spiders, filled too full, bulging in all the wrong places—and with a shell that would burst open.
    Jake turned his head, and she sensed his gaze on her face. He would feel the tremors wracking her, but she prayed he wouldn’t comment on them. If they weren’t mentioned, she could pretend that he didn’t notice.
    “Just one more, goddess. That way.” He pointed to their left, where sand and rock rolled out to the red horizon. “Because all of the towers are in the other direction. Okay?”
    She nodded, afraid that if she tried to speak, her teeth would chatter, or something vile and huge would pour from her open mouth.
    Jake’s fingers closed over hers. “Then we’ll get on the ground. We’re a target up here, too easy to spot from a distance. Belial will be looking for us—maybe Lucifer now, too. So picture us going that way as far as we can. We’ll find someplace safe, and hang on until Michael figures out we’re missing.”
    Was anywhere in Hell safe? But she couldn’t allow herself to doubt. His mouth pressed to her wrist again. She stared out over the horizon, and let him take her.

    Alice’s knees buckled as soon as they landed.
    Jake caught her before she hit the ground, swept her up against his chest. Her wing tips trailed on the sand until she vanished them. She opened her mouth.
    “Shut up,” he said before she could protest, then wished it’d come out gently. Goddammit. Every jump had torn away her strength, stripped her emotional shields. Every fucking jump. But she’d done what was necessary—and so had he. He swallowed his guilt, softened his tone. “Just rest.”
    “How dictatorial you are.” He sensed the effort it took her to smile before she laid her cheek against his shoulder. She folded her talons on her lap, and they clinked against her armored thigh. “But as sprawling on my face in Hell is one of my least favorite pastimes, I intended to say