Demon Bound

smoke to the ceiling. “And you should probably call that sodding Ollie Heath and have him arrest Nicholas Naughton.”
    Pete’s eyebrow crawled upward. “Nick? Why?”
    Jack watched the ash grow on the end of his fag.
Necromancers make offerings to their old gods.
“Because he killed his brother.”
    Pete set down her mug. “That’s quite a leap, Jack.”
    “This house is the work of a necromancer,” he said. “A line of necromancers. Nicholas Naughton said it was just himself and his brother. One of them’s dead. So, by your very own copper logic, the one that’s still kicking round London in a nonce suit is the necromancer. One who owns a great big country house and estate on which to bury the dead he’s bound.”
    “But Naughton is the one who demanded that we cleanse the house!” Pete cried.
    Jack stubbed out the end of his fag. “Naughton’s an idiot. You don’t get a poltergeist from a binding ritual. He knew I’d see it. We were probably sent here to be the next juicy mage offerings to his bone gods, seeing as how he’d run out of hapless family members.”
    Pete pressed her hands together, put them against her mouth like she were making a brief bid not to smash something. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I sat thereand took that git’s money and
smiled
at him, for fuck’s sake.”
    “You’re not the first person he’s fooled,” Jack said. “Think of how poor Danny must have felt swinging from that beam . . .”
    “All right.” Pete placed her hands flat on the table. “I’ll keep the kit, for now. And I’ll have Naughton taken care of. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t coming back.” Sheen blossomed in her eyes, and Pete sucked in a long breath. “Tell me you’re coming back.”
    Jack got up and pulled Pete up with him. Pete wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. Jack put one hand on her neck, the silken ends of her hair tickling his palm.
    “I’m coming back,” Jack whispered. It wasn’t a lie, really. Just an unknown quantity. “I should go back to work, luv,” he said. He would do what he always did when he was at a loss—smoke, curse, consult his books, and pace until something shook loose and he came up with a way to weasel out of his problem. He was a clever boy, after all.
    Pete pulled him back against her instead, small body warming his skin. “No.” She ran her thumb down the scar on his cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”
    Jack slid his hands across her waist, pressing his fingers into her hip bones. If he had the chance to look back, he supposed, he would call himself an idiot for spending time with musty books when he could be with Pete. “I suppose it can wait. For a bit.”
    Pete pressed her lips against his, firm and warm and insistent. “I suppose it can. Just for a bit.”

Chapter Forty-nine
    Jack’s eyes snapped open, and he snatched up Pete’s mobile from the bedside table. Pete stirred next to him, groaning and pulling her pillow over her face.
    The numerals spelled out 10:13, and Jack slumped back, forcing his heart to stop pounding.
    He had hours. Hours until he faced the demon in Hell.
    “Jack?” Pete curled into him, her leg sliding up his thigh to drape across his waist. “Don’t leave yet.” Her hands brushed down his abdomen. “Haven’t had a chance to say a proper good morning.”
    Jack’s cock jumped as Pete’s hand wandered into unsafe territory, and her lips brushed over his earlobe. He rolled over and pinned her frame beneath his weight, causing Pete to yelp. Jack grinned. “Good morning, Petunia.”
    “I called Ollie Heath while you were sleeping,” she said.
    “Ohh, yeah. Nothing’s more erotic than talking about your work mates,” Jack said, nuzzling into her neck.
    Pete slapped him on the back of his head. “Don’t be awful.”
    Jack sighed, coming up for air. “What did he say?”
    “Nicholas Naughton’s done a runner,” Pete murmured. “Cleaned out his flat and his accounts and he’s gone.”
    Jack levered himself onto his elbows. “I’m sorry, luv. Looks like he’s not quite the idiot I thought.”
    Pete lifted one bare shoulder. “It’s a problem for another day, Jack.” She pulled his face down, and Jack followed willingly.
    He kissed her for a long moment, letting his fingers roam over her, memorize her. If it was the last touch he had, it needed to count. Memory was all that mattered, in the Black.
    Pete pushed him off gently after a