Demon Forged

room.
    Her mouth was dry. She tried to moisten it and felt as if she’d swallowed razors. And she could have answered Taylor’s question now: There was little difference between humans and Guardians. As both, she’d felt fear and dread. As both, there’d been pain.
    But, before the demon, there had never been this much shame. Not for anything she’d done, or anything done to her.
    Pain hadn’t stopped her before, though. She couldn’t let shame do it now. Not if she wanted to move forward; not if she wanted to move beyond an overturned rock and a bargain.
    How laughable that, even as old as they were, Irena did not know if either she or Alejandro could do it. He was only human, as well. Would he feel disgust? Pity? Betrayal? His every possible response would add to the hurt. And she wanted to see his emotions, piece by piece—but she only wanted to see his reaction to this after he’d had time to accept it.
    Still, she couldn’t step away to give them space and time. Four hundred years of separation hadn’t made it easier. She had to tell him, face-to-face. And if it hurt him , she couldn’t run away from that. She’d never been a coward. She wouldn’t let the demon make her one.
    And she hoped that the presence of Taylor and Preston would force them to be mindful of their responses.
    “Have you already backed down?” He still spoke in Spanish, his voice soft and challenging. “If you have, Irena, I will come after you.”
    Would he? Fear became ragged claws tearing at the back of her throat, scraping at her eyes. She had not known fear could bring tears. She laughed at herself, hoping to push the fear away, but her laugh came out tattered by it.
    Alejandro’s hand tightened on her thigh. Abruptly, he let her go.
    She caught his wrist. He must have thought his touch had caused this fear. And why wouldn’t he? Alejandro could read her face, her laugh, but he didn’t know what lay behind them. She’d never told him.
    For the first time in her life, she wished that she had pretty words. Some manner of speech that wasn’t as blunt as a hammer strike. But she only had what she was.
    Though it would be easier to sign than to speak, she did not let go of his wrist. If he signed a reply, she would have to watch his hands. She wanted to see his face.
    She spoke quietly in Russian, as he had in Spanish, and her voice was as ragged as her laugh had been. “What the demon did in that room when I made that bargain—it was not what you thought.”
    His pulse jumped beneath her fingers. He still didn’t understand, though. His silence said he waited for her to continue.
    The claws in her throat became daggers. “He never intended to use pain. He wanted my body to respond to him.” The last part was the worst, but she forced the words out. “And I did.”
    She braced herself for disgust and pity. She forgot to prepare for relief.
    He didn’t—or couldn’t—contain it, and his relief lifted through his psychic scent, a sweet release.
    “He didn’t hurt you?” His voice was hoarse. His throat worked, and the rest was a grateful whisper. “ Gracias, Dios mío! ”
    He thanked God? Her rage and pain exploded. She swung, backhanded him across the face. His head snapped to the side, struck the opposite window. Glass shattered.
    Preston choked. “Jesus Christ! Were we shot?”
    No. Irena stared at Alejandro, horrified. She’d hit him. The back of her hand was numb from the force of her blow. Vivid red marked his cheek. His eyes had darkened to black. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
    His lips drew back in a terrible smile. “Do that again.”
    “What the fuck are you two doing?”
    Taylor’s voice jolted Irena into motion. Her hand came screaming back to life as she reached for the door. She shoved outside and onto the sidewalk.
    Sickness roiled in her stomach. She wanted to curl up, wanted to cry, but she walked, seeing nothing but his face. How could she have lost control? She’d known what she could do if she succumbed to her anger, and she’d done it with Olek . It didn’t matter that a backhanded slap was nothing compared to tearing the demon apart. Both had been done without thought, without any attempt to check her actions.
    And once again, she’d left.
    She stopped, her breath shuddering. She couldn’t walk away from this. Irena turned—and saw Alejandro had kept his promise.
    He’d come after her.

    Alejandro didn’t know what surprised him more: The harsh pleasure