Demon Marked

end of the exit. The demon tapped the brakes until they came to a stop at the sign. “That wasn’t what I sensed from you when we met in the town house.”
    “And a demon knows what love feels like?”
    “I spent a month walking through London. I’ve felt love. Strong, weak. Between friends, between children and parents, between lovers of all stages—even those who were grieving. You did feel grief, though. So you must have cared for her. It just wasn’t love.”
    She was right. But it pissed him off, knowing that she’d looked into him. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
    With a shrug, she drove forward again. The snow had let up a bit, enough for Nicholas to make out the gas station signs rising along each side of the road.
    “Kissing you felt familiar, too,” she said.
    Goddammit. He’d kissed this demon once, less than fifteen hours ago, and only so that he could get close enough to electrocute her. There had been nothing for her to be familiar with or remember. So what was she trying to say now? “You’re not Rachel.”
    “As I’ve told you. Several times.”
    “And you’ve also said you don’t know who the hell you are. Yet here you are, so bloody familiar with Rachel’s life. Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
    “I’m convincing no one.” She pulled into a full-service bay and stopped beside the gas pumps. “ You are supposed to be helping me figure out who I am. I am trying to give you as much information as possible, so that you can hold up your side of the bargain. Remember?”
    She snapped off the last word between teeth that had sharpened to points. So he’d gotten to her, pissed her off, too. Knowing that soothed some of his own anger.
    “I remember. And you’ve got fangs now. “
    Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror. She bared her teeth at her reflection. Her eyes widened.
    Surprised? Not as much as the guy who pumped their gas would be. “You’d probably better get rid of those before the station attendant posts on Twitter about it. I’m sure the Guardians watch for that kind of thing.”
    “Oh.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Thanks.”
    God. Why did she have to do that? He’d always found it difficult to be a bastard when someone was polite in return. Even, apparently, if that someone was a demon.
    A demon. He hadn’t thought of her in any other way. But she hadn’t gone three years in a hospital without being given a name.
    “So you don’t know who you are,” he said. “But I can’t call you ‘demon’ in public—and I won’t call you Rachel. What should it be?”
    “Ash.” She lowered her hand and tested the shape of her teeth with the tip of her tongue. Human again. No fangs. “My name begins with ‘Ash.’ I don’t know the rest of it.”
    “Ashley?”
    She looked heavenward, as if searching for patience—or guidance. An odd place for a demon to look. “Why do people assume that I’m too stupid to search through a baby name book?”
    “A demon baby name book?”
    She narrowed her eyes at him, but he sensed the anger that had forged her teeth into points had already passed. Unlike his anger, however, the emotion hadn’t turned to amusement. It had simply faded to nothing.
    “I’ll look for one,” she said, and turned to speak to the attendant when he appeared at her window.
    Nicholas reached into the backseat for his coat. But although nature called, he waited before opening the door, studying her. Ash. Strangely, it didn’t feel odd to think of her that way. Though she looked exactly like a tattooed version of Rachel, Ash acted nothing like her—and aside from those few gestures that had thrown him when he’d first seen her, Nicholas hadn’t experienced a single moment of confusion between the demon and the woman. Did the tattoos make such a difference? Or was it the whole package?
    He waited until the attendant moved off. “What about the symbols? What do they say?”
    “What symbols?”
    “Your tattoos.”
    “I don’t know.” Almost absently, she lifted her hand to rub her chest. The largest glyph had marked her there, he remembered. An intricate design between perfect breasts. “Should I be able to read them? Because I can’t.”
    He didn’t know. And they likely wouldn’t have a chance to ask another demon. “A few Guardians can. If we don’t discover any information in Duluth, we’ll e-mail pictures of the symbols to Rosalia and ask what they mean.”
    “Oh.” That