Demon Marked

“What?”
    “So that I’ll have access to your money. And since your penis won’t rip me apart, I’ll even have sex with you.” Her gaze turned inward, and though she spoke out loud, her question seemed directed at herself rather than at Nicholas. “I wonder if I’d enjoy that ?”
    She wouldn’t. Demons couldn’t . They could fake a sexual response, but they didn’t actually feel desire or arousal. Did she truly not know that?
    If so, that ignorance didn’t give him an advantage that he could see. She knew so little, had no memory, and yet wasn’t a bit naïve. Her cynicism rivaled his—perhaps the result of being able to sense everyone’s true emotions. She might not know what someone was trying to sell her, but she didn’t buy any bullshit.
    “You have access to my accounts without that,” he reminded her. “I’m bound to help you find out who you are. That includes giving you money when you need it.”
    “Oh.” She focused on him. Her lips slowly curved before she faced forward again. “Good.”
    Jesus Christ. What the fuck was she doing to him? Rachel’s smile had never kicked him in the gut, but here he sat, feeling like he needed to catch his breath after a single satisfied look from a demon . How in the hell could she have the same face as Rachel, the same mouth , and possess such a different smile? Rachel had always been weighing, judging, estimating the effect of her response on him, making certain he was at ease and comfortable. She’d cared for him, loved him. Yet it was Ash, who didn’t seem to give a shit about his response and had no interest in judging him—or caring what he thought of her in return—who got to him with a little twist of her lips. And how the hell was he supposed to hang on to his cynicism when she beat him to it with her unabashed greed?
    And why the hell did he like it? Like her ? God help him, now he was wondering if he’d enjoy sex with her, too, despite knowing that she wouldn’t feel a thing, and that it would fuck him up even more than he already was.
    Any other woman, he’d manipulate her emotions and charm her until she wanted him in return, until he had the upper hand—just as he had with Rachel. But he didn’t even know if Ash had any real emotions.
    Goddammit. He had to take control of himself, and take the upper hand again . . . before she ground him under her heel.

CHAPTER 7

    Since strange was normal now, Taylor didn’t think anything of teleporting into a graveyard in Illinois after the sun had set. Revoire had asked her to meet him at that location, and as graveyards went, this one seemed kind of pleasant. No spooky broken fences, no precariously tilted headstones. Just Marc Revoire, standing in front of a grave marker, looking a bit like a farmer in a worn brown jacket and tan trousers. He had that lanky, wide-shouldered look to him, as if he rose with the sun and spent the day behind a plow. In the Midwest, what could be more normal than that?
    Popping a coffin up out of the soil like it was a jack-in-thebox was still a little weird, though.
    Revoire simply looked at the ground and pushed with his Gift. Taylor felt the psychic thrust of it, a shot of energy that tasted like dirt and smelled of freshly turned earth, and suddenly the casket that had been in the ground sat above it, instead.
    Frozen grass crunched beneath Taylor’s boots as she made her way around a headstone to his side. “Jason Matthew Ward,” she read off the grave marker. “Twenty-three years old. Died two months ago.”
    “Local vampire community contacted me.” Revoire broke the seal on the casket, lifted the lid. Taylor deliberately stopped breathing. “Ward was actually turned three years ago. He was living in the community, had a bloodsharing partner, was doing everything right.”
    “Who killed him, then?”
    “I don’t know. Ward’s family found him—they’re still human, and still don’t know what he was. He made it into the morgue without the sun touching him. The teeth were written off as a cosmetic augmentation.”
    They always were. And shit, she had to take a breath to speak. The rotting stench hit hard, made her eyes water. “Cause of death?”
    “Stake through the heart.”
    “You’re kidding.” That had to be the hardest and least effective way to do it. A sword through the heart or cutting off the head—quick and easy.
    “No. The coroner found splinters.” Revoire let the casket lid fall shut again. “His report matches