Demon Marked

but pretending without words.”
    “No.” Her nipples and sex ached for a touch. That wasn’t faked. “This is real.”
    “It can’t be.”
    “It is .”
    But Ash understood that he couldn’t do anything but assume that she lied. She tilted her head, considering him, and his hands slid from her jaw to her shoulders. Still holding her in place—because he knew the Rules. Yet didn’t he know that a demon could feel something like this?
    “Are you certain your Guardian informant knows what she’s talking about?”
    “I’m sure.” Almost absently, his thumbs stroked her collarbones. Nicholas didn’t look at the skin he touched, however; his gaze continued to hold hers. “Don’t try to discredit her.”
    Ash wouldn’t. “And there’s no room for exceptions?”
    His lips quirked. Not cold, disdainful amusement this time, but the sort of smile that existed on the edge of a laugh.
    “Is this your new plot? You’ll persuade me that you’re some kind of exception, different from every other demon, and that you want me in bed. And when I’m finally in there with you, you’ll say, ‘Oh, Nicholas! I wish I could touch you, but I have to follow the Rules!’—and moments after I give you permission, you’ll punch through my chest and rip out my heart.”
    Ash blinked. His imitation of her accent had been spot on, and as for the rest—“You’ve given that scenario a lot of thought.”
    “I like to remind myself what will happen if I let my dick do my thinking.” His fingers tightened, as if he thought she might pull away when he asked the next question. “The nurses from Nightingale House said that you suffered from a lack of affect. That you didn’t feel any emotion or empathy. Three years of that. So don’t try to change your story now and pretend to feel anything.”
    “I won’t pretend ,” she said. Let him take that as he liked. For now, she was more interested in the rest of what he’d just told her. “You’ve already verified everything I told you about Nightingale House?”
    “Of course.”
    “So you know I told the truth.”
    Nicholas shrugged. “My investigator might be a demon, too. Or Madelyn might have some kind of hold over him—or you might—and now he’s just parroting your lies.”
    Holy good God, what a ridiculous response. Either Nicholas was a completely paranoid lunatic who thought demons had some awesome conspiratorial power . . . or he wasn’t serious at all. Was he? Ash watched him struggle against a grin, and that was answer enough.
    “So you know it was the truth,” she said.
    “At least part of it,” he agreed. “But I still can’t trust that all of it is.”
    Which was either a smart decision, or insanely paranoid. Maybe both. Whatever it turned out to be, she already liked his sense of self-preservation.
    No, it was more than that. She didn’t just like the things he did and how he did them.
    “I like you ,” Ash said. And she enjoyed liking him, so much that her enjoyment spread into a smile—a physical response to an emotion. How odd, that being around this cold and obsessive man made her happy. “I truly like you.”
    His expression froze, and she realized that either her confession or her smile had surprised him. He recovered quickly, with a mocking grin and an arid tone—a defense, Ash recognized.
    “Demons also like torturing animals. So coming from you, that’s hardly a compliment.”
    “What would be a compliment, then?” Something evil, she supposed. “Oh, Nicholas, you’re looking so coldhearted and sardonic tonight, as if you’re dreaming about punching a baby.”
    She saw it—the beginning of a laugh. Heard it in his sharp intake of breath. But he forced it back, his strong fingers digging into her shoulders.
    “Don’t,” he warned.
    Yes, God forbid. Oh, and she knew this emotion welling up within her now: irritation. She felt the change of her teeth, the odd pointed pressure of fangs against her lips. She saw the wash of red light across his skin, the pink glow on his white collar. Suddenly, she hated that he could hold her here like this.
    “I’ve got an idea,” she said— hissed . “Why don’t you give me permission to smash your balls in with my knee? I guarantee you wouldn’t like me after that, and wouldn’t have to stop yourself from laughing.”
    His eyes narrowed. “That bothers you?”
    “Yes.” She couldn’t lie. Nor could she hold on to the irritation and anger. They’d already faded—yet she