Demon Marked

He was hers now. She liked him—even if he had bitten her when she’d pressed the trap’s jaws open. But she’d understood that, all too well. Being hurt made her want to bite someone, too.
    Not just someone. Nicholas.
    Who was in the distance, trudging through the snow toward her, almost like a wild man. What in the world?
    “Ash!”
    She’d never heard him call her name like that, an almost desperate note to the deep tones. Did he need help? She glanced at the limping dog. He’d already resisted when she’d tried to carry him.
    “I’ll be back for you. I’ll be right back.”
    As if in reply, the dog chuffed. Her boomstick tucked beneath her arm, Ash gave a little laugh and took off through the snow. Slowing as she neared Nicholas, she searched his appearance for any sign of injury. No. His breathing was labored from plowing through the deep snow, but he moved with strength, speed. He just seemed . . . intent. Focused. On her. She reached him, stopped knee-deep in the snow, but he didn’t. For an instant she thought he’d plow right over her, but then he stopped, and his gloved hands came up to gently capture her face.
    He kissed her.
    Not like before. Not like ever before. His lips icy from the cold, but firm, and sweet, he kissed her as if it were the first time, the last, as if it were the only thing that mattered.
    His mouth broke from hers. His breath was ragged. “I’m sorry, Ash. I was wrong. And I’m so damn sorry.”
    She didn’t understand—or couldn’t believe it. “What?”
    “You’re an exception. Maybe the exception, I don’t know.” His pale blue gaze held hers. Not icy at all, and hers washed his face in a red glow, but he wasn’t drawing away. “And I’m sorry.”
    She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. This was a good feeling, the happiness bubbling through her. So why did it seem to crush her chest, sting her eyes, make her want to cry with it? She thought her smile wobbled a little, but it didn’t matter, because he kissed it away, and this time there was more beneath it—more strength, more heat, more need. Almost perfect.
    Except she couldn’t lift her hands and hold him to her. Couldn’t push her fingers through his hair.
    A soft whine broke them apart. Nicholas frowned, looking through the dark.
    He couldn’t see the dog, she realized. She turned, and let her eyes provide the light he needed. “His leg was in a trap.”
    Nicholas nodded before crouching, pulling off his glove and holding out his hand. The dog came over, sniffed, and then seemed to groan when Nicholas’s long fingers moved to scratch behind his ear.
    “Is the leg broken?”
    “I don’t think so, but he’s hurt enough that he lashed out at me, knocked me over onto my ass.” And apparently broke open some of her shotgun shells in the process. She could still smell the sweet hellhound venom. “I’ll look at his leg again in the cabin, see how bad it is.”
    Nicholas’s eyes closed, almost as if in relief. His voice roughened. “So we are taking him in?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right, then.”
    Nicholas stood, pulled on his glove. He gave her a hard kiss before pushing into the already furrowed trench he’d made through the snow. They made quick time back to the cabin, and Ash got the dog settled in with a blanket near the stove and a bowl of water while Nicholas changed out of his heavy clothes.
    He returned to the living room wearing only his pajama bottoms, and sank onto his heels next to her while she examined the dog’s leg. “Diagnosis?”
    “Just bruised, I think. I can’t find any puncture wounds, and he doesn’t react when I press on it.”
    “We’ll take him to town tomorrow, have him checked out at the vet’s. We’ll need food for him, anyway.”
    The dog lifted his head at the mention of food. Nicholas grinned, scratching the pup behind the ears again, and Ash found herself looking at Nicholas instead, examining his every feature. Only a few hours ago, she’d been jealous, and horrified by what she’d been feeling. Now, she couldn’t imagine not wanting to feel like this again.
    He met her eyes, and his grin faded. Slowly, as if giving her the chance to retreat, he moved to her, brought her to her feet. His head bent, and he brushed his lips over hers. “I’m sorry for the bath, too.”
    “Nicholas—”
    “And the floor.”
    She smiled against his mouth. “I liked the floor. Except the end.”
    “It won’t happen again.”
    His lips pressed to her cheek.