Demon's Bride

A

He moved past that door, until he found the one he wanted. Testing the doorknob, he found it locked. Impatient, he wanted to pound the door down, but he also did not want to awaken the entire house. He was just about to knock lightly when the door opened. Just wide enough for a saber blade to jut out, its point touching his throat.

“And a good morning to you, Whit.”

The saber lowered. “Step inside. Quickly.”

Leo and A

Movement by the bed drew his attention. Leo had a fleeting impression of white cambric, dark, sleek limbs, and then Zora stood beside her lover. Her black hair lay in thick waves around her shoulders, and her eyes were darker still. And full of fire. She stared at him and A

“Can we trust him?” the Gypsy woman asked. As she spoke, small tongues of fire engulfed her hands, throwing light and shadow.

A

Gazing at the lacerations on Leo’s body, the bloodstains on his skin and clothes, Whit answered, “Now we can.”

The i

Zora bandaged the cut on A

For now.

The water was only slightly dirty when it was Leo’s turn to bathe. Soon, it turned dark with blood—the red of his own, and the sticky blackness of the demons’ blood. He needed to clean the wounds on his body, so he shucked his waistcoat and then his shirt, letting them drop to the floor as he stood at the table.

A

Shame crawled over him, hot and viscous. An unfamiliar emotion.

“That answers my first question,” drawled Whit, leaning against the wall. He had thrown on a shirt, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your soul still belongs to the Devil.”

“How do you know this?” asked A

“He had marks much the same on his body.” This, from the Gypsy woman. She strolled to Whit and ran a hand over his shoulder, then down his arm. Possessive, her touch, as if laying claim to Whit and his body, and speaking of deepest intimacy. Judging from the flare of heat in Whit’s gaze, he welcomed his woman’s proprietary touch. “Here, and here.”

Leo’s gut twisted with want. Not so long ago, he and A

“The marks have grown,” Whit said. “And they’ll do so until you are covered by them.”

“What happens then?” A

Leo already knew the answer. “Then I’m his entirely. Irredeemable.”

A

“There is but one way to prevent that,” continued Whit. “To remove the markings completely. You must reclaim your soul.”

Bracing his hands on the table, Leo felt tension knotting his muscles, all along his arms and across his back. “I’ve already renounced the Devil.”

Whit studied Leo’s wounds critically. “That I can see. But it isn’t enough. A man may say a thousand words, make a thousand vows, yet none of it matters in the face of deeds.”

“That much, I know.” Rather than continue to feel A

He could not fully reach the lacerations on his back, and struggled to clean them. When A

He remained motionless, soaking up her touch, her care. It did not matter that Whit and Zora were in the room, as well. He was aware of only A

Turning his head slightly, he saw Whit and Zora watching this small scene. Both wore expressions of pity.

Pity was an emotion he always refused. It was for weakness and those who lacked resolve. Not once in his life had he turned away when the challenge seemed too great. This would be no different.

“Tell me how to reclaim my soul,” he said.

“Each geminus maintains a vault of souls,” began Whit. “Souls it has acquired through nefarious means.”

Leo’s gut clenched. Robbins had thought he’d seen Leo at Exchange Alley—working late, Robbins had believed. It hadn’t been Leo, but his geminus. Little did those men of business know that they had, in fact, traded their souls to the Devil. Damning themselves without realizing it.

“Geminus,” said A

“The dark part of himself created when first the Hellraisers made our pact with Mr. Holliday,” answered Whit. He gave a wry smile. “That’s what the Devil likes to be called. The geminus serves Mr. Holliday, and holds Leo’s soul for its master.”

“Then we kill the geminus,” said A

“Killing the geminus means killing Leo,” said Whit. “So long as it remains in possession of Leo’s soul, any injury or wound it sustains, he is hurt, as well.”

The memory of pain throbbed through Leo, recalling how he had tried to throttle the creature and nearly choked himself to death. And the injuries the geminus incurred when A

His hurt body only emphasized how gravely, dangerously wrong he had been, and yes, his pride suffered. Damned fool, each laceration and bruise accused. Blind, arrogant imbecile.

He held up his shirt, intending to put it back on, but it was tattered and stained. Whit rummaged through a valise until he found a fresh shirt, and tossed it to Leo. Fortunately, they were of a size, and the shirt fit well enough. It provided some cover, yet now that A

“So we ca