voice reached her through the music. “You mustn’t exhaust yourself.”
“I’m not tired, not even close.” She sounded petulant but didn’t care. “I could go all night.” She twisted against him, trying to pull free.
But if she’d fooled him once or twice the last few days, she must’ve used up all her chances. His grip only tightened.
“I think you’re well enough connected to your body for now.” His gaze skimmed the neckline of her T-shirt where her pendant slid on its cord, cool despite the heat.
A trickle of sweat dampened the small of her back and between her breasts. Great, she’d gotten the demon kingdom’s one slacker. Oh well, a little moisture never killed anybody. Except the Wicked Witch of the West.
He gave her a shake. “Don’t drift on me again.”
She scowled. “I was just wondering if demons have
any supernatural weaknesses to go with their supernatural powers.”
“Trying to get rid of me again? Let some of those party boys who’ve been sharking around finally make their move?”
She glanced past him to the other dancers. They looked so young, fresh—uncomplicated. “I’d eat them for breakfast,” something inside her said.
Archer laughed once. “It’s almost that time.”
“For breakfast?” Another drink maybe.
“For the demon. Can you feel it?”
She shrugged, both in answer and to make him loosen his grip. After a moment, he did.
She stepped out of his arms. The crush of other bodies seemed almost overwhelmingly spacious by comparison. She pushed down a moment of vertigo and turned with a hiss when someone bumped her.
He nudged her toward the whirling edge of dancers. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Not home.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Not quite yet.”
Outside, the chill threat of unfallen snow made her shiver. He held her coat open for her, like any courting gentleman. She realized she couldn’t remember her last date.
She narrowed her eyes against the glitter of city lights. “Looks strange out here.” Each streetlamp, brake light, and lit window glowed with a hazy halo of secondary color. Archer’s eyes, his skin, even the strands of his dark hair, seemed illuminated from within by some argent radiance, as if the club black lights still shone on him.
Except for his reven , visible where he’d pushed up his sleeves. That swallowed all light. Her attention locked on the bold, sensuous lines, like a labyrinth leading her if she had the nerve to follow. Her fingers twitched, wanting to touch. She made a fist. “Strange,” she murmured again.
“You’ll experience a certain amount of synesthesia until the possession is complete.” He took her elbow, jolting her out of her reverie and down the street. “Even after, you’ll find a cross wiring of senses when the demon ascends. That’s the demon processing information you weren’t aware of before.”
He pointed his chin across the street. “There. Near the alley. Do you see it?”
At the entrance to another bar, garish neon cast harsh shadows. “What? That smear of—”
Two people stepped out. From the gloom oozed a darker murk. It dropped toward them. She almost recognized it, mangled and distorted, its half-seen edges bleeding out into a dark nimbus, an inverse of the lights.
Sera took half a step into the road. Archer jerked her back just as a car sped past.
“Demon or no, that would’ve hurt,” he growled.
“What is that?” Her throat hurt, looking at the thing. She thought she saw a paw or claw, not much bigger than a city rat, and the wink of a red reflecting eye. “It looks like a dead thing flattened on the street, like I know what it used to be, but can’t quite make out the shape of it anymore.”
“Psychic roadkill. That’s fitting. It’s a malice. An unbound, incorporeal demon from the horde-tenebrae. Smaller and weaker than ferales, but more clever, if not actually intelligent.”
The two men who’d left the bar stopped to light up. One man
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