Page 101 of Demon Touched

But, she could maybe break the power of the runes Ajax used to lock me out of Strata.

I’m aware I’ve gone very still. She reaches both hands out to grip my shoulders.

“Syrus.”

“I’m all right,” I say. “Just thinking.”

“The process would probably be very painful,” she says, chewing her lip. “I wouldn’t even suggest it if not for your ridiculously fast healing.”

Destroying the actual magic of the rune—unwriting what’s written, rather than just trying to cut it off or mangle the flesh it’s carved on—might indeed get around Ajax’s clever tricks. It would’ve never occurred to him that I’d use pale-blood power to try to undo the spell.

“Pain I can handle,” I say. “Pain is just an obstacle in the road to push aside or push through. Whereas this…”

I remove the magic of the lake water like a blanket I can slip on and off as long as it’s in my system. My demonic features return, and I study the runes on the insides of my wrists, etched there like shackles. The cage keeping me from Strata is much worse than pain.

Of course, Leah knows that. As I look up into her face with her still braced against me, I see the understanding there. It occurs to me how insane I must’ve been, to try to shackle her in my own way, to put a ring of runes on her that stole her freedom and to never see the parallels until now.

She takes a hand from my shoulder and touches the rune on my wrist lightly.

“These are the ones?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes, on each wrist, and the base of my neck.”

She studies the Cyrax, deciphering it. “It’s like a padlock,” she says. “Like he’s barred and bolted the way to…home,” she translates, looking at my other wrist.

“Try it,” I say abruptly, realizing I’m begging rather than demanding it from her. “Let’s try it now.”

She exhales shakily. She’s nervous. “I hate the idea of hurting you,” she says. It’s heavy. A reference to the accusations I hurled at her after she left, ones that feel more and more unfair as time goes on.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” I point out, trying to inject a little teasing into my tone to lighten the mood. I’ve noticed the sarcasm and ribbing help her when she’s stressed, and I watch as the tight knot within her unwinds a few inches. She rolls her eyes, which is practically a hug from Leah.

“Yes, all right. Seeing as I’m definitely not leaving without you, we might as well try.”

“No time like the present,” I say as I stand quickly, unfastening my doublet, then my shirt, and shucking them both off. I don’t want to lose my nerve, and I’m conscious that we only have until sunrise. Who knows how long this might take?

Leah hasn’t moved, and when I glance down, I see her looking up at me with a slightly glazed expression. I worry for a split second, then remember the delicious flush on her cheeks a few minutes ago when I kissed her. I can’t resist a smirk.

“You can enjoy the show after you’ve seared the skin off me,” I say, delighted.

She colors again, but scowls. “Asshole. Maybe I’ll enjoy this after all,” she says, scrambling to her feet too.

We both move to the other side of the cellar without discussing it, leaving Viz at a safe distance. Leah guides me lightly with her hands, positioning me in front of her, and I try to ignore the way I want to lean into her touch. We’ve not touched like this—so much bare skin against skin—since the last time she lay in my bed. Of course that closeness would arrive again now, when she’s about to sear me like a side of bacon.

Then again, maybe that’s fitting. Our relationship has never been very simple.

“Neck first,” she says, pushing me to my knees, which I find more interesting than I should. I write it off to some mild hysteria brought on by nerves. “We’ll do your wrists after.”

Her hand, soft and cool, traces the runes at the top of my spine, and I steel myself.

“I’ll try to make it quick,” she says.

“Fine,” I say, unable to keep the tension from my voice. “But don’t go easy. If we’re going to do this, you can’t hold back. Make sure you completely destroy the bastards.”

There’s a deep inhale behind me, then the buzz of her magic, rising to the surface of the hand held inches from my skin.

Then it hits: a bolt of burning, crackling energy, concentrated entirely on the spot at the base of my neck. I jerk my head back on reflex, but her other hand is in my hair, holding me still. I fight against the impulse to throw her off, to do anything to make that intense, pulsing point of agony end. All I can do is stuff my hand in my mouth and bite down so I don’t alert the whole neighborhood to my screams. I draw blood, hot and tangy, but it at least gives me another set of jagged nerve endings to focus on as Leah fries my neck into oblivion.

“Hold on,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just a little longer.”