Page 76 of Demon Demands

Novak draped his arm across Sloane’s shoulders as she maneuvered herself in between him and York. “I don’t think he can just vanish, though. I could still smell him, but it was like he’d covered every inch of the street with his scent.”

“I could smell him too, but none of it smelled like new tracks.” Briggs agreed thoughtfully. “I was wondering if he could do that smoke thing like Barbie does, but whenever she does it, I can't smell her at all.”

“We all met back here when we couldn’t find any fresh trails,” Grim acknowledged, guessing my unspoken question. “We searched for a while, but there wasn’t anything to find.”

“And when we got back, we all heard you screaming Stone’s name,” Briggs snarked at my Kitten. “The whole damn town probably heard it.”

I gave him the best impassive expression that I could muster up, not at all affected by his words.

“You could have joined us,” Sloane remarked, winking at the shifter.

“No, Love, he couldn’t’ve. He has a bet ta win,” Palmer sassed, shrugging his broad shoulders when Briggs’ narrowed glare landed on him.

“There’s no winning for me. She wins either way,” Briggs grumbled, sulking as he turned off the burner of the stove.

Sloane patted the big guy on the back. “I’m happy that you’ve accepted your defeat so gracefully,” she cooed.

Palmer snorted as Briggs swung his glare to Sloane. “I still think you planned it, Barbie. And the mage is in cahoots with you.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “It couldn’t have worked out any better, even if I had planned it. But I didn’t. It was all you and the mage.” She nodded toward Palmer. “I thought about slipping some ideas into his mind, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to.”

As Briggs muttered under his breath, staring at the ceiling in search for what I could only assume was patience, York approached me.

The druid slapped his hand over the bite mark Sloane had left between my neck and shoulder. I winced, easing myself away from him as I peeled the collar of my t-shirt from my skin.

The healing would take longer, leaving scars that appeared as shallow punctures on my demon form.

“Fuck, Stone,” Palmer drawled, peering around York to see my wound. “Did ye lose a fight with a bear?”

“An archdemon,” I answered at the same time Vaughn popped one eye open to murmur, “A shark.”

The druid hummed under his breath as he returned to Sloane’s side. “Have you looked for your mate mark yet?”

“I didn’t even think about it.”

Novak smirked at me. “I found mine yesterday.”

“How long were you looking for?” my Kitten asked, humor thick in her voice as she sipped his coffee.

“A few days,” the vampire admitted ruefully, “but that’s not the point. It’s here.” Novak pointed to his jaw where the tattoos on his neck stopped, leaving the skin on his face unblemished.

“I don’t see anything,” York stated, furrowing his brow as he squinted his eyes.

Novak had a far-away, glazed look on his face before he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wrong side.”

The mark that York and Novak had were identical, and I was sure mine would be as well.

A straight line ran horizontally with curved lines at each end, one smaller than the other. Attached to the smaller, curved line was a vertical line that crossed the horizontal one, forming an X. One dot sat at the bottom of the vertical line.

The significance of the mark was just like any other that mates shared, but the meaning of it eluded me.

Unlike the key we all had for the Underworld, where each piece of it represented something of importance, the lines in the mate mark felt... random.

Being more connected to Sloane was surreal. I could feel her emotions, though they seemed somewhat muted. I wasn’t sure if she was suppressing them while we adjusted to our new connection or if she just wasn’t feeling any type of way. There’d been a few times where I’d caught stray bits of her thoughts, but she’d been quiet over the last few minutes.

The ceremonial mating had left my demon form sore as the torn muscles and burned flesh had healed. The marking between two archdemons had further battered me, but I could feel the damage slowly repairing itself. I’d almost snorted at myself when I thought about the state that my back had been in.

I couldn’t care less about the actual tattoo that adorned my skin, but the moths floating on top of the honeycomb geometric pattern weren’t ink. They were living creatures passed down from my father.