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another electric shock, briefly incapacitating her.
    With the crossbow backing him up, “briefly” was all that he needed. He snapped the collar around her neck. Snagging his shirt from the bench at the end of the bed, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and waited, the remote in hand. Not long now—she was coming around. The crimson had faded from her skin; her wings had vanished. For the first time since he’d electrocuted her, she took a breath.
    God, she looked so much like Rachel. Her gestures had been Rachel’s, too. When he’d come into the room and she’d turned to face him, the way she’d swept her long blond bangs away from her forehead as if to get a better look at him had been so familiar.
    Those red symbols weren’t. He realized now that the tattoos didn’t just cover the side of her face, but continued down her neck and arms. Hundreds more of the inch-high symbols were tattooed over her torso and halfway down her legs, and an elaborate, palm-sized glyph decorated the skin between her breasts.
    Why was this demon wearing those markings if she’d meant to impersonate Rachel? Nicholas couldn’t understand the purpose of it, not when a demon could imitate a person’s appearance so precisely. He couldn’t believe the tattoos were a mistake, not when she’d made certain to get the other details exactly right. Hell, the demon had even worn Rachel’s favorite clothing: the black leather jacket she loved, the knee-high boots with their three-inch heels, the snug jeans.
    Would Madelyn have known about that jacket, those boots? Rachel had never dressed like that around her. It hadn’t been professional. Rachel had worn those clothes only away from work, and on the few weekends she and Nicholas had taken . . .
    God. Nicholas shook his head. He couldn’t let himself do that. He couldn’t go back to those few months when he’d cared for her, as much as he could care for anyone. It hadn’t been love, but when this demon woke up, it would twist any available emotion, and those memories brought his guilt and his grief too close to the surface. So he couldn’t think about Rachel.
    And he had to remember that every word coming from a demon’s mouth was a lie designed to mislead him—or a truth designed to fulfill some other destructive goal. He couldn’t risk listening to her, or believe anything she said.
    He only needed to know if this demon was Madelyn. If she wasn’t, he’d slay her.
    Or he’d use her to find Madelyn . . . then slay them both.
     
    Three minutes later, the demon opened her eyes. Her gaze immediately found him standing at the end of the bed, his crossbow aimed at her chest. Without a word, Nicholas showed her the remote in his left hand, his thumb resting on the red activator button.
    Her brow furrowed, but she caught on quickly. Her fingers flew to the heavy rectangular battery at her neck.
    “It’s an explosive collar,” Nicholas said. “If you move, your head is gone.”
    Lies. It would only stun her and give him time to capture her again. He didn’t mention that the broadheads of his crossbow bolts would detonate on impact. She’d discover that for herself if he had to use one.
    She nodded and looked down at her naked form. No shock or embarrassment registered on her features. Rachel had always been a bit nervous when they’d undressed. This demon’s lips tilted, but he wasn’t certain if that faint smile indicated amusement. It didn’t seem to indicate much of anything.
    Of course, Nicholas’s reaction to the beautiful woman lying naked on the bed wasn’t his typical response, either. No thoughts of sex intruded—only a sharp awareness that this demon might have killed his mother and driven his father to suicide.
    Unexpectedly, she didn’t seem interested in trying to arouse him. She didn’t adopt a seductive posture; he couldn’t detect a hint of suggestion in her movements or her expression. Her clothes simply reappeared. She began to rise from the bed, but