Free Forged of Shadows: A Novel of the Marked Souls by Jessa Slade

You’d finally get the chance to save those little hooligans, get to be the hero no one else wanted to be. That’s why you let it into you.”
    The words knifed through her, so similar to her old boss’s taunt. Rebel without a chance , Envers had called her. “Do not mock me.” To her shock, her voice held a strange timbre, low and menacing, as if someone behind her—someone way bigger—repeated her warning.
    Liam held up both hands. “We’re getting carried away. Stand down your demon. And stop riling mine.”
    Her skin prickled like static electricity, and she wondered if her hair was standing on end. “I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing.”
    “Yes, yes, hell. And thank you for actually admitting you don’t know. You’d be very proud of one of your kids for saying that.”
    “Are you trying to start a fight?”
    “Part of me is, apparently. Damn it.”
    “Yes, yes, damn you,” she parroted snidely. Abruptly, he smiled. The flash of white teeth startled her. “If I do or if I don’t. So I might as well.”
    Hands clasped behind his back, he leaned over and kissed her.
    Jilly sensed the incoming kiss, felt the pressure wave of the electric current spike the moment before he moved, so her skin flushed with warning heat. And she didn’t step back.
    She’d wondered, of course, how his kiss would be. No woman with breath wouldn’t wonder. She hadn’t thought she’d indulge her curiosity, though, since she was a woman who knew stupid as well as sexy, and while Liam Niall was definitely sexy, kissing him was definitely stupid—especially since he was far too calculating for his own good, or for her own bad, as the case might be.
    And then he slanted his mouth over hers and the wild circle of her thoughts flew apart.
    Warm. Soft. And as fleeting as his smile.
    The sigh of his breath was gone before she caught more than a whiff of that elusive scent, heather and woodsmoke. Her own breath hitched in her chest, as if he’d taken something from her, more frightening than the knife that had pierced and slid from her body with such ease.
    He lifted his head and gazed down at her. She realized her hands were fisted in the front of his coat, not flattened to push him away, but tangled tight to draw him closer. In the dark blue of his eyes, she caught a glimpse of bewilderment as profound as her own. Where had the steady, reserved leader gone?
    She drew in a deep lungful of bracing chill. “What was that?”
    “A kiss, last I checked.” He paused. “Although I admit it has been a while.” With one finger, he touched his lower lip, just a glancing caress, as if he was double- and triple-checking.
    That hinted uncertainty sent another wave of heat coursing through her. “Why?”
    “Leading a gang of immortal demon slayers doesn’t leave a lot of time for deep, meaningful relationships.”
    She glared at him for his purposeful obtuseness. “Why did you kiss me?”
    “Because you are a beautiful, startling woman.”
    She clenched her fist.
    She didn’t swing, but he reached out and caught her hand. He pressed her white knuckles against the rough canvas of his coat. “And right there would be the more pragmatic reason. Your rising demon was making you unmanageable.”
    “And you managed me.” She kept her voice level. “With a kiss.”
    His gaze narrowed warily. “Yes?”
    So the practical leader had done the expedient thing. She gritted her teeth until her jaw popped. “Is that how you always inspire your troops?”
    He shifted his grip higher, so the callused pad of his thumb brushed the pulse in her wrist. “Only the ones that kiss me back.”
    With all her strength and some that didn’t belong to her, she powered through his gently imprisoning fist and knocked him back a step.
    His eyes widened with surprise. But he recovered quickly and pivoted behind her. His duster wrapped around her when he drew her close.
    “Don’t summon it again,” he murmured in her ear. “Who knows what