Demon

“Lucifer,” he corrected sharply.

“I have no idea where they buried him. I can’t help you.”

“Then I cannot help you.”

We sat in silence, neither of us willing to break it. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why did Beloch think we were going to have sex?”

“Beloch is not the kindly old gentleman you seem to think he is.”

“I’ve begun to figure that out. Why did he say … what he said?”

“It’s all part of his little game. He wants me to fall prey to your powers. In that way he can defeat me as well as you.”

“Why would he want to defeat either of us?”

“You’re the Lilith, the embodiment of female power and rebellion. Of course he wants you destroyed. And he hates me because I was once beloved of God and he never was.”

“Beloch isn’t a fallen angel?”

He hesitated. “It’s not clear exactly what he is. I expect he’s a demon.”

“Goddamn it!” I snapped. “Why the hell are you so set on wiping me out when you’ve got a demon right there, ready to be smited? Or smote, or whatever.”

“Not all demons are evil.”

“But I am.” I didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question, and he didn’t bother to answer.

“So I’m not sleeping with you,” I said finally. “You can tell Beloch he can just forget about it.”

“Then he’ll hand you over to the Truth Breakers without further delay.”

“And if I did sleep with you? Not that I would, but I’m curious. Does that mean I don’t get handed over to his minions? You’d become my willing slave?” It was an appealing thought. I liked the idea of him being on his knees around me.

“Of course not. Beloch is wagering that you would vanquish me. I know that’s impossible. Bedding you would mean nothing to me.”

“Ditto,” I snapped.” The answer to our problem is simple. We’ll just tell them that we did it. That we’re doing it. Doing the wild thing all night long, and you aren’t quite sure whether you’re going to succumb or not but you’ll need more time to figure it out. Which would give you enough time to come up with an escape plan.”

“There are two fatal flaws in that plan,” he said. “One, you have yet to give me one reason to rescue you. I need that information, and the Truth Breakers will get it for me.”

I wanted to scream at him that I didn’t have any information, but I bit my lip. I hadn’t given up hope of convincing him to save me. He’d saved me once already, when he’d been the one to arrange my death. Beneath his cool exterior beat an actual heart. If angels had hearts. If he really was an angel. “You said there were two fatal flaws,” I said instead. “What’s the other one?”

“He’ll know if we lie.”

“How? Does he have cameras? Microphones?”

“Stop thinking that you’re dealing with mortals, Rachel. Trust me, he would know.”

The sound of my name on his lips was strange, almost sweet, though he didn’t seem to notice he’d used it. “How would he know?”

He bit back a sigh of irritation. “He would smell it.”

“Ew! Does he think we wouldn’t take showers?”

“I’m not talking about semen and sweat and vaginal secretions,” he said with far too much frankness, and I felt my skin heat. “He would smell the changes in your body, in your skin, in your veins. He would know.”

“I’ve had sex before, and trust me, there were no changes that I couldn’t wash away.”

“That’s part of your curse. To drive men mad with desire and feel no pleasure.”

“Great,” I muttered. “And all this time I thought I was frigid.”

He looked at me sharply then, but I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. Blue eyes in the black-and-white universe. I was coming to treasure that small bit of color when I knew I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t treasure anything about him.

But the ridiculous fact was, I did. I had, from the moment I’d woken up in that dingy hotel room in Australia and looked into his bleak eyes and recognized something. I didn’t know whether it was déjà vu, or shock, or the fastest case of Stockholm syndrome on record. All I knew was that I’d looked into his eyes and seen a … I wanted to say a soul mate, but that was preposterous. But I’d seen a bond, a connection, that existed no matter what he tried to do to me. And part of that bond was a totally unexpected desire.

“So what do you suggest we do?” If he didn’t like my ideas, he could come up with one of his own.

“He will give us one week if he thinks we’re following his orders. If he believes you’re destroying me. If he knows we’ve refused he’ll take you immediately, and he’ll win.”

“As will you, for refusing to play his game.”

“But you won’t. You’ll be dead.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I’d always known that was waiting for me in the end.

“And why would you care?” I asked. What a stupid, whiny question, I thought, wishing I could call it back. He’d tried to kill me; he’d told me any number of times he believed I was a monster who should be terminated. I was entirely dispensable.

Of course he said nothing. I didn’t think Azazel was capable of a polite, reassuring lie. “It’s your decision,” he said.

I roused myself from contemplating my imminent death. “What do you mean?”

“Beloch will send someone here tomorrow, and if he doesn’t find us in bed together, he’ll take you.”

I sat back, looking into his beautiful face. Certain, painful death, or being forced to have sex with a man who drew me more than anyone ever had? Oh, twist my arm. “I’ll take sex.”

He didn’t look particularly happy about my noble sacrifice. In fact, he looked dismayed, and I considered taking it back. “You don’t like the idea? You can always lie back and think of England.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” His voice was even, unmoved.

I shrugged, irritated. “It’s a saying. Mothers in Victorian England told their daughters that sex was horrible, but it was their duty and they should lie back and think of England.”

“It’s not my duty.”

“Don’t be so damned literal.”

Silence. I waited for him to approach me, but he didn’t move from the chair. He simply watched me out of those bright blue eyes. In the distance I heard a clock chime one, and my stomach tightened. I was actually going to have sex with this supposedly nonhuman male who looked at me with no emotion whatsoever. Or, I could die.

I waited as long as I could, but patience had never been one of my virtues. “So … what do we do next?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. I rose, nervous. “I think I’ll go take a shower before we—er—do this. Where do you want to meet?”

He simply looked up at me. “I’ll find you.”

Oh. My. God. What the hell was I doing? The only thing I could do, I reminded myself. Maybe I was the one who had to close my eyes and think of England. He seemed totally uninterested in our upcoming sex. I only hoped he could perform on command, because I certainly wasn’t the seductive type. “All right, then,” I said, unable to hide my nervousness. “I’ll see you.”

“Yes.”

Crap. I practically ran from the room, ran from him. What the hell had I just agreed to do?

SHE RAN FROM HIM. HE wasn’t sure why. Probably because she knew her true self would be revealed once their clothes were off. Not that there was any trace of the demon on her smooth, lovely skin. He’d examined her carefully, and she had the body of a human woman. No sign at all of her demon origin. At least for now. He had no idea what would happen in the midst of coitus. She might turn into a snake or a dragon and devour him. The idea seemed faintly comical.

He should have known she’d say yes eventually. It was her only chance. He wondered why she was nervous. In fact, she was as skittish as a virgin. Possibly because she knew that once she was naked and on top of him, she’d no longer be able to hide her true nature.

And on top she would be. She’d been banished for a reason as stupid as the one he’d been damned for. She had refused to submit, refused to be physically dominated. Refused to lie beneath her husband. And there was no room for a rebellious female in the world in which she’d been created.

He could feel his blood pounding through him. He’d been counting on her refusal, and he would have dealt with it. He’d been a fool not to realize he’d been bringing her to a certain death. Not that he’d had a choice. He’d survived the Truth Breakers, but she was weaker. She would indeed be broken, and Beloch was not big on mercy.

If she’d said no, he would have come up with a plan to get her out of there, though he had no idea how, or whether he even could. He had to remember that the truth was more important than one small female. So he would take her body. Her agreement was reluctant, which helped. She hated and feared him—he’d done his best to foster that. He had no doubt that her seductive nature would emerge, and he simply had to do his best to resist her siren lure. No man could resist her, but he wasn’t a man. He could take her, fuck her, and there’d be no tie, no bond. His body could do what it had to do, and he could take his release as a physical act, nothing more. The Lilith wanted total capitulation, but he would never give her that. It wasn’t in his nature. He refused to accept the prophecy. He would kill her himself before that came to pass.

But it wouldn’t. He rose, went into his bathroom, and took a cold shower, the icy pellets pounding his skin. It did nothing to cool the desire that curled in the pit of his gut. Real triumph would be not to want her. Not to grow hard at the thought of being inside her.

But that triumph was out of reach. He could no more control his physical reaction than he could bring Sarah back. But he could control everything else.

He wasn’t going to dress, but if he went to her naked she’d see his arousal, and it would give her too much of an advantage. He pulled on his jeans, carefully, and went in search of her.

It was time.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I STAYED IN THE SHOWER UNTIL THE skin on my fingers puckered and the steamy water started to turn cold, and even then I considered putting up with it for another half hour rather than face what was waiting for me. I couldn’t remember sex, except for the relatively unsatisfying times with Rolf. Surely I must have enjoyed it at some point in my life, but if I had, those memories were lost. I couldn’t even remember much about Rolf, except that I was always on top. And it didn’t help.

But it was like riding a bicycle, I expected. Once you learned, it was easy enough to go through the motions. Besides, most of it would be up to Azazel.

But I was nervous enough, and the cold water was making me ready to jump out of my skin, so reluctantly I turned off the faucet and stepped from the shower, which was surprisingly modern for a house better suited to the nineteenth century.

There were big, enveloping towels, and I wrapped myself tightly and tried to do something with my ridiculously tangled hair. It was a pain in the butt trying to wash it, especially when the saber cut on my face had started to bleed again under the hot water, seeping across my scalp when I tilted my head back. In Brisbane I’d used half a cup of conditioner in an effort to force it into submission, but the fabulous shower here didn’t come with anything but lavender shampoo. Great. I was going to scare the pants off him. I managed a nervous giggle. That was the point, wasn’t it? And he shouldn’t be surprised if I looked like a crazy woman—he was expecting to bed a demon. At least I could comply as far as looks went.

Unless he did this in total darkness. That would make the entire thing easier. After all, I’d had sex with Rolf and it had been no big whoop. And Rolf’s increasingly limp response was one more sign that I was a far cry from the irresistible siren Azazel believed me to be. In fact, he was going to be pretty disappointed if he expected fireworks and acrobatics. I didn’t know any. I had every intention of simply doing it and getting it over with as quickly as possible.

I walked into my room, planning to find the voluminous nightgown I’d worn the night before. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to take it off—I could just raise it demurely and avert my eyes.

I stopped short. He was lying on my bed, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. I should have known he’d be gorgeous without a shirt. His skin was luminous white-gold against the colorless sheets, and his black hair was damp, pushed away from his starkly beautiful face. He was watching me intently, and my panic blossomed.

But there was no place to run. I could do this. I’d done this countless times before, hadn’t I? I looked at him. “Could we turn off the lights?”

“No.”

I bit my lip. “Do you know where my nightgown is?”

“You don’t need it. Come.” He gestured to the bed beside him. That blasted command again. I moved a couple steps closer.

“Can’t you do something?” I said nervously. “Say something nice to me? Hold out your hand?”

“So you can pretend this is not what it is? I doubt it. Remove the towel and get on the bed, and stop pretending you haven’t been doing this for tens of thousands of years. You can use your skills—they won’t have any effect on me.”

“I don’t have skills,” I said, frustrated. “And if they won’t make any difference, why should I try?”

“It is not beyond the realm of possibility that they might speed things up, which we would both appreciate. Take off the towel and get on the bed.”

I got on the bed, keeping the towel clamped around me. He lay back against the pillows, the color of him a striking contrast against the drabness of this world. He was waiting for me to do something, to take charge.

Well, I certainly understood the basics. Tab A fit into slot B and all that. I pulled my legs up underneath me and stared at him. “What if I’m not your mythical baby-eating demon?” I said suddenly. “What if you’re wrong, if you scooped up the wrong person?”

“There is no mistake.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of my reaction to you.”

That gave me pause. And then I rallied. “Oh, I bet you hate a lot more people than just me, and you don’t go around thinking they’re Lilith.”

“I have already told you I do not hate you. And that is not the reaction I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?” I demanded, frustrated.

On anyone else, that glimmer might signal amusement. Not on Azazel, of course. But he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he said, “You can stop trying to put this off with meaningless questions.”

“That’s right,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “The sooner we do it, the sooner it’s over.”

“Exactly. Go ahead.”

Go ahead? Shit, and do what? And why was I getting so upset? I wanted it over and done with as much as he did. Clinging to the knot that held the towel together, I moved over to him, careful to keep my lower half covered, which was no mean feat, given that the towel seemed determined to split apart and flash him.

I reached out and put a tentative hand on his chest, and almost yanked it back again. His skin was warm. For some reason I expected him to feel cool beneath my hand. I let my fingers slide up tentatively to his shoulder. “Shouldn’t angels have wings?” I whispered.

“I have them when I need them.”

“Magic?”

“Miracle,” he said, not moving beneath the gentle explorations. His nipples were dark circles against his pale skin, and I wanted to put my mouth on them. The thought was so random and unexpected that I ignored it, moving my fingers across his collarbone to the other shoulder.

“You know,” he said in a conversational tone, “you’d be better off moving your hand lower down. All the interesting parts are below the waist.”

I yanked my hand back, suddenly embarrassed. I was doing this wrong. Why the hell hadn’t I ever learned to come on to a man?

The answer was simple. I had never wanted to. Sex had been the price I paid for companionship, something men wanted, not me. It was about bringing pleasure to a man, not about my pleasure. But this time was different.

I wanted this man, despite the fear and coercion. I wanted to feel his warm skin against my breasts, feel him inside me. I wanted his mouth all over me, kissing me, tasting me. Good luck with that, I thought, disgruntled.

“What do you want?” I said, suddenly angry at his lack of interest.

“What do you mean?”

“Clearly you’re expecting to be serviced, and despite your insistence that I’m a whore, I don’t have any idea how to go about it. Is there anything special you require?”

His eyes narrowed as he watched me. “What are you offering?”

“Do you want me to perform oral sex?” I didn’t stumble over the words. I’d tried it once with Rolf, in an effort to stimulate him, but neither of us had liked it very much. “I gather it can be effective in getting someone aroused.”

“I’m aroused.”

I blinked. “Then what do you want?”

“It’s up to you.”

Crap. If it was up to me, I’d run my tongue up his chest and—no, I couldn’t do that. Instead I leaned over and pressed my lips against his, briefly, then drew back. No reaction. Just those vivid blue eyes, watching me. Okay. I was going to have to do a better job of it. I got up on my knees, placed my hands on the smooth, hard skin of his shoulders, and kissed him again, softening my lips against his firm, unyielding ones, then pulled back. What was the problem? He’d kissed me yesterday, kissed me more thoroughly than I’d ever been kissed before.

His eyes narrowed, and he suddenly touched my face, pushing my hair away from the narrow cut. “How did that happen?”

“Your friend Enoch,” I said, trying to sound offhand.

“Not my friend.” There was a look on his face, one that I might have thought was dangerous. “Does it hurt?”

I shrugged, clinging to the towel. “It’s okay. It bled a bit, but I think it’s stopped. It’s just lucky I ducked.”

“Lucky for Enoch,” he said in a grim voice. His hand felt almost gentle on my face, like the whisper of a caress. And then he dropped it. “Take off the towel.”

Okay, I could do that. I would have to sooner or later. I reached for the knot between my breasts and hesitated.

He caught my hand, pulled it away, and yanked the towel off before I realized what he was doing. I was kneeling stark naked on the bed, feeling horribly exposed. I wasn’t used to this. I fought the temptation to try to cover myself, but I felt my skin heat with embarrassment.

He wasn’t looking at my body, he was looking at my face. “Are you blushing?”

“No,” I mumbled. I dipped my head, not wanting to meet his gaze. I would have pushed the hair away from my face, but that would have required movement, and I figured if I stayed very still—

The feel of his hand on my face once again was a shock. It was surprisingly gentle, sliding against my cheek and into my hair, his thumb brushing across my lips, and I shot a tentative glance at him. Slowly, very slowly, he pulled me toward him, bringing my mouth against his, kissing me with great sweetness, such sweetness that I wanted to cry. If only I could.

He pulled me closer so that my breasts pressed against his firmly muscled chest, and I felt my nipples harden, suddenly pinched and sensitive. His hands slid up my naked back, drawing me closer still as his lips moved down my jaw, the side of my neck, and he breathed in deeply, as if he were inhaling the scent of my skin. His mouth opened against the vein throbbing at the base of my neck, his tongue tasting me, and I heard a distant groan that must have come from me.

I felt his teeth then, a small bite against my skin, barely painful, and my muffled arousal was suddenly full-force, sweeping over my body. I put my hands on him, on his damp, silky hair, pressing him against me. The room wasn’t dark the way I wanted, but it didn’t matter. It was all right to want him, all right to feel overwhelming desire. There were no witnesses, and he didn’t care what I was feeling. We were doing this, it was out of my control, and his mouth was wonderful against me.

I had a sudden, strange fantasy: I wanted his teeth to break the skin, to lick the blood from me like some old-school vampire. But he moved his mouth downward, his hands encircling my waist, and with seemingly no effort he pulled me over him, lifting me up, and his tongue touched my breast.

“Oh, God,” I whispered as he licked me gently, carefully, teasing me until I wanted to scream at him. And then his mouth fastened on me with such deep, drawing hunger that I felt a hot spasm between my legs and, straddling him, pressed my naked body against his. He hadn’t lied. He was most definitely aroused, and I rocked against him instinctively, feeling him against my sensitive flesh.

I was overwhelmed by sensation. At first everything seemed centered on the slow, deliberate pull of his mouth at my breast as his long fingers cupped the other one, teasing the nipple as he sucked. But the hardness between my legs as I straddled him was equally astonishing, and I wanted more. I wanted complete possession, and I felt helpless, unsure what to do about it.

I slid my hands down to the fastening of his jeans, wanting to tear them off him, but he let out a little hiss of pain as I inadvertently hurt him. I yanked my hands away. He caught them and put them back again, and I couldn’t believe how iron hard he was. I was wet between my legs and self-conscious all over again, wanting to pull away, but then he put his hand there and I stopped thinking. I needed him to touch me, stroke me, slide against the dampness, and I struggled to get closer to him. When he pushed his fingers inside me I groaned in frustrated need, trying to get more. Suddenly desperate, I reached down to find the tab to his zipper, when he jerked and cursed again as I hurt him once more.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered brokenly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry …” He slid one hand behind my head, under my hair, and pulled my mouth to his, silencing me. He released himself with the other hand, the hard, hot flesh springing free, but I didn’t dare touch him, afraid of my clumsiness. I trembled, helpless, unsure, so swamped with crazy desire that I could barely speak.

He didn’t need words. He caught my hips in his hands, lifting me up, holding me poised over his straining erection. He’d just shoved his jeans down a bit—I could still feel the denim against my bare legs—but I didn’t care.

I felt him against me, the head of his cock just resting against the emptiness that was tormenting me, and yet I was afraid to finish it, to join us, afraid I’d hurt him again. I heard his sigh of frustrated exasperation, and he took my hand and carefully wrapped it around his erection. And with his other hand at the small of my back, he started to push me down onto him.

He was so big. A huge, hard invasion that even my sleek flesh fought; but he simply moved me, teasing our bodies until the desire flowed slick and sweet between us, and I moved my hand and finally sank down onto the full length of him, my body shuddering in response.

I looked down between us, at the joining. I could see my nipples, tight and hard. See him buried inside me as I felt my body grow accustomed to his. He hadn’t moved, and slowly I raised my eyes to look at him.

For a moment we simply stared at each other, frozen in time, his eyes and mine, more powerfully intimate than the joining between our legs. “Move,” he said, his voice raw.

I moved, rising up on my knees, just a bit, then sinking down on him again, feeling him fill me. It only took me a moment to find a rhythm, and I closed my eyes, flinging my head back as I soared, in and out, empty and full, a ride like no other, like riding a dragon through a moon-bright sky. My hands were on his shoulders, clutching them for balance, and he was slick with sweat, and his hands were on my hips, not forcing, just touching me, and I could have gone on forever, sailing on a tide of crystal-bright pleasure, when something dark erupted, something heavy and frightening. I could feel my body slipping away from me, and it terrified me. I froze, making a choked sound in my throat.

His hands tightened on my hips then, moving me, continuing the rhythm that I had lost, as I myself was lost, and he thrust up into me, hard, again and again. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, wanting to get away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Do not fight it,” he whispered. “Embrace it.” He slid his hand down my stomach, touching where we joined, and a jolt of reaction swept through me.

I heard my own muffled cry, and he surged up into me again, and again, and he touched me once more, hard, and his voice was a growl.

“Come,” he said. And I did.

I shattered into a thousand pieces, splintered darkness all around me, as I felt him climax inside me. I was gone, there was nothing left of me as I went into that dark place, drinking it in, my body frozen. And then I collapsed against him, wanting to weep, and his arms came around me with heartbreaking tenderness, holding me as I slowly returned to my body, to the bed, to the man I was straddling.

I wanted to stay like that forever. I wanted him to kiss me, to tell me he loved me; I wanted all the fairy tales people wove. But instead his arms slid back, his hands caught my body and lifted me off him, setting me down on the bed beside him.

I turned my back on him, curling up in a tight ball, hugging myself. I didn’t want to see his emotionless expression, his wintry blue eyes. I was slowly coming back—if I looked at things calmly, I could admit he’d been kind. He’d held me, stroked me, guided me when I lost my way.

And I hated him for it. He was my enemy, he’d made that clear, and what we’d just done was simple biology to him. What had shattered my soul was simply instinct on his part, and I hated that it didn’t matter. Hated him.

I was acutely aware of him beside me, still propped against the pillows, his jeans shoved down his hips, not moving. Not doing anything. Not reaching out to touch me, hold me. Not saying a word.

I wished I could cry. If I’d been able to burst into tears, maybe some of the conflict would have lessened, the sorrow and power of the last half hour reduced to manageable levels. But my eyes were dry, and I stared into the room, sightless, empty. And then I closed my eyes and slept.

HE DIDN’T MOVE, COULDN’T MOVE. He’d done what he was supposed to do, and he’d survived quite well, thank you. He wasn’t going to turn into a demon simply because he’d fucked one. He wasn’t going to lose his soul, forget about Sarah, fall in love.

It was sex. What astonished him was how honestly bad she was at it. No, that wasn’t quite true. What they’d just shared—no, he didn’t want to think of it that way. They hadn’t shared anything. What they’d just done had had a disturbing erotic power, despite her nervousness. Even the Lilith couldn’t simulate her deep blush when he’d stripped that damned towel off her; even the Lilith couldn’t have made her desire-slick flesh resist his entrance like that. She really didn’t know what she was doing.

Which meant her memory loss was real, and his treatment of her had been beyond cruel. He turned his head to look down at her, curled up in a tight ball. Her eyes were closed and there was no sign of tears, but that was no surprise. Demons couldn’t cry.

He should say something to her, something kind. For all he knew, that might have been the very first orgasm she’d experienced, and he knew that was shattering for a woman. But he couldn’t touch her.

It would be too dangerous if he pulled her into his arms. Too dangerous to murmur soothing words against her tangled hair, to kiss her creamy skin, her breasts, the hot beat of her vein against his mouth. He’d wanted her, wanted everything from her, heat and sex and blood in his mouth, and she wasn’t the one. She would never be the one.

Even if she didn’t remember her power, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wield it. Then again, he’d been celibate for seven years. It was little wonder he was feeling equally … shaken.

He waited until he was certain she was asleep, then slid off the bed, shoving his jeans off as he headed for the bathroom. He cleaned himself, annoyed that he grew hard again as he remembered how her body had felt; when he came back into the room, she hadn’t moved. The sun was just beginning to rise on the Dark City, and he turned off the light as he slipped back into bed beside her. She made a soft sound in her sleep, almost like a muffled sob, and it felt like a blow.

He pulled the covers up around her, settling them over her gently so as not to disturb her. He slid down on the mattress and closed his eyes. He could smell the scent of her skin, the tang of sex, the scent of the ocean that always clung to him. Familiar, comfortable smells. Why should the scent of her skin be familiar?

It didn’t matter. He slept.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WHEN AZAZEL AWOKE HE was lying on his side, his body curled protectively around hers but not quite touching her. She still slept. If she’d known he was so close, his face almost buried in her hair, she would have moved.

Beloch was watching them. He knew it. Azazel inched away, slowly so as not to wake her, slowly so that Beloch wouldn’t sense his anger. He turned and sat up, the covers to his waist, deliberately shielding her from Beloch’s inimical gaze.

He was hovering by the door. Not there in the flesh, of course. Beloch never left the confines of his Dark City stronghold, but he could project himself almost anywhere. Azazel had known the moment Beloch came into the room, even though he’d been asleep. It was small comfort that there had been no eyes watching them in the dark hours of the morning.

He met Beloch’s eyes. “It is done,” he said in a low voice, hoping not to wake her. “And still I feel nothing.”

“So it is,” Beloch murmured in the faintly hollow voice that came when he projected his presence. “Shall I take her, then?”

This had to be played very carefully. If he showed reluctance, Beloch would pounce, and Azazel hadn’t yet come up with an alternative to her certain annihilation. “If you wish,” he said calmly. Beloch had moved to the left, to get a better view of Rachel as she slept, and he shifted, shielding her once more. “If you believe this has been a thorough test, then of course I acquiesce. I am relieved you haven’t asked more of me. I have assured you that I am invulnerable to her lures, and bedding her has failed to change that. I’m pleased you have been convinced so quickly.”

Beloch just watched him. “I cannot decide whether you’re making the very unwise attempt to manipulate me, or you are truly impervious to her. Though she appears to be far removed from the Lilith, she should still retain her erotic power. You insist that you feel nothing? That her powers do not move you?”

“I climaxed inside her. Is that answer enough?”

“So you did,” Beloch murmured. “The cameras were very explicit.”

Azazel froze. He hadn’t bothered to search the room, knowing that Beloch could simply transport himself if he wanted to watch. He should have realized that Beloch would know he would resist.

“You were watching.”

“I was watching,” Beloch murmured. “What I fail to understand is why you had to do all the heavy lifting, so to speak. I would have thought she’d simply shove you down and climb on top of you. It is her way, after all.”

He managed to keep his rage under control. “You underestimate her. She would know I wouldn’t respond well to that, that I would find shyness and uncertainty alluring.”

“And did you? Find her alluring, that is?”

She was awake. He felt the sudden tension in her body, and he wondered how long she’d been listening. He’d been too angry with Beloch to notice.

There was nothing he could do about it. “She is a beautiful woman,” he said in a tight voice. “And I’ve been celibate for too long. Of course I responded to her. It means nothing.”

“It’s been seven years since your beloved Sarah died, hasn’t it?” Beloch’s voice was faintly mocking, and Azazel wanted to cram the words down his throat for daring to speak Sarah’s name. “And now you’re doomed to follow her with the greatest female demon the world has ever known. That really must sting. I’m certain you’d be happy if I took her away before you became attached to her.”

He had to tread carefully, swallow his rage. “I would appreciate it,” he said, and held his breath.

Beloch chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I must agree with your original assessment. It wasn’t much of a test. If you’re going to prove you’re not susceptible, you’ll have to endure more than a quick ride in the moonlight.”

He didn’t show his relief. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling relief. The sooner she was destroyed, the sooner she would no longer be a threat to his future. “As you wish,” he said. “But you’ll turn off the cameras.”

“No. I quite enjoy watching you. You’re both quite beautiful animals, and watching you copulate is entertaining. You would have made beautiful babies.”

“Since the Fallen cannot reproduce and the Lilith smothers newborns, I would expect that’s a moot point.”

Beloch looked toward Rachel’s motionless figure, but Azazel shifted, once more blocking his view. “Then I will leave you two to fuck like bunnies,” he said with an ugly twist to his mouth. “Wear each other out if you like. And if you can still turn her over to me, then I’ll be satisfied, and you’ll be free of the prophecy. Everyone will be happy. Except the Lilith, of course. But by then she won’t be feeling anything.”

He was gone. Azazel didn’t move, and neither did Rachel. She wouldn’t have his awareness, wouldn’t know that Beloch had left them. Left them with the cameras as silent observers.

If he could have gotten away with it, he would have slid down beside her, wrapped his body around hers, and taken her that way. Despite Beloch’s intrusion, he was still hard for her, a natural reaction after so many years of celibacy. Waking next to a warm female body was a guarantee of arousal, no matter who—or what—that female was.

But he knew he didn’t dare touch her. He had no idea exactly how much she had heard, but it would be enough. “He’s gone now,” he said in the low, cool voice he used with her, keeping the disturbing roil of emotions hidden beneath it.

She moved so fast he was startled. She leapt out of bed, ripping the sheet off with her and wrapping it around her body. Too late she realized it left him sitting on the bed naked and aroused, and she jerked her face away, once more turning that lovely shade of pink. “Do you have any idea how much I hate you?”

It shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d repudiated her and what they’d done, what he wanted to do again. “I expect you do. You needn’t bother to explain—you must have a dozen reasons.”

“Get out of my room.”

He slid off the bed. Off her side of the bed, and there wasn’t much room between the bed and the wall, and the two of them were trapped. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she couldn’t fend him off without letting the sheet fall, and she wasn’t going to do that. He could regret that, but he had to get rid of the cameras first.

She was stiff, angry, hurt. Who would have thought the Lilith could feel hurt? But last night he’d finally realized she was no longer the Lilith. What demon had resided inside her was gone, or it would have emerged during coitus. He’d been expecting it, prepared; but when she came she’d simply been a woman lost in the magic of her first climax. She was Rachel, beautiful, angry, wounded, staring at him with such betrayal in her brown eyes that he wanted to pull her against his body and hold her.

She’d fight him if he tried it. So he contented himself with giving her a little shake. “Stop being childish. This is hardly a matter of hurt feelings—this is life and death and eternity. Stop being so emotional.”

Demons didn’t have emotions. If there was anything of the demon left, there was the chance that the layers of forgetfulness and humanity might still be stripped away, showing her as the monster she was. Or would she stay this way, confused and furious, vulnerable and combative? And melting.

None of this was having the desired effect on his cock. He released her. “I’ll take care of the cameras,” he said in a tight voice. “Go and take a shower.”

“Are there cameras in the bathroom?”

“Most likely. He’ll have been watching since we arrived—you have no privacy left.” He let his hands drop, because he wanted to reach for her again. “Go,” he said.

She went.

IT MEANT NOTHING. HIS WORDS still stung, when they shouldn’t have. I knew he was the enemy. I knew he thought I was a monster—in fact, it was amazing he’d been able to get it up, considering what he thought of me. But he had, most impressively, and he’d been hard this morning as well. I could still feel the color in my face when I’d stupidly ripped the covers off him. I would need to remember that in the future.

Not that there was going to be any future. I didn’t care what Beloch said—we’d done what he’d ordered and there was no reason to do it again.

No reason but the strange longing that suffused my body. I wanted him again. Which was crazy—I didn’t want sex, I didn’t like it, even when I was in love. So why did my hands shake when I thought of touching him? I thought of the way our bodies joined, the feel of him inside me, the thick slide of him, and I wanted to feel it again.

I tried to lock the bathroom door, but of course it had been dismantled, and I slammed my fist against the wood, then let my forehead rest against it. I wanted to scream with fury and frustration, but it would do no good. I dropped the sheet, no longer giving a good goddamn whether any ancient pervert was watching me, and stepped into the shower. My thighs were sticky, my muscles ached, my mouth was soft and tender from his. I leaned against the marble wall and let the hot water pound down on me, washing him away.

I dried myself, then grabbed the sheet again before I opened the door. My bedroom was deserted, the bed made with fresh sheets, and new clothes lay folded on top of the bed. I wondered who I had to thank for that. I couldn’t picture Azazel making the bed, but I hadn’t sensed anyone else in the house.

And then I remembered the cameras that were definitely in this room. I dressed quickly, resisting the childish impulse to flip the bird to them. Resisted it because I didn’t know where the cameras were.

There was no sign of Azazel as I made my way downstairs. I was hoping there’d be something edible left of the massive buffet from last night, but to my astonishment there was fresh, warm food, including hot coffee. Everything I could have wanted.

I could have wished that my appetite had disappeared with the events of the last twelve hours, but instead I was ravenously hungry. I went back for seconds and was sitting there, my legs propped up on a nearby chair, enjoying a second cup of coffee and an almond croissant, when Azazel walked in.

I looked at him, trying not to picture him naked, the look on his face as I clutched his shoulders and rode him. … “There’s food,” I said unnecessarily.

“I already ate.”

Of course he did, I thought, unreasonably miffed. At this point there was probably nothing he could do that wouldn’t have annoyed me. It was late afternoon, and the sky outside was darkening. It looked like a storm was coming in.

“What prophecy?” I hadn’t meant to ask him, hadn’t meant to say anything that would require a response from him. He would do as he always did, ignore my questions, give me one-syllable answers. “Never mind,” I said hastily. “I don’t know why I bother.”

He came over, took the chair my feet were propped on, and pulled it out from under me, sitting down next to me. “The prophecy is from one of the ancient scrolls found at Qumran. Better known as the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

I was more shocked that he appeared to be giving me an answer than at the answer itself. “Those are fairy tales and mythology, nothing more. Written by crazy, deluded old men.”

“You would be surprised,” he said. “Half of it is nonsense. The rest is far too close to the truth.”

“So there’s a fifty percent chance this prophecy is true. What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. It happens to be part of the fifty percent that isn’t true.”

“Then why does it matter so much to you?”

His mouth thinned. I remembered the feel of his lips against mine, and I wanted to close my eyes and cross the small distance that separated us. I stayed where I was.

“The prophecy states that the Lilith will eventually marry Asmodeus, king of the demons, and they will reign in hell.”

Okay, I thought, reaching for my coffee. It was already cold, but I needed to stall for time. I swallowed, then looked at him. “Absurd,” I agreed. “Considering I’m not the mythical demon you think I am, it has nothing to do with me. But even if it were true, why is that a problem for you? You think I belong in hell anyway. Might as well rule it.”

“Hell doesn’t exist. I already told you that.”

“Do you think I take your word as gospel?”

“In fact, I never lie. I am incapable of it.”

“Is that part of the so-called angel thing?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re an angel.” I still found that as absurd as the thought that I was a demon. “So why do you care about the prophecy? Why do you care who I marry?” It was a ridiculous, hopeful thought, but I couldn’t imagine what else was troubling about the prophecy.

“Of course I don’t care whom you marry. As long as it isn’t me. I am called many names in the scrolls and scriptures. Azazel, Astaroth, Azael … and Asmodeus.”

For a moment I couldn’t move. And then I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not marrying you.”

“No. I intend to make sure of it.”

Why did that feel so painful? I certainly didn’t want to marry him. I had no idea what marriage to an angel might entail, but I imagined it wasn’t pleasant. And there was no way in hell I was going to give him that much power over me. He had too much already.

I still wanted to fight back, to make him feel the pain I was feeling, the illogical, irrational pain, and I had one weapon. “Who is Sarah?”

I might have imagined that he flinched, the movement was so quick. But he didn’t avoid my gaze. “My wife,” he said. “She died seven years ago. And I will not replace her with you.” Watching me. Always watching me out of those fierce blue eyes in the drab, empty surroundings.

I wanted to hate her. I wanted anger to fill me at the thought of the woman he loved, loved enough to spend seven years without sex, loved enough that he’d offered me up to monsters rather than risk having to marry me and contaminate her memory.

But I could find no rage. In truth, I could almost feel her between us, a gentle presence in the room. Oh, most definitely between us, and she always would be.

But he would be gone, and I would be dead, and why should it matter? Yet it did.

“What if I promise not to marry you? I think I can manage to survive such a crushing blow to my heart.” I was trying to sound cynical, but there was just a trace of vulnerability in my voice, and I wished I’d just shut the fuck up. I twisted my mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Let’s just be friends with benefits.”

“We are not friends and we never will be.”

Damn, we were back to the terse dialogue. “Then what are we? And don’t say mortal enemies—we’re past that and you may as well admit it. What are we?”

“Reluctant allies. I have decided I do not want the Truth Breakers to get their hands on you.”

“Then why did you bring me here in the first place?” It was a reasonable question, and I expected an answer.

“To find the truth at any cost. I changed my mind.”

“Why? Because we fucked?” I used the crude word deliberately. Sex without love was fucking. “Suddenly you care about me?”

“No. Because suddenly I despise Beloch.”

I’d wanted answers—it wasn’t his fault if I didn’t like them. Then again, I wasn’t sure if I believed him. There had been a strong undercurrent of animosity between the two of them when he’d first brought me down to Beloch’s deceptively cozy apartment. This was nothing new.

“So what are we going to do about it?” I asked in my most practical voice.

“I have yet to decide.” He rose abruptly, glancing around the room, and I suddenly remembered the cameras. Were they throughout the house? “I’m going for a walk,” he said in that take-no-prisoners tone.

I didn’t like feeling like a prisoner. “Can I go with you?”

“No,” he said flatly. “You’ve already seen what can happen when you wander around alone.”

“But I’d have you to protect me,” I argued.

He looked at me long and hard. “If I were you, I wouldn’t count on it.”

THE COOL AFTERNOON AIR WAS heavy with an approaching storm as Azazel strode toward the old restaurant and made his way into the warren of rooms beneath it. Beloch had been his enemy for as long as he could remember. He was far more powerful than he should have been. While Azazel knew that the Dark City had existed as long as the Fallen had, possibly longer, the details were unclear. The memory of his own incarceration here was impossibly vague—he could recall the pain and the despair and his determination to survive, and not much more.

He refused to ask his enemies for favors—particularly when they were like Beloch, delighting in power and torture. Yet here he stood in Beloch’s lair, the supplicant. If he wanted to bring her safely out of here, he would need Beloch’s agreement.

“Please,” he said, and the word cost him.

Beloch looked at him and laughed. “Have you fallen in love, Azazel?” he cooed from his chair by the fire, his gnarled fingers stroking the angry cat. “How darling! I thought you were determined not to fall prey to the Lilith. In fact, earlier you insisted that you had managed to bed her without emotion. Clearly you were lying, either to me or to yourself.”

Azazel stared back, keeping his face cool and blank. “Falling in love is for weak-minded humans,” he said. “Besides, the Lilith has no memory of her seductive powers—she’s as awkward as a schoolgirl.”

“I gather schoolgirls can be quite delightful,” Beloch murmured. “Though I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. The lure of the flesh disgusts me. But here’s the question that really interests me. Did you drink from her, blood-eater?”

“No. You know the curse as well as I do. She isn’t my mate, and we only feed from our mates. I felt no desire for her blood at all.” He wondered if that was the truth. He could smell her blood pulsing beneath her skin, and his fangs had begun to lengthen reflexively. He’d fought it. It was profane enough that he’d fucked her. To drink her blood in the sacrament reserved for bonded mates would be the greatest travesty.

The only reason he’d even been tempted was that he’d been away from Sheol for so long. Away from the nourishing gift of the Source. It was only natural that he should begin to react to her on a purely visceral level. Only natural that he would fight it.

“I wonder if I believe you,” Beloch said meditatively.

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I want you to let her go. We can find other ways to get the information we need from her.”

“Don’t be silly,” Beloch said. “The moment you entered the Dark City, you placed yourselves in my hands. I don’t relinquish what is mine. You brought her here for the Truth Breakers to discover the secrets she keeps hidden inside, and they will do just that.”

“They’ll kill her.”

Beloch smiled. “Yes, they will. Very few survive the Truth Breakers. You were one of the rare ones. I’m certain they’d love another chance at you.”

He didn’t move. The room was stiflingly hot, and the fire crackled like a laughing witch. He could offer Beloch a trade. He had no reason to live, no desire to continue. If Beloch would send her—Rachel—back to Sheol, Azazel had complete faith that the Fallen would find out what they needed to know, sooner or later. It would simply take more time, but in the end the truth would come out. She would live, and he would die. It seemed a fair trade.

“What do the Truth Breakers want from me?” he said.

“What you refused to give them the last time, of course. You don’t remember? No, of course not. I saw to that. The Truth Breakers want nothing less than the secrets of Sheol. How you survive and thrive in the face of God’s disapproval. What are the walls that keep everyone out? How many are there? Who would be most likely to repent and return to the fold?”

“Like Sammael the traitor?” He knew his voice was icy and uncompromising.

“Like Sammael the martyr,” Beloch returned. “Your little girl could go free if you are willing to open yourself to the Truth Breakers.”

There was something so familiar about that smooth, tempting voice. It would be so easy to give him what he wanted. “No,” he said. “Those are not my secrets to reveal.”

“Instead you’ll see your lover ripped to pieces by the Truth Breakers?”

His face felt as cool and hard as the marble floor beneath him. “She is not my lover. And her fate is hers.”

“And it has the added advantage of breaking the prophecy that terrifies you so much,” Beloch pointed out. “Bring her to me tonight.”

“You said she could stay—”

“I changed my mind. She weakens your resolve. The kindest thing I can do is remove temptation. You needn’t have sex with her again, Azazel. Isn’t that generous of me? You’re released from that particular punishment.”

Azazel didn’t move for a moment. “When do you want her?” he said finally, and Beloch’s smile widened.

“Bring her to the river by seven. The Nightmen will come and relieve you of that particular burden.”

He looked at Beloch, his self-satisfied smile. He was immortal—it would do no good to break his neck, beat him to the ground. Azazel was trapped, and it shouldn’t matter. But it did. “I’ll bring her,” he said. And walked away.

IT WAS ALMOST DUSK WHEN Azazel returned. I’d been waiting for him in the library, impatient, nervous. I’d tried to read, but my eyes would glaze over, and I would remember his hands on me, and I would end up staring into nothingness, reliving those moments. It was little wonder I was in a jumpy mood when he finally walked in.

“Are you ready?” As a greeting it left a lot to be desired, and I wondered if he was talking about going upstairs again.

“Ready for what?” I said carefully.

“I want you to show me the river walk. Where the Nightmen found you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

I swallowed a growl, and rose. I didn’t want to have sex with him again, and if he’d suggested it I would have flatly refused. There was no reason to feel disgruntled and disappointed. “How are we getting there?”

“We’re walking. The more people who see us together, the better.”

“I don’t know why. Besides, they barely pay any attention to us. I tried to talk to one young woman and she practically ran away screaming.”

“The people of the Dark City are watching us very closely. Everyone is a spy. The more time we’re on the streets walking, the less time we’re supposed to be having sex. I assume that would meet with your approval.”

My stomach had jumped at his words. Again I could feel him, and again I forced myself to banish the memory. “Absolutely,” I said in a firm voice.

I made the mistake of looking at him, into his pale face and his blazing blue eyes, and I knew he didn’t believe me. He knew I wanted him again. Just as he wanted me.

The twilight held the promise of rain in the air. I looked up into the sky, searching for any familiar sign. I had no idea where we were, if we were in some strange, alternate world that existed in another universe. I never saw any sun overhead, only the omnipresent grayness that had spread into everything. Azazel and I were still in color, our flesh alive, our mouths red, our bodies creamy. What was this world, where every spot of color was gone?

We were halfway to the river when I heard the distant rumble of thunder, and I felt a moment’s nervousness. Something was wrong. Not that that was anything new. It just felt more wrong than before, and my skin felt like ice. “There’s going to be a storm,” I said unnecessarily. “Maybe we should go back.”

“We’re unlikely to melt.”

“What if we’re struck by lightning?”

“It won’t kill us.”

Okay, I believed that. So I walked on, Azazel at my side with his hands in his pockets, occasionally brushing against me. Each time it happened my entire body reacted, suffused with warmth, and I wanted to lean against him, close my eyes and sink into him, into his bones, lose myself in his beautiful white-gold flesh.

I kept walking.

The river was in sight when the first light rain began to fall. The coat I’d found in my wardrobe had a hood, but I didn’t bother with it, turning my face up to catch the drops of rain. He took my arm then, steering me across the street to the embankment along the roiling gray river, leading me toward one of the empty benches that fronted it.

He released me and sat at one end, and I understood perfectly well that he didn’t want me cuddling up next to him. I sat in the middle of the bench, so as not to be too obvious, and looked at him.

“Where were the Nightmen?” His voice was as calm and dispassionate as always.

“They came from under that bridge.” I gestured toward the narrow passageway that led back into the darkness. There was a door across it now, faded and probably rusty. The area was deserted—the gloomy evening was too stormy even for the dour inhabitants of the Dark City.

He turned to look at the passage, then back. “They’re not anywhere around,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“I know. I’m not doubting your word. But if the Nightmen were here last night, they’re now in some other part of the city.” He leaned back against the cement bench, now marked and splattered with the gathering rain. “No one is going to see us.”

“See us do what?”

At that moment lightning split the sky, so bright that for the first time the Dark City was bathed in crackling white light like an old Frankenstein movie, and then it was gone again as the sharp crack of thunder followed.

I rose. “We should get out of here.”

He glanced up at me. “I couldn’t find the cameras. They may not even exist—it wouldn’t be unlike Beloch to lie in order to torment us. But if they’re there, I can’t find them and disable them.”

I had no idea why he was telling me this, telling me now. Another bolt of lightning, this time so close I could hear the sizzle as it struck nearby. He rose and took my hand in a tight, unbreakable grip, dragging me across the cobbled walkway much as the Nightmen had the night before. But Azazel wasn’t going to kill me.

We reached the sheltered door and he released me, reaching for the handle. It was locked. He yanked at it, hard, but it was stronger than it looked, and it didn’t move. He swore beneath his breath, something foul, and looked around somewhat desperately. There was no other form of shelter.

“I guess we’re doomed to get wet,” I said, doing my best to sound cheerful.

“Yes,” he said. And shoved me against the door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE ROUGH WOOD OF THE DOOR was hard against my back. I stared up at Azazel in astonishment. “What are you doing?”

His body crowded mine back into the darkness as his hands slid up my neck, his thumbs stroking my throat, and I knew a brief glimpse of fear. He kissed me, and if the fear didn’t leave entirely, it morphed into an instantaneous arousal. I’d wanted his hands on me, his mouth, his body pressed against mine, since I’d awoken. No, I’d wanted him since he’d lifted me off him and I’d turned away. This was what madness was—destructive need that was drowning out common sense and wisdom and self-preservation. I whimpered against his hard mouth, put my arms around his neck, and pulled him closer still, letting him kiss me with a furious desperation that I met.

This was bad, I knew it. It would only end in disaster. Yet I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. It didn’t matter what price I would end up paying—it would be worth it. Worth it to feel his hands slide down between us, slipping inside my coat, under my loose T-shirt, cupping my breasts through the lace of the bra. It had a front clasp, but he ripped it open anyway, and his fingers on the bare skin of my breasts made me cry out, aroused beyond belief.

I could feel the thickness of his erection against my stomach, and I was wet, that quickly, ready for him, needing him, not caring if he shoved me down on the cobblestones and took me there. I wanted his skin, and I pushed at his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders so that I could feel it, and I wanted so much more I could have cried. I could never have enough of this man, never in a thousand lifetimes. He was mine, he was my body and my soul and my heart, and I was caught so tightly with him I would cease to exist if someone tried to break the connection.

I kissed him back, my tongue against his, and closed my eyes, letting the delicious reactions sweep over me, the tightening of my breasts, the fluttering between my legs. He was pressed against me, hips against mine, and I could feel his long legs against the skirt I was wearing, and I momentarily cursed it, wishing I were wearing pants so I could get closer to him, wrap my legs around him. He rocked against me, and I felt a frisson of reaction, then another, as he bumped against me again, deliberately, pressing, and I remembered my fear last night of the deep blackness. I had survived and come through, wounded and yet complete, but I wasn’t ready to go there again. It was too much, but he’d shoved my T-shirt up, exposing my flesh to the cool, wet air. His fingers stroked my breasts, plucking, pinching the nipples gently, and a shiver went through me, a choking gasp as a tiny explosion rocked me.

He broke the kiss, moving his mouth to my neck, and I tried to speak. “Let’s go home,” I gasped. “I don’t care about the goddamned cameras.”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. His hands left my breasts, and I was afraid he was going to pull away.

“Wait,” I cried, my fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”

I’d never heard him laugh before. I didn’t know if this was even a laugh—just a short, derisive sound. “No,” he said again, his hands sliding down my waist, down my legs. Pulling the long skirt up, exposing my legs in the stormy afternoon, so that I felt the rain pelting against them, and I knew I should care whether someone was watching. I did care, just not enough. Not even when he reached for my panties and with one rough yank tore them off.

He put one hand under my butt, lifting me up, pressing me back against the door, and I heard the rasp of his zipper, his muttered curse as he freed himself, and then he pushed inside me, not waiting to see if I was ready for him.

I was. More than ready. The thick force of him made me gasp, afraid he might hurt me, but it stopped short of pain, only a faint discomfort that quickly spread into such pleasure that I felt another small orgasm hit me, a spasm of pleasure that jolted through me, and I tightened my legs around his hips, holding on tight.

Another sizzle of lightning, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. I saw something spark but I closed my eyes, the better to absorb the deep thrusts that were shaking me apart.

His hands were on my bare thighs, holding me up, and he pushed into me again and again. I could hear the wet slap of our joining, and it was another jolt of dark pleasure. He kissed me, hard, and I could taste blood, his or mine or both, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t get enough of me and I couldn’t get enough of him.

He was going to want that final surrender, that dark explosion that frightened me. If I went into that place I might never return, and I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed centered between our bodies, on the powerful invasion of him into me, my unbound breasts rubbing against his chest, his mouth on mine, and holding back was no longer an option. If I went there he would be with me, he’d keep me safe as I let go of everything else.

He tore his mouth away, gasping for breath, and I rested my head on his shoulder as a dry sob was torn from my throat. The world exploded. One more crash of lightning, and the sky opened in a deluge. He slammed back into me, and I went over the edge as I felt him jerk and pulse into me. I have no idea why I did it, only knew that I needed to; my mouth opened, and my teeth sank into his strong, powerful throat, breaking the skin, tasting the rich sweetness of his blood.

I heard his deep groan, felt him swell inside me, and then nothing more as sheer sensation washed over me. I shook, convulsing, lost in a place that terrified me, with only his arms and his body supporting me as I flew.

It might have been moments, it might have been hours, before I opened my eyes, shivers still rippling through me. I lifted my head. There was blood on his neck, a faint smear, and I licked it away, feeling him jerk again in reaction. Why had I done such a thing? Why had it felt so right? As the shudders began to slow I put my arms around his neck, rested my forehead against his shoulder, and said the damnable words.

“I love you.” My voice was rough, broken, as if I’d been screaming when I knew I hadn’t made a sound. The rain was pounding down around us, streaming into my eyes and his as I lifted my head to meet his unreadable gaze. “That much of the prophecy must be true.”

And then I heard them coming.

HE PULLED OUT OF HER, letting her feet down on the ground, still holding her against the door. He could feel the weakness of reaction still rippling through her, and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand yet. When he thought she was steady enough, he let go of her and rearranged his clothes, pulling up his zipper, then looked up to see the raw panic in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here,” she said in a shaky voice. “They’re coming.”

He had already felt them. Known they were converging on this place. Known that they would sense their presence. He should feel regret, but it was too late for that. He’d known it would end this way when he’d let himself come inside her last night. When he’d been torn with desire all day. When he’d felt her teeth nip his flesh, just enough to draw blood. When he’d heard her words. “I love you,” she’d said. And impossibly enough, he knew it was true. The demon loved him. For no reason. She was right, the prophecy was true.

And he had no choice whatsoever.

She was tugging at him. “We need to run.”

He looked into her eyes, slowly shaking his head. And then she realized the full extent of his betrayal, and her eyes grew black with shock and pain. She tried to break away, but he was too strong. He held her, his hands wrapped around her wrists like manacles, and he knew he was hurting her, knew that in a little while the pain he was inadvertently inflicting would seem like a caress.

She fought like a madwoman, but she’d forgotten any of the powers she’d once had, except for the power over him, and there was nothing she could do. The Nightmen rounded the corner at a forced run, swords drawn, and he wondered if they would finish him as well. He could only hope so.

But this strange existence never offered an easy way out of the betrayals and cruelties and need that living brought. He stepped back when they put their hands on Rachel, and he saw Enoch’s eyes glittering with pleasure. No, not Rachel, he reminded himself. The Lilith. A demon, neither male nor female, and he’d broken the laws of creation and fucked her, at Beloch’s orders. It was the only way Beloch would do his part in helping them find the truths she had hidden inside her altered memories, and if Azazel paid for it with the soul he’d already lost, then so be it.

There was no pleading, no reproach, no fury, in her huge eyes. After the first shock, something had closed down over her, and she turned her head away, not looking in his direction.

She had a trace of blood on her mouth. His blood. He reached up and touched his neck. She’d barely broken the skin, and the bleeding had been minimal. He had no idea why she’d done it. But if he’d had any doubts about what he was doing, that was a sign.

They were hurting her. They’d manacled her hands, using iron to keep her lost gifts at bay. Demons were powerless against iron—he’d used it himself when he’d staked her out to die. It would have been more merciful to have left her there. It would have been over, in the past, and he would have forgotten her.

But they would never have gleaned the information she had locked in her brain, as the Truth Breakers were sworn to do. And he might have doubted his decision, with no proof that she was any danger to him.

He had that proof now. He was tied to her, part of her—his blood and his semen—and she was part of him. In the taking of his fluids, she had taken his autonomy. They were bound together, in flesh and feeling. Until they killed her.

“Take her to the Truth Breakers,” he said in a harsh voice.

“We’ll take her anywhere we damned well please,” Enoch said, and Azazel wasn’t sure which was worse: the Nightmen’s random, murderous violence, or the careful sadism of the Truth Breakers’ torture.

“Beloch will be displeased if you kill her,” he said coldly, playing the one card he had. He wasn’t doing her any favors by saving her for the Truth Breakers. But the Fallen needed the information that was buried as deeply as her demon memory.

Enoch’s face darkened. “We would never disobey his orders. But he won’t mind if we hurt her a little. Get a taste of what you’ve been enjoying. It’s not every day you get a chance to fuck the Lilith.”

His blood roared in protest, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “You would regret it,” he said. “She’s a scourge. She’ll cause your man-part to shrivel and fall off. I’m immune because of the prophecy. None of you would be so lucky.” The lie came easily, shocking him. He shouldn’t have been able to lie.

Enoch looked properly horrified, and the men holding Rachel shifted uneasily, appalled even to be touching her. Good. He’d spared her that much, at least.

“Keep your distance, men,” Enoch commanded. “I don’t know if Wing-boy here is lying or not, but she’s not worth taking the chance.” He glanced back at Azazel. “I didn’t think you had the stones to do this. You must be more like us than I thought.”

Azazel didn’t flinch. The rain was pouring down, drenching them, and he felt as if he were drowning. There was nothing more he could do.

They dragged her away. They’d attached an iron chain to her manacles and they dragged her, refusing to touch her. She never looked in his direction, never made a sound of protest, even when she fell on the cobbles when they jerked her too hard. She simply struggled to her feet before they could yank the chain again. And she was gone.

THEY PULLED ME THROUGH THE streets as the rain poured down on us. I could barely walk with the shackles around my ankles, and I could feel the wetness between my thighs. From him, from what we’d done. Just before he’d turned me over to the killers.

Betrayal. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, I simply plodded onward, slipping now and then, going down hard and then being hauled up again. I wouldn’t see him again. They would either find out what they needed to know, whatever was hidden in the recesses of my mind, or they wouldn’t. Either way, I would be dead.

I should care. I should try to escape. But the shackles were iron. Even if they’d been tin, I doubted I would be able to break them. If they’d been paper. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I was ready.

They pushed me, sent me sprawling, laughing at me. By the time we got to the building I was bruised and bleeding, barely able to walk as I was shoved forward. Not into the warmth and comfort of Beloch’s retreat, but into a stark white room that looked more like a hospital surgery theater than anything else. There were various pieces of medical equipment and other things that I couldn’t identify. I stared at them, trying to move my mind from the pain in my body and the shock of the appalling thing he’d done.

They lifted me onto the table, using new restraints even as they kept the iron shackles in place. They’d barely finished when six creatures glided in. They were dressed in enveloping, monklike robes, the hoods drawn low over their heads, their faces in darkness. They said nothing, simply arranged themselves around me, and I knew they must be the Truth Breakers. My stoic façade began to crack, and I looked around desperately, to see Beloch standing behind them with his kindly smile, his gentle eyes.

“Help me,” I said brokenly. “Don’t let them do this.”

He moved to the head of the table. “Dear child,” he murmured, stroking my wet hair, “I’m the one who’s told them to do this. I would tell you I’m sorry, but it’s simply the wages of sin.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently on my forehead. And then he was gone.

I stopped feeling then. Stopped hoping. They would hurt me, they would kill me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I would simply endure, until they ended me. I had no other choice. I wouldn’t beg, plead, and God knew I couldn’t cry. I would endure in dignified, reproachful silence. One of the Truth Breakers raised his arm, and I saw what he was holding.

And I started to scream.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AZAZEL DIDN’T GO BACK TO THE house. Instead he walked through the city in the rain. He was soaked through to his skin but he didn’t care. He simply kept his mind a blank as he walked and walked. He couldn’t leave yet. Not until he had the information he’d come to retrieve. Damn Beloch for putting him through this torture. Why hadn’t the old man simply taken her that first night and been done with it?

The answer was simple. He’d seen that Azazel wasn’t ready to let her go. And Beloch knew he had found fertile ground for the cruel games he loved.

He should have known he’d end up here at Beloch’s headquarters below the innocuous old restaurant. More proof of her insidious power, he tried to tell himself as he entered through the lower door, but the words weren’t making any sense. His mind was a deliberate blank, because his thoughts were too vicious, too harmful. Her fault, he thought again, and knew he was making excuses. He had done what he had to do. He had no regrets.

So why was he here?

He saw Enoch first, playing dice with some of his men in the foyer. He looked up at Azazel’s approach, and grinned. There was blood on his uniform, and Azazel took a deep breath. He could smell it. Rachel’s blood.

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” Enoch drawled. “You look like you swam here. Didn’t you notice it was raining?”

Azazel didn’t bother answering him, heading toward the hallway.

Enoch moved quickly to block his path. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Get out of my way.”

“You can’t change your mind, you know. It’s not your decision to make, it’s Beloch’s. It’s always been Beloch’s, and you know it.”

“Get—out—of—my—way.” He bit the words off.

“It’s too late. The Truth Breakers have had her for a long time. She stopped screaming hours ago.”

Enoch stood even taller than Azazel’s six feet two and outweighed him by forty pounds of muscle. Azazel didn’t even hesitate. He went for him, rage filling his body with such strength that Enoch fell back in astonishment. He tried to rise, but Azazel hit him again, so hard that Enoch skidded across the room, landing in a crumpled heap against one wall, and stayed down, dazed. Azazel walked on into the building.

There was no noise, apart from the usual sound of the diners overhead, politely stuffing themselves. As he made his way down the corridor purposefully, Edgar appeared, unruffled as always.

“Were you wishing to dine with us upstairs, my lord? I’m afraid we cannot seat you dressed as you are,” he murmured, unctuous as ever. “But I am certain I can find you some dry clothes to make you more presentable, and then we can most assuredly—”

“Where’s Beloch?”

Edgar didn’t blink. “I presume in his rooms. He’s made it clear he doesn’t wish for visitors tonight. He’s been busy with a, er, project and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I know what his project is. How do I get to his rooms?” The rooms and hallways in this rabbit warren of a place shifted daily, and there was never any way to tell where Beloch resided. It was part of his elaborate defense system.

“In fact, my lord, he’s not in his rooms.” Edgar hesitated, then leaned forward and said in a whisper, “He’s spent the last few hours observing the extraction room. A particularly difficult case, I gather.”

He knew the extraction room. It was where the Truth Breakers worked. Very few people had survived the extraction room. He was one of them.

“It is still on the lower level?”

“Of course, my lord,” Edgar said with a disapproving sniff. “I can’t have my guests’ meals interrupted by screaming, can I?”

Without another word Azazel turned on his heel, ignoring Edgar’s sputtered protests. He took the steps two at a time into the bowels of the building, then came to a halt. He could smell it. A thousand things. Her blood. Her fear.

He could smell the stink of death and shit, but those were older smells, not from today. He was past feeling relief. He didn’t even know why he was here.

“Hello, dear boy.” Beloch’s voice came from behind him. He was sitting in state in a high-backed chair, a jewel-encrusted goblet in one hand. “I was expecting you to show up sooner.” He waved his hand toward a less ornate chair beside him. “Sit and tell me why you’ve come.”

As if he could. Azazel took the seat, trying to stall for time. “Have you found out her secrets?”

A smile curled Beloch’s mouth. “Of course we have. Not everything, of course. She’s resting while I decide her fate.”

The cold knot that filled his chest seemed to expand into his gut as well. “And you discovered what she knew about Lucifer?”

“We did indeed. I must say, Uriel is very pleased with you right now. You’ve almost redeemed yourself.”

Azazel froze. “What does Uriel have to do with this?”

Beloch shook his head. “Dear boy, when will you understand that Uriel is part of everything? Your actions have been very beneficial, and he’s willing to reward you for them.”

“Beneficial how?”

“He’s been looking for the Lilith for hundreds upon thousands of years, yet all he had to do was wait for you to do something about the prophecy. He knew you would lead her to me, and that he could then rid the world of her foulness. If you continue to serve the archangel well, I imagine there might be redemption for you.”

“There is no redemption for me.” He looked into Beloch’s milky eyes. There was something there, something familiar, something wrong, in his calm gaze, but Azazel didn’t have the stomach to try to place it. “The Supreme Being cursed us. It could hardly be up to his minion to reverse that curse.”

Beloch glared at him. “Uriel is not his minion!” he snapped.

Azazel was past taunting him. “What did she tell you?”

“What you already know. That she was confined near Lucifer when she refused to obey the Supreme Being and lie beneath Adam.”

“But he released her.”

“To rain terror on mankind. To seduce men and take their life essence so their seed is barren, to smother newborn babes and steal them from their mothers’ arms.”

“And why would God do that?”

“Who are you to question the Almighty’s word?” Beloch thundered, and again Azazel had that eerie sense of recognition. He tried to remember where their enmity had started, but whatever had caused it was lost in the mists. It seemed as if it had always been there.

“I have never been afraid to question God’s word. It was for that very transgression that I was thrown out of heaven, if you remember. For falling in love and for questioning.” He sounded remarkably cool.

“If you ever want to go back, you’ll have to learn acceptance. That’s what faith is. Obedience without question,” Beloch said in a petty voice.

“And why should I want to go back?”

Beloch looked startled. “Of course you want to. Everyone does. It’s perfection, the epitome of all that is good, the pinnacle—”

“It is heaven,” Azazel said flatly. “And I prefer humanity, with all its flaws.”

A slow, secret smile twisted Beloch’s withered lips. Azazel knew full well that Beloch could take any form he wanted, and he wondered why he’d chosen the old man this time. He probably enjoyed fooling the unsuspecting into thinking he was kindly and caring. He’d managed to fool Rachel at first.

Azazel needed to get the hell away from here before he heard her crying out. “What exactly did she tell you? We knew she was imprisoned with the First. We went through all this to find out what else she knew. She holds the secret to Lucifer’s prison. What has she told you?”

“You’ll have to apply to his holiness, the archangel Uriel, to discover those answers. In the meantime, there’s cleanup to complete. We will make certain there’s nothing else locked in the recesses of her memory, and then the Truth Breakers will finish her.”

He was going to throw up. He should have known that Uriel would find a way to trick them. He stared into Beloch’s oddly familiar face, and knew demands or pleas would be useless. “They will be merciful, I presume?” It wouldn’t help the way his gut was twisting inside him, but it would be easier on her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The words of the dying are often their most interesting. The Truth Breakers will continue in a few hours.”

Everything roiling inside him stopped. “Why are they waiting? Is any other outcome possible?”

“Of course not. This happens quite often. When the Truth Breakers are given orders to be brutal, as Uriel has decreed, then the initiate gets so covered in blood that it’s hard to get the other information she might carry within her. And there is the question of her voice.” Beloch gave him that smug smile.

“Her voice?”

“Her screams have left her without a voice. It should return shortly, at least enough for us to glean any final information.” Beloch chuckled. “Did you wish to say good-bye to her? I’m not sure she’ll be able to respond very well, and since you were the one who brought her to us I doubt she’d welcome having your face as the last thing she sees, but it’s up to you.”

The cadence of his voice was oddly familiar as well. The impossible suspicion was born, and even as he told himself it was insane, it grew stronger and stronger.

“I will see her,” he said.

Beloch looked startled. “I don’t think—”

“I will see her.”

He knew that disapproving huff, the narrowing of the familiar eyes. And suddenly he knew. And his rage was so powerful he was paralyzed as the man calling himself Beloch continued, “Enoch will take you.”

The Nightman was walking with a limp when he appeared, and his fury was palpable. Azazel knew him as well, with a certainty that shocked him. How had he been so blind before?

He cast one last look at Beloch. At the old-man disguise, the cruelty and hatred that hid inside. The last of the archangels, hidden by the ancient flesh. He was Uriel, and always had been. Just as Enoch was his most trusted soldier.

He followed the Nightman’s limping figure and rigid shoulders, down into the shadowy lowest levels of the old house, into the empty corridors, and he knew that Enoch would try for him again.

Enoch stopped outside a heavy door and turned to face him. The long dagger in his hand was no surprise. Nor was the fact that it glittered with celestial power.

“You’ve made your final mistake, Azazel,” he said, his eyes shining. “He’s ordered me to finish you. If it were up to me, I would let you see what’s left of the girl, but I am one who follows orders.”

“Of course you are, Metatron.”

The king of the angels, ruler beneath Uriel, looked startled. “You know?”

“That this is Uriel’s idea of heaven? That the charming old man is the archangel himself, playing games of pain and pleasure? Those poor, colorless people who wander these streets must be the few he considered worth saving.”

“You and the girl are the ones without color, you fool. It makes killing easier when the blood isn’t red.”

“I do not care what color your blood is. Just that it spills.”

Metatron’s mouth curved in an ugly smile. “My sentiments as well. But I have the knife and you have nothing.”

Azazel returned the smile with a calm one of his own. “You have fought me in years past, Metatron. You should know I don’t need weapons.”

“Nor do I,” he snarled, dropping the glowing blade and advancing on Azazel with the cold certainty of physical superiority.

It was over quickly. A kick to the groin brought him down, fast and in shock; a hard chop on the back of the head and he went sprawling, unconscious. Luck and surprise had helped him, Azazel thought. Arrogance on Metatron’s part had brought his fall. He wouldn’t make that mistake the next time. And there would be a next time, Azazel knew full well.

He stepped over Metatron’s body and reached for the door. She wasn’t dead, he knew that much. He would know, he would feel it, if she ceased to exist. Uriel was never going to tell them the secrets that she’d unwittingly held. He’d put her through that torture for nothing.

The room was dark, but he could smell her blood, and for a moment he halted. It was unavoidable, instinctive, powerful. He wanted that blood flowing down his throat, coating his tongue. Almost as much as he wanted the source of that blood.

It took him a moment to get his fierce need under control. He switched on the light, and looked at the creature lying on the stretcher.

He knew her by the red hair, even though it was dark with blood. Her face was so battered and swollen she could be anyone. Her torso and legs were a mess, her wrists and ankles bleeding from the shackles. She must have struggled against them. They would have liked that.

He couldn’t help her—she was too far beyond his meager gifts of healing. She was near death, in truth, but when he leaned over her and unfastened her shackles, she opened her eyes through the swollen bruising and looked at him.

Her mouth moved, and he put his ear to it, but the rasp was too raw to understand. He didn’t want to see the hatred in her eyes, so he concentrated on the shackles on her ankles, then undid the other restraints. There was no reason to keep her bound like that—she was too weak to fight. It must have been for their pleasure in her pain.

He slid his arms under her fragile body, and she jerked in silent agony. He had no choice—he had to get her out of there. He lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest, and his hands were wet with her blood. He kicked open the door, stepping over Metatron’s body, and headed toward the street.

He could sense it, a door to the outside that few used. He could carry her up the stairs, out past Uriel-Beloch and the other angels, but he could not kill them all without putting her down, and that he wouldn’t do.

And he couldn’t kill the archangel. In a battle he could hurt him, but only temporarily. Assuaging his vengeful fury and his crushing guilt wasn’t important. What mattered was getting Rachel out of there. To someplace where they could find help. To Sheol.

The hallways were more like dark tunnels, but his sense of direction was infallible, and he followed the twisting path toward the exit, almost there when a shadow crossed his path. More than one. Truth Breakers.

“You think you can ignore Uriel’s commands,” one of them said in its hollow voice. “You are foolish. Put her down.”

He didn’t tighten his grip on her. He had hoped to avoid them. Beloch must have been waiting. “I’m not accountable to Uriel anymore,” he said evenly. “I refuse to bow to his tyrannies. Get out of my way if you wish to live.”

“You are mistaken,” the Truth Breaker said. “You are the one who is going to die. Set her down, or she will die with you right now.”

The Truth Breakers were gifted bringers of pain and death. But they were neutral, unfeeling. They didn’t have his fury. “Gladly,” he said, setting her down carefully. He had no choice. She must have lost consciousness, a small blessing for her.

Despite his fury, something had held him back from killing Metatron. He felt nothing for the shadowy torturers surrounding him, and it was over far too quickly for his taste. He was fast, brutal, and efficient; their surprise at his strength was their downfall. He refused to think about what he was doing, the rending of flesh and bone, the carnage caused by him alone. Perhaps it would haunt him late at night, perhaps it wouldn’t. Within moments the six of them lay at his feet, whatever strange form of life they’d possessed now gone.

He moved back to Rachel’s body and froze. Her eyes were open, and she’d watched everything, the horrific savagery he was capable of. And then she closed her eyes again, as if even looking at him was seeing an unspeakable monster.

He held her carefully. Her life force wasn’t strong; she’d lost a great deal of blood, and if he didn’t get her help soon she would die. And much too late, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t bear it if she did.

He kicked open the door into the moonless night. The rain had stopped, but the gloom remained. How fitting that this was Uriel’s idea of the perfect afterlife. Heaven, Paradise, Valhalla. The Dark City, with no sunshine, no joy, no light.

He looked down at Rachel. Yes, she was Rachel, not the demon, not the Lilith, no matter what darkness hid inside her. She was Rachel, and he’d betrayed her.

There was only one person who could save her. He would have to take her to the woman he hated, the woman who’d taken Sarah’s place. He would have to take Rachel to Sheol, to Raziel’s wife, the new Source. And pray to the God who had abandoned them that Allie could save her.

He spread his wings wide and surged upward, into the dark, threatening sky that surrounded this cursed place. Up toward the brilliant sun, leaving the Dark City and the archangel Uriel far behind.

SHEOL

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE EARLY MORNING AIR WAS still and silent in their bedroom looking out over the ocean. Allie lifted her head, shoving back her thick brown hair. Over the years her senses had grown more attuned to the rhythms of Sheol, their hidden fortress in the mist, and the Fallen who lived there. She knew their comings and goings, their anguish and joys, their needs. God, she knew their needs. Right now someone needed her quite desperately, someone who wasn’t there yet, and she started to roll over, but Raziel caught her arm and pulled her back on top of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured lazily. “We only just got started.”

Allie laughed, burrowing against his lean, strong, deliciously naked body. “May I point out to you what we did down on the beach in the moonlight just last night? And then what we did when you carried me back to bed?”

“It’s a new day,” he said with a wicked gleam, rolling her underneath him. He was fully aroused, and she let out a little purr of delight.

“So it is,” she whispered, reaching up and pulling his head down to hers. Their kiss was full and sweet, and she was warm and ready, tilting her hips up for his thick, gorgeous slide, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sweet dark magic of desire. The ebb and flow, thrust and withdrawal, building and building, almost to the point of pain, and then glorious release, cascading down.

Later, when she lay spent and breathless on the huge bed, she watched him rise and stretch, a man, an angel, a blood-eater well pleased with himself and his life. He cast her one salacious grin before heading into the bathroom, and she managed a weak grin back. She only wished she had his energy.

After seven years their bond had only grown stronger, so tight that nothing could break it. Not even the laws of nature, she thought with a trace of grim determination. She didn’t care what the rules were. She was never going to die, never going to leave her immortal husband. She flat-out refused.

It was the way of things, she was told. The Fallen didn’t make mistakes. Once they’d chosen a partner, that connection became unbreakable. As the wife grew older and older. And the husband stayed young forever.

She was lucky, though. She was the Source, the spiritual leader of the Fallen, the mother, the nurturer. And the source of blood to sustain those without partners, even the grumpy and unaccepting Azazel, husband of Sarah.

As the Source, she would live much longer than the short human span. But after a couple of hundred years she would die, and Raziel would go on. And she couldn’t bear it.

She sat up. She considered herself a practical woman, and she limited her brooding to a few minutes daily at the most. Right now there was no time for it. She had a naked husband in the huge walk-in shower, and she needed to bathe as well. And he was so good at soaping her up.

She needed to eat, and to get ready. Something was coming that would require everything from her. Something was coming that would change everything.

She needed to be ready.

IT WAS ENDLESS, FLYING THROUGH storms and dimensions, past the angry roar of a demigod, her broken body wrapped carefully in his arms. She didn’t awaken, which was a blessing. She was afraid of flying, and he’d had to knock her out the last time he carried her, or her struggles could have sent them hurtling toward the ground. He would have been fine, but a crash could have killed her, and he hadn’t wanted to risk it.

Right now she was barely breathing. There was a ring of blue around her lips as she struggled for breath, and he wondered if they’d damaged her heart.

No, he was the one who’d done that. Stupid and cloying as the idea was, he’d seen the look on her face when the Nightmen arrived and known that was exactly what he’d done. He’d broken her heart.

But what choice did he have, one he’d brought her to the Dark City? He had survived his incarceration there long ago, and he’d lied to himself, told himself that she would survive as well.

He’d been an idiot not to realize the lengths to which the archangel Uriel was willing to go. An idiot not to recognize the Dark City for what it was: Uriel’s perverted afterlife, a heaven made for those who had already lost their souls. And he’d delivered her straight into Uriel’s bloody hands.

He was half-afraid Uriel would do something to try to stop him; but if an angel, fallen or otherwise, chose to leave the Dark City, no one could prevent him. The laws of free will still held, no matter how Uriel despised them. He would find a way to circumvent them sooner or later; but so far he’d only been able to send the Nephilim in an abortive attack upon Sheol.

Azazel wasn’t going to think about that, about the unbearable day seven years ago when Sarah had died. He had to concentrate on getting Rachel to safety, getting her the help she needed. He had to let go of mourning and concentrate on the living, at least for now.

He landed on the beach lightly. The early morning mist was rising from the sea, and the sand was deserted. He looked up at the huge, cantilevered building that housed the Fallen and their wives, its blank windows reflecting the deep blue of the sea. He would have to wake them. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound for the last hour, but she was still breathing. He held on to that much, and started toward the wide entrance, cradling her carefully.

She stepped out onto the lawn. She looked straight at him, clearly waiting for them, and he felt his usual anger flare up. But it was no match for his need.

She took one look at Rachel and immediately became efficient. “The infirmary is set up for her, and I have Gabriel’s wife, Gretchen, waiting. What happened?”

He followed her into the hall, responding to her businesslike tone. “She was tortured.”

“The Truth Breakers?”

He was surprised she even knew of their existence, but then he’d forgotten the bond that grew between the Fallen and their mates. Raziel would have told her everything. “Yes.”

“Poor child,” she murmured.

“She is not a child,” he said sharply. “She was once the Lilith, the first woman, and a murderous demon. Even if she has forgotten her past, she could still be dangerous.”

“Then why are you holding her so carefully?” the woman shot back. “I don’t care what her history is, right now she’s a wounded child and she needs help.”

“Yes.” He didn’t have to ask her, didn’t even have to call her by name. She would do what he needed, because that was who she was. The Source, as his Sarah had been. The healer, the nurturer. The only person he could trust who could help her.

He laid Rachel carefully on the hospital bed, but she didn’t awaken. There was a hitch in her shallow breathing; he could sense her pulse, the blood in her veins, and they were sluggish, fading. She was dying.

He turned to the woman he hated, the woman he refused to call by name. “Please,” he said. “Please, Allie. Save her.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I will.”

I FELT AS IF I were drowning in something thick and viscous. I couldn’t fight my way out of it—the more I tried to push toward fresh air and sunlight, the more it fought me. I was dying and I knew it. I couldn’t breathe, and the sun was too far away. I fought. I wasn’t ready to die, but I could barely form a conscious thought. I didn’t know who I was, where I was, I only knew that the pain was unbearable, and I would scream until they came and put something in a tube, and then I could rest again.

There were people around me, shadowy shapes tending to me, tending to the body I hid inside, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I wanted to crawl off to a cave and heal myself, but I sensed that was no longer possible. I needed help, and I had no choice but to accept it as I learned to ride the pain; it ebbed and flowed, crushing me in an iron fist and then releasing me. I had to fight so hard to live through the storm. I had been through worse, I knew it instinctively, even if I couldn’t remember where or when. I had survived unspeakable horrors, but those memories were locked away in a place I never had to visit again. If I could just get through this, I thought, struggling to breathe. One more minute, one more hour, one more day, and then everything would be all right.

Even in my half-conscious state, I knew that was a lie. I knew that once I worked my way through whatever torment was being visited upon me, the respite would be brief; then life would once again pull the rug out from under me. It would never be all right. It would be pain and despair and disaster, and it would be so much easier just to let go.

I tried to. I felt the soft, sinking cushion enfold me, and it was so warm, so comforting, that I wanted to release the desperate hold I had on everything and drift into it, lost forever. I let myself float, only to have a harsh voice call me back, berating me, angry and demanding. I knew that voice, knew that tone. He should have been no inducement to live, but he was. I pulled myself out of the soft darkness and went toward him, knowing instinctively that there was the light. There was why I wanted to live.

And I began to fight anew.

AZAZEL PACED THE SAND, GLARING at the house. Allie had banished him from the sickroom, and he couldn’t blame her. Yelling at Rachel not to die wasn’t going to help. He’d felt her slipping away and he’d panicked. It had been all he could do not to grab her shoulders and shake her. Instead he had told her she’d damned well better not die. He’d harangued her, threatening her with all sorts of ridiculousness, a return to the Dark City being one of them. If she died, there might be nothing left. Demons had no souls, and if Rachel had possessed one, it should be long gone by now. What happened when a demon died? Did it simply disappear?

He ran a harassed hand through his hair, staring out at the sea. He felt like the ocean, storm-tossed and angry. Its healing beauty seemed out of reach. He felt no urge to strip down and dive beneath the cool, blessed waters. His body was whole. It was his mind, his spirit, his soul, that were in torment.

Did the Fallen have souls, or were they no better than demons? They’d argued that for millennia, over campfires and by candlelight and gaslight and electricity, and there was no clear answer. God had stripped them of everything, including any possibility of redemption. There was no forgiveness for the fallen angels, only eternal damnation according to the angry God of old and his zealous administrator, Uriel.

But that God had changed. He’d granted free will to everyone, the Fallen included. Had he granted them souls at the same time?

He started pacing again, back and forth along the edge of the water. The tide was ebbing now. He’d been walking since it was coming in, splashing through water at high tide. Now it was pulling back, and there was still no word from the infirmary.

“You’ll wear a rut in the sand,” Raziel said, sitting down carefully, his iridescent blue wings closing around him. “No word?”

Azazel barely glanced at him. “No word. Go talk to your wife. She banished me from the sickroom.”

Raziel arched a brow. “And you went? You astonish me. I wouldn’t have thought Allie could get you to do anything.”

“I didn’t do it for her, I did it for Rachel.”

Raziel looked at him. “Rachel? Do you mean the Lilith? Or have we made a mistake?”

Azazel halted his pacing. “She doesn’t remember who she is. She has no powers, apart from the seductive one that pulls any man she sees into her web.”

“That must have been inconvenient when you were in the Dark City. Did all the men start following you around in a pack?”

Azazel glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Because that’s what would have happened if the demon Lilith had been about. No one would have been able to resist her. They would probably have tried to kill you, but you look like you’re unscathed. How is that?”

“I have no idea. It took every ounce of strength I had to resist her.”

“And just how much did you resist her, old friend? You seem particularly disturbed by her condition.”

“Because it is our fault. My fault. I handed her over to them, knowing what they could do to her!” he said furiously.

“That’s what we agreed to do. That’s why you took her to the Dark City in the first place, took her to Beloch. Granted, we had no idea that Beloch was Uriel. I wonder if he always was, or if Uriel simply took over the Dark City and the demon who controlled it.”

“I fail to give a rat’s ass,” Azazel snarled. Raziel’s soft laugh didn’t improve his temper.

“So you did as we agreed, and then you suddenly went in and took her back, infuriating Uriel in the process. Why?” He sounded more curious than censorious; but then, when the roles were reversed, it was hard for the former student to reprimand the master. Particularly when Raziel had contravened the law in much the same way not so many years ago.

“Because she …” Because she knew nothing? He had no certainty of that. Because she was someone else? He knew that wasn’t true—behind those bright, curious brown eyes and that mop of red hair was Adam’s first wife, the one who lay with demons and smothered infants. He knew it, when he wished he didn’t. “Because I wished to,” he finished lamely, trying to hide his truculence. “And I trusted my instincts.”

“And you didn’t consider that your instincts might be clouded by the Lilith’s powerful sexual thrall? Because I hate to tell you, it’s quite apparent you got sucked in, if that’s the operative word, by her.”

“I did not get—Damn you!” He whirled on him. “She’s dying, and you dare to make prurient jokes?”

Raziel shook his head. He wore his hair longer—thanks to his wife, it was now past his shoulders—and he wore it loose, so that it swirled in the light breeze. “Allie will save her. She’s not going to die, I can feel it. You could too, if you weren’t so caught up in your emotions.”

“I have no emotions.”

Raziel let out a bark of laughter. “Then why did you sleep with her?”

“Beloch—Uriel forced me.” And then he realized how totally ridiculous that sounded. Uriel hadn’t forced him to do anything he hadn’t wanted an excuse to do. He glared at Raziel once more. “I slept with her because I wanted to. Is that the answer you want? I told myself it was to see whether I could resist her, but we both know that is nothing but a lie. Whether I wish to admit it or not, I wanted her, and I have since … I’m not sure when. Since long before I offered her to the Nephilim.”

“Honesty is always good for the soul,” Raziel said lightly. “Trust in Allie. You trusted her enough to bring Rachel here, enough to put her in Allie’s hands. I think worrying about whether Rachel lives or dies is a waste of time. She’ll live. You’ve got something far greater to worry about.”

Azazel drew back to look at him. “And what could that possibly be?”

“What the hell you’re going to do about her when she does.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT WAS A VERY STRANGE FEELING. IT was as if I were being born, for the first time, for countless times. Yet I knew this was for the last time—it was one of the few certainties I had. No more names, no more lives. Just this one.

The fog of pain was slowly lifting. The world was coming back into focus, and I could see I was in a hospital bed, with all the requisite tubes going into and out of my body. I observed them with distant interest. It was as if they were attached to somebody else. This broken body had betrayed me by giving me so much pain, and I preferred to keep myself aloof.

I could smell the sea. I had always been afraid of the ocean, the pull of the riptide, the waves that could crash over you and beat you down into the suffocating water.

Odd, because I was accused of suffocating infants.

In fact, old memories felt more real than my current state, half in and out half of a pain-infused nightmare. I knew my curse now. Not to kill innocent children. But to catch them up and cradle them and carry them to safety when something ended their lives.

The untouched ones were the hardest. It was called many things—witchcraft, crib death, SIDS. I carried them in my arms and washed them with my tears, each loss as wrenching as if it were my own child. It was a cruel and monstrous punishment, but there was more to it.

I comforted the women who were barren. I held them in my arms when they slept and sang to them. I went to their husbands and whispered to them, and they would rise up and take their wives and sometimes, just sometimes, the women’s bellies would fill with the children they longed for. But too often they mourned, and the husbands went elsewhere, and I could only grieve with them.

I lay down with monsters. I had a body that was used until it wore out, and then I was given another, and then another, as the foulness of their bodies defiled my human one. Their members were misshapen, barbed, clawed, and hideous, and each night my body would tear in pain, in punishment. But that was over. Long gone, and this body was new. I remembered only the acts, not the way I had felt. I was spared that much as I slowly came alive again.

I lay down with human men, always on top of them. My sin was asking questions, and my punishment was great. I lay down with human men and used them because they wanted me to, and I felt nothing.

And I lay down with a fallen angel, and felt too much.

I kept my eyes half-closed, watching the woman as she moved around my bed. She was pretty, wearing a brightly colored dress that swirled around her ankles, and she looked happy. Had I finally found a place where people could be happy?

There was color everywhere—the blue of the sky outside, the rich brown of the woman’s hair, the rainbow dresses she wore. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed color during my sojourn in the Dark City.

Day turned into night and then into day again. At times I dreamed my enemy, my betrayer, was there watching me, and I wanted to cry out. But when I opened my eyes he was gone. It was only a nightmare.

I remembered everything. I remembered him. And I remembered how to hate.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” the woman said, her voice low and musical. I considered ignoring her, but she’d tended me so carefully that I knew I had to answer.

I tried to speak, but no sound came out of my throat. For a moment I wondered if my voice was gone forever, torn away by my screams, but then a rusty sound emerged. “Yes,” I said, shocked at the gravelly sound.

“That’s good,” the woman said cheerfully. “Don’t try to talk any more. You tore your vocal cords, and the best thing you can do is rest your voice. I’m Allie, and this is Sheol. Home to the Fallen.”

The Fallen what? But I knew the answer. One of the fallen angels had saved me, circumvented Azazel’s execution order.

“You’ve been sick a very long time,” she continued, taking my hand in hers, the hand that didn’t have an IV in it. “But I’m happy to say the worst is over, and you’re well on your way to a full recovery. It will take time, but you’re getting stronger every day.”

Good to know, I thought hazily, sliding down in the bed. She still held my hand, and for some reason I didn’t pull away. I’d never liked being touched, but this woman calmed me, soothed me. Healed me. The way I had calmed, soothed, healed the barren women of the world.

“There are about forty of us here, men and women. My husband is Raziel, the leader, and I’m sort of chief cook and bottle washer. I’m the healer, the shoulder to cry on, the voice of reason occasionally, though my husband would disagree with that. You’re safe here, I promise you that. There’s no way Uriel, or Beloch, or whatever he was calling himself, can get in here. This is sacred ground, and he’s not allowed. And none of his nasty little bullies can get in either. No one’s able to reach us unless we invite them in.”

“Like vampires,” I whispered.

Allie suddenly had an odd expression. “I guess you could say so. But bottom line, no one can bother you here.”

I thought of Azazel. Was he still in the Dark City, enjoying the fruits of his betrayal? Or had my rescuers killed him during the attempt to free me? Come to think of it, how did they know I would need freeing? Hell, they were angels, albeit fallen ones; they could probably know anything they damned well wanted to.

I was getting tired, and I pulled my hand free, resting it on my stomach. Big mistake. I moaned in pain, snatching my hand back. My entire stomach felt like someone had carved their initials—

I had a flash of exactly what the Truth Breakers had done to me, with their blades and their hands and their fingernails, and my stomach twisted in horror. “I need to sleep,” I croaked.

Allie nodded. “I understand. You don’t need visitors right now.”

Visitors? Who would be visiting me? I didn’t know anyone here. I closed my eyes, shutting her out, the calm voice, the soothing touch, the healing presence. I wanted nothing and no one. Just sleep.

AZAZEL HAD LOST TRACK OF time. He sat by the water in the darkness, silent, knowing he could do nothing to help her. He simply had to wait, and waiting was torture.

Torture, he mocked himself. He remembered torture, remembered his time at the hands of the Truth Breakers, centuries ago. He had survived, but just barely, and he had strength and endurance far greater than mere mortals. And no matter what Rachel was, the body she inhabited was human, and therefore vulnerable.

What he’d gone through long ago would have killed a human three times over. He didn’t know how Rachel had managed to survive, but it had been a close thing. Another five minutes and she would have been gone. And he didn’t know how he could have borne it.

He felt her approach. The Source, Allie, the woman who had taken Sarah’s place. The woman who had been Sarah’s friend, even for such a short time, and had Sarah’s blessing. Sarah hadn’t had an angry, resentful bone in her body. She would be ashamed of him.

He started to rise, for the first time showing her that courtesy, but Allie gestured to him to sit and took the seat next to him, staring out at the sea. He held his breath. She had come to tell him that she had done her best, but that Rachel had died. Died in pain, hating him.

“She’s going to be fine,” she said softly. “She’s sleeping now, but she was awake for a while, and even able to talk a bit.”

Azazel started out of his chair, but she put her hand on his arm, her gentle touch staying him. “She’s not ready for visitors,” she said. “And before you see her, we need to talk.”

His old animosity reared up. “What about?”

“You need to understand what kind of shape she’s in. What she remembers and what she doesn’t.”

Her skin felt like ice, and he turned his face away to look at the dark, churning water. “Tell me.”

“She remembers everything. In bits and pieces, but I’m not sure how clear she is.”

“Everything?”

“She knows she’s Lilith. She remembers her curse, and what she had to do to work through her penance. Unlike the Fallen, it doesn’t appear that her curse is eternal, and someone has finally released her. At least, it seems like it.”

“It couldn’t be Uriel. He still wanted to destroy her.”

“Uriel wants to destroy anyone who has ever sinned, and that includes most of creation. After he wipes out humans, he’ll probably find a way to discover sin in animals. There’s nothing to stop him.”

“Nothing but us,” he said in a low voice. “What else does she remember?”

“She remembers her curse in fragments, and it sounds as if it’s not quite what the scrolls have led us to believe. Which isn’t a surprise—the scrolls were written by a bunch of misogynistic old men who used any excuse to denigrate women.” She made a dismissive gesture. “And don’t start giving me shit about the problem with bringing humans into Sheol and that I’ve got a bug up my ass about women’s rights. The Judeo-Christian tradition is pretty lousy toward women, and anyone with a brain knows it.”

“Are you accusing me of not having a brain?” he said in a mild voice. “I do know it.”

“Oh,” Allie said, deflated. And in the darkness, Azazel found he could feel amusement. “I imagine she’ll tell you what she remembers, and the truth about her curse. Eventually.”

“ ‘Eventually’?”

“Her memory of the last few years is as spotty as her memory of her ancient history. But she remembers you. She remembers that you staked her out for the Nephilim, but for some reason changed your mind. She remembers that you had sex with her, and then immediately handed her over to the creatures who almost killed her. But she doesn’t remember that once again you were the one to save her. Why is that?”

“I have no idea why she doesn’t remember. It’s of little importance.”

“Don’t try to dodge me. You gave her to those butchers. Why did you save her?” In the past Allie had given him a wide berth, but the last few years had strengthened her inner power, and she was no longer afraid of him. Not afraid to challenge him, to ask the hard questions, to take him to task if need be. Things had definitely changed.

“I changed my mind.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t going to discuss it further, and she shrugged.

“You’ll need to give her a better reason than that. When she’s ready to talk to you, that is. Shall I tell her you saved her?”

“Given our recent history, I doubt she’ll be impressed. I’ll tell her myself if I decide she needs to know.”

Allie nodded, then lapsed into a meditative silence. Strangely enough, he felt comfortable, sitting in the darkness with Raziel’s wife, watching the tide roll in. He could feel the last of his resentment slipping away. Sarah was gone, and the best way he could honor her and what they’d had together was to let go, move on.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment he could almost feel her hands on his shoulders, her lips brushing a kiss on the top of his head, her heavy silver braid brushing against him. He kept his eyes closed, soaking in the benediction, and then she was gone.

He opened his eyes, to discover they were wet and stinging. He blessed the darkness, but he knew Allie could see anyway. He cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t someone be checking on her?”

“Gretchen is there. I wouldn’t have left her if she hadn’t stabilized. You know that, Azazel.” Her voice was only faintly accusing.

He deserved it. “Yes,” he said. He had to say it, and for some reason it didn’t gall him. Perhaps it was Sarah’s blessing. “Thank you, Allie. Thank you for saving her.”

He half expected her to make light of it, but she simply said, “You’re welcome.”

“Raziel wonders what will happen to her.”

“She belongs here. She’s like a newborn—this is her new life, her memories, old and new. We’ll find a way to work her into the community.”

She didn’t ask him if he minded. It was no longer his decision. He’d ceded leadership to Raziel and gone on his quest, his quest to destroy the Lilith. Now he was simply one of the Fallen. And she would be here. Hating him.

“As it shall be,” he said, using the old words.

“As it shall be,” Allie murmured formally. She glanced over her shoulder. Raziel had come to join them, standing behind them, and the two of them shared a smile, the sort of secret communication he’d once had with Sarah, and he waited for that flash of anger, of jealousy and rage for all that he had lost.

It was gone. Washed clean. Astonishing, when it had ruled his life for so long.

Allie glanced up at Raziel, and he nodded, putting his hands on her shoulders as Sarah had once touched him, leaning down and placing a kiss on her head. The parallel should have disturbed him. Instead, it began to warm a very cold place inside him.

“You’re weak, Azazel,” Allie said after a moment. “I can feel it. You’ve been running on sheer nerves. It’s been much too long for you, and you know it.”

He shook his head. “I’m not ready to go up to the house or go through the ritual.”

“No need,” she said. And held out her slender wrist.

He glanced up at Raziel in surprise, but Raziel simply nodded. “You need it,” he said.

It was against the laws of Sheol to partake of the Source without the full ritual, but now Raziel made the laws. And things were already changing, with Rachel, with him. He wanted to fight the clawing need, to reject this woman, but he couldn’t. His need was too strong. He took her wrist in both hands, hesitating a moment. And then bit, delicately, as his fangs extended, and the blood was thick and sweet and healing.

He stopped before he was sated, careful not to push things, and released her arm with the traditional words of thanks.

“Are you certain you’ve had enough?” she asked, as both healer and Source. He nodded, feeling the strength course through him, filling him with steely power. “Then I’ll go check on my patient.”

As she moved back to the house, he realized that at some point she’d attained the perfect grace that went with being the Source. He could see it and admire it now.

Raziel took her abandoned seat. “I take it you don’t hate her anymore. That’s a good thing, brother.” He followed Azazel’s gaze out to the sea. “And you’re at full strength now, I presume. I have a question for you. Allie has decreed that Rachel will stay here. Does that mean you will leave?”

He thought about it. She would hate him, and the sight of her would bring a deep, inexplicable pain. A pain he wasn’t going to run from. He’d run from pain for long enough. “No. I will stay.”

Raziel nodded. “Good. I suspect we’re going to need you. I take it the Truth Breakers were unable to unearth her memories of Lucifer?”

“According to Uriel, they succeeded, for all the good it does us. We were fools to think he would actually pass the information along. And that would have been the first part of her brain they scrubbed clean.”

“Naturally. It doesn’t matter. She stays.”

Azazel nodded, rising. “I’ll be in soon.”

The sky was inky dark, the moon barely a sliver. He soared upward, past the clouds and mist that always enshrouded Sheol, into the clear, cool night. The stars were pinpricks of light, and he banked and turned, feeling the wind rush past him like fingers through his hair, kissing his face, and he thought of Rachel far below. He had to let go of her, release her as he had released Sarah.

He pushed upward, higher and higher, and the air grew colder. He could see his favorite perch down below, on the edge of the cliff, but he’d sat and brooded long enough. He was pulsing with the energy Allie’s blood had given him, and he wanted to glide and soar through the sweet-smelling night air, dancing on the wind.

He moved farther out over the ocean, where the waves rolled on top of the water in little ruffles of foam, and he turned, spun, and plunged downward, hitting the icy water in a smooth, clean dive that barely disturbed the surface.

He went deep into the bracing salt sea, and he felt its healing power rush through him, making him whole once more. He breathed in the water, letting it fill his body, his lungs, then moved upward to breathe in air again. He dove once more, and the dolphins were there, the ones he knew. They welcomed him as one of their own as they swam through the currents, turning over in the pleasure of the water, swimming with their friend with the odd fins.

He lost track of the time he spent in the water. The sun was coming up by the time he tired of it, and he pushed upward again, high enough into the air that the heat dried his clothes so that they were stiff and salt-encrusted, and when he landed lightly on the beach, Michael was waiting for him. Michael, the fighter, who never would have let the Truth Breakers take Rachel.

“Welcome back,” he said. “Raziel says you’re here to stay this time.”

“I am.”

Michael nodded. “We’ll need you. The few Nephilim that are left are gathering. Turns out the dumb bastards finally realized they could fly.”

“Wonderful,” Azazel said grimly. For a moment he remembered chaining Rachel in that deserted house in the Australian bush, and he felt sick. In the end, he’d saved her, he reminded himself. He’d saved her twice.

Because he’d tried to kill her twice. He’d been so terrified of a prophecy that he’d been ready to sacrifice her without finding out who and what she really was.

“You’ll be ready to fight?” Michael asked.

He thought of Rachel, lying in the hospital bed, so close to death. He thought of the guilt that smothered him. Exactly what Uriel would want. He needed a distraction, and he needed it now. “I am ready to fight,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE DAYS PASSED. EACH DAY HE asked Allie if Rachel was ready to see him, and each day she said wait, until he thought he’d go mad with it. Once he faced Rachel, he could let go. The prophecy was clearly false, broken. He had been able to turn her over to the Truth Breakers with no hesitation, even if he hadn’t been able to keep from coming back for her. He hadn’t meant to do that. He’d had the vain hope that they would be merciful, but one look and something had cracked.

He’d feel that way toward anyone. Torture was an abomination, and it was little wonder he felt guilty for handing her over. And he had no excuse for shoving her up against a wall and having sex with her before they took her. He hadn’t been able to stop himself, and he’d told himself that if he could come inside her and then give her to the Truth Breakers, then the prophecy must be a lie.

And so he had. He’d proven what he needed to prove, and whatever knowledge she had wedged in her brain about where Lucifer lay trapped had been extracted and stolen. Uriel had it now, though presumably he’d already known it in the first place. When the Supreme Being had passed the reins to the last archangel, he’d ordered him to watch over the universe he’d created. There was no telling what the details were.

Uriel had seized his new role with a vengeance, wielding ancient power to smite evil wherever he could, sending plagues and floods and fires and devastation wherever he saw fit. Some humans saw it as God’s curse; more enlightened ones declared such tragedies the law of nature, to be endured with God’s help. They had no idea that God’s minion had visited disaster upon them.

Just as he’d fed on Azazel’s own fear that he was doomed to spend eternity as the mate of a horrific demon. And Azazel had been fool enough to let him.

He was tired of waiting. He was doing his best to get along with Allie, but she was still a strongminded female who was slowly turning the laws of Sheol upside down, while Raziel watched carefully, seldom restraining her. She ruled the infirmary; she ruled the house and the women. She was the Source for the unmated Fallen, she was omega to Raziel’s alpha. But he was getting tired of her shit.

He was perched on the outcropping, high over the ocean and the vast building that housed the Fallen. The moon was shining down, mirrored by the dark sea, and he suddenly surged upward into the dark sky, then settled lightly on the damp sand. The time had come.

He didn’t recognize the young girl sitting at the desk in the anteroom of the infirmary. Clearly she’d been left on duty, and he put the Grace of sleep on her lightly, so that she’d wake in a few hours. He didn’t want to put Rachel at risk by knocking her caretaker out so thoroughly, but if she needed help Allie would know and leave her bed. Rachel would be in no danger.

He pushed open the door silently and slipped inside. She was asleep, as she had been those first days after he’d brought her and he wouldn’t leave her bedside. He could recognize her now. Her battered face was no longer swollen, the bruising faded to an ugly yellow. She was healing, slowly but surely.

She no longer had tubes connected to her body, though she looked very small and frail in the big white bed. It wasn’t right. He thought of her as strong, powerful, not a vulnerable human.

She still had bandages around her arms and legs, and her torso looked swollen under the sheet, either from bandages or her injuries. He didn’t want to wake her.

He sank down in the chair Allie had banished him from and watched her, contemplating her injuries. Allie’s gifts as a healer were extraordinary; such was always the case with the Source, and Rachel would be well very quickly, much faster than with normal human medicine. Raziel and Allie had decreed that she would stay. They hadn’t taken her into account.

If he’d learned one thing, it was that Rachel had a mind of her own. The problem was, she wouldn’t be safe anywhere else. Uriel hadn’t finished with her, and only the walls of Sheol could keep him out. At least for now. Uriel had spent millennia trying to figure out how to breach them, and he’d only succeeded with the Nephilim a few years ago. Sooner or later he was going to come up with an answer, though, and there would be little they could do.

She stirred in her sleep, murmuring something, and he jerked his head up, holding his breath. She slipped back into sleep again, and he relaxed, glancing toward the monitors that kept track of her pulse and her blood pressure—only to see that they were spiking.

His eyes swiveled back to her, and she was looking at him with such complete terror that it shocked him.

“Do not scream,” he said, his voice soft so as not to alert anyone.

She was shaking, and he wanted to put his arms around her and pull her against him, soothing her. Except he was the one who was frightening her. “I can’t.” It was barely more than a breath of sound in a raw, damaged voice, and he remembered that Uriel had said her voice had broken.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, starting to rise, but she shrank back, and he quickly sat down again so as not to spook her. “I wanted to see how you are.”

There was no missing the flash of contemptuous disbelief in her face. “Why should you care?” she whispered.

That was one question he couldn’t answer. “Allie is a very gifted healer.” By now he’d gotten used to praising Allie, though it still stuck in his craw just a tiny bit. “She brought you back from the brink of death.”

“No thanks to you,” she whispered. He’d forgotten she didn’t remember he’d saved her. It was hardly enough penance for allowing them to put her through such hell in the first place.

“No thanks to me,” he agreed. “But I promise you, you have nothing to fear from me. Not ever again.”

“And you lie so well.” Her voice was getting weaker, and he knew he was putting a strain on it.

“I never lied to you. I am incapable of lying.” It was the truth. He’d explained nothing, but he hadn’t lied.

“Get out of here.” The words were barely audible, but there was no missing the hatred in them.

It was no more than he’d expected. Not the fear—that had been a surprise. But the hatred and anger were normal. He’d betrayed her in every way a man can betray a woman, sent her off with torturers with his seed inside her. In truth, he was the monster.

No, he wasn’t going to tell her he’d changed his mind and gone after her. Too little, too late.

He rose, and stretched out one hand to touch her, wanting the feel of her to be absolutely certain, but she shrank away in such terror and revulsion that he pulled back, knocking against the chair as he went.

“Don’t come back,” she whispered.

He closed the door silently behind him.

I STILL COULDN’T CRY. GOD, if ever there was a time when I needed to weep, this was it. He was the monster, not me. How could anyone make love with someone and then hand her to her executioner? Not that it was making love. In fact, it was sex, hot and rough and primal, and I’d wanted it just as much as he had. I couldn’t remember much—maybe I’d even instigated it. I knew I’d been waiting, longing for him to touch me again, kiss me again.

But I couldn’t remember where we’d been. There was water, and a door behind my back. It was night, but it seemed as if it was always night in the Dark City. Wasn’t that what they’d called it?

Beloch had been nowhere to be seen. My memory was full of holes—he’d been kind, hadn’t he? Almost fatherly, in his book-lined study with the comfortable smell of pipe tobacco. He couldn’t have known that they were—

I couldn’t think about that. About the things they’d done to me. I’d discovered I could refuse to allow certain things into my memory. There were too many lifetimes, too many horrors to withstand, but I could choose to banish those I couldn’t bear. I needed to banish the Truth Breakers, and the knives, and the cooing sound they made.

Gone. It was that easy. Just as I’d banished the hundreds upon hundreds of years of lying down with monsters. It wasn’t this body, and it was over. Gone as well.

I could get rid of Azazel just as easily. Wipe out the memory of his strong hands touching me, his mouth against mine, the way he lifted me on top of him and pushed inside me.

I could get rid of that memory in the pouring rain, when I’d wrapped my legs around him and fought to get more of him. The memory of the climax that had shattered me, thrummed through my body in waves as he’d slowly released me.

And the Nightmen had come.

It would be the wise thing to do. I could remember other sex, unsatisfactory sex with humans, and maybe that was part of my curse. Though wasn’t Lilith supposed to arouse men? And I had, but not for myself. I’d aroused them for their wives, for the babies that hadn’t yet come. While I had been raped by monsters.

Gone. That was gone. And yet, in the Dark City I had only followed my natural course. I had had sex with a monster, although this one was beautiful, and he had been smooth and strong and hard. I’d learned pleasure at his hands—maybe that was worth remembering.

Allie and Raziel would protect me from him. I hadn’t asked who’d saved me—someone must have known there was trouble. I had no illusions about it: Azazel was important here. They had more than likely been watching him, and had come to save Azazel as much as to save the Lilith.

The reasons didn’t matter. I was safe, and would continue to be. Azazel would never hurt me again. Never touch me again. Allie had promised me, and her word was law.

So why did I want to weep?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AZAZEL TOOK ME AT MY WORD. I never saw him, not when I walked along the beach, soaking up the sun that somehow managed to shine through the mists that surrounded Sheol. Not at the communal meals; not in the long, spacious halls of the peculiar building. It looked like an old seaside villa from Hollywood days, part bungalow, part mission style. I couldn’t remember how I knew that much. There were too many lives for me to remember, and I learned to take my arcane bits of knowledge with equanimity. I knew enough of what was important. That my curse was finally lifted. And that I didn’t dare see Azazel.

I wondered if he’d been sent away. I had been welcomed by everyone, the fallen angels whose names were the stuff of legend: Gabriel and Michael, Gadrael and Tamlel, and the lesser-known ones, with names like Cassiel and Nisroc. And their wives, sweet, quiet women whom Allie was trying to drag into the twenty-first century. For the first time in my endless life, I felt safe and happy, cared for and at ease, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that there were no babies in Sheol had something to do with it. I wouldn’t have to watch a baby die, ever again.

I could help, though. The women assured me they had willingly traded the hope of children for the rich love they shared with their husbands, and never regretted the loss. They told me this as they wept in my arms, and my heart ached for them. At least I knew I hadn’t brought the curse of infertility to them—it had been a gift from an angry God, along with other curses they refused to speak of.

I worked in the infirmary alongside Allie, tending the small hurts and minor illnesses. Up until recently there hadn’t been so much as a cold among the Fallen, but that had changed. It had started seven years ago, with the loss of so many in the battle with the Nephilim, and the inhabitants of Sheol were slowly becoming more vulnerable.

“I’m not sure whether that’s a bad or a good thing,” Allie confided one afternoon as we sat out in the sun. For once we were doing absolutely nothing. Allie had an almost feverish energy and was seldom still, but for now we simply sat, our hands idle. “I used to call them the Step-ford wives—everyone was perfect; no one gained weight or had colds or even got so much as a splinter. It was creepy. But once the Nephilim broke through, everything changed. The wives stopped being so acquiescent, the men became less autocratic. Some of the women have even told me the sex is better, though I find that hard to believe. Sex with the Fallen is … miraculous, no matter what the circumstances.”

I felt my face heat, and I turned away to glance toward the mountains, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Do they have magic dicks or something?” I said in my raspy voice, trying to sound cynical and unconcerned. Everything about me had recovered from the trauma the Truth Breakers had inflicted, both inside and out. Everything but the wound of Azazel’s betrayal, and my voice, now permanently raw and broken. Allie assured me it was very sexy. I couldn’t see any particular advantage in that.

I felt her eyes on me. “Don’t you know?”

So here was the question. Should I lie to her, the woman who had saved my life, and protect my tenuous peace of mind? Or did I admit to a truth she probably already knew?

But Allie was a better friend than that. She simply moved on, letting me avoid giving a direct answer. “I think it’s more a case of the Fallen only taking their true mates. When they’re between wives, they will sometimes indulge in casual sex, but I gather those couplings are simply enjoyable, not life-altering. That’s how I knew I was supposed to be Raziel’s bonded mate. It took him too damned long to admit it, of course; but then men, even the fallen-angel variety, are a pain in the ass.”

Life-altering? The moments with Azazel deep inside me went far beyond enjoyable, but I refused to believe it meant anything. Besides, he was gone, banished, and I didn’t have to—

“Raziel requires your presence.”

I let out a little shriek. I hadn’t heard him approach, had had no idea he was anywhere near. And suddenly he stood in front of us, the dark creature who’d followed me, kidnapped me, loved me, and betrayed me.

No, he hadn’t loved me. He’d simply fucked me, following orders. Orders from Uriel.

Allie’s worried eyes were on me. “What does he want? Tell him he can wait.”

“He can’t wait,” Azazel said, his blue eyes boring into me. Even in this world of color they were still vivid, hard, unreadable. “There is news.”

Allie hesitated, glancing at me again. “Then come with me—”

“No,” Azazel said. His look was physical, like a touch on my newly healed body, like a caress, and I wanted to close my eyes and revel in it. I ignored it and him as I rose, preparing to follow Allie.

He caught my arm. Just like that, he put his hand on my arm, and I was helpless to break free as a rush of feeling swept over me. “Rachel and I have unfinished business. We’ll follow in a moment.”

Allie cast me an apologetic glance. “He’s right. I’ve been keeping him at a distance, but you need to deal with it sooner or later.”

“Deal with what?” I said coldly. Azazel’s flinch was so brief I might have imagined it, but I knew what had caused it. My ruined voice.

So he was capable of feeling guilt. So what?

“The elephant in the room,” Allie said incomprehensibly. A moment later she was gone, leaving me there on the beach, with Azazel still touching me.

“What do you want?” I rasped. In truth, it was a sexy bedroom voice. For what little good it did me. “If you’re going to tell me you’re sorry, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m not sorry.”

Now, why didn’t that surprise me? “Then why are we talking?”

“I did what I had to do. I had no choice, and if I had to do it over, I would do it again.” His voice was cool, matter-of-fact.

“Including fucking me up against that door in the pouring rain? That was what you had to do? What you’d do over again?”

“Find me a door.”

I swallowed convulsively. So I wasn’t immune to him. That shouldn’t surprise me. Fucking Azazel was the first sexual pleasure I had known, I told myself, deliberately crude. That was a powerful influence, no matter how epic his betrayal.

“What do you want from me?”

He said nothing, and I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. They weren’t icy cold at all, I saw with sudden shock. They were filled with heat, an earthy desire that shook me as I stared at him, and I wondered what he could see in mine.

And then I knew, as he leaned down and covered my mouth with his, and instead of pushing him away I came closer, my body drifting against his as his arm came around my waist.

He held me there, his hand on my hip, and I could feel his erection. My reaction was immediate: I was wet, longing for him, my nipples hardening in anticipation, my secret flesh quivering for his touch. His tongue pushed inside my mouth, as I wanted his cock pushing inside me, and I wanted him so desperately that everything disappeared, his betrayal, the pain, the horror. I needed him inside me; I wanted to shove him down on the sand and mount him.

I shivered, trying to fight it, but I was kissing him back, and that knowledge was a shame so great I froze.

He must have felt my sudden chill. He set me away from him, seemingly without reluctance, and his eyes were hidden by hooded lids. I didn’t have to look down to know he was still hard, to know he wanted me. Though I wondered why.

He had had others, better. Women he’d loved, presumably, though the idea of Azazel and love seemed inconsistent. “Is this part of some sadistic entertainment for you?” I said in my newly husky voice. “New ways to inflict pain?”

He didn’t react. “You have had ample time to deal with your ordeal in the Dark City.” He was cool and even, as always. “You need to come back where you belong.”

I was breathless at his gall. “And where is that?”

“In my bed.”

Fury and disbelief overpowered me, and I simply stared at him in disbelief. He took my arm, and I yanked away, stumbling back.

“We need to join the Council,” he said patiently. “I’m not about to ravish you on the sand.”

I wanted him on the sand. I was suddenly reminded of an old children’s book. In a chair, in the air, on a boat, in a coat. On the sand, with your hand. Every way I could take him. I drew myself up to my full height, hoping I was radiating dignity but knowing I probably simply looked sulky. “In your dreams,” I said.

“And yours.”

Had he seen my dreams? The wickedly erotic memories that woke me with mini climaxes? No, there was no way he could see inside my mind.

“I can read your thoughts,” he said with horrifying frankness. “Not all of them, but enough, if I try, though you are more difficult than most. I can’t see much of your dreams, but I can imagine. I have the same dreams.”

I couldn’t stand another moment talking to him. I started past him, heading toward the house, and if he’d touched me I would have run. But he didn’t. He simply fell into step beside me, and it wasn’t until we’d made our way to the door of the meeting hall that he whispered, “Mini climaxes?” in a soft voice, and I could feel the heat rise and stain my face.

They were all gathered. The Fallen were seated around the table, with one chair left for Azazel. The only woman at the table was Allie—the other wives were seated in the back, and I’d started toward them when Azazel took my hand. “She belongs at the table.”

I desperately wanted to yank my hand free, but there were too many people watching, and I felt suddenly shy. “He’s right,” Allie said. “Someone get her a chair.”

“I don’t need—” I began, but Azazel overruled me.

“This is of concern to you as well.”

Someone drew another chair up to the vast table beside Azazel’s, and I had no choice. I sat, trying to keep apart from him in the confined space, but when he slid in next to me his thigh brushed against mine, and there was no way I could retreat, short of climbing into Michael’s lap—and even I stopped short of climbing into the archangel Michael’s lap, whether he’d fallen or not.

“Word has come to us,” Raziel said. “Uriel has found Lucifer’s tomb.”

This meant nothing to me. Allie had told me the Fallen were searching for the place where the Supreme Being had imprisoned the first of the Fallen, but it had nothing to do with me.

But all eyes were upon me, an unsettling situation, and I felt Azazel’s hand on my thigh, calming me, restraining me, copping a feel, I wasn’t sure which. I wanted to scuttle out of the way, but Michael was too close, and with his shaven head and tattooed body he looked almost lethal. I stayed where I was.

Finally Allie said, “Stop looking at her. Don’t you realize she doesn’t have any idea what’s going on?”

It was Raziel who spoke. “You told Uriel where Lucifer is,” he said, his measured voice expressing no censure. “That’s what the Truth Breakers were trying to retrieve from you.”

“I should point out that my visit with the Truth Breakers wasn’t my idea, it was Azazel’s,” I said with remarkable calm. “And if you hadn’t sent someone to rescue me, I would have died.”

“In fact, it was the Council’s decision to send you to the Truth Breakers. We didn’t know that the Dark City was part of Uriel’s kingdom.”

“Well, that’s all right, then,” I said, letting the sarcasm through. “Didn’t you think there might be an easier way to get the information from me?”

“No.”

God, he could be just as monosyllabic as Azazel.

“The bottom line is, if Azazel hadn’t turned me over to the torturers, they wouldn’t know anything about where Lucifer is. And don’t ask me—I don’t remember anything but … pain.” My ruined voice broke a little on that, despite my best effort, and I glared at Raziel. I wanted to glare at the man beside me, but that would mean I actually had to look at him, and I couldn’t trust myself to do that.

“They took that memory from you,” Azazel said from beside me.

“Is that why you sent someone to save me at the last minute?” I asked Raziel, ignoring him. “Because you realized they were the bad guys? Or because you figured they’d already stripped my memories of anything useful?”

I could see Azazel make some kind of gesture out of the corner of my eye, but Raziel ignored him. “I didn’t send anyone to save you. You’re a demon. Your well-being isn’t our concern—you were expendable.”

“Then who—”

“None of that matters,” Azazel interrupted. “The question is, what are we going to do now?”

Raziel’s eyebrows slammed together in displeasure. “I think you should answer Rachel’s question.”

I had the sudden idea that I wasn’t going to like the answer. No one else was volunteering the information—no one was saying anything—so I turned my head to look at Azazel.

It hit me anew, my longing for him, for the monster who’d delivered me to torturers. It was crazy and wrong, and I would die before he found out. “So tell me,” I said calmly.

The bright blue eyes, watching me without emotion. The gorgeously shaped mouth that had kissed me. The hands that had turned me over to the Truth Breakers without a moment’s hesitation.

“I brought you back.”

I froze, going through a mental litany of curses. I was just going to shut up now, before I found out anything else I didn’t want to hear. What was I supposed to do, thank the son of a bitch? I couldn’t move away from the insistent pressure of his thigh against mine, and knew that if I tried to leave the table, he’d simply force me back down. But I could move his restraining hand. I picked it off my thigh and deposited it on his own. He left it there.

“We have decided to follow the prophecy, since fighting it has only made things worse,” Raziel was saying, though whether to me or the others I wasn’t sure. “The demon Lilith will wed Asmodeus, king of demons, and together they will rule hell. They will raise Lucifer up from darkness, and they will beget a new generation of the Fallen.”

“But we know that’s impossible,” Allie spoke up. “For one thing, Rachel is no longer the Lilith. Her servitude is broken.”

“How do you know?” her husband said.

Allie ignored him. “As for Azazel, he’s only referred to as Asmodeus in a few obscure texts. Some people think he’s an entirely different demon.”

“I might point out that I’m not a demon.” Azazel’s voice beside me might almost have held humor, but I knew that was impossible. Besides, if he found anything about this funny, I’d hate him even more than I already did.

“On top of that, we can’t reproduce, so how they can beget a new generation of the Fallen is beyond me. The prophecy is just one of the twisted stories Uriel put about to torment the wives of the Fallen and sow discord among us. It’s wicked enough that we offered Rachel up to them in our desperation to find Lucifer. If you’ll remember, I was against it in the first place. And it not only didn’t help us, it gave Uriel the advantage, and in the meantime we lost our humanity.”

“My love,” Raziel said gently, “we’re not human.”

“Well, I am,” Allie snapped.

“In fact, you’re not.”

She glared at him across the table, and a lesser man would have watched himself. “Are you suggesting we offer Rachel up as a virgin sacrifice once more, even though she no longer has anything we need?”

“That remains to be seen. Asmodeus and the Lilith will rule—”

“Enough, already. She’s no longer Lilith, and we don’t know if Azazel ever was Asmodeus. Come up with a better reason.”

“How about this one,” Azazel said from beside me. “Uriel believes that prophecy, whether it’s true or not. It unnerves him, frightens him, and there’s not much that can frighten the archangel. And frightened creatures make mistakes. If he believes he has something to fear from us, he’ll go straight for where Lucifer is entombed, and he’ll lead us there.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Michael demanded. “Sit and wait? Wait for him to uncover Lucifer and destroy him?”

“He can’t do that. He can’t override the Supreme Being’s edicts, which is why he hasn’t destroyed us. We live in the curse placed upon us by an angry and vengeful God. Uriel’s not divine.” Raziel’s voice was measured.

“Even though he thinks he is,” Allie said. There was a ripple of laughter around the table, which astonished me. I wouldn’t have thought these grim creatures capable of laughter.

“So what do we do?” Michael repeated.

“The answer is obvious.” Azazel’s cool, deep voice almost seemed to vibrate within me, he was so close. “He will attempt to wipe out the first threat. He’s already tried it and failed, which must gall him. If he believes the Lilith and Asmodeus are truly mated, he will panic. The threat of the union is at least twofold: not only that we will find Lucifer, but that we will beget children and the curse will be broken. If the Fallen can have children, then our numbers increase, and we grow stronger.”

I was speechless with outrage, and by the time I found words Michael had already overridden me. “And you will reign in hell. Uriel has joined heaven and hell, so if he believes the prophecy, he will fear that you will reign over his own kingdom.”

“The Dark City?” Azazel said. “He can have it.”

“And if you bond, you will find Lucifer and raise him, and our army will have a leader,” Michael added, his voice tight. “It sounds like a good plan.”

Michael, the warrior angel—of course he’d think anything involving battle was a good plan. Once more I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came out. It was my damned voice. There still wasn’t much to it, and any stress or heavy breathing shut it off entirely.

“It’s not without its risks,” Raziel said. “But as far as I can see, it’s our best option. Are we all agreed? Azazel and Rachel will mate?”

I pulled away, knocking my chair over as I went. Azazel could have stopped me, but he let me go, and I ended up with my back against the wall, literally and figuratively.

Finally I found my voice. “Hell, no.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THEY ALL JUST LOOKED AT ME AS if I’d grown a second head. “You heard me,” I said fiercely. “Hell, no.”

Azazel’s eyes were on me, unreadable as always. “Why have you suddenly become so squeamish? We’ve already done most of it.”

Heat flooded my face. “Yes, you fucked me on Beloch’s orders. You see how far that got us.”

Damn, everyone’s eyes were moving between Azazel and me as if this were the world’s best tennis match. That, or a soap opera.

“I disagree. I found it most instructive,” he said in his cool, emotionless voice. “It proved we’re physically compatible.”

“Not anymore,” I snarled.

Allie jumped in, thank God. “Azazel, you haven’t thought this through. You can’t risk mating with her. It’s too dangerous.”

“He already has ‘mated’ with me, didn’t you hear him? And why should it be dangerous? I’m not a praying mantis—I don’t bite the heads off my partners once we’re finished. Even if they deserve it,” I added.

Allie shook her head. “You don’t understand. And really, you don’t need to. This is simply too dangerous for Azazel to attempt. He knows he can mate only with his chosen one. If he mates with a casual partner, he could die.”

I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but everyone else in the room seemed to understand. I stood there, wishing I hadn’t jumped up. Now I felt foolish and vulnerable, the only one in the room standing. I was being too emotional—it had always been one of my failings.

“She’s right,” Raziel said finally. “You can’t risk it.”

“It is no risk,” Azazel said. “I choose her.”

There was dead silence in the room, shock mixed with doubt. I opened my mouth to announce that I sure as fuck hadn’t chosen him, then wisely shut it again. Spouting off wasn’t getting me anywhere.

“Azazel, her blood will poison you,” Allie said gently.

“If I am wrong, perhaps. But I am not. Consider the prophecy.”

“If you believe all the prophecies, the world should have ended a dozen times already,” she said stubbornly. “You don’t really believe that you and Rachel will reign in hell. Only Uriel does.”

“Yes. And Uriel will know when we mate. When I take her blood. Only then will we—”

“Wait a minute.” I pushed away from the wall. “What’s all this about blood?”

“Sit down,” Raziel said, an order, not a suggestion. I didn’t want to, but Azazel took my wrist and yanked, ungently, and I was crammed in beside him again. This time his hand held both my wrists beneath the table, and there was no escape.

“I can explain this to her when we are alone,” Azazel said, but Raziel made a dismissive gesture.

“Explain it to her now,” he said.

Azazel was watching me, his expression impassive. “Very well. When we fell, we were sentenced to eternal damnation, with no hope of redemption. We were cursed to watch our loved ones grow old and die; there would be no children, and we would ferry the dead between this world and the next. But when the second waves of angels followed us, they became the Nephilim, abominations.”

“I remember,” I muttered, trying to yank my hands away. His long fingers about my wrists might as well have been manacles.

“The Supreme Being added a new punishment. The Nephilim, the abominations, could only go out in the dark, and they would survive on flesh.” He hesitated for only a moment, then continued, “The Fallen are the blood-eaters. We must survive on the blood of our chosen mates, or, if one of us has recently lost a mate, the Source provides enough to keep him healthy until he mates again.”

“What’s the Source?” God knows why I asked that stupid question, with all the absurdity washing over me.

“I am,” Allie said quietly. “I am married to the Alpha, and I provide the blood for those like Azazel and Michael, until each finds his bonded mate. It’s a complicated process, and a mistake can be fatal. Only my blood and that of his chosen is safe for one of the Fallen. If he tries to drink from anyone else, he sickens and often dies.”

“God,” I muttered. “As if this weren’t crazy enough, we get vampires too.”

“Blood-eaters,” Allie said gently. “From the Bible.”

“Seriously?” For a moment I was genuinely distracted, wondering where in the Old Testament the vampires lurked. Where was the Book of Twilight, between Proverbs and Psalms? And then things became clearer. “My blood? You think he’s going to drink my blood? Are you out of your mind?”

“I agree,” Allie said. “You’re grasping at straws, Azazel. If she is your bonded mate, we all would have known it. If you agree to this, you’ll kill both of you.”

“Uh, explain that,” I broke in, my voice sounding even rougher. “You said my blood would poison him.”

Allie said nothing, and Azazel continued, “If you aren’t my chosen mate, there’s the possibility that I might drain you before I die. In some circumstances the need becomes more and more powerful, uncontrollably so. It happened a few years ago, with Ephrael.”

“We can’t afford to risk Azazel,” Raziel concluded.

Not to mention me, I thought grimly. “No.”

At the same time, Azazel said, “Yes.”

“You can’t make me.” This came out sounding like a playground taunt, but I was past caring.

“I could,” Azazel said smoothly.

Before I could protest, Raziel broke in. “No, we can’t make you. Indeed, there is no question but that the body and the blood must be freely given. If you say no, the discussion is at an end.”

Dead silence reigned again, making me feel guilty and edgy. “It’s not as if the fate of the world is hanging on this,” I protested.

The expression on Allie’s face gave me the answer.

“Azazel,” Raziel said, “you must find another partner. Clearly you are mistaken in thinking Rachel is your chosen one. You must look elsewhere.”

“No!” I looked around me, not able to believe that protest had erupted from my damaged throat. It had nothing to do with rational thought. The idea of Azazel claiming another sent a white-hot rage through my body. Which was another surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” Raziel said.

I wouldn’t look at Azazel. I knew his expression would register triumph, and I couldn’t bear it. “I said no,” I repeated. “You don’t have time for him to find some hypothetical chosen mate. It’s like looking for true love—it never shows up when you go searching.”

“Rachel, a chosen mate is a Fallen’s true love,” Allie explained.

I squirmed. Nothing like digging the hole deeper. “If he goes searching, he’s even more likely to find the wrong one, and he could die,” and damned if my broken voice didn’t crack on the word die.

“Then what do you suggest?” Raziel’s voice dripped sarcasm. “We just wait for the world to end?”

Shit. So it was all coming down to me? I felt as if I were suffocating, all the millennia crushing me, and I couldn’t breathe. “I need to get out of here,” I said in a panicked voice, which of course could barely be heard. “Please. I need to think.”

The hands around my wrists released me, and I moved before he could change his mind, pulling away from the table. No one tried to stop me, and I ran from the room, practically falling in my haste to get away.

The sun was shining through the eternal mist that covered Sheol. Everyone was in the council chamber—the only living things outside were the seagulls wheeling and mewing overhead. I walked down to the water’s edge, staring as the waves crested and spilled toward me.

I knew now why I was afraid of the ocean: I had been drowned by a man I thought loved me, hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

I made myself sit on the sand, watching the roiling water as the tide came in, closer and closer. So the fate of the world came down to me? I would have laughed if it weren’t so damnable. Why did it have to come to this?

I hadn’t smothered babies. I hadn’t lured men to their doom. But I had done other reprehensible things in my rage as the Lilith. I was a storm demon in ancient Mesopotamia, whipping up wind that buried towns and all their inhabitants in sand. I had brought down hurricanes and typhoons and tornadoes; I had rained destruction on those who had hurt me over the years. Once I’d escaped from my sexual servitude to the demons, my rage had been monumental, and I had visited it upon everyone.

I had penance to complete. On the one hand, the entire world might be destroyed and an evil old man would triumph. On the other hand, I could pay for my sins and save the world, simply by having sex with a creature who made my bones melt, no matter how much I hated him. I wanted him just as much as I wanted him dead, and no common sense seemed to talk me out of it. In truth, I might not be his chosen one. But whether I liked it or not, he was mine.

The answer was clear. It might kill him, which was fine with me. It might kill us both, which was, oddly, equally acceptable. But I knew it wouldn’t. I knew the truth, though I refused to face it head-on.

The only thing I didn’t like was the blood part.

I rose. The tide had come in far enough to touch my bare toes, and they tingled, flexing, almost drawing me in. I pulled back, though. I was afraid of the ocean, I reminded myself. Afraid of drowning.

I walked back into the house, kicking the sand off my feet as I went. I could hear their voices raised in argument, too many people talking at once. I pushed open the door, and everyone fell silent.

My eyes went to Azazel’s. His face was impassive, pale, and beautiful. He already knew the answer. I looked away.

“I’ll do it.”

AZAZEL WATCHED THE CONFUSION ABOUT him with a calm he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t going to think about when, or how, or why. He distrusted prophecies. But he knew this was meant to be.

The assembly room had emptied quickly after Rachel’s blunt announcement, with Allie and the women spiriting her away and the other Fallen heading off. Only Michael and Raziel remained. Michael, the warrior, the loner, who seldom mated and subsisted on the bare minimum of the Source’s blood. He had that lean, hungry look, his hair shaved close, his muscled, tattooed arms tight with anger. Raziel was looking equally disturbed, ready for another kind of battle. Azazel knew what was coming.

“You needn’t bother trying to talk me out of it,” he said. “The decision has been made.”

“You can change your mind,” Raziel said. “We’ve barely made do without you for most of the last seven years. I don’t know what we’d do if you died.”

“You have a death wish,” Michael said in a rough voice before Azazel could argue. “We’ve all seen it.”

Denying it would be useless, even if he could. And these were the two men he trusted most in the world. “Had a death wish,” Azazel corrected him. “And you’re a fine one to talk of death wishes, Michael. You storm into any battle you can find—it’s a wonder you’ve survived so long.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he said. “Battle is in my nature; it’s my purpose in life. Yours is to rule.”

“Not any longer. Raziel rules, and rules wisely. I have another role to play, and I no longer fight it. As for my death wish—it would be useless to deny it. Sarah’s death was … too much. I had no warning, no preparation, and I was tired of it all. But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Because you’ve fallen in love with a demon?” Raziel arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”

“She’s no more a demon than I am. Which I suppose is a possibility, if you read certain scrolls,” he added with uncharacteristic humor. He had begun to find certain things oddly amusing recently, which still managed to astonish him.

“That still begs the question. Are you telling us you’re in love with the woman whose death you’ve been seeking for the last seven years?”

“No. Of course not. But there remains a connection, for good or ill, and it’s our only hope.”

“And if you die?” Michael said.

Azazel shrugged. “Then I die. I’ve lived an endless life; I’ve been on earth for millennia. I am not afraid of death, even if I no longer embrace it.”

“What if death is some eternal damnation we haven’t figured out?” Raziel demanded.

“Even then. But I doubt that will be the case. I think for those of us who are cursed, our fate will be an eternal nothingness. With just enough awareness to recognize it.”

“It sounds like hell to me,” Michael grumbled.

“It sounds peaceful,” Azazel said. “But it is not my time, and won’t be. We will mate and bond, and Uriel will know, and it will drive him insane with worry.”

“And you’re willing to put up with her being your bonded mate? Even if your feelings are, shall we say, lukewarm, you know as well as I do what bonding does to a female. She’ll be tied to you, and there won’t be any escape.”

“I know.”

“She’ll be taking Sarah’s place,” Michael said with devastating bluntness, going straight for the heart, the warrior whose arrow was true.

“I know,” Azazel said again. “But she will not serve as the Source. As far as I can tell, she has no powers left to her—she’s fully human. And if we find we are not compatible, there are endless jobs I’m needed for away from Sheol. I don’t anticipate her being a problem.”

“All right,” Raziel said finally. “Just make sure you don’t drain her. It would solve my problem, but Uriel might think it would get in the way of a happy marriage.”

“The corpse bride,” Michael said with a dark laugh. “Why not?”

Azazel said nothing.

THE PROBLEM WITH EAVESDROPPING WAS that you never heard good stuff, like someone talking about your intelligence and beauty, or hell, even something boring like the weather. You were more than likely to hear something you’d be better off not hearing. Otherwise they would have said it to your face.

I was being ridiculous, of course. Why should I think he’d fallen in love with me, simply because he’d announced I was his chosen? I imagined a chosen mate in this clearly patriarchal society was simply whomever he fancied who would hold still long enough. The whole thing about poisoned blood was bogus. In fact, the whole thing about blood was probably bullshit. It had nothing to do with us.

Except that I remembered in the darkness, in the rain, I’d bit him, tearing his skin, licking at his blood. Why? I was no blood-eater. It apparently was a curse for the Fallen alone, yet I’d sought his out. Maybe I was simply kinky when I was so aroused that I couldn’t think. Anything was possible, considering I had never been so aroused in my life.

It would serve him right if I bit him again, but I doubted he’d care. In fact, I thought, bored forbearance was the way to deal with things, since that was most likely how he’d handle it. So what if I’d experienced astonishing pleasure with his lean, beautiful body? I could control my own reactions. He could do anything he wanted, and I’d simply think about something else.

It would drive him crazy.

“What are you grinning at?” Allie demanded, coming up beside me. “You look positively wicked.”

“We all have wicked thoughts,” I said serenely, moving away from my listening post. In truth, it hadn’t been my fault. I’d simply gone in search of some quiet, finding it in the low-slung chairs out on one of the decks. I hadn’t realized it led off from the assembly room.

“Come see your rooms.”

“The bed in the infirmary is just fine—”

“No, I’m talking about Azazel’s rooms. And yours.”

“I am not—I repeat, not—going to share rooms with Azazel. I’ll mate with him, do the bonding-blood thing, but that’s it. Afterward we can go our separate ways.”

Allie shook her head. “No, you can’t. It’s permanent. A tie that can’t be broken, except by death.”

“Death didn’t seem to break the tie between Azazel and Sarah.” I hated the thought of her existence, even though she had been only one of an endless line of human wives he’d outlived.

“That was more the circumstances of her death than the tie between them,” Allie said gently. “Sarah would have let him go, wanted him to let go. But Azazel can be very stubborn, and he was filled with rage and had no way to vent it.”

“Except to go after a demon. Why me? Why did he suddenly decide that he had to kill me?”

“Because of the prophecy, of course. You were supposed to take Sarah’s place. He wanted to make certain that was impossible.” She was trying to make it reasonable, but I wasn’t buying it.

“By disposing of the demon,” I said.

“Yes. But you need to realize he didn’t know you were no longer a demon,” she said fairly. “He thought you were a monster who killed babies.”

“He shouldn’t believe the bad publicity.”

“He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“And I’m supposed to forgive him? Because he didn’t know?”

“I don’t know that he wants your forgiveness,” Allie said. “I don’t think he’s there yet. He’s too caught up in guilt.”

“Tough,” I snapped, feeling brutal. “I’m not sharing the rooms, the bed he shared with his beloved Sarah.” I was horrified to realize that I sounded jealous. What was wrong with me?

“You won’t be. These are new rooms. It seemed wisest—Azazel is better off without the Alpha quarters.”

“But I thought Raziel was the Alpha.” I was trying not to think about Saint Sarah and her sleeping arrangements. I was trying not to think about why I was feeling such resentment. But I was being eaten up with jealousy.

“Raziel has only been the Alpha since Sarah died. The only Alpha the Fallen have ever had besides Azazel. So you don’t have to worry about any old memories getting in the way of your relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” I said.

Allie just smiled.

A few minutes later she pushed open the heavy wooden door to the suite and gestured me inside. I paused for a moment, taking it in.

The living room was beautiful. Almost Japanese in its simplicity, with low-slung couches and lower tables, it felt quiet and peaceful. Almost as if it were waiting for someone.

“The bedroom’s just beyond,” Allie said helpfully, and I couldn’t avoid it.

It was beautiful as well, with a huge bed as the centerpiece. A bed I’d share with Azazel, I thought, grimacing. It was a lovely room, and the bathroom was a sybarite’s dream. I could be happy in these rooms. If I didn’t have to share them.

“Whose rooms were these?” I asked, running my hand along the thick silk coverlet on the bed. It was deep red, the color of wine. The color of blood, I thought absently. Maybe they wanted to hide the stains.

“Tam’s last wife was into decorating, and she wanted to make a honeymoon suite. No one’s used it—you won’t find any memories here.”

I took one last look around me, then nodded and headed back into the living room. “All right,” I said. “I like it. The question is, where do I sleep until we do this mating thing?”

Allie’s expression was one of grave concern. “Didn’t you realize, Rachel? It’s going to be tonight.”

Shit, I thought, taking another look around me. “What if I’m not ready?”

“Have you changed your mind? You’re allowed to.”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind. I just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.”

“We might as well get it over and done with,” Azazel’s voice came from the doorway.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SHE LOOKED AS IF SHE EXPECTED him to cut her throat in order to drink her blood, Azazel thought grimly. He still wasn’t sure why the hell she’d agreed to this. He’d expected he’d have to spend days, weeks, breaking down her resistance. No one had been more shocked when she’d returned to the council chamber and announced she’d do it.

She had a trace of sunburn on her nose. No wonder—with her flaming hair she had very pale skin, and she’d headed straight out into the midday sun. He’d kept an eye on her through the council-room windows, watched her as she sat staring at the water. He’d known the moment she’d made up her mind, known by the squaring of her shoulders. He just hadn’t known what that decision would be.

And now she was here, in the Alpha’s rooms, looking at him like he was her worst nightmare. She was right. If he’d left her alone two years ago, she could have had a peaceful life. The demon inside her had probably already left her, though he wasn’t intuitive enough to recognize its disappearance. He could only trust Allie’s word.

But it was too late for what-ifs. She was wearing some shapeless white thing, and he hated it. He wanted to tear it off her, with his teeth if need be. He wanted Allie to get the hell out of there and leave them alone. He could smell Rachel’s blood through her skin.

He smiled politely. He’d spent too much time hating both of the women before him, wanting them both dead, and it was all connected to Sarah. To missing her as if a piece of himself had been cut out.

He wasn’t going to let that happen again. It was too painful, and it spilled over onto the innocent. He wasn’t going to feel that obsessive love again. He would mate with Rachel, bond with her, and that would be that. Uriel would be enraged, and they could concentrate on fighting him, not worrying about wives and mates and sex and blood.

Sex and blood. He looked at Rachel and his nostrils flared. “Why don’t you leave us, Allie?” he said in his even voice. He had worked eons to perfect the cool unconcern he usually displayed, and he wasn’t about to give it away now.

“Why?” Rachel said nervously.

But Allie merely gave her an encouraging smile and slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

For a moment he wondered if she’d make a run for it. “You can always change your mind,” he said softly.

“And have the fate of the world weighing on my shoulders? I don’t think so. If all I have to do is lie back and let you do me, then I think I can manage.”

“Do you?” he echoed, startled and amused.

“I’ve decided I don’t like the word fuck,” she said primly. “So, exactly how do we go about accomplishing this?”

At that point he did smile. He couldn’t help it. She was not happy with the situation, and he couldn’t blame her. “I think we managed well enough before.”

“I mean, do you bite me before or after?”

She was nervous, which surprised him, given the sex they’d had both in her room in the Dark City and outside in the pouring rain with the Nightmen bearing down on them. It had been intense, visceral, animalistic, strong enough to shake him to his bones. He wouldn’t have thought she’d retain any shyness after that. “I thought you remembered everything from before,” he said. “You’re acting like a scared virgin, not a succubus.”

“I wasn’t a succubus!”

“You bedded down with monsters.”

“And I’m doing it again,” she shot back. “The good thing is, I don’t remember it. With luck, I’m going to forget all about you.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “Not ever.” And he started toward her.

I HELD MY GROUND. HE probably wanted me to run, to be afraid, but I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He wouldn’t hurt me, not deliberately. I had agreed to this, and my motives weren’t completely noble. I wanted to see if having sex with him was as devastating an experience as it had been before, before he’d betrayed me. I wanted to see if this time I could resist him. I wanted to see if I was the weak, useless creature I feared I was. I wanted … I wanted him.

He didn’t pull me into his arms, as I’d expected. I was prepared to be stiff and unyielding, but he made no attempt to touch me. He simply stood there, too tall, looming over me in his dark clothes, while I was wearing the flowing white pajamas Allie had brought me. It seemed symbolic.

He reached out and undid the first button on the front of my loose white jacket, his touch so light that I didn’t feel it, just felt the button give way. He moved to the second, again that deft touch, and cool air danced against my skin.

I swallowed. My heart was hammering, and I tried to remember tricks I had learned, ways to slow my heartbeat and my breathing, ways to calm my body. I tried to picture a cool, glassy pool. Another button gone. Imagined lying in a field of green, looking up into the blue, blue sky, watching the clouds chase each other as birds sang noisily. Another button, and I didn’t think there were many left. I wasn’t going to look down—that would make things worse. I closed my eyes, humming in my mind, some nonsense song to try to drive away the feel of the cool air against my suddenly hot skin. He reached the last button, and it was all I could do not to jump away from him.

I could think of nothing to distract me as he pushed the jacket off my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms and onto the floor, so that I was standing there in a loose tank top, the drawstring pants, and nothing more. The Fallen didn’t seem to believe in underwear, and I’d had to insist on the tank top to wear beneath the clothes, despite Allie’s arguments. He surveyed me for a long moment, tilting his head slightly as his heavy-lidded gaze washed over me.

“Try counting to one hundred in Latin,” he suggested affably, reaching for the hem of the tank top. “That might work.”

I glared at him. I’d forgotten he could occasionally read my thoughts. “Do you know how annoying that is?” I said, trying to work up a good head of steam.

“I don’t care.” Before I realized what he was doing, he’d skinned me out of the tank top and tossed it on the floor, leaving me half-naked.

Okay, he’d already seen me that way. My nipples tightened instinctively in the warm room, remembering his touch on them, his mouth on them, sucking, and I—

I wasn’t going to get aroused. Cool water, I thought, mentally letting it wash over my heated skin. He didn’t touch my breasts, when I was expecting him to, had steeled myself against it, and somehow that was even more arousing. The anticipation was making the blood pool everywhere it needed to. Blood, I reminded myself, trying to cool the heat in me. For some reason it only made me hotter.

He was going to unfasten the drawstring next, and the pants would go sliding onto the floor and I’d be naked, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. Not without going back on my word. I waited, impatient.

But he didn’t. Instead he picked me up, and at his touch I froze, remembering his arms supporting me against that wooden door, remembering his strength, remembering his betrayal. Wanting to cry, when despite my lack of demonhood I still hadn’t been able to summon tears, only dry, racking sobs when no one was around.

There would be no tears in front of Azazel. He carried me into the bedroom, even though I was stiff as a board, and set me down on the huge bed. A second later he followed, kneeling over me.

“Uh, don’t you think we ought to pull down the covers?” I said nervously.

“Why? Do you think we’ll mess them up?”

Asshole, I thought, glaring at him.

“Green fields and blue skies, Rachel,” he said. “Lie back and think of England, remember?”

I lay back, more to get my breasts out of his way than for any other reason. I was still expecting him to pull off the loose pants, but he did nothing, and I wondered if he was going to bite me first.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, my broken voice edgy.

“And which question was that?”

“Are you going to bite me before or after sex?”

His bright blue eyes met mine. “During,” he said, and put his hand between my legs.

I arched off the bed, surprised, aroused by his touch through the fabric. Reflexively I tried to close my legs, but he moved one knee between them, keeping them apart, as his long fingers moved between my legs, touching me through the light cotton. “Why are you wet, demon?” he whispered. “You’re not supposed to be liking this.”

“I’m … I’m not a demon any longer,” I said in a tight voice, trying to fight the insidious feelings that were sweeping through me. His touch was light, but even I could feel the dampness as he slid the cloth against me.

“No,” he said, leaning forward, one hand braced on the bed, the other still between my legs. “Only to me.”

I felt sorrow and disappointment begin to overtake me, but he brushed my lips with his, so softly that it felt like a benediction. “You have become my own personal demon. You haunt me, tempt me, drive me mad with wanting you, and I can no longer blame prophecies or powers or fate. It’s just you. I have chosen you, because I cannot imagine ever wanting anyone else, ever again. You possess me, obsess me; you’re everywhere inside me and I cannot get rid of you. And worst of all, I don’t wish to.”

I was breathless, staring up at him. “For a declaration of love, that leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I don’t love you. I won’t love you,” he said, and his gently moving fingers found the center of my pleasure, and I jerked, sliding down on the bed. “But by the time I’m done with you, you won’t notice the difference.”

He put his hand behind my neck, drawing my mouth to his as he slid down beside me, and his tongue silenced all my useless words of protest. He was wrong. Afterward I would remember the difference. But right now the burgeoning sensations were so powerful that I couldn’t fight them. Pride had gone out the window. I was starving, ravenous for him. I would take what I could get.

The wet cloth that separated his deft fingers from me was maddening. I felt him push inside me, but the fabric prevented him from all but the slightest penetration, and I made a low, moaning sound of frustration against his mouth, arching my hips in mute supplication. He lifted his mouth, and his eyes were bright blue in a room that now seemed full of shadows. “Ask me,” he whispered.

I clamped my mouth shut, determined not to say the words, and he let his tongue play along the seam of my closed lips, teasing, tasting, until I wanted nothing more than to open to him. Stubbornness and frustration were warring with one another until I wanted to scream. I slid down farther on the bed, arching my hips against his hand. “Ask me,” he said again, a finger brushing against me, sending sparks of desire shooting through my body.

I was panting now, and the friction of the damp cloth against the most sensitive part of my body was exquisite, almost to the point of pain. I needed so much more, I needed release, I needed it now. I closed my eyes as he leaned over me, his lips teasing mine; but as the arousal built to an almost unbearable point, I opened them to stare into his, not bothering to hide the rage and hurt that were filtering through the heat.

His own eyes had been slumberous, half-closed, but they opened and met mine, and in a different creature I might have seen regret. His hand moved from between my legs, and he hunched forward, cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my lips before he leaned forward and kissed them. “All right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I’d never thought to hear those words from him. I thought of my ruined voice, the scars on my body, and then I let go. Hating and loving him was tearing me apart. I could no more stop loving him than I could stop breathing. So I had to stop hating him.

His mouth moved along the line of my jaw, kissing, nipping lightly, gliding down my throat till he tasted my pulse, and I knew a moment’s wonder whether he would take my blood now, but he moved past, down, and my breasts were tingling, waiting for his touch, waiting for his mouth. His hands slid down, covering them, and I cried out with the sensation, a raw, rough sound, and then I made no sound at all as his mouth closed over one taut nipple, drawing it in tightly, his tongue dancing across the beaded top as he sucked, and I wondered if I could come simply from his mouth at my breast. And then I remembered his hoarse, one-word command, “Come,” and my body went rigid as a small climax caught me.

I fell back against the pillows, panting, shocked by the intensity of my response, but he’d already moved to my other breast, the climax this time almost immediate.

I tried to catch my breath as he slid the loose pants down my legs, and then his hands slid up them, up the insides of my calves, my thighs, strong hands. He was going to take me now, I thought, part of me rebelling. I didn’t want him on top, controlling me; I didn’t want to be mastered. His hands touched me, and I knew I was wet and ready for him, and I told myself I could do this, I could lie still for him. I waited for the sound of his zipper, the rough rustle of jeans pushed down, but he leaned down and put his mouth against me.

I knew people did this, of course I did. I had inspired men to do this to their wives, in my demon life. But no one, absolutely no one, had ever done this to me, put his mouth between my legs and licked me, tasted me, sucked at me, until a muffled sob broke from my throat and my hands came up to his head, wanting to push him away. It was too much, I couldn’t bear it; but his long hair flowed onto my hips and instead I threaded my fingers through the silky strands.

The touch of his tongue was more subtle than that of his strong fingers, luring me into a dark, strange place where such delight existed that I hovered, frightened, as his tongue circled and flicked. He slid a finger inside me, and I arched off the bed, but before I could sink back he’d withdrawn it and pushed two inside, and I could feel my toes begin to curl. And then three fingers, and I was done, a silent scream coming from deep inside me as my entire body convulsed into darkness.

He was inside me before I had even begun to come down, pushing, his cock deep inside me, and I panicked, bucking, fighting him, trying to throw him off me.

He caught my wrists easily, slamming them down on the bed, his hips pinioning me. My struggles were useless, yet I couldn’t stop, terrified.

He lay on top of me, holding me down. “Stop it,” he panted in my ear. “Stop fighting it. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. There’s no other choice.”

His words were barely making sense. All I knew was that I had to stop him, had to reverse him, had to be on top, not beneath him; but he was too strong, and I couldn’t dislodge him. He wasn’t trying to continue, merely holding me there like someone trying to break a skittish mare, I thought with sudden, almost hysterical amusement.

“No,” I pleaded, my pride vanished. “Please, no.”

He put his face next to mine, rubbing gently, an almost animal gesture of reassurance. “We have to, Rachel,” he whispered. “Just this once, I have to take you this way, so that I can take your blood.”

I kicked, trying to throw him off, but he was too strong, his possession too deep, deep inside me, filling me. “You can reach my neck if I’m on top,” I managed to choke out.

“No.”

“Standing up.” I couldn’t believe I was suggesting such a thing, after the last, devastating time that had turned into such a betrayal.

“No,” he said between gritted teeth, and his body, his naked body, was slick with sweat, and for a moment I was distracted from my mindless terror, wondering when he’d taken his clothes off, wondering what he felt like, naked against me.

I tried to get my elbows between us, but his strength was unbelievable. It was like beating at a brick wall—nothing could break his hold, his possession—and slowly, slowly, I stopped struggling. I lay still, panting, my body covered with sweat, covered with Azazel. I raised my eyes to meet his, and I could see real regret in his eyes.

The shadows had leached all color from the room, the only exception being the deep blue of his eyes, and I was remembering the trap of the Dark City once more, the trap of his betrayal. He was sorry, I thought, miserable. He regretted this. He didn’t want this. He was being forced—

“Shut up,” he said, releasing my arms to cup my face. I had worn myself out fighting him, and I could do nothing but lie beneath him. He kissed my mouth, my eyelids, my nose. “I’m sorry that I must force you to lie beneath me. How many times do I have to tell you? My need for you is so powerful I’d agree to anything you want. But it has to be this way. Do you understand?”

To punctuate his words, he withdrew partway, the thick penetration releasing me, and then thrust back in again, hard, hard enough to push me back into the mattress, and I shivered, trying to still the panic that swamped me.

I could feel his skin against mine, warm, damp, his muscled arms around me, his mouth pressed against the side of my face. His long legs against mine, the shallow penetration, his cock inside me that wasn’t enough.

Slowly, slowly, I lifted my legs to wrap them around his narrow hips. Slowly, slowly, I put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as I let go, let go of the ancient need born out of stubbornness and transformed into a vicious curse, let go of the memory of the thousand demons who had taken me this way, night after night, tearing me, hurting me, destroying me. Gone, it was all gone, and there was only Azazel, the smell of his skin, the cool ocean scent of him, the warm flesh, the taste of him in my mouth as I licked his shoulder, the steady thrust of him, touching someplace inside me that made me wild. And I was the one who kissed him, arching up to meet him, joining him in this mad dance of lust and love; and it wasn’t about him controlling me, conquering me, it wasn’t about who was on top and who was on the bottom, it was just the two of us, the joining, thick and hot and wonderful; and my climax, more powerful than ever, was coming closer, and even though I wanted to hold back to prolong it, the feelings were too shattering, and I let go of the need to control, let go and simply existed in a sea of pleasure.

I could feel his own need rise, his cock swelling inside me when I would have thought that was impossible, the slamming speed of his thrusts that shook me, shook the bed, and I cried out for more, for what I wanted, needed; and as I hovered on the crest, as I felt him begin to spurt inside me, his teeth clamped down on my neck, his teeth piercing my skin, and I shattered. The pull of his mouth at my neck, sucking, drinking, lost in my taste, the sweet hot rush as he filled me were too much. I was dying, and I didn’t care. We would die together, destroyed by a desire that was elementally wrong; they had warned us, and neither of us had cared. I was dying, and I was in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

There were feathers, feathers closing around me, soft and blessed, drawing in the darkness, and as I tumbled back to earth I let myself rest in their gentleness, at peace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I OPENED MY EYES SLOWLY, NOT AT all certain what I expected to see. The flames of hell? Beloch’s—no, Uriel’s triumphant face? The total darkness of nothing at all? What did one see in the afterlife? I was afraid to look.

He was lying beside me on the white sheet, his black hair obscuring his face, though I didn’t have any doubt as to who he was. He slept like the dead, lying on his stomach, but I could see the rise and fall of his breathing, and I knew he’d survived.

I touched my neck gingerly. There was nothing there, no mark or pain, yet a frisson of remembered reaction washed over me as I let my fingers trail against my flesh. I seemed to have developed a new and entirely unexpected erogenous zone at the base of my neck, and as I remembered the pull of his mouth, I let out a quiet moan of remembered pleasure.

I sat up, very carefully so as not to wake him. The room was filled with the odd half-light that I knew was dawn, and I stared out the French doors into the private garden with astonishment. It had been late afternoon when I entered this room. Late afternoon when Azazel and I had made love, if that’s what you could call it. I doubted that was the operative word on his part, but I wasn’t going to go searching for others. Yet now it was morning, and I remembered nothing after the blackness had closed around me. Except hadn’t there been feathers?

He was watching me. I should have known he’d sleep like a cat, instantly alert. He rolled over onto his back, before I remembered that I’d wanted to look for signs of the wings I knew he must have. His gaze was heavy-lidded, and I looked for signs of my blood on his mouth, wondering if it would disgust me. Would he taste like blood?

“We’re alive,” I said, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Did you have any doubts?”

“Of course I did.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “And you agreed anyway?”

“Yes.” I could be monosyllabic as well. I wasn’t going to explain myself. Explain that wanting him was a fever in my blood, driving through me, and I would have faced the Truth Breakers once more just for the chance of sharing a bed with him.

He pushed himself to a sitting position beside me, for all the world like a husband about to read the Sunday paper, and stretched, a slow, sinuous movement that made my mouth go dry. I had the top sheet pulled up to primly cover my breasts, though as far as I could remember we’d started on top of the silk coverlet that was now on the floor. The sheet was draped loosely around his hips as well, for all the world like a PG-rated romantic comedy. I wondered what would happen if I jumped him.

“We slept,” I said. Another scintillating bit of conversation.

“It is to be expected. The first bonding is a powerful experience for both partners. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

There it was again, another apology. But never for the right thing, for the real betrayal. “You didn’t frighten me.”

He gave me a disbelieving glance, but then, he’d felt my panic when he’d pushed inside me, face-to-face. I could deny it all I wanted, but my fear had been real. It was gone now, another part of my curse broken. A part I hadn’t even known remained.