Demon Angel

by Meljean Brook

  “How long have you been waiting here?” He’d fastened his jeans and was shrugging into the shirt when she swung the door wide. Her gaze roamed over the neat—if sparse—piles of clothing on the shelves, finally coming to rest on him.

  “Almost two hours.” She watched his fingers as they worked their way up the buttons. “I spent most of it looking through your housemate’s things. You aren’t lovers?”

  “I prefer not to seduce children.” Not that, at twenty-five, Savi could be considered a child. She would have been furious had she known he often thought of her that way.

  “I remember one young woman you wanted very badly. Granted, it wasn’t so unusual then, but she was still a child.”

  He lifted a brow.

  “Isabel?” she prompted.

  “I was two years older than she was, not eight hundred.” A slow grin spread over his lips. “And I haven’t thought of her as anything other than ‘the countess’ or ‘the lady’ since my transformation. I didn’t remember her Christian name,” he said. “Interesting that you did.”

  For an infinitesimal moment, she seemed nonplussed. Then she returned with a lazy smile of her own: “Your sense of humor has obviously been restored now that you’re human, for you surely jest; I don’t believe for a second that you’ve forgotten my brilliant mimicry in the castle stairwell.”

  No. But he was not likely to tell her the only reason Isabel’s face—if not her name—had remained so clearly in his memory was not because of his youthful infatuation with the lady, but because Lilith had once inhabited her form. Even his shame upon mistaking the countess for Lilith upon that wall walk had faded; but every moment with the demon, and every emotion she had aroused, remained all too clear.

  “And whose form did you mimic this afternoon?” he asked. “Do you no longer fear Lucifer, or does he no longer forbid beauty?”

  She shrugged lightly, but he saw the flicker of shame in her expression before she covered it with irony. “It is a punishment.”

  Uncertain how to interpret her statement and sensing she would not volunteer to clarify it, he murmured, “Aye. Mine.” He cupped her chin in his palm, felt the heat of her throat, the beat of her pulse. Beneath the obsidian horns and crimson skin, he could see the same features she’d worn in her human form. The bone structure was the same, the line of her nose, the shape of her eyes. “I can only hope it is a short-lived tyranny.”

  She pulled in a sharp breath as he released her. Intent on putting space between them, he began to brush past her, but she stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

  “I’m going to kiss you before I leave tonight,” she said. Focusing on his lips, she moistened her own. “I’m feeling generous, so I thought I would warn you.”

  The wicked slant of her brows told him it was not generosity at all, but an attempt to unsettle him.

  It worked. His muscles tightened in anticipation, and he was swamped by memories of other kisses, stolen and bargained. Of the hot press of her mouth. Of the sounds she made when playfulness became passion—and ultimately, frustration.

  He’d held himself distant when he’d been a Guardian, but his indifference had been dishonest. And though a part of him wished to thwart her by initiating the kiss now, he did not trust himself to keep it a purely defensive maneuver.

  Shaking off her hand, he strode to the nightstand, swept up Colin’s number and headed for the living room. And tried not to acknowledge the part of him that wanted to kiss her—not to undermine her ploy, but for the pleasure of it.

  CHAPTER 15

  The world was a better place when Hugh bent over in those jeans. She stifled her disappointed sigh when he straightened and walked toward the door. “Running scared?”

  He cast a rueful glance over his shoulder as he left the room. “Yes.”

  She grinned, following him. It wasn’t fear in the rigid line of his shoulders, the slight stiffness in his tread.

  He was aroused—and resisting it.

  The narrowness of the hallway forced her to fold her wings tightly to her back or risk scraping the paint from the walls. She hadn’t spent much time in this part of his home, preferring to investigate the girl’s—Savitri’s—apartment instead. It had been an explosion of metal and plastic; computers and electronics, many of them half-assembled, had littered every available surface. A geek’s paradise.

  Lilith hadn’t cared for it, but the DemonSlayer paraphernalia she’d found in one room had fascinated her. Sketches, games, cards—she’d vaguely known about the video game, but had never paid attention to the details of its storyline. Wouldn’t have this time, either, but the connection between Hugh and the girl led her to take a closer look. To her surprise—though much of it inaccurately represented demonkind—it contained just enough truth in the relationship between nosferatu, demons, and halflings to make Lilith wonder.

  Had he told Savitri the truth? How deep did the trust between them run? And, given the girl’s age, why? Theirs wasn’t a lovers’ bond.

  The soft, rhythmic pad of his bare feet against the dark hardwood floors was muffled as he entered the living room and stepped onto the thick rug at its center. Unlike the mess upstairs, everything here was uncluttered, minimalist. She would have thought it sterile, if not for the colors. Bright jewel tones and dark woods warmed the room: a rich blue sofa, a supple leather ottoman in chocolate brown, gold paint on the walls. Behind her, the kitchen boasted more wood, stainless steel, and a deep, luxurious red.

  Apparently, he abhorred white.

  He picked up a remote control, and she snorted in surprise. Did he intend to sit down and watch football next? “You’ve become quite the domestic, haven’t you?”

  A smile played around his mouth. “I can even program a VCR.”

  She couldn’t. Suddenly feeling out of place in her demonic guise, she turned toward the bookshelves and forced herself to ignore the heavy settling of her stomach. “At least you still read,” she muttered. She glanced at a title and rolled her eyes. “The American Ideal: Literary History as a Worldly Activity?”

  “Too domestic?” he asked, and she heard the amusement in his voice. He knew she was uncomfortable, and he was enjoying it.

  She could return the favor. Running her hand along a row of books, she said, “I think it’ll be a soft kiss, at first. I won’t touch you anywhere but your mouth. Fangs or no fangs?”

  He grinned. “No fangs, please.”

  She nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep the horns, though. They make wonderful handholds. When you are overcome with desire, you can pull me closer with them.”

  The television illuminated his features with a soft blue light; his lips were pressed tightly together, and he shook with silent laughter.

  “I’ll be certain to remember that,” he finally said.

  “It wouldn’t be gentle for long, would it?” she mused. “It never is with us. I’d have to touch you. I didn’t force you when you were human before, but perhaps I would now. Do you remember the temple and Mandeville?” Her voice deepened, deliberately sensuous. “Would be simple to do the same to you—but I would not leave you waiting for more. I’d wrap my hands around you, stroke you until you begged. Taste you until you were weak. Ride you until you could no longer stand.”

  He drew in a ragged breath, as if the air around him had thickened. Only with effort could she keep herself from betraying a similar arousal; the images her words conjured gathered like liquid fire beneath her belly.

  His throat worked, but she anticipated his response. “It would be free will, Hugh. You already want it.” She slid the flat of her palm up a book spine, imagined the hardness and heat of his erection. The rigid shaft strained against its denim confines; the racing of his pulse matched hers.

  Unable to resist, she approached him, ran her fingers down the front of his shirt. He stopped breathing. The flesh under his clothing was taut, hard. She wanted to rip it away, smooth her hands over the skin beneath. Run her tongue over the ridges of muscle in his chest and abdo
men, licking and tasting. She settled for flattening her palm against his pectoral, relishing the tension she could feel coursing through him, the beating of his heart.

  He caught her wrist as she began to slide down to his stomach, lower. Immediately releasing her, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if to steady himself, then let his hand drop to his side. He looked at her without expression. “I’ll oblige you then. Vanish your clothing, lie down on the sofa and spread your legs.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I’ll admit, I want to fuck you. So we will fuck.” His hands went to his waistband, and he began to unbutton his fly.

  As if mesmerized, she stared at his fingers as they worked at the fastenings. The tails of his shirt covered him, but the movement of his hands allowed her glimpses of white cotton briefs stretched tight by his cock. She swallowed and glanced at the sofa.

  Did he really mean for her to do as he’d commanded? The way he’d commanded it?

  Despite the hardness etched across his features, his control, she could feel his heart pounding, smell the perspiration tinged by sexual arousal—but also by unease and determination.

  He desired her, would fuck her if she complied with his demand . . . but he didn’t want it now, not like that.

  She didn’t either.

  “You win,” she conceded wryly and held up her hands as if in surrender.

  His expression did not immediately warm, as she’d expected it to. The intensity of his cold blue stare held her frozen. The he slowly blinked, releasing her. His hands trembled as he refastened his jeans.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was . . . unfair.”

  Something in her chest squeezed painfully, but she shrugged and said, “I’ll admit you surprised me: I’ve never heard you swear before. It was wonderfully vulgar.”

  A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. “Compared to my students, I’m not very proficient.”

  She would have laughed but for the change that came over him: his shoulders slumped, and he ran his hands through his hair in helpless frustration. It had been the mention of his students, she realized; he grieved for one now. Wondered if he’d brought death to the boy just by knowing him.

  “Are these the nosferatu you killed this morning?”

  She turned to face the television and frowned. “What is this? When is this?”

  “They burned Polidori’s. Three nights ago.” He glanced at her curiously. “You didn’t know?”

  “I’ve been out of town,” she said, leaning in to examine the nosferatu on the television screen. He likely wanted to put faces to the creatures who had killed his student. “These are not the same.”

  “Damn,” he said softly, and she smiled.

  “I must be a terrible influence.”

  She felt his gaze on her. “You are.” The words held no sting, though, as if he’d said them by rote, his mind occupied by weightier problems. “Lilith, the designs on your skin . . . did the nosferatu—”

  “No.” She couldn’t look at him. “My father did.”

  “Why? What purpose have they?” He tilted her chin with his fingers, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. His eyes were troubled; for her sake or Ian Rafferty’s, she didn’t know. “As punishment?”

  “For power.” She smiled bitterly.

  “Whose?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know. Your student’s were different. Not much, but enough to convert the ritual into something beyond my ken.”

  Tension suddenly radiated from his body. “Have you done this to a human?”

  Wanting to laugh but unable, she shook her head. “No. I tried, once.”

  She saw the realization on his face, the memory. “To me, in the ruins of the temple. But you told Michael to take me instead.” He swallowed thickly. “What would it have done?”

  He knew; she saw it in his eyes. Her throat was tight. “Guardians and vampires are not the only halflings,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “Nay,” he breathed. A low moan sounded from his chest, a tortured denial. “Lilith—”

  “Do not pity me,” she said stonily. “I made a choice.”

  “To be this?” His voice was harsh as he wrapped his hands around her horns, forcing her to look at him.

  “I didn’t want to die.” She ripped out of his grip; his strength was no match for hers. But she did not have the strength to turn away from him. “And this is what I am now, what I have been for two thousand years. This is my role,” she said with finality.

  A war seemed to rage within him for a few breathless moments. She knew he wanted to argue, to question—to convince her she was wrong. He’d always done so, and sixteen years couldn’t erase the custom of eight hundred.

  “Do you think Ian had to make a similar choice?”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. It was not a permanent reprieve; he would consider her revelation, examine it in context of his memories before bringing it up again. “I can’t say, Hugh. The involvement of the nosferatu . . .” She trailed off, knowing she wouldn’t need to explain.

  He hesitated, and then said, “Another of my students is missing. Javier Sanchez. If it’s related to the nosferatu, the detectives are outclassed. I am outclassed.”

  Shaken, she stared at him. He trusted her to help protect the young man? And more unbelievable: “Do you intend to fight them?”

  “I’ll find a way,” he said, his blue gaze level and determined. A half-smile creased the sides of his mouth when she continued to gape at him. “Do you think I’m going to descend upon their nest with sword in hand?”

  Finally recovering her wits, she said, “You really must do something about your imbecilic martyr complex.”

  His deep laugh rumbled through her. As if drawn by the sound, a seal-tipped Siamese cat strolled in from the kitchen, glanced at Lilith and just as effortlessly dismissed her, rubbing her long feline body against Hugh’s legs. With the ease of familiarity, he scooped up the cat, nestled her against his chest and began stroking beneath her chin. The tendons in his forearm flexed with the movement, drawing Lilith’s gaze to the taut muscle.

  “You may be in excellent shape for a human, but you’re no match for the nosferatu.”

  His brows drew together. “Of course not.”

  “The Guardians—”

  “Michael did not know Ian,” he said quietly, but she felt the force of his anger and frustration. “I don’t intend to rid the world of nosferatu, only try to help those who have been targeted because of what I used to be.” He breathed deeply, as if to calm himself, then added with a wry smile, “I’ll leave the slaughtering to those who are more able.”

  Like her. She absently rubbed the column of her neck, remembering how close her last encounter with the bloodsuckers had been. The next would probably not go any better. “Lucifer has told his demons to let the nosferatu be.”

  His hand stilled on the cat’s fur. “You killed two this morning.”

  “I don’t dare again,” she said. “I’ve hunted enough rogues to learn I should avoid becoming one.”

  “I would not ask you to take that risk.”

  She could not read his expression, but she felt his withdrawal, his disappointment. He didn’t attempt to convince her to help, to appeal to her humanity; in the past, he would have. His easy acceptance that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—destroy the nosferatu shouldn’t have shamed her, but a dark ache bloomed in her chest.

  She needed to go, before it could become something painful. She’d come in through an upstairs window—she’d leave the same way.

  “Lilith.”

  Pausing, she turned.

  “You didn’t carry out your promise.” His eyes searched hers. “I assumed that was your purpose for coming here, yet you’ve forgotten it.”

  She gave a short laugh, though her heart tripped unsteadily beneath her breast. “Are you asking me to kiss you?”

  “I want to know why you are really here.”

  Sighing, she
closed her eyes. “Lucifer hasn’t included me in this alliance with the nosferatu. I’m certain he has other plans for me.”

  His sudden tension broke through his psychic blocks, filling the room. That some of it was tinged with worry for her nearly undid her. “What plans?”

  She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, finally looked at him. “We made a bargain in Seattle. A life for a life.”

  Hugh flinched as if struck; the cat hissed and leapt from his arms. His face pale, he unclenched his hands and stated, “Mine for yours. He brought you back to life on the condition that you would take mine.”

  She nodded.

  “A bargain made after I killed you.” His voice was stiff. “It’s fair.”

  Blinking, unsure she’d heard correctly, she echoed, “It’s fair?” Rage built, made her voice shake. “What you did to me was . . . it was right. It fit, it was the way it should have ended between us. And he hasn’t called in his part of the bargain yet, but he will soon. The next time I see you, it will be with the goal of tearing you down, tearing your soul apart until you can’t live with yourself and you take your own life. And it’s fair?”

  “When did you become concerned with fairness?” She had been shouting, but his soft reply rang in her ears. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  Her mouth snapped closed. She shouldn’t be. With anyone else, she wouldn’t be.

  He sighed, and his smile faded. “You won’t be able to break me.”

  His certainty should have offended her, but it was despair she felt instead. “Do you think I cannot find the darkest part of you and—”

  “No, Lilith. I’ve no doubt of your skill, nor do I think you are too weak.”

  Her lips pressed together, and she blinked away the sudden sting in her eyes. Now he looked for goodness in her, the humanity, when there was little—if any—left. Because she couldn’t do the ritual, and transform him into a demon, he thought she would not carry this through either.

  She didn’t know how she would, but she couldn’t face another Punishment, or the consequences of breaking her bargain with Lucifer. She was weak. She was afraid.