Three liters, that ewer. Even did Colin’s blood strengthen him, he couldn’t survive . . . Nay, nay—do not think of the vampire.
Stay with me.
“I will miss your laugh, Lily,” he said. “I will miss your heat and your lies.”
All his strength to lift his head; a moment ago, he thought he’d not had even that much left. She was staring at him, a fierce joy on her face. And a terrible sadness.
“I love you.” Her voice was soft, but he heard it clearly. He leaned back, grateful for the support of the cold metal. She pressed the dagger into his hand, and he closed his fist around it.
She turned away. “It’s done,” she announced. The ewer was full; she began pouring it into equal portions under Lucifer’s watchful eye.
Stirrings, odd murmurings among the nosferatu. He did not know the language, but their concern was palpable, the reason plain.
He should have been dead. He was weak, breathless, nauseated—but alive. He should have been dead.
An odd hum under his skin, in his blood. He’d felt it before, during his transformation to Guardian—and again when he’d Fallen. He turned his head.
Michael stared at him, his body rigid. His bronze skin glistened with sweat.
This would not fulfill her bargain. What had she done?
“What have you done?” Moloch’s voice. He approached the table, eyeing the blood suspiciously.
A cold smile touched her mouth, and she filled another cup.
The nosferatu turned to Lucifer, hissed the words in the Old Language. “Do you betray us, Morningstar?”
“You watched him bleed,” he replied in the same tongue. She felt his gaze on her, trying to penetrate her thoughts. “Are you so foolish you cannot see? She loves him. She trades her soul for his life; she means to betray me by returning him to Guardian, preventing his death.”
“And us? Does she betray us?”
The air around Lucifer began to heat with his anger. “Do you wish to know, taste her.”
Cold fear twisted in her stomach, but she only lifted a brow and said, “Are you certain, Father? I’m hardly trustworthy. I may know more of your magic and symbols than you think; do you want him to know as well?” Filling her thoughts of symbols and blood on the windowsill, on a door, she opened her mind and showed him the truth of it. Hoped he would fear she knew more.
A weak gamble; he was not impressed. “A parlor trick, Lilith.”
The last of the blood into the final cup; her hands were trembling.
Lucifer smiled. “Taste her. She is yours, anyway. Does not matter if I give her to you sooner than I anticipated.”
She backed up a step. “Michael,” she said hoarsely.
Moloch leapt over the table. “He cannot help you, halfling. The wager stipulated that there would be none killed for the rituals; we have no intention of using you. Does he attack me to help you, he loses.”
She shot a glance at Lucifer; amusement gleamed from his eyes. And why not? He won either way: if Michael helped, Lucifer would take Caelum; if Michael did not, she was at Moloch’s mercy.
Hugh’s arm came around her waist. His still bleeding chest heaved against her back; he was too weak to help her, but he was trying.
Moloch laughed and shifted. Terrible, to see Hugh’s face on that creature. “I must admit, I’ve taken a liking to this form. They trusted him, and screamed the louder for it being done by one they cared for. Will you?”
Shouts from Taylor and Preston—they could not understand what Moloch said, but no mistaking his intention.
“Michael,” she said again. Her heart pounded. Her left hand gripped Hugh’s forearm, she searched for the dagger with her other. “Please.”
Too fast—his fangs were buried in her neck before her next breath. An explosion in her brain, a ripping, and he pulled back, his eyes wide.
“Michael!” Hugh’s desperate shout.
A weapon in her hand—not the knife. The Doyen’s sword. She did not know how to make it blaze, but she did not need fire. With this sword, even a human could kill a nosferatu; and she had more strength and speed than a human—not as much as she had as a demon, but enough. Moloch’s torso thudded to the floor before his legs toppled over.
Her hand clapped to her torn throat; Michael’s power knitted it together beneath her fingers. She shook her head, rasped, “Hugh.” Forced away the sickness of feeling, seeing, smelling the blood everywhere.
Needed to keep it flowing into him. She stole a glance at the Guardian; he focused on Hugh again, and she breathed a relieved sigh. Behind him, Taylor and Preston lowered their weapons. She looked down. Two neat, round holes bloodied Moloch’s temple.
It wouldn’t have killed him, but it had probably helped slow him down.
Grinning, she turned back to the nosferatu, gave the sword a little spin. “The boys for the blood,” she said.
CHAPTER 39
Hugh watched Lilith’s face; he could understand nothing of what the nosferatu said as they argued amongst themselves, but she could—and it did not please her.
The fear of betrayal warring with the desire for a home. He filled his mind with images of Caelum, let them filter out. The nosferatu fell silent.
Until Lucifer spoke. “You saw him bleed. The symbols are true, the anchor will hold. You do not need these four to kill; once in my service, there will be much blood to spill.” Arrogance, pride. He had not perceived a trick, except for Lilith’s keeping Hugh alive instead of sacrificing him—and now the nosferatu’s hesitation angered him, cast doubt upon the power of the ritual. Lucifer turned to Lilith. “Once they drink, they will be released.”
Truth. But the moment the nosferatu drank the blood they would know the deception. Hugh’s fingers moved by his leg, the signal hidden from the nosferatu and Lucifer.
“Agreed,” he said quietly. Lilith’s body quivered, but she gave no other sign of her dismay. He glanced over at his students; he had avoided looking at them until this moment—too much anger in him at the sight of their fear. “Are you guys ready to go? You want to go?”
Necessary to make it clear; this couldn’t work without their willingness to go. And they’d have no time after to explain about free will.
Four pale, stricken faces nodded in reply.
The nosferatu moved forward as one, lifted the cups. Drank.
The hum in his blood ceased as Michael teleported. He and Selah, taking two boys each—they disappeared. The boys were safe then, but the screams of outrage from the nosferatu echoed through the warehouse. Weapons flashed as they came across the room on a wave of rage; the Guardians met them halfway.
Lilith scrambled back, pulling him with her. She pushed him as a nosferatu flew over their heads, and quick human hands caught him. Taylor and Preston.
“Sir Pup—get them out.” The hellhound whined, but Lilith clenched her teeth and repeated the command, hauling Hugh to his feet.
Hugh could stand, had the strength. “Crossbow,” he said, and Lilith let go of him again to swing at the nosferatu. She severed the creature’s arm, but took a slice from its remaining weapon.
He aimed, fired. The nosferatu dropped, and she finished it with a blow through its neck.
“Get out.” Blood streamed down her chest, splattered across her neck.
“They’re going.” He spared a single glance at the two detectives, struggling against Sir Pup as he sprinted for the door, carrying them by their jacket collars like a mother with kittens.
“You, too.”
He only grinned and fired another bolt. It caught a nosferatu’s shoulder, slowed him down. Gave time for the novice who’d fallen in front of him to rise up, strike a killing blow.
“Michael’s back,” Lilith said and began laughing.
The Doyen didn’t have his sword, but he was more than effective picking off the nosferatu. Teleporting in front of them, touching them and taking them away. No need to respect a nosferatu’s free will; no punishment for denying it—and now they had an
anchor to somewhere other than Earth.
Fast, incredibly fast—ten, then fifteen. Twenty. The others tried to scatter, but the Guardians outnumbered them now, trapped them. Twenty-five.
“Sir Pup could have saved you,” he said quietly. “Against Moloch—either given you the crossbow, or—” He broke off as he understood: she’d needed Michael’s sword. Had risked her life for it.
“Yes.” She met his eyes. “I want more than four days.”
Hard to catch his breath suddenly. “You’ve always been greedy.” But so was he.
Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her mouth tightened. “Where’s Selah?”
He swayed, shook his head to rid himself of the dizziness. When he focused again, Lucifer stood in front of them. At the demon’s cloven feet, Sir Pup’s huge body lay stretched out, bloody stumps where two of his heads should have been. He held his sword to the last of the hellhound’s throats. “Choose,” he said.
Lilith went absolutely still, her features frozen in horror. “I’ll kill you,” she whispered.
“Choose. Save your soul and save your pet—or save the human.” He flicked a glance at Hugh. “Much longer and it won’t matter anyway.”
It was true; Hugh’s blood was still leaking out, and Michael couldn’t replace it now. Before, it had been freshly drawn, then preserved in the Doyen’s cache. The blood on his chest could not be recycled the same way. “Lilith . . .”
She turned to him suddenly, her face white. “Do you agree to give your will, your life to me? Will you let it be taken in any way I choose?”
Lucifer laughed. “You do not need his permission; why else would I have turned you into this?”
Hugh ignored him. “Aye.”
She swallowed. “Then don’t look.”
Movement behind Lucifer’s shoulder. Selah, finally. Michael. Rael, his left hand regenerating half its fingers.
And Belial. It must be: the demon looked a spirit of light, as if he intended to return to His Grace at any moment.
Hugh closed his eyes.
Lilith watched as Hugh closed himself completely off, then turned to Lucifer. Forced away the image of Hugh’s blood, of Sir Pup’s prostrate, mutilated form.
A burst of power from Michael; she felt the injury from the nosferatu’s weapon heal—but it could not help Hugh. She looked down, glanced quickly back up. Sir Pup still lay there; Lucifer must be using his magic to block it. Somewhere, on the hellhound’s body, was a symbol that was preventing Michael from healing him.
Lucifer was smiling. “I created them.”
She spoke to Michael. “Do you have any blood left?”
“Very little.”
“Use it.” Any extra time. Any.
The Doyen didn’t answer, but the intense focus told her that he was transferring more to Hugh.
“Choose, Father.”
Lucifer waited, smiling. He must have known Belial stood behind him, but he gave no indication of it.
Of course he wouldn’t. But his rival’s presence must be distracting; even Lucifer could not monitor Michael, Belial and Lilith at once . . . and she would be considered the least threatening, even though she held the Doyen’s sword.
Belial came to them. He stopped beside her, and Lilith gestured to the sword in her hand.
“A weapon for a weapon,” she said to him, her heart thudding. “Rael offered me one, and I promised to repay him. I offer this one to him and his liege—but I will not if Lucifer chooses to release me from my bargain.”
Michael’s face hardened, but he did not look away from Hugh.
“Choose, Father,” she said. “Right now, Hugh is dying by my hand—but he has given over his will to me. And I will allow Belial to impale him. You’ll lose the wager, because it was done at my behest, but not personally by me. And after his death Michael will make him a Guardian, so I lose nothing. You have only one choice: release me from my bargain.”
Lucifer’s eyes burned with hellfire. “You dare—”
“Choose, Father.” Her voice commanded his silence, and she got it. “If you release me from my bargain, Michael has agreed to release you from his wager. You won’t have Caelum, but you will not have to close the Gates to Hell. Is having my soul and Hugh’s temporary death worth five hundred years without access to Earth?” Her brows rose mockingly. “Are we so important to you?”
Belial smiled. She couldn’t look at him for long; his beauty seemed to incinerate her from within. “It appears you are,” he said in the Old Language.
Lucifer did not move. Humiliation was already his, simply by being put in this position. Now he had to decide between the slight humiliation of releasing her from the bargain, or losing control of the Gates—and possibly his throne, if she gave Belial the sword.
“Choose, Father.” She pursed her lips at his continued silence, then grinned. “There is little choice, isn’t there?”
His mouth curled into a snarl. “I release you from your bargain. But you will always wear my mark, Lilith.”
“Truth,” Hugh said, the word no louder than an exhalation.
A smile touched her mouth. He had closed his eyes, but he had not left her—and he had feared that Lucifer would attempt the same as she. “I know,” she said. “I will always be Lilith.”
She turned and gave the sword to Belial. It flared to life in his grip.
Lucifer stumbled back.
She wrapped her arms around Hugh’s waist. He blinked, looked down at her. His eyes were glassy, his breathing shallow. “Get him to a hospital, now,” she said when Selah appeared beside them. Lilith could not go, could not teleport—her anchor was too strong. She would have to follow.
Selah touched Hugh’s hand, and they disappeared.
The Doyen stared at Belial for a moment, then slowly nodded. He turned to Lucifer. “You will close the Gates upon your return; you have twenty-four hours.”
Kneeling beside Sir Pup, she looked up and met her father’s startled gaze. “I lied,” she said. “You’d better run, Daddy.”
CHAPTER 40
“Agent Milton!”
Lilith glanced up from Sir Pup’s harness. Detective Preston walked quickly across the federal building’s lobby, his hand raised as if hailing a cab. When he saw that he’d caught her attention, he lowered it and increased his pace.
Detective Taylor remained near the elevators.
“I don’t know yet that I am still ‘agent,’ ” she said. “But I imagine you are here to determine that.”
Preston shrugged. “Just here for our debriefing with Jor-gensen and Bradshaw.” His gaze fell, and his tree trunk of a throat worked as he swallowed. “I thought Michael had been able to reattach his heads.”
Lilith looked down. Sir Pup grinned at her, panting as furiously as any normal dog. It was easy to return the grin now; until Taylor and Bradshaw had returned to the warehouse, each laboring under the weight of the hellhound’s massive heads—before Michael had located the symbol Lucifer had carved beneath his stomach that had prevented his healing—she hadn’t been able.
“Michael did. This is the form he takes in public.” Her teeth clenched, but it was not so difficult to add, “Thank you for your help that evening. And I’d appreciate it if you’d extend my gratitude to Taylor, as well.”
“Yeah.” He scratched his chin, studied her. “After Lucifer appeared in front of us and”—he made a chopping motion with his hands—“I’ve decided you aren’t so bad. No offense, but she may take a little longer to come around.”
“She may have the right idea.”
“Maybe.” His lips twitched before he turned his wrist, glanced at his watch. “We’ve got to get up there. Good luck, Agent Milton.”
“Thank you,” she said, and it fell effortlessly from her tongue.
Lilith waited until they disappeared into the elevator before urging Sir Pup forward to the next. That was not so easy; she’d have relished Taylor’s discomfort. But as the next car stopped at the lobby and opened, a wicked grin spread
across her mouth.
She’d been rewarded for waiting, after all.
“Good morning, gentleman. You look as ridiculous as always in that toga, Michael.” She stepped inside, Sir Pup following at her heels. Rael moved uneasily to the side.
The doors closed. The hellhound shifted, filling up most of the elevator with his huge form. He turned his left head toward Rael, let his tongue loll.
The demon flattened his back against the wall, smoothed his hand over his tie. “We have something to discuss with you, Lilith.”
“Do you?” She looked at Michael; a half-smile curved the Doyen’s hard mouth. “Have you apologized to him about the fingers?”
“I did not cut them off,” Michael said softly. His obsidian gaze held a slight warning—one Lilith willingly heeded.
She wasn’t about to let any demon have knowledge of Colin’s anchor to Chaos. The amputation had been extreme, perhaps, but after Selah had failed to bring the vampire back from the Chaos realm, Lilith had wanted the Guardian to have the strongest possible link to locate Rael and Belial in Hell.
Lilith simply hadn’t known enough about teleporting; and she couldn’t have asked if anything less than body parts would have sufficed without exposing her plan.
Hugh had told her afterward that a drop of blood would have done—unlike teleporting to Chaos, Selah could go Below without an anchor. The blood only gave her a specific location.
“Any apology I give would be false,” Lilith said. “I enjoyed it too much.”
“It hardly matters,” Rael said weakly, wiggling his fingers. Sir Pup pressed his flank against the demon’s chest. “They healed.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Lilith said. “I hope whatever it is you want to discuss is half as good.”
Not everything could heal.
The scars on Hugh’s chest were still livid; like she, he would always wear the mark. But it was hard to accept that she’d been the one to put it there.
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