Demon (11 page)

He put her in one of the nightgowns provided, fastening the row of tiny buttons up to her chin. Her red hair blazed against the soft gray room, a shock of color, and he brushed a lock of it away from her face.

No. He’d known the moment he tasted her that she was his nemesis, his curse, his doom, his redemption. If he bested her power over him, then he would prove that there was hope. That prophecies could lie, or be changed. He would do as Beloch told him, because he had no choice. He would bed the demon, and he would turn his back on her with no regrets.

And he would be free.

I
DREAMED.
I
FLOATED INTO
sleep, wrapped in safety, and I embraced its soft richness, wanting to burrow into the wordless comfort. As long as
I stayed there, no one could harm me. Enemies would step back, hard hearts would soften. Ice would melt.

I could feel hands on me. His hands, and I knew those hands had never touched me before. They were hard and cool on my skin, and I wanted to reach out to him, to open my arms and my legs and draw him in, hold him as tightly as I could, to keep the darkness at bay.

And then I drifted further, deeper into the abyss, and I could feel the children, the babies, in my arms. Sweet newborns, sleeping toddlers, helpless infants wrapped in my gentle, protective arms and smiling up at me. I would coo at them, tickle them under the chin, kiss their soft, sweet foreheads and tiny noses, and breath in the sweet baby smell of them.

And I would carry them, oh so carefully, to the same place on the mountaintop, and hand them over into the waiting arms of the mother goddess who had many names, and in my dream I wept for them, the tears that were denied me in life.

I hadn’t killed them, smothered them, stolen their breath. The cruelty of nature and an unreachable god had done that. I had merely been there to comfort them, sing to them, bring them home to the mother goddess until they were ready to be reborn again, this time living out a full life.

Relief swept through me, even in the depths of sleep. I was innocent of the worst of the crimes thrown in my face. The one that had the ring of truth.

I was no temptress, seductress, wizard of sexuality and delight. That truth was twisted as well. I was the essence of desire that could never be fulfilled. I was always searching, searching, for what should be mine. What would be mine for the rest of eternity, though I had no idea what it was. Time was meaningless. Hour followed upon hour, century upon century, and I wandered, looking for what evaded me. A winged creature who would be joined to me, body and soul.

Because I had a soul. No matter what my enemies said, my soul was strong and good, even as I worked out an age-old penance, though my crimes were still lost in the mists of memory. I had been strong against the curses that had pressed down on me. I would continue to stay strong in the face of my enemies.

I stirred, moving in my sleep, and once more I could feel hands on me. They weren’t real this time, though they were the same hands, cool and hard and impersonal as they brushed my body. Then they slowed as his fingertips responded to the rushing heat of my skin, and they slid down the curve of my side, almost absently, as they
circled my waist, his palms against me, cupping my hips.

And his mouth followed, his face pressed against my belly, worshipping me, and I arched my back, accepting him, my arms around his neck, my fingers in his long black hair. I drew him up to me and kissed him with the fullness of my heart, and he moved my legs apart, and I was wet and hot and ready, wanting him, needing him.

And then he rolled me over so that I was above him, straddling him, and I took him, sinking down onto the hard thick delight of him, making soft little sounds of hushed pleasure as he filled me. This was what I had spent eternity searching for. This was what made me whole. This man. And the climax shook me, startled me out of the deepest layers of sleep, and I knew I was alone and always had been.

I tried to move against the smooth, soft sheets, but I was trapped beneath a weight of sleep. I couldn’t reach out to him—he wasn’t there. All I could do was lie there and feel the tears burn and evaporate in my dry eyes.

“Lilith,” he whispered against my ear, but I ignored him, even though I wanted to turn and pull him to me. “Lilith.”

And with the sound of my name in my ear, I sank deeper into a dreamless sleep.

W
HEN
I
AWOKE, A FAINT
light was coming through the drab curtains, and I could hear the noise of cars outside. There were too few of them to even call them traffic, but the muted sounds of motors were unmistakable. I was still in the Dark City. I was still Rachel.

My crazy dreams were only to be expected. He’d kissed me. I could still feel the heat and pressure of his mouth, taste him. It felt as if I’d somehow taken part of him inside me and there was no way to get rid of him.

The night, his words, were a jumble in my head. A test, he’d said? His harsh kiss had made no more sense than his words—he hated me, he wanted me dead. Why in God’s name had he kissed me?

And then I remembered the feel of his erection, hard against my stomach. I knew there had to be some other meaning. Maybe he’d simply needed sex and was responding to the only female in the house. Maybe he’d managed to convince himself that I was some kind of sex goddess, though that would have taken quite a stretch of his imagination. I could remember his long fingers on my breasts, teasing the nipples into fierce arousal. A sex goddess didn’t wear 34B.

I had dreamed about her. Dreamed about the demon goddess who inspired fear and hatred among men. I had known her in my dreams, a lost woman of strength and anger, a mother and a lover and a goddess and a … was she a whore? Or was that simply part of the lies men told?

The lies that Azazel believed. But then, he was a man, wasn’t he? For all that he said he wasn’t human. He had a dick, one that got hard. He was a man, with all men’s frailties and lies.

The dream was fading now, like mist in bright sunlight, burned away, and I couldn’t recapture it. It seemed to be what passed for late afternoon here, and the room was filled with shadows. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, but the shadows and gloom remained despite the glow of the light. I looked down at my body, just to reassure myself that I was still in living color, and I froze. I was wearing a stark white Victorian nightgown, all eyelet and ruffles, buttoned primly up to the neck. Those hands had been no dream, and I skittered up to the top of the bed, wrapping my arms around myself protectively, as if I could belatedly keep his hands away.

Azazel had come into this room and stripped the clothes off me, dressed me in this absurd thing, and put me in the bed. I didn’t imagine for a moment that anyone else had come in to
perform these services. He wouldn’t care that stripping me would be humiliating. Then again, why should he care whether I slept on the floor or in the bed? He would be happier throwing me in a dungeon.

He believed I was Lilith. And he said Beloch had sent us back so Azazel could prove he could resist me, and then he’d said I was irresistible. Clearly that wasn’t true. He’d kissed me, kissed me more deeply than I’d ever been kissed before, and then shoved me away, even with the proof of his body pressed against mine. He could have had me, easily. For all that I thought sex was no pleasure for women, I would have stripped off my clothes and lain beneath him without a word of protest.

But he hadn’t wanted me. Despite the stiff cock against my belly, despite the hunger of his mouth, he hadn’t wanted me. So much for being an irresistible siren.

And then when he’d stripped me, I’d been asleep, but I could almost see his steady, efficient hands as they’d removed my clothes. His cool, assessing gaze as he looked at my naked body. And then covered it up, from my chin to my toes, in this enveloping nightgown.

I was no threat to him. Hadn’t he already proven that? That he could kiss me and walk away,
that he could strip me and cover me again with no more concern than a eunuch? But he wasn’t a eunuch.

We should be done by now. Whether or not he still believed I was Lilith, he knew that he wasn’t affected by my so-called seductive powers. He looked at me and saw Rachel, ordinary except for the flame-red hair. He looked at me and turned away.

I slid down off the high bed and went searching for my clothes. They weren’t there—just a pile of gray-brown jeans and T-shirts, the usual. I didn’t want to dress like the ghosts of the Dark City. I didn’t want to turn into them.

But I couldn’t wander around in a Victorian nightgown, and nudity was no option. I reached for the clothes in the huge wardrobe, the underwear in my size, the jeans that fit perfectly. And saw, to my relief, that once they were on my body the color slowly leached into them. They soaked up color like a paper towel set next to paint—the jeans were sand-washed indigo, the T-shirt a deep rose that oddly enough didn’t clash with my hair. I pulled the neckline out to look down at the bra next to my body. Pale lavender, with delicate lace. O-kay.

I headed for the door. It wasn’t as if I had any choice. I was starving, and staying holed up in this
room got nothing accomplished. I left the room, and safety, behind.

He was in the outer room waiting for me, as if he’d known I was about to emerge. I felt color rise to my face, the memory of that searing kiss between us. But then, he’d pushed me away from him, passing whatever test he’d given himself, and I should be able to meet his gaze with no embarrassment.

I straightened my shoulders, waiting for him to say something. He looked at me out of hooded eyes, and I couldn’t read his reaction. And then he spoke.

“Come.”

I ground my teeth. “Where?”

“You slept a long time. You must be hungry. I was planning to feed you.”

“Are you taking me back to Beloch?” I tried to keep the hopefulness out of my voice. Pleasing me was the last thing on his agenda.

He shook his head. “The time has not yet come. There’s food in the dining room.”

“And where is that? Oh, I know. ‘Come,’” I mocked him. “Lead on. I’ll put up with you for the sake of food.”

“You have little choice in the matter, demon.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped.

“What do you expect me to call you? A made-up name for a made-up human?”

I didn’t bother arguing. “Yes. My name is Rachel.” I pushed past him, anything to keep him from that one sepulchral word that made me crazy.

“Second door on the left.”

I halted, not daring to hope. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I expect you can manage to feed yourself without my help.”

“And then do we go to Beloch?”

He hesitated, and I had the strange thought that there was something ugly that he didn’t want to tell me. But then, he was my enemy. Almost everything he told me was ugly. “Nothing has been proven yet.”

“Oh, come on! I think it’s more than clear you find me eminently resistible, as do most men. And for your information, I can do without them, and sex, quite happily. So you’ve got the wrong girl for your sex demon.”

He made no flattering protest, of course. He simply turned away, and I watched him go, aware of a strange sense of desolation. It was illogical and had nothing to do with the reality of the situation. I wanted him gone.

The food on the sideboard in the dining room was abundant, brown, and horrible-looking, but I managed to use my sense of smell to choose what I wanted. I wondered if there actually was
a kitchen in this house, or whether some caterer had brought all this food. For that matter, were we alone in the house? I’d heard no footsteps, no voices. If only Azazel and I were in residence, there would be a lot of food going to waste.

It wasn’t my problem. I ate slowly, knowing that once I was done I’d have to face Azazel again. When finally I could eat no more, I pushed away from the table and went looking for him.

He was nowhere to be found. It took me long enough to search the place—it was large and rambling, with living rooms and parlors and a library, dining rooms and breakfast rooms, and upstairs half a dozen large bedrooms, including my own. As far as I could tell, Azazel hadn’t set foot in any of them.

Fine, I thought, heading for the front door. It was already afternoon and I was damned if I was going to sit around waiting for him.

The front door was locked. I shook it, beat against it, but nothing helped. Enraged, I headed for one of the tall windows, but they were locked as well. For one moment I considered throwing a chair through the glass and escaping that way, but I didn’t quite have the nerve. I would sit and wait, and when he came back I’d tear into him.

If
he came back. Maybe he was planning on being gone a long time. There was too much food
in the dining room—maybe it was supposed to last for days. Maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, and I’d slowly starve to death. No, I could throw a chair through a window before that happened. Assuming the glass wasn’t some kind of bulletproof composite that would resist being smashed by an angry woman.