Demon (28 page)

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.

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.

But he’d known, and been prepared for my reaction. He knew too much about me.

He was still watching me, and I was suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze. I slid down in the bed once more, turning my back to him. I was unwilling to get up and go in search of clothing, but his steady gaze made me desperately uncomfortable. “I’m going to sleep some more,” I mumbled.

I hoped he’d take the hint and leave the bed, leave me; for a minute he didn’t move. And then he did, sliding down, turning and curving his body around mine in a gesture I might have thought was protective if it weren’t for the hard ridge of flesh at my back.

His arms went around me, pulling me back against him, his hands sliding up to cover my breasts. I made a hissing noise, only squirming for an instant, and then settling back against his protective warmth. I don’t know why I felt I needed protection—he had proven to be my greatest danger. But for some reason he felt like my greatest safety, and I closed my eyes and slept.

L
YING IN BED WITH
R
ACHEL
wrapped in his arms was pure hell, and it was only the beginning of his penance. If he could bring her at least a
small portion of peace, then he would, no matter what the price. A raging hard-on was minor torment, right?

How had he come to such a place in his limitless existence? He’d prided himself on being cold and controlled with everyone but Sarah, and her loss had scoured away the last bit of gentleness he owned. It had taken too long to realize he’d become a monster, what he despised most. He might not have been Uriel’s bitch, but he’d come close enough, and it had taken Rachel’s near death to make him realize it.

He could still taste her—the sweetness of her desire, the richness of her blood—and he wanted to groan. He didn’t dare fall asleep; he’d probably end up with a wet dream, thoroughly horrifying her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it: how she’d finally accepted him, wrapping her legs around him and drawing him in tighter; the soft sounds of need that came from her throat when he thrust; the way she’d thrown her head back and arched her neck into the pulling of his mouth as he’d sucked the nourishing, strengthening blood from her.

Hell, who was he kidding? The taking of blood was ritual, deliberate, a holy act and one of healing and strength. It was also the most erotic thing
the Fallen were capable of doing, and it had sealed him to her.

God, he thought, shaken. And yet he’d known. Known that it would come to this, that they were bound together whether she hated him or not. She knew it too, even if she refused to admit it. He expected she’d keep fighting it. And he would let her, up to a point. He would have given her more time if he’d had the option, but Uriel was getting too close. Azazel had had no choice but to throw his own doubts and hesitation to the wind. He’d allow her to keep hers for as long as feasible. One more thing he owed her.

His face was in her hair, and it should have tickled. Instead it felt like silk against his skin. He remembered what it was like to feel this way about a woman, the physical connection that never left. And he knew the guilt that had ridden him hard. Guilt that had nothing to do with Sarah and everything to do with him and his own anger. Sarah had let him go, long ago. Now it was time for him to finish releasing her.

Rachel settled deeper into sleep, clearly exhausted. He hadn’t taken enough of her blood to make a difference—in fact, he’d deliberately denied himself as much as he wanted, all that would have been acceptable, in his urgency to protect her. But the power of the first real mating
was bone-shattering, and she might sleep all day.

It didn’t matter. They had a war to plan. She could sleep, and he would come back to her.

She could sleep.

I
T LOOKED LIKE LATE AFTERNOON
when I finally woke, alone in the big bed. I was suffused with the strangest feelings: delight and dread, luxurious lassitude and the certainty that I needed to be rushing around, intense physical satisfaction and deep sexual longing. I wanted him again. I wanted him between my legs, leaning over me, sweating, pushing. I wanted his mouth on my neck, drinking what only I could give him.

I forced myself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. I was in such a fog I could barely appreciate its elegance; but after a few minutes under a shower that felt like a gentle rainfall, I felt much more alive.

I found my discarded clothes neatly folded on a chair, and I wondered who had done it. The thought of Azazel tending to me was too bizarre to contemplate, yet I thought I would have known if someone else had come into the room. It had to have been him.

I dressed quickly, trying not to think about how those clothes had come off me. The one thing I
couldn’t find was the camisole, and I remembered his disapproval and found a brief smile curving my mouth.

I went through the living room, not even bothering to look for something as civilized as a note, and opened the door to the hall. I could hear the arguments from there. Men’s voices, furious and demanding, behind the closed door of the council room. Immediately I turned around and went back in, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t interested in their curious eyes. They would know exactly what Azazel and I had done, and how we had done it, and right then it felt agonizingly personal. I didn’t want anyone else intruding.

So I was starving to death. Big deal—I’d survive.

The sun was already beginning to set. I opened the French doors and stepped out onto the secluded patio, letting the soft breeze dance around me. The smell of the ocean on the air was soothing, which was odd, considering that the sight of it terrified me. And thank the gods and goddesses, there was a tray on the low table, with fresh fruit and croissants and iced tea, the ice still fresh.

I glanced around for another entrance to the patio, but I could see none. Whoever had brought
the food was a magician, and I didn’t care. I sank down into one of the wicker chairs and began to eat.

I could still hear the angry voices, but at a distance, and I closed my eyes, letting myself drift back into the memory of last night. I was immediately wet, and disgusted with myself.

I wasn’t going to worry about it. That’s what I felt like; and when he finally returned to these rooms, he’d sense my arousal and—

What if he didn’t return to these rooms? What if the initial bonding was all that was needed? He’d made it clear he didn’t want to have feelings about me. I didn’t doubt that he did—I wasn’t that insecure—but I knew he was more than willing to fight them. Just as I was.

Except that I wasn’t. I needed him, I needed him now. I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting my fingers drift to my mouth, down to my breasts, then up to the invisible brand on my neck, and I wondered if I could will him to come to me. If I called to him, would he hear me?

A shadow passed between me and the sun, and I opened my eyes in instant, unguarded delight. And then froze, looking up into the cloaked face of a stranger.

“Who are you?” I croaked. By now I knew every inhabitant of Sheol, by face if not by name, and
this was no man I had ever seen before. I looked into his eyes and they were empty, as if there were no one there, and I had seen eyes like that before. When I’d been strapped to a table in a dark room in a dark city, out of my mind with pain.

I tried to scream, but no noise came out. They’d already taken my voice, and this time they would finish me. I scrambled to my feet, knocking over the chair in my hurry, but the creature didn’t move, simply following me with those empty eyes.

I tried again for my voice, and found a husking remnant of it. “Go away. You don’t belong here. I don’t have any more information for you. I’ve told you everything—you don’t need to hurt me anymore.”

He spoke then, in an eerie, disembodied voice that sounded mechanical. “We are not here to hurt you.”

We?
I looked around and saw there was another one to my left, watching me with the same soulless intent. I stood a fighting chance against one of them. Two—impossible.

I still tried to back away, toward the French doors I’d stupidly closed. If I got inside I could lock the door, slowing them down while I ran for help. “Then why are you here?” I asked.

“To kill you,” the creature said, his voice expressionless.

“Why?” I was edging closer and closer to the door, and neither of them had moved. There was just the slightest chance I could make it.

“So it has been decreed, and so it shall be,” he said, moving toward me, and I saw his hands, hands that were more like claws, and for one crucial moment I froze in remembered terror.

My panic broke, and I whirled around just before he touched me, making a dash toward the door; but he caught me, talons ripping through the white cotton into my shoulders, and I felt the spurt of blood as I screamed once more, in deathly silence, knowing they would kill me, praying that death would be quick and merciful.

I didn’t want to die. Not now. I wanted to lie in bed with Azazel and explore all the pleasures of the flesh. I wanted to walk in the bright sunlight beside the water that frightened me. I wanted to talk with Allie and laugh with the others, and I wanted to do what I did best. I wanted to heal the loss, make certain there were babies for these women to hold in their arms.

I felt a strange frisson ripple through my body, almost as if I were changing form; and instead of running, I lashed out at the Truth Breaker nearest me, watching in shock as the talons of a night bird ripped across his face, and he screamed in pain.

A second later the French doors exploded in a hail of glass shards, and Azazel stood there, rage on his pale face, his wings, his beautiful wings, unfurled. They were a deep blue-black, seeming to fill the space with a righteous fury, and then he was a blur of movement, ripping the Truth Breaker away from me and slamming him against the wall. I could hear the crunch of bones, the creature’s high-pitched squeal of pain as I dropped to the ground, clutching my torn shoulders. I must have imagined that temporary shift, the lashing out with a raptor’s talons.

Someone had followed Azazel and was making quick, efficient work of the second one, breaking his neck and dropping him to the ground, but Azazel was horrifyingly merciless. He tore the pincerlike hands off the first creature as it shrieked and babbled, and then, with a quick twist, broke his neck and ripped his head from his body.

I should have been sick, horrified. Instead, if I’d had a voice, I would have cheered him. I was on my knees on the stone patio, blood streaming down my arms, my hands making no progress in trying to stanch it. Feeling dizzy, I swayed, thinking I could just lie down for a moment; then he was beside me, scooping me up in his arms, an unreadable expression on his face as he cradled me against him.