Demon Angel

looks ridiculous." The sleeves too short, the hem above his ankles. Though still lean and strong, as he'd been when a Guardian, his shoulders were broader; she'd clutched at them as he'd driven within her. He was taller, only an inch or two, but it had given him the height to find exactly the right angle, thrusting so deep…
    She took a breath, released it slowly. It was best, she decided, not to think about why he wasn't in his clothes. Best not to look at him at all; it was too strange, a mature Hugh, the one who had drawn more from her than she'd felt in two thousand years—ever—in that brown monk's robe.
    A familiar scent hung in the air. She paused, glanced back at Colin, then gestured to the ceiling. "Oh. Is she still up there?"
    His eyes wide, Colin nodded.
    Grinning, Lilith looked at Hugh. "He tied Selah up in his bedroom and has been feeding from her for two days."
    "Is that so?" His gaze lit on her, and she warmed to it before she could remind herself to be distant, to be cold. "I don't suppose he was the one who caught her, though."
    "She trespassed," Colin said with an arch of his brow, clearly thinking that he needed to defend Lilith's actions—not realizing she needed no defense with Hugh. Not in this, at least.
    Hugh's lips twitched, but his eyes were quiet, solemn. "As we all do."
    He did not have to apologize; she knew what it had done to him to take her that way. Her throat tightened.
    Colin sniffed the air, grimaced. "You smell like a human. And I wish you'd let me know you'd been one; perhaps then I wouldn't have been so frightened of you."
    She turned, her eyes glowing bright. "Did you know about that ridiculous book? And didn't tell me?"
    "Yes." He grinned unrepentantly. "I didn't want you to steal it from me."
    She bit back her laugh, turned away, and walked toward the stairs. In less than an hour, she had to be through the Gate, and she couldn't go like this; she needed to wash, though she could not erase him from her skin. She needed to find disdain, anger and hate. But she searched within herself and could not. Not for Hugh, anyway.
    Sir Pup bounded toward her when she opened the bedroom door, and she lauded compliments upon him for his fine Guardian-watching. Selah was awake, and her face suffused with color when she saw Hugh.
    "Well done," he said dryly, nodding. His gaze ran over the chains, the manacles holding her to the bed. "It is a fine thing, to see a student excel."
    The Guardian's blush deepened, but her eyes were bright with anger and disbelief. "You would align yourself with this demon?"
    Mentor and student stared at each other; Lilith buried her face in the hellhound's fur. There was an undercurrent, a knowledge between the two she could feel but not penetrate.
    "With this one, aye," he finally said. He accepted the pile of clothes Colin brought from the dressing room. He began pulling on the pants beneath the robe, casually, as if unaware how his declaration tore through Lilith, sharper than a sword.
    Sir Pup whimpered and licked her face with multiple tongues. "Come on," she said, and stood. She could not look at Hugh, not at that moment—so she looked at Colin and saw his wonder; damn him, he studied faces, and he would see too much in hers. "I'll feed him now, but I'm leaving him with you again. Take care of him or I'll kill you."
    She didn't wait for his nod or his argument, but left the room quickly, the hellhound at her heels. Colin's self-portraits lined the hallway, and she ignored his knowing stare, just as she had in the bedroom. Bare feet sounded behind her; she could have outrun him. Could have, but still turned at the sound of his voice.
    "Lily." Hugh stood, pulling up his zipper, the robe hiked over his hip. The sweater Colin had given him trailed from his other hand. His hair was damp again, wild from the flight; his dark lashes spiked, intensifying the blue of his eyes.
    She should not see Caelum in them. Not heaven.
    "You look like an imbecile." He looked beautiful. She stalked toward him, and he did not flinch, even when Sir Pup growled and slavered beside her. As given to dramatics as she was, her hellhound. She gripped the neckline of the robe, ripped it down the center of his torso. "I hate this fucking thing."
    "I do, too," he said, laughing. "Take it, throw it into the Lake of Fire." Catching her hand, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to center of her palm. Still smiling, but his eyes were dark now. "And come back to me. I'll find a