Demon Angel

with tricks and lies attached to them. If only this time, it would be pure; and she lingered over it, tracing the contour of his lips with hers, feeling his response as he tasted and explored the shape of her. There was an answer on his lips and tongue, but she did not allow herself to hear it; she had little worth giving but a promise, and would not take more than she offered. She pulled away—and already, the mischievous smile on her lips was a lie, and her words had different meaning below the surface of them. "Then you should not carry me."
    Should she be sorry that he read the truth? It was impossible, when he echoed what she'd just promised him in silence. "Then I must be fated to remain an imbecile, for I will not let you go."
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CHAPTER 27
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    Over the years, he'd used Truth in an attempt to tear down Lilith's defenses; never had he thought he'd use it to rebuild them. Hugh prowled the length of the living room, debating the wisdom of forcing honesty upon her when she clearly wanted to hide behind lies. Her vulnerability had torn at him, and perhaps he should have allowed her that false defense—yet he could not. Had they the luxury of time, he could have waited until she recovered from the transformation. Waited for her to erect emotional shields to replace those she had depended on her demon physiology to provide.
    But he knew—as she did—the nosferatu would come for them in four days, no matter the outcome of the bargain. If her shields were brittle and false, they could be easily penetrated. If they found a way to fight the nosferatu, to defeat Lucifer's bargain, she needed to be confident—not just in herself, but know he would support her, wouldn't fail her. And so he had forced her to acknowledge the emotional intimacy between them, as surely as he had forced the physical intimacy two nights before.
    Manipulation, yet again. He'd become a master of it.
    Books lay scattered from the police search, but he made no effort to set them to rights. He paced instead, listening to the sounds she made as she showered and dressed, wanting to help her, but knowing that, did he offer too much now, she would not shed the certainty that she had become a burden to him. Ridiculous, that—how could she not recognize how much he needed her; not just to fight the nosferatu, but in every way possible? His body still ached from the frustration of wanting her, having her so close—but she was far too vulnerable to press that physical advantage. She would have used sex to forget what Lucifer had done, used it to conceal her emotions in yet another way. Another false defense she'd been trying to build, but that he couldn't allow. Despite her declaration that she was herself again… she hadn't been.
    And he needed Lilith; needed the woman who'd survived as a demon, when no other human had. The woman who made him laugh without trying. The woman who was devious, and mischievous, and relentless. Whose vulnerabilities stemmed from her capacity for softer emotions, not her fear of them—
    He tensed as he heard her on the stairs from Savi's apartment. Though the hellhound had been stretched out lazily in the pool of sunlight that streamed in over the kitchen sink, Sir Pup perked his ears at her approach, his tongue lolling in anticipation. With a wry grin, Hugh realized his expression must be a human reflection of the hellhound's.
    Lilith wasn't the only one who'd exposed her vulnerabilities.
    She strode into the room with the long, loose-hipped gait of a warrior, strength in the set of her shoulders. Her dark eyes were intense as she surveyed him, and his body hardened in response to the piercing, claiming expression within them.
    No shyness in that gaze, nothing coy or hidden. He stared at her in return, letting his gaze drift down the length of her. She'd raided Savi's closet, and the small black T-shirt with sin city emblazoned across her chest made his lips quirk into a smile, even as the cling of material to her firm breasts, the outline of her taut nipples sent heat spiraling to his cock. His khakis— with pockets lining the pant legs—hung low on her hips, and the bare skin between the hem of the shirt and the waistband almost brought him to his knees, so that he could kiss that pale strip, bury his face against her abdomen and worship her as she deserved.
    There was a wicked tilt to her lips as she finally turned to glance at the hellhound. "Don't eat his pussy." She sauntered into the kitchen;