Demon Angel

from that small betrayal, he waited, motionless.
    "The first when I was fifteen, to a general in my father's army. The second, six years later—a Roman senator, who was assassinated within three years of our union." She grinned when he raised a brow. "I didn't do it; though I would have, had I the opportunity."
    His unreasonable jealousy faded. He choked on a laugh, gulped his wine to clear his throat. "Why?"
    She shrugged. "The marriage was a political alliance, but despite his promises to smooth relations between Rome and Carthage, he helped implement the plan to destroy us without mercy."
    "You were illegitimate?" he guessed.
    "Yes," she said with an ironic smile. "But still useful as a pawn."
    From her tone, he understood she was also speaking of Lucifer. "Is that why you were transformed? You were a pawn?"
    She nodded, and she said without inflection, "Immediately after my husband was killed, I returned to Carthage. It was just before the siege began, and my father had been convinced that a sacrifice would be needed to save his city. Rome would descend upon us like a dragon, but with a human sacrifice—but not just any human, one of the ruler's progeny—to the right gods, we would be spared. And I was… expendable."
    "Lucifer convinced him?" His voice was hoarse.
    "Yes."
    Her simple answer kindled fury within his chest. "Where were the Guardians?"
    "There were none," she said. "And Michael arrived too late—delayed by a creature Lucifer had created and let loose near the city. And once the ritual was complete, Lucifer offered me power, beauty, and immortality, and I took them." A hard smile curved her mouth. "And he offered revenge; had I been a better daughter, I would've died willingly for my father and my kingdom in that ritual. But I wasn't, and I relished the chance to revenge myself upon him."
    "Did you get that chance?"
    She shook her head. "No. Not on my father; Rome destroyed him before I could."
    He reached across the counter, cupped her cheek in his palm. She raised her eyes to his, and her expression was entirely without self-pity, without bitterness. How could it be?
    "How can you not want to revenge yourself upon me?"
    "You would let me?"
    His eyes darkened. "Aye."
    "Martyr," she muttered, but her smile wanned. "I was willing to die that night; that's the difference."
    "Are you willing now?" He couldn't allow her to sacrifice herself; it would be his death, as well.
    "No." She grinned. "I intend to wipe the Earth clean of nosferatu and demons, then salt the ground in Hell. Are you willing?"
    To die for her, aye. But he only said, "We'll need more salt." Her grin widened, and she popped an olive into her mouth. Withdrawing his hand, he took another drink and calculated in his head. "You were twenty-four?"
    "It's fitting, isn't it? Like Faustus." She grimaced. "Only my twenty-four years were free of demons."
    He laughed. "Mephistopheles would have cowered before you. So you are almost two thousand one hundred eighty years old."
    "With either four days remaining, or sixty years. Either way, I'm the oldest woman on Earth. Of my few accomplishments, it's one I can take pride in," she said, her eyes shining with amusement. She lifted the soup to her mouth.
    "And I the oldest man." He rubbed his chin, felt the stubble there; he should have shaved. It would not do to scrape her skin. "It may be more than sixty years," he said absently.
    She lowered her bowl, wiped her upper lip with her thumb and licked the tip. "Sixty-five? A significant difference, indeed," she said, rolling her eyes.
    "Most likely twice that." He frowned slightly, realizing that if no demon halfling had been transformed back into human before, she would not know the consequences of it. "Lilith—" he paused, unsure how to explain it. He did not know the reason behind it, only that it was true of every Guardian who had Fallen. "You'll age relatively slowly. Look at me—really look. I am, in human years, thirty-three."
    Her gaze traveled over his face. "You do look younger than that, but modern nutrition and medic—"
    "You are simply too accustomed to me at seventeen," he said, smiling. "And without eyeglasses. I am changed, but only by seven years' worth, at most. Do you not notice your strength?" He thought how she had easily tossed him over on the bed. "Perhaps because you were a demon much longer than I was a Guardian—but you almost equal a vampire. I have only half that."
    Her mouth was hanging open.
    "It leaves its mark,"