Demon Angel

intended for me live much longer than it took to kill you."
    "You had no shortage of time, no need to be conditioned before Michael made his wager. But if Lucifer had another deadline to meet and another bargain to fulfill—with the nosferatu—he might have already planned your Fall and your death."
    She looked around the room and results of the half-assed search. Smith was likely compiling and forging evidence in his case against Hugh before he went for the arrest in Lilith's disappearance. A lot of work, when he could have easily spun a story about an assignment to explain it, could even have covered up the books and weapons… but had chosen to pursue a murder investigation instead—without her body and little evidence of violence. Had he planned on providing that body and violence later?
    Why bother, when there was enough evidence to take Hugh into custody—even of short duration—for the other three murders?
    "I don't know," she said again, and slid on her boots. "All I'm certain of is that Beelzebub's going to be pissed when I show up with you at the Bureau and blow his murder case. If he has time to be pissed when I'm pumping him full of hellhound venom." She glanced up at Hugh and grinned. "Either way, it's a good day to be alive."
    She wrapped her arms around his waist as they sped north to Tiburon. The smooth rumble from the engine was a constant presence between her thighs, through her body—pleasant, but not half as thrilling as the firm muscle of Hugh's back, his taut abdomen beneath her hands. Now and then she glimpsed Sir Pup running alongside them, ears flopping.
    At first she thought the strange reverberation in the back of her mind was a result of the engine, but as they neared the bay it became insistent—and familiar. Overwhelming as they crossed the bridge, then fading again on the northern end.
    Suddenly sick, she tugged on Hugh's shirt, signed for him to stop. A scenic viewpoint for tourists was off to the side; he pulled over. She tore off the helmet and walked to the low wall at the edge of the cliffs. Took deep, cleansing breaths. The hum faded, though it seemed an effect of her will rather than a lessening of its presence.
    Hugh touched her cheek, smoothed back her hair. "What is it?"
    "I can still feel the Gate." She pointed over the side, where the bridge spanned the mouth of the bay.
    A thoughtful look slid over Hugh's features. "When in close proximity to them, I can still sense Caelum's Gates. Another mark left behind."
    "This is normal?" She should have been relieved, but his expression made her wary. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
    He nodded. "We can't go through them, but they still resonate." Abruptly, he turned and remounted the bike. "Come on. We have a visit to pay to our congressman."
    Dread knotted her stomach, but she got on behind him. She felt the new tension in the line of his shoulders, feared she knew its source. It was one thing for her demonic name to be scrawled across her chest; another to have an invisible, irreversible link to Hell.
    No. She squeezed her eyes shut, forced that evil little voice away. That wasn't it; those were her doubts, not his. The gentleness in his hands, the hot touch of his mouth—his words—had spoken for him endlessly the previous night and day.
    But what had forced this withdrawal? She knew he didn't want to hurt her, so why withdraw unless he thought he'd cause her pain? What would—
    No. Oh, God, no.
    If she'd had her gun, she would have shot him, injured him so badly he couldn't get out of bed, much less jump off a bridge. She dug her nails into his waist, and she might have thrown him from the motorcycle had he not turned into a driveway. She barely saw the manicured lawn, the landscaped borders of the drive.
    She was off the bike instantly, shaking with rage. "You selfish fucking martyr."
    Her throat closed when she saw his eyes, dark with defensive anger, as if her assault had hurt him. He spoke from between clenched teeth. "I don't want to, Lilith. That's why we're here: to find another way. But if there is no—" He bit off the rest. "This isn't the time."
    A voice spoke from behind her. "But I'm enjoying it immensely."
    Her hands flexed as she automatically tried to call in her swords—but there was no need. Stafford couldn't attack either of them; if he could, Lilith would never have risked coming here.
    She turned, but Stafford's gaze was on Hugh, his blond eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. He stood in front of the