Demon Angel

with bits of cheeseburger when he called in the correct one.
    Hugh sat at the table, cleaning a crossbow and inspecting the bolts for flaws. He'd worked over each weapon in that careful, precise manner—not just to ascertain the demon hadn't given them faulty weaponry, she knew, but to avoid discussing his plan to sacrifice himself for her.
    But as she couldn't think of it without her throat tightening and her eyes burning, she avoided it as well.
    Grabbing another burger from the stack on the side table, she unwrapped it and tossed it to Sir Pup. He caught it midair in a movement so quick she couldn't follow it and settled back down on the bed.
    "Axe," she said and held out her hand. The hellhound was only a little bit off; the handle was at her fingertips instead of squarely in her palm, but she could compensate for it with a flick of her wrist.
    The danger was not in his placement of the weapon, but in how slow she was compared to Beelzebub. She sighed, and glanced up to find Hugh watching her with his steady blue gaze.
    "Two axes, three swords, a crossbow, a mace, and it's still not enough," he said.
    She rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension there, and nodded. "I was hoping I wouldn't, but I need a gun." Stafford hadn't had one, and Hugh had confirmed it wasn't a lie. What kind of asshole had unlimited storage for weapons and didn't pick up a gun? It was pathetic; everyone Above and Below, stuck in the Dark Ages. Frustrated, she kicked the corner of the bed, and it lurched across the room. Sir Pup woofed and grinned at the impromptu ride, but she didn't get as much pleasure out of it.
    Until a pistol fell at her feet.
    She recognized it; it was the same one she'd put in Hugh's bag on Friday night. She looked at Hugh, startled, then back at the hellhound. And remembered Hugh's story of how he'd lost it.
    "You picked this up from Colin's basement? When did you plan on letting us know, you ungrateful cur?" Sir Pup opened his mouth, flopped his ears. The ungrateful cur was laughing at her. She fought to keep the smile from her lips and failed. "Was it the pig thing in the park? You're still punishing me for that?"
    "Do you have my swords?" Hugh said from beside her. She hadn't heard him move.
    Two slim blades landed on the mattress. Hugh picked them up and nodded his appreciation to the hellhound. "If we are looking for speed, these will be better than the heavy swords Rael gave us." Turning back to Lilith, he said, "So we didn't gain anything, but you are indebted to a demon again."
    "It's not the same kind of debt. If I don't fulfill it, I don't spend eternity frozen in Hell," she said and strode past him to pick up the quarrels from the table. "And we gained these."
    She returned to the bed, laid each bolt out on the mattress. Picked up the gun, pulled out the clip, and pushed out the bullets into a neat pile. She slipped out of her clothes and stood silently for a few moments, clad only in her underwear.
    "Do you need help?" Hugh said quietly, removing his own shirt.
    She shook her head, but she had to swallow several times to push down the sickness that began roiling within her. "The venom sacs are under his tongues. Only two incisions each, but they'll be deep and long," she said hoarsely. "Just hold the ice bucket underneath to catch the fluid."
    "He'll heal quickly."
    "Yes," she said and laughed without humor. "But it will hurt him. All these years he avoided Punishment, and now I'm the one to hurt him."
    Sir Pup looked at her mournfully and shifted into his three-headed form, growing until he filled most of the queen-sized bed. Her vision blurred, and she spent a few minutes rubbing his noses, letting him slobber kisses across her cheeks. "You shouldn't let me do this," she told him, but he only licked her face again.
    Dammit. She was drawing it out. "Can I have your short sword?" Her hands trembled.
    Wordlessly, Hugh gave her the blade, and his palm lingered against hers, solid and warm. It was the sharpest of the swords, would cause the least damage and pain—but if she hesitated or shook, it would hurt him more.
    Hugh withdrew his hand from hers, then brushed his thumb over her cheek. "He allows you to do it because he loves you," he said.
    The knowledge didn't help steady her, but that simple touch did. She steeled herself and began to cut.
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CHAPTER 32
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    "Sword," Hugh said as she exited the bathroom, and that was the only warning she received before he swung the blade