Demon Angel

then promise that it'll be the last option, not the first."
    "It will be the last , I promise you that."
    This time she connected, and he laughed though it must have hurt him. She shook the stinging from her hand, and her heart clenched as she looked at him. His eyes bright blue with amusement; his beautiful, sculpted mouth; the strong, masculine line of his jaw and throat. And the rest of him: a warrior contained within that body, though little used for battle since his Fall. He'd not been able to deny his physicality, channeled it into different activities; he'd not been waiting to fight, but he'd been unable to resist what he was.
    What he always would be.
    Despite the mirth lingering at the corners of his eyes, the curve of his lips, his voice was solemn as he finally said, "I am here, Lilith." He gestured to the table and the venom-soaked bolts, to Sir Pup. "If I thought my death was the only way to save you, I would have you tied to the bed at home and spend my last hours lost within you. Four days are not enough to make up for the eight hundred I was too foolish to take for my own, yet I would try."
    She nodded slowly; she could be content with that, for now.
    After a glance at the clock, she said, "I saw a condom dispenser near the soda machine. We can make up for time now."
    His gaze darkened, but he shook his head. "We need to practice; I haven't used a sword in sixteen years, and you are still unaccustomed to your new levels of speed and strength."
    She rolled her eyes, though he was right. The room was smaller than Smith's office, but it would serve them well to test their skills within the tight confines, using the furniture as obstacles. "Sword," she said, and grinned when he did the same. "And when you are satisfied, Professor—may I screw you after that?"
    "If we haven't been tossed out for making noise, certainly." He was quick; his blade flashed, and rang against hers. His smile was slow. "But as all of my students will tell you: I'm rarely satisfied."
    Though she recognized his gambit—he intended to distract her—she could not stop the heat gathering within her, the moisture pooling low. She saved her breath for combat, or else she would have laughed: little did he know she was accustomed to fighting him with her body afire. Still, it took her longer than she'd anticipated. Cerberus's balls, but he was clever with his weapon, even disadvantaged by his lesser strength and speed, even taking care not to hurt her.
    It seemed an eternity before she finally pinned him against the wall, her body pressed into his, her sword at his throat.
    Perspiration slid down the side of his neck, and she suddenly felt parched, desperate to sip from his golden skin. Her chest heaved against his, her nipples tight and aching beneath the thin cotton. His denim jeans were rough against her bare thighs, his arousal hard and hot against her lower abdomen. "Satisfied?"
    His hand fisted in her hair, and for a breathless moment she thought he would continue; he had several escape maneuvers from that angle: from his legs, from the leverage in that grip.
    And when his sword dropped to the floor, it was hardly surrender, but a challenge.
    "Not yet," he said, lowering his lips to hers. And his mouth was a much more effective weapon; she held onto her sword, but within seconds she was disarmed. Defenseless.
    The screams had stopped—or he and Selah had clawed so far into the cave the sound no longer penetrated the thick walls.
    Too dark to see, but he could feel Selah's terror. His had faded days before, replaced by resignation, numbness.
    "Try again," he said.
    He hadn't taken blood from her since they'd teleported here; he barely had the strength to lift his hand, to search her out. Her fingers touched his.
    And he knew she'd failed when she gave a shuddering sigh, let go his hand.
    She'd promised not to leave him and had kept it. He'd brought her to this place, where giant scaled creatures tore and ripped and clawed. Where bodies dangled from a ceiling of frozen flesh, all but their faces exposed to the dragons' hungry jaws—but even without faces, they screamed. And screamed as their bodies regenerated and were eaten again.
    He could feel more creatures—smaller but just as deadly, just as hungry—moving in the darkness; it would not be long before he and Selah were found, and had to flee again. But he had no strength to flee this time. And he was tired—so tired.
    "Try without me," Colin said.
    And when he reached