Demon Angel

thigh muscles, felt an answering tension in Hugh's.
    With a twist of the throttle, the bike rocketed forward. She let go of his waist and called for the crossbow. Though venom laced all of their weapons, the gun was too loud, the sword's range too limited. Sir Pup missed on the first attempt, and it smashed into the back of her hand before vanishing again.
    Too much to ask, they were all moving too quickly; the hellhound sprinting, and they had to lean into the turns so deeply their knees skimmed millimeters above the rough pavement, the constant motion denying him a stable target.
    She flipped up her visor and glanced back, up—there, the pale figures against the night sky… two of them. Nosferatu. Were they just watching, or planning to attack?
    Either way, she didn't want to be defenseless. "It's all right," she said quietly, "Try again."
    Three streets away from Hugh's house now; hopefully the news crews had given up, or they were going to get one hell of a story. The crossbow landed in her palm, and she carefully turned—dangerous to throw off their balance, particularly as they decelerated. .
    The two nosferatu hovered as if uncertain, then turned and fled. Her triumphant laughter faded as she tilted her head farther, saw another figure flying directly above them. He held a blazing sword, and as she watched, it dimmed and vanished.
    Michael.
    About fucking time. She readjusted her aim as they rounded the last corner and pulled the trigger. The Doyen teleported an instant before the quarrel pinned his balls to his ass. Coward. Lilith burst into laughter, slapped her visor down and tossed the crossbow to Sir Pup.
    The garage door rose when Hugh pressed a button on a device near the handlebars. Two media vans still sat in front of his house; a cameraman and a smartly dressed reporter scrambled out of the first van. Too late. Hugh pulled in, came to a smooth stop, cut the engine.
    For a moment, the hum of the lowering door and her laughter were the only sounds in the garage. Then his helmet hit the concrete floor, and he reached behind with one arm and hauled her around astride him, her thighs atop his. Her laughter died on a wave of heat. God, but he was still so strong, so quick. He fumbled with her helmet, pushed it off. Half-lowered, his lashes were dark, thick, hiding the intense blue of his eyes as he glanced down her length, his hands everywhere, as if to be certain that she hadn't been injured.
    "Lilith—God, Lily." His hands buried in her hair, pulled her down for a hard, searching kiss. His erection rose thick beneath his jeans and she arched back, finding an angle to stroke against him. Her panties were wet, soaking. He slid back along the seat, pulled her with him. Hurry . The tank dug into her spine. His hand moved between them. Something ripped.
    Her trousers. She couldn't stop sucking, licking at his mouth long enough to protest. Faster . Rough denim against her skin; he hadn't done more than unfasten them and his urgency made her wild, frantic. Dimly, she heard a voice at the door and Hugh's rough reply, and then he was inside her, his hot hard length thrusting deep. His mouth closed over her nipple and she came, her breath locked outside her and her inner muscles clenching in desperate, melting release. The motorcycle swayed and he hooked her knee over his arm and lifted, shoving into her again. A harsh moan tore from his throat as he withdrew, pausing with the thick head of his cock just inside before pulling all the way out.
    She would have cried out at the loss, didn't care who might have heard her—but she was faster, stronger even than he was. A heartbeat's time, and she moved and her mouth surrounded him. A ragged, shuddering breath; his hands on her head; her name from his lips. She tasted herself, then he pulsed beneath her tongue; their flavors mingled, hot and raw. And it was not a rhythm, not routine—just life.
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CHAPTER 35
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    "That was quick," Colin said from his reclining position on the . sofa, and Hugh didn't need to see him to know a smirk accompanied the statement.
    "You look like a wyrmrat," Lilith said, stripping away her trousers and tossing them toward the trash bin. She stalked into the living room, her long legs bare. "No, now that I'm closer: you look like a wyrmrat's ass."
    A glimmer of a smile touched Hugh's lips, but when he took in the vampire's drawn, skeletal countenance, he had to agree with her assessment. Moving nearer the sofa, he noted