Demon Angel

kept it private—but he'd wanted her to hear, wanted to remind her that if she had decided to remove the mark, there would still be some version of Lilith in existence. Wanted her to hear that the woman she had been was reason enough for Michael to reestablish the Guardian corps.
    "You would be safe. You would be free."
    She shrugged. "Safety and freedom would mean nothing to the woman I was." She dipped her head, caught the stream of water sliding across the hollow of his throat with her tongue. "And I know it would not stop you from sacrificing yourself."
    "Lilith—"
    "I know," she whispered. "I know. But we have two more days; another option might present itself."
    But there were not many left.
----

CHAPTER 36
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    Hugh woke just after dawn; she watched him leave the bed and gather his clothes from the closet. He murmured something to Sir Pup, and the hellhound gave a short bark of agreement. A run, then. She closed her eyes against the heaviness in her throat, her chest. An idea must have occurred to him, and he was working it through, teasing out the threads, examining the weave of it.
    Unable to fall back asleep, she slipped into one of his shirts and padded barefoot down the hall. Colin sat on the sofa, watching spellbound as a woman chopped and sautéed on the television. Lilith rolled her eyes and continued through to the kitchen.
    She poured a glass of orange juice and returned to the living room to look him over. "Did you hunt?"
    "Why?" His fangs flashed when he grinned. "Are you afraid I'll eat you now that you're human?"
    "Your clothes," she said, nodding toward the silk trousers, the tailored shirt. "Did you attack some unsuspecting fool and leave him naked?"
    "I'd hoped you'd be afraid." He sighed dramatically. "As for the clothes, I'm a most beloved client at Wilkes Bashford. They delivered."
    She stole a glance at the clock, and shook her head in disbelief. He complained about the price of dog food, and then paid unimaginable amounts for clothing. "Did you take a sip from the delivery boy?"
    "And the housewife across the street." He paused. "Everyone in the neighborhood may be anemic by the time this is sorted out."
    It might be sorted out sooner than Colin thought. The juice was tart and cold over her tongue, but she hardly tasted it. What was Hugh planning?
    The silence stretched between them. Colin studied her features, and she wasn't certain what he saw there. Waiting became a physical ache; every passing moment seemed to unravel into an eternity. She searched for something to fill it.
    "Are the reporters still outside?"
    "No, unfortunately; I'd have liked a bite of the Channel Five correspondent. She's starred in my eleven o'clock news fantasies for years."
    Hard to muster a smile, though she tried. "Did Selah return?"
    The humor in Colin's eyes dimmed. "Yes. She's out with Hugh. Michael's still here, using the computer in the upstairs apartment."
    Her brows rose, but he lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug.
    "I can't make sense of it, either."
    She nodded slowly. Michael must be in contact with someone—Bradshaw, perhaps. As difficult a time as she had imagining Michael typing, at least he wasn't using smoke signals or Morse code.
    He must have heard them; moments later, he walked into the living room. No toga or giant black wings, simply a loose white tunic and cotton pants. No display of power in that appearance, and she wanted to curse at him for it. Perhaps if he had made a better showing of strength, Hugh would not take this all upon himself.
    He met her gaze, his features without expression. "They are returning."
    "You can stop him," she said without thought and was horrified when tears sprang into her eyes, as if the words had released a terrible pressure within her.
    His visage blurred, but his words rang clear. " I cannot."
    Footsteps at the back door; she drew in great breaths, but though her chest filled and filled it seemed she could get no air. "Please," she whispered. "You know what I will do. You know what I am."
    Michael shook his head. "So does he."
    She turned. Hugh. God, but he was beautiful. And he did not look away from her, though he should have.
    "I will submit to the ritual," he said quietly.
    The glass slipped from her fingers, vanished before it hit the floor. She did not notice; her focus narrowed down to Hugh.
    "No." A strong denial, but it would not be enough.
    His jaw clenched, and he continued, "It is not just for you, Lilith. Eventually,