Demon Angel

trembled, and he reached out, covered her hand with his, and drew the point to his chest.
    Her face swam in and out of focus. He couldn't tell if he heard her now, or if it was an echo from before she'd begun. Stay with me .
    It had not hurt much—she had been quick, the dagger had been sharp. But now the waiting, as she held the wide-mouthed glass ewer beneath his chest, watched it fill. A hungry chick, beak open for worms. He'd had to tip forward for it to drain better, and he was not certain how much she held him up, and what was done of his own power.
    Three liters, that ewer. Even did Colin's blood strengthen him, he couldn't survive… Nay, nay—do not think of the vampire.
    Stay with me.
    "I will miss your laugh, Lily," he said. "I will miss your heat and your lies."
    All his strength to lift his head; a moment ago, he thought he'd not had even that much left. She was staring at him, a fierce joy on her face. And a terrible sadness.
    "I love you." Her voice was soft, but he heard it clearly. He leaned back, grateful for the support of the cold metal. She pressed the dagger into his hand, and he closed his fist around it.
    She turned away. "It's done," she announced. The ewer was full; she began pouring it into equal portions under Lucifer's watchful eye.
    Stirrings, odd murmurings among the nosferatu. He did not know the language, but their concern was palpable, the reason plain.
    He should have been dead. He was weak, breathless, nauseated—but alive. He should have been dead.
    An odd hum under his skin, in his blood. He'd felt it before, during his transformation to Guardian—and again when he'd Fallen. He turned his head.
    Michael stared at him, his body rigid. His bronze skin glistened with sweat.
    This would not fulfill her bargain. What had she done?
    "What have you done?" Moloch's voice. He approached the table, eyeing the blood suspiciously.
    A cold smile touched her mouth, and she filled another cup.
    The nosferatu turned to Lucifer, hissed the words in the Old Language. "Do you betray us, Morningstar?"
    "You watched him bleed," he replied in the same tongue. She felt his gaze on her, trying to penetrate her thoughts. "Are you so foolish you cannot see? She loves him. She trades her soul for his life; she means to betray me by returning him to Guardian, preventing his death."
    "And us? Does she betray us?"
    The air around Lucifer began to heat with his anger. "Do you wish to know, taste her."
    Cold fear twisted in her stomach, but she only lifted a brow and said, "Are you certain, Father? I'm hardly trustworthy. I may know more of your magic and symbols than you think; do you want him to know as well?" Filling her thoughts of symbols and blood on the windowsill, on a door, she opened her mind and showed him the truth of it. Hoped he would fear she knew more.
    A weak gamble; he was not impressed. "A parlor trick, Lilith."
    The last of the blood into the final cup; her hands were trembling.
    Lucifer smiled. "Taste her. She is yours, anyway. Does not matter if I give her to you sooner than I anticipated."
    She backed up a step. "Michael," she said hoarsely.
    Moloch leapt over the table. "He cannot help you, halfling. The wager stipulated that there would be none killed for the rituals; we have no intention of using you. Does he attack me to help you, he loses."
    She shot a glance at Lucifer; amusement gleamed from his eyes. And why not? He won either way: if Michael helped, Lucifer would take Caelum; if Michael did not, she was at Moloch's mercy.
    Hugh's arm came around her waist. His still bleeding chest heaved against her back; he was too weak to help her, but he was trying.
    Moloch laughed and shifted. Terrible, to see Hugh's face on that creature. "I must admit, I've taken a liking to this form. They trusted him, and screamed the louder for it being done by one they cared for. Will you?"
    Shouts from Taylor and Preston—they could not understand what Moloch said, but no mistaking his intention.
    "Michael," she said again. Her heart pounded. Her left hand gripped Hugh's forearm, she searched for the dagger with her other. "Please."
    Too fast—his fangs were buried in her neck before her next breath. An explosion in her brain, a ripping, and he pulled back, his eyes wide.
    "Michael!" Hugh's desperate shout.
    A weapon in her hand—not the knife. The Doyen's sword. She did not know how to make it blaze, but she did not need fire. With this sword, even a human could kill a nosferatu; and she had