Demon Angel

more strength and speed than a human—not as much as she had as a demon, but enough. Moloch's torso thudded to the floor before his legs toppled over.
    Her hand clapped to her torn throat; Michael's power knitted it together beneath her fingers. She shook her head, rasped, "Hugh." Forced away the sickness of feeling, seeing, smelling the blood everywhere.
    Needed to keep it flowing into him. She stole a glance at the Guardian; he focused on Hugh again, and she breathed a relieved sigh. Behind him, Taylor and Preston lowered their weapons. She looked down. Two neat, round holes bloodied Moloch's temple.
    It wouldn't have killed him, but it had probably helped slow him down.
    Grinning, she turned back to the nosferatu, gave the sword a little spin. "The boys for the blood," she said.
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CHAPTER 39
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    Hugh watched Lilith's face; he could understand nothing of what the nosferatu said as they argued amongst themselves, but she could—and it did not please her.
    The fear of betrayal warring with the desire for a home. He filled his mind with images of Caelum, let them filter out. The nosferatu fell silent.
    Until Lucifer spoke. "You saw him bleed. The symbols are true, the anchor will hold. You do not need these four to kill; once in my service, there will be much blood to spill." Arrogance, pride. He had not perceived a trick, except for Lilith's keeping Hugh alive instead of sacrificing him—and now the nosferatu's hesitation angered him, cast doubt upon the power of the ritual. Lucifer turned to Lilith. "Once they drink, they will be released."
    Truth. But the moment the nosferatu drank the blood they would know the deception. Hugh's fingers moved by his leg, the signal hidden from the nosferatu and Lucifer.
    "Agreed," he said quietly. Lilith's body quivered, but she gave no other sign of her dismay. He glanced over at his students; he had avoided looking at them until this moment—too much anger in him at the sight of their fear. "Are you guys ready to go? You want to go?"
    Necessary to make it clear; this couldn't work without their willingness to go. And they'd have no time after to explain about free will.
    Four pale, stricken faces nodded in reply.
    The nosferatu moved forward as one, lifted the cups. Drank.
    The hum in his blood ceased as Michael teleported. He and Selah, taking two boys each—they disappeared. The boys were safe then, but the screams of outrage from the nosferatu echoed through the warehouse. Weapons flashed as they came across the room on a wave of rage; the Guardians met them halfway.
    Lilith scrambled back, pulling him with her. She pushed him as a nosferatu flew over their heads, and quick human hands caught him. Taylor and Preston.
    "Sir Pup—get them out." The hellhound whined, but Lilith clenched her teeth and repeated the command, hauling Hugh to his feet.
    Hugh could stand, had the strength. "Crossbow," he said, and Lilith let go of him again to swing at the nosferatu. She severed the creature's arm, but took a slice from its remaining weapon.
    He aimed, fired. The nosferatu dropped, and she finished it with a blow through its neck.
    "Get out." Blood streamed down her chest, splattered across her neck.
    "They're going." He spared a single glance at the two detectives, struggling against Sir Pup as he sprinted for the door, carrying them by their jacket collars like a mother with kittens.
    "You, too."
    He only grinned and fired another bolt. It caught a nosferatu's shoulder, slowed him down. Gave time for the novice who'd fallen in front of him to rise up, strike a killing blow.
    "Michael's back," Lilith said and began laughing.
    The Doyen didn't have his sword, but he was more than effective picking off the nosferatu. Teleporting in front of them, touching them and taking them away. No need to respect a nosferatu's free will; no punishment for denying it—and now they had an anchor to somewhere other than Earth.
    Fast, incredibly fast—ten, then fifteen. Twenty. The others tried to scatter, but the Guardians outnumbered them now, trapped them. Twenty-five.
    "Sir Pup could have saved you," he said quietly. "Against Moloch—either given you the crossbow, or—" He broke off as he understood: she'd needed Michael's sword. Had risked her life for it.
    "Yes." She met his eyes. "I want more than four days."
    Hard to catch his breath suddenly. "You've always been greedy." But so was he.
    Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her mouth tightened. "Where's Selah?"
    He