Demon Angel

their blue depths silvery in the moonlight.
    "As Isabel, you assumed a pleasing shape. Why do you not always?"
    'Twas not the question she had expected, and there were too many answers to offer. She gave the simplest one. "The measure of a man cannot be taken by beauty; all love it, and treat it with reverence—even though, aye, it also inspires jealousy and lust." Her lips twisted. "But the plain, the ugly, the poor and lowly? Easy to forget them, or to abuse them."
    He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "But is it not easier to corrupt with jealousy and lust when you are beautiful? Is that what you tried to do to me?"
    "Tried?" she echoed, brows raised high. "If not lust that you felt on the allure a sennight ago—if not lust that rose your cock-stand here, then what? Surely you don't think this form pleasing? You gave not a thought to beauty. No man does when faced with tits and a lifted skirt."
    He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps that is true of some men, but not all." She snorted derisively, and his grin flashed. "But what of your vanity? As a demon, surely you indulge every sin. Do you not crave beauty for yourself?"
    She stared at him, tracing his features. Craved? Surely it was too weak a word, when his question made her feel as if a knot unraveled beneath her breastbone, loosening skeins of emotion and drawing them through her body. She recognized anger, despair; she grasped at those threads and held them tight.
    "Aye," she said, and dropped from her perch. His nostrils flared, as if sensing danger and preparing to run. But he wouldn't, would he? He would stay, certain he knew enough to be safe. Certain he knew enough to handle her, when she hardly knew herself.
    "Lilith." Did he say her name as a warning as she stalked toward him? Hard to determine, when the beating of her heart pounded in her ears.
    Foolish of her, to hear it at all.
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CHAPTER 5
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    It did not speak well of his morality that a woman—nay, a demon—could take a monstrous form, clothe herself in masculine garb, and he failed to summon disgust and horror.
    Uncertainty, aye—but even that faded as she seemed to rein in the tension that had overtaken her. She crouched before him, her face level with his.
    Falling through the shutter, the silvery moonlight touched her features, washing away color and emphasizing shadow, and leaving him unable to distinguish the obsidian horns from the midnight of her hair. She no longer smiled, and her fangs were hidden behind full lips.
    Strange, that shadows revealed what light had not. A widow's peak framed her high, smooth forehead, and her brows formed elegant arches above the ebony depths of her eyes. Her cheekbones were angular, instead of broad and round as Marie's had been. This was also beauty; not delicate and ethereal as Lady Isabel's was, but strong and fierce.
    And yet it must be a pale reflection of what she'd been before Morningstar's rebellion.
    "I have answered your questions, Sir Pup. Now I would have your truth," she said, her voice a soft slither, silk drawn across stone.
    How easily he could imagine that whisper warmed by arousal. He resisted the urge to shift in his seat, remembering the ease with which she had brought him to readiness. His erection had subsided, but desire remained. "I do not believe I've received my part in its entirety."
    Her eyes narrowed, but he raised his fingers to her lips, preventing her reply. His calluses rasped against her skin, and he felt the tremor that shook her as he disarmed her with a touch.
    He'd noted the same reaction in the stairwell, when he'd taken her hand, but had put the notion of her temporary weakness aside, blaming it on fancy. Had it ever occurred to him to consider the weaknesses of demons, he would not have imagined one susceptible to a simple touch. 'Twas a bizarre realization, that he had power over her. Surely after the wonders of Heaven and terrors of Hell, nothing human could impress her.
    Nor would he have imagined that his fascination for her would give her equal sway over him.
    "It must be forbidden," he mused, before he could explore the extent of that power. Was he master of himself enough to stop before a touch became a caress, or more? "A punishment, to deny beauty to those who had once been nearest its source."
    She shrugged, but the intensity of her gaze belied the casual gesture. " 'Tis true the rebels were transformed when they were cast down, but they are not prevented from resembling