Demon Angel

spirits of light by Him ."
    "Who then?" Her hands slipped over his thighs, as if to distract him; he stiffened, but did not stop her until she reached the knife at his waist. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, holding her still.
    Huffing out an impatient breath, she tugged her hands from his grip. "You have seen what happens when subjects forget their place, and think themselves equal to a ruler. They make demands, threaten war, force him to acknowledge rights and sign charters."
    She sat back on her heels, and tapped the point of his dagger against her chin.
    When had she stolen it? She'd had only a second's opportunity, and the theft had been so light he had not felt it. She grinned, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment of her skill. "So long as you do not steal the throne, aye?"
    "Aye." She slowly retracted her horns and fangs. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he reached up and felt the smooth protuberance above her left temple as it flattened and disappeared. He brushed his thumb across her hairline. No lump remained, only silky red skin edged by soft curls.
    His voice was low, rough. "Is this your true form?"
    He met her gaze for a breathless moment before she slapped his hand away. "Nay," she said flatly. She stood and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Your truth: Why did you enter into this bargain?"
    He clenched his fingers, welcomed the stinging pain. "Because I cannot be near you without forgetting my intentions and transforming into an imbecile."
    "You cannot blame a demon for that." Her lips pursed. "I daresay you must have always been an imbecile."
    "Aye," he agreed. "I must be, else I would have followed my first instinct upon discovering your nature."
    "To slay me?"
    "Aye." He eyed her warily, wishing her countenance revealed her thoughts, but her posture was a study of indifference.
    "You would have found that difficult. If you wish to test my sword, however—"
    "Nay," he said. "I have no inclination to fight a woman who possesses the speed of the wind itself."
    "You fear defeat?"
    He considered her wording. "I don't see the wisdom of entering into a fight in which victory is impossible."
    "So you think to engage a different sort of battle? To outwit me with this bargain?"
    "Surely a mere man cannot use a demon's bargain to his own ends. In the years you've lived, your wit must have been honed to perfection."
    She gave a reluctant laugh. "You seek to flatter me."
    He did. "Do you fear flattery, my lady?"
    "Am I too weak to resist the compliment to my vanity, and thereby incur Lucifer's wrath?" She smiled, as if delighted he would try such a tactic. "I think not. Your pretty words are naught to me, and the risk is only yours."
    "Mine?" He shook his head. " 'Tis flattery, but is also truth. I don't admire your intentions, or your methods—there is little risk that I would use them. I could never be as you are."
    "Nay," she said, her eyes flaring red. "You risk engaging my vanity so strongly that I would cleave myself to you for the remainder of your life, begging for bits of kindness from your lips, tormenting you when you do not offer them."
    The censure in her voice made him flush, reminding him that he had been the one to follow her from the hall. True, he had some effect on her, but she had not sought his company as he had hers. Had not Michael told him that she'd said she was done with him?
    "I want to know my role in this," he said suddenly. "That is why I made this bargain."
    Her lids lowered. "What conceit convinces you that you are involved at all?"
    "Though he must have known what you were, Michael encouraged me into those ruins," Hugh said. "Of my feelings for the lady, you make something of nothing. I have been included—of my own will at times—but also unwittingly. Included by a demon, which should not surprise me; if I were to commit evil I would use any tool available. But Michael, who is an instrument of Heaven—"
    He broke off, realizing that his voice had risen and anger coursed through him like fire. Struggling to contain it, he abandoned the seat, striding across the small room to the opposite' window and throwing open the shutters. The cool air did not ease his sudden choleric temper.
    " Formans lucem et creans tenebras ." Did his voice shake? He rested his elbows on the stone sill and lowered his head into his hands. "There must be something good in what you do, even if it is only to try men's hearts, to make them earn their place with God.