Demon Angel

There must be a reason that I'm drawn to you, even if it is only so that I resist. But I no longer know what is truth, or what to believe."
    "There can be no light without darkness," he heard her say quietly, as if to herself.
    He laughed shortly, bitterly. "And that you say something similar makes me doubt it the more."
    From beside him came a flash of moonlight against steel, the clang of metal against stone. He spun around, tensed for her attack, but she'd only slammed his knife onto the sill. "You think Michael led you like a lamb to the slaughter?" A mocking smile curved her lips. "You are no lamb, Sir Pup. I do naught but sow the seeds that have already been planted: jealousy, lust, and greed." Her gaze skimmed the length of his rigid form. "Wrath."
    His hand clamped down over hers, and he pried his knife from her fingers. The knowledge that she lei him take it made his stomach tighten: were all in the castle acting by her leave? Was everything dictated by the whims of these demons and Guardians?
    Her brows lifted, and she nodded toward the weapon. "Would you use that on me now?"
    Nay, he could not defeat her with it. Its threat held no sway.
    She stood close; he could feel the warmth of her body, the brush of her exhalation against his skin. She was tall, her lips only inches from his.
    'Twas no effort to close the distance between them, to fist his hand in her hair and seal her mouth with his. Did her lips part in surprise or protest? Surely not encouragement, for there was no kindness in the way he tasted her, none of the gentleness with which he had touched her before. He'd meant to use those against her, but lust fueled him the moment her lips met his.
    Her mouth was hot, and she tasted like cream and subtle, exotic spice. He delved more deeply, and she lightly suckled his tongue in return—a sweet, delicious pull that conflagrated the ache into exquisitely painful arousal. He pushed her against the wall, pressing his length tightly against her.
    She'd spoken true; there was nothing innocent in him, in the ache that spread through him as she opened herself to his kiss. Would that he could blame his desire on her, on her temptation and wiles, but it was his own.
    A shudder ran through him, and she laughed softly into his mouth.
    He stepped back, shaken. He would have turned away but for the hint of sympathy in her dark eyes, the clenching of her jaw that told him, despite her laughter, she was not unaffected.
    His breath came sharply. "Can you not leave us? If our sins lead us to destruction, why do you need to help them along?"
    "I have a role to play, and I must play it. Humans have the luxury of free will; demons do not, for a singular choice made long ago."
    "I cannot accept that," he said quietly.
    " 'Tis not for you to accept."
    He wanted to grasp at her explanation as a way to exonerate her, but could not. She enjoyed what she did; he'd seen her amusement at human folly, the pleasure she took in exposing their flaws. Whether she thought she had a choice did not signify as much as her willingness to accede to her role. "Why does Michael not kill you?"
    "Because there are many things worse than I stalking the night and preying on man." She transformed suddenly, into a pale, hairless creature. Towered over him, her ears ending in points, fangs protruding over thin red lips. "Those who abstained from choosing a side in the First Battle were cursed with a bloodthirst and an intolerance to daylight. The nosferatu can kill humans, and they follow none of the Rules set down for Guardians and demons; Michael hunts one now." She watched him for a moment, as if searching for signs of fear, then sighed and regained her form.
    He frowned, shook his head. "But the presence of other— worse—creatures is not reason to let you live. Is he allowing you to play out your role? An acknowledgment of light allowing—needing—the dark?"
    "Nay." A shadow moved across her features. " 'Tis guilt."
    "For what—"
    "You venture beyond the boundaries of our bargain, Sir Pup," she said. Then her voice softened, and she added playfully, "Unless you wish to enter into another?"
    Did he? Perhaps his desire to do so was an indication that he shouldn't. He could little trust himself near her. Shaking his head, he walked back toward the bench, but did not sit down.
    "I cannot conceive a way to stop you," he said. "If I pursue the truth with Father Geoffrey, I will soon be called mad." He glanced at her beseechingly. She had