Demon Angel

back, cords on his neck straining, he began shuddering; there was nothing beautiful in it, and she should have gloried in the ugliness that death ravaged upon him, but she could not.
    "He's mine," she said again, but instead of anger, desperation laced her voice.
    And she knew death would not cower before anger or care for desperation.
    It was only seconds until they reached the temple ruins. She landed amongst the fallen stones, holding him against her. His shudders began to weaken, and for a terrible moment, she couldn't remember the markings needed for the ritual. She had not thought of it in so long, had made herself avoid the memory.
    But 'twas not something she could truly forget.
    She shifted into the body that had been forbidden her, and a single glance at the designs on her skin brought it back. The one between her breasts—her name—would be different than his, but she could use her body as a guide to creating Hugh's new life.
    She laid him on the ground, reforming her wings and sliding the membranous tissue beneath him to catch the blood. They'd removed his sword, but his dagger was still in its sheath; she pulled it out.
    The convulsions had ceased, and she could not hear the beating of his torn heart.
    Her mind blanked. The point of the blade hovered over his chest as she tried to think of a name—any name would do, any name, but it had to be quick. The name did not matter: she could be Marie or Lilith or Isabel and…
    Her vision blurred.
    He would not be the same. How could he not lose his humanity if he became what she was? Even if his beauty remained, would there be anything left of him? Did anything remain of her?
    The knife trembled in her hand.
    "Hugh," she whispered.
    And then spoke another name, knowing that it sealed her fate.
    He heard a voice, though it seemed far away. His chest burned, but the pain was easing to numbness. He was colder than he could ever remember being.
    Seemed the greatest effort he'd ever made, to open his eyes.
    Though darkness edged his vision, he did not mistake the loveliness of the face staring down into his, the outline of wings behind her. The realization of what she was took his last breath.
    "Angel." His hand lifted, and he touched her face. It was oddly familiar, yet he was certain he'd not known her. Surely he could not have forgotten this beauty.
    Her skin was warm, so warm.
    Her eyes widened, and he tried to memorize the display of emotions sweeping across her exquisite features. Sadness… grim amusement… regret.
    "Nay," she said softly, "not me."
    She caught his hand, clasped his palm to her cheek when his strength failed. Her touch, her warmth, her face slowly faded.
    When she spoke again, her voice surprised him. "Will you take him? Is it not what you planned?"
    Hugh tried to answer, was relieved when he was saved the effort by another. Georges? "You could not have done what was. required, Lilith. It is not a failure that you tried but you could not carry it through." He paused. "He will punish you for this."
    She laughed bitterly. "Do you invite me to Caelum then and give me asylum? Do you transform me to Guardian?"
    Hugh knew the silence she received in response was telling, but could not remember why it meant something.
    "I do not have that power," Georges said finally. "I am sorry, Lilith."
    Her fingers clenched on his; Hugh tried to squeeze back reassuringly, but he couldn't offer even that small comfort. Her voice softened, but lost none of its bitter edge. "What did you think would happen when you manipulated me to this point? Are you satisfied upon proving that I can be—" She broke off, and her tone was devoid of emotion when she continued. "Don't pretend to concern yourself about my welfare, Michael. You must be glad to be rid of me."
    "Not in this manner."
    What manner? Hugh wanted to ask, but the darkness was closing in. Beneath him, the ground began to rumble; the air reeked of sulphur. Fear crashed through him as he realized the demons of Hell were coming to collect him. He braced himself against the inevitable pain.
    He felt the faint touch of the angel's lips to his—then she was gone, leaving him bereft, seeing and feeling nothing.
    And then all he could see was light.
----

CHAPTER 6
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    Caelum
    1217
    Hugh looked around him with perfect vision. Caelum, a city of marble, with spires that streaked into a brilliant sky, must be as Heaven itself. And it was more than Hugh could have dreamed. Even the Crusaders, with