Demon Angel

snowy ground.
    He lowered to his heels next to her. "I sought you tonight, but I did not think I would find this. Who was it?" No mistaking the rage in his voice.
    She would have replied, but he would have known the lie. When she was healed, she could tell him whatever she pleased. But her shields were not strong enough yet.
    Then his Gift hit her, forcing truth. "Demons." Her laughter was hard, bitter. "You use it against me when I am like this and cannot resist?"
    "Belial's?" He sighed when she remained silent. "Lilith, please."
    Her body did not pain her as much now, and it did not hurt when he used his Gift, but still the admission came through clenched teeth. "Azzael. One of Lucifer's lieutenants." And she had to continue when he asked the reason, "I was sickened by the Impaler's offering to Lucifer. The prince courts my father's power and invited us to witness it. My father was not pleased by my response." Release, and she quickly asked, "Why did you seek me?"
    He hesitated but for a moment. "I cannot kill Prince Vlad; but if anyone deserves the justice you offer, it is he."
    She laughed and shook her head. "I do not think he has a conscience to work upon." Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. "I could not anyway. Humans have proved unreliable allies in the past, but my father tries again—attempting to gain Earthly power by pulling a prince into his service."
    "That is what this series of massacres has been? Vlad courts him for vanity, power—immortality? But for the last, he could not have them and still serve."
    "Aye." She smiled, but it held no humor. "And he will not succeed. He values himself too highly or lacks sufficient belief in Lucifer's power. He sacrifices others, never himself—all that he makes is display. A worthless, bloody display; but one that Lucifer enjoys, even if Vlad fails to offer that ultimate sacrifice." She sighed. "Either way, Lucifer surrounds him with his lieutenants, who protect him. I would be no more successful than you even should I try. And did I try, this punishment would be nothing in comparison."
    He nodded, bowed his head. " This is a tyrant."
    "Aye." Sitting up was possible now, and she folded her legs beneath her so her eyes would be level on his. What had it taken him to approach her, ask this favor?
    "And there is naught I can do to stop him." Resignation, anger in that statement. His armor disappeared. A brief flash of naked skin, before he covered it with a brown robe, such as those she'd seen in monasteries.
    Surprised, she touched the coarse material. "What is this?"
    "Humility. To remind myself that I serve." He remained still for a few moments, then his fingers brushed her face. "What will save you, Lilith?"
    "Do not ask me," she said. "For I also have to serve."
    He sighed, and then his mouth drew into a tight line. "Where is Azzael now?"
    "In Vlad's fortress." Studying his features was no hardship, and she looked long before she said, "If you kill him, do not say it was on my behalf. I dare not revenge myself; I will owe you."
    "No, Lilith." His voice was cold. "You owe me nothing."
    She lifted her brows. "I thought we'd established that 'nothing' is a kiss."
    Finally, warmth in that blue gaze. But she called in her sword; though it was nothing, better to have him earn it.
    London, England
    September 1666
    Lilith found Hugh atop St. Paul's Cathedral, standing on the roof and staring out over the city.
    "Even you cannot stop its approach," she said, landing lightly beside him.
    He gave a half-smile. Soot covered his skin; the edges of his robe had been singed through. "Aye, it will burn." Flaming debris fell around them; none had yet caught on the peaked iron roof, but it would not be long before the timbered scaffolding would. The recent restoration would be for naught. He slanted her a curious glance. "You have not yet drawn your sword."
    "I have decided it will be far more entertaining to watch you attempt to maintain your countenance in anticipation of my attack," she said. A buttress arced from tower to roof; she hopped onto it and perched. The air around them shimmered with heat. To the southwest, St. Andrew's-by-the-Wardrobe collapsed in an eruption of smoke and fire. "It cannot be a surprise if I immediately engage or kiss you every time. I should hate to become a bore."
    "You could not be that."
    She grinned, but it faded as she turned to study his expression. Exasperation, humor—she was accustomed to seeing those. Not the careful scrutiny he