Demon Angel

weight to her left leg. "Perhaps. Is there a difference?"
    "Yes." Sliding his hand from her wrist to the hilt of her sword, he pried the weapon from her fingers. She let him have it; she had others, and her hand was unencumbered now.
    He'd used gentleness and seduction as part of his artillery; so could she. She threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled his mouth closer to hers. He smelled of damp wool and warm skin, a disturbingly human scent.
    But he wasn't human yet. Wouldn't be. Her hand itched to call in her second blade, but she wanted—needed—more from him first.
    He cupped her chin; his palm was rain-wet and cool. His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Your role is your delusion, Lilith."
    She laughed and shook her head. "The outside is an illusion, Hugh, but the role is true. It's essential."
    He took his sword from her neck, and his arm dropped to his side. "Why?"
    Her eyes narrowed. He wasn't asking because he didn't know, but because he wanted her to say it. But for what purpose? Her blade appeared on a thought, heavy in her hand, hidden behind his back.
    "Because—" Her throat closed, and she felt his Gift strangle her answer. She tried again and couldn't produce anything but a choked, whistling exhalation.
    As if his exhaustion had finally taken him over, he rested his forehead against hers. "I know what you want to say: There is no light without darkness . That is the lie, Lilith. One of many. You must see it. Neither Guardians nor demons have a place in this modern world."
    "No—"
    He halted her denial with the soft press of his lips against hers.
    This was almost what she'd been waiting for—a touch, given without coercion. Simply Hugh, without having to steal a kiss or bargain him into it. Nearly eight hundred years of wanting, and now she could finish what she'd begun.
    But she lost her grip on her sword. Her arms were weak, her chest tight. Her breath burned her lungs.
    "Lilith," he said. His hand moved between them, and the pressure beneath her breast became screaming pain.
    She didn't need to look down at the hilt protruding from her chest to know he'd cut through her heart. She'd waited too long; but then, she'd always been greedy. She'd always let human emotions dictate her actions; it was no surprise that failing had brought her end.
    He slid the sword out and held her securely against him. She couldn't maintain her glamours, and she felt him shudder when he recognized the pale, naked woman in his arms. He smiled and pushed her hair away from her face with his bloodstained' hand. His voice was laced with sadness, but not regret.
    "So my angel was always under there."
    It hurt to laugh, to shake her head, but she did both. Not me , she'd told him the last time he'd seen her this way. It had been the truth, yet he had persisted in holding onto the illusion that she could be something she wasn't.
    "I am sorry I cowered for so long, Lilith."
    She tucked her face into the warmth of his neck. Hell must be nearing; the raindrops splashing against her cheeks burned her skin. No… no. The oceans Below were of fire, but not salt. No, do not weep—this was not Hell, but release. But she had no breath to tell him. She closed her eyes, and there was silence.
    It did not last.
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    PART II
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CHAPTER 8
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    San Francisco
    May 2007
    The rain had not let up.
    Hugh leaned against the wall, staring through the water-streaked windowpane to the darkened street below. His skin prickled as his warm perspiration slowly dried in the cool room. He'd pulled on a T-shirt to top his pajama bottoms when he'd finished his reps, but the thin cotton did little to ward off the chill.
    Just as the exercise had done nothing but delay the inevitable. It had certainly not kept the thoughts that plagued him at bay.
    He turned away from the window; nothing was out there. Not now, anyway. It was considered a quiet neighborhood, and four in the morning was one of the few times it matched the description and was truly quiet.
    How long would it last?
    Amidst the pile of sheets and blankets, Emilia woke, stretching her paws to accompany a long, feline yawn.
    He shouldn't have been so grateful for the distraction. "I doubt very much that you'll be hunting today," he told her. San Francisco's generally mild weather had been temperamental of late; instead of fog, the city had been covered with heavy rain clouds. Nearly every day for the past month, Hugh had taken his