Demon Angel

absurdly wished he'd taken her offer of five minutes. He hadn't learned more about the occupation she'd mentioned, or any of the changes she'd said had occurred.
    He shouldn't want to know—he'd deliberately left all that behind.
    She turned to go and hesitated. That should have warned him, but it wasn't until she looked back over her shoulder and he saw the mischievous gleam in her eyes that he realized her intent.
    He didn't have time to make a decision, or protest. A Guardian could compensate for a demon's speed; Hugh could not. Between one moment and the next, she was across the clearing, bending down and covering his mouth with hers.
    Anticipating a forceful kiss, he began to resist, but his tension drained away when he felt the difference in her touch. She'd done this before, but never so gently. Her hands remained at her sides; with light pressure, she ran her tongue across his bottom lip. She exhaled softly in pleasure, and her breath filled his mouth with heat.
    And he was the one who reached up, clasping her nape to pull her more tightly against him. Who sought her tongue with his, suddenly starving for the taste of her. Lilith . How did she affect him so deeply, and after so long? Could not time have dimmed this, too? But no, it was as fierce as ever; need for her burned through him—and he had no defense against it now.
    He pulled away and fought for control, forced himself to recall where they were.
    She watched him with dark eyes and a small, knowing smile. "You never let go."
    He laughed, and it sounded harsh and bitter. "I have."
    "I remember."
    Silence fell between them. Finally, Lilith straightened. "Go away, Hugh. I killed the two nosferatu, but the city is overrun with them. Lucifer is involved—with the nosferatu, with this death—but I don't know how. I do know that your being here isn't an accident."
    He waited, sensing that she wanted to say more. When she didn't, he said, "My decision to take a run this afternoon was an impulsive one, Lilith."
    "I won't be able to convince you it wasn't a coincidence then." She sighed. Pausing, she looked away from him. Her nostrils flared delicately. "When was the last time you spoke with Colin? With this many nosferatu in the city, he must be in danger."
    He frowned, wondering at her familiarity with the vampire. "Last evening."
    Her body was rigid, her eyes alert as she skimmed the area surrounding them, but she sounded almost grateful as she said, "You are protecting him then?"
    "No."
    She glanced back at him. "Why not?"
    At her admonishing tone, defensive anger slipped into his reply. "And how should I protect him? I have neither Guardian strength nor speed."
    "You must be pleased to have such a compelling reason to shirk your duties." She backed up a step.
    Her retreat when they'd just begun to argue jolted him out of his anger. She never ran from a fight with him; she might delay it to gain an advantage, but never leave in the middle of it. She was deliberately provoking him, but not for his sake.
    She wanted someone—probably not human—to think all connection between them was gone, that everything but antipathy had vanished.
    By all rights, it should have.
    "This is nothing," he said, watching her expression closely. "Only sixteen years. I managed to shirk my duties for eight centuries by not killing you, and I had far less compelling reasons."
    The corners of her mouth turned up, but no trace of humor tinged her voice as she spoke. "And, observe: I still live. Your restraint was for naught, as was slaying me." She scented the air again, took another step back. "You know, Hugh—the outside looks better than ever, but inside you've become a worthless, self-pitying wimp. What a fucking waste."
    She stalked away, throwing over her shoulder, "Don't worry your pretty head about Colin; I'll protect him tonight."
    And she was gone.
    Hugh stared at the space where she'd been standing, his stomach heaving as if he'd been sucker-punched. Attempting to fight off the nausea by taking deep, cleansing breaths only filled his lungs with death and rot.
    That she'd said it to deceive another didn't make it any less true.
    No wonder she'd managed to convince so many men to kill themselves; she saw right into them, stabbed deep, and twisted.
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CHAPTER 13
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    Lilith ran. She didn't know if the Guardians she'd sensed pursued her or stayed behind with Hugh, but she wasn't going to give them a chance to kill her. Not now.
    Michael and one other.