Demon Angel

now, not like that.
    She didn't either.
    "You win," she conceded wryly and held up her hands as if in surrender.
    His expression did not immediately warm, as she'd expected it to. The intensity of his cold blue stare held her frozen. The he slowly blinked, releasing her. His hands trembled as he refastened his jeans.
    "I'm sorry," he said. "That was… unfair."
    Something in her chest squeezed painfully, but she shrugged and said, "I'll admit you surprised me: I've never heard you swear before. It was wonderfully vulgar."
    A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. "Compared to my students, I'm not very proficient."
    She would have laughed but for the change that came over him: his shoulders slumped, and he ran his hands through his hair in helpless frustration. It had been the mention of his students, she realized; he grieved for one now. Wondered if he'd brought death to the boy just by knowing him.
    "Are these the nosferatu you killed this morning?"
    She turned to face the television and frowned. "What is this? When is this?"
    "They burned Polidori's. Three nights ago." He glanced at her curiously. "You didn't know?"
    "I've been out of town," she said, leaning in to examine the nosferatu on the television screen. He likely wanted to put faces to the creatures who had killed his student. "These are not the same."
    "Damn," he said softly, and she smiled.
    "I must be a terrible influence."
    She felt his gaze on her. "You are." The words held no sting, though, as if he'd said them by rote, his mind occupied by weightier problems. "Lilith, the designs on your skin… did the nosferatu—"
    "No." She couldn't look at him. "My father did."
    "Why? What purpose have they?" He tilted her chin with his fingers, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. His eyes were troubled; for her sake or Ian Rafferty's, she didn't know. "As punishment?"
    "For power." She smiled bitterly.
    "Whose?"
    She closed her eyes. "I don't know. Your student's were different. Not much, but enough to convert the ritual into something beyond my ken."
    Tension suddenly radiated from his body. "Have you done this to a human?"
    Wanting to laugh but unable, she shook her head. "No. I tried, once."
    She saw the realization on his face, the memory. "To me, in the ruins of the temple. But you told Michael to take me instead." He swallowed thickly. "What would it have done?"
    He knew; she saw it in his eyes. Her throat was tight. "Guardians and vampires are not the only halflings," she said, barely above a whisper.
    "Nay," he breathed. A low moan sounded from his chest, a tortured denial. "Lilith—"
    "Do not pity me," she said stonily. "I made a choice."
    "To be this?" His voice was harsh as he wrapped his hands around her horns, forcing her to look at him.
    "I didn't want to die." She ripped out of his grip; his strength was no match for hers. But she did not have the strength to turn away from him. "And this is what I am now, what I have been for two thousand years. This is my role," she said with finality.
    A war seemed to rage within him for a few breathless moments. She knew he wanted to argue, to question—to convince her she was wrong. He'd always done so, and sixteen years couldn't erase the custom of eight hundred.
    "Do you think Ian had to make a similar choice?"
    She released the breath she'd been holding. It was not a permanent reprieve; he would consider her revelation, examine it in context of his memories before bringing it up again. "I can't say, Hugh. The involvement of the nosferatu…" She trailed off, knowing she wouldn't need to explain.
    He hesitated, and then said, "Another of my students is missing. Javier Sanchez. If it's related to the nosferatu, the detectives are outclassed. I am outclassed."
    Shaken, she stared at him. He trusted her to help protect the young man? And more unbelievable: "Do you intend to fight them?"
    "I'll find a way," he said, his blue gaze level and determined. A half-smile creased the sides of his mouth when she continued to gape at him. "Do you think I'm going to descend upon their nest with sword in hand?"
    Finally recovering her wits, she said, "You really must do something about your imbecilic martyr complex."
    His deep laugh rumbled through her. As if drawn by the sound, a seal-tipped Siamese cat strolled in from the kitchen, glanced at Lilith and just as effortlessly dismissed her, rubbing her long feline body against Hugh's legs. With the ease of familiarity, he scooped up the cat, nestled her against his