Demon Angel

"Only one way to find out."
----

CHAPTER 16
    Previous Top Next
    "Are you certain this will hold her?"
    With a practiced eye, Lilith studied the chains and manacles, gauged the strength of the bedposts and the padlocks. "No."
    Selah still hadn't regained consciousness. She lay on Colin's bed, arms stretched above her head. The puncture wounds in her neck had already healed over. Lilith hadn't watched Colin feed, but of course it hadn't hurt him. She'd known that very well, yet it had been entertaining to watch him waver between the desire for living blood and the uncertainty of its effect.
    He must have realized she was lying, however; he wasn't inclined to risking himself. He might have guessed she wasn't inclined to risking him, either—but after his comment regarding her Punishment, she hadn't been above punishing him a little in turn.
    His skin was flushed with Guardian blood—or anger. If it was anger, it wasn't very potent; he was shaking his head in exasperation, but a smile tugged at his mouth.
    "You are a bitch, Lilith."
    She patted his cheek as she passed him. "You adore me. And Sir Pup will watch her until daybreak. I need him for something else then." The hellhound gave an inquiring whine; Lilith glanced at him and shook her head. "You can't eat her. We may need her later. No. Not even one bite." She grinned at Colin, whose face had paled. "Obedience training. I don't want him to forget he can't eat human-shaped things while he's on Earth."
    She heard the vampire choking as he followed her downstairs, and she wondered if he was upset over the thought of sharing a meal with a dog, or just squeamish.
    Probably squeamish. He'd been a terrible fop when she'd first met him; that hadn't completely changed. He was also incredibly tightfisted. He wouldn't relish the idea of all that gore in his expensive and tastefully appointed bedroom.
    As she had no intention of letting Selah die—not when the Guardian could be so useful—Colin needn't have worried.
    Not that she would tell him that. She enjoyed unsettling him; it kept their friendship interesting.
    "I must confess I'm pleased he remembered that while you were gone," Colin said as they entered his study. "As I happen to be a human-shaped thing."
    "A very nicely human-shaped thing," she agreed.
    He sighed, and it was more amused than harassed. "You want something."
    "I do," she said, but needed to gather her thoughts before she could fully articulate it.
    The fight with the Guardian had restored most of her good humor, but more importantly, cleared her mind. She couldn't think around Hugh, hadn't been able to feel anything past the ache and frustration rioting within her.
    And she found it ridiculously hard to lie to him; for a demon, whose life was based on lies, it meant he brought out the worst in her. Her lips curved. She had to admit she liked the irony of the worst in her being what a normal human would consider good .
    Lucifer, she was sure, would not be amused. Nor would he approve of what she was about to do—but he wouldn't have to know.
    She strolled over to the fireplace, examining the painting hanging above the mantel. A life-sized self-portrait: Colin's gray eyes stared back at her, his blond hair in a slick, old-fashioned style. He'd painted himself in modern clothing this time—an elegant silk shirt and pants, much like his current attire.
    "Your nose is slightly off; it's a bit longer."
    Coming to stand beside her, the vampire looked up and selfconsciously touched the tip of his nose. "What about the rest?"
    "Your hair." Lilith tilted her head, studying the original. It was softer without the heavy pomade. "The color is right, though."
    He nodded. "I cut off a piece to be certain."
    She glanced back up. In that moment, the face on the canvas seemed harder, less vulnerable than the vampire beside her. Colin would not appreciate that observation, however. "You knew John Polidori."
    His brows rose. "Yes."
    "Do you still have any of his letters in your possession?"
    "Yes." He watched her, his expression curious.
    She took a deep breath. "How do you feel about forgery?"
    "Artistic, carefully orchestrated forgery? Or just your run-of-the-mill check-cashing scheme?"
    Snobbery, even in this. Lilith blinked, keeping a tight rein on her laughter. "Artistic. Of a sort."
    "I wholeheartedly support it—out of necessity if nothing else," he said. "It's difficult to get through two hundred years without mastering the art of falsifying