Demon Angel

wanted answers.
    The fourth-floor landing carpet was well worn; ground-in dirt darkened what had probably been blue to a dingy brown. Lilith's door was the last on the right; a single bare bulb lit the hallway.
    Hugh frowned, almost certain now that the address was fake. Why would she choose this as a dwelling? He could afford better, even if his only income had been his adjunct professor's salary— and she had access to whatever monies and connections had pulled the strings to create her current persona.
    Deciding to follow through, now that he'd come that far, he knocked twice on the door marked 4D.
    No answer.
    He knocked again, then listened for sounds from inside. Water pipes groaned, but he couldn't be certain if they were from 4D or the rooms on the floors below. He tried the doorknob, and it turned in his hand.
    He didn't hesitate to swing the door open, reaching into the duffel to grasp the handle of his sword. The room was dark, but the source of the noise became clear; within the bathroom, a shower was running.
    His eyes quickly adjusted. A studio apartment, bare of furniture except for a twin-sized bed pushed into one corner, and a metal folding chair tucked under a cheap card table. Slung across the back of the chair was a suit—the same suit that Lilith had worn earlier. He could see the dull shine of photographs and manila folders spread across the tabletop.
    Books were piled and stacked on every other available surface, stuffed into cases lining the walls, filling the open-faced cupboards in the kitchen.
    Relaxing slightly, he flipped on the light and grimaced. Although clean, the studio was as shabby as the rest of the building. Evidence of water damage streaked the ceiling, and the linoleum in the tiny kitchen cracked and buckled. On the bed, a lumpy striped mattress looked as if it could have come from a jail cell; it had probably been included with the apartment, since Lilith didn't need to sleep.
    She certainly hadn't bothered to decorate.
    The shower shrieked as the she turned the water off. Mildly surprised she hadn't already charged out of the bathroom, weapon in hand, skin red and eyes blazing, Hugh pulled his own sword from its sheath, dropped the duffel onto the floor, and stepped across the room to stand next to the bathroom door.
    The distinctive slide of shower curtain rings across metal followed by the squeak of old floorboards allowed him to track her movements within the room. A faucet turned, water splashed in a sink. Then the slow, steady brush of terry cloth over skin.
    Blood rushed to his groin as the image immediately formed in his mind—Lilith, one foot propped on the edge of the tub, running the cloth down her long length of leg. Would her skin be crimson again, he wondered—or the pale silk she'd assumed that afternoon?
    He'd find out soon; the floorboards creaked again, and he lifted his sword, holding it across the width of the doorway at neck height.
    A rush of steam escaped as Lilith opened the door, stepping through—then belatedly noticing the sword aimed at her throat.
    Crimson skin , he noted as her eyes widened, darting from the blade to him. But otherwise human in appearance. Her surprise was quickly replaced by indifference.
    "If you are going to break in and point something at me, Hugh," she said, raising one hand and pushing the blade out of her path, "at least point something interesting at me."
    Her gaze dropped to the front of his jeans, and then she turned away from him with a languid roll of her hips. "Did you not receive my e-mail? Or are you so eager to lose your virginity that you ignored it?"
    He allowed her to pass, watching her as she walked across the room to a small closet door. She'd wrapped herself in a bright yellow towel that covered her from chest to mid-thigh; droplets fell from her length of dark hair with each step, creating tiny circles in the threadbare carpet. She moved with a lanky, casual grace that belied her agility and strength.
    Sheathing his sword, he said, "No. Colin said you'd been Punished."
    Her back still to him, she pulled several items from their hangers. Her voice was disinterested as she asked, "Did he?"
    She pulled a black T-shirt over her head, then reached down, stepping into a whisper of blue satin. Hugh didn't look away as she skimmed the panties over her legs, catching a glimpse of the curve of her bottom as she lifted the towel to slide them into place. She let the towel drop to the floor.
    The methodical