Demon Forged

not hit him out of anger. She’d been angry many, many times. Always, she had controlled it. This was something different.
    “You do not hit me now?”
    “You thanked your god, you grateful pig. Thanked him, when there was nothing the demon could have done that would have been worse. I’d rather he’d torn my flesh. Would rather have felt pain.”
    Because it wouldn’t have touched her. Because she could guard against it.
    Horror shook his veins as he began to realize. He fought to find his footing again. “You did feel pain. Your blood was in that room.”
    She closed her eyes again, breathing shallowly.
    “Irena.” He imprisoned her face between his hands. “Tell me, or hit me.”
    She snarled. “He put his mouth on me. I would not let myself feel pleasure again. I . . . used my dagger on that part of me.” Her snarl faded, and she shook against him. “But he only waited until I healed, and bound my hands so that I could not do it again. Then I bit off my tongue so that I could not beg him to fuck me. Over and over, I did that.”
    Alejandro couldn’t speak. Horror, rage, and agony howled within him, but he couldn’t speak.
    The anger in her voice faded. Only resignation remained. “I could not tell you, Olek. I only do now because something has changed between us. And I could not go forward until it was said.”
    Go forward . . . without him?
    “And so it is done.” She turned her face. “Let me go.”
    His hands tightened. “No.”
    Her eyes flashed. She pushed at him.
    He dragged her higher up the wall and heard her jacket scraping against the bricks. Though he wanted to, he couldn’t be gentle. His words had deserted him, yet he had to make clear that he couldn’t let her go.
    He lowered his head, took her mouth. Her lips were wet and cool. Her breath shuddered, her thighs wrapped his hips, and suddenly he wasn’t showing her anything but was rendered helpless to his need. Raw desire rappelled through him, drawing him up hard and tight against her. Her teeth dug into his bottom lip. His groan vibrated deep in his throat.
    As if mollified by the sound, Irena softened. She opened her mouth beneath his. Her hands buried in his hair, pulling him closer.
    He barely felt the pain that lanced through him as her fingers found the lump on the back of his head, but she must have realized what she’d touched. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily.
    “Let go, Olek.”
    He never wanted to deny her will. That didn’t mean he’d obey. “I will only come after you.”
    Her eyes flared again. “I won’t leave. I will meet you at SI.” Her gaze slid to the left. “It is after sunset. We cannot leave Taylor alone.”
    Damn duty. Damn everything but Irena. But he could not deny her this—and it would give him time to put his thoughts in order, as well.
    He stepped back. She touched his cheek, then stroked her fingers down his bare chin. Silently, she turned and walked away.
    He watched until she rounded a corner before starting back toward the detectives. Rain soaked the insides of his shoes, squelching with every step. It dripped down the back of his neck. He changed clothes as he passed through the shadows, trading shoes for his comfortable boots. He touched his jaw where Irena had and formed his beard.
    The detectives’ car was only a block away when a harmonious voice sliced through the air like blades.
    “Alejandro Sandoval de Córdoba y Hacén.”
    He pivoted, seeking Michael. Across the street, the Doyen perched on the roof of a building, his black wings folded against his back. His obsidian eyes seemed to absorb the light. Alejandro had seen them many times, but they’d never appeared to him as empty—as soulless—as they did now.
    They had never appeared as the nephilim’s eyes did.
    “You left her unguarded.”
    As if the words snaked through Michael’s psychic blocks, the air suddenly seethed with the Doyen’s anger. Alejandro’s stomach lurched. In five centuries, he had seen Michael cold, had seen him ruthless—but never terrifying.
    And he’d never felt the raw, unleashed power that Michael emitted now. Two years ago, he’d felt something similar from Lucifer . . . but this was worse.
    Because he thought he’d known Michael. Thought he’d had some idea what the Doyen was capable of.
    He remembered Irena’s claim that Khavi had told Michael something more than the vision about Taylor. Yes, Alejandro thought. Irena must have been right. And whatever Khavi had told him