Demon (19 page)

He broke the kiss, moving his mouth to my neck, and I tried to speak. “Let’s go home,” I gasped. “I don’t care about the goddamned cameras.”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. His hands left my breasts, and I was afraid he was going to pull away.

“Wait,” I cried, my fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”

I’d never heard him laugh before. I didn’t know if this was even a laugh—just a short, derisive sound. “No,” he said again, his hands sliding down
my waist, down my legs. Pulling the long skirt up, exposing my legs in the stormy afternoon, so that I felt the rain pelting against them, and I knew I should care whether someone was watching. I did care, just not enough. Not even when he reached for my panties and with one rough yank tore them off.

He put one hand under my butt, lifting me up, pressing me back against the door, and I heard the rasp of his zipper, his muttered curse as he freed himself, and then he pushed inside me, not waiting to see if I was ready for him.

I was. More than ready. The thick force of him made me gasp, afraid he might hurt me, but it stopped short of pain, only a faint discomfort that quickly spread into such pleasure that I felt another small orgasm hit me, a spasm of pleasure that jolted through me, and I tightened my legs around his hips, holding on tight.

Another sizzle of lightning, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. I saw something spark but I closed my eyes, the better to absorb the deep thrusts that were shaking me apart.

His hands were on my bare thighs, holding me up, and he pushed into me again and again. I could hear the wet slap of our joining, and it was another jolt of dark pleasure. He kissed me, hard, and I could taste blood, his or mine or both, it
didn’t matter. He couldn’t get enough of me and I couldn’t get enough of him.

He was going to want that final surrender, that dark explosion that frightened me. If I went into that place I might never return, and I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed centered between our bodies, on the powerful invasion of him into me, my unbound breasts rubbing against his chest, his mouth on mine, and holding back was no longer an option. If I went there he would be with me, he’d keep me safe as I let go of everything else.

He tore his mouth away, gasping for breath, and I rested my head on his shoulder as a dry sob was torn from my throat. The world exploded. One more crash of lightning, and the sky opened in a deluge. He slammed back into me, and I went over the edge as I felt him jerk and pulse into me. I have no idea why I did it, only knew that I needed to; my mouth opened, and my teeth sank into his strong, powerful throat, breaking the skin, tasting the rich sweetness of his blood.

I heard his deep groan, felt him swell inside me, and then nothing more as sheer sensation washed over me. I shook, convulsing, lost in a place that terrified me, with only his arms and his body supporting me as I flew.

It might have been moments, it might have been hours, before I opened my eyes, shivers still rippling through me. I lifted my head. There was blood on his neck, a faint smear, and I licked it away, feeling him jerk again in reaction. Why had I done such a thing? Why had it felt so right? As the shudders began to slow I put my arms around his neck, rested my forehead against his shoulder, and said the damnable words.

“I love you.” My voice was rough, broken, as if I’d been screaming when I knew I hadn’t made a sound. The rain was pounding down around us, streaming into my eyes and his as I lifted my head to meet his unreadable gaze. “That much of the prophecy must be true.”

And then I heard them coming.

HE PULLED OUT OF HER,
letting her feet down on the ground, still holding her against the door. He could feel the weakness of reaction still rippling through her, and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand yet. When he thought she was steady enough, he let go of her and rearranged his clothes, pulling up his zipper, then looked up to see the raw panic in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here,” she said in a shaky voice. “They’re coming.”

He had already felt them. Known they were
converging on this place. Known that they would sense their presence. He should feel regret, but it was too late for that. He’d known it would end this way when he’d let himself come inside her last night. When he’d been torn with desire all day. When he’d felt her teeth nip his flesh, just enough to draw blood. When he’d heard her words. “I love you,” she’d said. And impossibly enough, he knew it was true. The demon loved him. For no reason. She was right, the prophecy was true.

And he had no choice whatsoever.

She was tugging at him. “We need to run.”

He looked into her eyes, slowly shaking his head. And then she realized the full extent of his betrayal, and her eyes grew black with shock and pain. She tried to break away, but he was too strong. He held her, his hands wrapped around her wrists like manacles, and he knew he was hurting her, knew that in a little while the pain he was inadvertently inflicting would seem like a caress.

She fought like a madwoman, but she’d forgotten any of the powers she’d once had, except for the power over him, and there was nothing she could do. The Nightmen rounded the corner at a forced run, swords drawn, and he wondered if they would finish him as well. He could only hope so.

But this strange existence never offered an easy way out of the betrayals and cruelties and need that living brought. He stepped back when they put their hands on Rachel, and he saw Enoch’s eyes glittering with pleasure. No, not Rachel, he reminded himself. The Lilith. A demon, neither male nor female, and he’d broken the laws of creation and fucked her, at Beloch’s orders. It was the only way Beloch would do his part in helping them find the truths she had hidden inside her altered memories, and if Azazel paid for it with the soul he’d already lost, then so be it.

There was no pleading, no reproach, no fury, in her huge eyes. After the first shock, something had closed down over her, and she turned her head away, not looking in his direction.

She had a trace of blood on her mouth. His blood. He reached up and touched his neck. She’d barely broken the skin, and the bleeding had been minimal. He had no idea why she’d done it. But if he’d had any doubts about what he was doing, that was a sign.

They were hurting her. They’d manacled her hands, using iron to keep her lost gifts at bay. Demons were powerless against iron—he’d used it himself when he’d staked her out to die. It would have been more merciful to have left her there. It
would have been over, in the past, and he would have forgotten her.

But they would never have gleaned the information she had locked in her brain, as the Truth Breakers were sworn to do. And he might have doubted his decision, with no proof that she was any danger to him.

He had that proof now. He was tied to her, part of her—his blood and his semen—and she was part of him. In the taking of his fluids, she had taken his autonomy. They were bound together, in flesh and feeling. Until they killed her.

“Take her to the Truth Breakers,” he said in a harsh voice.

“We’ll take her anywhere we damned well please,” Enoch said, and Azazel wasn’t sure which was worse: the Nightmen’s random, murderous violence, or the careful sadism of the Truth Breakers’ torture.

“Beloch will be displeased if you kill her,” he said coldly, playing the one card he had. He wasn’t doing her any favors by saving her for the Truth Breakers. But the Fallen needed the information that was buried as deeply as her demon memory.

Enoch’s face darkened. “We would never disobey his orders. But he won’t mind if we hurt her
a little. Get a taste of what you’ve been enjoying. It’s not every day you get a chance to fuck the Lilith.”

His blood roared in protest, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “You would regret it,” he said. “She’s a scourge. She’ll cause your man-part to shrivel and fall off. I’m immune because of the prophecy. None of you would be so lucky.” The lie came easily, shocking him. He shouldn’t have been able to lie.

Enoch looked properly horrified, and the men holding Rachel shifted uneasily, appalled even to be touching her. Good. He’d spared her that much, at least.

“Keep your distance, men,” Enoch commanded. “I don’t know if Wing-boy here is lying or not, but she’s not worth taking the chance.” He glanced back at Azazel. “I didn’t think you had the stones to do this. You must be more like us than I thought.”

Azazel didn’t flinch. The rain was pouring down, drenching them, and he felt as if he were drowning. There was nothing more he could do.

They dragged her away. They’d attached an iron chain to her manacles and they dragged her, refusing to touch her. She never looked in his direction, never made a sound of protest, even when she fell on the cobbles when they jerked her
too hard. She simply struggled to her feet before they could yank the chain again. And she was gone.

THEY PULLED ME THROUGH THE
streets as the rain poured down on us. I could barely walk with the shackles around my ankles, and I could feel the wetness between my thighs. From him, from what we’d done. Just before he’d turned me over to the killers.

Betrayal. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, I simply plodded onward, slipping now and then, going down hard and then being hauled up again. I wouldn’t see him again. They would either find out what they needed to know, whatever was hidden in the recesses of my mind, or they wouldn’t. Either way, I would be dead.

I should care. I should try to escape. But the shackles were iron. Even if they’d been tin, I doubted I would be able to break them. If they’d been paper. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I was ready.

They pushed me, sent me sprawling, laughing at me. By the time we got to the building I was bruised and bleeding, barely able to walk as I was shoved forward. Not into the warmth and comfort of Beloch’s retreat, but into a stark white room that looked more like a hospital surgery theater
than anything else. There were various pieces of medical equipment and other things that I couldn’t identify. I stared at them, trying to move my mind from the pain in my body and the shock of the appalling thing he’d done.

They lifted me onto the table, using new restraints even as they kept the iron shackles in place. They’d barely finished when six creatures glided in. They were dressed in enveloping, monklike robes, the hoods drawn low over their heads, their faces in darkness. They said nothing, simply arranged themselves around me, and I knew they must be the Truth Breakers. My stoic façade began to crack, and I looked around desperately, to see Beloch standing behind them with his kindly smile, his gentle eyes.

“Help me,” I said brokenly. “Don’t let them do this.”

He moved to the head of the table. “Dear child,” he murmured, stroking my wet hair, “I’m the one who’s told them to do this. I would tell you I’m sorry, but it’s simply the wages of sin.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently on my forehead. And then he was gone.

I stopped feeling then. Stopped hoping. They would hurt me, they would kill me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I would simply endure, until they ended me. I had no other choice. I
wouldn’t beg, plead, and God knew I couldn’t cry. I would endure in dignified, reproachful silence. One of the Truth Breakers raised his arm, and I saw what he was holding.

And I started to scream.

A
ZAZEL DIDN’T GO BACK TO THE
house. Instead he walked through the city in the rain. He was soaked through to his skin but he didn’t care. He simply kept his mind a blank as he walked and walked. He couldn’t leave yet. Not until he had the information he’d come to retrieve. Damn Beloch for putting him through this torture. Why hadn’t the old man simply taken her that first night and been done with it?

The answer was simple. He’d seen that Azazel wasn’t ready to let her go. And Beloch knew he had found fertile ground for the cruel games he loved.

He should have known he’d end up here at Beloch’s headquarters below the innocuous old restaurant. More proof of her insidious power,
he tried to tell himself as he entered through the lower door, but the words weren’t making any sense. His mind was a deliberate blank, because his thoughts were too vicious, too harmful. Her fault, he thought again, and knew he was making excuses. He had done what he had to do. He had no regrets.

So why was he here?

He saw Enoch first, playing dice with some of his men in the foyer. He looked up at Azazel’s approach, and grinned. There was blood on his uniform, and Azazel took a deep breath. He could smell it. Rachel’s blood.

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” Enoch drawled. “You look like you swam here. Didn’t you notice it was raining?”

Azazel didn’t bother answering him, heading toward the hallway.

Enoch moved quickly to block his path. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Get out of my way.”

“You can’t change your mind, you know. It’s not your decision to make, it’s Beloch’s. It’s always been Beloch’s, and you know it.”

“Get—out—of—my—way.” He bit the words off.

“It’s too late. The Truth Breakers have had her for a long time. She stopped screaming hours ago.”

Enoch stood even taller than Azazel’s six feet two and outweighed him by forty pounds of muscle. Azazel didn’t even hesitate. He went for him, rage filling his body with such strength that Enoch fell back in astonishment. He tried to rise, but Azazel hit him again, so hard that Enoch skidded across the room, landing in a crumpled heap against one wall, and stayed down, dazed. Azazel walked on into the building.

There was no noise, apart from the usual sound of the diners overhead, politely stuffing themselves. As he made his way down the corridor purposefully, Edgar appeared, unruffled as always.

“Were you wishing to dine with us upstairs, my lord? I’m afraid we cannot seat you dressed as you are,” he murmured, unctuous as ever. “But I am certain I can find you some dry clothes to make you more presentable, and then we can most assuredly—”