Demon (7 page)

Which meant my heart wasn’t broken when he had to cancel our plans. I plastered an understanding smile on my face. “When are you due at work?”

He glanced at his watch impatiently. “I should be there now.”

“Then go ahead. Don’t waste your time talking to me,” I said, shooing him toward the door. “I’ll be fine.” Of course, he hadn’t asked me if I minded. Perhaps it was time to give up on good Dr. Rolf. Surely I could find someone else to provide a buffer, though I couldn’t understand why I needed one.

I listened to him clatter down the stairs, secure in the belief that all was right in his world, then glanced at my packed bag. I moved back to the big open window, looking down into the garden, and for a moment I thought I saw a shadow near the hedge, something dark and narrow and threatening. Then it was gone, blending with the tall brush. I was getting squirrelly.

Well, if Rolf didn’t want to go anywhere, that didn’t mean I couldn’t. My bags were packed, I
had time off from work, and if I stayed I’d start seeing shadows in my own rooms. I was absolutely free for the next four days—much as I loved my strange little apartment, the walls were starting to close in on me.

I grabbed my duffel and backpack and left, trotting down the stairs that Rolf hated and I loved. I always felt like a princess climbing to my turret when I headed up those narrowing stairs. I let my hand brush the dark mahogany handrail in a strange kind of caress. It was almost as if I were saying good-bye.

My tiny Holden was parked in the shade, and I climbed in, tossing both bags into the backseat. I started to back out, then turned to glance in front of me. Something was standing there, something dark and shimmering like a heat mirage, and without thinking I stomped on the gas, shooting into the street and narrowly missing my landlord’s parked car. I shoved the car into drive and took off, not looking back. Afraid to.

My heart was slamming in my chest, sweat on my forehead and palms. I didn’t want to, but I glanced in the rearview mirror. The street was empty—there was no shadowy figure following me. No slippery horror-movie creatures looming up to take my soul. I slowly eased my foot off the accelerator as I headed down the hill toward the
traffic, stopping carefully. And then, like a complete idiot, I suddenly forgot I was in Australia, and I took a right turn directly into oncoming traffic.

I heard the screech of tires, the slam of metal on metal, the grinding noise of cars crumpling. Oily smoke billowed into the air. Somehow the EMTs were already there, and I watched as they rushed to my tiny car, the driver’s-side door crushed in.

“No one here!” one of the paramedics shouted. “Someone must have forgotten to put on the parking brake.”

Odd. I didn’t remember getting out of the crushed car. And no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to me, when I would have thought everyone would be screaming at me for being such a stupid American.

They were working on getting a woman out of the car I’d hit, but she was talking and looking relatively unscathed, so some of my guilt faded. I turned to the man standing behind me. “She looks okay.” And then I froze.

I had turned to him automatically, knowing he was there, comfortable with it. Ugly reality came roaring back as I looked up into his cold blue eyes. “Azazel,” I said.

He said nothing, simply watching me. I turned
and looked at the accident scene as they pulled the woman from the wrecked car. Maybe I could run for it once more. Where the hell was Rolf when I needed him?

And how had I gotten out of the car? I finally turned my back on the accident. “Am I dead?” I asked, matter-of-fact.

“Why should you think that?” His deep voice sent shivers through my body. I remembered that voice. I’d heard it in my dreams. The erotic, embarrassing dreams I’d rejected in the daylight.

“You’re here again.”

“You remember. That surprises me.” He didn’t look particularly surprised. Then again, he had never seemed to react to anything when we were together the last time.

Strange way to put it. When he’d kidnapped me and tried to kill me, the son of a bitch.

I glanced toward the police, who were now directing traffic, wondering if I had time to reach them, to scream for help. His gaze followed mine, but he didn’t move. “It won’t do you any good. They can’t see or hear you.”

I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to believe it. I looked back at him. “I’ll ask you again—am I dead?”

“It is not that easy to kill the Lilith.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped as someone
walked right through me as if I weren’t standing there. “I’m Rachel.”

His eyes narrowed. “It is not that easy to kill
you.
”

“I remember.” I was standing too close to him. Odd that I could feel his presence, practically feel his body heat, yet people were walking through us to get to the accident. I took a surreptitious step back from him. “Have you changed your mind again?”

“It was not a permanent reprieve. But I’m here for another reason.”

I took one more longing look at the police wandering around the accident, then turned back to him. Another step away. “Then explain.”

“We have need of you.” He looked as if he were eating an unpleasant bug as he said it. “I’m taking you out of here. It is against my better judgment.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You have no say in the matter.” He looked bored. “Come.”

I’d managed to move a good five feet from him in small increments. “I don’t think so.” He could probably will me over there, but I wasn’t going under my own steam.

“Come. Now.” His rich voice was soft and deadly.

I still managed not to move. I wanted to, God,
how I wanted to. I wanted to cross that careful space I’d managed to give myself and press my body up against his. Against the man who wanted to kill me. I fought it, fought the need to move, glaring at him. It was a battle, one I was determined not to lose. He didn’t fight fair—I believed his claim that he was something other than human, even though he was flat-out insane when he said I was a demon. But despite all his efforts, I wasn’t going to let him control me. The illogical, powerful attraction I felt was probably just one more of his tricks.

I don’t know how long we stood there. He didn’t ask again. He stared at me out of those deep-blue eyes, so vivid in his calm face, and I fought the chill that swept over me. If I gave in there’d be no hope, though I couldn’t begin to define what I was hoping for.

“You are wiser than this,” he said finally. “You know I am your enemy, and it would take very little to kill you. Instead of antagonizing me, you should be trying to soften me up.”

Soft
was never a word I would use for Azazel. He was lean, strong, all harsh planes and angles. I didn’t think he’d ever be soft at the wrong time.

Color flooded my face at the thought. Why was I thinking of sex when I looked at this man? If he wasn’t human, he might not even be sexual.
And even if he was, it had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t turned on by someone who wanted me dead.

But unfortunately, he had a point. I shouldn’t be antagonizing him. I should be meek and submissive and maybe he’d let me go again. But I didn’t move. Not this time.

To my shock, the merest glimmer of a smile danced across his mouth and then was gone as soon as it appeared. “Your choice.”

And everything went dark.

I had felt this before: being crushed in an unbreakable hold, the scent of warm male and the ocean surrounding me. I didn’t struggle—I remembered it would hurt more if I fought. I held still in the dark, blinding embrace, trying to register everything.

It was crazy, but it felt as if I were flying. Soaring through clouds and space and time, and it felt glorious. Ridiculous, because I hated the very idea of flying. Right now I was simply cocooned in something, my imagination going wild. But I breathed in deeply, the scent of his skin and the sea breeze in my nostrils, and I gave in to the pleasure of it, letting my will dissolve.

H
E SOARED UPWARD, THE DEMON
wrapped tight against him. She didn’t fight him this time,
which made things more difficult. He was better off fighting her. He could feel her head tucked against his shoulder, feel her warm, moist breath against his skin. If she struggled he could drop her, forget about her, and who knew where and when she would surface? But surface she would. Killing a demon wasn’t that easy, even for him.

It hadn’t taken long to find her—in truth, he’d always been aware of her, ready for the day when he could finish what he’d started. Letting her live was unacceptable.

He still didn’t know why he’d changed his mind, gone back for her a year and a half ago. Maybe it was the simple fact that Sarah would have hated what he’d done. Even so long after her death, her gentle influence fought against his more bloody-minded instincts.

And
bloody-minded
was the term. The Lilith could bleed—he remembered that. Remembered the torn flesh of her wrists and ankles, which he’d healed after he pulled her out of there. He could make her bleed again, and this time no misguided charity would stop him. He wouldn’t have thought there was a charitable bone in his body.

He would take her to the Dark City and, if it came to that, hand her over to the Truth Breakers to find out all her secrets. He would have no choice but to expose himself to her temptation,
and he would prove to himself that he could resist her. He would mourn Sarah forever. She was the wife of his eternal banishment. The Lilith was a murderous whore.

No matter what she believed, he couldn’t afford to let himself forget that essential truth.

I
OPENED MY EYES, BLINKED, THEN
closed them tightly again. There was something wrong with my vision. Something wrong with my mind as well. My heart raced with remembered fear, and I took deep, slow breaths, willing calm back. I was lying on a bed, and déjà vu swept over me. This had all happened before. Where was Azazel?

I opened my eyes again, slowly, then sat up and looked around me. I was in a bedroom, large, luxurious, with a high ceiling, heavy old furniture, and what looked like a marble floor. I couldn’t be sure, because the room was leached of color. Everything was a strange sepia tone, like an ancient photograph. I looked down at my body, and breathed a sigh of relief. I was in full color, my jeans the same faded indigo
as when I’d put them on, my sneakers a dirty white, my arms their normal lightly tanned skin color. Some odd memory made me reach up to my hair. It was the same, long and thick, and I pulled a strand into sight. The same red I’d become accustomed to.

I stroked the coverlet beneath me. It was thick and velvety, despite its gray-brown appearance. Someone must have a really strange decorating sense, to have chosen everything in these colorless shades. Even the marble. I slid off the high bed, and the floor was hard beneath my feet. Was there such a thing as brown marble, or had they painted it?

But I knew paint was too easy an answer. I knew what I’d find when I opened the door, when I pushed the heavy beige curtains away from the tall windows, beige curtains that something told me ought to be pure white.

I turned the knob, hoping for some
Wizard of Oz
effect of the bright colors of Munchkinland beyond the door. Instead it was another sepia-toned room. No sign of Azazel, and I breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. There were the same tall windows covered with heavy curtains, and I didn’t want to go look. But I was made of tougher stuff than that, and if I was here I might as well know what I was facing. I crossed the room and pushed
the curtains aside, then stood there, frozen, staring out into the city.

I had no idea where I was—it looked like a cross between New York in the 1930s and London in the 1890s, mixed with some early German filmmaker’s notions of a dystopian future. And it was all the same monochromatic chiaroscuro. A sort of grayish brown, like an old movie. I held my arm out in front of the cityscape. Still normal, a shock of color against the dark, shadowy lines of the strange place. I let the curtain drop, turning away, and then let out a little shriek. Azazel stood there, watching me.

At least he was in color, or as much color as he had in him. He was dressed in black as always, black jeans and a black shirt, and his long, ink-black hair framed a pale face, his dark blue eyes and high cheekbones uncomfortably familiar. But even his pale skin held a healthier color than the room, and his mouth had color. I stared at it, not sure I wanted to examine my own thoughts, and that mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile.

“So what kind of hell have you brought me to?” I managed to sound no more than casually interested. “Is this purgatory?”

“Purgatory is a mythical construction. This is the Dark City.”

“You could have fooled me.” I looked around me. “So why are we here?”

He didn’t answer, his unsettling eyes moving over me with what I knew was cool contempt. I still couldn’t figure out what I’d done to merit this, why he was so certain I was some kind of demon, but I wasn’t going to ask him. I already knew that he wouldn’t tell me anything.

“Are you hungry?” he said instead, which surprised me. So far he hadn’t shown any particular interest in my well-being.

And I realized I was starving. “Yes.”

He nodded, turning toward the door, and I stared at him speculatively. He was tall, maybe six two, and lean, with wiry strength that was oddly elegant. He wasn’t quite as gaunt as he had been the last time I’d seen him—clearly he’d gotten a meal or two in the interim, though he still could have used a few more pounds. I couldn’t rid myself of the peculiar sense that there was something missing when he turned his back on me. It was a strong back, broad shoulders, and muscled arms. But there should have been something else there.