Men and their honor. Men and their need for power, for control, for doing stupid things because of stupid pride and an insane belief in some ridiculous notion of what was right. They would kill us all with their pride, and I wouldn’t let them.
She was gone. But she was still within me. Lilith, the storm demon. Lilitu, the wind goddess, the raging fury who sent hurricanes and tornadoes and cyclones. I moved my hand, just slightly, and a spit of sand whirled up in a tiny funnel, falling back to the ground.
Azazel slashed at Metatron, slicing him above the other eye, and the blood poured down, blinding him. Metatron dashed it away, smearing it on his face, and struck back, his sword slicing through the leather jerkin Azazel wore, and I could see the blood gushing out, deep and red, and I knew if I didn’t move he would die.
I took a deep breath and went there, joined the demon who lived inside me. I spun my hand, and the winds came down, picking up the sand. Azazel tripped and fell, and Metatron loomed over him, sword raised for the killing blow—
When my wind caught him. The sand blinding him, the gust pushing him away as Azazel once more managed to stagger to his feet. I swirled the wind beyond Azazel, buoying him as he gathered the last bit of his strength, advancing on Metatron, who was fighting the funnel of sand that had encircled him.
I moved my hand, and the wind halted, the sand falling to the ground, and Metatron saw Azazel. He grinned, raising his sword, and Azazel sliced beneath his arm, beneath the armor.
Metatron fell to his knees, his face blank with shock. And Azazel brought his sword down on his enemy’s neck, hacking into his body.
The warrior fell face-first into the sand, and silence reigned.
There was only the rasp of Azazel’s labored breathing, the soft remnants of my angry wind, the shushing of the ocean that terrified me.
I rushed forward, catching Azazel before he fell. He was heavy, but I was strong, and I pulled him toward the sea. A moment later Allie was with us, supporting his other side, and he glanced down at her with a momentary grimace. And then he smiled. A glorious smile that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
The water lapped at our feet. “I need to go back,” Allie said. “You can take him from here.”
“Yes,” I said. And I carried him into the healing, terrifying water, deeper and deeper, until it closed over our heads and I breathed it in.
I stripped his bloody jerkin off him beneath the salt water, and watched his savage wounds begin to close. I kissed his mouth, breathing him in, and let him wrap my legs around him, holding tight. He pushed up into the air, and his black wings unfurled, carrying us higher, over the sand, and I clung to him, afraid of nothing. Not the deep ocean, not flying through the misty sky, not loving a hard man. Not the demon who still hid inside me, who could help save the man she loved. She would be a secret. I had thought she was gone, hated her; but she was a part of me, a part of the being who loved Azazel, and I welcomed her.
We set down on the sand near the house, and he released me, but I held him against me, protecting him as he protected me. We looked up as Raziel stood before the army of angels, a cold glint in his eye.
“Your champion is defeated,” he called out, “and Uriel has broken the laws of the Supreme Being. You have no place here. Go, and never return.”
He got no argument. They began to retreat, when one of them stopped. “May we take the body?”
Allie had managed to turn Metatron’s huge body over, and he lay on his back in the sand, covered in blood, his eyes closed. But then I saw he was still breathing, and I joined her, kneeling in the sand and unfastening the heavy metal armor.
“It is Azazel’s choice, as champion,” Raziel said.
Azazel was staring at his vanquished opponent. “He lives,” he said shortly. “Ask him.”
To my astonishment, Metatron’s eyes opened beneath the heavy mat of blood and sand, and they focused on me for a moment, then past me to Azazel. “I tried,” he said in a bare whisper. “I’m dying.”
“Yes,” Azazel said, glancing at me for an uncomfortable moment before turning back. “Do you wish to be returned to your army?”
Metatron met his gaze, and he slowly shook his head. “Bury me here. I have no wish to return to the darkness.”
There was nothing more to say. They began to retreat, the legion of soldier angels come to wipe us out, and a few minutes later his army was gone.
Allie made a gesture. “We need four strong men to carry him into the water. Carefully, now. His wounds are very bad.”
Azazel broke away from me, coming forward with three others. They lifted Metatron’s bloody and broken body gently and carried him toward the sea. I followed, because I didn’t want Azazel too far away. I had almost lost him, and right now I refused to let him out of my sight.
“You drown your enemies?” I heard Metatron say in the voice of delirium. “As good a way as any. It is a fitting resting place for a soldier.”
A moment later he was underwater, and the four men were chanting something beneath their breaths, something strange and musical, as we all waited.
And waited. I was knee-deep in the surf, watching them, and Allie came up beside me. “What a lucky wind that was,” she murmured, casting an oblique glance my way.
“Yes, it was,” I said, concentrating on the water where Metatron had disappeared. “Is he going to live?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes the wounds are too grievous.” She smiled at me, a knowing smile. “It’s nice to have secret weapons against an oversized enemy.”
I looked at her with all the innocence I could muster. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My skills at prevarication were rusty, but even if I’d been an expert she wouldn’t have believed me. “Neither do
