he could, and she was trembling.
He slid the knife through the ropes. He looked out the empty frame of the window and could see them approaching. He would be no defense against so many, and he could simply stand there, wait for the monsters to take both of them.
There was no time to find the key to the lock that held her chains. He yanked, shredding the chains, pulled her out of the chair, and shot upward into the night sky, the howls of the Nephilim following them into the darkness.
HE LANDED LIGHTLY ON THE deserted highway, her body limp in his arms. The car was where he’d left it, the metal roof peeled back as if a firecracker had exploded inside. He angled her into the backseat and quickly ripped away the shackles he hadn’t managed to unlock. Her slender wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding—she must have struggled after he left her. It wouldn’t have done her any good—he’d used iron chains on purpose. Only iron could chain a demon, and she would have been helpless.
But supposedly she didn’t know that. She claimed she knew nothing about who and what she was, and the torn and bleeding flesh almost seemed proof of that. He closed his hands around her ankles, so delicate that he easily encircled them. He released her, and they were smooth and unmarred once more.
He paused. There’d been times in history, when women wore layers upon layers of clothing, that ankles had been considered one of the most erotic parts of a woman’s body. Nowadays, when everything was on display, one forgot about ankles, but hers were well shaped and surprisingly arousing.
This was the Lilith, he reminded himself, reaching for her bloody wrists. She was the original siren, luring men to their doom.
The warm, earthy scent of her blood hit him then. He pulled back, leaving her wrists healed, and squatted down, staring at her limp body, absently licking his fingers. And then he realized what he was doing.
He jumped away, spitting, gagging, trying to drive the taste and the smell and the lure of her blood from his body. He struggled to the ditch beside the road and threw up.
It hurt. His body fought him, craving the soothing balm of her; but he had always been in control of this strange human flesh of his, and he emptied himself of every trace of her. And then he rose, wiping his mouth, and went back to her.
He had no idea whether the Grace of forgetting would work on a demon, but he put his hand over her face, not touching her, and let it sink in. There was dried blood on his long fingers, her blood, and he cursed.
He shoved her all the way in and closed the door, then climbed into the front seat. He grabbed his bottle of water, swished his mouth out, and spat again, then poured the rest of it over his hands, rubbing away every trace of her blood. It wasn’t his fault that he could still feel it there.
The car started easily enough, ignoring its ill treatment, and he pulled onto the road again. He could hear the muted noise of the Nephilim, screaming with rage at being denied their prey. They would follow, and he couldn’t afford to linger. He could always move faster than they could, but having
But most of all he needed time and space to figure out why the fuck he’d just made the most stupid mistake of thousands of years of his endless life.
I HEARD THE SCREAM. IT tore from my throat as I was slammed into consciousness, the sound deafening, and I wanted to stop, I did, but I couldn’t. Only for a moment, to suck in a deep, rasping gasp of breath, and then I screamed again, the sound sickening in the pure terror that had infused my very bones.
And then it stopped, this involuntary anguish, by his voice simply saying, “Stop.”
For a moment I didn’t move. I was lying stretched out on the seat of a moving vehicle. Logic dictated that it was the car Azazel had used to drive me out into the bush, but this one had a moonroof, and the stars overhead were oddly calming. I wondered if he’d frozen me as he had in the restaurant, but I found I could move, slowly, carefully, as if my bones might shake apart. I managed to pull myself into a sitting position.
It was almost full dark. I rubbed my tender wrists, but they were whole, no marks left by those damned ropes, which shocked me. I’d struggled like a madwoman when he left me in the muffled darkness, and I thought I’d felt the wetness of blood. I reached down to my ankles, but they were smooth and undamaged as well.
I had no idea whether he was going to let me talk or not, but I had to try.
“Why did you come back?” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound accusing. He’d changed his mind about killing me, for God’s sake. Why should I complain?
He didn’t glance back at me. Fresh air came from the open roof, blowing his hair away from the elegant bone structure of his cold, emotionless face. “I have no idea,” he said finally. “If I were you, I wouldn’t question it. I may recover my sanity long enough to take you back there and dump you, so I suggest you just sit back and keep quiet.”
I was smart enough to do just that. I was so cold, after the blisteringly hot day, and I shivered. I remembered the howls coming closer, the horrible smell that had assailed my nostrils, and I felt my body tremble almost imperceptibly. I decided to push my luck.
“Could you close the moonroof? I’m freezing. It must get very cold once the sun sets.”
He hesitated. “It isn’t that cold,” he said finally.
“But I’m—”
“Deal with it.”
Okay. I wrapped my arms around me, trying to get warm. He was probably right—it was just as likely shock and fear as anything else. I wanted to ask him where he was taking me, but he’d warned me not to ask questions, and I didn’t want him changing his mind. I curled my legs up under me and huddled in the corner of the seat, as far from the open roof as I could get. The stars were very bright in the inky black sky overhead, and I realized I would probably be able to see the Southern Cross for the first time in my life. I had always had a secret weakness for astronomy, for the stars and constellations and the way they seemed to rotate in the sky. This might be my only chance to actually see the Southern Cross, and I hoped the sky stayed clear for as long as we were here. Unless he planned to abandon me here, which would suit me very well indeed. I could disappear into a new name and new identity here as easily as in the Northern Hemisphere. I’d had lots of practice.
I could tell by the dimming of the stars that we were approaching what looked like a small city. The electric lights were warring with nature, and electricity was winning. Light pollution, they called it. I thought I’d grown used to it, but that brief period without it had simply reminded me how much I loved the vast, endless sky.
