mouth, taste him. It felt as if I’d somehow taken part of him inside me and there was no way to get rid of him.
The night, his words, were a jumble in my head. A test, he’d said? His harsh kiss had made no more sense than his words—he hated me, he wanted me dead. Why in God’s name had he kissed me?
And then I remembered the feel of his erection, hard against my stomach. I knew there had to be some other meaning. Maybe he’d simply needed sex and was responding to the only female in the house. Maybe he’d managed to convince himself that I was some kind of sex goddess, though that would have taken quite a stretch of his imagination. I could remember his long fingers on my breasts, teasing the nipples into fierce arousal. A sex goddess didn’t wear 34B.
I had dreamed about her. Dreamed about the demon goddess who inspired fear and hatred among men. I had known her in my dreams, a lost woman of strength and anger, a mother and a lover and a goddess and a … was she a whore? Or was that simply part of the lies men told?
The lies that Azazel believed. But then, he was a man, wasn’t he? For all that he said he wasn’t human. He had a dick, one that got hard. He was a man, with all men’s frailties and lies.
The dream was fading now, like mist in bright sunlight, burned away, and I couldn’t recapture it. It seemed to be what passed for late afternoon here, and the room was filled with shadows. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, but the shadows and gloom remained despite the glow of the light. I looked down at my body, just to reassure myself that I was still in living color, and I froze. I was wearing a stark white Victorian nightgown, all eyelet and ruffles, buttoned primly up to the neck. Those hands had been no dream, and I skittered up to the top of the bed, wrapping my arms around myself protectively, as if I could belatedly keep his hands away.
Azazel had come into this room and stripped the clothes off me, dressed me in this absurd thing, and put me in the bed. I didn’t imagine for a moment that anyone else had come in to perform these services. He wouldn’t care that stripping me would be humiliating. Then again, why should he care whether I slept on the floor or in the bed? He would be happier throwing me in a dungeon.
He believed I was Lilith. And he said Beloch had sent us back so Azazel could prove he could resist me, and then he’d said I was irresistible. Clearly that wasn’t true. He’d kissed me, kissed me more deeply than I’d ever been kissed before, and then shoved me away, even with the proof of his body pressed against mine. He could have had me, easily. For all that I thought sex was no pleasure for women, I would have stripped off my clothes and lain beneath him without a word of protest.
But he hadn’t wanted me. Despite the stiff cock against my belly, despite the hunger of his mouth, he hadn’t wanted me. So much for being an irresistible siren.
And then when he’d stripped me, I’d been asleep, but I could almost see his steady, efficient hands as they’d removed my clothes. His cool, assessing gaze as he looked at my naked body. And then covered it up, from my chin to my toes, in this enveloping nightgown.
I was no threat to him. Hadn’t he already proven that? That he could kiss me and walk away, that he could strip me and cover me again with no more concern than a eunuch? But he wasn’t a eunuch.
We should be done by now. Whether or not he still believed I was Lilith, he knew that he wasn’t affected by my so-called seductive powers. He looked at me and saw Rachel, ordinary except for the flame-red hair. He looked at me and turned away.
I slid down off the high bed and went searching for my clothes. They weren’t there—just a pile of gray-brown jeans and T-shirts, the usual. I didn’t want to dress like the ghosts of the Dark City. I didn’t want to turn into them.
But I couldn’t wander around in a Victorian nightgown, and nudity was no option. I reached for the clothes in the huge wardrobe, the underwear in my size, the jeans that fit perfectly. And saw, to my relief, that once they were on my body the color slowly leached into them. They soaked up color like a paper towel set next to paint—the jeans were sand-washed indigo, the T-shirt a deep rose that oddly enough didn’t clash with my hair. I pulled the neckline out to look down at the bra next to my body. Pale lavender, with delicate lace. O-kay.
I headed for the door. It wasn’t as if I had any choice. I was starving, and staying holed up in this room got nothing accomplished. I left the room, and safety, behind.
He was in the outer room waiting for me, as if he’d known I was about to emerge. I felt color rise to my face, the memory of that searing kiss between us. But then, he’d pushed me away from him, passing whatever test he’d given himself, and I should be able to meet his gaze with no embarrassment.
I straightened my shoulders, waiting for him to say something. He looked at me out of hooded eyes, and I couldn’t read his reaction. And then he spoke.
“Come.”
I ground my teeth. “Where?”
“You slept a long time. You must be hungry. I was planning to feed you.”
“Are you taking me back to Beloch?” I tried to keep the hopefulness out of my voice. Pleasing me was the last thing on his agenda.
He shook his head. “The time has not yet come. There’s food in the dining room.”
“And where is that? Oh, I know. ‘Come,’” I mocked him. “Lead on. I’ll put up with you for the sake of food.”
“You have little choice in the matter, demon.”
“Don’t call me that!” I snapped.
“What do you expect me to call you? A made-up name for a made-up human?”
I didn’t bother arguing. “Yes. My name is Rachel.” I pushed past him, anything to keep him from that one sepulchral word that made me crazy.
“Second door on the left.”
I halted, not daring to hope. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I expect you can manage to feed yourself without my help.”
