Bradshaw gave a short nod.
“And the others with the same Gift? All in subordinate positions to Lucifer’s demons?” Though humiliating for her, it cheered her to think others remained unaware of the Guardians in their midst.
“There are very few others,” Hugh said quietly. “It’s a rare Gift.”
An edge of resignation in his voice; he was pleased that Michael had managed to counteract the demons’ foray into human society, but frustrated by the limitations of it.
Bradshaw frowned slightly. “How did you know? I never took this form in Caelum, and you weren’t my mentor.”
Hugh’s brows drew together, and his gaze unfocused, as if he were remembering and thinking about it. “You didn’t have any involuntary reactions when Lilith lifted you: no breathing change, no pupil dilation, no muscle reflex. You were prepared for Beelzebub—and prepared not to react. It was the response of someone who’d trained himself to stifle human impulse, but it takes decades of practice to reach that level of mastery over your body.”
Lilith snorted with laughter. “As you well know.”
He smiled, and his gaze heated as it skimmed her length. “I do.” Then he shrugged, and glanced at Bradshaw again. “You overcompensate for your Guardian reflexes; fortunately, most demons are arrogant and self-absorbed, so they probably won’t notice.”
Lilith scowled. Arrogant and self-absorbed? She wasn’t the one showing off and conducting an impromptu fool-the-demon lesson. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, and his lips pressed together as if he were holding back his laughter. “Where are the nosferatu hiding?”
Bradshaw ran his palm over his bald head, as if uncomfortable. He shot a glance at Hugh. “You’ve found out more from Beelzebub in half an hour than I’ve been able to glean in years. We’ve concentrated our efforts since the nosferatu came into the city, but even Michael didn’t know most of this.”
Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “Does Michael know where the nest is?” When Bradshaw nodded, she flashed a broad smile. “He’s keeping it secret; he’s concerned that if Hugh finds out, he will do something absurd.” As well he should; if Bradshaw had known and refused to tell them, he’d likely be stretched out next to Beelzebub.
Bradshaw nodded again.
Hugh arched a brow, looked pointedly to the floor. “More absurd than ambushing a demon in a building filled with armed federal agents?”
His blue eyes were filled with amusement, and it was difficult to maintain her own sobriety. Difficult to keep her heart from her throat, from launching herself into his arms. Did he know how it affected her, his ability to shed insult, to laugh at himself so easily? “Rushing into a nosferatu nest is much more absurd than this,” Lilith said. “The nosferatu can kill you.”
“So could have anyone outside this office, if he’d managed to escape us and raise the hue and cry.”
Lilith grinned. “The hue and cry?”
“I would have shot you,” Bradshaw offered. Every trace of mirth fled from Hugh’s features, and Lilith placed her hand on his forearm. His muscles were like steel beneath her fingers. Bradshaw noted the exchange with a widening of his eyes, then added with a grimace, “On second thought, I couldn’t have. Why are you human?”
“So that I can kill Hugh,” Lilith said, waiting until Hugh met her eyes. Animosity between Guardians and demons—even a Fallen demon—was to be expected; it wouldn’t disappear simply because he loved her. When she felt the tension ease from him, she turned to Bradshaw. “There’s more Michael isn’t telling you.” Michael couldn’t tell him; the stipulations of the wager forbade it—but they didn’t forbid Lilith.
It didn’t take long to outline the terms of the wager, and though it was obvious Bradshaw thought Lilith’s soul wasn’t worth the loss of Caelum and Hugh’s life, he didn’t say it aloud. Smart man, Lilith mused—he may not understand Hugh’s protectiveness toward her, but he’d wisely decided not to test it.
“Where’s Michael now?” Hugh said when Lilith had finished.
Bradshaw’s brows drew together. “Your house.” When they looked at him blankly, he said, “Selah came back, and Michael managed to go get the vampire.”
Startled, Lilith met Hugh’s gaze, saw the same relief and surprise reflected there. “Let’s go.”
Bradshaw’s sigh caught them halfway to the door. “What am I to do with this?”
Lilith turned. “Spin it. You have the case files.” She did a poor job of concealing her enjoyment when his jaw clenched. After ten years of trying to expose her lies, he needed her to create more. This was difficult for him; she wasn’t going to make it any easier.
“Lilith,” Hugh said quietly. She arched a brow at him, and relented when he said, “Take pity.”
It was only fair, she supposed; they had created the mess. She glanced at Beelzebub, slid pieces together, rearranged them. Bradshaw’s abilities were going to make this much simpler than if she and Hugh had only themselves to rely on. “I suppose you don’t want anyone to know you are a Guardian?”
“No.”
Of course not, Lilith thought; the fewer who knew the better. A psychic mask was useless if a demon could pick the truth from another Guardian’s—or human’s—mind. “First, you are going to shift into Smith’s form and walk us to the elevator. Then, as Smith, you’ll put in for emergency family leave, transferring his cases to yourself, particularly the investigations involving the nosferatu.” She nodded to herself, thinking it over. They had intended to use Beelzebub as the evidence Taylor and Preston had been looking for, knowing it wouldn’t completely exonerate Hugh, but it would at least give more credence to his story—and though they’d have to keep it quiet it would allow the two detectives more maneuvering ability. Lilith didn’t like the idea of all of the responsibility falling on the Guardians, via Bradshaw, just as it would have been the demons’ when Beelzebub had taken over the case. “You’re friends with Captain Jorgenson, Ingleside? Get his two detectives working with you; call them tomorrow morning, when you’ve got the files on your desk. They’re going to come in with two nosferatu. Dead, of course.”
“From the lake?” Hugh said.
Lilith nodded. “I’ll give them an anonymous tip tonight. When I dumped them, I hadn’t realized they wouldn’t disintegrate in the sun. But it was after the first ritual, so they’d have resistance; they’re likely still there.” She saw the doubt on Bradshaw’s face and frowned. “They already know a lot of it, and they aren’t going to run around screaming about demons and vampires. It’ll stay quiet if you make certain it stays that way. Run with the cult angle as in the letter. Keep your team busy tracking down phantom leads: hardcore Goth clubs, the missing bodies, linguists to explain the symbols and whatever shows up after the autopsy of the nosferatu, like body modification. Let the detectives go after us; we won’t hide much from them, except your part in it, but I doubt they’ll even mention to you the possibility that any of this is nonhuman; they’ll be content, for the moment, just having access to the case again. But if they do, pretend to be skeptical until you get irrefutable evidence.”
Bradshaw nodded slowly. “What will that be?”
Lilith shrugged, her heart suddenly heavy. “In about two days, you’ll know. Keep Beelzebub’s body in your cache until then. The blood, too.” Sir Pup didn’t have the precision to vanish something as amorphous as blood without destroying the carpet or leaving trace evidence behind, but a Guardian would.
“And what about you?”
She blinked, and an ironic smile curved her lips. “You finally get to suspend me, pending investigation of the stolen books and weapons found in my apartment.” She slid her badge from inside her jacket, tossed it to him.
He reverently smoothed his thumb over the gleaming shield. “No spin on this?”
She shook her head. It was all I had was not a defense, and it wasn’t worth the effort to create one. More important to concentrate on the last thing she had, the only thing that mattered.
She slid her h
and into Hugh’s. “Let’s go,” she said.
Darkness had fallen by the time they made it through the rush-hour traffic. As they turned from Sunset Boulevard and neared Hugh’s neighborhood, Sir Pup began running close to the motorcycle; she could hear his uneasy growls over the smooth rumble of the engine. She tightened her thigh muscles, felt an answering tension in Hugh’s.
With a twist of the throttle, the bike rocketed forward. She let go of his waist and called for the crossbow. Though venom laced all of their weapons, the gun was too loud, the sword’s range too limited. Sir Pup missed on the first attempt, and it smashed into the back of her hand before vanishing again.
Too much to ask, they were all moving too quickly; the hellhound sprinting, and they had to lean into the turns so deeply their knees skimmed millimeters above the rough pavement, the constant motion denying him a stable target.
She flipped up her visor and glanced back, up—there, the pale figures against the night sky . . . two of them. Nosferatu. Were they just watching, or planning to attack?
Either way, she didn’t want to be defenseless. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, “Try again.”
Three streets away from Hugh’s house now; hopefully the news crews had given up, or they were going to get one hell of a story. The crossbow landed in her palm, and she carefully turned—dangerous to throw off their balance, particularly as they decelerated.
The two nosferatu hovered as if uncertain, then turned and fled. Her triumphant laughter faded as she tilted her head farther, saw another figure flying directly above them. He held a blazing sword, and as she watched, it dimmed and vanished.
Michael.
About fucking time. She readjusted her aim as they rounded the last corner and pulled the trigger. The Doyen teleported an instant before the quarrel pinned his balls to his ass. Coward. Lilith burst into laughter, slapped her visor down and tossed the crossbow to Sir Pup.
The garage door rose when Hugh pressed a button on a device near the handlebars. Two media vans still sat in front of his house; a cameraman and a smartly dressed reporter scrambled out of the first van. Too late. Hugh pulled in, came to a smooth stop, cut the engine.
For a moment, the hum of the lowering door and her laughter were the only sounds in the garage. Then his helmet hit the concrete floor, and he reached behind with one arm and hauled her around astride him, her thighs atop his. Her laughter died on a wave of heat. God, but he was still so strong, so quick. He fumbled with her helmet, pushed it off. Half-lowered, his lashes were dark, thick, hiding the intense blue of his eyes as he glanced down her length, his hands everywhere, as if to be certain that she hadn’t been injured.
“Lilith—God, Lily.” His hands buried in her hair, pulled her down for a hard, searching kiss. His erection rose thick beneath his jeans and she arched back, finding an angle to stroke against him. Her panties were wet, soaking. He slid back along the seat, pulled her with him. Hurry. The tank dug into her spine. His hand moved between them. Something ripped.
Her trousers. She couldn’t stop sucking, licking at his mouth long enough to protest. Faster. Rough denim against her skin; he hadn’t done more than unfasten them and his urgency made her wild, frantic. Dimly, she heard a voice at the door and Hugh’s rough reply, and then he was inside her, his hot hard length thrusting deep. His mouth closed over her nipple and she came, her breath locked outside her and her inner muscles clenching in desperate, melting release. The motorcycle swayed and he hooked her knee over his arm and lifted, shoving into her again. A harsh moan tore from his throat as he withdrew, pausing with the thick head of his cock just inside before pulling all the way out.
She would have cried out at the loss, didn’t care who might have heard her—but she was faster, stronger even than he was. A heartbeat’s time, and she moved and her mouth surrounded him. A ragged, shuddering breath; his hands on her head; her name from his lips. She tasted herself, then he pulsed beneath her tongue; their flavors mingled, hot and raw. And it was not a rhythm, not routine—just life.
CHAPTER 35
“That was quick,” Colin said from his reclining position on the sofa, and Hugh didn’t need to see him to know a smirk accompanied the statement.
“You look like a wyrmrat,” Lilith said, stripping away her trousers and tossing them toward the trash bin. She stalked into the living room, her long legs bare. “No, now that I’m closer: you look like a wyrmrat’s ass.”
A glimmer of a smile touched Hugh’s lips, but when he took in the vampire’s drawn, skeletal countenance, he had to agree with her assessment. Moving nearer the sofa, he noted the broken nails, the reddened fingertips. He was clean, freshly showered, and wrapped in Hugh’s bathrobe, but the lingering odor of soot and burnt fibers hung in the air.
“This is your fault,” Colin told Lilith as she examined his hands, but there was no accusation in his voice—only a deep, overwhelming relief.
“Many things are,” she said mildly. “Are you lounging on the sofa because it shows your features to their best advantage, or are you unable to sit up?”
A brief flash of frustration and anger in his eyes before Colin looked heavenward. “The former, of course.”
A lie. Hugh touched Lilith’s shoulder. He needs to eat, he signed.
She glanced up as he began rolling his sleeve back over his forearm, then quickly back to Colin. “Where is Selah?”
“Caelum—Michael bade her to return, to tell your Savitri all is still well.” His lips twisted with self-derision. “I believe she desired a few minutes alone as well.”
Hugh frowned. Lilith wasn’t concerned about Selah; that hadn’t been the question she’d wanted to ask. Why would she be afraid of the answer? He crouched down next to her and offered his arm to Colin, turning his wrist up. Lilith swallowed hard. “I hear Sir Pup scratching at the back door,” he said softly.
A wry expression chased across her features before she sighed and stood. “He probably wants to play fetch with that quarrel I shot at Michael.”
Hugh watched her leave, then glanced back at the vampire. His lips were pulled back over his fangs, need burning in his eyes—but he waited.
“I don’t think I can keep this from being painful,” he said finally.
Hugh nodded; he’d known the vampire would have little control. Impossible, if he was as hungry as he looked. “It’s for the best; if I’m pleasured by it, Lilith will likely force me to kiss you. And though you are rather comely for a man, I much prefer her lips to yours.” Though his gaunt face lit with humor, still the vampire hesitated, and Hugh added, “I can stop you from draining me, do you lose all sense.”
Despite those assurances, Colin must have taken care; the bite pained Hugh no worse than the slice of a sharp knife. He counted the draws, estimated the amount; when he heard Lilith’s footsteps and the clatter of the hellhound’s paws, he pulled back. Colin had taken little more than a pint, but already the hollows in his cheeks filled, his skin and hair regained some of its normal luster. Hugh clamped his hand over the wound as Lilith came into the room.
She arched a brow. “That was quick.”
Hugh laughed and stood, but Colin was staring at the hellhound. “He made it out.”
“Out?” She sat on the ottoman and tucked her legs beneath her. Hugh sighed as he went into the kitchen to grab a towel to wrap around his wrist; she’d delayed her return by changing her clothes, and his pants didn’t look half as appealing as her bare skin had.
“Beelzebub put a sword through his gut.”
Hugh froze mid-wrap, listening for her response. Would she blame herself for leaving the hellhound with them? Sir Pup had saved them, but had almost died in the process. Lilith was silent for a moment, and there was cold humor in her voice when she said, “Hugh put an axe through Beelzebub’s neck.”
His tension eased, and he walked back into the living room just as Michael teleported in. No use putting it off any longer then. He looked over at Colin. “Where were you?”
�
�Hell, I imagine,” he said. “I have seen it before in mirrors—have heard the screams.”
Lilith’s face hardened. “The Pit?”
“No,” Michael said. He stood rigidly in front of Hugh’s bookcases, his black wings folded behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. A relaxed pose, for him. “Chaos.”
Lilith’s breath stilled. Chaos. Lucifer had summoned the dragon from that realm. Sir Pup whined and lay his head on Colin’s lap, and she was reminded that hellhounds were also descended from creatures of Chaos. Hybrids that Lucifer had made, hoping to control them better than the pure breeds. But Lucifer had not had access to the realm in millennia, slowly losing his power to call creatures from it. How had Colin and Selah found it?
“According to the Scrolls, even you are denied access to that realm. There are no Gates, and teleportation requires an anchor,” Hugh said to Michael, his thoughts apparently echoing hers. He drew in a sharp breath as he realized, “Your sword. The dragon’s blood imbued it with some of its power—and not only was Colin’s blood tainted with it when he was human, we made him with the blood of a nosferatu slain by the sword. His blood was the anchor when Selah tried to teleport, and it took them to Chaos instead of my home.”
Michael nodded. “Yes, but his anchor was too strong to allow her to transport them away.” His gaze flicked down to Hugh’s wrist, and a tremor shook her as power flowed through the room. Sir Pup gave a sharp, happy bark. Hugh tossed the bloody towel aside, and moved to stand behind her; she realized he’d been staying away so she wouldn’t see or smell the blood. Her heart swelled in her chest, left her full—too full.
She should thank the Doyen, but the words would not come to her lips. She glanced at Sir Pup, realized she had even more reason to be grateful. “You got him out of Colin’s basement, healed him.” Her voice was rough. The hellhound flapped his ears, grinning.
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