I reached up and touched my eyes. Dry. Maybe I was born without tear ducts. It was just as well—tears were a sign of weakness and I couldn’t afford to show any. I leaned my head back against the wall, willing myself to relax. Staying at this high pitch of anxiety wouldn’t do me any good. I took a deep, calming breath, centering myself, and felt my body relax.
“Do not tell me you’ve fallen asleep.” An amused voice broke through my self-imposed reverie, and I opened my eyes to look up into Beloch’s kindly face framed by the doorway.
I smiled back at him, relief flooding me. I yawned and rose, stretching. Everything was going to be fine. “There wasn’t much to keep me occupied,” I said in an unruffled voice.
“I must apologize for the Nightmen. Our crime problem is small but virulent, and you were down by the river where the criminals tend to lurk. It was a good thing you thought to mention my name. I shudder to think what might have happened otherwise.” He looked over his shoulder, and there was a faintly querulous note in his voice. “And just where is Azazel? Why didn’t he accompany you? He would have made certain you didn’t wander where you shouldn’t have, and no one would have come near you.”
“I went out without telling him.” I didn’t stop to wonder why I was shielding him. There was already enmity between the two men, and anything I did to further that would presumably aid me.
Beloch held out a thin, gnarled hand, and I took it, propelling myself upward. He was an old man, and I figured he would topple over if I really used him to get up. There was a light of amusement in his rheumy eyes, as if he knew I’d been sparing him, but he said nothing.
“I have tea and cake waiting for us in my study, my child,” he said. His fingers had caught mine in a grip that was surprisingly tight, and I wanted to pull away, but there was no polite way to do so. He led me down the utilitarian hallways, hallways I sensed ought to be painted the universal industrial green, toward the heavy wooden door of his study. He held it open, and warmth poured out, physical and emotional. Beloch fussed over me like a grandfather, settling me into a comfortable chair, covering my legs with a lap robe, and handing me a cup of Earl Grey.
I hated Earl Grey. The smell of bergamot reminded me of old women and disapproval, but I drank anyway, glad of the warmth. “What time is it?” I asked, only vaguely interested.
“We don’t keep track of time here the same way people do in the outside world,” Beloch said, settling in the chair opposite me. To my surprise, a cat jumped into his lap and settled there, and he stroked it absently with his strong, gnarled fingers. The cat turned to look at me for a moment, then settled back on its master’s lap.
Odd. I loved cats. And yet I’d looked at this sepia-toned cat and felt an instant revulsion.
“You’re admiring my lovely Lucifer, aren’t you?” he said. “He’s quite beautiful, is he not? Such a sleek, lovely coat.” His hand stroked the shiny fur.
“He’s gorgeous,” I said politely, only the truth.
“I feed him a diet of raw meat. I find it not only improves his health but it brings him more in tune with his atavistic nature. Of course, it makes him quite savage with other people. I would suggest you don’t pat him—you could lose a finger.”
I laughed politely, assuming he was kidding. But I looked down into the cat’s face and wondered.
“I thought I might have them make up a room for you here,” he continued. “I had hoped that Azazel … well, he has certain things he needs to work out, but since it appears he’s unable to deal with them, you may as well stay here.”
That was just what I wanted. So why in the world was I trying to come up with objections? I wanted to be here. At least, I should. I cleared my throat. “I don’t think Azazel has anything in particular to work out. Apparently he needs to prove that he isn’t attracted to me. He’s done that in spades. I don’t think he wants me dead anymore. I think he just doesn’t care. As for finding me attractive, that’s simply ridiculous.”
A faint smile curved Beloch’s mouth. “I think you underestimate your charms, my dear.”
I smiled back, still feeling vaguely uneasy. “You’re very kind, but as far as Azazel is concerned I might just as well be a … a Nephilim.” I used the word deliberately, wondering if Beloch knew it.
He seemed to. “And you hate him as well?”
“Of course. He’s kidnapped me twice, maybe more, if I could only remember. He tried to have me killed, he keeps me prisoner, and he never answers questions. He won’t talk to me at all.” The last argument sounded rather lame compared to the others, but in truth it made me crazier than all the other offenses.
Beloch said nothing for a moment, stroking his self-satisfied, finger-eating cat. “To give him his due, he’s had a sad life. His wives keep dying. I believe he’s still mourning his last one to an excessive degree.”
I was suddenly very cold. “What happened to her?”
“To Sarah? I believe she was murdered.”
Oh, shit. Was Azazel some kind of Bluebeard? He didn’t seem like a serial killer, but then, how would I know what a serial killer was like? They could be quite handsome and charming, couldn’t they? Azazel fit the former—when considered dispassionately, he was absolutely gorgeous. But charming he was not.
“Er … how many wives has he had?”
“You’d best ask him. Though he may have lost count.”
I no longer bothered to hide my alarm. How could I have been so stupid? Stupid because I had felt his mouth on mine and responded, stupid because for a brief moment I had wanted him, really wanted him.
“Maybe I’ll skip that.”
Beloch chuckled. “But why waste our time talking about Azazel? I’d rather talk about you, my dear. About your lives and loves, your memories, your dreams.”
My lives? Just how much did he know about me and my past? I had the sudden, unbidden suspicion that he knew more than I did. Yet that was impossible.
Then again, no one could know less about my past. “I’m surprised Azazel didn’t tell you. I know almost nothing about my life. I’ve got some odd form of amnesia.” I didn’t tend to use that word for it, but it seemed like a nice, reasonable explanation for something that felt much more sinister.
“Amnesia,” Beloch echoed. “My poor child. But you know, we’re quite advanced here in the Dark City. We have very effective ways of helping you to remember almost anything.”
I must have looked doubtful, for he laughed. “Don’t look so worried, my dear. It’s simply a form of biofeedback.”
For some reason, a shiver ran down my backbone, but I managed a cheerful smile. “I think I’ll pass. If my past is even close to what Azazel thinks it is, I’m better off not knowing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the old saying: ‘The truth shall set you free.’”
I blinked. “That’s an interesting concept. I’ve never heard it before. Who said that?”
“Someone after your time, child,” he said with a soft laugh. “Let me order some more tea. Yours must be cold by now.”
I glanced down into the tea leaves floating at the bottom of the bergamot-scented sludge. They looked like drowned tree limbs after a hurricane. I looked up and managed a smile. “I’ve had enough, thank you. Too much tea makes my hands shake.” I set the delicate cup carefully on the table beside me.
Beloch simply nodded. “Then perhaps I’ll introduce you to—”
The door opened with no warning knock, and Beloch’s gentle face darkened with displeasure as he surveyed Azazel in the doorway. “You finally decided to come after your charge?” he said in an icy tone. “You’re too late.”
But Azazel was looking at me, and there was a blazing intensity in his eyes. Blue eyes, deep and vivid, so different from the muddy grays and rusty blacks and browns of this sepia-tinted world. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he snapped. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I love you too,” I said sweetly, but the mocking words fell oddly flat, making me uncomfo
rtable. “I went for a walk down by the river, and some people found me and brought me here.”
“People?” he echoed.
“The Nightmen,” Beloch supplied. “You’re lucky she’s still alive. If she hadn’t given them my name, she would have disappeared, and you’d have a hard time explaining yourself. Apparently your name had no effect on them.”
“This is your element, not mine,” Azazel said.
“True enough. And my word is law.”
Azazel moved between us, blocking my view of Beloch. “It is. Which means you should think carefully before you make a pronouncement. What is more important? Vanquishing me, or her?”
Silence, and I wished I could see Beloch’s face. “You make an excellent point,” he said finally. “And I must say, it’s not an easy decision. The leader of the Fallen, or the first female … when, if I wait a few days, I can have you both.”
“I would hardly think you would settle for less.” Azazel’s voice was silken, persuasive.
“What I find interesting is why you’re suddenly set on keeping her, when before you wanted nothing more than to dump her. Have you already begun to lose?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” There was contempt in his voice, and I wondered how Beloch would respond. Unfortunately, all I could see was Azazel’s tight rear end in black jeans. Which wasn’t a bad view. “I didn’t wish to hand her over the first night, though I would have acquiesced if you’d insisted.”
“Would you have?”
“You rule the Dark City. As you have said, your word is law. But I have my own curiosity about her, and about the prophecy. If you take her now, I will never know the truth.”
“Perhaps I enjoy the idea of you spending eternity wondering,” Beloch suggested in a voice far removed from that of the courtly old gentleman who’d served me tea.
“Perhaps knowing my weakness would be an even greater punishment.”
Silence. “Again, I wonder why you’re seeking to lose with such determination. It does seem like the wisest choice would be to deny what you’re wanting so desperately.”
“Hardly desperation,” Azazel said in a voice devoid of emotion. “It is your choice, of course. I merely offer it as an intellectual exercise. If you take her now, I will simply return to Sheol and forget about her. Perhaps that might be the best answer after all.”
“Do not attempt to play games with me. You will lose.” There was another silence. “Take her. And I use those words deliberately. If I were you, I wouldn’t let her out of your sight. If she were to run afoul of the Nightmen again, I expect everyone would be very distressed, in particular your friends back home.”
“She won’t escape again.” He turned, and I could see Beloch’s face now, looking as sulky as a child deprived of a toy. And then he caught my eye and smiled.
“Don’t worry, my child. Azazel won’t hurt you. He wouldn’t dare. He has something to prove to himself where you’re concerned, and I know you have a generous spirit, enough to allow him to find the answers to what’s troubling him.”
I wasn’t sure of any such thing, but I didn’t argue, rising gracefully. Azazel hadn’t moved away, and he was too close, intoxicatingly so. God, if anyone was a sex demon, it was Azazel. I only had to look at him and I felt my insides melt.
He took my arm in a hard grip, and I wondered if I’d end up with bruises. If I had any sense I’d throw myself on Beloch’s mercy—the comfort and safety of the library versus Azazel’s dangerous presence. But I knew I wouldn’t. I knew I would follow Azazel wherever he led me, and I didn’t know why.
We were at the door when Beloch spoke again, and his words sent ice into my veins. “Don’t look so worried, my dear Rachel. Azazel won’t hurt you. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky. It’s not every women who gets to fuck a fallen angel.”
C HAPTER T EN
WHAT WAS HE TALKING about?” I demanded as he led me from the building.
“Be quiet. We will discuss this when we get home.”
“We don’t have a home,” I snapped. “And I’m not going anywhere with you until you explain this.”
“Yes, you are.” He was right. His grip on my arm was unbreakable, and I’d already had experience with his iron will. He would knock me out, cast some weird spell over me, do anything within his power to make me comply, and his power was impressive.
He led me past the uniformed men, who were clustered near the river as if waiting, and I could feel them watching us. We came to an abrupt halt when their massive leader moved in front of us.
It should have been ridiculous—compared to Azazel’s lean, wiry frame, he was huge, overpowering. He should have frightened me more than Azazel ever had. But there were different kinds of fear.
“Where are you taking her, my lord?” The honorific sounded sarcastic to my ears, and Azazel’s fingers tightened even more around the soft flesh above my elbow.
“To the house on Cedar Street. Beloch has put her in my custody. I regret having to disappoint you.” Sarcasm dripped from his words, and the man’s eyebrows snapped together.
“Why would he do that? She was promised to us.”
“You’d best ask him, hadn’t you?” Azazel said, but I could see the alarm in his blue eyes. “Besides, wasn’t she to go to the Truth Breakers first?”
“We would have her when they finished with her.”
“You know as well as I that there’s usually not much left after the Truth Breakers finish.” He seemed to have no idea what effect those words were having on me.
“An excellent point. Hence my concern that he’s letting her go with you. She should stay here.”
“Again, discuss it with Beloch.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“Then stand aside.”
For a moment the large man seemed to vibrate with rage, looming before us. And then he nodded curtly and backed off. “I’ll set a guard outside the house,” he said. “So you don’t run the risk of losing her again.”
“Very kind,” Azazel murmured. “But unnecessary. She won’t be going anywhere without me.”
“Until you hand her to the Truth Breakers.”
I could feel his hesitation, though I doubted the captain noticed it. “Until I hand her to the Truth Breakers,” he agreed smoothly. And with a none-too-gentle tug he pulled me into the endless night of the Dark City as shadows closed down around us.
Until he handed me to the Truth Breakers, who didn’t leave much when they finished with you. Had he rescued me from the Nephilim simply to turn me over to the Dark City equivalent? As he ushered me through the deserted streets, I glanced around for any possible avenue of escape. If I got away from him, I was no longer sure where I’d go. I already knew the people who lived here would be no help, and I was beginning to have the strong, if belated, suspicion that Beloch wasn’t the cozy, absentminded professor he appeared to be.
“Don’t even bother,” Azazel said beneath his breath. “You wouldn’t get ten feet. There are Nightmen stationed all around, watching us, and I expect they will be there from now on.”
I jerked, startled both by the thought of them watching and by the knowledge that Azazel, again, had read my mind. Though I supposed it would be easy enough to guess what I was thinking as my head swiveled back and forth. I dug in my heels when we reached the old brownstone, but it did me no good. He simply hauled me up the steps, shoved me inside, and slammed the door after us, locking it.
“Not that it will do any good,” he muttered. “Enoch can get in anytime he wants to.”
“Enoch?”
“Your new admirer. The captain of the Nightmen. He’s not the best enemy to make.”
“He hates you.”
“Yes. And now he hates you as well.”
I sighed. “Well, aren’t things going just swimmingly. So tell me, what the hell did Beloch mean?”
“We’re better off talking upstairs.” His hand was no longer clamped on my arm, and I wondered if he’d continue to force me if I
held back. I had no intention of it. I wanted answers, and this time he was going to give them to me, though I thought he was about as much an angel as I was a prehistoric sex goddess.
He started up the stairs and I followed him. I could always kick him in the head and escape, no matter how many Nightmen were lurking around the house.
One of the doors was open, and the high bed, similar to mine, was rumpled. This had to be his room, and I tried very hard not to show any reluctance as I walked in. After all, we were both adults—we could hold a discussion in a bedroom as well as in a library.
There was an uncomfortable-looking Victorian sofa at one side of the huge room, and I went and took a seat, perfectly ready to cross-examine him.
He raised an eyebrow, and I almost thought I saw a quirk of amusement at his formerly stern mouth. I had the sudden feeling that he didn’t hate me as much as he had, though I had no idea what had changed his mind. He settled into a wingback chair that stood at a right angle to the sofa.
“Why did he call you an angel?” I launched right into it, not waiting for him to control the conversation. “You’re not my idea of a gentle cherub watching over people.”
“I’m not,” he said flatly. “I’m fallen.”
For a moment I didn’t move. This I could almost believe, looking at the unearthly beauty of his pale face, the cold anger in his tightly wired body. “When?”
“Before time was calculated.”
I racked my brain for the snippets I’d read. “Are you Lucifer?”
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