“We don’t have any other choice. His voice is growing fainter, Uriel is growing stronger, and it won’t be long before he finally abandons restraint and comes after us. We must find Lucifer, and I would consort with the foulest creatures in existence, even the remaining Nephilim, if it would help us.”

He knew Raziel was right. He’d known the moment he’d come across that obscure reference: The She-Demon who devours men and infants and lies with the Filth shall be entombed near the Bringer of Light, and bring forth the means of his deliverance. Of course, it was only one line in a relatively obscure text, and its provenance was questionable. And it didn’t begin to say how she might help them find Lucifer, only that she’d show them the way to do it. Which did them no good when she couldn’t remember anything.

He thought back to the demon. The demon with the shape and smell and feel of a woman, who had only to look at him to stir feelings that should have been dead. He’d kissed her. That kiss had been burned into his body and his brain, tormenting him. What insanity had made him reach for her? No one else had managed to touch him in the nearly seven years since Sarah died, further proving just how dangerous the Lilith was. If she could arouse his dead soul, then she had strong powers indeed.

“I haven’t kept track of her,” he said, only half a lie. He’d stopped looking after her six months ago, once she’d gotten in bed with the young doctor. But he had little doubt she was still in Brisbane, still in that strange apartment that looked out over the Brisbane River. It would take him very little time to collect her.

But he would have to touch her, hold her, carry her. Breathe in the seductive scent of her skin. He would have to bring her into the safety and protection of Sheol. The very last place he wanted her.

For that one line from an obscure text that hinted she held the answer to Lucifer, there were dozens of other references to Lilith, queen of demons, and her marriage to the king of the Fallen. It didn’t matter that Raziel now ruled the Fallen as the Alpha. Azazel had led them in their disastrous fall; Azazel was decreed to mate with the Lilith and reign over hell with her by his side.

Of course, those same sources equated the Fallen with a mythical Satan, a force of evil as powerful as God. In Azazel’s endless experience, the only creature who came close to that description was Uriel, the one remaining archangel.

“You know where she is,” Raziel said, unmoved.

“She cannot belong in Sheol. She is a demon.” Was there a tinge of desperation in his voice? No, he simply sounded pigheaded.

“I know she doesn’t. I know the prophecies. If you won’t bring her here, you can take her to the Dark City and find the Truth Breakers. If there are answers to be found, they are the ones to do it.”

He froze. He’d barely managed to survive his time with the brutal Truth Breakers long ago. And he was a lot stronger than the body the Lilith had taken. “Why me? Michael could—” He stopped. Michael had brute strength, the ultimate warrior. He would destroy her, whether by accident or design.

Which would solve his problem, but bring them no closer to Lucifer. He racked his mind for anyone else among the Fallen who could take on the task, disposing of the demon once the information was garnered. There was no one. The strong ones would kill her; the gentle ones would be in danger once she regained her true self. He was the only one who knew enough to confine her without killing her. At least before her usefulness was past.

If she was brought into the sanctuary of Sheol, he might not be able to stop the prophecies from coming true. No matter how fierce his determination not to fall prey to the succubus, once she had breached the walls there would be no stopping her. He wasn’t convinced that she had forgotten everything; but even if she had, sooner or later it would all come back to her. Prophecies had a vicious habit of coming true, particularly the ugly ones.

Though if they were to rule in the everlasting torment of hell, Uriel’s favorite place, then he might embrace it. Embrace the pain as an alternative to the cold emptiness that filled him. Better to feel torment than nothing at all. Maybe.

“Take her to the Dark City,” Raziel said, already knowing he would give in. “If you find what we need, you can always leave her there. It would take her centuries to escape.”

Azazel didn’t move. The tide was coming in, and the wind had picked up, sending whitecaps scudding across the surface. A storm was coming. And he would be riding the wind.

CHAPTER FIVE

I ZIPPED UP MY DUFFEL BAG AND slung it on the floor, trying to ignore the cloud that lingered in the back of my mind. I glanced out the window at the Brisbane River. It was a bright day, sunlight glinting off the water, and there was a strong breeze blowing through the open window. It was no day for portents of disaster.

I lived on the third floor of an old colonial mansion that had been rehabbed into quirky apartments. The raucous birds had woken me every morning of the year and a half I had lived there, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I loved birds—the noisy ones and the demure. There was something about watching them in flight that left me breathless and awestruck.

Not that I wanted to fly. I hated heights. Hated flying, I expected, because I had no interest in leaving Australia to find out more about my clouded past. I liked being safe in my top-floor apartment with its tiny bathroom stuck under the eaves. I liked my job and my friends and my boyfriend, Rolf. I didn’t want the changes I sensed on the wind.

I heard the footsteps from a distance, coming up the three flights of stairs, and an odd sense of apprehension filled me. Rolf was early. He hadn’t phoned or texted me to be down on the wide porch that surrounded the building, though I knew he disliked the old house and the climb to my aerie. And suddenly I didn’t want to answer the rapping on my door, afraid of who would be on the other side.

The knock came again, more peremptory, and I glanced out my open window, wondering whether I could climb out. … I was being ridiculous, I chided myself. Who did I think was lurking behind my door—the Grim Reaper?

I crossed the room and flung the door open, trying to ignore my relief at seeing Rolf standing there, looking hot and rumpled and bad-tempered. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded. “I’ve been calling you for hours,”

I picked up my cell phone, glancing at the screen. There were no missed calls—no calls at all, in fact, which in itself was unusual. Though my friends knew I was going out of town, so there was a reasonable explanation for that. But no sign of Rolf’s multiple calls.

“Are you sure it was me you were calling? My phone says otherwise.”

“Then your phone’s broken,” he said in a disgruntled voice. “I can’t go.”

I should have been disappointed at the very least. Instead I felt reprieved. I did my best to look upset. “Why not?”

“Last-minute emergency. I need to fill in for another doctor on the ob-gyn floor. Everyone’s decided to deliver at the same time, and they’re shorthanded. I don’t really have a choice.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said in a practical tone. “Can you get a refund on our travel?”

“Already taken care of,” he said. “I called the resort before I tried you, so I know my phone is working. It must be yours.” In fact, if anything was ever wrong in our relationship, it was usually my fault. And it was typical of Rolf to safeguard his money before he tried to reach me. He was a very careful man.

Really, there were times when I couldn’t figure out why I put up with him, but then when I went out I remembered. For some reason, Australian men seemed to think I was irresistible. There was nothing that special about me—my curly red hair was more of a curse than an enticement, and I wore loose clothes and no makeup—yet for some reason men kept hitting on me. Having Rolf at my side kept them at bay.