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.”

“And then do we go to Beloch?”

He hesitated, and I had the strange thought that there was something ugly that he didn’t want to tell me. But then, he was my enemy. Almost everything he told me was ugly. “Nothing has been proven yet.”

“Oh, come on! I think it’s more than clear you find me eminently resistible, as do most men. And for your information, I can do without them, and sex, quite happily. So you’ve got the wrong girl for your sex demon.”

He made no flattering protest, of course. He simply turned away, and I watched him go, aware of a strange sense of desolation. It was illogical and had nothing to do with the reality of the situation. I wanted him gone.

The food on the sideboard in the dining room was abundant, brown, and horrible-looking, but I managed to use my sense of smell to choose what I wanted. I wondered if there actually was a kitchen in this house, or whether some caterer had brought all this food. For that matter, were we alone in the house? I’d heard no footsteps, no voices. If only Azazel and I were in residence, there would be a lot of food going to waste.

It wasn’t my problem. I ate slowly, knowing that once I was done I’d have to face Azazel again. When finally I could eat no more, I pushed away from the table and went looking for him.

He was nowhere to be found. It took me long enough to search the place—it was large and rambling, with living rooms and parlors and a library, dining rooms and breakfast rooms, and upstairs half a dozen large bedrooms, including my own. As far as I could tell, Azazel hadn’t set foot in any of them.

Fine, I thought, heading for the front door. It was already afternoon and I was damned if I was going to sit around waiting for him.

The front door was locked. I shook it, beat against it, but nothing helped. Enraged, I headed for one of the tall windows, but they were locked as well. For one moment I considered throwing a chair through the glass and escaping that way, but I didn’t quite have the nerve. I would sit and wait, and when he came back I’d tear into him.

If he came back. Maybe he was planning on being gone a long time. There was too much food in the dining room—maybe it was supposed to last for days. Maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, and I’d slowly starve to death. No, I could throw a chair through a window before that happened. Assuming the glass wasn’t some kind of bulletproof composite that would resist being smashed by an angry woman.

I headed back into the library. The walls were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled with colorless texts of every shape and size. I moved closer, and started reading the titles. Maybe I could find a mystery to keep me occupied. Though it looked as if there was nothing from the current century and very little from the last.

It was in plain sight: Angels and Demons. I grabbed it, hoping for Dan Brown. Instead it was a heavy tome, ancient and thick, with an engraved cover. I almost shoved it back, then thought better of it. Maybe I could do a little more research on Lilith.

It opened to the right page. Someone else had been reading this, but the pages were too worn for it to have been caused only by Azazel. Maybe they’d been bringing hapless women here for decades, convinced each one was Lilith.

If so, what did they do when they discovered the women were simply human? Would it be any better than what they planned for the real Lilith?

I curled up on one of the sofas, pulling my knees up under me as I opened the huge volume in my lap. I started reading, pleased to discover my dreaming memory had been correct. The Lilith myth originated in Sumer, and had been found in some shape or other in most religions, up to and including Christianity. For some sources, she’d been a benevolent mother goddess, to others an all-devouring Kali-esque demon. And everything in between.

But nothing sounded right. None of the citations had the ring of truth, though a bit here and a bit there sounded reasonable. Still, history and mythology were written by men. It was no wonder they got it wrong.

Lilith was fated to wed the demon Asmodeus, and together they would rule a secret place and bring forth many demon children. Great. If they thought they were marrying me to a demon, they had another thing coming. Though they were probably not looking for a happily-ever-after for the monster they imagined me to be.