“It’s been seven years since your beloved Sarah died, hasn’t it?” Beloch’s voice was faintly mocking, and Azazel wanted to cram the words down his throat for daring to speak Sarah’s name. “And now you’re doomed to follow her with the greatest female demon the world has ever known. That really must sting. I’m certain you’d be happy if I took her away before you became attached to her.”

He had to tread carefully, swallow his rage. “I would appreciate it,” he said, and held his breath.

Beloch chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I must agree with your original assessment. It wasn’t much of a test. If you’re going to prove you’re not susceptible, you’ll have to endure more than a quick ride in the moonlight.”

He didn’t show his relief. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling relief. The sooner she was destroyed, the sooner she would no longer be a threat to his future. “As you wish,” he said. “But you’ll turn off the cameras.”

“No. I quite enjoy watching you. You’re both quite beautiful animals, and watching you copulate is entertaining. You would have made beautiful babies.”

“Since the Fallen cannot reproduce and the Lilith smothers newborns, I would expect that’s a moot point.”

Beloch looked toward Rachel’s motionless figure, but Azazel shifted, once more blocking his view. “Then I will leave you two to fuck like bunnies,” he said with an ugly twist to his mouth. “Wear each other out if you like. And if you can still turn her over to me, then I’ll be satisfied, and you’ll be free of the prophecy. Everyone will be happy. Except the Lilith, of course. But by then she won’t be feeling anything.”

He was gone. Azazel didn’t move, and neither did Rachel. She wouldn’t have his awareness, wouldn’t know that Beloch had left them. Left them with the cameras as silent observers.

If he could have gotten away with it, he would have slid down beside her, wrapped his body around hers, and taken her that way. Despite Beloch’s intrusion, he was still hard for her, a natural reaction after so many years of celibacy. Waking next to a warm female body was a guarantee of arousal, no matter who—or what—that female was.

But he knew he didn’t dare touch her. He had no idea exactly how much she had heard, but it would be enough. “He’s gone now,” he said in the low, cool voice he used with her, keeping the disturbing roil of emotions hidden beneath it.

She moved so fast he was startled. She leapt out of bed, ripping the sheet off with her and wrapping it around her body. Too late she realized it left him sitting on the bed naked and aroused, and she jerked her face away, once more turning that lovely shade of pink. “Do you have any idea how much I hate you?”

It shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d repudiated her and what they’d done, what he wanted to do again. “I expect you do. You needn’t bother to explain—you must have a dozen reasons.”

“Get out of my room.”

He slid off the bed. Off her side of the bed, and there wasn’t much room between the bed and the wall, and the two of them were trapped. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she couldn’t fend him off without letting the sheet fall, and she wasn’t going to do that. He could regret that, but he had to get rid of the cameras first.

She was stiff, angry, hurt. Who would have thought the Lilith could feel hurt? But last night he’d finally realized she was no longer the Lilith. What demon had resided inside her was gone, or it would have emerged during coitus. He’d been expecting it, prepared; but when she came she’d simply been a woman lost in the magic of her first climax. She was Rachel, beautiful, angry, wounded, staring at him with such betrayal in her brown eyes that he wanted to pull her against his body and hold her.

She’d fight him if he tried it. So he contented himself with giving her a little shake. “Stop being childish. This is hardly a matter of hurt feelings—this is life and death and eternity. Stop being so emotional.”

Demons didn’t have emotions. If there was anything of the demon left, there was the chance that the layers of forgetfulness and humanity might still be stripped away, showing her as the monster she was. Or would she stay this way, confused and furious, vulnerable and combative? And melting.

None of this was having the desired effect on his cock. He released her. “I’ll take care of the cameras,” he said in a tight voice. “Go and take a shower.”

“Are there cameras in the bathroom?”

“Most likely. He’ll have been watching since we arrived—you have no privacy left.” He let his hands drop, because he wanted to reach for her again. “Go,” he said.

She went.

IT MEANT NOTHING. HIS WORDS still stung, when they shouldn’t have. I knew he was the enemy. I knew he thought I was a monster—in fact, it was amazing he’d been able to get it up, considering what he thought of me. But he had, most impressively, and he’d been hard this morning as well. I could still feel the color in my face when I’d stupidly ripped the covers off him. I would need to remember that in the future.

Not that there was going to be any future. I didn’t care what Beloch said—we’d done what he’d ordered and there was no reason to do it again.

No reason but the strange longing that suffused my body. I wanted him again. Which was crazy—I didn’t want sex, I didn’t like it, even when I was in love. So why did my hands shake when I thought of touching him? I thought of the way our bodies joined, the feel of him inside me, the thick slide of him, and I wanted to feel it again.

I tried to lock the bathroom door, but of course it had been dismantled, and I slammed my fist against the wood, then let my forehead rest against it. I wanted to scream with fury and frustration, but it would do no good. I dropped the sheet, no longer giving a good goddamn whether any ancient pervert was watching me, and stepped into the shower. My thighs were sticky, my muscles ached, my mouth was soft and tender from his. I leaned against the marble wall and let the hot water pound down on me, washing him away.

I dried myself, then grabbed the sheet again before I opened the door. My bedroom was deserted, the bed made with fresh sheets, and new clothes lay folded on top of the bed. I wondered who I had to thank for that. I couldn’t picture Azazel making the bed, but I hadn’t sensed anyone else in the house.

And then I remembered the cameras that were definitely in this room. I dressed quickly, resisting the childish impulse to flip the bird to them. Resisted it because I didn’t know where the cameras were.

There was no sign of Azazel as I made my way downstairs. I was hoping there’d be something edible left of the massive buffet from last night, but to my astonishment there was fresh, warm food, including hot coffee. Everything I could have wanted.

I could have wished that my appetite had disappeared with the events of the last twelve hours, but instead I was ravenously hungry. I went back for seconds and was sitting there, my legs propped up on a nearby chair, enjoying a second cup of coffee and an almond croissant, when Azazel walked in.

I looked at him, trying not to picture him naked, the look on his face as I clutched his shoulders and rode him. … “There’s food,” I said unnecessarily.

“I already ate.”

Of course he did, I thought, unreasonably miffed. At this point there was probably nothing he could do that wouldn’t have annoyed me. It was late afternoon, and the sky outside was darkening. It looked like a storm was coming in.

“What prophecy?” I hadn’t meant to ask him, hadn’t meant to say anything that would require a response from him. He would do as he always did, ignore my questions, give me one-syllable answers. “Never mind,” I said hastily. “I don’t know why I bother.”

He came over, took the chair my feet were propped on, and pulled it out from under me, sitting down next to me. “The prophecy is from one of the ancient scrolls found at Qumran. Better known as the Dead Sea Scrolls.”