He didn’t move. The room was stiflingly hot, and the fire crackled like a laughing witch. He could offer Beloch a trade. He had no reason to live, no desire to continue. If Beloch would send her—Rachel—back to Sheol, Azazel had complete faith that the Fallen would find out what they needed to know, sooner or later. It would simply take more time, but in the end the truth would come out. She would live, and he would die. It seemed a fair trade.
“What do the Truth Breakers want from me?” he said.
“What you refused to give them the last time, of course. You don’t remember? No, of course not. I saw to that. The Truth Breakers want nothing less than the secrets of Sheol. How you survive and thrive in the face of God’s disapproval. What are the walls that keep everyone out? How many are there? Who would be most likely to repent and return to the fold?”
“Like Sammael the traitor?” He knew his voice was icy and uncompromising.
“Like Sammael the martyr,” Beloch returned. “Your little girl could go free if you are willing to open yourself to the Truth Breakers.”
There was something so familiar about that smooth, tempting voice. It would be so easy to give him what he wanted. “No,” he said. “Those are not my secrets to reveal.”
“Instead you’ll see your lover ripped to pieces by the Truth Breakers?”
His face felt as cool and hard as the marble floor beneath him. “She is not my lover. And her fate is hers.”
“And it has the added advantage of breaking the prophecy that terrifies you so much,” Beloch pointed out. “Bring her to me tonight.”
“You said she could stay—”
“I changed my mind. She weakens your resolve. The kindest thing I can do is remove temptation. You needn’t have sex with her again, Azazel. Isn’t that generous of me? You’re released from that particular punishment.”
Azazel didn’t move for a moment. “When do you want her?” he said finally, and Beloch’s smile widened.
“Bring her to the river by seven. The Nightmen will come and relieve you of that particular burden.”
He looked at Beloch, his self-satisfied smile. He was immortal—it would do no good to break his neck, beat him to the ground. Azazel was trapped, and it shouldn’t matter. But it did. “I’ll bring her,” he said. And walked away.
IT WAS ALMOST DUSK WHEN Azazel returned. I’d been waiting for him in the library, impatient, nervous. I’d tried to read, but my eyes would glaze over, and I would remember his hands on me, and I would end up staring into nothingness, reliving those moments. It was little wonder I was in a jumpy mood when he finally walked in.
“Are you ready?” As a greeting it left a lot to be desired, and I wondered if he was talking about going upstairs again.
“Ready for what?” I said carefully.
“I want you to show me the river walk. Where the Nightmen found you.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
I swallowed a growl, and rose. I didn’t want to have sex with him again, and if he’d suggested it I would have flatly refused. There was no reason to feel disgruntled and disappointed. “How are we getting there?”
“We’re walking. The more people who see us together, the better.”
“I don’t know why. Besides, they barely pay any attention to us. I tried to talk to one young woman and she practically ran away screaming.”
“The people of the Dark City are watching us very closely. Everyone is a spy. The more time we’re on the streets walking, the less time we’re supposed to be having sex. I assume that would meet with your approval.”
My stomach had jumped at his words. Again I could feel him, and again I forced myself to banish the memory. “Absolutely,” I said in a firm voice.
I made the mistake of looking at him, into his pale face and his blazing blue eyes, and I knew he didn’t believe me. He knew I wanted him again. Just as he wanted me.
The twilight held the promise of rain in the air. I looked up into the sky, searching for any familiar sign. I had no idea where we were, if we were in some strange, alternate world that existed in another universe. I never saw any sun overhead, only the omnipresent grayness that had spread into everything. Azazel and I were still in color, our flesh alive, our mouths red, our bodies creamy. What was this world, where every spot of color was gone?
We were halfway to the river when I heard the distant rumble of thunder, and I felt a moment’s nervousness. Something was wrong. Not that that was anything new. It just felt more wrong than before, and my skin felt like ice. “There’s going to be a storm,” I said unnecessarily. “Maybe we should go back.”
“We’re unlikely to melt.”
“What if we’re struck by lightning?”
“It won’t kill us.”
Okay, I believed that. So I walked on, Azazel at my side with his hands in his pockets, occasionally brushing against me. Each time it happened my entire body reacted, suffused with warmth, and I wanted to lean against him, close my eyes and sink into him, into his bones, lose myself in his beautiful white-gold flesh.
I kept walking.
The river was in sight when the first light rain began to fall. The coat I’d found in my wardrobe had a hood, but I didn’t bother with it, turning my face up to catch the drops of rain. He took my arm then, steering me across the street to the embankment along the roiling gray river, leading me toward one of the empty benches that fronted it.
He released me and sat at one end, and I understood perfectly well that he didn’t want me cuddling up next to him. I sat in the middle of the bench, so as not to be too obvious, and looked at him.
“Where were the Nightmen?” His voice was as calm and dispassionate as always.
“They came from under that bridge.” I gestured toward the narrow passageway that led back into the darkness. There was a door across it now, faded and probably rusty. The area was deserted—the gloomy evening was too stormy even for the dour inhabitants of the Dark City.
He turned to look at the passage, then back. “They’re not anywhere around,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“I know. I’m not doubting your word. But if the Nightmen were here last night, they’re now in some other part of the city.” He leaned back against the cement bench, now marked and splattered with the gathering rain. “No one is going to see us.”
“See us do what?”
At that moment lightning split the sky, so bright that for the first time the Dark City was bathed in crackling white light like an old Frankenstein movie, and then it was gone again as the sharp crack of thunder followed.
I rose. “We should get out of here.”
He glanced up at me. “I couldn’t find the cameras. They may not even exist—it wouldn’t be unlike Beloch to lie in order to torment us. But if they’re there, I can’t find them and disable them.”
I had no idea why he was telling me this, telling me now. Another bolt of lightning, this time so close I could hear the sizzle as it struck nearby. He rose and took my hand in a tight, unbreakable grip, dragging me across the cobbled walkway much as the Nightmen had the night before. But Azazel wasn’t going to kill me.
We reached the sheltered door and he released me, reaching for the handle. It was locked. He yanked at it, hard, but it was stronger than it looked, and it didn’t move. He swore beneath his breath, something foul, and looked around somewhat desperately. There was no other form of shelter.
“I guess we’re doomed to get wet,” I said, doing my best to sound cheerful.
“Yes,” he said. And shoved me against the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE ROUGH WOOD OF THE DOOR was hard against my back. I stared up at Azazel in astonishment. “What are you doing?”
His body crowded mine back into the darkness as his hands slid up my neck, his thumbs stroking my throat, and I knew a brief glimpse of fear. He kissed me, and if the fear didn’t leave entirely, it morphed into an instantaneous arousal. I’d wanted his hands on me, his mouth, his body pressed against mine, since I’d awoken. No, I’d wanted him since he’d lifted me off him and I’d turned away. This was what madness was—destructive need that was drowning out common sense and wisdom and self-preservation. I whimpered against his hard mouth, put my arms around his neck, and pulled him closer still, letting him kiss me with a furious desperation that I met.