This was bad, I knew it. It would only end in disaster. Yet I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. It didn’t matter what price I would end up paying—it would be worth it. Worth it to feel his hands slide down between us, slipping inside my coat, under my loose T-shirt, cupping my breasts through the lace of the bra. It had a front clasp, but he ripped it open anyway, and his fingers on the bare skin of my breasts made me cry out, aroused beyond belief.

I could feel the thickness of his erection against my stomach, and I was wet, that quickly, ready for him, needing him, not caring if he shoved me down on the cobblestones and took me there. I wanted his skin, and I pushed at his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders so that I could feel it, and I wanted so much more I could have cried. I could never have enough of this man, never in a thousand lifetimes. He was mine, he was my body and my soul and my heart, and I was caught so tightly with him I would cease to exist if someone tried to break the connection.

I kissed him back, my tongue against his, and closed my eyes, letting the delicious reactions sweep over me, the tightening of my breasts, the fluttering between my legs. He was pressed against me, hips against mine, and I could feel his long legs against the skirt I was wearing, and I momentarily cursed it, wishing I were wearing pants so I could get closer to him, wrap my legs around him. He rocked against me, and I felt a frisson of reaction, then another, as he bumped against me again, deliberately, pressing, and I remembered my fear last night of the deep blackness. I had survived and come through, wounded and yet complete, but I wasn’t ready to go there again. It was too much, but he’d shoved my T-shirt up, exposing my flesh to the cool, wet air. His fingers stroked my breasts, plucking, pinching the nipples gently, and a shiver went through me, a choking gasp as a tiny explosion rocked me.

He broke the kiss, moving his mouth to my neck, and I tried to speak. “Let’s go home,” I gasped. “I don’t care about the goddamned cameras.”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. His hands left my breasts, and I was afraid he was going to pull away.

“Wait,” I cried, my fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”

I’d never heard him laugh before. I didn’t know if this was even a laugh—just a short, derisive sound. “No,” he said again, his hands sliding down my waist, down my legs. Pulling the long skirt up, exposing my legs in the stormy afternoon, so that I felt the rain pelting against them, and I knew I should care whether someone was watching. I did care, just not enough. Not even when he reached for my panties and with one rough yank tore them off.

He put one hand under my butt, lifting me up, pressing me back against the door, and I heard the rasp of his zipper, his muttered curse as he freed himself, and then he pushed inside me, not waiting to see if I was ready for him.

I was. More than ready. The thick force of him made me gasp, afraid he might hurt me, but it stopped short of pain, only a faint discomfort that quickly spread into such pleasure that I felt another small orgasm hit me, a spasm of pleasure that jolted through me, and I tightened my legs around his hips, holding on tight.

Another sizzle of lightning, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. I saw something spark but I closed my eyes, the better to absorb the deep thrusts that were shaking me apart.

His hands were on my bare thighs, holding me up, and he pushed into me again and again. I could hear the wet slap of our joining, and it was another jolt of dark pleasure. He kissed me, hard, and I could taste blood, his or mine or both, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t get enough of me and I couldn’t get enough of him.

He was going to want that final surrender, that dark explosion that frightened me. If I went into that place I might never return, and I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed centered between our bodies, on the powerful invasion of him into me, my unbound breasts rubbing against his chest, his mouth on mine, and holding back was no longer an option. If I went there he would be with me, he’d keep me safe as I let go of everything else.

He tore his mouth away, gasping for breath, and I rested my head on his shoulder as a dry sob was torn from my throat. The world exploded. One more crash of lightning, and the sky opened in a deluge. He slammed back into me, and I went over the edge as I felt him jerk and pulse into me. I have no idea why I did it, only knew that I needed to; my mouth opened, and my teeth sank into his strong, powerful throat, breaking the skin, tasting the rich sweetness of his blood.

I heard his deep groan, felt him swell inside me, and then nothing more as sheer sensation washed over me. I shook, convulsing, lost in a place that terrified me, with only his arms and his body supporting me as I flew.

It might have been moments, it might have been hours, before I opened my eyes, shivers still rippling through me. I lifted my head. There was blood on his neck, a faint smear, and I licked it away, feeling him jerk again in reaction. Why had I done such a thing? Why had it felt so right? As the shudders began to slow I put my arms around his neck, rested my forehead against his shoulder, and said the damnable words.

“I love you.” My voice was rough, broken, as if I’d been screaming when I knew I hadn’t made a sound. The rain was pounding down around us, streaming into my eyes and his as I lifted my head to meet his unreadable gaze. “That much of the prophecy must be true.”

And then I heard them coming.

HE PULLED OUT OF HER, letting her feet down on the ground, still holding her against the door. He could feel the weakness of reaction still rippling through her, and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand yet. When he thought she was steady enough, he let go of her and rearranged his clothes, pulling up his zipper, then looked up to see the raw panic in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here,” she said in a shaky voice. “They’re coming.”

He had already felt them. Known they were converging on this place. Known that they would sense their presence. He should feel regret, but it was too late for that. He’d known it would end this way when he’d let himself come inside her last night. When he’d been torn with desire all day. When he’d felt her teeth nip his flesh, just enough to draw blood. When he’d heard her words. “I love you,” she’d said. And impossibly enough, he knew it was true. The demon loved him. For no reason. She was right, the prophecy was true.

And he had no choice whatsoever.

She was tugging at him. “We need to run.”

He looked into her eyes, slowly shaking his head. And then she realized the full extent of his betrayal, and her eyes grew black with shock and pain. She tried to break away, but he was too strong. He held her, his hands wrapped around her wrists like manacles, and he knew he was hurting her, knew that in a little while the pain he was inadvertently inflicting would seem like a caress.

She fought like a madwoman, but she’d forgotten any of the powers she’d once had, except for the power over him, and there was nothing she could do. The Nightmen rounded the corner at a forced run, swords drawn, and he wondered if they would finish him as well. He could only hope so.

But this strange existence never offered an easy way out of the betrayals and cruelties and need that living brought. He stepped back when they put their hands on Rachel, and he saw Enoch’s eyes glittering with pleasure. No, not Rachel, he reminded himself. The Lilith. A demon, neither male nor female, and he’d broken the laws of creation and fucked her, at Beloch’s orders. It was the only way Beloch would do his part in helping them find the truths she had hidden inside her altered memories, and if Azazel paid for it with the soul he’d already lost, then so be it.