There was no pleading, no reproach, no fury, in her huge eyes. After the first shock, something had closed down over her, and she turned her head away, not looking in his direction.

She had a trace of blood on her mouth. His blood. He reached up and touched his neck. She’d barely broken the skin, and the bleeding had been minimal. He had no idea why she’d done it. But if he’d had any doubts about what he was doing, that was a sign.

They were hurting her. They’d manacled her hands, using iron to keep her lost gifts at bay. Demons were powerless against iron—he’d used it himself when he’d staked her out to die. It would have been more merciful to have left her there. It would have been over, in the past, and he would have forgotten her.

But they would never have gleaned the information she had locked in her brain, as the Truth Breakers were sworn to do. And he might have doubted his decision, with no proof that she was any danger to him.

He had that proof now. He was tied to her, part of her—his blood and his semen—and she was part of him. In the taking of his fluids, she had taken his autonomy. They were bound together, in flesh and feeling. Until they killed her.

“Take her to the Truth Breakers,” he said in a harsh voice.

“We’ll take her anywhere we damned well please,” Enoch said, and Azazel wasn’t sure which was worse: the Nightmen’s random, murderous violence, or the careful sadism of the Truth Breakers’ torture.

“Beloch will be displeased if you kill her,” he said coldly, playing the one card he had. He wasn’t doing her any favors by saving her for the Truth Breakers. But the Fallen needed the information that was buried as deeply as her demon memory.

Enoch’s face darkened. “We would never disobey his orders. But he won’t mind if we hurt her a little. Get a taste of what you’ve been enjoying. It’s not every day you get a chance to fuck the Lilith.”

His blood roared in protest, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “You would regret it,” he said. “She’s a scourge. She’ll cause your man-part to shrivel and fall off. I’m immune because of the prophecy. None of you would be so lucky.” The lie came easily, shocking him. He shouldn’t have been able to lie.

Enoch looked properly horrified, and the men holding Rachel shifted uneasily, appalled even to be touching her. Good. He’d spared her that much, at least.

“Keep your distance, men,” Enoch commanded. “I don’t know if Wing-boy here is lying or not, but she’s not worth taking the chance.” He glanced back at Azazel. “I didn’t think you had the stones to do this. You must be more like us than I thought.”

Azazel didn’t flinch. The rain was pouring down, drenching them, and he felt as if he were drowning. There was nothing more he could do.

They dragged her away. They’d attached an iron chain to her manacles and they dragged her, refusing to touch her. She never looked in his direction, never made a sound of protest, even when she fell on the cobbles when they jerked her too hard. She simply struggled to her feet before they could yank the chain again. And she was gone.

THEY PULLED ME THROUGH THE streets as the rain poured down on us. I could barely walk with the shackles around my ankles, and I could feel the wetness between my thighs. From him, from what we’d done. Just before he’d turned me over to the killers.

Betrayal. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, I simply plodded onward, slipping now and then, going down hard and then being hauled up again. I wouldn’t see him again. They would either find out what they needed to know, whatever was hidden in the recesses of my mind, or they wouldn’t. Either way, I would be dead.

I should care. I should try to escape. But the shackles were iron. Even if they’d been tin, I doubted I would be able to break them. If they’d been paper. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I was ready.

They pushed me, sent me sprawling, laughing at me. By the time we got to the building I was bruised and bleeding, barely able to walk as I was shoved forward. Not into the warmth and comfort of Beloch’s retreat, but into a stark white room that looked more like a hospital surgery theater than anything else. There were various pieces of medical equipment and other things that I couldn’t identify. I stared at them, trying to move my mind from the pain in my body and the shock of the appalling thing he’d done.

They lifted me onto the table, using new restraints even as they kept the iron shackles in place. They’d barely finished when six creatures glided in. They were dressed in enveloping, monklike robes, the hoods drawn low over their heads, their faces in darkness. They said nothing, simply arranged themselves around me, and I knew they must be the Truth Breakers. My stoic façade began to crack, and I looked around desperately, to see Beloch standing behind them with his kindly smile, his gentle eyes.

“Help me,” I said brokenly. “Don’t let them do this.”

He moved to the head of the table. “Dear child,” he murmured, stroking my wet hair, “I’m the one who’s told them to do this. I would tell you I’m sorry, but it’s simply the wages of sin.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently on my forehead. And then he was gone.

I stopped feeling then. Stopped hoping. They would hurt me, they would kill me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I would simply endure, until they ended me. I had no other choice. I wouldn’t beg, plead, and God knew I couldn’t cry. I would endure in dignified, reproachful silence. One of the Truth Breakers raised his arm, and I saw what he was holding.

And I started to scream.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AZAZEL DIDN’T GO BACK TO THE house. Instead he walked through the city in the rain. He was soaked through to his skin but he didn’t care. He simply kept his mind a blank as he walked and walked. He couldn’t leave yet. Not until he had the information he’d come to retrieve. Damn Beloch for putting him through this torture. Why hadn’t the old man simply taken her that first night and been done with it?

The answer was simple. He’d seen that Azazel wasn’t ready to let her go. And Beloch knew he had found fertile ground for the cruel games he loved.

He should have known he’d end up here at Beloch’s headquarters below the innocuous old restaurant. More proof of her insidious power, he tried to tell himself as he entered through the lower door, but the words weren’t making any sense. His mind was a deliberate blank, because his thoughts were too vicious, too harmful. Her fault, he thought again, and knew he was making excuses. He had done what he had to do. He had no regrets.

So why was he here?

He saw Enoch first, playing dice with some of his men in the foyer. He looked up at Azazel’s approach, and grinned. There was blood on his uniform, and Azazel took a deep breath. He could smell it. Rachel’s blood.

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” Enoch drawled. “You look like you swam here. Didn’t you notice it was raining?”

Azazel didn’t bother answering him, heading toward the hallway.

Enoch moved quickly to block his path. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Get out of my way.”

“You can’t change your mind, you know. It’s not your decision to make, it’s Beloch’s. It’s always been Beloch’s, and you know it.”

“Get—out—of—my—way.” He bit the words off.

“It’s too late. The Truth Breakers have had her for a long time. She stopped screaming hours ago.”

Enoch stood even taller than Azazel’s six feet two and outweighed him by forty pounds of muscle. Azazel didn’t even hesitate. He went for him, rage filling his body with such strength that Enoch fell back in astonishment. He tried to rise, but Azazel hit him again, so hard that Enoch skidded across the room, landing in a crumpled heap against one wall, and stayed down, dazed. Azazel walked on into the building.