He leaned down and scooped her up effortlessly, settling the Grace of sleep over her when she stirred. He had no idea how his powers would work with her. For all he knew, the Grace would jar her into hyperactivity. But she sank against him, deep asleep as the Grace moved over her, and he carried her to the bed, setting her down carefully.
Nothing he did would wake her now, not for at least eight hours. He worked efficiently, stripping off her clothes, looking over her all-too-human body for signs of the Lilith. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed, and they’d peaked beneath his hands as he’d known they would. The soft curls between her legs were the same red-gold as her hair, and her legs were long, her hips slightly rounded. She had the body of a young woman, not a temptress, and he wondered if he’d been wrong.
He put her in one of the nightgowns provided, fastening the row of tiny buttons up to her chin. Her red hair blazed against the soft gray room, a shock of color, and he brushed a lock of it away from her face.
No. He’d known the moment he tasted her that she was his nemesis, his curse, his doom, his redemption. If he bested her power over him, then he would prove that there was hope. That prophecies could lie, or be changed. He would do as Beloch told him, because he had no choice. He would bed the demon, and he would turn his back on her with no regrets.
And he would be free.
I DREAMED. I FLOATED INTO sleep, wrapped in safety, and I embraced its soft richness, wanting to burrow into the wordless comfort. As long as I stayed there, no one could harm me. Enemies would step back, hard hearts would soften. Ice would melt.
I could feel hands on me. His hands, and I knew those hands had never touched me before. They were hard and cool on my skin, and I wanted to reach out to him, to open my arms and my legs and draw him in, hold him as tightly as I could, to keep the darkness at bay.
And then I drifted further, deeper into the abyss, and I could feel the children, the babies, in my arms. Sweet newborns, sleeping toddlers, helpless infants wrapped in my gentle, protective arms and smiling up at me. I would coo at them, tickle them under the chin, kiss their soft, sweet foreheads and tiny noses, and breath in the sweet baby smell of them.
And I would carry them, oh so carefully, to the same place on the mountaintop, and hand them over into the waiting arms of the mother goddess who had many names, and in my dream I wept for them, the tears that were denied me in life.
I hadn’t killed them, smothered them, stolen their breath. The cruelty of nature and an unreachable god had done that. I had merely been there to comfort them, sing to them, bring them home to the mother goddess until they were ready to be reborn again, this time living out a full life.
Relief swept through me, even in the depths of sleep. I was innocent of the worst of the crimes thrown in my face. The one that had the ring of truth.
I was no temptress, seductress, wizard of sexuality and delight. That truth was twisted as well. I was the essence of desire that could never be fulfilled. I was always searching, searching, for what should be mine. What would be mine for the rest of eternity, though I had no idea what it was. Time was meaningless. Hour followed upon hour, century upon century, and I wandered, looking for what evaded me. A winged creature who would be joined to me, body and soul.
Because I had a soul. No matter what my enemies said, my soul was strong and good, even as I worked out an age-old penance, though my crimes were still lost in the mists of memory. I had been strong against the curses that had pressed down on me. I would continue to stay strong in the face of my enemies.
I stirred, moving in my sleep, and once more I could feel hands on me. They weren’t real this time, though they were the same hands, cool and hard and impersonal as they brushed my body. Then they slowed as his fingertips responded to the rushing heat of my skin, and they slid down the curve of my side, almost absently, as they circled my waist, his palms against me, cupping my hips.
And his mouth followed, his face pressed against my belly, worshipping me, and I arched my back, accepting him, my arms around his neck, my fingers in his long black hair. I drew him up to me and kissed him with the fullness of my heart, and he moved my legs apart, and I was wet and hot and ready, wanting him, needing him.
And then he rolled me over so that I was above him, straddling him, and I took him, sinking down onto the hard thick delight of him, making soft little sounds of hushed pleasure as he filled me. This was what I had spent eternity searching for. This was what made me whole. This man. And the climax shook me, startled me out of the deepest layers of sleep, and I knew I was alone and always had been.
I tried to move against the smooth, soft sheets, but I was trapped beneath a weight of sleep. I couldn’t reach out to him—he wasn’t there. All I could do was lie there and feel the tears burn and evaporate in my dry eyes.
“Lilith,” he whispered against my ear, but I ignored him, even though I wanted to turn and pull him to me. “Lilith.”
And with the sound of my name in my ear, I sank deeper into a dreamless sleep.
WHEN I AWOKE, A FAINT light was coming through the drab curtains, and I could hear the noise of cars outside. There were too few of them to even call them traffic, but the muted sounds of motors were unmistakable. I was still in the Dark City. I was still Rachel.
My crazy dreams were only to be expected. He’d kissed me. I could still feel the heat and pressure of his mouth, taste him. It felt as if I’d somehow taken part of him inside me and there was no way to get rid of him.
The night, his words, were a jumble in my head. A test, he’d said? His harsh kiss had made no more sense than his words—he hated me, he wanted me dead. Why in God’s name had he kissed me?
And then I remembered the feel of his erection, hard against my stomach. I knew there had to be some other meaning. Maybe he’d simply needed sex and was responding to the only female in the house. Maybe he’d managed to convince himself that I was some kind of sex goddess, though that would have taken quite a stretch of his imagination. I could remember his long fingers on my breasts, teasing the nipples into fierce arousal. A sex goddess didn’t wear 34B.
I had dreamed about her. Dreamed about the demon goddess who inspired fear and hatred among men. I had known her in my dreams, a lost woman of strength and anger, a mother and a lover and a goddess and a … was she a whore? Or was that simply part of the lies men told?
The lies that Azazel believed. But then, he was a man, wasn’t he? For all that he said he wasn’t human. He had a dick, one that got hard. He was a man, with all men’s frailties and lies.
The dream was fading now, like mist in bright sunlight, burned away, and I couldn’t recapture it. It seemed to be what passed for late afternoon here, and the room was filled with shadows. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, but the shadows and gloom remained despite the glow of the light. I looked down at my body, just to reassure myself that I was still in living color, and I froze. I was wearing a stark white Victorian nightgown, all eyelet and ruffles, buttoned primly up to the neck. Those hands had been no dream, and I skittered up to the top of the bed, wrapping my arms around myself protectively, as if I could belatedly keep his hands away.
Azazel had come into this room and stripped the clothes off me, dressed me in this absurd thing, and put me in the bed. I didn’t imagine for a moment that anyone else had come in to perform these services. He wouldn’t care that stripping me would be humiliating. Then again, why should he care whether I slept on the floor or in the bed? He would be happier throwing me in a dungeon.
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.