There were people around me, shadowy shapes tending to me, tending to the body I hid inside, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I wanted to crawl off to a cave and heal myself, but I sensed that was no longer possible. I needed help, and I had no choice but to accept it as I learned to ride the pain; it ebbed and flowed, crushing me in an iron fist and then releasing me. I had to fight so hard to live through the storm. I had been through worse, I knew it instinctively, even if I couldn’t remember where or when. I had survived unspeakable horrors, but those memories were locked away in a place I never had to visit again. If I could just get through this, I thought, struggling to breathe. One more minute, one more hour, one more day, and then everything would be all right.
Even in my half-conscious state, I knew that was a lie. I knew that once I worked my way through whatever torment was being visited upon me, the respite would be brief; then life would once again pull the rug out from under me. It would never be all right. It would be pain and despair and disaster, and it would be so much easier just to let go.
I tried to. I felt the soft, sinking cushion enfold me, and it was so warm, so comforting, that I wanted to release the desperate hold I had on everything and drift into it, lost forever. I let myself float, only to have a harsh voice call me back, berating me, angry and demanding. I knew that voice, knew that tone. He should have been no inducement to live, but he was. I pulled myself out of the soft darkness and went toward him, knowing instinctively that there was the light. There was why I wanted to live.
And I began to fight anew.
AZAZEL PACED THE SAND, GLARING at the house. Allie had banished him from the sickroom, and he couldn’t blame her. Yelling at Rachel not to die wasn’t going to help. He’d felt her slipping away and he’d panicked. It had been all he could do not to grab her shoulders and shake her. Instead he had told her she’d damned well better not die. He’d harangued her, threatening her with all sorts of ridiculousness, a return to the Dark City being one of them. If she died, there might be nothing left. Demons had no souls, and if Rachel had possessed one, it should be long gone by now. What happened when a demon died? Did it simply disappear?
He ran a harassed hand through his hair, staring out at the sea. He felt like the ocean, storm-tossed and angry. Its healing beauty seemed out of reach. He felt no urge to strip down and dive beneath the cool, blessed waters. His body was whole. It was his mind, his spirit, his soul, that were in torment.
Did the Fallen have souls, or were they no better than demons? They’d argued that for millennia, over campfires and by candlelight and gaslight and electricity, and there was no clear answer. God had stripped them of everything, including any possibility of redemption. There was no forgiveness for the fallen angels, only eternal damnation according to the angry God of old and his zealous administrator, Uriel.
But that God had changed. He’d granted free will to everyone, the Fallen included. Had he granted them souls at the same time?
He started pacing again, back and forth along the edge of the water. The tide was ebbing now. He’d been walking since it was coming in, splashing through water at high tide. Now it was pulling back, and there was still no word from the infirmary.
“You’ll wear a rut in the sand,” Raziel said, sitting down carefully, his iridescent blue wings closing around him. “No word?”
Azazel barely glanced at him. “No word. Go talk to your wife. She banished me from the sickroom.”
Raziel arched a brow. “And you went? You astonish me. I wouldn’t have thought Allie could get you to do anything.”
“I didn’t do it for her, I did it for Rachel.”
Raziel looked at him. “Rachel? Do you mean the Lilith? Or have we made a mistake?”
Azazel halted his pacing. “She doesn’t remember who she is. She has no powers, apart from the seductive one that pulls any man she sees into her web.”
“That must have been inconvenient when you were in the Dark City. Did all the men start following you around in a pack?”
Azazel glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Because that’s what would have happened if the demon Lilith had been about. No one would have been able to resist her. They would probably have tried to kill you, but you look like you’re unscathed. How is that?”
“I have no idea. It took every ounce of strength I had to resist her.”
“And just how much did you resist her, old friend? You seem particularly disturbed by her condition.”
“Because it is our fault. My fault. I handed her over to them, knowing what they could do to her!” he said furiously.
“That’s what we agreed to do. That’s why you took her to the Dark City in the first place, took her to Beloch. Granted, we had no idea that Beloch was Uriel. I wonder if he always was, or if Uriel simply took over the Dark City and the demon who controlled it.”
“I fail to give a rat’s ass,” Azazel snarled. Raziel’s soft laugh didn’t improve his temper.
“So you did as we agreed, and then you suddenly went in and took her back, infuriating Uriel in the process. Why?” He sounded more curious than censorious; but then, when the roles were reversed, it was hard for the former student to reprimand the master. Particularly when Raziel had contravened the law in much the same way not so many years ago.
“Because she …” Because she knew nothing? He had no certainty of that. Because she was someone else? He knew that wasn’t true—behind those bright, curious brown eyes and that mop of red hair was Adam’s first wife, the one who lay with demons and smothered infants. He knew it, when he wished he didn’t. “Because I wished to,” he finished lamely, trying to hide his truculence. “And I trusted my instincts.”
“And you didn’t consider that your instincts might be clouded by the Lilith’s powerful sexual thrall? Because I hate to tell you, it’s quite apparent you got sucked in, if that’s the operative word, by her.”
“I did not get—Damn you!” He whirled on him. “She’s dying, and you dare to make prurient jokes?”
Raziel shook his head. He wore his hair longer—thanks to his wife, it was now past his shoulders—and he wore it loose, so that it swirled in the light breeze. “Allie will save her. She’s not going to die, I can feel it. You could too, if you weren’t so caught up in your emotions.”
“I have no emotions.”
Raziel let out a bark of laughter. “Then why did you sleep with her?”
“Beloch—Uriel forced me.” And then he realized how totally ridiculous that sounded. Uriel hadn’t forced him to do anything he hadn’t wanted an excuse to do. He glared at Raziel once more. “I slept with her because I wanted to. Is that the answer you want? I told myself it was to see whether I could resist her, but we both know that is nothing but a lie. Whether I wish to admit it or not, I wanted her, and I have since … I’m not sure when. Since long before I offered her to the Nephilim.”
“Honesty is always good for the soul,” Raziel said lightly. “Trust in Allie. You trusted her enough to bring Rachel here, enough to put her in Allie’s hands. I think worrying about whether Rachel lives or dies is a waste of time. She’ll live. You’ve got something far greater to worry about.”
Azazel drew back to look at him. “And what could that possibly be?”
“What the hell you’re going to do about her when she does.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS A VERY STRANGE FEELING. IT was as if I were being born, for the first time, for countless times. Yet I knew this was for the last time—it was one of the few certainties I had. No more names, no more lives. Just this one.