Christ, what was wrong with me? Though as a feminist icon Eve had left a lot to be desired, my cold contempt felt personal. There was no way this absurd story could be true. If I remembered clearly, those stories ended up contradicting themselves. Some sources saw Lilith as a goddess figure, ripe and loving and powerful, while others saw the devouring demon. Those sources were likely divided along gender linespatriarchal historians never liked a strong woman.
But why did I know so much about this? Early myths were hardly common knowledge. What had driven me to study these things? If, in fact, it was study and not some ancient memory.
No, he was wrong. I knew that. It was no wonder he hated me, treated me with such contempt. No wonder he thought I deserved execution and nothing more. But he was wrong. He had me confused with someone else.
The more I fought it, the more the truth pushed back. His kiss had awoken something, some hidden memory that I was still refusing to examine. Id felt it, along with the rush of desire. The truth had come with it, a nagging, hated hitchhiker that I was still avoiding.
The bed across the room looked too big, too far away, too high to climb into. I made an effort to stand, but it was too much. Everything was too much. I curled up on the rug, my hand beneath my face. My eyes were dry, when surely this was a time for tears. But I couldnt remember crying, not ever. I squeezed my eyes tight, willing them to come, but they stayed dry. And then I simply closed them. If I couldnt force tears, I could at least force sleep, and I did, giving in to the darkness.
AZAZEL LOOKED DOWN AT THE demon, curled up on the hard floor. She didnt look like a fabled monster. She looked like a woman, a human being with all the frailties and astonishing strengths of her kind. Love for a human woman had caused him to fall, brought about his hideous curse. The loss of a human woman had brought him to his knees. Women were as dangerous to him as demons, perhaps more so. A sad, lost female could get beneath his armor, touch him when he wanted to be untouchable. He could fight power with power. Vulnerability was a greater danger.
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 theyd peaked beneath his hands as hed 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 hed 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. Hed 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 hadnt 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.