Even blinded, Metatron sensed him, spinning around and slashing, and Azazel felt the blade bite deep into his back. He went down, then rolled away as Metatron hacked at him, the heavy sword barely missing him in the blood-soaked sand. Azazel was up before he could free the sword from the grip of the sand, and his sword sliced deep into Metatrons right arm.
Metatron only laughed, tossing the sword
to his other hand. He was breathing deeply as he looked at Azazel. You think I can only kill with one hand, traitor? I can kill you a thousand ways, and could have done so many times already.
Then whats taking you so long, minion? Azazel mocked him.
Because I want to prolong your suffering. Knowing you are helpless to save the demon Lilith from the fiery death she deserves, you will suffer and slip and fall and die.
Youre wasting your breath, Azazel said in a bored voice. I am no child to be frightened by your talk. Use your sword instead, and stop posturing. None of our women are impressed.
Your women will all be dead! Metatron shouted as he charged him.
It was not unlike bullfighting, Azazel thought, having seen the barbaric practice long ago. The more he maddened Metatron, the more mistakes the king of the angels would make, until he was exhausted, broken, bleeding. It was a dance with a savage partner, and the same joy filled him, the need to kill, to destroy the force that had drawn him in, deceived him, led him to betray not only Rachel but himself; with each slash, each bleeding cut, he was washing away his guilt, his culpability.
He had trained in the sand, was used to the feel and shift of it beneath his feet as he parried and thrust; but blood was caking his feet, and it slowed him just an infinitesimal amount, just enough, as Metatrons blade came slashing down, and he heard Rachels raw, broken scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE SOUND ROARED FROM MY mouth, a shattered remnant of a scream, as I watched the blade slash down on Azazel as he skidded in the wet sand; and the man who had once been Enoch jerked, unaccountably startled, enough so that the blade cleaved Azazels shoulder, not his neck, the force blunted, and Azazel was able to roll away, leaping back to his feet, graceful as a dancer.
But he was weakening. I could see it, and Metatron was too big, too strong, despite the slashes and cuts Azazel had landed. Azazels speed and agility had kept him safe, but he was beginning to slow, and if I didnt do something I would see him hacked to death before my eyes. I would watch him die, and I wouldnt even be able to cry.
I could run out, put myself between them, distract them long enough so that Azazel could land a killing blow. But Azazel had already said I made him vulnerable. If I interfered, it might result in his death.
I looked around desperately, but no one was doing anything to help. They seemed to be relying on some utterly stupid code of honor that was going to end up getting us all killed, and a sudden, ancient rage filled me.
Men and their honor. Men and their need for power, for control, for doing stupid things because of stupid pride and an insane belief in some ridiculous notion of what was right. They would kill us all with their pride, and I wouldnt let them.
She was gone. But she was still within me. Lilith, the storm demon. Lilitu, the wind goddess, the raging fury who sent hurricanes and tornadoes and cyclones. I moved my hand, just slightly, and a spit of sand whirled up in a tiny funnel, falling back to the ground.
Azazel slashed at Metatron, slicing him above the other eye, and the blood poured down, blinding him. Metatron dashed it away, smearing it on his face, and struck back, his sword slicing through the leather jerkin Azazel wore, and I could see the blood gushing out, deep and red, and I knew if I didnt move he would die.
I took a deep breath and went there, joined the demon who lived inside me. I spun my hand, and the winds came down, picking up the sand. Azazel tripped and fell, and Metatron loomed over him, sword raised for the killing blow
When my wind caught him. The sand blinding him, the gust pushing him away as Azazel once more managed to stagger to his feet. I swirled the wind beyond Azazel, buoying him as he gathered the last bit of his strength, advancing on Metatron, who was fighting the funnel of sand that had encircled him.
I moved my hand, and the wind halted, the sand falling to the ground, and Metatron saw Azazel. He grinned, raising his sword, and Azazel sliced beneath his arm, beneath the armor.
Metatron fell to his knees, his face blank with shock. And Azazel brought his sword down on his enemys neck, hacking into his body.
The warrior fell face-first into the sand, and silence reigned.
There was only the rasp of Azazels labored breathing, the soft remnants of my angry wind, the shushing of the ocean that terrified me.
I rushed forward, catching Azazel before he fell. He was heavy, but I was strong, and I pulled him toward the sea. A moment later Allie was with us, supporting his other side, and he glanced down at her with a momentary grimace. And then he smiled.