Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) by Meljean Brook Page B

her marble spires and arches, the wondrous impossibilities of her shape. But he still had not seen her perfectly.
    Perhaps one day, Andromeda would.
    A narrow hall led to the back of the home. Entering that corridor would restrict his range of motion, so Michael teleported directly into the corner of their exercise room. The rack of weights near his left hand could become bludgeoning weapons or missiles if thrown with enough force. On the wall to his right, a single window offered a view of the neighboring home and a slice of early morning sky, and left few angles for observation or projectile attack from outside. The curtains were open. Like him, Lilith and Hugh would rather be seen by an outsider than be blind to an oncoming threat.
    The center of the room served as a practice area. They’d folded the cushioning mats and set them against the opposite wall, and used the bare floor as a small fencing arena.
    As one, Hugh and Lilith instantly pivoted toward him, their blades at ready, chests billowing from exertion. Sprawled in front of the door, Sir Pup lifted his center head and eyed Michael, then settled against the floor again with a disappointed chuff.
    Lilith had more breath to speak. “Is it urgent?”
    Yes, but not in the sense of emergency that she meant. “No.”
    Her lip curled. “Then if you can’t get the stench of Hell off, at least get rid of the blood.”
    Michael glanced down. Demon blood saturated his tunic and pants. He vanished the clothing and replaced them with a short toga, which allowed the greatest ease of movement and the least amount of thought.
    Lilith rolled her eyes and turned to Hugh, who was smiling faintly. She raised her brows and her sword, and he offered a salute before engaging her. Their blades kissed in a parry and riposte, both of them more elegant than either he or Khavi had been in the Pit—and far more elegant than when Lilith and Hugh fought in earnest. Then there was only brutal violence and quick death.
    But in practice, they danced. The faster of the two, Lilith took the offense, and the ring of their steel dulled as she struck farther down Hugh’s blade, reaching nearer to his body before he parried. Though Hugh was slower, they were well matched. Lilith relied upon her strength to overcome her technical weaknesses; Hugh could better anticipate her attacks and exploit her flaws, even as he challenged her to correct them.
    Yet only in swordplay, and only with each other. In all other circumstances, Lilith was the first to exploit the vulnerabilities she found in others; Hugh was the one who relied upon his strength of will. Both each other’s opposite, and both exactly alike.
    For two thousand years, Lilith had been a halfling demon bound to Lucifer, serving him first with righteous fury, damning the worst of humanity—until her anger had turned to brittle cynicism. Hugh had grown from an idealistic knight to one of the finest Guardian warriors to a man who’d finally lost all faith and hope when he’d discovered the only way to free Lilith from Lucifer was to destroy her . . . and he had.
    Michael hadn’t been surprised when he’d learned that death hadn’t stopped Lilith—or when she saved Hugh from the living death that he’d fallen into after slaying her. He
had
been surprised by how handily she’d manipulated Lucifer into releasing her from their bargain and tricked Michael into giving her his sword. But their lives were well worth the loss of that weapon.
    And a Guardian could do worse than to measure himself against them. Both humans again, Lilith and Hugh no longer had to follow the Rules, but they both believed in them as strongly as Michael did. They didn’t always agree with each other and never employed the same methods, but if Lilith balked at a proposed act, it was too horrible to carry out. If Hugh couldn’t find compassion for someone, that person wasn’t worth caring about.
    What Michael had done to the demon who had been searching for