His free hand came up, cupped the side of my face. "Courage, hedaira," he said, softly, his breath touching my cheek. Then he leaned down, and his mouth met mine.

It's said by the Magi that demons invented the arts of love, and I was tempted to believe it. The kiss tore through me, lightning filling my veins, the smell of him invading me, making me drunk. Blood-warm, his darkness folded around me, and I shuddered, my hands coming up and clasping behind his neck. My entire body arched toward his, he tipped me over onto the bed. I didn't care.

He bit his lip, and the smoke and spice of demon blood filled my mouth. I gasped for air, swallowing, choking on the scorching-hot fluid, his Power wrapped around us both. I was too far gone to think, nothing but a welter of sensation, my throat burning, eyes closed, his hands tearing at my clothes, finding bare skin and burning me all the way down to the bone. I cried out twice, shaking and shuddering, wet with sweat, my heart exploding inside my chest. And when he drove his body into mine I nearly lost consciousness, screaming, thrashing away from pleasure so intense it was like the chill-sweet darkness of Death. It was like dying, being held in his arms while the Power tore through me, remade me, and finally drove me down deep into twilight. Again.

CHAPTER 41

The soupy half-conscious daze lasted for a long time. I would surface for long enough to remember where I was—completely naked, in a demon's arms, lying in one of Jace Monroe's beds—and then my mind would shiver back into a kind of halfsleep. My entire body burned, changing. He held me when my bones crackled, shifting into new shapes; things moved under my skin, internal organs changing and moving, my heart pulsing lethargically. He murmured into my hair, his voice taking away the pain and bathing me in narcotic drowsiness.

It ended with a final flush of Power that coated my skin, sealing me away. I came back to myself with a rush.

Japhrimel lay next to me, my hair tangled over his face, my head pillowed on his shoulder. His fingers, no longer scorching-hot but merely warm, trailed up my back and I shuddered. "It's done," he whispered. For the first time, he sounded tired. Exhausted.

"It hurt," I said, childishly. That was the first shock—my voice wasn't my own anymore. Instead, it was deeper, full of a casual power that gave me gooseflesh.

Or would have given me gooseflesh, if my skin hadn't been so—

I looked at my hand. Instead of my usual paleness—a Necromance almost never went out in daylight unless forced to it—I found my hand covered with golden, poreless skin. My nails were still crimson and lacquered with molecule drip, I still wore my glittering rings, but that just made my hand look even more graceful and wicked. "Anubis," I breathed. "What did you—"

"I have shared my Power with you," he said. "There was pain, but it's over now. You share a demon's gifts, Dante, though you are not demon yourself. You will never be a demon."

A kind of dark screaming panic welled up from behind my breastbone. But I was too tired—or not precisely tired. I was numb. Too much had happened, one shock after another. I was too emotionally drained to react to anything right now—and that was dangerous. Numb meant not thinking straight, and thinking straight was the only thing that was going to keep me alive. "You did what?"

"You are still everything you were," he pointed out. "Now you are simply more. And Vardimal will not be able to kill you so easily."

"Sekhmet sa'es—" I pushed myself up, trying to untangle my body from his. A few moments of confusion ended up with me sitting, the sheet clutched to my chest, staring at him. Bare, hairless, golden chest, his collarbones standing out, and behind him, glaucous darkness lay on the bed. So that's why he never takes it off, I thought, and had to put my head down on my knees. They're wings. Oh, my gods, they are wings—I hyperventilated for what seemed like ages, Japhrimel's hand on my back, spread against my ribs. The heat from his touch comforted me, kept the gray fuzz of shock from blurring over my vision.

Finally the panic retreated. But it was a long time before I looked up and found that the room was going dark. "How long has it been?" I asked.

"Ten hours or so," he replied. "It takes a short while for the changes to—"

"I wish you hadn't done that," I said. "I wish you'd warned me."

"You would not have allowed it if I had," he pointed out. "And now you are safer, Dante."

"How safe?" I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a naked demon. Then another more terrible thought struck me. "Am I still a Necromance?"

"Of course," he said. "Or at least, I presume so."

"You presume so?" Okay, so maybe I wasn't numb, just stunned. I stared at him, my breath coming fast and short. My heart pounded.

No, not numb. Stunned, and numb, and terrified.

"I presume so," he said. Dark circles ringed his green eyes. "I have never done this before."

"Oh, great," I mumbled, and looked down at the side of the bed. My clothes lay in a shredded heap. "Japhrimel—"

"You could thank me," he said, his eyebrows drawing together. "If you were a Magi—"

"I'm not a Magi," I interrupted. "I'm a Necromance. And I'm human."

"Not anymore," he said shortly, and levered himself up from the bed. "I told you, I will not allow you to be harmed. I swore on the waters of Lethe."

"Shut up." I bolted up from the bed, yanking the sheet with me. It tore right down the middle. I stood there, looking at the long scrap of green cotton clenched in my hand. "Gods," I breathed, and then looked wildly around.

I found myself across the room, with no real idea of how I'd gotten there. As a matter of fact, I collided with the wall, and plaster puffed out in a cloud. Faster than human, one part of me thought with chilling calm. I'm faster than human now. That will come in handy when I go after Santino.

I untangled myself from the wall, shivering. Stared at my hands. My golden, perfect hands.

"Why?" I whispered. "Gods above, why?"

"I swore to protect you," he answered. "And I will not let you leave me behind, Dante. No one, demon or human, has treated me with any kindness—except you. And even your kindness has thorns. Still—"

I clapped my hands over my ears and bolted for the bathroom. Japhrimel watched this, expressionless.

The vision that confronted me in the bathroom mirror made my stomach revolve. Or do I even have a stomach now? I thought. I looked… different. My tattoo was still there, quiescent against my cheek, the emerald glittering slightly. But otherwise… my face wasn't my own. Golden skin stretched over a face I didn't recognize—but there were my dark eyes, now liquid and beautiful. I looked like a holovid model, sculpted cheekbones, a sinful mouth, winged eyebrows. I touched my face with one wondering fingertip, saw the beautiful woman in the mirror touch her exquisite cheekbone, trace her pretty lips.

I looked like a demon. There was only a ghost of the person I used to be left in my face. Japhrimel's mark remained on my left shoulder, but it was a decoration instead of a scar, etched into my newly perfect golden skin. And my hair, Japhrimel's inky black—but long, falling over my shoulders in choreographed strands.

My flat stomach, lightly ridged with muscle, showed no more marks from Santino's claws. I twisted around, pulling my hair up, and strained my neck to examine my back in the mirror. No ridged thick whip scars. I couldn't see my ass in the mirror, but I felt along the lower curve of my left buttock and found no scarring there either.

Gone. They were gone. All except Japhrimel's mark on my shoulder. I dropped my hair over my back, shuddering.