Born Sinner (Se7en Sinners #1)

by S. L. Jennings

  Like the driveway and the lobby, the room is decked out in opulence reminiscent of 1700s French nobility, bursting with rich bronze, crimson and lapis. It’s a bit gaudy for my taste, and judging by Legion’s sneer, it definitely isn’t pleasing to his shrewd, gray eyes.

  “Garish fuckers,” he mutters under his breath.

  “A bit ostentatious, but anything is better than sleeping in a car.” I stretch my neck from side-to-side and roll my shoulders, cringing at the resounding pop the movement makes.

  Legion steps forward, his hand outstretched, but stops himself. “Um, you take the bed. I’ll be on the couch.”

  I glance over at the gold and powder blue Cabriole sofa with raised brows. It’s barely big enough to fit two people, one if we’re talking demons. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I am. Go ahead and get cleaned up and settled. We have a big day tomorrow.” He tosses me my duffle bag and turns toward the mini bar. I watch him eye the wooden cart as if he can see straight through to the tiny bottles of liquor resting inside. A one hundred year struggle wages war across his features before he turns away.

  I drop my bag and walk over to the mini bar, fishing out the delicate bottles of vodka, whiskey and rum displayed over the fridge. I set them on top and turn towards Legion, my arms crossed over my chest.

  “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you want it. It doesn’t undo all the good you’ve done—all the good you’re still doing.”

  I pick up my bag and head straight to the bathroom, eager to wash the day off my body, and the taste of blood from my mouth. When I emerge from the sanctuary of steam and solace wearing one of the hotel’s terry cloth robes, I find a cart containing a bottle of wine and a platter under a metal dome in the sitting room. Legion sits at a small, round breakfast table. And of all the things he could be doing after a fifteen-hour road trip, he’s cleaning his guns.

  “Shower’s available,” I comment. He doesn’t even lift his head. “You should eat something.”

  “I’m fine,” he murmurs, his deft fingers moving skillfully over the hardware.

  I shrug to myself and pad over to the untouched cart. Under the platter’s dome sits a spread of various cheeses, meats and fresh fruit, perfect for the bottle of red wine. My mouth watering, I help myself to all and plop down onto the sofa directly across from Legion. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.

  “If you’re pissy about what happened downstairs, I’m sorry,” I say with a heaved breath.

  “I’m not pissy.”

  “Really? So you’re not talking to me because you’re being your regular happy-go-lucky self, complete with sunshine and daffodils?”

  He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

  “Seriously, L. I’m trying. You can’t change me overnight.”

  He drops the clip in his hand, the sound of steel on wood reverberating harshly around the lavish space. When he lifts his head to look at me, his gaze is icy. “I don’t want to change you, Eden. I want you to see that there is more to you than you’ve allowed your abilities to become. You can destroy with a single, uttered word. Imagine what you could create. Imagine what you could be.”

  I shake my head. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know anything about me. He’s read a few case files and watched me through the eyes of an assassin stalking its prey. He doesn’t know about all the years I tried to block out the voice in my head, or all the nights I’ve grieved for the people I’d hurt. He doesn’t know how hard it was for me in my formidable years when I was still struggling with abandonment and PTSD. He’s never felt the weight of loneliness crushing me in the midnight hours, making it impossible to breathe.

  He sees a broken doll. A project. A mission.

  He doesn’t see me.

  “And you know this, how?”

  Legion stands, deserting his weapons, and comes to stand before me. His daunting frame wraps me in shadow, extinguishing the light streaming from the nearby Tiffany lamp. “I know this because I understand that pull to darkness. I’ve felt it. I feel it every day. And it’s so much easier to submit to its allure.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. You don’t seem to submit to anything.”

  Suddenly, he’s hovering over me, his hands braced on the couch in a move that traps me between his arms. “Eden, I submit to you daily. Every moment we’re together, every time you sleep with your cheek pressed against my chest, I am submitting to a side of me that was lost a long time ago. And in those moments, I remember what I was, and what I have lost. And I hate myself for missing it.” He pushes off the back of the sofa and strides over to where those wicked little bottles are lined up atop the mini fridge. He plucks up the whiskey and unscrews its delicate cap. “I am Hell on earth, Eden. But that doesn’t mean I want to be.”

  I watch the way his throat bobs sensually as he downs the scorching liquor, his eyes turned up to the heavens. Funny how a simple, natural act can cause every bone in my body to turn to liquid.

  “Is that why you want me to be better?” I ask breathlessly. “To make it easier for you?”

  “No.” He chucks the bottle in a nearby bin and grabs another. “I want you to be better for you.”

  I shake my head and take a hefty gulp of wine. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Then what do you believe?”

  I take another sip, craving the courage. “I believe the very thing you despise in me, is the very thing you want.”

  A sinuous half small crawls across his lips. “Are you saying I want you, firecracker?”

  “I don’t know, Legion. Do you?”

  The silence that stretches between us becomes stifling as he stares at me, his expression blank, save for the lustrous fire blazing in his eyes. I shift uncomfortably.

  “You should sleep,” he finally says, looking away.

  “So should you.”

  “I will. Later.”

  I know it’s a lie. Yet, I’m not sure why I even care.

  I quietly finish my wine and food and return to the bedroom. Like the sitting area, the space is decked out in rich colors and lush fabrics, but I’m much too exhausted to appreciate it. I crawl between the softest linens known to man, and almost before my head hits the pillow, I’m out like a light.

  Some time during the night, the scent of midnight jasmine and the brush of callused fingers invade my dreams. Dreams about breathless sighs and searing kisses and frantic touches. Dreams about Legion.

  Morning comes too soon. And if I had known what a big deal it was to gain the audience of a warlock, I would have stayed in bed.

  “How’s this?” I ask Legion after finally settling on a plain black dress with a V neckline and flats studded with silver and gold grommets. Somehow, Lilith fit three extra outfits in my bag, and I’m grateful for every one. After Legion informed me of the rarity of a warlock-demon sit down over breakfast, alluding that the warlock in question was royalty in the underworld, I’d been racked with anxiety. Royalty? Shit. I was hardly respectable enough for Red Lobster.

  “So?”

  His molten gaze singes me from head to toe, taking in the way I’d pinned my silver locks up in a messy bun, allowing a few curled tendrils to escape around my face. The dress is fitted, showcasing my waist and bosom, before flaring out around my hips. It stops just before the knee. Sinful yet sweet. I took a few more minutes on my eye makeup than usual, focusing on a heavy lash to accentuate my dark eyeshadow. My lips are simply slicked with pinkish nude gloss.

  “You look…” The word slides across his tongue and drips from his full bottom lip. “Lovely.”

  “Stop,” I blush, trying to suck in the smile that keeps trying to emerge. “I feel ridiculous.”

  “Why?” he frowns.

  “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’ve been described as hot by some of the guys I’ve dated—if you can call messy hook-ups dating. Maybe even a few thought I was sexy. But never lovely.”

  “Maybe you’ve been dealing with the wrong guys.” His face is stone, b
ut his voice is as soft and yielding as the brush of a rose petal. I don’t know what to think of it, so I quickly change the subject.

  “So these witches…warlocks…whatever. What exactly are they?”

  Legion leans back in the Bergère chair and sighs. “The Dark are a very old, very traditional race of original witches. Their magic is one of only two types that were actually designed by the Creator at your world’s birth. According to the bible, it was the very first magic, the Light quickly following.”

  “Huh? How is that possible?”

  A small smile quirks his lips. ““In the beginning God created the Heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.”” He takes in my stunned expression and his smile broadens. “The Dark are the wardens of night, while the Light are the keepers of day. Their history is complex and sacred, but they are very powerful, drawing their strength from the elements. They are wind, water, rain, snow. Their emotions are directly tethered to the earth and their abilities are immeasurable. However, their power only extends to this realm. They have no control of anything or anyone whose existence is not tied to this world.”

  I find the meaning in his words and nod. “They have no power over you.”

  “Precisely. The Creator made us all in His image. The Dark and Light were derived from that prototype.”

  “Are they more powerful than you?”

  Legion shakes his head. “Not necessarily. I don’t have full usage of my powers on earth—a portion of it was stripped from me when I rebelled against Lucifer. But under normal circumstances—”

  “Wait. You have powers? What? Why didn’t I know this?”

  He shrugs, a light of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You never asked.”

  Holy hell.

  The brute strength, the animal-like reflexes, his superhuman will…I knew Legion was a demon, but I never imagined he had actual power. I don’t know if I should be terrified or intrigued. Terrified. Definitely terrified.

  Reading the questions flashing across my features, Legion climbs to his feet and crosses the room in four long strides. I shiver on my metallic-studded shoes as he stops in front of me, his intimidating presence claiming the space between us. Then in a movement that rips a gasp from my tight throat, he cups my face gently. The pads of his thumbs graze the apples of my cheeks with feather-light grace.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Eden. I would never hurt you.”

  I nod, just slightly, not knowing what to do or say. Do I believe him? I want to. But he’s hurt me before. I’ve seen the hatred in his eyes. I’ve felt it radiate from his frame, and wash over me like sticky, black blood. What’s to stop him from doing just as he promised? Snapping my neck without a second thought when he’s grown tired of my stubborn weakness?

  “Ok,” I whisper.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” he utters, his intense gaze urging me to believe him. To trust him despite what he is. “As long as I’m alive on this earth, I will always protect you.”

  I want to pull away, yet I want him to stay. Stay right here, touching me, coaxing me with his urgent words and burning touch. When my life is filled with so much uncertainty, I want him to be that one constant I can rely on.

  And it scares me.

  A knock on the door breaks the spell, causing Legion to hiss between his teeth before dropping his hands. My skin still flames with remembrance of him.

  “It’s time,” he says.

  I nod, battling the nerves churning in my gut. Legion pulls away from me completely to answer the door.

  “Showtime,” I hear Toyol say from behind me.

  I take a deep, steeling breath to keep the anxious nausea at bay. I don’t know what I’m walking into. Witches, warlocks…I have no idea what to expect. Will they wear pointed hats and black robes? Will they fly around on broomsticks and gather toad’s eyes and chicken feet to add to a steaming cauldron? Shit, maybe this isn’t a hotel at all. Maybe I’ve been duped and we’re at Hogwarts.

  Seriously, this shit just doesn’t seem plausible.

  I shake my head and turn around, spying Toyol and Phenex, both dressed in dark suits much like Legion’s, filling up the doorframe. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Very nice,” Toyol remarks, brows raised.

  “Yeah? I’ll probably have to change before the Quidditch match,” I snort.

  “He’s a warlock, not a wizard, Eden.” His face is serious, but mirth dances in those dark slanted eyes.

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Yes,” Legion answers. “And you’d do well to remember that.” His tone is cool, but not exactly cold. There’s a message attached, an unspoken warning for me to keep my wits about me. Maybe I was right to be nervous, considering each of their stony expressions.

  We start down the long hallway towards the elevator when Phenex falls behind to walk beside me. Surprisingly, Legion leaves my side.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t spoken to you much since you saved my life.”

  I shake my head. “It was nothing.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Eden. What you did for me—for us—was nothing short of miraculous. After everything…you chose to be of aid. And for that, I am in your debt.”

  “Then why have you been avoiding me?” I resent the tinge of hurt in my voice. Phenex notices it too, and casts his honeyed eyes to the ground in shame.

  “I pride myself on restraint, almost as much as Legion. Because of you, I was able to recover from my physical injuries, however, my resistance was left weakened. I assume the others have informed you of the effect your special circumstances has on our kind.”

  The Jumper’s allure. It calls to their malevolence, seduces the beast within. It’s what angels use to lure demons then, ultimately, kill them. They felt it in me on that first day I was brought to their high-rise apartment. And they’ve been fighting the urge to sate their carnal urges ever since.

  “I’m not strong enough to fight it right now,” Phenex admits quietly, refusing to meet my wide-eyed gaze. “And I’m ashamed. Please don’t be afraid of me. I would never let it overpower me. And if it did…” He flicks his golden orbs to Legion’s taut back just feet away. “He would take me out before I could touch you.”

  “Take you out?” I whisper.

  “There’s a reason he’s known as the Demon Slayer. He is the Collector of Fallen Souls. It’d be quite easy for him actually.”

  At that, I see Legion turn his head just a fraction, giving me a quick view of his tight, ticking jaw. The Demon Slayer? Collector of Fallen Souls? How will I ever really know him when everything about him is so steeped in secrets and myth? And, honestly, do I want to?

  We arrive at the elevator before I can ask for clarification. Legion doesn’t meet my eyes. I know he’s heard every word Phenex and I have spoken, yet he hasn’t denied it. And even if he did, what reason would Phenex have to lie to me?

  We descend to the first floor of the hotel in silence, the tension filling the ornate steel box like smog. Toyol leads us towards a hallway off the lobby while Phenex and Legion stay situated at my sides as if to ward off any unwanted eyes. They’re being beyond ridiculous. No one knows me here. No one cares. And even if there was some unseen threat, what could they possibly do to avoid it?

  Unless I’m the unseen threat. Unless they’re not protecting me from others. They’re protecting others from me.

  I shake off the thought, desperate to not let it deter me or define me. Legion said I was so much more than what I had allowed myself to become. I have to believe that. Because if I don’t…

  I might as well surrender to the Calling right here and now.

  We come to a set of el
aborately carved ivory doors with golden handles fashioned like crashing waves. They’re odd, yet beautiful, much like everything at this hotel. Elegant, regal and unique. And I’m completely out of place.

  We enter what appears to be a conference room, and find that it’s empty. There’s a spread of charcuterie, fruit, sweets and cheeses, as well as wine and tea in the middle of a long mahogany table. Toyol leads us to one side, the end farthest from the door. He’s positioning us so that we’ll have full view of anyone—and anything—that enters. A small advantage considering we’re in the heart of the deadliest coven on earth, according to Legion. For them to even consider this meeting must mean that they’re desperate. There has to be something they’re not telling me, whether it’s to keep me in the dark or protect my fragile human heart. I bite down on the taste of contempt on my tongue. I’m so tired of being weak. I don’t want to be shielded like some damsel in distress. I’ve never been good at playing that role, and I don’t plan on trying now.

  I feel Legion stiffen in his chair beside mine, causing me to follow his gaze towards the entrance. The doors glide open smoothly, as if pushed by a gust of ocean-scented air.

  And I gasp.

  There are six of them, all finely dressed in expensive fabrics: two women, both young and gorgeous, and four men: the massive suit from last night, a svelte, stunning blonde that would give Andras a run for his money, an exceptionally handsome man the color of a caramel latte, and positively the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.

  He leads one of the women—the one with soft brown curls almost to her waist and the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen—while keeping his impossibly icy blue irises trained on me and my assassin companions. The others follow, falling into step as if this procession was choreographed. When they take their seats across from us, the doors close on their own. At least I think they did.

  Tiny, frozen daggers rake up and down my spine. We are in the presence of immense power. I can feel it.