“I yearned for His guidance, praying He would show mercy and bestow this knowledge upon me.
“God, in His wisdom and benevolence, revealed the truth to me. Hell and the mortal world are not separate. The two are connected, intrinsically tied together, but this was not by design. The depravity of mankind permeated the original barrier between our world and the demonic one, allowing the two to become linked. Satan took note of this connection, and began sending his minions over, hoping to punish God for his banishment by destroying His cherished humans.
My father goes on to describe Satan’s evil in more detail. He elaborates on the first demon’s plan to destroy all of God’s creations. Then, he reveals a kernel of information which, on the surface, doesn’t seem particularly noteworthy, but its impact is monumental.
I gasp. Disbelief warring with amazement floods my veins. I murmur, “Guardians are the answer.”
“The answer to what?” Belial asks from close behind me. He kneels down and sits on the edge of the rug. His thigh brushes my arm.
I scramble to sit up, eyes wide with excitement. “Didn’t you say your brother, Azazel, was recruiting demons from Hell? That he’s the reason behind the increased demon activity in the regions bordering the Nile?”
“I did,” he says slowly. His violet eyes travel over my face. “Do I want to know how this connects to your father’s journal? Or why that mischievous look is back in your eye?”
I shove the journal into his hands and point to the illuminating paragraph. “Read this.”
Belial obliges.
When finished, he hands the journal back. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” I parrot back. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Very interesting?” The original demon grins when I shove his arm.
He laughs. “Honestly, Hermona, I do not know what excites you so much. How about you explain rather than rely on me to figure it out on my own? We both know I am not as clever as you.”
I try, but fail, to hide my answering grin. “That’s not true.”
“It is, little mountain, and we both know it.”
I shake my head, still smiling, and explain, “My father asked God how to seal the Gates of Hell forever, and He told him how to do it.”
“He did? Where?” Belial leans over my shoulder, re-reading the journal entry. He frowns. “How?”
“Right there,” I point to the line and read aloud, “God’s chosen and the devil’s spawn exist in opposition to one another. Only the chosen’s’ life blood can defeat Satan’s evil and save humanity.”
Belial turns his head. His lips are close to my cheek, but I force myself not to be distracted. This is too important.
“That statement simply says Guardians are meant to fight demons,” Belial remarks, unimpressed.
“Read between the lines,” I instruct him, leaning closer to the journal, again pointing at the text. “God gave this response directly after my father asked how to seal the Gates of Hell. God must’ve been providing him the instructions for how to do so!”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Belial says. It’s his turn to point out a line in the journal. “Look. Even your father was confused with God’s elusive response. He did not believe He answered his question.”
“But He did!”
“You are relying on the sequence of your father’s writing for your assumption. For all we know, Thaddeus could’ve written this conversation out of order.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He could’ve been disoriented following the vision, his memory might have been mixed up, or any other number of reasons.”
I lean away from the journal, shaking my head emphatically. “I think you’re wrong. I think God answered my father’s question, but He wasn’t explicit so my father missed it.”
“Okay,” Belial, too, leans back. He bends his leg and throws his forearm over his knee. “Let’s say you’re right. How does this apply to Azazel?”
“Don’t you see?” Excitement makes me sit up straighter. “Azazel is calling demons out of Hell to do his bidding. If we go to where he is, we can seal the opening between our world and Hell and stop him from bringing more demons to Earth. Heck, we may be able to stop all demons from coming here ever again.”
“Oh? And how do we do that?”
“Only the chosen’s’ life blood can defeat Satan’s evil,” I quote. “Guardians are God’s chosen, and original demons are Satan’s chosen. You and I need to spill our blood to seal the opening, hopefully for forever.”
For a moment, Belial doesn’t react. His expression is void of emotion as he returns my eager gaze. Then, in the blink of an eye, it all changes.
Belial’s face turns hard as stone. His purple eyes are cold, and his voice is an icy growl when he utters a single word. “No.”
“No?” I rear back, stunned by the sudden shift in him. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, we are not going to spill our blood.” The muscle in his jaw ticks.
“But why? Together, you and I could stop Azazel—”
“You read the text,” Belial interrupts, on the edge of losing control. “Life blood, little mountain is not just a few drops. It is everything. If you are right in your analysis, then God told Thaddeus that the lives of a Guardian and an Original must be sacrificed to seal the Gates of Hell.” His chest falls up and down with rapid breath. “And that is not something either of us will be doing.”
I exhale through my nose, stunned by his assessment, but realizing he must be right.
An array of emotions pass over me. The first is astonishment. The second is fear. I feel stunned, wary, confused, and so many other things when I consider this latest revelation.
Until, finally, I land on resignation.
“Belial,” I soften my voice, realizing his anger isn’t directed at me, but at the thought of losing me. “If that’s true, it changes nothing.”
“You are mad.” Belial leaps to his feet and begins pacing the short length of the room. “It changes everything. You are not doing it. Your life means too much to too many.”
A little piece of my heart breaks when Belial doesn’t mention his own life’s value.
Though he calls the other originals his brothers and sisters, their relationships are anything but familial. There is little loyalty, and even less affection between them. But, surely, they would note the absence of their fellow original.
I, too, climb to my feet. “This isn’t just about me, Belial. My life’s purpose is to stop demons from hurting people. If I know a way to stop future demons from crossing into our realm from, it will be a monumental victory for humanity.”
Belial stops pacing. His back is turned towards me. I think he’s actually weighing the merit of my argument, but then the glass in his hand shatters. Glass and blood spatter across the floor. “You can’t fight demons if you are dead, Hermona.” He turns, and I’m greeted by the unsettling sight of blazing purple eyes.
“I agreed to give you up, Hermona, but not like this.”
Another piece of my heart splinters off. “Belial, I—”
“No.” He steps back, evading my outstretched hand. “Don’t. If you try to go through with this plan, Hermona, I will take you from your family and lock you away. There will be no fighting demons, no using God’s gift to benefit mankind. There will be nothing.”
My hand falls to my side. “You wouldn’t do that,” I murmur weakly.
His hard expression doesn’t change. “Try me.”
Demons can’t lie.
He means what he says.
My chest aches. “But you care for me...”
“Exactly.” Belial taps into his demon speed and closes the distance between us. Strong fingers wrap around each of my arms, holding me in place as he stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Hermona. I would do anything for you. I encouraged you to marry the mortal to keep your family happy, even if it means I can only be with you during these stolen moments, and never in the way I
truly want.”
My heart begins to race, and my mouth goes dry. Believe it or not, that is the first time Belial has ever confessed the depths of his feelings for me.
Our lack of emotional, and physical, intimacy is something that both haunts and comforts me. There have been so many moments these past three years when I wanted to give into my soul’s desire and give myself to Belial. But I never did.
I couldn’t.
I made a promise to God and Amaad. No matter how many times I yearned to break those promises and give in to this divine connection, I couldn’t do it. I feared God’s punishment…
I feared losing my gifts.
But when I see and hear Belial confess his feelings for me, I’m nearly undone. He is always so composed—so collected. I never believed he struggled with his feelings the same way I struggle with mine. Seeing him untethered makes me want to untie my own restraints and fall into his arms.
My body sways towards him, pulled taut by our connection and my desire to be close to him.
Belial continues, seemingly unaware of my desirous thoughts, “But I will never, ever stand by and allow you to throw your life away, Hermona. I will not see you sacrifice your life on a weak assumption. You will live a long, healthy, and fruitful life. I will see to that.”
As if they have a mind of their own, my fingers travel up to rest on his stomach. I feel his abdomen tighten.
I stare at the base of his throat, too scared to let him see the depths of emotions in my eyes. “All right, Belial,” I say softly. “All right.”
“All right?” The original demon tucks a finger under my chin. “You give up so easily? Is this a trick?”
He searches my eyes for the truth, and I recognize the moment he notices the feelings swirling in my gaze. He sucks in a breath, and I see matching emotions swimming in his lovely, purple irises.
“Hermona,” he whispers my name like a prayer. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I wish I could stop. I wish I could control the way I feel. But, the truth is, I don’t want to.
Just this once, I want to give in.
My body acts before my mind tells it to. I step into Belial’s chest, and wrap my arms around him.
His body is stiff at first, but his muscles eventually loosen. He returns the embrace, resting his cheek on the top of my head.
“Does this mean you will abandon your self-sacrificing plan?” His breath brushes against my hair, sending tingling sensations throughout my entire body.
“Yes,” I whisper back. “For now, at least.”
He sighs, then thrills me by placing a sweet, chaste kiss to my temple. “You are going to be the death of me, little mountain. I know it.”
“Never, Belial. Not unless we are leaving this world together.” Not unless we sacrifice ourselves to close the Gates of Hell and save humanity for all of time.
“You are too brave, little one,” he runs a hand down my back, soothing me in a way I didn’t know was possible from a person’s touch. “It is one of many things which makes you so endearing.”
My heart takes flight.
In a moment of boldness, I gently press my lips to his chest, right where his heart should be. For the first time, I share the truth of my feelings and murmur, “I love you too, Belial. And I always will.”
Chapter Seventeen
I’m woken by beams of sunlight streaming through the large, double-paned windows on the other side of the room. On a typical day, Olina doesn’t push back the curtains until after I wake up. I must’ve forgotten to close them before going to bed. The mundane demon is too meticulous to be the one responsible for the oversight.
I turn over and burrow my face in my soft pillow to hide from the sleep-disrupting light, hoping to catch a few more blissful minutes of sleep.
Then, like a lightning bolt ripping through my brain, I remember Hermona’s memory.
I gasp, push my chest off the mattress, and scan the room.
I’m completely alone.
This is very unlike the other times I’ve woken up from an unconscious state. Normally, I’m in a healing ward, or at least kept company by one of my friends or family members.
I look down and find I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt—my go-to sleepwear. Just as I am debating if I should change and venture out of my room for answers, the bedroom door opens.
“Oh, good. You’re finally awake.”
“Vivian?” I exclaim, surprised. I rotate my body to face her approach. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.” My foster mother crosses the room, gracefully balancing two steaming teacups on a silver serving tray.
“No. I mean, what are you doing here? At the safe house?”
I’m still at the safe house, right?
I look around the room and confirm that I am, indeed, in my room at the safe house.
Vivian sets the tray on the nightstand by my bedside. Her eyes travel over my face, concern evident in the slanted set of her brows. “Alexander called. He was worried about you after your… episode.”
Of course. I remember now.
I bet Lex and the others freaked out when I lost myself to experiencing Hermona’s memory.
“How are you feeling?” Vivian asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand rests by my leg, but she doesn’t touch me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Honestly, it feels like I just woke up from a nap.”
She bobs her head. “That’s wonderful to hear. Belial said that would be the case. I’m relieved he was right.”
My neck straightens. “You spoke with Belial?”
“I did.”
Then why isn’t he here?
I dismiss the needy thought, telling myself it’s not important.
I think some of Hermona’s emotions have bled over into my waking world, making me yearn for the original demon more than I ordinarily would.
Or so I try to convince myself.
“And Belial said I would be fine?” I probe. “He knows what happened to me?”
“Yes, and yes,” Vivian confirms.
I shift back a little, feeling nervous when I ask, “Do you know what happened to me?”
“Yes.”
I sigh. “Oh.”
This is awkward.
Things have been tense between me and Vivian for a while now, at least they have on my end. I don’t know how to talk about reliving Hermona’s memories with her. I don’t know what she thinks about it.
It’s one thing to hear your foster daughter is the reincarnation of one of the original Guardians. It’s another thing to be confronted with proof—if she believes it, that is.
It turns out my uncertainty is unnecessary. “I can’t imagine how disorienting it must be to experience the memories of another person. Belial described it like you almost share your mind with Hermona but it’s really your soul holding onto the memories. Charles and I are fascinated by it, as I’m sure others are too.”
“You are?” I can’t hide the way my voice cracks, revealing my shock.
“Of course.” Vivian smiles. The gesture lights up her stunning face. “Who wouldn’t be?”
Um… people who aren’t big fans of learning one of their beloved original Guardians had a romantic connection with an original demon.
I simply shrug.
Vivian watches me. Then, understanding dawns. She has the ability to view me as the young woman she raised, easily spotting signs of insecurity.
“Aspen,” her hand rests lightly on my shin. “No one worth your time will think any differently of you for this.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate on what this is.
“That’s not true,” I counter weakly. “You know that’s not true.”
Vivian’s forehead creases with determination. “It is true, Aspen. You are the same young woman we’ve always known. The previous owner of your soul changes nothing about you.”
No, but it exposes interesting truths about me. Namely, my connection to an original demon.
“You’re too optimistic,” I tell her. She’s always been that way.
“And you are too quick to think the worst of yourself.” She gently pats my leg. “Your mother was the same way.”
A jolt of awareness courses through me. I sit up straight and meet Vivian’s expectant gaze.
This is my opportunity to confront her about my mother, and she knows it.
She knows I know.
Now that the moment is right here in front of me, I am at a loss for how to begin. Should I ask Vivian about how she befriended my mother? Or should I jump right in to why she hid the truth from me for so long?
The bed jostles as Vivian stands and walks to the other side of the room. She picks up a purse I hadn’t seen sitting on the vanity table. Unclasping the gold notch, she opens the bag and takes out what looks to be pieces of paper. She returns to the bed, holding out the papers as she sits.
“Here.” Her voice is soft. “Look at these.”
Uncertain, I slowly accept the offering. Once the papers are between my fingers, Vivian reaches to the nightstand and picks up one of the cups of tea. She brings the steaming liquid to her lips, watching me with uncertainty which I’m sure mirrors my own.
I take a deep breath and look at the papers in my hand. Belatedly, I realize they aren’t paper. I feel their smooth gloss finish, identifying them as photographs. I unfold the off-white material and reveal two pictures.
One shows two young girls. Though they’re faces are plump and more youthful, I recognize my mother and Vivian. The pair have their arms wrapped around one another, beaming bright white smiles at the camera as they stand in front of a building with an elegantly carved facade. They look to be about thirteen.
I flip to the next photo. Again, I see my mother and Vivian. But they’re older.
Both women wear tight black pants and equally form-fitting blouses, and their smiles are more wicked than the first picture. I would think the two are about to go out for a night on the town if it weren’t for the leather holsters wrapped around their waists, holding silver daggers.
Demon War: Shadowguard Academy Book 4 Page 12