by R. K. Ryals
I looked up to find her watching me, her expression a mix of relief and anguish. Emma’s gaze followed Maria’s, her eyes widening, and I knew her empathetic powers were picking up on the turmoil of emotions running through me, the hate taking root in my heart.
“The first stage has begun,” Lucas announced. The Fallen angel sauntered through the room, oblivious to the shaking house, his eyes on the glass separating us from the outside.
“Damn it,” Conor cursed again, his irritated gaze on Lucas.
And then, just like that, the world stopped moving. The earth ceased rumbling, rising in a final heaving motion, as if the ground were inhaling, letting its chest expand, and then … nothing.
“Well,” Luther muttered, his gaze roaming the room, his arm falling from Monroe’s waist. “That was fun. Any alcohol around this place? We might as well drink like the world’s going to end.”
There was an unanimous intake of breath around the room, Conor’s shoulders sagging with relief as his hands dropped.
Lucas had paused before the window, his palms coming to rest against the cracked glass. There was a loud crinkling sound, almost like paper being crumpled into a ball. White light shot forth from Lucas’ palms, moving along the cracks in the panes. One minute, it was broken, and the next it wasn’t, the glass smooth and clean.
Monroe nodded at Lucas. “Well, that was impressive.”
Luther frowned at a pile of shattered bottles on the floor, the broken glass and leaking liquid spilling from an overturned cabinet. “It’d be even more impressive if he could replace the bourbon and the whiskey.”
Despite the unease creeping through the space, Monroe threw Luther a fond look, the vintage tee and flared jeans she wore none the worse for wear other than a little dust. She shook her head, and a few shards of glass tinkled to the floor.
Amidst the wreckage, the prophet remained kneeling, his prayers coming fast and heavy, rising in volume.
“Save it, old man,” Luther grumbled. “Prayers aren’t going to fix this.” His gaze came up, moving over the floor before finding my face, his green eyes shining. “And so you’re back.”
His comment was an offhanded one, almost scornful, and I was oddly thankful for it. His attention and his nonchalant greeting left it open for the others to be just as casual about my return. I didn’t think I could handle questions or sympathy.
A red glow caught my eye beyond the window, and I found myself moving toward it, my gaze riveted on the fissures in the earth.
“That’s lava in those cracks,” I gasped.
I’d paused next to Lucas, and he glanced down at me, his gaze soft before looking once more at the yard. “That’s just the beginning,” he whispered. “By the time it’s all said and done, fire will cover the world, screams will fill the skies, blood with flow over the earth and seep into the sea, the oceans will rise, and the stars will fall.”
The way he said it—his voice low and calm—drew my attention to his face. “You don’t seem bothered by it,” I pointed out.
“That’s because he’s not,” Marcas said.
He moved next to us, his looming figure throwing a shadow against the wall, his gaze dropping to my face. It was weird looking at him now, as if we were strangers, as if I was seeing him for the first time.
“Only Fallen angels benefit from an apocalypse like this,” Marcas continued. “When Heaven falls to earth, the Fallen can mingle with angels, the world that beget them. When Hell rises to join the Heavens, the Fallen can enjoy the vices that got them thrown from Heaven in the first place. Win, win.”
“Yeah, for them,” Luther mumbled, kicking the broken glass at his feet.
“This is all wrong. All wrong!” the prophet cried from the floor. “This is not how the end is supposed to happen.”
“No?” Luther asked. “Were you waiting for the four horsemen? Maybe waiting for the little poof, poof where all the righteous disappear before the end?” He kept frowning at the busted liquor bottles. “Oh, that’ll come, prophet. That is, if we can stop this apocalypse from happening first.” He winced. “Seriously,” he waved at the floor, “that is such a waste of good spirits.”
Monroe rolled her eyes, stomping at the glass at his feet, her shoes digging the shards into the brick. “Totally done for now,” she teased.
Luther’s brows rose. “You realize you have to pay for that?”
She winked. “I’m banking on it.”
From where he stood against the wall, Emma’s hand on his back, Conor shook his head. “Of all the demons you could have chosen, Roe …”
“Finish that sentence, gargoyle,” Luther quipped.
The prophet watched the exchange before climbing to his feet, his gaze searching Luther’s face. “You plan to help stop this?” Abner asked, startled. “You? A demon?”
Luther’s brows rose. “That’s the plan, little man.”
Abner gawked. “Why?”
Luther glanced at Lucas. “Because, unlike the Fallen angel over there, this version of the apocalypse does not benefit me.”
“Beneficial or not,” Lucas threw in, “that doesn’t mean I want it to happen. I just won’t be as upset as everyone else if it does.”
“The question now,” Marcas said quietly from next to me, his gaze on the yard, “is what we’re going to do about it?”
Luther frowned. “Well, since we obviously have no liquor, strategic planning seems the next logical move forward.” He glanced at Marcas. “We need to stop two rebellions, one in Heaven and one in Hell.” His gaze slid to Conor, Lucas, and then me. “It’s kind of obvious which group needs to take care of the problem in Heaven,” his eyes returned to Marcas before swinging to Emma, Monroe, and then down at himself, “and who needs to tackle Hell.”
Lucas snorted. “Well, isn’t this ironic? You’re asking me to save the kingdom that threw me out.”
Luther shrugged. “Maybe you’ll work your way back in.”
Lucas laughed, throwing Luther a knowing look. “I’d fit in there about as well as you’d fit in on earth.”
“I want Hell,” I interjected, my gaze catching Luther’s.
His eyes narrowed, noting the frown on my face. “I have a terrible feeling about this.”
“Beez is mine,” I hissed.
Luther watched me. “I have my own bone to pick—”
“Heaven needs you, Dayton,” Marcas interrupted quietly, his stoic gaze on my face. “Luther is right. The way it’s divided now is our best chance at success.” His voice lowered, “And your best chance at revenge.”
My gaze shot to his, to the sudden sad look that flickered over his face before vanishing. He knew. He knew the darkness that had been planted in my heart, but instead of refusing to let me carry it out the same way he had when he’d stopped me from killing Damon years before, he was encouraging me to move forward.
His voice suddenly filled my head. “You’re not that inexperienced, naïve naphil anymore, Dayton. Where your future lies is your choice.”
His words slammed into me, a sudden dawning realization making my pulse quicken. That’s why our relationship felt different now, why we were suddenly strangers. He was letting go.
For years, he’d done everything in his power to save me from the fire pits of Hell, from damnation. Including killing his own twin brother to keep my hands clean, to keep me from committing murder and damning myself.
The young Dayton had appreciated the gesture, but the older Dayton didn’t. The older Dayton needed the freedom to choose, to decide where her soul really belonged. Because, in truth, it was hard being in love with a demon who didn’t want his girlfriend to go to Hell with him. It was equally hard being in love with a man who would never be allowed in Heaven.
This was our revelation. It wasn’t just about saving earth from two civil wars that would crush the world between. It was about realizing what Marcas and I really wanted.
Chapter 14
I’ve spent my life indulging in every sin and vice that exists. I’ve had an
extremely long list of lovers, partook in enough alcohol to drown a mortal man, and shed enough blood to paint the world. However, there are three unspoken rules that I live by. Never take an innocent. Never fight a fight I can’t win. Never fall in love. I broke one of those rules. I don’t intend to break the other two.
~Luther Craig, the Demon of Lust~
Marcas
I was standing at the window, the only one left on that side of the room when Lucas approached me. He stood next to me, our mutual gazes on the lava-filled fissures beyond the glass panes.
“You haven’t told her yet, have you?” Lucas asked.
I snuck a glance in his direction. His gaze was on my profile, his eyes glowing in that eerie pearlescent manner that all angels shared, Fallen or otherwise.
“No,” I answered.
Turning so that he faced me, his palm against the glass, Lucas shed all pretense of caring about the stormy, cracked earth beyond. “It might help if you did,” he said.
I snorted. “How? By giving her false excuses to stay? My bloodline won’t make her staying with me any easier.”
Lucas shrugged. “You know Luther proved what some of Cain’s children have always suspected when he took the Demon of Lust’s position in Hell. There’s no doubt now that you carry the blood of God in your veins. Being the first born son of Cain, your blood is less diluted by time than your siblings.” He leaned close. “It’s why drinking Dayton’s blood never killed you or cursed you. You can’t be cursed when you’re already cursed. You can’t be killed if you already have mixed blood.”
“Lucas—” I began.
His eyes hardened. “Don’t be your brother, Marcas. Don’t hide things. Lay it all out there on the line. Your strength depends on that. Your brother’s strength depends on deception.”
My gaze returned to the window, to the faint flickering reflections in the glass gathered at the back of the room.
Things were changing, not just with me and Dayton, but in the grander scheme of things. The power shifts in the realms, the way we all viewed each other, and the way we’d come to depend on our various resources. Lucas, damn him, was right.
I was the King of the Outer Levels of Hell, and I needed to be a King right now.
Turning to face the room, I let my gaze linger on Dayton. “If I could alter one thing about our world, it’s how fast things change here. How things can be one way one day and another way the next.”
Lucas’ gaze followed mine. “It’s a bitch,” he agreed. “You two were good for each other years ago. Thrown together or not, you needed her to pull you out of that dark place you went after Sophia, and she needed your honesty. In a world of betrayal, honesty can often be mistaken for love.”
I threw Lucas a look, and he lifted his hands. “That does not mean I’m saying that there’s no love there. I just think things happen,” he nodded at the window, at the damaged earth beyond, “to remind us that sometimes love isn’t our first priority. That what we are has to make it our second.” His gaze slid to Luther. “And do yourself and me a favor. Keep your eyes on your brother. It’s good to be what he is. His strength isn’t debatable, but he’s blinded by power and that can be a weakness, too.”
My gaze roamed the people across from us, and I exhaled before glancing at the Fallen angel. “I may not like you, but you’re a good friend, Lucas.”
Lucas frowned. “I’m trying to work that sentence out in my head, and yeah … no, I’m just not translating that well.”
Grinning, I stepped away from him, approaching the gathered group with Lucas at my back.
“There’s something all of you should know before we leave,” I called. All eyes turned my way, and I stood tall, my expression even. “Some of you already know this,” my gaze flicked from Luther to Monroe, “but for others this will be new.”
Luther’s brows arched. “You think that’s wise, brother?”
I didn’t spare him a second glance. “I think it’s necessary considering.” I waved at the window behind me. “Recently, in Luther’s battle against the Sins, he revealed something only some of us have suspected.” I wasn’t the kind of storyteller my brother was, so it wasn’t with finesse that I blurted, “The children of Cain carry the blood of God.”
Silence fell like a lead curtain over the room. Dayton’s eyes widened, her gaze searching my face before swinging to Luther’s.
“What is this?” she asked.
Luther shrugged, throwing me a disgruntled look and a mumbled, “Alcohol would have been good about now.” His gaze moved to the people next to him. “Long story short. There are some varying opinions about Cain’s parentage. Some say he is the son of Adam. Others say he is the son of Lucifer.” He paused dramatically, because to do anything else wouldn’t have been Luther’s style. “And still others believe he is the son of God, since in many accounts it’s said that Cain was conceived with the help of the Lord, interpreted to mean that God helped Eve conceive. This idea is strengthened by God’s treatment of Cain. When Cain murdered his brother, Abel, God marked him. He cursed Cain, but he also protected him, proclaiming that no man should kill him.”
His words ignited a contemplative silence broken first by Maria.
“It makes sense,” she mumbled. “The children of Cain have always been twins …”
“One good and one not so good,” Conor finished, his brows furrowed.
“It also explains why Marcas and Dayton were able to be bound,” Lucas added next to me.
Dayton stared. “I don’t understand. I thought it was because we were both half-human.”
Lucas’ head shook. “Angel blood is toxic to demons, more so to full blooded demons. It’s why, even though an Angel can fall from Heaven and procreate with a demon, they can’t be bound to one. It would kill the demon.”
“Why wasn’t I told this before?” Dayton asked.
My gaze found hers. “Because Cain’s heritage has always been a dicey subject and varied. No proof. Until Luther felt the need to prove it. As for an angel’s blood being toxic, it’s one of those things you’re raised knowing but never remember to bring up until it’s too late. It takes several lifetimes to learn everything there is to know about angels and demons. There are enough names, rules, positions, and powers to fill thousands of books.”
Conor stared, his blue gaze on my face. “So, the bond was possible because you carry the blood of God.”
“No! It’s not possible,” the prophet, Abner, stuttered. “It’s just not possible!”
Luther scowled. “Because it throws all your loopy theories that all demons should be destroyed into an upset?” he asked. “Get over it, little man.”
Abner stared at him, horrified. “If you have the blood of God in you, you could be redeemed, right? You could go to the church—”
Stunned, Luther’s head shot up. “Good God, did he just offer to take me to church?”
Lucas snorted.
Conor glanced between Abner and the Demon of Lust. “Do you even know who he is other than just a demon?”
The man frowned.
My eyes trailed from the floor to the stooped man. For a prophet, he knew little. “That, sir, is my brother, one of the Seven Deadly Sins and a Prince of Hell.”
Abner’s eyes widened, the blood draining from his face.
Luther grinned. “I take it you rescind the offer?”
The man swallowed hard, steeling himself. Even stooped and aged, he was strong. Maybe not physically, but mentally he was a fighter. “It’d be a challenge, but—”
Luther’s chuckle interrupted him. “You are a delusional man, but I respect your audacity.” He leaned close. “Unless you want orgies behind the pulpit, I’d not make the offer again.”
The man gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
Luther’s brows rose. “What the orgie? Or behind the pulpit?”
Stepping forward, Lucas slapped Abner on the back hardily, the fallen Angel’s grip on the prophet’s shirt keeping the man from falling. “Never tempt
a demon with the impossible, and that one,” he hooked his thumb at Luther, “likes the impossible.”
I stared at my brother, a sudden thought striking me. “You do like the impossible,” I mumbled.
Stepping back, I dodged debris, my hands finding the back of the sofa, the couch having been the only piece of furniture unmoved by the earthquake. Gripping the material, I stared hard at the window, at what the world was starting to become.
Dayton appeared next to me, her eyes on my profile.
I wasn’t Marcas Craig right now. Right now, I was a King.
“We’re not going to split up,” I said. “We’re going to bring them to us.”
“What?” Luther protested. “Do you realize what that would do?”
I glanced back at him. “I’m not taking away your moment of glory, brother. You want Hell, then go. But apart we’re weaker. As much as I hate to admit it, our biggest feat is going to be fighting Sophia and quelling the rebellion in Hell. God has a stronger hold over his reign in Heaven than Lucifer does over his.”
“I can put in a request,” Conor said suddenly. “It’s the gargoyles’ job to protect humans from evil forces. God pitied you once,” he added, his gaze finding mine. “We could form a coalition to help put down Sophia and the angels who fight with her with God’s permission. He’d agree, although,” he threw a quick glance at Luther, “it may be harder to convince him of some.”
Monroe stepped forward. “I can lead the Hellhounds.” She looked at Luther. “My powers are stronger here with the chaos rising. I’m a daughter of Hecate after all. She is the goddess of crossroads, the goddess who helps spirits pass over to either Heaven or the underworld. With the barrier between the worlds thinning, my power benefits almost as much as Lucas’.
Lucas nodded. “We’re all stronger here.”
Luther scowled. “I beg to differ.”
Alessandro, who’d been mostly quiet until now, joined the rest of us. “You’ve proven yourself a good leader, Marcas. Especially for those in the crossfire between Heaven and Hell. My men and our resources are yours.”
Emma’s hand found her father’s shoulder. “And I know a hybrid army who’d like nothing better to stand behind you.”