Retribution (Redemption Series)

by Ryals, R. K.

  Retribution: Redemption Series Book III

  By R.K. Ryals

  Copyright © Regina K. Ryals, 2012

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to the people who have helped me the most through this entire process. To my sister, Sabrina Williams, who is the most amazing sister in the world, who reads chapters at 2 a.m. just because I want an opinion. To Audrey Welch, an amazing photographer and an even better friend. "Wuvs you!" To Laura Wright Laroche, an amazing author who diligently takes the time to produce the cover art for each of my books as well as accompanying book trailers. Just amazing! To Melissa Wright, author extraordinaire who beta reads with a diligence and enthusiasm I greatly admire! She lends an ear for author vents and made up dirty words. To Melanie Bruce, who scrupulously edits each page. I couldn't ask for a better friend and partner in crime. And to the amazing people I have met along the way for their encouragement and interest in my books. You are all simply amazing.

  Chapter 1

  Damon has powers that rival his twin. But, as with so many men in history overlooked in favor of their siblings, Damon became jealous. The jealously fueled the bloodlust, the bloodlust fueled guilt, and guilt fueled his insanity.

  ~Bezaliel~

  In the movies, the women kidnapped are always sexy, in heels, and yelling frantically for someone to save them. And eighty percent of the time, if the kidnapper isn't the man the woman falls in love with, he's plain outright crazy. In my case, insanity was all I had going for me. Though I'd like to think I had a tad bit of sexy going on too.

  "You are much quieter than the last time we met," Damon said.

  His tone was laced with amusement. I didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. I had finally been at what I believed was the end of a journey for me: standing on the High Place of Sacrifice in an ancient place called Petra refusing to wear a ring I knew could unbind me from a Demon I had been bound to with blood. The decision had been a life-changing one. It would strip me of Heaven's protection, but it would keep Marcas from being trapped forever by the Seal. It was something I could live with because I knew now, without a doubt, that I was in love with Marcas. I was in love with a Demon whose refusal to stand with Lucifer had caused a Civil War in Hell.

  And his brother was ruining it! Worse still, the hot rush of anger I felt at being held by the Demon I knew killed my mother made my whole body catch on fire. The heat of it was unbearable. I wanted to destroy Damon, to take from him what he took from me. And yet, I knew that was impossible. He didn't love anyone enough for me to hurt him the way I'd been hurt. Damon had possessed my aunt, killed my mother, drawn my sister into his brainwashed cult, and then bound me to his brother. And just when I thought I couldn't be hurt worse, I'd fallen in love with Marcas only to be taken by Damon.

  And Damon had the Seal of Solomon.

  The Seal was a ring made of brass and iron with four jewels surrounding the inscribed name of God. It had the power to bind Demons and gave the wearer control over the four elements. It was a magical ring that linked Heaven with Earth and had been worn by the ancient and wise King Solomon. And now it was being worn by a Demon who believed that redemption for his race was possible by combining my blood with his in the form of a child.

  I should be scared, but I was honestly too angry to care. The anger would wear off eventually, and I'd be left terrified, but for now I let myself be angry.

  "You will do great things for an entire race, Dayton Blainey."

  Damon's voice was low when he said it, and I knew by the way the air changed, the early morning shifting to late afternoon that he had somehow used the ring to transport us to Lodeston, Mississippi. The air was heavy with humidity, the faint smell of honeysuckle and the sound of crickets always present here, even in the dead of winter.

  There is something about Mississippi that never changes no matter the season, no matter the year, no matter the time of day, no matter the holiday. It is forever frozen in a time capsule. Even with the ever present construction going on as cities expand, the people are always the same, the reason for choosing to live in a state sometimes forgotten still unchanged.

  "I don't want to save an entire race of Demons," I finally said as I searched for the Abbey below. We were close. So very close.

  Damon chuckled against my back. He seemed to find my lack of enthusiasm amusing.

  "Then what do you want?" he asked.

  It was a dangerous question.

  "I want to kill you."

  I said it with a confidence born of losing too much too fast. It was a dangerous answer.

  "And you think you could?"

  There was still an air of amusement to Damon's voice though I sensed the danger that lurked beneath. My rebelliousness seemed to please him in an indefinable way which made me less inclined to be defiant. I was in no mood to entertain him.

  Below us, the Abbey came into view, its imposing form a stark reminder of why I was here. There was no one present on the lawns or in the gardens, and I knew without having to check a watch that the Sisters would be sitting down for the evening meal. The Abbey was nothing if not predictable.

  "Are you afraid?" Damon whispered into my ear as our feet touched the browning grass below.

  I shivered as I fought to keep my eyes forward, my face turned toward the door now closed in front of us. I reached out and touched the wood, my hand sliding along the grain to rest against the door's knob. It was cold, a reflection of the temperature outside. It had been September when I left. I was guessing it was around November now.

  "Disgusted maybe, but never afraid."

  With that said, I shoved the door open. The Abbey's bare entrance hall welcomed me. The only sign of life was a light shining across the stone floor further down the hall, and I knew by the angle it came from the refectory.

  Damon's sharp intake of breath from behind me made me wonder if I was still amusing him or if my crass denial of fear had made him angry. I welcomed his fury.

  I felt numb as I took a step forward, my legs shaky. I could handle being killed. I couldn't handle the idea of Marcas' brother being near me, touching me. He had plans for me. I knew this, and I forced myself to withdraw, to not think about what he intended.

  In the end, Damon didn't yell, didn't start breathing in the heavy, uneven sighs that usually denoted anger. He just stepped in behind me and shut the door.

  "They're expecting us."

  I didn't doubt this. The Sect was his now, the Sisters and the workers who frequented the Abbey all pawns in his hellish game.

  "Walk, Dayton," Damon ordered.

  I dreaded facing my aunt, looking into the face of a woman I only saw as weak. Had she even tried to fight him? Did she care that Damon had murdered her sister?

  I moved toward the refectory slowly, my feet hesitant as I finally approached the door. It was an old door made of oak, and I leaned against it briefly for support. I was tired. I was still weak from mine and Marcas' battle with Lucifer, and I was heartbroken. It was a hard combination to overcome.

  "If you're thinking about him, stop. You're mine now."

  I stood frozen. I knew he meant Marcas.

  "I'm bound to him."

  Damon laughed as he leaned over, his chest against my back as he propped his hands on either side of the door, ensnaring me in his arms. It was a possessive gesture.

  "I have the means to sever that bond. We will forge a new one
."

  His breath tickled my ear causing the hair on my neck to rise as he pushed open the already cracked door to reveal the long, scarred dining room table I had spent the last seven years sitting at, cleaning and eating. It was crowded with Sisters, seated quietly, their heads bowed modestly. Aunt Kyra was at its head, her eyes looking directly into mine as we entered. She looked happy, pleased even.

  "Rise!" she called out, and the Sisters stood as one.

  Aunt Kyra moved away from the table. There was food piled high on the dull mahogany surface, but no one touched it.

  "Come. Sit by me," Aunt Kyra said, her hand motioning to the spot on her right. "You must be hungry."

  Her words were cheerful, but I ignored her, my eyes riveted on the spot to her left. Standing demurely, her eyes averted, was my sister. She was dressed simply, dark blue jeans and a pink v-neck blouse. She had lost weight and there were purplish shadows underneath her eyes.

  "Are you hungry?" Aunt Kyra tried again.

  A hint of her old impatience was beginning to creep into her voice.

  "I don't require it."

  I made myself look away from Amber just in time to catch Aunt Kyra's baffled expression.

  "Require?"

  "Food," I supplied. "There are a lot of things I no longer require. Food is one of them."

  Even after coming into my power, even after realizing that Angels didn't need human sustenance to survive, the food still smelled good. The only reason I turned it down now was because I couldn't make myself sit at the table. It would be as if the past month and a half hadn't happened, and I wasn't a good enough actress for that. My aunt wasn't swayed.

  "You should still eat," she said simply.

  "No!" I said the word with enough force it echoed throughout the refectory. "Is it really customary to pretend nothing has changed?"

  Damon moved along the wall, his grin obvious as he skulked through the shadows. He glowed, the Seal making his body stand out even against the darkest corners. Most of the Sisters sighed as he glided past, their eyes glassy. Only Amber seemed unaffected.

  Aunt Kyra's eyes grew hard. My disobedience wasn't to be overlooked.

  "You will not disrespect me at this table."

  I stared at my aunt in disbelief.

  "And you'd have me respect you? Now?"

  Aunt Kyra's face went blank, overcome by a dull glassiness, and I caught a glimpse of Damon behind her, his hand lifted.

  "Take her to the basement!"

  Aunt Kyra was the one to issue the order, but Damon was the one to puppeteer it. Aunt Kyra was nothing more than a rag doll controlled by a Demon. My jaw tightened, and I knew Damon saw my resolve. It was obvious he wanted me to fight, my spunk a challenge for him. And so I did nothing.

  He raised a brow before clapping his hands silently, a congratulatory gesture missed by all but me as two of the Sisters approached. I could have fought them, could have used my power to throw them backward, but this wasn't their fault. Damon had the Seal. He had power I had no desire to test just yet, and he would kill any of the Sisters who failed him. Of this, I had no doubt. So I simply stood there and let them take me by the arms.

  "This is for your own good," Sister Mary said matter-of-factly as she nodded, almost as if she were trying to convince herself that what she was doing was right as she and Sister Elizabeth led me out of the refectory.

  The halls beyond were dark, the lights in the Abbey unused. My night vision took over without any prompting, and I stared at the stone hallways lined with occasional dark rugs, threadbare and almost black from age as we came to a door at the end of the corridor. I had only been in the Abbey's basement once years ago when I was sent there to retrieve a jar of preserves. I had been afraid of the dark then, but the stairs I found myself staring down now no longer intimidated me.

  I took each step one at a time, slowly but with building confidence as we approached the bottom.

  "He has you brainwashed."

  I said it softly but firmly as the Sisters released my arms. Their eyes darted around the room, the look in them reverting quickly from insane to normal to confused then glassy. They were fighting for control and losing.

  "He will bring the world salvation."

  The Sisters said it as one. Damon had turned them into clones.

  "He's a Demon."

  I don't know why I kept trying to break through to them. I guess I hated to see the two women being forced to serve what they were supposed to hate.

  Sister Mary cocked her head.

  "He's a Demon seeking redemption. There is nothing holier than redemption."

  They turned as one and moved up the stairs, their black robes swishing against the floor as they hurried away from me. And then the basement door snapped shut, and I was left alone.

  I scoped out the room, my eyes searching the area. Three walls were lined with shelves packed with canned foods and dried goods. Only one wall was bare of the wooden ledges, and it was cluttered with old furniture, boxes, and a closed chest. I moved toward it, letting myself slide to the floor, my back resting against the trunk. My head fell to my knees.

  "Marcas," I whispered.

  I wasn't calling out to him. I wouldn't want him to take the risk of coming here when the ring could trap him. It just felt good to say his name. It was a promise to myself. I wouldn't let Damon bind me to him. I'd kill myself first. I would never and could never be his.

  "Dayton . . . ."

  My head snapped up. It was Marcas' voice, far away but audible, and I concentrated on it.

  "Marcas?"

  My name came again, fainter this time. And then . . . .

  "I love you."

  The three words were so faint, I wasn't sure they were real. More than likely, they were a figment of my imagination, nothing more than wishful thinking. But I grasped onto them nonetheless. Real or imagined, those words wouldn't let me die.

  Chapter 2

  Love can overcome many odds. And while this emotion is worth many trials and tribulations, it can also lead to death.

  ~Bezaliel~

  There is one thing captivity provides in abundance: time. And time provokes thought.

  My lower back burned where I sat against the rough wooden chest in the corner of the basement, but I barely noticed the pain because I was too busy thinking—reliving a million moments in the space of minutes.

  I was in an alley staring at a Demon whose hand was covered in my blood. I was watching Marcas cut himself, my blood suddenly flowing from a similar wound. I was in Italy following Marcas down a pitch black alley, his hands suddenly coming to rest on my head as he taught me how to see in the dark. I was at S.O.S headquarters, wrapped in my inner light, Marcas standing behind me as he fought the pain my power caused him. I was falling into a portal to Hell, screaming until Marcas caught me in mid-air, promising he wouldn't let go. I was facing off with Hellhounds, with Lilith, and being thrown into the pits of Hell. And then I was kissing Marcas, my whole body on fire, my back against a wall.

  Every thought after the kiss was different. I was standing in front of a mirror, my eyes shining with vengeance. I was in a ballroom, my body writhing in pain as Marcas shoved our combined powers into my chest. I was in Egypt tracing Marcas' cobra tattoo with my finger. I was in Petra, Marcas' lips meeting mine, his kiss a promise I wouldn't die. I was facing off with Lucifer as Marcas called out to me. And I was staring at a ring with the power to unbind us, a fateful decision already made.

  "I love you."

  I whispered the words fiercely, my mind taking over the chant even as my lips quit moving. And I didn't care if Marcas heard me. I didn't care if anyone heard me. I meant the words.

  I honestly couldn't say when my feelings changed. Maybe love works that way—sneaking up to take over the body when one least suspects it. It certainly wasn't supposed to happen. Marcas was undeniably attractive, but good looks do not make a man. I had loathed him at first, distrusted him.

  And then there was Conor, my childhood f
riend who professed loving me. He was the better choice. But Conor and I loved each other in a different way, in a comfortable, familial way. And then Conor had been ordered to protect me. As wonderful as Conor was, I knew he could easily fall in love with the idea of keeping me safe. Conor was a romantic. He'd never admit it, but he was definitely a romantic. And he hadn't been ready, not for the type of mission Marcas and I had been thrown into.

  And then Marcas had dug his way under my skin, always there, always honest, but never overwhelming. He had protected me, guided me, taught me. And, in the end, he had been willing to be destroyed for me, to be sucked into the Seal so I could be set free. But love is the chain that binds. The only freedom I wanted included him.

  I stood up, my legs protesting as I stretched. My clothes were filthy, covered in the dirt, blood, and grime of Petra, and I focused on my power, using it to dissolve the waste from my body before producing a clean pair of jeans, a long sleeve navy dolman, and a pair of Nikes and socks along with the appropriate undergarments. It felt good dressing like pre-Naphil Dayton even if that girl was different now, forever changed.

  A sound at the top of the stairs made me pause, and I stiffened as the door to the basement creaked open. I gathered my power around me, mine and Marcas' combined strength humming along my skin as footsteps sounded on the stairs. It wasn't Damon. I knew this immediately by the hesitancy in movement, the way the person above tried to quiet their advance on wooden steps too old not to groan under pressure.

  "Dayton?"

  The quiet whisper was enough to suck all of the bravado out of me. I sagged. Amber.

  "Dayton? Are you okay?"

  The question threw me back in time. I was a ten-year-old little girl again hiding under a blanket. Amber was my eleven-year-old savior, her Disney flashlight a beacon. Only I didn't need saving anymore. The dark was no longer my enemy.

  A flashlight beam moved across the basement floor. I watched it quietly, my breathing steady as the beam found first my foot and then my pants. It crawled upward until the light was shining in my face. It would have blinded me if I hadn't averted my eyes.