Retribution (Redemption Series)

by Ryals, R. K.

  "Being a smartass is easy, Dayton. Watching someone die . . . not so much."

  He was right, but I could feel Marcas's energy moving through me and it kept me strong. It kept me strong because Damon couldn't hear Marcas' voice in my head. He couldn't hear the whispered, urgent plans that were being written behind my eyes. I was blocking like hell.

  "Do you think you can break me?" I asked.

  Damon's face hardened, and his hand was suddenly wrapped around my wrist. His grip was crushing, and I whimpered without meaning to. It just made him squeeze harder, and although the pain was distracting, I knew it had given Marcas the time he needed.

  There was a scream behind me, but it wasn't Amber's. I didn't have to see Ian James go down to know Marcas had killed him. I felt a brief moment of guilt. Marcas had killed a man possessed by a Demon, a man who hadn't been in his right mind. It was, morally, murder. But my sister lived.

  Damon swore, his hand lifting, and it was my screams that filled the air as he grasped my other wrist, forcing me to the ground as he sent a shock of power through me so strong, I was positive I was dying. Marcas yelled, but I knew as soon as Damon released my left wrist, his power keeping me immobilized as the Seal began to slide magically from a finger on his right hand what he intended.

  "No," I whispered, my teeth gritted.

  I could see Marcas now from the corner of my eye. He was down on one knee with one fist on the ground and the other against his stomach. It wasn't Damon's power controlling the two of us. It was the Seal. I felt the ring rub my hand, and I tried to pull away.

  "Remember, we are a link between three worlds. The Seal links only two."

  I wasn't strong enough to block my thoughts, and I knew by the way Damon looked over at his brother that he had heard Marcas' words. Marcas' head lifted, his eyes meeting Damon's.

  "You think that matters, Brother?" Damon asked.

  Damon threw back his head and laughed as I let Marcas' words echo through my mind.

  "Blood bonds only go so far," Marcas said, his voice low and strained.

  Damon grew still, the ring frozen now at the tip of my left ring finger.

  "There is nothing stronger than blood."

  Marcas didn't have to reply to Damon's statement. I could feel the building power in my gut even as the ring moved further down my finger, and I grabbed at it. I was infused with anger, with vengeance. It wasn't an appropriate emotion for an Angel, but Damon had killed my mother and was determined to take everything that meant anything to me away. Appropriate or not, I wouldn't let it happen.

  "Blood is only as strong as the heart that pumps it," I heard Marcas say as I threw everything I had into Damon, the power erupting with enough force, it entered him violently. The ring was no longer there to buffer it, and Damon's eyes widened as he hit the ground.

  I stared down at him, the ring dangling from my finger as I used my power to call on the dagger still near Ian's lifeless body. I could hear Amber crying quietly, but I didn't look for her. I was too angry, too full of hate.

  The dagger was suddenly in my right hand, and I knelt over Damon.

  "Love is stronger than blood," I whispered. "There is so much more to me than meets the eye."

  Damon blinked, his eyes on the dagger.

  "And yet you still fear one thing," he mocked.

  I didn't give him time to say anything more. I plunged the dagger downward, but only made it halfway to Damon's heart before the dagger was no longer in my fist. The knife entered Damon's chest violently, but it wasn't my hand that finally shoved it home, it was Marcas'.

  "You will not be damned," Marcas said, his voice full of pain.

  I cried out, not because I feared what Marcas had just done would cause him to hate me, but because a sudden, terrifying realization flooded me. Marcas was disappearing, his eyes on my hand.

  "And yet you still fear one thing," Damon had mocked. In those last few moments, Damon had used whatever remaining power he had left to force the ring onto my finger. And the Seal wanted Demon blood.

  "NO!" I screamed even as the pain slammed into me. I could feel the tears pouring down my cheeks as Marcas's eyes stared into mine, his fist clenching Damon's lifeless body as both Demons disappeared.

  With that, I fell to the ground, my body wracked with a pain that can never be described properly. There are no words strong enough. Because as the ring worked to purge the Demon blood from my body, I felt my heart crack, the hairline fracture moving down the organ, widening until the halves fell apart. And as my heart crumbled, I looked up into the sky and screamed, my cheeks wet as I let oblivion and pain take me away.

  Chapter 5

  The physical bond is severed. The emotional bond is far from undone.

  ~Bezaliel~

  I awoke on a wave of pain and nausea so intense, my body didn't just shake, it rocked with spasms. I was nonsensical, the distant sound of voices flowing over me before darkness took me again. And then . . .

  "She will be fine. I know Dayton. She'll rise above this," a voice whispered.

  It was a familiar voice, comforting.

  "She won't have a choice," a male voice answered. Conor?

  The pain took me again. I think I screamed, throwing myself against something that felt eerily like a carpeted floor.

  "Hold her!" a deep male voice ordered, and I shivered uncontrollably.

  I'm not sure if the voice caused the shiver or if it was the ceaseless tremors. All I knew was pain, my stomach rebelling as hands pushed me upward. I retched.

  "I've never seen anything like this before," a lyrical voice said, and I growled. Sophia.

  Hatred suddenly consumed me. Hate for anyone who had ever hurt Marcas, who had ever come between us, and I threw myself at the Angel's voice.

  Darkness again . . .

  "Dammit, Red! Pull yourself together!"

  Conor's voice was there, but I didn't try to find him. I didn't even try to open my eyes. I just wanted the darkness. I wanted relief from the pain. I wanted relief from the heartache. I let the darkness have me. Sweet relief.

  "Take the damn thing off of her already!" It was Monroe's voice, and she was livid. "It's killing her."

  "It is too late," the deep, male voice answered. It was a familiar voice, and yet it wasn't familiar at all. "Taking it off now would certainly kill her."

  There was a sob, and then darkness again.

  "Dayton?"

  Amber. Her hands were rubbing my forehead. The pain was less intense, but my stomach roiled, and I beat it with my fists. The nausea was so bad, I couldn't breathe. I was choking! And then . . . more hands, more retching. Darkness.

  "She's getting better," someone said, his voice low, and I knew it was Lucas. Lucas, my father's protégé, the fallen Angel sent by Bezaliel to protect me. What a bang up job he had done!

  "You're not an easy charge, Fiery One. You don't let people protect you," Lucas whispered.

  I had a moment of irritation as Lucas read my thoughts before darkness stole me away once more.

  "Dayton?"

  Monroe's voice again. I moved my head to the side. The pain was duller now, bearable, and I whimpered as a new pain engulfed me, sweeping me away. My chest hurt. It hurt so physically bad, I wanted nothing more than to cut out my own heart and throw it away. It was an empty, hollow feeling, a lonely feeling beyond anything I had ever felt before.

  "Marcas," I whispered.

  My lips were cracked, and they hurt. My throat was dry and raw. A cup was placed against my mouth, and I drank the liquid, not because I wanted or even needed it, but because it seemed expected of me.

  "Dayton . . ." Monroe began.

  I forced myself to open my eyes, my lids swollen from tears I didn't remember shedding. I was in a large living room with plush, brown carpet and mahogany leather sofas. The place was painfully familiar.

  "Don't!" I breathed, the word cut off by a sob. "Don't tell me he's gone."

  Monroe leaned over me, her short blonde hair straight and
shining. She was in a pink peasant top and bell bottom blue jeans, her legs folded beneath her on the floor as she looked me in the eyes. I was lying on the carpet, and I dug my nails into the fibers.

  "He's gone," Monroe said, her voice so soft I wasn't even sure she actually uttered the words. But it was enough.

  I was retching again, Monroe's hands against my back as she pushed me upward. The water I'd sipped a moment before came back up again into a bowl Monroe shoved under my chin. There were only dry heaves after that, and I finally pushed the bowl away as I rocked back and forth.

  "Dayton . . ." Monroe whispered.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was going to be fine. Really. But I couldn't talk right now. I just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and disappear, to let the Seal take me the same way it had Marcas. The sudden thought made me open my eyes, and I lifted my hand desperately. The Seal was still on my finger. I gasped.

  "He's in there!" I breathed, my fingers fisting around the ring until the metal was cutting into my skin.

  Monroe placed a hand on my back.

  "There's no way of knowing that, Day. We don't know what the ring does to the Demons it traps."

  I tried standing up, but I fell backward. I was weak, and my clothes felt entirely too loose. I was in a pair of grey cotton drawstring pants and a large black t-shirt. The pants were too long, and I stumbled when I attempted to get up a second time.

  "Take it easy," Monroe said. "You've been extremely ill for a week now."

  A week!

  "Where are we?" I asked as I sank back down onto the carpet.

  I looked at the bare, cream walls, the carpet, and the furniture. There was an entryway to the right of the room and through it I could see stairs that ended at the front door. Monroe took a deep breath.

  "You don't know?" she asked.

  My heart rate picked up. My narrowed eyes were glued to the partial view of the stairs. I felt nausea engulf me again, and I swallowed hard. Memories assaulted me. In my mind, I could hear a series of knocks, the sound of Mrs. Cavendish's irritated voice as she moved to the front door.

  "It can't be," I whispered.

  This was my childhood home. It was the same house where a little over ten years ago my sister and I were told our parents were dead.

  "No."

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. I had spent too many years trying to forget this place. The only thing about it I wanted to remember was my mother.

  "Dayton?" a female voice asked. Amber. I felt Monroe stiffen behind me.

  "Give her some time . . ." Monroe began.

  I opened my eyes, my gaze moving to the entryway. Amber stood there, her long blonde hair down over her face. She was in jeans and a red t-shirt. Behind her stood Conor, Lucas, and Sophia.

  "I'm fine," I interrupted.

  It wasn't true, but it made me feel better to say it. Sophia pushed through the group at the door, her eyes on my hands. Her gaze was dark, intent.

  "Give me the Seal," Sophia said gently.

  I crawled backward, ran into Monroe, and then scooted sideways past her toward the farthest edge of the living room.

  "No," I whispered.

  Sophia's face hardened. Lucas' hand came to rest on her shoulder as Conor edged into the room. It still surprised me to see him. In Egypt, Conor had looked transformed. Different somehow. Older. The sudden maturity looked good on him.

  He came to me and crouched, his eyes meeting mine as he took my empty hand in his. The hand with the seal was fisted behind my back.

  "I'm sorry, Red," Conor mouthed.

  There was sympathy in his eyes, and it called to me. In Egypt, I'd discovered that Conor had been assigned to guard a girl after I'd disappeared with Marcas in Italy. This girl had affected Conor. He felt something for his charge. I had no doubt. What I saw in his eyes now was compassion and understanding. I gripped his hand hard.

  "I won't part with the Seal," I told him quietly.

  The Seal was my only link to Marcas now. I didn't give a damn what King it had belonged to or how important it was to Heaven. It had Marcas trapped. The Seal was mine. A new resolve settled over me.

  "Why didn't you come to the Abbey?" I asked, my eyes on Conor.

  Marcas and I had fought Damon alone and, in the end, in his own way, Damon had won. If he couldn't have his redemption, no one could. The only soul he had cared about was his own. Conor ducked his head.

  "It was Marcas' fight. His sacrifice. He asked us not to interfere."

  My throat closed up, and I schooled my features. Open book Dayton was no more. I didn't want anyone to suspect the amount of pain that swept through me. I barred my thoughts to keep Sophia and Lucas out of my head. Being unguarded was a weakness. Marcas was gone. He had sacrificed himself for me. He was no longer here to protect me. It was my turn to protect him. There was no room for weakness.

  "My aunt?" I asked.

  It was Amber who answered, stepping into the room uncertainly.

  "She's with the Sisters at the Abbey. When Damon was destroyed, the Sisters regained their wits. But Aunt Kyra . . ."

  "Your aunt has always wanted too much. She wanted a pure line of Sethian descendants, and she wanted all Demons destroyed. She sacrificed too much to get it--her own sister, her nieces, even herself. She will never be the same. She's a broken woman being cared for by her Sisters. Sister Mary is now the Sect's leader. The Abbey is a safe house once more."

  I knew the voice that interrupted my sister. I knew the deep, male voice well. It had visited me too often, had plagued my dreams for years.

  "You bastard."

  I whispered it, my eyes moving to the floor. I felt a moment of guilt, but it was brief. The voice didn't respond.

  "Dayton," Amber began, but I just shook my head.

  "Now you show up," I breathed, my focus on the faceless man.

  "The time was right," he said.

  I looked up, my eyes moving toward the entryway. And there he stood, tall with thick auburn hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed simply, a pair of blue jeans and an un-tucked, blue button up shirt. He was as young as he was in my dreams, appearing no older than thirty in human years. He was big and built. He was awe-inspiring, intimidating even. He was my father. Daniel. Bezaliel. Dad.

  "The time was right," I repeated dumbly.

  His gaze moved over me.

  "You've come into your powers, the Seal is safe, the twin Demons feared by Heaven and exalted by Hell are trapped, and your aunt has been removed from power. The time was right."

  My lips parted. It was the only emotional concession I allowed myself. I was angry, but it was a cold anger.

  "The time was right," I said, my voice breaking on a laugh.

  I stood up shakily, the adrenaline rushing through my body keeping me from stumbling. I missed the fire that had been Marcas' power rushing through my veins. The Seal had purged me of his blood. We were no longer bound. The only power left was my own. Conor tried to help me, but I shook him off, my eyes locked on Bezaliel.

  "The time was right the day mom died."

  An emotion I didn't want to acknowledge passed through Bezaliel's gaze. I waited for his anger. I was being disrespectful and unkind, but it was Lucas who stepped forward.

  "You are a Naphil. Nephilim are a breed that has long been destroyed for their cruelty, their insanity, their evil behavior. You are the first Naphil with the disposition of a full-blooded Angel. Leaving you was Heaven's decision, not your father's."

  I shook my head.

  "No. It was his. Otherwise, he would have stayed anyway."

  My eyes remained locked on Bezaliel. He grinned. The reaction was so startling, so unexpected, my even facade slipped momentarily. I regained it quickly.

  "Day, I never would have left if I thought you needed me. But, even as a child, you were fiercely independent. I discovered early on that the best way to teach you was to let you learn on your own. You had a destiny."

  I stared at him.

&nb
sp; "I didn't do it on my own," I said softly. "He taught me."

  My father and I both knew I meant Marcas.

  "He guided you, but you did it on your own."

  A lump formed in my throat.

  "You knew what would happen? You knew?"

  I couldn't say the words. Bezaliel sighed.

  "The Demon, Marcas, was not expected. No one expected Damon to bind you to his brother. Damon was the only threat we perceived. Once bound, Heaven's objective changed. They wanted to kill you both. But Marcas surprised us. Instead of using you, he sought ways to unbind you."

  "And still you didn't come," I whispered.

  "Would you have let me?" Bezaliel asked.

  He had a point.

  "So it's over?" Amber asked meekly, her soft voice breaking the tension between Bezaliel and me.

  She was standing near Monroe now. She looked small, helpless. She was as thin as I was, and my heart clenched. Out of everyone in the room, she had suffered the most. She had lost a father that was replaced by an Angel. She had wanted nothing more than to be loved, and she had let herself be drawn into a group of Sethian descendants possessed by a Demon because she thought they cared about her. She thought they needed her. And I didn't blame her for that. She had fed a Demon and had watched Ian James killed.

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  Amber's head lowered, but her gaze didn't move from mine. I was the only family she had left.

  "I love you," I said easily.

  She smiled then, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. From now on, I wouldn't hold back the emotions that meant the most, and I wouldn't withdraw when I was needed. I would only hold back the emotions that made me weak. Love wasn't one of those.

  "The Seal," Sophia said suddenly, and I let my gaze move back to the door, a smile on my face. My response was an easy one.

  "When Hell freezes over."

  Chapter 6

  She is beautiful. She is strong. She will rewrite history.

  ~Bezaliel~

  The attack was unexpected, and I was weak. I went down with the first shot of power.

  "The Seal," Sophia growled.