by Ryals, R. K.
This time, there was no mistaking his words, and I had started to say them back, had started to open my mouth when the shaking grew so violent, there was no opportunity for words. I did the next best thing. I held on for dear life, digging my nails into his skin to keep from getting separated, and prayed.
Chapter 9
The decisions made now will not only affect the people involved, it will affect the world.
~Bezaliel~
The shaking was relentless, and I clutched desperately at Marcas. I hadn't come this far to fail now. I wasn't the same anymore. I wasn't the same Dayton that had started out on an absolutely insane journey with a Demon I had been determined to hate. I was inside his world now, and the world he belonged to was turning out to be as prejudiced and complicated as my own world. Memories were wearing me out, guilt was eating me from the inside, and I had fallen in love with the same person I was supposed to hate. And, despite this, I was surprisingly happy.
And so I gripped the Demon hard as the world around us fell apart, torn away until there was nothing more than darkness. And still I felt him, felt his hot skin against mine as the world folded in on itself and then began to rebuild. It wasn't until I felt solid ground beneath my feet, my stomach a nauseated mass of butterflies that I realized Marcas was no longer with me. It was too much.
"It was worth it. Understood?"
Marcas' words echoed through my head as I went down on one knee, my head in my hands. Light was expanding around me, my arm was searing back together where Marcas' teeth had cut brutally into the flesh, and I could feel my head begin to quit spinning. It was too much.
"Dayton?"
It was Monroe's voice, and I looked up, my eyes wide as she searched my face. I was back in the living room I had started out in, and I let my head fall back down again, too weary to care who was there to witness my failure.
A hand settled gently against my shoulder, and I knew from its size that it was Conor's. He kneeled next to me.
"You did it, Red," he whispered.
My head shot up.
"What?" I said hoarsely.
Conor's eyes met mine, and he smiled.
"Look."
Gently, he lifted my head and turned it, and I swallowed, the tears coming hard. Keeping them back wasn't an option anymore.
There hunched in the corner of the room, Luther kneeling next to him was Marcas. His head was bent, one hand dug into the carpet, one knee on the floor. He was still shirtless, still barefoot, and still burnt in places that hadn't had time to heal. But the glow around him was no longer white. It was red. His powers were rushing back, no longer encumbered by the ring, and I could tell just by watching that the process wasn't an easy one.
Suddenly, Luther looked up, and his eyes met mine. He nodded, a new respect in his gaze, and I nodded back. This was Marcas' brother, and I read the emotions on his face easily. I had sacrificed myself for the Demon in the corner. What happened now was still uncertain, but I had built a friendship with the hard men, a pact that could never be broken now. A life for a life.
I looked over my shoulder wearily, my eyes meeting the stoic shapes still standing near the room's entryway—my father, Sophia, and Lucas. They were all silent, their eyes hard. Only Sophia played for the right team. She was the only one not straddling shaky ground. I held a palm up to Conor.
"The Seal," I said quietly.
Conor didn't hesitate and when I felt the heavy metal settle into the palm of my hand, I sighed in relief. I was done with the ring, done with the complications that came with it.
I stood up slowly, shakily, and moved toward Sophia with a purpose built entirely from a hard place I had learned to cultivate inside of me.
"It's yours now," I whispered as I approached her while holding out the ring.
Sophia's eyes met mine, and I saw something akin to regret and jealousy in her gaze. She took the Seal.
"And what happens now?" Sophia asked as her gaze shifted to Marcas.
Bezaliel stepped forward, his gaze also on the Demon still kneeling next to his brother.
"We recruit," Bezaliel said.
His words took me by surprise.
"Recruit?"
Sophia and I said it together, our voices raised. This seemed to amuse Lucas, and he chuckled as he stepped next to his mentor.
"It's time we finally find a way to avoid a war on Earth. Lucifer is angry. There will be no more peace," Lucas answered.
Sophia hesitated.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
Bezaliel's gaze met mine.
"By following a new leader. The Exiles have chosen who they will stand behind."
The look in his eyes said it all, and I gasped. The sharp intake of breath next to me alerted me to Sophia's mutual feelings.
"Her?" Sophia asked incredulously.
I shook my head.
"No," I said slowly as I turned to face the corner of the room, the edges of my mouth lifting. "Him."
And with that, I moved toward Marcas, each step causing my heart to soar. He was no longer trapped by the Seal. We were no longer bound. I didn't know what that meant for us, for the future, for the roles we would have to play now, but I was willing to find out.
Luther backed away as I kneeled in front of Marcas, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Pain shot through my system, and I knew his power didn't recognize me anymore. I almost pulled away, but one of Marcas' hands came to rest over mine on his shoulder, and he didn't let go. His head lifted.
This was my chance. I had gone too long leaving too many things unsaid.
"I love you," I whispered, my voice so low the only other person who could have heard was Luther.
Marcas smiled crookedly, only one corner of his mouth lifting as his hand tightened on mine.
"It was only a matter of time," he said.
Luther choked on a laugh, and I narrowed my eyes.
"Arrogance does not suit you," I warned, releasing one of his shoulders to crook a finger in his face.
Marcas was suddenly serious, his gaze moving over my face, and I felt instantly shy and dirty. I was still in the same too long, grey cotton pants and oversized black t-shirt I had been in when I had entered the Seal. My feet were bare, my body covered in dried blood, both from Marcas and Luther. I had no doubt my hair was hopelessly tangled.
Marcas lifted my chin with his finger, his gaze locked on mine.
"It suits you," he said.
I smiled. Arrogance was definitely something I was beginning to develop. It was past time. Being overconfident was annoying and never good, but being a little proud was something everyone needed.
Marcas looked away from me, his eyes lifting to a point behind my shoulder, and I knew by the shadow against the wall it was Bezaliel. Marcas didn't release me.
"What are your plans, Son?" Bezaliel asked, his words even.
Bezaliel wasn't the type to beat around the bush, and I knew Marcas wasn't the type to skirt an issue either. Marcas didn't flinch.
"I have some things to take care of in Hell."
Bezaliel was silent only briefly.
"You intend to fight?" Bezaliel asked.
Marcas nodded, his eyes full of a determination that frightened me.
"Lucifer fully intends to destroy all of the children born to Lilith and Cain. There are thousands of us out there. There are enough of us to build our own kingdom. Exiles of Hell. We have the same right to Exile as the Angels who chose to leave Heaven."
"I agree," Bezaliel said slowly. "And I will agree to follow you. All of us. The Exiles will help you fight for that right. Under one condition."
Marcas' eyes grew hard. I couldn't see my father's expression, but I knew by the look on Marcas' face that it wasn't a good one.
"I'm not good with conditions," Marcas said.
Luther moved next to Marcas, his eyes on Bezaliel's face.
"What's the condition?" Luther asked, ignoring the warning look that Marcas threw his way.
Bezali
el's shadow shifted suddenly.
"That afterwards, you walk away from my daughter."
Chapter 10
The balance has shifted. With a new Exile group rising up from Hell, the Underworld is losing power. The threat of war on Earth will lessen. But there are some balances that should never be tested. There are alliances too dangerous. Angels should never be linked to Demons.
~Bezaliel~
What the hell? I knew my eyes were wide, my heart a pounding mess in my chest, and the only thing I wanted to do was turn around and curse my father a blue streak, but Marcas still held me securely in place. His eyes moved to mine a moment before he looked away, and I felt a numbness steal over my limbs as his unreadable, penetrating gaze met my father's.
"I don't make promises I can't keep," Marcas said coldly.
I closed my eyes, my cheeks burning. My father had left me with an aunt whose insanity was no secret. He had sent me dreams and a fallen Angel to protect me, but he had never taken the step that would cause me to be infinitely loyal to him. He hadn't come for me himself. Maybe the sense of betrayal that flooded me was childish. He had, after all, given me the room to grow, to discover what I could be on my own. He had given me a choice. I respected him for that, but now he was taking that away.
"Maybe we should think about this a moment," Conor's voice said carefully from across the room, and it was only then that Marcas finally released me, his hand uncovering mine on his shoulder, moving down my arm until my hand was gripped firmly in his. The grip was almost too hard, but I understood the need I felt in his touch.
I turned to Conor, my back to Marcas as the Demon stood up carefully, his height and breadth impressive even next to Bezaliel.
Conor's gaze moved over us all, and I noted again the change in him. His eyes locked with Luther's briefly and something passed between them, but I didn't have time to wonder what Conor's connection was to the Demon.
"I think we should involve the S.O.S. in this," Conor said quickly. "They have as much invested in this battle as we do."
Bezaliel's head tilted.
"And you would know this how?" Bezaliel asked.
Conor stepped forward.
"Because I'm working with them now. The children of Lilith and Cain aren't the only Demon hybrids affected by the rift in Hell. There are many being destroyed."
This simple statement garnered a lot of attention. Marcas stepped up behind me.
"What about Gibson? Are you no longer working for the Director of the gargoyle Council?"
Conor avoided eye contact, his gaze meeting the floor before he looked up again. The strain in his gaze was obvious.
"We have our differences. Let's leave it at that."
Marcas didn't question him.
"Then call in Alessandro. We will meet in Italy."
"No," Conor countered. "Not Italy. There is too much going on at S.O.S. headquarters at the moment. I'll call him, but we should meet somewhere neutral. Where there are no sides."
There was no response from the group. And, in the end, when someone did step forward, it wasn't the fallen Angels, it wasn't the Demons, it wasn't Monroe, and it wasn't me. It was Amber.
"You can use the Abbey," she said softly. "It's a safe house now, and the Sisters have a lot to atone for."
Marcas looked at her, his gaze softening. We had all made mistakes. Amber had lost as much as the rest of us.
"The Abbey it is."
Sophia suddenly laughed, the sound cold and harsh.
"You seriously plan to open war on Hell?"
Marcas turned to her, and I had to fight back the jealousy I felt when their gazes locked. They had a history I could never be a part of, but it was a history that had molded Marcas into the hybrid he was now. And I was the one who had healed him. I was beginning to learn that love was complicated. It isn't always the burning, intense love at first sight kind of love that lasts forever. Sometimes it's the kind of love that heals, the kind that teaches people to accept one another despite their differences. Sophia had never been able to accept the Demon in Marcas.
"I plan to do more than open war on Hell. I plan to turn the place upside down."
Sophia shook her head.
"Your realm? Your people?"
Marcas didn't look away.
"Hell has as many hybrids as it does full-blooded Demons. Heaven has one hybrid and only one," Marcas said as he lifted my hand. I had a moment of loneliness, that hollow feeling that comes from knowing I was the only one of my kind, the only sane child born from an Angel/human relationship. "My people are not the full bloods in Hell. My people are the Demons being persecuted now because Lucifer is holding a grudge against my mother for her off-spring's actions."
"And you plan to save them?" Sophia asked.
Marcas shook his head.
"No, I plan to release them, give them a choice. Or offer them sanctuary depending on that same choice."
"Lucifer will kill you," Sophia breathed.
Marcas smiled.
"He can try."
Sophia's gaze moved to me, her eyes perusing my figure critically enough I had to fight not to squirm.
"And the Naphil? A relationship is out of the question. You understand that, right?"
I felt my jaw clench, but Marcas' hand tightened on mine, and I knew he was trying to keep me from intervening.
"She has a choice."
"No," Sophia said with a laugh. "No, she doesn't. She never has. None of us ever has."
The room fell silent. I looked from Sophia's face to Bezaliel's.
"What do you mean 'never has'?" I asked.
Bezaliel's expression remained neutral, his eyes sharp. His gaze moved once more to Marcas.
"There is a prophecy in Heaven."
Marcas didn't blink.
"A prophecy?" I asked.
Bezaliel's gaze remained locked on Marcas'.
"In the name of retribution, a relationship will arise between an Angel and a Demon. And, in the end, this relationship will destroy the world."
I froze, my eyes locked on the unblinking battle between my father and the man I had come to love. A prophecy? Is that why Sophia turned away from Marcas? Because a relationship with him could destroy life as we know it?
"I don't understand," I whispered.
Bezaliel turned to me, his gaze firm but sympathetic.
"Damon was seeking redemption. In so doing, he believed a child born of an Angel/Demon match would bring salvation to Lilith's hybrid children. What he never understood is that a match between an Angel and a Demon will do nothing more than destroy the Angel. She will have to deny Heaven."
I shook my head.
"She could choose Exile. They could both choose Exile. In Exile, there is neutrality," I argued.
Bezaliel stepped forward, but I moved away, my shoulder going into Marcas' side. His free hand found my shoulder.
"There is no neutrality in a relationship with a Demon. Both of you would be denying your races and creating a link between two worlds that should not be connected. Those of us who have chosen Exile have given up more than you will ever know. You do have the choice of Exile, but you cannot link yourself with a Demon. On Earth, there is good and there is evil. There is no middle ground. What happens if that line is blurred? Chaos. What happens if other Angels or other Demons decided that the rules no longer apply to them, that we can choose mates from other realms? The Exiles came to be because we chose human love over Heaven. What happens if an Angel chooses the love of a Demon over Heaven? War."
Bezaliel's gaze moved to Marcas once more.
"My condition?" he asked.
I stiffened. My father's words were convincing, strong, but they were his opinion. I wasn't sure I agreed. There was a lot of blurred lines and middle ground on Earth. And if he was suddenly trying to establish some fatherly protection slash intimidation, he was a little late in the game. Marcas' hand stayed glued to my shoulder.
"The choice is hers," Marcas answered firmly.
I f
elt like I was drowning. There was not enough air in the room, but I didn't falter. I kept my face even, my thoughts barred from anyone in the room who could read them. My father was asking too much. After everything we had been through, after everything we'd done, he was saying it had all been for nothing. He was asking me to forsake myself.
Someone turned and left the room. I didn't have to look to know it was Sophia.
Chapter 11
Scars are marks that infiltrate the skin. They are marks torn into the soul, leaving behind wounds that can never be healed.
~Bezaliel~
My old bedroom was just as I remembered it, small and terrifying. If it had ever been comforting, the comfort had been torn away from it by circumstance.
"It's a miserable feeling, isn't it?"
Amber's voice was soft when she entered the room, and I didn't turn around.
"It's like that night happened yesterday," I answered.
Amber moved up next to me, her shoulder resting just above mine.
"You know, if she was here, she'd know what to do," Amber whispered.
I looked up at Amber.
"Oh, she's here. Never doubt that."
Amber's eyes met mine.
"I don't doubt it."
We both turned forward again. There was a window just across the room from the door. It was small with a pink lace curtain that our mother used to knot in the middle. Decorative, she called it. I didn't know about decorative, but it had been pretty. Now, the curtain hung straight and pulled together, but the fabric was sheer enough, it was obvious night was falling outside. We would be leaving for the Abbey soon. It had been decided that waiting was pointless. Other than Amber and Monroe, none of us really needed sleep, and Conor was trained to do without it for days at a time.
"You should rest," I whispered to Amber.
She sighed.
"I don't do much of that these days. Nightmares."
She didn't have to say anything more. My own nightmares haunted me even during the day. Sometimes they were voices, other times they were images, memories.
"Dayton . . ." Amber began.