Retribution (Redemption Series)

by Ryals, R. K.

  She paused, and I knew by the way she fluttered her hands that she was too nervous to continue. I turned and looked at her, my eyes finding hers. She avoided my gaze.

  "What?" I asked finally.

  Amber looked at me, her eyes wide and terrified.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked.

  I knew she was referring to the decision I was being forced to make concerning Marcas. I didn't have the answer. I knew what I wanted to do. It would have to be enough for now.

  "I saw her," I said suddenly.

  Amber looked startled.

  "Saw who?"

  "Mom."

  Amber grabbed me by the arms.

  "What? When?"

  I swallowed hard.

  "In the Seal. It was an image, a vision of her death. Damon killed her, Amber. Drained her of blood."

  I watched as Amber bit back a sob, her blue eyes shining. The image in the Seal had been a hard one for me, but I had been somewhat prepared. Marcas had shown me in Hell what had happened to our mother. Amber was learning about it for the first time.

  "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

  I stared at her.

  "Because you said if she was here she'd know what to do," I answered, my face serious. "And then . . . and then you asked me what I was going to do."

  I looked toward the bed, the same bed Amber and I had shared as children, a flashlight between us when our sitter had walked into the room the night our parents had died. My eyes skirted the frilly, pink comforter. Nothing about the room had been changed, and I wondered briefly if Bezaliel had done something to ensure it would never be lived in by anyone else.

  I followed the flowing lines of lace at the comforter's edge, letting my gaze move to the floor, past an old lipstick stain I'd caused when stealing my mother's red tube of Scarlet Heaven lip balm before moving back to Amber's face.

  "There was a moment in the Seal when the image of mom's death changed. One moment she was gone, the next her face transformed, her eyes opened, and her lips moved."

  Amber leaned forward, sucking in a deep breath before holding it.

  "Did she say anything?"

  I nodded.

  "Two words. Only two words," I said, my eyes locked on hers. "Save him."

  Amber exhaled.

  "Wow."

  I looked away, and neither one of us spoke after that. At one point, I felt her hand take mine, and we just stood there that way, hands together, taking a minute to say goodbye to a moment in our lives that had changed us forever. It was a moment that separated us, it was a moment that brought us closer together, and it was a moment that renewed our relationship.

  "You two always did have a thing for this room," a low voice said from behind us, and I cringed.

  Amber stiffened. Bezaliel might be my real father, but he had taken the identity of Amber's father, forced himself into her life.

  "I always loved you like my own," Bezaliel breathed, and I knew he was talking to Amber.

  She didn't answer him. Instead, she slid her hand from mine, gave me a small smile, and walked out of the room. I didn't want her to go, but I wasn't going to force her to stay. I didn't turn around.

  "You've impressed me, Dayton."

  If the words were supposed to make me feel better, they didn't.

  "Why didn't you come?" I asked. "Why did you leave us behind?"

  Bezaliel sighed.

  "It was too dangerous for me to stay. Especially for you. If I had remained, the forces who wanted you would have come sooner. As it was, Lilith wanted you dead from the beginning. As much as I wanted to take you with me, you were safer at the Abbey. Your aunt's insanity was a protection in itself. She would not let Amber or you come to harm, not while you were too young to be useful to Damon."

  I turned around.

  "And Marcas?"

  Bezaliel stepped toward me. His green eyes looked so much like mine it was scary. His auburn hair was too long, thick curls touching his shoulders as he shook his head.

  "I was not prepared for him. He has a long history, Dayton. He was a tool used by his mother to kill, to pave a way for himself in Hell. Then, many centuries ago, he was in a battle with two Angels, one of them Sophia. In the end, he fell in love with her. The rules in Heaven about a relationship between an Angel and a Demon are concrete. It is forbidden. Sophia made the right choice."

  Bezaliel painted an eerie picture, an image of a murdering Demon transformed by love.

  "He isn't evil."

  I said it with confidence. Bezaliel didn't disagree.

  "No, I do not believe he is. When Sophia refused him, he did not go back to Hell the way many of us expected. He went to Earth. He turned his back on all orders from Hell. He even swore vengeance on anyone who attempted to bring him back to the Underworld. It was not until his mother ordered your death that he returned. You were only a child then."

  He paused, and I looked away. Only a child. An image of my parents' burial was suddenly vivid in my mind, and I remembered the figure at the edge of the trees, the red eyes.

  "He wouldn't let her kill me."

  "No," Bezaliel said. "He would not. That is when I knew you were safer at the Abbey. I never thought Damon would one day bind you to his brother."

  "I hated him for it," I said. "Once."

  "It cannot happen, Dayton."

  I knew what Bezaliel meant, and I ignored him. Instead, I pulled an Amber move. I slipped past him and left the room. There were noises downstairs. The sound of plans being made. Sophia was arguing with Lucas. Monroe was talking in low tones to Conor. The walls in this house had always been too thin.

  "War in Hell? What? He wants to rule now?" Sophia spat.

  "He could, you know. A kingdom of Exiled Demons. It's not impossible," Lucas answered.

  I moved to the top of the stairs and looked down. There, at the bottom, was Marcas. He was leaning against the wall, his stance casual, his eyes tinged red. His brother stood next to him.

  I felt awkward suddenly. In moments when death was near, we had both admitted to loving the other. Now, the words felt . . . impossible maybe?

  "Maybe not," Sophia conceded.

  "Look at him, Soph. He's been bred to rule. He's been a rebel of Hell most of his existence. A Demon ruler. He knows how to lead."

  I backed away from the stairs. If Marcas knew I was there, he chose not to look up, and I was glad he didn't. A Demon ruler. It was right. He was a born leader. The hybrids deserved a choice. If Angels could choose Exile, so could Demons.

  I looked down one final time, my eyes skimming the top of Marcas' black hair. He still didn't glance up, but Luther did. And when Luther's dark green eyes met mine, I saw the challenge there. Luther was a strange one. He didn't fit a mold. He wasn't a leader, and he wasn't a follower. But he cared. I could sense that, and I could see the same message in his eyes that I had seen on my mother's lips in the Seal. Save him.

  I wasn't so sure it was Marcas that needed saving. I was actually pretty damn sure it was me.

  Chapter 12

  A hybrid war on Hell. It is a wild scheme with promise. An Exiled kingdom of Demons would throw the war between Heaven and Hell in Heaven's favor. It could secure years of peace on Earth.

  ~Bezaliel~

  "I couldn't have normal friends," Monroe mumbled a few hours later as she yawned into her open palm.

  It was just past midnight in November, and the night was cloudy, cold, and wet. Lucas and Sophia had flown ahead to the Abbey. Amber had driven herself using Monroe's car that had been parked in the drive. I didn't ask anyone how her Cadillac had gotten there. When the bond between Marcas and I had been broken, he had been trapped in the Seal and I had been incredibly ill for a week. There was no telling what I had missed.

  "Oh, just admit you love it. Normal is boring," Conor said with a wink as he jabbed Monroe in the back.

  She threw him a look before wrapping her hand around the amulet at her neck. She had been doing that a lot lately. I was beginning t
o think it made her feel safe.

  Luther stepped out of the shadows, his figure stoic against the cloudy night, his green eyes shining. Monroe's eyes followed him. I bumped into her, and she jumped.

  "Everything okay?" I asked.

  Monroe nodded.

  "Yeah, he just gives me the heebie jeebies."

  I laughed. I couldn't help it. There were times I felt that way about Marcas. Even beneath the compassion I'd seen in both Marcas and Luther, even beneath the good things they had done, I could sense the danger, the barely veiled restraint.

  "They're Demons. They're supposed to be scary," I whispered in her ear.

  She shot me the same look she'd shot Conor.

  "Ready?" Bezaliel asked suddenly from behind us, and Monroe jumped again.

  "Okay, that does it," she grumbled. "I need sleep."

  But, even as she said the words, she nodded at my father. Bezaliel held his arms out to her, and she stepped toward him. It had been decided that Monroe would fly with Bezaliel. After our jaunt in Egypt, Monroe wasn't new to the "everyone in her life could fly" thing anymore. And after mine and Marcas' fight with Damon, it was a power I was now somewhat comfortable with myself. I hadn't attempted flying since the bond had been broken, but I didn't want help.

  "Stay low. The cloud cover will hide you. There is no need to go high," a voice said from behind my shoulder, and I shivered.

  "Good," I grumbled.

  Marcas walked around me and looked at the sky.

  "She's watching," Luther murmured.

  Marcas nodded, and Conor stepped in front of them.

  "Let's go," Conor said, his back straight as bat-like wings suddenly unfurled from his shoulders.

  They were large wings, dark and leathery, that stretched from his shoulder blades to just past his knees. It was the first time I had ever seen Conor's wings other than quick glances from the corners of my eyes, and I hoped to God that my mouth wasn't hanging open.

  "Freaky, right?" Monroe asked as Bezaliel's feet lifted off the ground.

  Monroe closed her eyes and held on tight with one hand while the other stayed wrapped around her amulet. I caught a glimpse of Luther watching her, his eyes alight with amusement before he too took to the air.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the spot in my chest I had come to know so well. The light jumped out at me, moving along my limbs in an electric current that made the hair on my arms stand on end. It was a comforting feeling, and I settled into it as I felt my feet come off the ground. It was easier than I thought it would be, flying. Even unbound, my power was second nature to me.

  "Low," Marcas repeated as he lifted.

  I nodded at him once, and we were off. The air was crisp, but it was Mississippi and a warmer winter than usual. I had showered since my conversation with my father and Amber, and I was glad now I had chosen to do that rather than using my magic to clean myself. I felt more put together than I think I would have if I hadn't.

  Monroe had given me a pink sweatshirt with a picture of Betty Boop on the front. There was a halo above her head with wings on her back, and her hands were thrown up into the air. A tagline underneath her heeled feet simply read, "Whatever!" The humor in it was not missed, but it was an old shirt, and I knew by the way it kept sliding off my shoulder that it was Monroe's. She was taller than me and definitely more built, so the shirt hung, especially now that I had lost weight. The jeans I had on were better. They were loose, but they were mine, brought from the Abbey by Amber during my illness.

  "You're tired," Marcas said suddenly from beside me, and I looked over at him.

  He didn't look any different now than he had the first time I had met him. He was dark, his hair midnight, his eyes a dark blue that shone red when his emotions changed. He was clean now, his jeans and typical black tee fitted but whole. No rips, no sign that he had just recently been locked away in a Seal facing Demons no one should ever have to face.

  "And you're not?" I asked.

  He didn't answer. I waited for a sarcastic reply, something about Demons never tiring, but it never came.

  "Who is watching us? Lilith?" I asked.

  I was making conversation. Typical Dayton version of avoiding awkward moments. Marcas nodded.

  "She fears us," he said.

  There was no conceit in his tone, no superior inflection to his words. He was only stating the truth. Lilith, Demon queen, the mother of thousands of powerful hybrids, was afraid. And she had every right to be.

  I wanted to fly away from him, maybe say something that would make him move, but I couldn't. It didn't matter what Bezaliel said, my connection to Marcas was too strong for that. We had been to Hell and back again together. Literally. How do you walk away from that?

  "Would it be corny to admit I'm afraid too?" I asked, my voice light, playful even.

  A corner of Marcas' mouth tilted upward.

  "Thinking too much again, Blainey?"

  "Of course," I admitted.

  Our gazes locked.

  "Overanalyzing?"

  I smiled.

  "Always."

  Marcas' gaze moved forward.

  "Don't, Blainey. Don't over think it."

  We both knew what he was talking about.

  "It's easier for me," he said suddenly, and I looked at him, startled.

  "Easier?"

  He didn't look at me.

  "What I plan to do now will change things in Hell. It will change the way hybrids think. It will change alliances. It will give me a place, a purpose."

  The wind beat against my face, and I put a hand against my cold cheek, the warmth seeping from my palm to my face. It was a temporary comfort.

  "That's good, right?"

  The landscape below us changed, and I noticed we were lowering. I had been distracted and hadn't noticed the Abbey's sudden appearance in the night. It was disconcerting seeing the place so soon after losing Damon, after losing part of myself. My feet touched the ground, and I gasped as I felt Marcas' lips on my ear, his chest against my back, a hand wrapped around my arm.

  "I'm not the one who needs saving," he whispered.

  And with that, he was gone, my thoughts left in chaos. And when I looked up, it was my father's eyes gazing into mine.

  Chapter 13

  The moment she was born, I knew she would change the world. An aberration. She was supposed to be an aberration. Her mother knew better. The day her mother laid her in my arms, I saw what she already knew. She was my redemption.

  ~Bezaliel~

  The Abbey was aglow. It surprised me at first because the Abbey was always dark, but the moment I saw Sister Mary standing at the door, her face lit up in a grin, I knew the Abbey would never be dark again.

  "Dayton," she said softly when I approached her.

  I had never gotten to know Sister Mary that well, and I was glad now that I hadn't. All of the Sisters had been cheated out of a big part of their lives. They had been controlled for years by something dark, sinister, obsessive, and they now had to do the same thing the rest of us had to do—start over.

  Mary was a smiling woman, a dimple in a lined, middle-aged face. She had short hair like the rest of the Sisters and it was dark, a very deep shade of chestnut. She still wore the robes that marked her as a part of the Sect, but she wore them proudly now, and I could see the new leadership role she bore in the way she held herself straight and proud.

  "Sister Mary," I replied with a nod.

  She stepped back and held the door wide, her smile faltering only when Marcas and Luther ducked into the room. The Demons frightened her.

  "You can use the refectory," Mary said brightly. "There's a group already there. Waiting. They arrived the day before yesterday."

  My confusion was evident.

  "Alessandro," Conor said as he moved past me.

  I looked at his back, the bat-like wings gone now with no trace that they had ever been there.

  "That fast?" I asked.

  Conor had mentioned calling in the lead
er of the S.O.S at my childhood home, but that had been hours ago. There was no way the S.O.S. could get here that quickly from Italy.

  Conor glanced back at me, his expression a sheepish one.

  "I called him when Marcas was trapped in the Seal. It seemed only right they be involved. The Swords of Solomon have a lot invested in the ring, and in this whole new wild plan."

  Marcas walked quietly past me, his hand landing on Conor's shoulder.

  "You did the right thing. Alessandro is a strong ally."

  No one argued with that.

  "It's a good thing I feel the same way about you, Demonio," a deep voice said, and we all looked up to find Alessandro standing casually in the hallway just outside the refectory door. Inside, the tables gleamed, food laid out for anyone who needed it. There were men at the table, most of them I didn't know and a few I only recognized by sight. No names.

  Marcas and Alessandro clasped hands, the shake firm but careful. There would never be a fully trusting relationship between the two of them, but they respected each other. That much was obvious.

  "I have just heard this crazy little piece of information about a Civil War and Hell," Alessandro stated evenly as he motioned us all into the room. "I have to admit when Conor told me you were trapped in the ring, I didn't expect to see you again. But we came anyway. Now that you are out, I'm even more shocked to find you so willing to fight your own people."

  People stood as we entered, and I saw Lucas and Sophia standing along the side of the room, their heads held high. They had obviously filled the members of the S.O.S. in on Marcas' plan.

  "Are you really so surprised, Ander?" Marcas asked, his brow raised.

  Alessandro laughed.

  "Maybe not so surprised."

  "He is a good liar, my son. He wasn't surprised in the least," a clear, Italian voice said, and I felt my heart soar. Maria!

  Maria was Alessandro's mother, and an old earthly flame of Marcas'. She was an old woman and wise. She had the Sight, the ability to tell the difference between mortals, Angels, and Demons. I trusted her implicitly. She was sitting at the table when we came in, but she stood now carefully before making her way over to our group. Her eyes met mine.