by R. K. Ryals
"I can do this. I can."
I reached for my light, but when I tried to call it to me, I was slammed hard into the ground. My temple hit the corridor, and my vision went temporarily dark. I struggled past the sluggishness. I wouldn't let her win. I couldn't! I felt her come for me again, claws digging into the back of my shirt. But then she recoiled, a screech filling the air, and I realized I'd hurt her. How?
A burning at my neck made me look down, and I caught sight of the necklace Monroe had given me, the quartz shining bright. I had forgotten it was there.
Lilith cursed as I began to slide so fast, the stone beneath me burned my skin. She was angry. I fought harder against the fall and glanced below anxiously.
My body went instantly cold.
Ahead, the corridor simply disappeared, like a cliff overlooking blackness. There were jagged edges in the path as if Lilith had used her fist to pound away the stone and dirt, leaving a drop-off. But we weren't in the pyramid, we were under it.
"That's not possible!" I cried out.
The shock of it numbed me. There couldn't be a cliff below ground. The path led to a chamber, didn't it? I should see only dirt or more path. There should have been more dirt or more path! But there wasn't.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"
I dug my nails into the ground harder, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the fall. Visions of my dream overwhelmed me. It was different and yet the same, fissures in the Earth, a fall into darkness. An illusion! That's it! This was an illusion. It had to be! There was nowhere for a drop-off to go. The laughter grew so loud, I cringed with the pain.
"Hell, my dear. It leads to Hell," Lilith cackled as my feet went over the drop-off.
I felt claws again, a nail digging into my skin as the Demon jerked Monroe's necklace from my neck with a hiss. It fell into the abyss below. My hands were no longer clutching stone, only darkness. I looked up into the empty corridor now fading above me and screamed.
Chapter 3
She has no love for the Naphil. She will scour the Earth, lay waste to anyone and anything that gets in her way. For she will not chance losing her son, nor his power, to human weakness.
~Bezaliel~
Blackness surrounded me, frantic screams ripping through the void as hot air tore at my hair, my clothes, my skin. Vaguely, I realized the screams were mine, and I wondered why I even bothered. Hell. Lilith was sending me to Hell.
I felt a tear slide down my cheek as I flailed, wishing desperately for wings I knew I didn't have. I couldn't go like this! Not this way! Marcas was right. I deserved a choice. Another tear slid down my cheek, and I stopped screaming.
I closed my eyes, growing limp as I realized flailing only made me fall faster. I couldn't go like this! The air was hard, punishing, hot . . . I was falling, faster and faster . . . .
And then it stopped . . . Just like that . . . .
An arm suddenly wrapped around my waist, hard and sure, and I started screaming again. Oh, God! This was it. I was in Hell now. She was damning me! I struggled against the grip.
"Dayton!" a low voice hissed into my ear, and my screams stopped, transforming into sudden, gripping sobs. The air had quit tearing at me, and I felt myself being twisted abruptly in mid-air before moving upward.
"Oh my God, Marcas! Oh, God! Please! Don't let go! Please, don't let go!" I begged as I wrapped my hands around his arm and squeezed so hard I knew I had to be leaving marks.
He adjusted his flight to accommodate me, and I sobbed louder. My body was wracked with overwhelming tears. The emotions were too much, too fast.
I felt Marcas' grip tighten.
"I'm not letting go, Dayton. I'm not letting go," Marcas said against my ear, and I sobbed harder.
It was a weak moment for me, and I hated myself for it. But I wasn't going to try and hold it back any longer. I was the Queen of Holding Back, and I was tired of that role. Holding it back meant keeping it in, and what good was weakness when left bound? Eventually, it tears you apart.
Every phobia I had ever had was being thrown at me by a vindictive female Demon in one hateful, single-handed move, and I wasn't going to fake a calmness I wasn't feeling. I was panicked, I was scared, and I was disoriented.
And I was flying!
Well . . . Marcas was flying. I was just the cargo, but it was still a new experience, a new terrifying hurdle for me. Although, next to falling, flying seemed as tame as petting a puppy.
I could feel Marcas' breathing against my back, and I tried to calm the sobs. I was alive, I wasn't in Hell, and we still had to get the ring.
"Just breathe, Dayton," Marcas whispered, and I gulped in a breath so fast it made me choke. I tried again, slower this time. The air was so musty, so stale, it didn't help much.
"Lilith," I breathed.
It was all I could manage, but it was enough. I felt an angry vibration in Marcas' chest.
"She's had her fun. Next time, we fight together."
My foot touched something solid, and I risked a glance only to discover we were back in the tunnel we'd started out in. Where the drop-off had been, there was only more tunnel. I turned to look up at Marcas and grimaced. My head pounded, and the wounds I'd received before the fall felt raw and uncomfortable. The pain relief provided by adrenaline was wearing off.
Marcas looked as rough as I felt. His head was bleeding from a small gash on his temple, and his shirt was ripped over the wound in his bicep. I didn't even look to see what other wounds he had because I knew exactly where they were and how badly they hurt. The bond had its disadvantages. My gaze moved to Marcas' back, and I frowned.
"You don't have wings."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt stupid for saying them. Wings? After everything that had just happened, I was worried about wings? Amazing how the mind copes with disaster! Especially mine. I felt my face go red. Marcas' eyes brightened, and I stared at him in disbelief. Was he trying not to smile?
"Wings are mostly a myth, Blainey. Most Demons don't have them. Neither do Angels. Only specific Angels and Demons have wings, and the only Demons who have them are the ones who fell from Heaven," Marcas answered as he turned away from me, his gaze on the descending tunnel below. I stared at the back of his dust-covered black t-shirt, my mind whirring. So flying was possible without wings? Did that mean . . . oh no, soooo not going there!
Marcas turned back toward me and held out his hand. I gazed at it a moment before looking past him at the invisible drop-off and then back at his hand. I took it gratefully. And this time, I wasn't letting go.
"The cliff?" I asked as we descended beyond my fall point. Marcas glanced over his shoulder at the now smooth tunnel.
"A portal," Marcas answered. "Lilith opened a portal to Hell."
He left it at that, and I forced myself not to ask any more questions. What good would it do? A portal? Did this mean Marcas had the same ability? How had he found me? Where was Lilith now? Should I care, or should I just be glad I was still alive and let it go?
Marcas suddenly surprised me by snorting, and I knew he was laughing in his own deep, unreadable way. My mouth fell open. After all of my attempts at drawing out humor, and he found this moment funny? Oh, okay . . . well, it would have to do. His amusement made my heart feel light, and I couldn't help but smile. He was laughing! Ha! I wanted to shout, "I did it!" But I was afraid I'd just end up looking ridiculous. I settled for gloating silently.
"You can't help it, can you, Blainey?" he asked, and I knew he meant the myriad of questions I was fighting not to ask. I half-grimaced, half-grinned.
"Is it that obvious?"
He didn't answer, just lowered himself down into a new tunnel before reaching up to help me navigate the drop. Our eyes met briefly before he started moving again.
"Any Demon worth his grain of salt can open a portal to Hell. It's especially easy when underground," Marcas said finally. I took that in.
"Because Hell is underground?" I asked.
"No and yes.
You cannot dig to the center of the Earth and discover Hell or travel to space and discover Heaven. Both are there, but they are on a different plane. A much different plane. Not a different dimension. We all exist together. Just a different plane. Angels and Demons can see humans, but humans cannot see our kind without us making it obvious."
I nodded at Marcas' back, my hand gripping his a little too hard in my attempt to concentrate on the new information while continuing to move forward. But I didn't mind the distraction. It kept me from re-living the fall, kept my heart from beating too hard, too fast. As it was, my pulse was still too quick, and I knew the faintness I felt would only get worse if I let myself dwell on it. I gritted my teeth.
"And Lilith?" I asked.
Marcas stopped moving, his body turning toward me so fast, it was a blur. It took me a moment to realize his finger had lifted my chin. His eyes were red.
"There's a reason she wants me, Blainey. Remember that. I am born of two worlds, my power a conduit between a cursed man of God and a woman created by God who chose Demonhood. I'm a loose cannon. Not the Demon she'd like me to be, but I'm also not a man, and I have too much power to be undecided. She's afraid of me. And she will have me choose. What happened in the tunnel is best left between Lilith and me," Marcas said, his voice so low I had to fight to hear his words.
His eyes stayed locked on mine for several moments, and I ignored the urge to squirm. If he was trying to be intimidating, it was working. I nodded, and he dropped my chin. He was asking me to let it go, and yet, as he turned away, I still found myself asking the question, "What happened between them?" Lilith wouldn't risk us getting the ring. What had made her back off?
"The chamber is just ahead," Marcas said, and I shook myself hard.
The chamber? Finally! I tried looking around Marcas, but could only see brief glimpses of a large opening in the distance. Even so, it made my shoulders feel lighter. The ring! We were finally going to get the ring!
Marcas slid a little on the path before bracing, and I followed carefully, my eyes catching sight of the slick tunnel floor as I stepped. Most of the corridor had been lined with notched stone to help maneuver the descending passageways, but here and there, the stone had been worn away until the floor was nothing more than a slide. I was surprised I hadn't noticed the smooth areas before. Or maybe I was just noticing the minute stuff now because I needed to. A survivor's mentality. Focus on the small stuff rather than dwelling on the traumatic. I was becoming good at that.
My face suddenly smashed into Marcas' back as he stopped abruptly. I rubbed my nose in irritation and was just about to thump him when I felt the growl building up in his chest. My heart rate picked up, a now chaotic staccato in my ears. What now?
"Fuck!" Marcas said under his breath, and I peered around him hesitantly, my jaw dropping at the sight that met my eyes.
There, leaning just inside the chamber's entrance, his arms crossed and a wry smile twisting his full, masculine lips was a well-built, blond-haired man, his face chiseled, his nose strong. He was tall, maybe taller than Marcas, but it was hard to tell from my position. His eyes were blue. And he glowed. He actually glowed, the light highlighting his features and making his skin appear bronzed. And I couldn't help but be enthralled. Not by the man's appearance, but by the two of them: Marcas and the stranger.
Conor and Marcas were dark and light, but this man and Marcas were iridescence and midnight personified. I watched them eye each other silently, their eyes speaking words my mind couldn't follow. The golden stranger pushed away from the wall.
"Did you really think it'd be that easy, Dark One?"
Marcas moved forward slowly, his gaze on the man as we approached the opening. The stranger was even more impressive the closer we became, and I had to close my eyes just long enough to disable the night vision. His glow illuminated the area.
"Lucas," Marcas said as we neared the entrance. I knew my eyes were wide. Lucas glanced away from Marcas and studied me for a moment in silence. I couldn't have torn my eyes away even if I wanted to. It wasn't the man, it was the glow. Something about it . . . .
Marcas stepped between us.
"Who sent you?" Marcas asked, and I heard Lucas laugh, the sound so harmoniously masculine, it made the spine tingle. And yet, pleasant as it was, it made me shudder.
"You think He wants you to get the ring, Marcas? You truly believe He'd let a Demon have what He created for a king?" Lucas asked.
Lucas didn't have to elaborate on the "He." The Creator of the ring was obvious. But, then, this meant Lucas was an . . . .
"You're here for more than that, Lucas. He wouldn't send you," Marcas said coldly. I leaned over just enough to see past Marcas' shoulder. Lucas' expression had turned thoughtful, wicked even.
"Oh, He didn't send me," Lucas answered, his hand lifting to point just inside the chamber.
My eyes followed his gesture, and I swallowed hard. There was no doubt what Lucas was and here . . . another one. Another Angel. And not just any Angel, but a woman, a beautiful woman with long golden hair, surprisingly petite, with golden skin and a round face. Every curve of her body was infused with a gracefulness I instantly envied. Even standing motionless, she was graceful, her body enfolded in a long, flowing white dress. I knew immediately the clothes were for show. The male Angel sported jeans and an un-tucked, blue button-up shirt. As unkempt as Lucas was, I knew the dress wasn't necessary.
The female's eyes were on Marcas, and I watched as she smiled sweetly, her gaze somewhat sad. Marcas didn't move, although the grip he had on my hand had tightened considerably. I fought not to bite my tongue to keep from crying out and spoiling the moment even though I knew it wouldn't matter. I had more than enough wounds to tempt him, and he had done a bang up job of ignoring it until now. Maybe he was getting used to me.
I looked up into Marcas' face and paused. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had gone an interesting shade of black. I hadn't seen this before, and it stunned me. What the hell?
My gaze moved from Marcas to the Angel and back again, my pulse increasing as I waited for one of them to speak. It was Marcas who finally broke the silence.
"Sophia."
It was only one word, but it held centuries of torment. I felt my blood run cold. So this was the elusive Sophia, the tragic beauty who had chosen Heaven over a broken Demon—a Demon who'd fought his own kind to keep her with him. I looked at her, studied her more closely this time and found no faults. It was like staring at a perfect piece of china, so beautiful, so flawless, that the only thing I wanted to do with it was throw it against a wall and watch it shatter. Boy, the temptation was strong.
I let my gaze drop and lifted it only long enough to peer at Lucas, the golden Angel, who watched the whole scene with twinkling eyes and a playful smirk. It was almost as if he were engrossed in a painful, but interesting movie. All he needed was a bowl full of buttered popcorn. He was enjoying this. I frowned at the injustice. He stirred as he felt my gaze on him, and his eyes caught mine. I felt an overwhelming need to break the silence, and I moved in front of Marcas.
"If He sent her, then who sent you?"
Lucas shoved away from the wall and winked.
"Bezaliel, my dear."
It wasn't the answer I was expecting, and I felt my stomach clench, the gnawing I fought so hard to ignore during moments of despair suddenly overwhelmed me. Bezaliel. My father.
Chapter 4
I was not prepared to have her involved in the ensuing battle. My choices have brought her to this. I will not be forbidden entry to her life.
~Bezaliel~
I stood stunned. My father? Now? He chose now to become involved? I felt torn between resentment, relief, and an undeniable urge to laugh. It's strange. I thought I wanted my father to interfere, to be the hero all little girls expect their fathers to be. But now? I had spent seven years thinking my father was dead, had spent endless nights wrestling dreams I was now sure he had sent me, had finally begun to find closure only
to discover my life had been a lie. I'd battled Demons, and had discovered my soul was in danger of damnation. And now, now he wanted to be my hero.
No! Now, I wanted to do this alone. I needed to do this alone. The revelation had me staring hard at Lucas.
"No," I whispered, my voice strong despite the unease eating away at my gut. No, I was tired of having my choices taken away from me. This adventure was mine now, the good and the bad. I shook my head, my mind whirring as I silently cursed my father. Why now after everything that had happened, after all the dangers, all the close calls?
Marcas' free hand came to rest on my shoulder, his gaze never leaving Sophia's, and I realized my turmoil must have shown. I fought to school my features.
"Where's the ring, Lucas?" Marcas asked, his voice low and threatening. There was violence brewing beneath his words, and I almost welcomed it. I hadn't left my friends battling Demons in Italy to be diverted by two Angels with their own agenda. Lucas smiled.
"My job isn't the ring, Marcas."
Marcas pulled me into him, his stance protective.
"The girl isn't interested."
Marcas' tone was final, his gaze still fixed on Sophia as she began to inch forward. With every step she took, Marcas' grip on my hand tightened, and I found myself concentrating on the tension I felt in his touch. His edginess had me peering at Sophia from the corner of my eye only to discover she was staring at my hand joined with Marcas', her glorious brow creased with wariness. I felt no pity for her.
"Marc," I heard Sophia whisper, and I glanced up at Marcas' face to find his eyes so dark I could see the approaching Angel's reflection in their depths. The blackness was eerie, reminding me of a still pond at night illuminated only by the light of the moon.