Ransom (Redemption Series)

by R. K. Ryals

  I fought to tear my eyes away from the hypnotizing orbs, letting my gaze travel slowly down the line of his jaw only to discover the muscles there were as tense as his eyes were black.

  Marc, she had called him. The name was enough to agitate him, and it was while watching the way his muscles clenched, the way his midnight eyes shined with her reflection that I felt a stirring of sympathy. There were emotions in those dark eyes I couldn't even begin to fathom. This wasn't right!

  I looked around at the three of them—the two Angels and the Demon—and I frowned. My father's interference . . .Sophia . . . this whole thing was unfair to Marcas and to me. We were being thrown into an emotional undertow and being asked to swim back to shore without drowning. I didn't know about Marcas, but I had never been a strong swimmer.

  I suddenly felt like Rose in the movie Titantic, and the overwhelming sinking feeling had me scooting even closer to the Demon at my side. He certainly wasn't Jack, and I was, by all means, no Rose, but I still found myself returning his inflexible grip. Whatever we were to each other, no matter the complications the bond had caused us, no matter which team each of us happened to play for, we were still in this together whether we wanted to be or not. It was strangely comforting knowing that if I drowned, I wasn't drowning alone. My gaze moved back to Lucas.

  "You can tell my father I don't need the help."

  Lucas' eyes narrowed.

  "You don't have any idea what you're up against," Lucas said as he began to approach us, his gaze condescending.

  I stood my ground, determined not to look cowed. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I hadn't bound myself to the Demon. It had been done without my knowledge. His words echoed through my thoughts, "You don't have any idea what you're up against." He was wrong.

  "Don't I?"

  Lucas paused, his discerning gaze considering me with a self-possession I found irritating, and I met his stare evenly, my face confident. I had just fallen into a portal to Hell. He was badly mistaken if he thought I wasn't aware of the dangers I was facing.

  I could hear Sophia approaching from across the interior chamber, but I ignored her. Beautiful or not, I didn't know her, and I was not wowed. My concern was Marcas.

  "Do you still love her?" I asked him in a low whisper as she drew nearer, my eyes frozen on Lucas. It must have been a strange scene—a Demon and his bound Naphil facing off against two glowing Angels. Marcas shifted, his posture defensive as Sophia moved up next to Lucas.

  "Now is not the time for questions, Blainey," he hissed as we perused the golden pair.

  I shrugged. The answer shouldn't be important to me anyway. "But it is, isn't it, Day?"

  I shook my head. I just wanted to know where his loyalties lie. Right? This was getting beyond complicated.

  "Daughter of Bezaliel," Sophia said, nodding slightly in my direction. Her voice was lyrical, and I grimaced. Wrong introduction.

  "Dayton. I'm just Dayton."

  "Dayton," she conceded, her warm gaze moving from my face to Marcas. She studied him a moment from head to toe, her eyes taking him in slowly before finally coming to rest solely on his face.

  "I can't let you have the ring, Marc."

  I heard the growl before I felt it running down into my hand. And I knew instinctively that Marcas was pissed.

  "Do you think I want it?" he asked, his expression neutral. "Do you truly believe I crave that kind of power?"

  Sophia didn't answer, her face suddenly as unreadable as Marcas'. Her lack of response caused a tremor in Marcas' hand that belied the calmness in his features.

  "You disappoint me, Sophia. I thought you knew me better than that."

  Marcas let the sharp words hang there for a moment between them, a cutting reminder of the past they shared together. To Sophia's credit, she didn't flinch.

  "You accuse me unjustly, Marc. No one knows you that well. Even I," she said, her words just as sharp as his, a silent implication to a memory only they shared. They were simple words, but it was enough to make the inscrutable Marcas suddenly easy to discern, his fierce anger evident. His eyes turned red.

  "And the daughter of Bezaliel?" he asked, blatantly ignoring Sophia's personal observation. "What's supposed to happen to her without the ring?"

  I glanced sharply in his direction, the careless way he referred to me smarting more than I cared to admit. I wasn't as composed as Marcas' old sweetheart. I flinched. Sophia, on the other hand, gave him a demure smile, the edges of her eyes tinged with sorrow.

  "I have sympathy for the Naphil, but the risk is great. You honestly think you could overcome the ring's temptation?"

  I looked away from the group, my heart a sudden lump in my throat. Naphil. Daughter of Bezaliel. There were times I felt like nothing more than an oddity, an experiment everyone wanted to try but was afraid to risk. What were these Angels trying to do? I glanced at them, my gaze hard as I studied their features.

  "You'd be surprised what I can overcome," Marcas answered next to me.

  Lucas snorted as he nudged the female Angel next to him playfully.

  "The Demon has a point, Soph. He has been watched since his conception. That's a lot of eyes. Yours included," Lucas said, his voice full of an impish derision I couldn't place. Sophia's eyes hardened.

  "You overstep your bounds, Luke," she warned, her voice firm.

  My face grew hot. We were on a quest, not a "lover's reunite" jam session. Had they been lovers? Ugh! This was becoming too personal, and I was tired of the games.

  "Where's the ring?" I asked coldly.

  All eyes turned my way. One look at my expression, and Lucas' gaze filled with laughter, Sophia's glinted dangerously, and Marcas was, once again, unreadable. I lifted a brow, my question clearly visible. I didn't give a damn what they thought. The three of them could play the he-said-she-said, he-did-she-did game later. I was feeling terribly out of place and it made me irate. I just wanted the ring.

  "Any day now," I snarled.

  Lucas chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly.

  "Well, she's a direct one."

  The banter made me scowl. I wasn't amused.

  "She has a name, and she wants a straight answer from someone other than the Demon I'm supposed to hate. If you two glowing orbs are supposed to be the good guys, now would be a great time to prove it," I said, my gaze fixed on Sophia's. I wasn't interested in Lucas. Whatever reasons my father had for sending him, he wasn't the one standing in our way. Sophia eyed me with growing interest.

  "And you think my keeping the ring from you proves I'm the bad guy?" she asked.

  My expression never wavered. I wasn't giving her the satisfaction of seeing me falter, and I wasn't about to start questioning myself, questioning all of the decisions I had made up to this point. I eased closer to Sophia.

  "I'll be blunt. I'm new to this whole Angel gig, I have daddy issues, I've been bound unknowingly to a Demon, and I've been dragged on a journey that's supposed to ultimately lead to a ring with the power to unbind us. At this point, the ring isn't up for debate. Where is it?"

  Sophia's eyes narrowed, her gaze taking me in, and I stood as tall as my five foot frame would allow me. I knew, without a doubt, that the sight before her wasn't a pretty one. My body had inadvertently been through Marcas' battle with a Demon I never saw, had been dragged down a tunnel by Lilith's invisible hands, and had been smashed against a stone floor. Even if my wounds had started to heal, I was still covered in blood, sand, and whatever other unimaginable substances I had encountered in my Indiana Jones-like romp through Hell. But, dammit, I was alive!

  "You question me, Naphil?" Sophia asked, her tone harsh. "You question the Creator?"

  I eyed her in disbelief. Was she accusing me of blasphemy? I chose to ignore the barbed comment.

  "The ring, Angel," I said, my voice still firm. She had chosen the wrong girl to intimidate with religious piety. I wasn't questioning God.

  Sophia shook her head, her gaze avoiding mine as she turned to face the Demon next
to me. Anger consumed me, and I fought not to lash out, my teeth skimming my tongue as I calculated which would be worse—tempting a Demon with fresh blood or hitting an Angel. I bit my tongue. Marcas' jaw tightened, and I grinned slightly as Sophia pointed at the two of us.

  "You really believe this is your only option? You have no idea what the ring would do to either of you. She has Demon in her now, Marc. If it failed to purge the blood, you have no idea what that could mean for the rest of us."

  The implication in Sophia's tone made the slight satisfaction I got out of irritating Marcas null and void. Was she saying I might end up a tool of Hell? I looked incredulously at Marcas, but he seemed completely unaffected.

  "If she doesn't die from the purge attempt, then she will be more an asset to Heaven than she will be to Hell. The ring binds Demons, Sophia, unless worn by a Demon. Dayton, by nature, is not a Demon."

  "But she is bound to one," Sophia argued.

  "And you think this makes her your enemy? You Angels have no idea what binding is, what it means."

  "It means you possess her."

  I snorted. She was kidding, right? My reaction had Sophia momentarily confused, her gaze once again on our joined hands. Puzzled furrows developed between her brows.

  "Are you saying she is with you now by choice?"

  Marcas nodded as Lucas leaned forward slightly, his interest in our conversation growing. I was flabbergasted by their reaction. Did they honestly believe Marcas was controlling me?

  "Are you people for real?" I asked, my usual desire to avoid confrontation crushed by my disbelief.

  "Not that I'm a feminist or anything, but the idea of obeying anyone, especially a man, makes me throw up a little in my mouth. Just sayin'," I said as Sophia's expression took on a whole new level of skepticism, shock, and even anger. The anger surprised me.

  "What is this, Marc? The bond . . ."

  "Isn't typical, Sophia. She's a Naphil. She's one of a kind. There are no rules for this. We both know what being bound is supposed to mean. But, in this case, we share power with no obligation to serve," Marcas revealed, his eyes on Sophia as her gaze stayed locked on our hands.

  The creases in her brow suddenly made sense to me. She was jealous! Did she think I stayed with him now out of affection? I may not have to follow Marcas, but he was my best chance at getting unbound. Then there was the complicated fact that we not only shared power, we shared injuries!

  "The ring is not the answer," Sophia whispered, her tone less than convinced.

  "Only because you fear it," Marcas pointed out. Sophia's gaze moved back to his face.

  "And you don't?"

  "You ask me that knowing I have nothing left to fear."

  I frowned at Marcas' words. Nothing left to fear? Because of Sophia? I just couldn't believe he'd go to such extremes for a woman. My gaze moved between them. It was obvious their relationship had been left unresolved, and I was irritated by the affect it was presently having on my life. I claimed no right to Marcas, but the bond meant that any decision he made now also affected me. Damn the woman! I felt tempted to stomp my foot. I settled for a tantrum.

  "Ok, so it's obvious we all need therapy. But, aside from this, are we going to get a straight answer regarding the ring or not?" I asked, my voice high. I admit, I felt the sudden childish need to diffuse the tension, and I was tired of being ignored.

  The spell between Marcas and Sophia was broken, the attention back on me as Sophia's gaze quickly turned into a glare, and I heard Lucas chuckle again, his stance casual as he watched the flush that suddenly made its way up Sophia's neck. Must be a bitch having skin like alabaster. Even with the golden glow, the blush was obvious.

  "I'm impressed, Naphil. It takes a lot to upset an Angel," Lucas whispered loudly, his eyes bright. Marcas' skin grew warm, and I knew I'd either irritated or amused him.

  "She has that effect," Marcas murmured, and I found my jaw tightening. Now was not the time to goad me! I was so frustrated I could scream. Sophia's eyes darkened as her gaze moved to mine, and I suddenly realized that, Angel or not, she could be just as dangerous as the Demon at my side. I already knew from Maria's star-crossed tale back in Italy that Sophia was older than Marcas. And I was stepping on personal territory. Even if her and Marcas' relationship was over, the jealously remained fresh.

  Marcas saw the animosity in Sophia's face, and he moved slightly between the two of us, his eyes hard.

  "Where is the ring, Sophia?" he asked.

  His question only made her angrier. She snarled.

  "Why not destroy her, Marc? She is a threat to us all."

  I felt my body go numb with fear. She couldn't mean that! I was one of her kind. Sort of. And yet, I knew from her expression that it didn't matter which side had created me. Here was an Angel, an ancient Angel who was showing as much regard for me as the Demon Lexi had in Italy. Was it because of her jealousy? Or did she actually believe I was a threat?

  Lucas moved to flank me, and I knew my father had no intention of letting me come to harm. But while I was relieved by the two men's presence, I was aggravated by the need to be coddled. Lucas' stance grew wary, but he left the floor to Marcas. He seemed content letting the Demon deal with Sophia.

  "Why? Because her father lay with a mortal woman? You would condemn her for this?" Marcas asked. "You seem to forget, Sophia, that I was borne from the same type of union. Cursed immortal or not, my father was still a man."

  Sophia's gaze locked with Marcas', and I saw the conflict there. She wasn't angry at me, she was angry at the situation. I could tell she wasn't normally the type to condemn, and I felt somewhat sorry for her. Maybe her choice to leave Marcas had cost her more than any of us realized. It was easy to hate someone for walking away, but no one seems to consider the effect it has on the one leaving.

  "And yet you hold a grudge against your father," Lucas suddenly whispered in my ear, and I tensed. An open book, I had been called once. Conor was right. My face was entirely too readable. I stared straight ahead, my heart and mind a sea of chaos. I was guilty as charged.

  "Damn you," I muttered, and I heard Lucas chuckle again. Was it a bad thing that he found me so amusing?

  "He only wants to help you," Lucas said, his voice going from amused to sincere. I turned to look at him.

  "And how is that?"

  "By having me teach you what the Demon can't," Lucas answered. That surprised me. Was he offering to teach me how to be an Angel?

  "And why you? What are you to my father?"

  "I'm a friend who owes him a favor."

  My eyes narrowed.

  "What favor?"

  Lucas chuckled again.

  "You are a suspicious creature, Naphil."

  "I have every reason to be."

  "Touché. Let's just say your father kept me from the pits of Hell," Lucas said unexpectedly. My mouth dropped open. What?

  "I don't understand. You're an Angel."

  "Oh, sweetheart, I'm a fallen Angel."

  Excuse me? He made the word "fallen" sound both irresistible and sexy, and I cocked a brow. Sexy he may be. Affected, I was not. My indifference made him shrug.

  "I chose to leave Heaven, but I didn't choose Hell. There are a group of us who are stuck in between. We have Angelic powers with no clear allegiance. We are neutral," Lucas explained.

  I thought about this a moment. As confusing as it seemed, his confession made sense. My father was an Angel, a fallen Angel. And where I had once thought all fallen Angels were Demons, my father was proof this wasn't so.

  "And this favor my father did?" I asked.

  "Our existence as the fallen is a precarious one. We chose to leave Heaven, but we avoid Hell. Certain crimes cannot be committed. Your father kept me from murdering a man."

  I stared at him. Murder? My father had kept Lucas from Hell by preventing murder? The Angel next to me was suddenly dangerous. I was bound to a Demon with a monstrous past who, I'm sure, had killed humans at some point, and now my father was sendi
ng an Angel with a murderous predisposition. Oh yeah, I felt real safe. Lucas placed a hand on my shoulder. I shook it off.

  "We are a complicated world, Dayton. Your father wants you prepared. I came to take you away, to teach you what you need to know to survive."

  The words were barely out of Lucas' mouth when I felt Marcas pull me away.

  "She won't be leaving with you, Lucas."

  I didn't fight him. My father may have sent Lucas, but I had no reason to trust him. Marcas, I trusted. The thought made me freeze.

  "Jesus!" I muttered, my gaze flying to Marcas'.

  His eyes found mine, and I knew he saw the turmoil there. It couldn't be! It just couldn't! When had I started trusting him? A Demon! I trusted a dead-blasted Demon!

  "Oh, God! I really do need therapy," I groaned. Marcas' eyes twinkled a moment before going blank.

  "According to you, we all do."

  He looked up at Sophia and pointed to the tunnel behind us.

  "Take us to the ring, Sophia," Marcas ordered, his patience worn as thin as mine. She didn't argue, but she did shake her head.

  "There are conditions."

  Marcas continued to point at the dark passage.

  "Then tell us on the way."

  She hesitated a moment before moving toward the tunnel. She passed Marcas and paused.

  "Love never dies," I heard her whisper, and my eyes grew wide. She was still in love with him? I would have slipped had it not been for Marcas' hand and Lucas' presence at my back.

  "No," Marcas consented, his hand tightening on mine as we fought to climb the worn out sections in the path on our way back up into the pyramid. I had a feeling we were taking the hard way out for my benefit.

  "But love does change," Marcas said as he turned to glance over my shoulder at Lucas. I knew that look. It was a warning.

  My stomach churned, and I found myself missing Conor and Monroe, the friends from my hometown I had left behind in Italy. I knew them, and I felt comfortable with them. With them, I never felt out of place, I never felt confused. Even after discovering Conor was a gargoyle, I couldn't remain angry. I had always known there was something strange about him. There was something strange about all of us. They were everything to me. Having them in my life meant I wasn't alone. I needed them. I needed them to be okay.