by R. K. Ryals
I considered this a moment, my imagination taking me back in time, imagining a different Marcas, a much younger Demon toiling with many men in the sun. He was strong, a leader who probably encouraged hard work. I looked Maria in the eye.
"Why the cobra?"
Maria smiled, her teeth bad in places, but her face was so radiant, the teeth were easily overlooked.
"Meretseger means 'she who loves silence.' The goddess was considered dangerous, yet merciful. Remind you of anyone?"
I grinned. The description was Marcas in a nutshell. He was a silent, merciful man who intimidated anyone who encountered him. He was feared, but he was also strangely respected.
I glanced at the workers outside, the black tattoo dark against Marcas' back, clearly marking his presence among Alessandro's men.
"You know, don't you? You know what we've become?"
Maria cleared her throat.
"I know you have become a link connecting Heaven, Hell, and Earth, yes."
"And does the S.O.S. know?"
"They have begun to suspect, but I have not revealed what I have seen, that your power is now connected to his. It would be dangerous for you if they knew. The S.O.S. trust Sophia, but they fear Marcas more. If they knew your powers were now combined, you would die. There is no doubt."
I looked away from the workers, my eyes moving back to Maria.
"So now even our protectors could become our executioners? Are we safe nowhere?"
She watched me with a sympathy I didn't detest. I normally hated pity, but from Maria, it didn't feel wrong. Her sympathy was appreciated.
"You are on a shaky path, Naphil, a path you didn't choose for yourself. But you will overcome."
"And you know this how?"
"Because you have the Demon. Because when I was with Marcas, everything he did, he did in memory of Sophia. In a way, she was a deity he worshipped even after her choice to leave him. I was one of many he used to try and forget her. But no more. What he does now, he does for you, child. Only you."
I stood stunned. What was she saying? I hadn't known Marcas long enough to mean anything to him. Had I? Not quite two months if Monroe and Conor were right about my time in Hell.
"Are you telling me I need him, that I need his attention, to survive?" I asked.
The independent streak in me made me ask. The idea that he might have come to care about me, the idea that he might be protecting me because he cared more about me than power, thrilled me. It also made me wary. I wanted to be considered strong on my own.
Maria laughed. "Oh, child. You don't see it, do you?"
I shook my head. See what?
"You don't need the Demon. You never have. But, he needs you."
I laughed. I mean, really laughed.
"Me?" I asked. The look on her face told me she was being serious. "He's tried killing me in the past!"
Maria gave me a look, the kind old women give when they know something they think the young should know but don't.
"Think, girl. He's been watching you a long time. And do you really believe being bound to him was a coincidence? Damon knew his brother watched you. It's the reason why Damon believed his ploy for redemption would succeed. Were there ever times when you felt you were being spied on?"
I thought back on the past, on the funeral, on the red eyes I discovered were Marcas' when we were in Italy.
And then I remembered the face in the window. The face that started it all. Had that been Marcas and not Damon?
Maria stepped forward, her careful steps bringing her inches from me.
"You are a lot like him, you know. And yet so different. You push people away, but you also allow yourself to feel more than he does. And you are strong. You are loyal."
What was the old woman doing?
"Are you matchmaking, Maria?" I asked incredulously. Was she trying to sell me on Marcas? "He's a Demon, and as you've pointed out, he's been around long before I was even born. It's unnatural."
Maria gave me a sly wink.
"Any Demon or Angel who has been around since the beginning of time is old in spirit. Your own father was centuries older than your mother. Sometimes it isn't the era you were born in, it's the soul you were born with."
I thought about that, my gaze moving back to the desert beyond the tent.
"He's the enemy."
I said it as much for my benefit as I did for Maria's. She made a small sound that sounded eerily like a snort.
"Is he?"
I found the group of men again, my eyes searching for the flash of a cobra tattoo.
"You ask that while wearing a rosary around your neck. What does that make you, Maria?"
She didn't speak for a moment, and I caught sight of the snakes' flared hood. Marcas' head rose above the other workers, his muscles straining against a load of supplies. He could have used his power, made it easier on himself, but he didn't.
"It makes me a wise woman, child."
I wasn't going to argue with her there. Maria was one of a kind. Her feistiness back in Italy, her wise words, her courage when facing Marcas . . . he'd told me once she had a beautiful soul, that even now it still burned bright.
"Why didn't it work out with the two of you, Maria?"
I asked this knowing she had shared a part of her life with the Demon. She sighed.
"Because someone that tortured doesn't need understanding. He needs a challenge."
I didn't know whether to be insulted or amused. I looked at her.
"Are you saying I'm a lot of work?" I asked, my face a mask of mock horror. She chuckled.
"Lord, yes."
I winced.
"You'd do well not to compliment others, Maria," I advised.
She looked toward the men outside. The work was winding down.
"Just don't forget the cobra, child. It is a shy creature who will avoid confrontation, but if cornered, it will strike. And yet, it can be charmed, brought to the surface of a basket by the lilting vibrations of a flute."
Her words made no sense, and I followed her gaze to the men in the desert.
"What do you mean?"
Maria didn't answer and when I turned to face her, she was gone. I searched the area with my eyes. For a frail woman, she apparently had a good deal of "get up and go."
"Figures," I mumbled as I turned one last time to the men gathered outside.
The trucks were pulling away, leaving a shirtless Demon standing between two men left to guard him. His back was to me, his tattoo hissing at my face.
"Remember the cobra," I whispered, shuddering as I stared at the fangs drawn on Marcas' back.
I'd never liked snakes, but I could learn to tolerate them.
Chapter 17
In the war between Heaven and Hell, the casualties are not always obvious. People die, Demons are reborn, souls are stolen, souls are saved, and at times, hearts are lost.
~Bezaliel~
I spent most of the afternoon hiding behind a stack of supplies nestled in the corner of one of the two tents still left standing. It wasn't that I didn't want to be trained by Lucas, it wasn't even that I wanted to hide from Sophia, I just didn't have it in me to be an Angel today. The power was there, just below the surface, so strong now, I couldn't ignore it. Using it wouldn't be a problem. The Seal, however, terrified me. What would wearing the ring do to me now that Marcas' power was entwined with mine?
"It's hot today," a voice said quietly, and I jumped a good foot into the air, turning to find Monroe standing next to me, her face toward the desert.
I glared at her.
"You just shaved a few years off my life. I hope you know that," I complained as I laid a hand over my chest, the furiously pounding heart beneath it making my palm jump.
Monroe risked a glance in my direction, her eyes twinkling slyly.
"You never could hide well."
I snorted.
"A warning would have been nice."
Monroe laughed, the sound almost lyrical. I'd always been envio
us of both her speaking voice and her laughter. She had a light, lilting tone that commanded attention and yet seemed vulnerable enough to make most men want to save her. Mine changed depending on my mood. And I promise, squeaky when terrified isn't attractive.
Monroe settled in next to me, her hand fanning her face as she rolled her eyes at the late afternoon sun.
"This friggin' heat is going to kill me!"
I looked at her askance.
"Friggin'?"
Monroe motioned at the tent behind our back.
"Yes, friggin'. That old Italian woman has a mean backhand. It's enough to make anyone stop cussing."
I choked on a laugh, my head full of images of Monroe being attacked by Maria. It seems I wasn't the only one having to hold my tongue.
"I like her."
It surprised me to admit that, but I did. Maria was special somehow. She seemed to know exactly what everyone needed when they needed it and exerted just enough pressure to be helpful rather than overbearing. Monroe wrapped her arms around her knees.
"Everyone does." And then after a brief pause, "Are you okay?"
It was an abrupt change in subject, but we had always been direct with each other. I sighed.
"Define okay."
Monroe raised a brow at that, and I knew I wasn't going to escape answering.
"I'm confused," I finally responded. ". . . and scared."
Monroe nodded, her expression thoughtful.
"I would be too if I were you. You aren't in an easy position and, frankly, your Demon terrifies me."
I choked on a laugh.
"He isn't my Demon."
Monroe didn't look amused, just watched me with a seriousness I didn't expect.
"Isn't he?"
How was I supposed to answer that? Marcas and I were connected in an inexplicable way, and I was drawn to him more than I wanted to be. But he wasn't mine. He could never be mine. But, as much as I hated to admit it to myself, that didn't mean I didn't want him to be, and lying to Monroe was out of the question.
"He's a Demon, Roe. And he's been around for an incredibly long time. I'm just another bump in his road."
Monroe tried hard not to laugh. Really, she did. But she failed miserably.
"You, my dear Day, are no 'bump.' You're a mountain. People forget bumps. They don't forget climbing to the top of the friggin' Himalayas."
I chose to use that moment to insert my elbow quite soundly into Monroe's ribs. She grunted.
"Well, it's true. You've always been one of the most complicated, yet interesting people I know. Maybe it's the whole Angel thing, but I really believe it's a Dayton thing. Otherwise, I wouldn't be your best friend. It's our eccentricities that bind us."
She had a point there. Both of us could be odd. Just looking at Monroe sporting her vintage clothes screamed "unique." And yet . . . she was wrong.
"I can't like him . . . I just can't." I tried thinking of a reason Monroe would understand, one she'd side with immediately and only came up with one. "What about Conor?"
Monroe snorted, loud and indelicately.
"Seriously, Day? After everything that has happened, you really choose that excuse?"
I glanced at her in surprise. I admit the excuse had been lame, but . . .
"Why not?"
Monroe didn't hesitate.
"Because no matter what Conor thought he felt, no matter how well I believed you two would suit, there's just no way a brother can have a relationship with a sister. And that's exactly what you two are. Blood or not."
Her eyes met my astonished gaze, and she shrugged.
"Don't look at me that way, Day. You know I'm right. Conor is an only child, and you might as well be with your aunt and Amber's involvement in the sect. From the beginning, you and Conor have taken care of each other."
I shifted uncomfortably, but Monroe didn't seem to notice.
"From the moment Conor saw your face at your parent's funeral, he's been trying to protect you. And, it's not that I don't think his protection is romantic, but sometimes men can fall in love with the idea of taking care of someone more than they do a person."
I looked at my feet because it seemed a better place to look than Monroe's face.
"He's always protected you too," I pointed out.
"No, he's tolerated me. But I have three brothers, all of which are irritatingly overprotective, and I didn't need watching over. You two, on the other hand, needed a family."
"I don't need protecting," I argued.
Monroe didn't contradict me.
"No, but you needed someone to love you. So did Conor. And there's something comforting in knowing someone will always be there for you. It's easy to fall in love with being comfortable."
I looked up at Monroe, watching as she stared at the desert, her eyes vacant.
"Something's happened to you."
I said it because I knew it was true. Conor and I weren't the only ones to experience something life changing. Something had happened to Monroe. And although my curiosity was killing me, I didn't want to push too hard. For the first time in our lives, none of us seemed willing to share. Monroe glanced at me, and our eyes met. It was enough. There was a world of words in that one stare.
"Enough to know that love is never practical and it certainly isn't comfortable."
Well, that was the truth. Talk about hitting the proverbial nail directly on the head.
"Amen," I whispered.
I'm sure I could have given a better response, but honestly, that one word said it all. Monroe grinned.
"Is that an admission?" she asked.
I grinned back.
"If you're asking me to admit whether I'm in love or not, I plead the fifth."
"Figures you would," a male voice interrupted and Monroe and I both looked up, startled. At least I didn't jump this time. Conor stood behind us, his hands motioning casually to the empty spot of sand on the other side of me. I groaned.
"How much of my evident fall from grace did you witness?" I asked as Conor moved to sit down next to me. He grinned that boyish grin I knew so well.
"Every last bit."
Monroe laughed, her finger wagging at his face. Conor had always liked to eavesdrop on us. It was the reason he always knew so much about us, even things as humiliating as when we'd first started our periods. Albeit, he'd made it up to us by bringing us both a big box of chocolates.
"You have no room to talk," Monroe insisted.
I jumped on the train of opportunity Monroe offered.
"This is true, Con. Tell us about this girl you're assigned to."
Conor's grin quickly dissolved into a frown.
"It's complicated."
I watched the play of emotions on his face, and I found myself leaning toward him, my voice full of astonishment.
"Oh my, God. Has the charming Conor Reinhardt come up against a girl who isn't charmed by his flirtations?"
Conor threw me a murdering glare, and I laughed. I couldn't help it.
"You weren't exactly bowled over by me either, Red, or you might be sporting my class ring right about now."
I "hrruumphed."
"I may not have been bowled over, but I was still charmed. Otherwise, I wouldn't have kissed you."
Monroe coughed.
"Ummmm . . . whoa. Wait a minute! You two kissed?"
Conor and I shared tortured glances, shrugging simultaneously as we looked at Monroe. She wasn't going to let something like that go.
"Way to go, Red," Conor said, slapping me on the back. I ignored him.
"In Italy," I answered carefully.
"And a rather damned good one if I recall," Conor muttered.
I groaned. He wasn't making this any easier.
"Buuuuuut," I interjected quickly. "That is beside the point. I'm more interested in the fact that Mr. Suave here has met a girl not interested."
Conor scowled.
"And what makes you think I'm interested?"
Monroe and I shared a look.
"Because you've been acting different."
Conor arched a brow.
"And you haven't?"
He had me there. It was all kind of amusing actually. I placed one arm around Monroe's neck before placing the other around Conor's. We were all three in predicaments we weren't really sharing, but we still found comfort in each other, in just knowing that the help was there if we needed it.
"Just promise me you two will be careful."
Monroe looked down at her lap while Conor looked out over the desert.
"Not sure that's a possibility in my case," Conor mumbled.
His statement caught me off guard, and I looked at his profile, my concern evident. It was hard to hold my tongue, but I managed. Whatever Conor was involved in, he'd tell me when he felt it was right. Not before.
"Just promise," I insisted.
Conor and Monroe both looked my way and nodded. They did it slowly, but they nodded. And that counted for something. Silence stretched between us. And, in the end, it was Conor that broke the tension. He pulled on the hand I had hanging on his shoulder and nudged me.
"Look, don't worry, Red. This is your story. Right now, we are here with you. We are here to make sure you are careful."
I nudged him back.
"I love you, you know."
He smiled.
"Always and forever," he murmured with a wink.
Monroe groaned.
"I still can't believe you two kissed and didn't tell me about it. Was there tongue?"
Conor and I both turned to Monroe at the same time, our faces full of shock, and simultaneously said, "Monroe!"
She chuckled, putting her hand in the pocket of her vintage dress before producing a dumdum and a piece of spearmint gum. She handed the gum to Conor before handing me the lollipop. It was pina colada.
"Palm trees . . ." she sighed as I unwrapped the dumdum and shoved it in my mouth.
"Glass bottom boats and snorkels," I added around the stick.
Conor looked at us in amazement.
"You two are seriously playing 'The I'd Rather be Anywhere but Here Game' while sitting in the middle of the Egyptian desert?"
We shrugged, our ensuing laughter filled with camaraderie and comfort. And it was enough. All of it was enough: the three of us, the dumdum lollipop in my mouth, the laughter, the feel of them flanking me. It was enough to make being here easier, more bearable, less frightening. It was enough to remind me who I was despite what I was also becoming. It was just enough.