by R. K. Ryals
Chapter 18
There are moments when people realize that life has changed. In that moment, decisions are made that cannot be taken back.
~Bezaliel~
"You going to finish that?" Conor asked just before pulling the dumdum out of my hand and shoving it into his mouth. I glared at him.
"That is totally un-hygienic. I hope you know that."
Conor grinned.
"You're an Angel. Your germs have to be clean. White as snow, as antibacterial as . . ."
I cut him off by placing my hand on his knee, being careful not to rouse Monroe who was dozing fitfully in my lap. We had been sitting there for at least half an hour, and she had seemed tired.
"I get the point, Con."
He laughed. I shook my head.
"You used to do it before you knew I was an Angel," I pointed out.
"Call me daring, then."
Daring was only one word I'd use to describe the man I was leaning on now, part of my back against his chest as he looked out over the desert. The three of us had to be a sight, hiding out on the sand, each of us leaning on the other. I looked up at him.
"He's a Demon, Con."
I didn't have to say any more. He looked down, his eyes haunted.
"I know, Red."
Conor closed his eyes a moment, his lashes fluttering to his cheeks before he opened them again. The smell of pina colada mixed with mint wafted across my face as he sighed.
"She's . . . different too."
I was fascinated.
"Your girl?"
Conor growled.
"She isn't mine."
I knew that feeling so I didn't argue. Conor shifted slightly, his arm going across my back as his hand rested on Monroe.
"You know, I knew what you were before you did," Conor confessed. My gaze shot up.
"What?"
"Not long before you did," he amended quickly. "I knew I was assigned to protect you, I just wasn't sure why. But then my mother revealed it to me the night you and Monroe left with Marcas. And when I got Monroe's text . . . I was terrified. I sped out without a word. My mother tried to stop me, but I was angry at her."
I knew anger well.
"Because she kept it from you?"
He nodded. I understood that feeling too.
"What about you, Con? What does it mean to be a gargoyle?"
Conor exhaled.
"It's not as dangerous as what you are. Gargoyles have existed a long time. I wasn't aware of what I was until the end of last year. And then . . ."
He shifted again, uncomfortably.
"I-I got angry, was fighting with a cousin of mine . . . and when he pulled back his fist to hit me, I turned to stone. His hand connected and was crushed. J-Just like that, his hand was broken. Pretty badly too. It was a terrifying experience."
"Oh . . . wow."
It was all I knew to say.
"Yeah . . . he's a year younger than me and a gargoyle too, but he hadn't come into his powers yet. Both our mothers had to sit us down. It was a long talk. Will had to have a cast. We can be injured, you know. Just like any other human, but we heal better."
I considered his words, then looked up at him.
"Turning into stone . . . is that all you can do?"
Conor shook his head.
"No, we can also move quicker than a normal human. And we fight differently. We are stronger than most. And I can scale almost any surface."
I laughed at the sudden image that popped into my head.
"Like walking up the side of buildings?"
Conor glared at me.
"Yes, you bullheaded Naphil."
I stuck my tongue out at him.
"It's just funny to me, is all."
"No funnier than the idea of you flying."
He had me there.
"My phobia of heights has posed a problem."
Conor looked sympathetic.
"You've already started to overcome it, Red. You are already less intimidated. I saw that when you and Marcas landed."
I nodded. It would come with time. It had to. I looked at Conor's face and realized his thoughts were miles away.
"Why are you here, Conor?"
He looked down at me in surprise.
"To help."
I gave him a look.
"I mean, why aren't you with her?"
Conor's lips flattened, his forehead creasing.
"Because I can't be right now. She's safe where she is until I return. She has a lot to learn. As for me, a gargoyle's job is to protect against evil. In special cases, we even keep the devil out."
This surprised me.
"Oh . . . and here I've been talking about Marcas," I said sheepishly.
It seemed it was a gargoyle's job to hate Demons, and I was bound to one. Conor squeezed my shoulders.
"I'm not quite sure what to think about that Demon. Nobody knows. He's ridiculously unreadable."
"You're not telling me anything new."
Conor snorted.
"Don't lie to me, Red. You've seen more of him than the rest of us. You 'feel' him. It's obvious."
I didn't disagree with him. Instead, I let myself think about the Demon in question, about his ability to kill without emotion and then turn around and protect those no one would expect him to protect. And he kissed like the world was ending, like the kiss was the only thing keeping him alive. It made me shiver.
"I won't let him hurt you," Conor promised.
"I don't think he would," I said honestly. "It's so messed up. I'm an Angel bound to a Demon."
"And I'm a witch working for a religious group. Now that's messed up," Monroe suddenly said from my lap. She was groggy but definitely listening in.
I laughed as Conor pinched Monroe from over my shoulder. She swatted at him.
"You're as irritating as a fly," she grumbled.
She pushed herself upward, and I looked at the purplish shadows under her eyes. She seemed so restless, more energetic than usual.
"You're still a witch?" I asked.
I had assumed she had taken a place among the S.O.S. like her father and given up Wicca. She looked at me like I was crazy.
"Of course I am. My mother says I have the Vision. Whatever that means. She insists it's a calling."
I couldn't help but chuckle. It sounded just like something Mrs. Jacobs would say.
"Your mother, the witch. Your father, the religious spy. At least one of your brothers is working with your father . . ."
"Two," Monroe corrected.
"Okay, two. And your other brother is a wizard-in-training. Boy, I'd love to go to a Jacobs family reunion."
Monroe gave me an arch look.
"Be careful what you wish for."
"Because it may come true," a snide voice said from the desert, and I looked up to find Luther leaning casually against a tent post a few feet away.
Monroe's face went white and Conor stood up so quickly, I almost fell backward. Luther . . . Marcas' brother. The Demon whose sister I had killed in Italy. I didn't know how to react.
"Hands up, Demon!" several voices cried, and I spotted some of Alessandro's men approaching him cautiously, swords in hand.
Luther gave a comical half smile before saluting us and shoving away from the tent. He lifted his hands carefully.
"What are you doing here?" one of Alessandro's men questioned, his voice full of hatred.
A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see Marcas, his t-shirt back on, his jeans and body clean. His face was as devoid of emotion as ever, his eyes on the group surrounding Luther.
"He's with me," Marcas said.
The men looked between the two Demons hesitantly. They didn't know what to do, and I didn't blame them. Luther was still smiling.
"It's okay. Let him go."
This command came from Alessandro, and I looked toward his voice to find both Lucas and Sophia flanking the S.O.S.'s leader. Maria stood behind and to the side of them. She was watching the scene carefully. But h
er attention to the scene was nothing compared to the anger on Lucas' face. The Exiled Angel was livid.
"Why is he here?"
This came from Lucas who stepped forward menacingly, his body glowing dully.
"So nice to see you too, Luke. Long time, no see," Luther said amiably. He was enjoying himself.
"The longer the better," Lucas growled.
Marcas moved between them.
"He is here for me," Marcas said, his eyes moving to Lucas. "The next leg of the trip will be tricky. You know it as well as I. Our mother is on the war path."
"And he's willing to make himself a traitor?" Lucas asked.
Luther moved next to Marcas.
"Traitor is such a harsh word coming from an outcast of Heaven," Luther drawled.
Lucas didn't take the insult well, and he lunged. Marcas leaped, his hand going around the Angel's neck before they even made it to the ground.
"We can't afford the fight now, Luke. When Heaven goes to war with Hell, you can kill him then," Marcas growled, his teeth bared.
The Angel shoved Marcas backward, and the Demon released him.
"Leave no doubt, I'll kill him. Maybe before then," Lucas threatened.
There was a history between Lucas and Luther. There was no doubt. It was kind of interesting actually. L & L, Lucas and Luther, Demon and fallen Angel . . . and it looked like a good deal of Alessandro's men anticipated a fight. Some had even started placing bets. Marcas' interference wasn't much appreciated.
I finally stood up, using my power to shove the sand from my body. Luther looked my way.
"Hello, Naphil," he drawled. "My, how you have changed."
I stood up straighter, my skin crawling as he perused me. He glanced between Marcas and I, his eyes narrowing.
"So the rumors in Hell are true?" Luther asked Marcas.
Marcas didn't answer, just motioned to the group of people standing in the desert.
"It's time to leave," he said.
Alessandro didn't argue. It seemed the Demon and the S.O.S.'s leader had come to some sort of shaky agreement.
"We'll have to follow," Alessandro said carefully. "There's no easy way to get there from here at night. Only by air if we are careful."
Marcas looked at Conor.
"Just load your plane, Ander. The gargoyle's presence on board will keep you undetected on all radars."
Conor nodded. It seemed to be another power of his I wasn't aware of yet.
Luther was still smiling. It was kind of eerie actually.
"The witch can fly with me," he said unexpectedly.
My mouth fell open.
"Not in this lifetime, Demon," Lucas hissed.
I looked from Lucas to Luther to Monroe.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" I whispered.
Monroe looked like she wanted to puke.
"Possibly," she squeaked.
Monroe squeaked. She actually squeaked. Monroe never squeaked. Conor stepped forward.
"The witch will travel with me," Conor said forcibly.
No one argued. When this was all over, I was determined to find out as much as I possibly could about what was going on with both Conor and Monroe. If I didn't die first. Dying was always a possibility.
"Lilith draws near," Luther commented, his tone going from amused to serious.
Marcas nodded and Alessandro sped into action.
"Everyone, move!"
People began to scurry, moving in several directions. Pickup trucks started up, and I heard something that sounded suspiciously like a plane engine. Conor leaned down, his lips next to my ear.
"Stay with Marcas, Red. I don't know what to feel about him yet, but something tells me you should always stay near him."
With that, Conor walked away briskly, grabbing Monroe as he passed. She gave me a conflicted look before running after him.
I looked at Marcas. It seemed there had been a lot of preparations made while I was with Conor and Monroe.
"Why don't I take the Naphil this time?" Sophia asked, stepping toward us with a look that made me go cold. She didn't like me. I think she admired me, even wanted to protect me, but she didn't like me.
"She will go with no one but me," Marcas said firmly.
His tone left no room for argument, and Marcas moved toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist before suddenly lifting slightly off the ground. I had expected the move, and I didn't gasp.
"We go now," he said, and the air was suddenly gusting around us as Sophia and Lucas sprouted wings.
Sophia moved ahead, Lucas behind her. He didn't take the back the way he usually did, and I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Luther's sudden presence behind us.
It was all moving so fast. Conor, Monroe, and I had gone from having a quiet conversation to being yanked on the journey, but everything about Demons and Angels seemed to move fast. There was no down time, no time to breathe. I suddenly understood why working on the pyramids had to have been a time Marcas would remember fondly. Moving fast didn't allow people to heal.
"Thank you," I whispered.
I hadn't meant to say it, but the words were there. Marcas was motionless behind me despite our flight.
"For what?" he finally asked.
I smiled.
"For letting me have time. You could have come for me. You could have forced me to train. But you didn't, and I know you kept Sophia and Lucas away."
"You give me too much credit, Blainey."
I laughed.
"I'd never do that, Marcas."
He didn't say anything for some time, and I used the silence to wonder about our destination. Where was the ring?
"You're welcome," Marcas finally said.
It sounded strange coming from him, the words said grudgingly, but it was still a response, and that was enough for me. I grinned like a fool, my mind moving from our destination to the kiss back in Hell. It made my heart rate speed up, the memory of his tattoo in the desert etched in my brain. I had stroked his back in Hell, had felt the ink against my fingers, and I actually itched to touch him again.
"The cobra suits you," I said without thinking.
Marcas didn't say anything, but I felt his arms tighten slightly. And as he held me there in the air, I realized something. I didn't fear heights anymore. Not the way I had. I feared something more tangible, something I couldn't do anything about. I feared rejection. I needed to learn to fly, but with Marcas' arms wrapped so comfortably around me, I realized I was in no hurry to learn.
Chapter 19
It is a world built out of rock. It is strong, resilient, and magnificent.
~Bezaliel~
"We need to talk, Blainey."
It was four words, if you excluded my last name, but they immediately caught my attention, and I fought not to look up at Marcas' chin.
"Wow, is the imperious Marcas Craig initiating conversation?"
Marcas grunted.
"Depends on what you mean by conversation."
He sounded so disgruntled, I felt immediately guilty. I hadn't meant to be sarcastic. It was a nervous habit and one I desperately needed to break.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
It was a pathetic apology, but it was an apology nonetheless, and Marcas reacted to it in a way that shocked me. He laughed. Actually laughed. It was a deep sound, full and soothing, and even the Angels in front of us looked back in shock.
"Don't say you're sorry, Blainey. I've never heard you apologize for anything. And frankly, it disturbs me."
I choked, coughing as I gripped his hands to keep from slipping. I knew he wouldn't let me fall, but the reaction was instinctive. He was laughing at me, and it made me feel so happy I could burst. And yet, somehow, I refrained from combusting and stuck to sarcasm.
"You're laughing with me, not at me, right?" I asked prettily.
Marcas' body still shook somewhat with laughter, but he was quiet now. Amazing! He laughed. And all because I had apologized. That should insult me, real
ly it should, but his laughter took the sting out of it.
"Always with you," he answered.
I doubted that, but it was still nice to hear. I looked up at his chin and was met with a view of his full lips, somewhat quirked in humor. He looked like Luther just then and nothing could have been sexier. Lilith really knew how to birth sons. It was the only compliment I'd ever be willing to give her.
"What did you need to tell me?" I asked because I knew the question couldn't be avoided.
Marcas' expression changed, falling into the stone-like unreadable facade I was used to. I missed the smile.
"It's the Seal. I need you to promise me something."
I shook my head. I hated those words. No one ever asks someone to promise them something unless it's serious. And serious was never good. In our case, it was more than likely dire.
"Tell me what you want, then I'll tell you whether or not I'll promise to do it," I said carefully.
Marcas looked down into my face, his eyes locking with mine. For whatever insane reason, he never seemed to have to look where he was going when he was flying. It was eerie, but I found myself appreciating it at the moment because if eyes aren't windows to the soul, then they were pretty damn close to it.
"When the ring is placed on your finger, the first thing I want you to do is trap me in it."
He had switched to mind-speak, his lips never moving, and I stared at him in horror. What did he mean "trap him in it"? Did he really expect me to bind him to the ring? No . . . no, I wouldn't do it. I wanted to release him, not trap him.
"I won't."
I was careful to block my emotions and my thoughts. If Marcas wasn't speaking aloud then he didn't want this conversation shared. He watched me a moment, his eyes darkening, and I knew he was going to argue with me.
"I need you to promise me."
His tone was firm. Demanding. But I had never been good at following orders, and I wasn't starting now.
"Why?"
I didn't understand it. Why would he want to be trapped inside the Seal?