by R. K. Ryals
"We use no entrances here. If the Demons back us into any caves or buildings, there will be no escape. Stay out in the open."
Conor nodded, but his eyes still drifted to the building he'd called the Treasury. By the way he was scrutinizing it, I knew he was thinking about what it would take to scale the side if he needed to. He backed closer to the Treasury with Monroe close behind.
"Monroe!"
I yelled her name in my mind, speaking to Marcas as my gaze moved to her face. She looked terrified. As far as I knew, Monroe had no fighting experience, and I kicked myself for not realizing what having her involved would mean. Marcas' hand tightened on my arm.
"Give her some credit, Blainey. She's a witch with more power than you realize. And between Conor and Luther, she will be fine."
I nodded absently, my gaze still on Monroe's face as her eyes moved to meet mine. She smiled, but I couldn't find it in me to grin back. She didn't let my sober mood faze her, her gaze softening as she took in my worried glance, and my head was suddenly full of images—images of us standing at my parents' funeral with her hand in mine, images of us hiding from her brothers in her bedroom, images of us playing pranks on Conor, images of us sharing moments of solitude with a dumdum in my mouth and a book in our hands, and images of us in Italy right before the big fight at the S.O.S's headquarters. It was enough to make tears flow down my cheeks, and I knew by the way she suddenly winked at me that these were her images too, that she had sent them to me.
"I love you," I mouthed.
She repeated the words, her lips forming the "you" just as the first Demon entered the scene.
"You are making a mistake by choosing to fight us," the Demon roared, and I turned to find the Hellhound, Brim, stalking from the shadows of the Siq. And here I'd hoped he'd died at the reception in Hell.
There was nothing subtle about the way Brim moved, his hair bristling and his yellow eyes shining. His teeth dripped saliva as his tongue swept out to moisten his snout. The dark feeling was so close now, my head pounded. They were here. The Demons. I could feel them everywhere, and we were outnumbered. The S.O.S's men had not yet reached us. Conor might be able to fly in, but upon landing, the other men would have had to walk.
Marcas dropped my arm, but he didn't move away. His eyes shone as he faced the Hellhound, and I could feel the authority he had enjoyed in Hell move swiftly through his body.
"And you have been sent to warn us, I suppose," Marcas growled.
The Hellhound seemed to grimace. As terrifying as the Demon dog was, he was bred to follow the orders of his superiors. Marcas had once been among those.
"Give us the girl and come take your rightful place next to our Dark Lord. In so doing, there will be no fight."
Marcas stepped forward slightly, his teeth transforming.
"You lie well, Brim."
The hound snarled.
"I tell no lies."
Marcas smiled, the effect eerie with his teeth now pointed.
"Then you follow orders blindly. Your leader is a master of deception. The only thing he wants is the Naphil dead and me punished."
Brim paced, his fur flowing along his back, the move revealing his agitation. Lucas had been right when he'd said their intelligence was low. The hound's loyalty was absolute. He truly didn't lie because he believed everything he was told with the innocence of a child.
"Calm yourself, Hound. My son is the true deceiver. He betrayed us all."
Ice began to flow through my veins as Lilith stepped from the Siq. She was one with the darkness, her dress as black as the air surrounding us. If it wasn't for my night vision, I wouldn't have been able to see her at all.
The thought had me looking back at Monroe. She wasn't one of us, but she hadn't seemed to falter when I looked to her earlier. Somehow she could see. A spell maybe? How she managed it was something I didn't have the time to figure out. If Monroe's wide eyes were any indication, her sight was more than sufficient. Lilith was as terrifying as she was beautiful.
"I will not be disobeyed."
Lilith skirted the area, her dress moving along her skin as if it were alive. And she reveled in the effect, her pale skin glowing as she faced her son.
"I will not be commanded," Marcas responded.
If his answer made Lilith angry, it never showed. She was calm. Too calm. And I found myself fidgeting as she perused our small, misfit group, her gaze pausing a moment on Luther. Surprise flickered momentarily across her face.
"You," she whispered.
Luther raised a brow, giving a gallant, yet scornful bow in his mother's direction. Lilith looked from Marcas to Luther.
"You would follow your brother knowing it only ensures your demise?" Lilith asked.
Luther shrugged, the gesture uncharacteristically casual.
"I'm one of your lesser sons, Mother. And it is only right that, as one of your younger sons, I have my moment of rebellion."
Lilith hissed.
"Failures—both of you."
"People keep telling me that," Luther said, his voice light.
"And yet," Marcas intervened, "most would point out that the failure lies, not in the child, but in the parent."
Lilith was getting angry, her face taking on a distorted look as the calm she'd exuded before began to melt away.
"You have allowed them too much freedom, Lilith."
The new voice was a deep one, sinfully velvet, and I shivered as I turned toward it. The area was suddenly deafening in its silence. The front half of Brim's body knelt, his snout to the ground. And as I completed my turn, I found myself staring at the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on. He was tall, his body powerfully built, his hair as black as midnight and flowing to his shoulders. It should have been a feminine look, but on him it was very much masculine. His face was just rugged enough to keep it from looking pretty, and his eyes gleamed. The glow that emanated from his pupils was eerie, not red like the Demons present, but yellowish-green. It was almost reptilian.
And then he smiled.
It was a slow smile, his full lips almost mocking as he watched Marcas and me. He was simply breathtaking and yet the smile was dangerous. It made the heart want to stop beating. It made the lungs want to quit working, and I battled for air as darkness overtook me. I didn't faint; I didn't even feel sick. I just "felt" dark.
The surrounding area went from silent to writhing. While that description sounds odd, it was the only word to describe the noise I heard along the buildings and cliffs surrounding us. And when I looked up, I saw red eyes everywhere. There were figures perched along the Treasury, figures perched on rocks and on parts of the cliffs. And every single figure was bowed.
My eyes moved back to the man before us, my gaze traveling to that mocking grin. He was stunning. He was terrifying. He was Satan.
Chapter 21
There is evil. And then there is Lucifer.
~Bezaliel~
"You are an interesting specimen, child."
It wasn't a particularly comforting observation coming from the devil himself, but I wasn't willing to do anything about it other than stare. Somehow, the notion of scowling at him wasn't very appealing at the moment.
"I know your father," he continued as he ambled forward, his posture straight, his demeanor more than a little frightening. "I have been trying to get him into Hell for a long time. Pity he still chooses to remain only fallen."
Wasn't fallen bad enough? I watched as he watched me, and I knew suddenly why he frightened me so badly. Because no matter how beautiful he appeared, there was no denying the monster beneath. His skin seemed translucent at times and, in those moments, I caught glimpses of the monster of Legend. Maybe not the pitchfork yielding, horned creature but a monster nonetheless.
"It's amazing really what your father has done," Lucifer said as he stopped before me. "He has created what none of us ever thought possible in quite the most unassuming package."
Was he calling me plain? I wanted to be offended but discovered
I actually liked his assessment. I wasn't going to lie and say I wouldn't have enjoyed looking spectacular, but I was mostly happy with my appearance. It was unassuming, but something about unassuming makes people look twice.
Lucifer brought his hand to my chin, lifting it carefully. I felt Marcas tense next to me, and I tried not to appear cowed. The moment was not lost on me. I was being touched by the devil. It was simply the most incredibly terrifying thing that had ever happened to me.
"You have it in you, you know," he said with a small smile.
It wasn't a question, but I still found myself leaning toward him.
"What?" I whispered.
Lucifer's eyes twinkled.
"To sin."
I drew back slowly so as not to draw too much attention to myself and edged toward Marcas. Satan's eyes followed me before moving to the hybrid Demon, and I saw hatred there. Marcas had refused to sit at his right hand, and the Dark Lord was not pleased.
"You have disappointed me, Marcas," Lucifer said, his eyes going from sickly green to black.
Marcas remained unreadable, and for the first time since meeting him, I was highly impressed by his ability to appear unmoved. This was the ruler of Hell. I would not have had the gumption to stand up to him if I had been in his shoes. I would like to say that I would, but that would be lying. The only reason I managed now is because I wasn't from Hell. My bloodlines came from Heaven.
"I have refused the promotion. I have not refused Hell," Marcas responded, his gaze even.
"And yet you have not only refused my kind offer, you have also elected not to take the Naphil's soul. Is this not the same as refusing Hell?"
Marcas' gaze moved over Satan in a "not quite daring" fashion but close enough.
"She has the blood of an Angel. Taking her soul could be disastrous for me."
As far as arguments went, that was pathetic. I knew immediately what Lucifer's response would be, and I have no doubt Marcas was aware of it as well.
"And would it not be worth it, sacrificing yourself for your people?"
It was so silent that I realized everything had stopped. Even the wind had quit blowing, any animals in the vicinity stilled. It was as if, in that moment, the world had taken a collective breath and was holding it. And Marcas did the one thing that would guarantee his downfall. He arched a brow and smiled.
"Some beings are not worth sacrificing yourself for."
The figures surrounding us from the air, the cliffs, and the buildings roared. They roared even as they bowed. Marcas was a fugitive now, a defector of Hell. But, even as the citizens of the Underworld shrieked in hatred, I felt a warm sensation move through my body. Marcas was no longer only a traitor of Hell, he was a champion. He was my champion.
As Lucifer's minions screamed, I stared at Marcas with an awe that far surpassed love. Because he was sacrificing himself. By refusing to do what Lucifer demanded, he wasn't sacrificing himself for Hell; he was sacrificing himself for me.
"I do not claim him as my son," Lilith said from behind Lucifer, her voice calm despite the position she was in. Her son had denied her ruler, and she must now disown him. It was the only way to ensure her place in Hell.
Lucifer remained unfazed. It would have been anticlimactic, I think, if Satan had been anything more than calm. Temper tantrums just didn't seem to suit what was supposed to be the most evil creature ever to exist. And Lucifer met his reputation to a fault. He remained still, his gaze shifting beyond Marcas' shoulder to Luther.
"And you? Do you concur with your brother?" Lucifer asked.
Luther didn't move, his eyes searching the ground as if he would find the right answer written in the dirt and stone surrounding us. Luther wasn't as stoic as Marcas, but I knew he was as resolute. I could feel his decision in my bones. Maybe it was because I was bound to his brother, but I knew he had chosen to renounce Hell. Luther finally settled on being direct.
"I back not only my brother, I back the Demon who helped prepare me for this life. For Marcas was not only a brother, he was a mentor when my mother abhorred me for not being as strong as her first born sons. It stands to reason that I would choose him."
Luther held up an imaginary champagne flute and lifted it as if in a toast. Lilith hissed.
"You are vile!"
This only made Luther grin, but then his eyes widened. He stumbled forward, and I realized as he gasped that something was wrong. Marcas growled, his eyes on Satan, and I realized then that Satan was attempting to possess Luther. Luther was not bound to an Angel. There was no Angelic blood to keep Satan from interfering with his thoughts and his actions.
Luther went down on one knee, his jaw clenched, and we all waited for him to turn, for him to look at us with the empty expression that came with possession. We waited for him to attack us. But then . . . something spectacular happened.
Luther clawed suddenly at his chest, his eyes going red as he gripped something in his hand. It was an amulet made of quartz, the crystal burning him. It was causing Luther pain, but it seemed to be keeping Satan out. I squinted at the twine, at the small piece of crystal attached to the end and gasped.
I recognized it instantly, and I fought not to look at Monroe. It was an exact replica of the necklace Monroe had given me in Italy, the one Lilith had managed to tear from my neck in the pyramid in Egypt. And I could tell from the hiss emanating from the Demon queen that she recognized it as well.
Lilith approached her son, her rage obvious as she reached for the necklace, but upon touching it, it threw her backward with such force she barely managed to keep herself from hitting the stone cliffs surrounding us.
I stared at the necklace. While it looked like the one I had worn, this one was different, tougher maybe. Almost as if Monroe had perfected the spell she'd placed on it. And it was then that I realized something. Monroe had grown stronger while I was gone. She had grown as comfortable in her power as I was becoming with mine.
Lilith stared at the necklace in amazement but did not try to approach it again. Instead, she turned her gaze to the Treasury, the spot where I knew Conor stood with Monroe, and I saw her eyes narrow.
"You!" she snarled.
And then she moved with such speed I didn't have time to react. She lunged toward Monroe, her intent evident. I turned in horror, my hand going over my mouth just as Luther swept by me, his body going between his mother and Monroe. One of his hands touched the ground as he crouched; the other came up, warding off his mother as an electric ball of fire shot forth from his hand. It was enough to send Lilith reeling. Even as strong as she was, she had lunged out of anger and had not thought to protect herself from attack.
And yet, even as Lilith recoiled, her eyes full of hatred, I spied the glow at Monroe's neck. She wore an amulet as well. And it was on full alert. I smiled. I smiled because I recognized the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed me: pride.
"Your followers impress me," Lucifer said, and I turned to find him still facing off with Marcas.
Marcas glanced at our small group, at Sophia huddled near the Siq, her skin glowing; at Lucas whose eyes were boring holes into Lucifer; at Conor who stood perfectly still, his hand resting now on Monroe's shoulder; at Luther who looked tired as he pushed himself off the ground; at Monroe as she took Luther by the arm and helped him up, her amulet on fire; And finally at me. Our eyes met, and then slid away.
"Never followers. Only friends," Marcas said, his words strong.
He was not asserting himself as our leader. The admission both strengthened and weakened Marcas' stand against Hell. He was not leading us, so there would be no coercion, no forcing us to follow him. But he was also giving us a choice which ensured more loyalty from those who chose to follow.
"I see," Lucifer said. And I knew he did. "You are a foolish leader, but I admire your ability to instill loyalty. I could still use you, Marcas. The choice is yours. Should you refuse me, none of you will survive to see tomorrow."
The threat was effective. It had my heart pounding ha
rder and faster than a human heart should ever beat. In that moment, I knew the Angel part of me wanted to fight, but the human part wanted to hide. This wasn't the same type of Demon we'd fought before. This was the ruler of Hell. And we were guaranteed to lose.
"I will not join you."
It was all Marcas said. It was all he had to say. With those five words, Marcas had declared war on Hell. It was a civil war, not between Heaven and Hell but between Satan and the man he'd chosen as his second. It was a war between the Demons who chose Lucifer and the small group of people who'd allied themselves with Marcas.
"So be it," Lucifer said, his hand lifting slightly.
It didn't take long to realize he'd issued a silent order. The roar that followed was evident. The Demons were angry, and they were closing in. I looked around desperately as creatures began to crawl toward us, and although I expected Lucifer to destroy us himself, he disappeared. He simply disappeared and left us to his followers. And they hungered for violence.
I looked at Marcas, and he nodded at me. I grabbed for my light, wrapping myself in the essence as smoothly as I could under pressure. The Demons had already approached Sophia, and she was fighting them off deftly, her light wielded like a sword. It was a trick I'd never seen before. She seemed to call on her light, holding it in her hand the same way a Jedi would hold a light saber in Star Wars. And she did it well.
Marcas and I were the next to come under fire, and I grimaced as I fought off a beam of red light before ducking as a sharp weapon I assumed was a knife flew over my head. It was caught in midair by Marcas who sent it directly back to the Demon who'd thrown it. A horrible scream filled the air. But there was no time to cheer.
The Demons were everywhere. And these were little Demons, almost what'd I'd imagine a troll to look like. The biggest ones came only to my thighs, but they were vicious. They had teeth like razor blades, and they threw small knives that seemed to appear from the ends of their fingers. They could apparently detach their claws and use them as weapons, and they threw beams of red light that were strong but not debilitating enough to kill.