Redemption (Redemption Series Book 1)

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Bezaliel~

  I closed my eyes and looked for my inner light. It made seeing in the dark so much easier. I just wished I could keep my eyes closed. Opening them meant I had to look at Marcas. Big joy.

  “So, who’s Alessandro?” I asked.

  Marcas turned a corner and moved up to a vehicle parked on the side of the road. With my new night eyes, I could tell it was red. He put his hand against the car door and it fell open. I looked around us cautiously.

  “Ummm, please tell me this is some rental car you forgot to tell me about,” I hissed as I moved up behind him. Marcas gave me a bemused look then pointed at the passenger side. I sighed.

  “No such luck huh? Great! Now I’m an Angel who’s committed grand larceny. Is that even legal in Heaven?” I asked as I slid into the car.

  I’d never get used to being a passenger while sitting on the driver’s side. It was just wrong. Marcas placed his hand on the steering wheel and the car started up. Seriously? Watching him made me wonder what kind of powers I was supposed to have that I hadn’t managed to discover yet. So far, I could throw light balls and see in the dark. Cool, but not as cool as producing clothes out of thin air, fixing broken china or walls, and starting vehicles without a key. I felt like I was in an episode of Criss Angel Mind Freak. My stomach growled.

  “Not that I’m complaining or anything . . . okay, I’m complaining, but please tell me that there’s food where ever we’re going,” I said as I buckled the seat belt. The last car ride I’d had with Marcas hadn’t been all that rad. I was seriously devoted to protective gear this time around.

  Marcas glanced over at me. His eyes spoke volumes. I was getting used to this one-sided verbal communication thing. This should worry me but it didn’t.

  “Don’t give me the whole 'high maintenance' look. It’s not that I have a thing against blood. I’m just part of the 'I like my food well done' fan club. Donuts, dumdums . . . now that’s fine cuisine,” I protested as Marcas drove. I was babbling again. Logically, I knew that meant I was nervous.

  “You’re talking about high fructose corn syrup and fried flour, not food,” Marcas said flatly.

  I glanced at him. Had he actually gone all normal person speak mode on me? Be still my heart, I was impressed.

  “Well, well, the Demonio does speak. I beg to differ, my blood-bound Demon counterpart. Dumdums are the nectar of the Earth,” I said dramatically. Marcas snorted, and I saw his lips twitch slightly. Had he almost smiled?

  “Earth bound Angels tend to have a thing for sugar. They crave it. Some even need it,” Marcas said quietly.

  Was he talking about Sophia? The thought actually made me feel a little depressed. I’d ask myself why, but I wasn’t really sure I wanted the answer.

  “You’re spoiling my mood, Craig. And here I thought I was one of a kind. Are you telling me I’m not the only person who eats cake frosting like it’s ice cream?” I asked sullenly. Marcas sped the car up.

  “Never fear, Blainey. You’re definitely one of a kind,” Marcas muttered.

  I looked over at him. Was that a compliment or an insult? Marcas took a curb fast, and I looked down at the speedometer.

  “Is there a reason we’re speeding like a bat out of Hell through what’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world?” I asked Marcas nervously.

  He glanced in my direction briefly.

  “You’d feel it if you let your guard down."

  I stared. “Feel what?"

  Marcas shifted gears.

  “The Demons,” he answered.

  I held my breath. The what? I looked around us. The windows were dark.

  “Feel it, Blainey. I know you knew what Luther and Lexi were when you met them. It’s the same difference. Just open up your mind and feel,” he ordered.

  I sat back in my seat. Nothing came to me. Marcas took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on my arm. The floodgates of Hell opened. Literally. Nausea swept through me and I doubled over in pain.

  “Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. Marcas removed his hand.

  “God has nothing to do with that,” he said sourly. My fists clenched the seat.

  “What was that, Craig? That wasn’t just one Demon!” I cried out.

  My eyes searched the night. The city was flying past my window. I didn’t know how Marcas saw to drive.

  “It’s at least fifty Demons,” Marcas answered.

  “Fifty! Oh, my God!”

  My heart began to beat well beyond the normal pulse rate. I was tempted to sit in Marcas’ lap. I wasn’t being a girl, I was just being smart. Right now, he was stronger than me.

  “You need to learn to feel them on your own, Blainey. They’ve been following us since we landed. They aren’t as close as you think they are. They are closing in, but we still have time. Maybe a day or two. But we do need to hurry,” he said calmly.

  I looked over at him.

  “You’re telling me we are being followed by at least fifty Demons who I’m sure aren’t looking to make friends and you want me to take 'feeling' lessons. What is this? On the job training?” I asked bluntly.

  My tone was edged with terror. Marcas moved onto a road that seemed to lead out of the city. He ignored my question. I took in deep breaths to calm my breathing.

  “Who’s Alessandro?” I asked him again. Marcas picked up speed.

  “He’s the head of the Swords of Solomon."

  He was what? I closed my eyes and counted slowly to ten. It didn’t work.

  “What the fuck, Craig! There’s a mass of Demons wanting to see at least one of us dead, and we are driving into the hands of a group protecting an item we want to steal. Oh yeah, I see the brightness in this plan!” I yelled. Marcas didn’t so much as flinch.

  “You don’t strike me as the type who enjoys taking the easy way out of anything, Blainey,” Marcas said. I shot him a look.

  “You seem to forget I haven’t been given the choice. If it were up to me, I’d hit the easy button every time,” I snarled. Marcas snorted. He actually snorted.

  “I doubt that, Blainey.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “If you did that, you’d at least have Damon off your back,” Marcas said.

  Seriously? He went there? I covered my face with my hands and screamed. It may have been a little on the cheesy side, but the release made me feel better. I managed to regain a modicum of calm. Fine! So, there were a mass of Demons following us, we were driving to meet the leader of the Swords of Solomon, and Damon was back in little ol' Lodeston, Mississippi hoping I’d breed with his brother? How dandy! Where was my fucking easy button? I looked at Marcas.

  “Now might be a good time for you to teach me how to kill a Demon,” I said bitterly.

  He shifted gears before glancing at me. The look he gave me was a hard one. I narrowed my eyes.

  “I need a quick lesson, Craig. If you go all Karate Kid on me and start that wax-on-wax-off shit, you will be the first Demon I try to kill,” I warned.

  Marcas shook his head. I had to quit using movie analogies. I was pretty sure he didn’t get them.

  “You’d only kill yourself with the attempt,” he pointed out. I slumped down in my seat.

  “It’d be worth the try."

  Marcas turned onto an empty dark road. I could see a field on my side of the car. A vineyard maybe?

  “You have to tear out their hearts and crush it,” Marcas said suddenly.

  My head shot in his direction.

  “What?”

  “To kill a Demon, you have to tear out his heart then destroy it,” Marcas explained. I stared.

  “Demons have hearts?” I asked skeptically.

  “Not typical ones, but they are built like mortals to a fashion. Demons can be grotesque and some are animal-like, but we all have some form of a heart. In our case, it’s only an organ for survival. Take that away and even we die. Those not Cursed return to Hell and are reborn,” he said. I watched his face. I
t was calm and unlined.

  “How do you do it?” I asked him. His brow furrowed slightly.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “Stay so calm, so detached?”

  “I’ve been around a long time, Blainey,” he answered. I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, cut the old man crap! The old men I know are more emotional than guys my own age. Especially in the Southern U.S.. This is a Marcas Craig thing,” I said sharply.

  The car turned, but I didn’t look out the window to see where we were going. My gaze was locked on his face.

  “It’s a Demon thing,” Marcas corrected. “It’s never good to let a Demon know how you feel. It gives them a weakness to prey on. You either learn to shut yourself off or you suffer the consequences.”

  “Death?” I asked. Marcas gripped the steering wheel.

  “Much worse, Blainey. Death would be so much easier to handle."

  I started to say something, but he shook his head. I closed my mouth briefly.

  "And Angels? Why can't they die?" I redirected.

  Marcas' hands tightened on the steering wheel. If he didn't ease up, he was going to break the thing.

  "They are borne of light. They belong to Heaven. Only God can kill an Angel. When Lucifer fell, the ability to be invincible was taken away. But Demons can't die either. Not really. Most of us are always recycled," Marcas said.

  I furrowed my brows in concentration.

  "And yet the Angels don't have the upper hand?"

  Marcas glanced my way. "You have to remember that Demons are constantly recycled when their bodies are destroyed, new half-Demons are continuously born to mortal women or bred by mortal men with Demon women, and Satan is constantly collecting human souls he forces into the war. Our numbers are always huge. And while Angels cannot die, they can be injured by Demons. And only Demons. And then they need time to heal," Marcas answered.

  I processed the new information before opening my mouth again, but Marcas stopped me.

  “We’re here," he said.

  I looked out the window and gawked. How rich was the man who guarded the artifacts of Solomon? The white stone home we stared at now wasn’t much smaller than the Abbey itself, and the cars parked along the front would make any man or woman who saw them salivate in envy.

  “I’m assuming the Swords of Solomon isn’t a full time position for this Alessandro,” I said blandly. Marcas opened the car door and stepped out. I followed suit.

  “You’d be surprised. He is the director of the group and there are a lot of private investors dealing in religious artifacts,” he pointed out.

  I watched Marcas over the hood of the car. Why had he chosen to come here?

  “How do you know him? How does Maria know him?” I asked.

  Marcas shut the door and turned to face the house.

  “He’s her son,” Marcas explained. He left my first question unanswered. Her son? Maria's son? This made me pause. What was Marcas to Maria and Alessandro?

  “How do you know Maria?” I asked.

  The question had plagued me since we’d met her. He started walking across the yard, and I followed. I thought for sure he wouldn’t answer but he surprised me.

  “She was a young girl when I first met her. She was an earthbound pursuit of mine once. At the time, she was a young widow of nineteen with a two-year-old son,” Marcas answered.

  I gawked at him. He had dated her? Maria? I shook my head. I stopped walking a moment. Really? Marcas paused and looked over his shoulder.

  “Demons have earthly affairs, Blainey. You may do well to dispel yourself of any naïve ideas now. I will never be a saint. Maria was beautiful once. Her soul still is. It shines with a brightness that would attract any Demon."

  I stared at him. The curdling of my stomach wasn’t because he’d dated Maria. I wasn’t naïve by any means. No, it was the sudden dawning realization of something much bigger than that. He’d been alive a long, long, long, long time. That meant he’d been with a LOT of women.

  “How many women does that put you at?” I asked without meaning to.

  My hand flew to my mouth. Had I actually asked him that? Jesus! Marcas started walking again. I hurried to catch up.

  “I won’t continue this discussion,” he said flatly.

  I didn’t push him. It was a question I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. It didn’t mean I couldn’t ask them in my head. There were many. How long had he been with Maria? I had a hard time picturing the rosary clad woman with a Demon. Was it a rebellious time in her life? Maybe a time when she was angry at God? Could it have been because she was a widow? Had she blamed God for the death of her husband? I suddenly couldn’t wait to meet up with her again. She fascinated me. I looked up at the house.

  “Are we just going to walk up to the door?” I asked Marcas with a frown.

  If the Swords of Solomon had gotten wind of our situation, they’d be ready to kill on sight, wouldn’t they? They’d have to be aware that Marcas was interested in the ring.

  “We are going to talk with Alessandro, yes,” Marcas answered. I stared at him in disbelief.

  “Won’t they want us dead?” I asked cautiously. Marcas looked at me.

  “Not necessarily. I am their threat. You, on the other hand, will be news to them. They are mortals, Blainey. They won’t be aware of your existence or the fact that we are bound. You are a Naphil seeking refuge among a group who assassinates Demons. The fact that we are being tracked by Demons will help your case,” Marcas said.

  I watched him. I felt like I was being debriefed for an undercover operation.

  “I am not an actress,” I complained reasonably. Marcas lifted a brow.

  “It’s time you learn to be,” he said before ringing the doorbell. “They already know we’re here. They have enough security to be aware of it."

  I looked at the door.

  “And they haven’t captured us?”

  “No doubt they are curious as to why a Demon is here with an Angel. They will have a Seer with the same gift as Maria. It is essential that they have men and women who can discern the difference between mortals, Angels, and Demons. I have a past history with an Angel. Maria has made you aware of this. It won’t seem out of place for me to be involved with another,” Marcas answered. I heard footsteps approaching from within.

  “Involved?” I whispered.

  Marcas put a hand on the small of my back. It made me jump. What was he playing at?

  “Just look down and appear scared, Blainey,” he ordered.

  I did as he commanded. I didn’t have to pretend to look frightened. I was terrified. The door swung open. Light illuminated our feet, and I closed my eyes to let go of my night vision.

  “Can I help you?” a female voice asked. Her tone was stern and almost cruel. There was no doubt she knew what Marcas was.

  “I seek an audience with Alessandro. Tell him it is Marcas. Tell him I require a favor,” Marcas said coolly. The woman grew quiet. The door drew further open.

  “I imagine you are aware of our group. I will inform Alessandro of your presence, but you will be guarded until he decides what is to be done with you,” the woman said. I continued to stare at the ground.

  “Understood,” he answered before prodding me gently in my back.

  I moved forward, looking up only long enough to discover we were in a finely decorated foyer. The floors were a rich wine colored stone covered in handsomely woven rugs. The table and chairs that sat a few feet within the entry were a deep mahogany. It matched the wooden bannister of the double-curved stone staircase further down the two-story entrance hall. It instantly brought to mind ­Gone With the Wind. I could almost imagine an Italian version of Scarlett O’Hara moving elegantly down the stairwell, her hand resting gently along the bannister.

  “In here please,” the lady ordered.

  The glimpse I got of the woman was an informative one. She was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair pulled up tightly on top of her head.
She wore a brown business suit that looked starched to the nines. Her hand pointed us toward a small sitting room off to the side of the foyer. It reminded me of Jane Austen novels where the matrons and their daughters received guests in their parlors. The woman glanced at me, and I looked back down at the floor. We moved into the room and the door closed quickly behind us. I heard a key turn in the lock and more than one pair of feet shuffle outside the door. I felt tempted to ask Marcas how many parlors he’d sat in wooing women, but I refrained. Barely.

  “Sit, and look tired,” Marcas ordered.

  My hackles rose with his tone, but I obeyed and looked around the room for the most comfortable looking piece of furniture. I spotted a fluffy looking brown suede sofa and moved toward it.

  “Am I supposed to be sick too?” I hissed sarcastically as I lowered myself onto the couch and pulled my legs up behind me. I rested my head on my arm. Marcas didn’t answer me. The door knob turned. I feigned sleep. The door opened, but there was silence. I had to fight not to look. Finally, heavy steps sounded inside the room.

  “It has been a long time, Demonio,” a male voice said. It was deep and unemotional. He didn’t sound like a son of Maria’s.

  “A very long time, Ander,” Marcas said. A loud huff followed the statement.

  “Alessandro to you, Demonio. Nothing more.”

  “Alessandro,” Marcas consented.

  The thudding of shoes made my stomach tense. I kept my face as relaxed as I could.

  “What have you brought me, Demonio? What is this?” Alessandro asked.

  “I have a feeling you already have some idea,” Marcas answered.

  “My Seers have told me that you have brought an Angel. She has the glow.”

  “A Naphil,” Marcas corrected. There was a slight hush.

  “Impossible,” Alessandro finally said. I wish people would quit saying that. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to exist. It made living somewhat depressing.

  “Not so much. I came upon her in the States. She was alone in the dark, and I admit I was prowling for blood. She’s the daughter of a Watcher called Bezaliel and a mortal woman descended purely from Seth,” Marcas stated.

  I felt a wave of air against my face, and I knew from the erratic way it brushed my cheeks and the stale odor of cigars, that Alessandro had approached me. I had to fight the urge to squirm.

  “Remarkable,” Alessandro breathed. “And she has no flaws?”

  “None,” Marcas answered.

  “She rests as a mortal does, I see.”

  “She is very mortal in her routine. She eats and sleeps as mortals do, but she retains a good deal of Angelic power,” Marcas said. Alessandro seemed to absorb this. I felt like a science project.

  “And why have you brought her to me, Demonio? Is she another Sophia? Have you again taken up arms against your own kind?” Alessandro asked.

  My nose started to itch. How often would I be compared to Sophia tonight?

  “In a fashion,” Marcas answered. “She has indeed caught my interest. We were involved before I realized what she was.”

  “Ah, one of your petty affairs. And now you are in love, no? Amazing how you Demons think we humans can be played.”

  “She isn’t human.”

  “I cannot argue with you there. My Seers would agree she has the blood of an Angel.”

  “And she is in danger,” Marcas pointed out.

  I felt Alessandro move away. I was fighting to keep my breathing even.

  “What kind of danger?”

  “There is a small group of Demons even now tracking her,” Marcas warned.

  “And you are seeking refuge here?”

  “Haven’t I before? The former director has welcomed me in the past," Marcas said. There was no argument.

  “I don’t trust you, Demonio. I always felt Roman was a fool to do so. I do not trust you at all,” Alessandro said quietly.

  “I should hope not,” Marcas answered. I heard Alessandro’s heavy shoes move toward the door.

  “Ready a room for the Demon and his guest,” Alessandro called out into the foyer. Many people rushed about outside the room.

  “You do realize you will be guarded closely,” Alessandro warned.

  “I would not expect otherwise. For this courtesy, I will help your slayers defeat the Demons seeking us,” Marcas promised. My stomach clenched. He was going to fight?

  “Our slayers do not need you,” Alessandro argued but Marcas would not be moved.

  “I beg to differ.”

  “The room is ready,” the female voice from earlier announced. The urge to frown was strong. Room? One room?

  “Have someone help with the girl,” Alessandro ordered.

  A hand touched my shoulder, and I bit my tongue to keep from reacting. I tasted blood in my mouth. There was a slight gasp from beside me and I knew it was Marcas.

  “I’ll take her myself,” Marcas said flatly. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. I heard a male chuckle.

  “Always possessive, Demonio. This has never boded well for your relationships,” Alessandro retorted.

  “Do not anger me, Ander,” Marcas said, his voice full of menace.

  There was a moment of silence.  Marcas lifted me into his arms. The gesture made my entire body catch on fire. His embrace was entirely too warm and uncomfortable. I ordered my body to remain relaxed, but it and my brain were on two entirely different pages.

  “Your anger is welcome here, Demonio. I would embrace any reason to kill you. Know that your safety is not guaranteed. The Angel, I will protect,” Alessandro countered.

  “That is all I ask,” Marcas said as he walked out of the room. I let my head fall back against his chest.

  “She’ll need food, preferably with dessert,” Marcas said suddenly as we reached the stairs.

  There was no reply as we moved. I was impressed he had remembered. The stairs were many, but I never once felt Marcas tire. Being this close to him was stirring, and I was glad when we finally made it to our destination. Marcas walked through a door and slammed it behind us. I opened my eyes.

  “That nasty habit of yours must go, Blainey,” he said as he dropped me unkindly on the bed.

  I stared at him in confusion. His eyes had gone red.

  “What habit?”

  Marcas moved close. I backed up a little. His hand suddenly gripped my jaw painfully, and I fought not to cry out. It was then I remembered the bite on my tongue.

  “Never tempt me again,” Marcas growled.

  He closed his eyes and backed away. I was breathing hard. My eyes watched him as he moved. I kept forgetting he could be dangerous. He loved the smell and taste of blood.

  Chapter 29

  Her strength is growing. The change has been gradual, but she is beginning to feel it grow within herself. When she learns how to use and control her powers, she will be a force to be reckoned with.