A Mark Unwilling

by Candace Wondrak

  “This is the twenty-first century. It isn’t my job to pop out kids like Pez.”

  “The Mark on your body states that you have no choice.” As I look down on myself, doubting everything, Hades adds, “Though it matters little, if at all. You will die here, and I will relish the look on his face when I lay your corpse before him.” The horses raise themselves on hind feet, neighing and whinnying.

  The dagger in his hand transforms into a sword, its tip ever sharp, its metal a greenish, garish hue. A thin mist seeps from the blade, and for the first time, I’m afraid to die. I don’t want to die. There’s still so much to do, so many people to protect. His hand shoots to my neck, gripping me tightly, lifting me in the air, feet off the ground. The air chokes out of me, and I stare up at the sepia sun, wondering if it’s going to be the last thing I see.

  As Hades brings his sword up, seeking to stab me in the heart, something falls from the sky, knocking me out of Hades’s grip and away from the sword. I slowly roll to a stop, coughing my lungs out.

  A billowy, white, ten-foot wingspan stands between Hades and me.

  A shimmering white blade halts Hades’s sword. A tall, white-haired man meets Hades head-on. His body is clothed in a blue and white robe, his back completely bare. Where his wings erupt on his back lays pure muscle. Not gruesome like the spider legs at the hospital. Their presence is natural, the immaculate white wings beautiful. The wings flap once, and I nearly fall over.

  Beautiful and powerful.

  “You interfere where you do not belong, Hades,” the winged man speaks.

  Hades yanks his sword away, hissing, “Seraph. As if you don’t interfere.”

  The man stares squarely at Hades, saying, “Only when I am needed.”

  “She—” Hades raises the point of his sword just above the ground, pointing it at me through the Seraph’s spread legs. Whatever he’s about to say stops when the Angel interrupts him.

  “She is none of your concern.” The Seraph meets his stare, not backing down.

  Hades scoffs, moving to the Horsemen and disappearing in a cloud of black smoke. The Horsemen vanish with him, leaving me with the Angel. Because the last time I met an Angel, I had so much fun.

  I keep my eyes averted when he turns to me, tucking his wings to his back.

  “Ah, you must’ve met Michael,” he says, grabbing my arm in a warrior’s greeting, hand grabbing my elbow, our forearms touching. “You can look at me—I won’t blind you with my heavenly appearance.”

  Just like Michael’s voice was, his is smooth and soft, flowing over me like honey. Before I can think about it, I meet his gaze. A steely grey, matching his wings and his silver hair, although by looks alone, he’s not old. Younger looking than Michael. A few years older than me, though I know better.

  I nearly drown in his gaze, not even realizing that we’re still touching each other. Angels seem to be just as dangerous as Demons.

  “Who…” I can’t even form the question under his heated stare. I untangle my arm from his, embarrassed at my lack of composure. Something which, until now, I never cared about.

  “Gabriel,” he says with a warm smile. Handsome, in a weird way. His sword vanishes in a ray of light as he adds, “My friends call me Gabe. Or they would, if I had any friends.”

  “I’m—”

  “I know who you are, Lexine.”

  The name on my birth certificate. I hate being called that.

  Gabe’s wings spread, and his knees bend. Ready to take off, he tells me, “I’d stay away from Hades, if I were you.” And then he soars upward, breaking through the cloud barrier in seconds, out of sight in less than ten Mississippis.

  After he leaves, I’m…left. Just left. Totally alone, in a barren wasteland that may or may not be radioactive. Not like it’ll hurt me, but it’s not a pretty thing to think about. I don’t even know where I am. I don’t know which direction to start walking—I may have finally seen the outside of the Vamp sanctuary and may know what general area of the state it’s in, but it’s still a heck of a long way from my school or David’s shop. Couple hours by car, at least. By the time I get back, if I make it back, they’ll most definitely be gone.

  Long gone.

  I heave a sigh, picking the direction of the setting sun, and start walking. Dust blows, and I gag on my hair. Not only did I meet Hades, I found out he hasn’t been the one trying to turn me against Devil Jr.—Dagon. Who has been invading my dreams? Where is he? Why did Gabe come down to save me from Hades?

  Way too many questions, so few answers.

  I do my best to focus on the walking, and ignore what Hades said about Human women. But, of course, my mind goes there anyway. Demons aren’t self-replicating. Neither were the Greek gods, if I remember my ninth grade English class well. Zeus never could keep his thing in his pants, and a lot of demigods were born from Human women. Until now, I thought all that stuff was fiction. Clearly, some of it is true; but how much? Is Hercules real? Why isn’t he stopping the end of the world? If Hades is real, a whole new can of weirdness is open, and I don’t know if I can take that much more.

  There were also Greek goddesses, so the male-only thing must be a Seraph specialty.

  Who knew?

  Dust blows, and I walk for what feels like hours. The sepia sun falls to the horizon in front of me, and I’m greeted with an unusually strong blast of wind. Little dirt particles get in my eyes, and I stop to wipe them. Doesn’t do much since my arms and hands are coated in the dust anyways.

  After wiping my eyes, I see someone standing in the distance. Stupid me, I shout, “Hey!” I run to the figure, slowing when I see that it’s a woman, clad in golden armor. Her hair is dark, her eyes hazel. Shoulder length, pin straight; her hair is covered by a helmet adorned with snakes. A golden breastplate sits on her chest, intricate snake patterns lining its edges. She is not dressed skimpily, as female fighters are in videogames or movies. The only skin she shows is her face and her arms. Her legs are clad in golden armor, a short skirt of chainmail falling from her hips.

  Her hazel eyes study me, and as she stares at me, it’s as if she’s seeing everything—my past, my soul, my Mark. A wisdom-filled stare, not frightening or intimidating. And yet she draws her golden sword just the same.

  “I will give you a moment to prepare yourself, Champion,” she says, her tone strong and commanding, as if she’s said that line a dozen times.

  “What?” My legs stop. I throw my hands up, spinning and hurrying in the opposite direction. “Not feeling like anymore fighting today, sorry.” I break out into a run, and the woman appears in front of me; I impale myself on her sword.

  She doesn’t even blink.

  Pulling her sword from my gut—which hurts a lot, by the way—she twirls on her feet, landing the edge across my neck. I stumble back, but don’t fall. Ouch. I hold a hand against my bleeding throat, seeking to stop the blood flow, steadying myself as I look at her. My Pokémon shirt is drenched already. Due to my recent antics, the pain is negligible. More like an inconvenience.

  “Great,” I mumble, brain doing its best to ignore the pain, “now I’m going to look like a murder victim until I can get some clothes.”

  Her eyes crinkle just a bit, and she stands straight. Her blade is free of blood. “The rumors are true, then.” She sheathes her blade on her hip. “I’ve never met a mortal who could take a fatal blow and live, Champion or not.”

  I strain myself, trying my best not to roll my eyes. “Why do you keep calling me Champion?” The only thing I’m Champion of is bad decisions and getting hurt.

  “Your Mark follows you; we all can see it.”

  “Well,” I swallow, holding my neck tighter, “thanks for cutting my throat and stabbing me. We’ll have to do it again, sometime.” I try to go around her, but she stops me by what she says next.

  “You are on a quest, but you do not know how to reach your destination.”

  I stop, looking at her. “What would you know about it?”

  �
�Seraphs do not enter the Underworld often. When it happens, we all know.” Knowledge seeps from her words, her head held high. She seems either oblivious to my bleeding, or able to tune it out. “We say we are immortal, but all beings with life can die,” she explains, her physical and mental strength apparent. “It simply takes more time. Hades will kill him.”

  “Why?” I shake my head. “No, how do I get him back?”

  “You will have to journey to the Underworld and retrieve him. Entering is easy. Everyone is welcome in the Underworld…it is leaving that will prove difficult.”

  Okay, so all I have to do is find a way into the Underworld to save my Devil master. Why should I bother? Stupid sense of duty and responsibility.

  “I don’t suppose there’s an elevator? Or an escalator?” I say, half-joking. “I’m a little on the tired side.”

  “I will offer you my aid, if you answer me one question.”

  I stare at her, waiting.

  “Why would you risk your life for him?”

  Is this a trick question? It seems easy enough. Too easy. My mouth opens, and I start to answer, “I…” But that’s all I say. Why am I going to rescue him? Why would I do something so stupid, so dangerous—all for a pouty son of the Devil? “I can’t explain it. I just have to.”

  She holds my stare. “I see.” And then she does the most bizarre thing—she smiles. “You are not a poet of old, are you?” She chuckles. “How I miss those days.” The woman talks a little formal, stiff.

  I tear the bottom of my shirt and tie it around my neck. I would be next to useless if I had to run around the Underworld holding onto my bleeding neck. After I tie the knot tightly, I pause. The wind blows the torn shirt, warming the bottom of my bare stomach.

  The Underworld? Am I really going there? Am I really going to trust this warrior woman? She attacked me, after all.

  “Why would you help me?” I ask, wanting an answer before I go traipsing around with her.

  “I fight for justice. Your cause is just. I cannot say the same of Hades’s.” Her full lips turn into a mixture of a smile and a frown. “Those in Olympus are not all alike.”

  Olympus is real. Why not?

  I couldn’t believe what I’m about to do. I should give up and get back to the group. I shouldn’t care what happens to him. He’s an entitled, arrogant, infuriating son of a you-know-what. He acts like he owns me (even if he technically might, thanks to my parents), like I’m a challenge, a puzzle he’s thrilled to put together and discover. He might say he’s growing fond of me and my stupid ideas, but he doesn’t mean it. He never left Hell before this. He’s never known friendship, trust, loyalty, or love.

  Ugh. Fine. I convinced myself. Happy?

  I have to save him, but I am not happy about it.

  Underworld, ready or not, here I come.

  The End

  I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading A Mark Unwilling! It’s a story about survival among a quirky group of people who may or may not always get along.

  If you liked it and have time, please drop a review on Goodreads and Amazon! Even if you didn’t like it, tell me what you didn’t like, and I’ll try to do better next time. That’s the thing about books—they’re always evolving. Same with ideas.

  I will say, though, if you’re tired of the stereotypical bad-guy Hades, just wait. The second book will divulge his reasons to you, why he hates Dagon with such passion, and, by extension, Lexa. And the next book will have more gods—I promise.

  That’s all for A Mark Unwilling.

  Out soon: A Betrayal So Cruel.

  Happy reading,

  Candace Wondrak

  P.S. Join my mailing list for heads-up on upcoming and new releases!