Blood Redemption (Angel's Edge #3) (9 page)

urder. Ethan.

The words made no sense to me. Ethan, a murderer? What the hell?

I tried to step back from Belial, nervous and confused. He hadn’t let go of my hair, though, and a wave of fear wash over me. His presence was close, so close I could see the lifeless irises of his black eyes, could count each individual eyebrow, could see the beginnings of a mocking smile forming on his lips.

“I see you didn’t know,” he said, the hint of a smile twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

Still holding on to the lock of my hair, he gave it a quick cruel twist before letting me go. My scalp smarted and my eyes stung, but I’d be damned if I would let him see me cry. I blinked back the tears and tried to banish the words that were still ricocheting around in my head.

Ethan. Murder.

How dare Belial suggest something like that?

And then I stopped myself, remembering an afternoon that seemed forever ago, when Asheroth had told me the truth. The truth about Ethan’s past, the truth about how he had once been a Hunter. I hadn’t known what the term meant then. In the first Nephilim war, Ethan had been charged with wiping my kind from the face of the Earth. As far as I knew, he had done his job, fighting for the Light against what they saw as the monstrous powers of the Nephilim. That had been the final piece of information that pushed me over the edge, driving me here.

And then, stupidly, I believed in a demon’s promises. And just look where that landed me―in a dark place with others of my kind, totally at the mercy of Belial. With a demon who stood looking at me now, telling me my Ethan had killed his own brother’s wife.

“What makes you think I’ll even believe that?” I demanded, ignoring the tingle of doubt that had wormed its way into my stomach.

“Do you see that portrait?” Belial indicated the woman over the bed. “The one who looks more than a bit like you?”

“So what if she does?” I said, ignoring the implication underneath his words.

“
She
was my wife,” he said quietly. For just a millisecond, he looked lost and vulnerable, staring at the portrait. Then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Come, Caspia. Let’s have breakfast, and I’ll explain things a bit.” He gestured toward the balcony. “I assume you are familiar with the first Nephilim wars?” He took my arm.

I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held me with all the strength of his kind: as unmoving as stone, and cold to the touch where Ethan’s had been warm. His grip was tight, to the point that it hurt, and I gave up the struggle after barely a minute. Belial obviously didn’t care if he left bruises. I felt them forming beneath his hold on me.

And still, those two terrible words wouldn’t go away: Ethan. Murder.

“I don’t want to have breakfast with you,” I said softly, but with an edge. “I’ll tell you about my brother. None of this is necessary.”

“Oh, but it is.” He flung open the double glass doors and dragged me out.

I had my feet planted firmly to the flagstone floor, but to Belial, it didn’t matter. It probably didn’t even register with him that I was resisting. Out on the patio, a small table made of black wrought iron and glass waited for us. Two chairs that looked as if they had been made of twisted thorns waited on either side of the table. Only one place was set. The twilight sky in all its variegated glory continued to move behind us. In Belial’s presence, it lost its beauty, and turned again into something nauseating and hopeless.

“Sit,” he commanded, and so I did as he asked. In this place there was no way to disobey. The cold iron of the chair seeped through the thin silk of my gown, making me want to squirm, longing for the warmth of Belial’s fire inside his room.

Then I remembered the great hall where I first met him, and the fire that had burned bones there. I really didn’t want to find out what the demon used for fuel in his private chambers. I straightened my spine. I would just have to sit and shiver.

“What do you mean?” I found the courage to ask at last. “What did you mean about Ethan being a murderer?”

“‘And when the angels of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, they took unto themselves wives of all of them whom they chose,’” Belial intoned, obviously reciting a well-rehearsed passage. I recognized it as the Book of Genesis. I’d heard it in the class Dr. Christian had taught on this very subject. “So I took a wife.” He nodded to indicate the room we’d just vacated. “Her.”

“You mean…” I said, trying to grasp the implications.

“Yes, Caspia. I was among the first to Fall. And I Fell for love, just as my brother apparently has.”

“And you think Ethan killed her in this war of yours,” I said. I still couldn’t believe what he’d told me, that the man I loved had murdered his brother’s wife. “Surely there has to be some other explanation.”

“No,” Belial said. “No more about her for now. I believe we had an agreement. You tell me what I want to know, and then I’ll grant you one request.”

“But I need to know more,” I began, stopping short when Belial gave me a sharp, predatory look that chilled me all the way down to my toes.

“Your brother was dying,” he said. He had his back to me now. His clothing was very similar to the uniform everyone else wore, but more ornate. His black and silver cloak snapped and furled in the wind. I brushed my hair from my eyes and looked down at my plate. There was fruit and bread and a carafe of a dark red liquid I fervently hoped was wine.

“Yes,” I snapped, suddenly tired of Belial’s torments. “My brother was dying.” I took a sip of wine and toyed with a piece of bread to give me time to gather my thoughts. I had to be very careful here; my brother Logan meant more to me than almost anything, and I would do everything in my power to protect him. I couldn’t bring him to Belial’s attention, so I swallowed my wine and did my best to speak in a normal voice. “He had cancer, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it was terminal.”

Belial sneered. “Let me guess. Ethan’i’el first appeared to ‘safeguard’ his soul.”

I nodded very slightly. “He came for my brother,” I said hoarsely, remembering the events of what seemed like so very long ago. “He came to safeguard his soul until he… he…”

“You can say it,” Belial said, his voice surprisingly soft. “Until he died.”

Mutely, I nodded, tears filling my eyes. That had been such a horrible autumn, full of overwork and worry and death’s shadow. This time, when I reached for the wineglass, it was because I wanted it.

“And then?” Belial prompted, still sounding surprisingly gentle.

How to condense the events of those days into something Belial would understand? He had said he once had a wife… did that mean he understood such concepts as human love and sacrifice? How could I explain the first time I saw Ethan, that first touch that left me seared to my core? I couldn’t. I raised tear-bright eyes to lock gazes with a demon. “We love each other,” I said simply. “And it changed everything.”

It had, too. Ethan’i’el had become Ethan as he chose a human life with me over an eternity as a messenger of the Light.

“But your brother was still dying,” Belial said, crossing to sit right next to me at the small table. “Caspia, how did my brother save yours?”

Here it was―the question even I wasn’t sure I knew how to answer. “I don’t know,” I said, my face almost completely obscured by my dark hair. I barely spoke above a whisper. “Logan was dying. He was broken and bleeding, and there was nothing I could do.” Again I saw the accident, saw my brother’s body sprawled across the hood of the car. “And then Ethan was there. The light was leaving my brother’s eyes, and Ethan said, ‘Take mine,’ and suddenly Logan was breathing again. Whatever Light Ethan had, he gave to my brother that day.” I slumped away from the table. “And when I finally saw him again, he was human. Completely, fallibly human.” I took a long drink of wine. It burned the back of my throat and almost made me cough. “That’s all I know.”

I left out the part about Ethan being immune to all forms of magic. Belial hadn’t asked about the Immunes in Whitfield, and there was no way I was going to volunteer the information.

The demon nodded at me across the table. “Yes, of course. They stripped him of his powers and threw him out.” He snapped his gaze to mine, his face menacing again. “Where he found you waiting for him. Because you love him.”

I nodded feebly. There was no use denying it.

He shook his head, something like triumph shining in his eyes. “Foolish mortal. Love is the greatest weakness of all.”

Asheroth had said that to me once. But he, like Belial, was wrong. They both had to be wrong, or else all of this was futile.

“You said you would grant me one request,” I reminded him. “I told you what you wanted to know. Now it’s your turn.”

Belial settled back in his chair as if I’d just promised him a wonderful gift. “I suppose I did.” He almost looked like he was laughing at me. “Well? What will it be? A fortune in riches? Instant celebrity?” he saw my face and snorted. “Or, let me guess. Something different. Something noble. And boring, probably. Of course Ethan’i’el would choose a boring girl to fall in love with.”

I ignored his insults. This was it, my moment of choice. I could be safe in Ethan’s arms for real, not in some Dreamtime version with all its limitations. I could be home with Logan and Asheroth, with Cassandra Blackwood and all my friends and neighbors.

I could go home.

But that would mean leaving all these Nephilim exactly as I found them: miserable and hurting and in need. I thought of young Caroline Bedford, punished for failing to burn down my town. Could I leave a twelve-year-old locked in isolated punishment?

I looked at Belial, so like my Ethan, but so different. I thought of the war coming to my hometown and how badly I would be needed there, as well.

Yes, I thought. I would give anything to be safe in Ethan’s arms again.

“Home,” I announced. My voice wavered with the burden of guilt I now carried. I would probably carry it for the rest of my life. I was only one person, I told myself. There was no way I could make that big of a difference. Besides, without me, Belial’s army would be missing one of its weapons.

Me.

Belial looked bemused. “Very well. I must say, I am surprised. I expected you to demand that I free that annoying little girl.” He ran one long finger around the edge of the wine bottle. Drops of condensation dripped from his fingertips. “I was sure you’d fall for that,” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Fall for what?” I asked, surprised.

“I punished the girl to test you, dearest Caspia,” he said, standing and looking out over the balcony again. I stayed where I was, staring at his back. “The girl is too valuable to leave locked up for long.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“So you will know what you have given up,” he said. “And so you’ll remember who has the upper hand.” Suddenly he was in my face, cupping my chin in his strong stone palm. I tried to move my head and couldn’t. “So you’ll know you can never, ever defeat me.”

“But I chose home,” I protested. “I chose Whitfield, and Ethan. You promised!” This last word was a shout, echoing over the balcony and across the barren landscape.

“I did promise,” he said, releasing my chin to stroke my face. “And I’m pleased with your choice. As far as I’m concerned, you couldn’t have made a better one.”

“Why?” I asked, suspicious now.

“Because I never said how long you could stay.” He smiled at me as one might at a particularly stupid, but well-meaning child. “And I never said you could go alone.”

“But…” I tried to protest.

“Oh yes, Caspia Chastain. I’ll be going with you.” He wrapped a stone hand tightly around my forearm. “As long as you are with me, I can breach the wards around your guardian’s stronghold.” His smile turned sickening. “And I’ll be face-to-face with my brother at long, long last.”

I stared at him in horror, not believing my ears. “If that’s true, why haven’t you breached them before? Why haven’t you taken another Nephilim and―”

“Because no one else is from Whitfield, stupid girl. The wards won’t recognize anyone else.”

His arm was still wrapped around mine when I tried to stand up hastily. My goblet of wine fell over, spilling the liquid all over the tablecloth and dribbling onto the silk of my dress. “No,” I said as assertively as I could. “No way. I won’t be your personal ticket into Whitfield. I take it back. Free the girl instead,” I begged, horror replacing fear in my gut.