Redemption (26 page)

“You’ve got to do something!” Monroe pleaded as the pursuer pulled up alongside us and slammed into the driver's side.

We swerved off the road. Marcas swore before shoving the gas and pulling back onto the blacktop. He rammed into our pursuer.

“Jesus!” I cried.

The other car faltered and slowed. Marcas floored the gas, pulled out in front of the other car, hit his brakes and spun the car around. It stopped in front of the pursuing vehicle. Monroe and I both screamed and covered our eyes simultaneously.

A series of noises filled the car—squealing tires, crunching gravel, and a slamming door. I opened my eyes to see the other car halted on the shoulder of the road. The driver was standing next to his damaged vehicle. He was a tall man with dark brown hair and sunglasses. I wondered how he could see. Marcas stared at him a moment in silence before reaching for his door handle.

“Stay in the car,” he ordered, his voice low and rough.

He turned toward us both, and I fought hard to hide a gasp. His teeth were now fangs, all of them pointed. His two canines were the longest in length. It wasn't a romantic sight. Monroe squeaked.

“We’re going to die,” she whispered as Marcas opened the car door and slid out into the night. The men faced each other.

“Marcas,” the other man greeted almost amiably, his head nodding slightly.

“Samuel,” Marcas answered back.

They sized each other up. It was like watching two lions facing off on the Discovery channel. I was waiting for both of them to sprout claws. It wasn’t entirely out of the question since I noticed the other guy had fangs as well. Samuel shifted his weight slightly.

“Give me the girl, Marcas,” Samuel commanded.

My whole body went numb. Marcas hadn’t been lying. We were in danger. And, for some reason, it was all because of me. Marcas shifted. Both seemed to be settling into a fighting stance.

“I can’t do that, Samuel," Marcas said evenly, his voice held no inflection. Samuel didn’t move.

“She means that much to you?” Samuel asked coldly.

“She means nothing.”

“Then why risk a fight? I’m not the only one who’s come after you.”

“You know why.”

“You’re in deep shit, aren’t you, Marcas?”

“Not by choice.”

“Give me the girl!”

“No.”

Samuel lunged, hitting Marcas squarely in the chest. Both flew into a tree on the side of the road with such force, the huge oak bent in two. Monroe squealed. Pain engulfed me.

“We need to get out of here, Dayton!” Monroe begged suddenly.

She unbuckled and grabbed me by the shoulder. I was still staring at the fight, my mind trying to wrap itself around what it saw. Like any girl, I'd always dreamed of two men fighting over me, but not this way. Not when one of the men wanted me dead and the other was bound to me unwillingly.

I stared as Marcas pushed himself off the tree and punched Samuel. The other man growled and shook his head before circling Marcas. The fight was on. Both seemed evenly matched. I glanced away.

“We wouldn’t be safer on our own,” I said quietly. My voice trembled.

Something hit the windshield and we both screamed. I looked up to see it crack, lines moving along the glass like a spider’s web. Marcas’ back was shoved up against the web-like surface. Blood trickled onto the glass. I unbuckled and crawled carefully into the back seat just as the windshield caved in. Marcas growled. The sound was deep and guttural. The men seemed to be communicating in some primal language beyond human comprehension. Marcas shoved off the car. Another crash resounded, and the driver's side door caved in. I could feel burning along my back now.

“We’ve got to move!” Monroe cried.

I didn’t argue. I could tell Marcas was trying, but the other man was determined to get inside the car. The back seat in the Shelby was cramped and Monroe had to work to get to the passenger handle of the two door car.

“Don’t let him see us,” I whispered urgently as Monroe opened the door slowly and squeezed through as small an opening as she could manage. I followed. There was enough growling outside, I was hoping neither man had heard.

Monroe inched along the side of the car. I lost sight of the men as I followed. The car shook. I glanced around desperately.

“The trees,” I whispered.

Monroe nodded. We didn’t have any other choice. I stood up cautiously and looked for the two Demons. Marcas had Samuel pinned against the road, but Samuel was gaining the upper hand. Their backs were to us.

“Now!” I hissed.

We made a run for the forest just beyond the road. We spread out and hid behind two trees spaced fairly close together. The trunks were thick. I turned and put my stomach against the bark, my gaze searching the road until I caught sight of the Demons.

The two men were staring hard at each other, their bodies outlined in the harsh gleam of headlights coming from their damaged vehicles. Samuel lashed out at Marcas, and I noticed his hands had morphed into claws. It didn't surprise me. Marcas turned and Samuel ripped into Marcas’ arm, just barely missing his stomach. He grunted but didn’t falter. Both men were bleeding.

“We can’t just stay here,” Monroe argued from behind her tree.

I looked over at her. My arm was burning, and I was afraid to look down at it.

“Where else are we supposed to go?” 

“Anywhere but here,” she hissed just as a loud crashing noise made us both look toward the ensuing fight.

Marcas had thrown Samuel on top of the car. It was now badly crushed. I assumed he knew we were no longer in it. Samuel rebounded and pulled himself up on top of the crushed vehicle. He leaped. Marcas moved aside but not before Samuel managed to knock his feet out from under him. He jumped on top of Marcas. I didn’t see what happened next, but I did see Samuel’s figure loom suddenly upward. Marcas wasn’t moving. I felt like I was suffocating, but I didn’t black out. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Samuel looked up and sniffed.

“It would be easier on you if you’d come to me, sweet one.” Samuel called out.

I cringed. He sniffed again and moved toward the trees. My heart rate sped up.

“Jesus, Dayton.” Monroe whimpered as he came closer.

His fangs and claws were dripping blood. It was a terrifying sight. Headlights suddenly swept across the area, blinding us. Samuel growled and covered his eyes. Tires squealed across the blacktop, crunched on leaves and gravel, and spun to a stop not far from the trees. Fear consumed me, and I peeked around the trunk expecting to find another Demon hell-bent on killing me but was met with Conor Reinhardt’s idling Mercedes instead. The back door swung open just as his window rolled down.

“Get in!” Conor shouted.

Monroe didn’t argue. I knew she’d contacted him earlier. Conor yelled at us again, but while Monroe began to run toward the car, I looked toward Marcas. He still lay in the same spot, but he was moving. I felt torn. I wanted to leave but realized I couldn’t. I was too weak, and I couldn't abandon Marcas knowing he'd refused to turn me over to Samuel.  I looked down and, for the first time, noticed all the blood. I felt faint. Marcas hadn’t been the only one to take the blunt of this fight.

Conor yelled again, and I looked up at the car just in time to see Samuel intercept Monroe. She screamed. He smiled. It was feral, fangs flashing as he dove for her neck. It would be a killing blow.

The image of Monroe in her vintage dress with her hand tucked into mine at my parent's funeral flashed through my head, and I leaped toward them. Conor’s door flew open, but it wasn’t as fast as I was. One moment, I was weak and faltering, the next I was next to Monroe grabbing Samuel by the neck and throwing him over Marcas’ crumbled car and onto the blacktop.

Marcas sat up suddenly a few inches away from him and growled before leaning over and tearing out the other Demon’s throat. Nausea hit me and I doubled over, listening to the sound of Marcas ripping into Samuel's body. I was going to remember that moment for the rest of my life. I stared at my hand.

“Dayton?” Monroe asked uncertainly from beside me.

I felt Conor move in next to us. The fight was going out of me, and I could feel the effects of blood loss.

“We need to get you in the car,” Conor said. I didn’t look at him.

“I can’t leave,” I whispered. “I can’t leave him now.”

I couldn’t leave Marcas. I looked at the hand I'd used to grab Samuel's throat, and I gagged. There was no way I could leave Marcas now. I could hear the Demon move toward us, and I looked up at him. His claws and fangs had retracted, but the blood was still there. I avoided the scene behind him.

“Was that part of the bond?” I asked Marcas weakly. He stared down at me.

“You have my strengths and none of my weaknesses,” Marcas said quietly, his eyes raking the scene behind us as I tried wrapping my mind around the fact that I had just thrown a full grown Demon across a car. Super hero much? That thought made me pause.

“And you . . . what did you get from me?” I asked him hesitantly.

Marcas looked down, his blue eyes meeting my green ones evenly.

“All of your weaknesses,” he said.

Oh. Um . . . oookay. Well, that was a downer.

“You sure do know how to make a girl feel important.”

Chapter 22

The bond is unnatural. Never before has a Demon been bound to an Angel or a Naphil. This has caused unrest among the ranks of both Angels and Demons. The Demons are steadfast in their solution to this aberration: The girl must die.

~Bezaliel~

“Is she going to be ok?” Monroe asked Marcas uncertainly.

I looked faintly down at my blood covered arm. The gashes were already beginning to heal. The question broke the tension between the two of us.

“She’ll live,” Marcas commented as he pulled the knife he’d used to demonstrate our bond out of his pocket. He made a small gash on his wrist without flinching. I felt the same wound open up on my own wrist.

“Don’t you think you’ve made her bleed enough?” Conor asked with a growl.

I looked up at the two of them. Marcas glanced at Conor with a look of disgust. They seemed to know each other. This confused me.

“Drink,” Marcas said suddenly, holding his wrist out to me without taking his eyes off of Conor. I stared at his wrist in horror.

“Hell no!” Conor yelled.

“Omg!” Monroe exclaimed.

“Seriously?” I asked in a whisper. Marcas turned to look at me.

“It won’t strengthen the bond. And it will restore you."

 I continued to stare at the wrist.

“You don’t know that!” Conor said angrily. Marcas glanced at him.

“Leave the Demonology to the Demon, Gargoyle. I’m aware of the limits on bonding,” Marcas hissed. My eyes widened. Gargoyle? Monroe swore.

“What the fuck is a gargoyle?” she asked, her tone shocked. “Oh,
this
is wonderful. Dayton is bonded to a Demon hunted by psychos and I’ve managed to call in a gargoyle.”

I was too weak to care what anyone was right now. My legs buckled and I went down on my knees. Spots swam before my eyes. Marcas kneeled.

“Drink, Blainey, before you’re too weak and before I have to open another wound,” Marcas whispered.

 I looked up at him. Our eyes met.

“Drink,” he ordered.

This time I complied, closing my eyes as my mouth closed around the wound on his wrist. Blood filled my mouth and I fought the urge to gag. I forced myself to swallow. The blood was thick and it burned. Pain engulfed me.

I tore my mouth away and fell to the ground. Marcas’ hands were suddenly on my shoulders, keeping my back to the damp forest floor as I seized. Liquid fire coursed through my veins. I screamed. Conor moved in close but Marcas growled and flashed his fangs when he made to touch me.

"Don't!" Marcas yelled.

The heat in my body increased, and I screamed again. Hell. It felt like the fire pits of Hell. Marcas pushed down harder, and I realized my body was bucking as the effects of the Demon blood started waning. I felt open wounds on my body sear closed, and I panted as the liquid fire pooled around the injuries before dimming. My eyes found Marcas'.

"I think I'd rather have died," I whispered weakly. Marcas didn't reply. 

Conor yelled something at the Demon as I pushed at Marcas' hands and fought to sit up. Marcas released my arms and put a hand behind my back for support.

“I didn’t say the healing would come easy,” Marcas answered in a low tone as the pain began to pass.

I looked up at them all. Marcas was a little too close for comfort, and my heart rate sped up. Conor bent close.

“You can move now, Demon,” Conor said, his tone surly.

Marcas' gaze moved between the two of us, and he moved aside slowly. I braced myself against the ground, the loss of Marcas' support causing a heavy feeling in my chest. The wounds on my arm were gone and I moved my limbs experimentally. No stiffness.