Redemption (28 page)

 I coughed.
What?

“Fuck that!” Conor exclaimed, his gaze full of horror.

I coughed again. Monroe patted me on the back.

“W-why?” I stuttered.

Marcas looked around the group. His expression never changed. I wondered what he’d look like if he laughed.

“Because the best you can pass as is nineteen and that’s barely. It’d be less suspicious for us to leave the country as a couple and siblings than as a group of independent teenagers and one adult. It's just until we land,” Marcas said.

He didn't look much older than we were. Twenty at the oldest. I glanced again at his passport. He had his age at twenty-one.
It's just until we land
. That was a relief.

“Guess that means we’re newlyweds?” I asked him cautiously. He had my age at nineteen. He looked at me.

“Yes, my dear. You are my young, loving new wife,” he said coldly as he pushed to the front of the group. I cringed at his callousness. I wasn't used to lying, and I wasn't an actress. Forgive me for being wary.

“Smartass,” I muttered as I followed.

Conor moved next to Marcas.

“This is bullshit!” Conor said as we walked.

Marcas glanced at me.

“I would have gladly made her your wife,” he said evenly. I was insulted.

“Can we just do this?” I asked sullenly.

Monroe snorted next to me. I looked over and realized she was trying not to laugh.

“What?” I hissed. She just shook her head.

“If it wasn’t for the danger, this trip would be interesting as hell,” she said with a laugh.

 Our humor was returning. I flipped her the bird, and she stuck out her tongue. The gestures felt familiar and nice. We moved into the airport and Conor fell back next to Monroe. He’d done subterfuge before. It was obvious by the way he suddenly grinned and elbowed his "sister" as if they shared a joke.

Marcas took my hand and tucked my arm into his. My skin crawled. Nerves overtook me. We moved through the terminals easily. No one questioned our motives and when it came time to produce tickets, Marcas handed four over without blinking an eye. I was having a hard time saving face. Monroe had always been a good actress and Marcas and Conor seemed experienced in lying. I was sorely unprepared for this.

“Mrs. Mays,” the lady said respectfully from behind the desk as she handed back my ticket. It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. I reached for the slip of paper with my left hand and almost gasped at the beautiful diamond solitaire engagement ring and white gold wedding band that suddenly appeared.

“Ummm . . . thank you,” I said with a smile.

She looked at me curiously before moving to Conor and Monroe. I had a hard time not staring at the ring. The diamond on the engagement ring was heart-shaped and tinted pink. It was very unusual. I walked through the metal detector and met Marcas on the other side. He took my hand once more. The tingling hit me again. It made my stomach ache.

“Are you ok, Mrs. Mays?” a flight attendant asked me when we finally made it on the plane. Marcas had produced first class tickets. I was impressed.

I looked up at the woman sheepishly.

“Just a little nervous about flying,” I answered.

It wasn’t a lie. I’d never flown before.  She smiled and assured me it was safer than being in a car. I wasn’t convinced. At least a car didn't disregard the rules of gravity. Marcas let me take the window seat. It was a nice gesture, but I wasn’t appreciating it in the least. I didn’t like heights. I was sure my face was turning green and we hadn’t even taken off yet.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” Monroe said cheerfully as she took the seat in front of me. She was still in character. She popped a piece of bubble gum with her finger. Oh, how I could use a dumdum! Conor glanced at Marcas and me before sitting down next to Monroe glumly. I wanted to tell him I’d much rather be sitting with them, but I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The plane filled up and the seat belt light came on. I was already buckled up.

“Breathe, Blainey,” I whispered to myself as the plane’s engines started up.

The pilot came over the loudspeaker and the flight attendant began a safety lesson. I ignored them both as I searched the seat in front of me for a barf bag. I found it and grabbed at it greedily. Marcas glanced at me. I ignored him.

“Try this,” Monroe said from in front of me, and I looked up to see her holding a piece of gum over the back of the seat. It was spearmint. She must have gotten it from Conor. I took it gratefully. Both of them knew I had a phobia of heights and spiders. Both tended to paralyze me. The shock from the Samuel incident had worn off, and my body was on high "frantic" alert.

“Thanks,” I muttered before unwrapping the gum and popping it into my mouth. It did help some with the nausea. The plane moved.

“Oh, my God!” I uttered helplessly.

Marcas took my hand, and I looked down at it, startled. I was about to pull away when I noticed the flight attendant looking our way. I let him take it. His other hand suddenly moved to the back of my neck, and I cringed.

“Relax,” he said quietly, and I realized he was concentrating. His eyes were focused, the pupils dilated. The tension in my stomach eased. The plane lifted off. Marcas kept his hand on my neck. The nausea went away. The seat belt light went off.

“Ok?” Marcas asked.

I looked over at him. I knew he’d done something to ease my fear, I just wasn’t sure what.

“Yeah," I answered.

 He removed his hand. My skin felt instantly cold.

“Thanks."

 He didn’t look at me.

“I didn’t think having to produce another shirt because you got sick a very good idea,” he said in return. I shrugged. Either way, I was still grateful. A flight attendant appeared next to our seats.

“Can I get you some champagne?” she asked us kindly.

 I shook my head. According to my I.D., I wasn’t old enough anyway. Marcas nodded. She disappeared. I glanced at Marcas.

“I’m beginning to see my life in movie shades,” I told him lightly. I was attempting, if somewhat feebly, to make small talk. Marcas glanced at me sharply.

“What?” he asked. I shrugged.

“You ever seen that movie
Just Married
? You know the one where Brittany Murphy and Ashton Kutcher get married and have all kinds of honeymoon mishaps?” I asked conversationally. Marcas looked away and didn’t answer.

“Not a movie guy, huh?” I asked. He still didn’t answer.

“Oh well."

 I’d tried. Of all the Demons in the world, I had to get bound to this one. He was the coldest, most unreadable person I'd ever met. Maybe it was a Demon thing. Maybe Demons abhorred small talk. Who knew? He didn't look like a Demon. I had to remind myself that he wasn't human. The flight attendant brought Marcas his champagne. She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back.

“Does craving blood make you an asshole?” I asked Marcas after the attendant walked away. Marcas took a sip of his champagne and took his time savoring it before looking at me.

“What is it about you Angels? Did you
want
me to smile at the attendant?”

I snorted. It was so
not
ladylike.

“I wouldn’t know. And a little grin wouldn’t have hurt,” I said with a frown.

I didn't know anything about being an Angel. I still couldn't believe my father was one and that I shared his blood. And what did Marcas have to compare me to? How many Angels did he know? 

“I’m supposed to be a newlywed,” he said dryly.

I lifted my brow. The attendant had smiled at him. I didn't consider that flirtatious. He'd obviously never seen a Southern girl circling a guy she was interested in. Southern women had gumption.

“Could have fooled me. Newlyweds SMILE. They
look
happy,” I pointed out.

Marcas leaned over slightly and bared his teeth. They were fangs.

“That better?”

“Real attractive,” I said with a grimace. He looked away. The attendant walked by and I asked for a pillow.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked pleasantly.

I hooked my thumb in Marcas’ direction.

“A new husband. You can have this one."

 The woman choked before looking at us both, her eyes wide with shock. Oh yeah, she wasn't from the South. If she had been, shock wouldn't have been the reaction I'd gotten. A Southern woman would have either verbally destroyed the man next to me for whatever crime he'd committed to ignite my ire, or she would have taken the cards I'd laid on the table and made a play for my "husband." Monroe snorted from the seat in front of me.

“Ma'am?” The attendant asked. I waved my hand.

 “Sorry. Lover’s quarrel. Give us some time. You know what they say about make up sex.” I said with an apologetic grin.

Someone called out to the attendant and she moved on quickly. Monroe was laughing fully in front of us now. Conor was silent.

“Like you know anything about that,” Marcas muttered. “Are you always this aggravating?”

“Pretty much.”

Marcas moaned. “This is going to be one helluva long flight,” I heard him whisper.

 I wasn’t going to disagree. I grew silent. Time moved slowly. The darkness outside finally caught up with me and I yawned.

“Why does everyone want me dead?” I asked Marcas softly. I didn’t want anyone around us to overhear. He leaned back in his seat.

“Because of what we are,” he answered.

I didn’t understand and I told him so. He looked down at me.

“It is not unusual for Demons to bind mortals to them. Many enjoy having human servants with increased strength and a long life who can serve them on earth for centuries. When they tire of these mortals, they take their souls. Never before has a Demon been bonded to an Angel. Ever. There are no rules for this. It could have disastrous results. It’s not natural. My brother believes it will bring the race of Cain redemption. Others believe it will throw the war on the side of good or evil. Right now, they are equally matched. Neither side can afford for the other to get the upper hand,” Marcas said. I looked at him.

"So we're writing the rules for this as we go then?"

I didn't really expect an answer. And he didn't give me one. I watched him as he turned away from me, his profile erect, and I wondered how he felt about this whole debacle. Did he hate me for what I was? Or did he hate his brother for binding us? Did
I
need to hate
him
because my father is an Angel?

“You said your father was Cain. The Cain that killed Abel in the Bible?” I asked Marcas. He looked away.

“Yes."

 I had a hard time swallowing that.

“And your mother?”

 Marcas looked at me again.

“Are you always this chatty?” he asked. I shook my head.

“I’m normally worse,” I answered. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

 Marcas leaned his head back.

“My mother is the Demon, Lilith, the first perceived wife of Adam,” Marcas said. I frowned.

“Adam had another wife before Eve?” I asked, confused.

“So some believe. It’s more myth than fact. The truth remains, though, that Cain did lie with a Demon and our race was the result.” Marcas said.

I touched his arm. He looked down at my hand pointedly. I pulled away. So he didn’t like touch.

“So you’re the descendant of Cain and Lilith?” I asked. It didn’t seem possible that he was the son. He looked me in the eye.

“I am their first born son,” he said unflinchingly.

My eyes grew wide. He was serious.

“That makes you—"

“Really old,” he finished for me.

I sat back. Well, I hadn’t expected that. And here I thought Monroe was the one attracted to older men. God, I should be disgusted. I looked at Marcas from the corner of my eye. He looked confident even leaning back in the first class seat of a 747. It was hard to believe he’d existed before the invention of flight.

“How many of you are there?” I asked him. He didn’t move.

“Millions,” he answered. I thought about that. Vampires may not exist, but I had a feeling Marcas’ race had been the basis for the myth.

“This doesn’t feel like reality,” I said quietly. He didn’t answer me. I yawned again but fought sleep. I still had one more question.

“How are we supposed to get unbound?”

The interior lights of the cabin were dimmed. Most of the passengers were asleep.

“I’m not sure yet,” Marcas answered. That was comforting.

I stood up and looked over the seats in front of us. Monroe and Conor were both asleep. I sat back down and turned toward Marcas.

“I don’t want to die,” I whispered. “And I don’t want my friends to die.” 

Marcas glanced over at me, his gaze intent. The cabin suddenly felt way too small. 

“I can’t promise anything,” he said.

I knew that. I just felt better knowing someone knew I did care about what little life I had. Even if it was a Demon. I gave him one last look before leaning my head against the back of my seat and letting my exhaustion take me away.