Redemption (32 page)

“You smell nice, Angel. I’ve never had Nephilim blood before,” Lexi snarled.

 I threw her my best "fuck you" stare.

“Being bound to one Demon is enough, thank you,” I snarled back. Lexi straightened up.

“Marcas is more Demon than you can handle, princess,” Lexi said with a tight smile.

She lifted a leg onto the stool, and I looked away so I wouldn’t have to see what color her panties were.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to be handling him,” I mumbled irritably.

 I wanted nothing to do with Marcas beyond getting unbound, and he made no secret that he felt the same way. I felt Lexi move closer, but I didn’t look at her. I just couldn’t stand the hatred I knew I’d see in her eyes. I had enough of that in my life at the moment.

“Our mother has plans for him, you know,” Lexi said unexpectedly.

Startled, I looked up to find myself facing a mirror positioned just behind the bar. A reflection of the female Demon looked back at me.

“Am I supposed to care what your mother wants?” I asked.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She smiled and her fangs flashed. I was getting sick of sharp teeth.

“He’s one of her oldest children, he’s the first of her sons with Cain, and he’s incredibly powerful. He and Damon have been groomed for great things. Lilith won’t let you get in the way of that. I’m amazed Marcas has chosen to protect you."

I looked away from her reflection only to discover Marcas’s figure in the mirror as well. He was across the room talking on a cell phone. I watched him curiously. Why
was
he protecting me?

“So he’s being prepped to do incredible evil? Wow, that’s comforting,” Monroe said sarcastically from next to me. Lexi faced her.

“If that’s what you want to call it, mortal. But, I warn you, Lilith is not the type of Demon you want to fool with." Her tone was harsh, threatening even.

I saw Marcas look up from his cell phone conversation and our eyes met in the glass. My body suddenly felt way too warm.

“I think we should rest while we can,” I suggested to Monroe.  My gaze stayed locked on Marcas’.

“Human weaknesses,” Lexi said derisively.

 I didn’t care what she thought. We had our limits and if we weren’t aware of them, then we were only hurting ourselves. I saw Conor and Luther step up next to Marcas, but he didn’t break eye contact with me. Luther followed Marcas’ gaze, and I saw his eyes narrow.

“Maybe you’re right,” Monroe said wearily.

I saw Conor glance up into the mirror and then, and only then, did I look away. It killed me to do so. It proved that Conor was a weakness for me.

“There are some rooms with clothes and toiletries in it if you’re ready to make use of them,” Luther said suddenly from behind us.

It startled me and I jumped. It was amazing how fast these Demons could move. Why it surprised me was beyond me. They were demons, they could fly, and they could sprout all kinds of malicious animal characteristics. Gravity didn't pertain to them. I turned around to face Luther.

“We are,” I answered.

I could tell by his face that he’d heard a good deal of our conversation with his sister. Either that or Lexi was sharing thoughts. It didn’t seem impossible. I knew some human twins who could do it.

“Where did the clothes come from?” I asked Luther suspiciously. He glanced at his sister.

“I volunteered some items from my closet for Mr. Reinhardt and my sister has done the same for you and your friend."

 I cringed and Monroe moaned from behind me. Great. We were going to be in Italy dressed like vixens. James Bond would be proud.

“Her clothes aren’t going to fit me,” I pointed out quickly. I was, by far, the shortest person in the room by a good foot. Not to mention, I had the flattest chest out of the three females present. Luther didn’t seem concerned.

“We’ll make it work,” he said before standing back just enough to hold his hand out toward us politely.

“Ladies. After you,” he said with a bow.

 Monroe and I shared an amused look.

“Would you be Darcy or Mr. Bingley?” I asked Luther in a faux British accent as we moved in front of him. His only response was to point at the side of the room. We followed his direction.

“Not an Austen fan, I presume,” Monroe whispered, and I hid a smile.

Luther led us through the door we’d seen Lexi enter from earlier and we found ourselves in a hallway that branched off into several intimate living chambers. The first one we came to was wide, with a large canopied bed on a raised dais and a black sofa and chair against the wall. The floor was stone but had strategically placed throw rugs that complimented the furniture and bed. A vanity was positioned near a large stone fireplace and a wooden door stood open to a bathroom filled with white and black marble tile. I didn’t have to glance behind me to see the look of admiration I knew was on Monroe’s face. She adored those two colors.

“You’ll rest here, Ms. Blainey,” Luther said with a smile as he motioned for Conor and Monroe to follow him farther down the hall.

I wanted to protest, but I just watched them walk away instead. What was the point? Luther closed the door behind him, and I walked over to the bed. There was a black robe thrown over the rust colored comforter, and I picked it up before moving into the bathroom. I closed the door and faced the mirror. Tired eyes met mine. My face looked pale beneath the bright bathroom light, and my red hair had mostly escaped the pony tail I’d had it in to frame my face wildly. It was not a pleasant sight. I stripped down quickly and moved to the tub. The water felt delicious against my sore body, and I soaked for what felt like an eternity. It was only when the water turned cold that I finally washed my hair and climbed out reluctantly. I dried off and pulled on the robe.

“What now?” I muttered as I belted the dressing gown and moved back into the bedroom.

“Do you always talk to yourself, Blainey?” his voice asked suddenly, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from screaming. Marcas!

“What the hell!” I exclaimed angrily.

 My gaze moved to his where he leaned on the bed post some feet away, and I crossed my arms over my chest. What was it about the men in my life and them showing up out of nowhere? We needed ground rules.

“Do you have any sense of propriety?” I asked him with a frown.

He pushed away from the bed and held up a rose-colored cascade cardigan and blue jeans. I noticed he left undergarments lying on the mattress.

“These should fit you better than Lexi’s attire,” Marcas said evenly.

I searched his gaze but there was no emotion there.

“Who did they belong to?” I asked him quietly as I moved in just close enough to take the outfit from his hands.

He didn’t answer me. I moved away from him. We were both silent a moment and I looked down uneasily at the robe. What did we do now that we were in Italy? Where did Marcas and I stand? I knew some from the conversation I’d overheard on the plane, but not a lot of it had made sense. I looked up.

“What do we do next?” I asked nervously.

The fact that I was only wearing a robe was beginning to bother me slightly. Marcas didn’t seem to notice.

“I need to know what you have planned for me,” I whispered.

If he was going to appear in my guest room without an invite, then I was determined to ask questions he probably didn’t care to answer. Marcas’ gaze found mine and he watched me with an intensity that startled me.

“We find the ring,” he answered shortly.

The Tolkien feeling I’d felt on the plane returned.

“The ring?”

He moved to lean against the bed again, and I sat down on a sofa a good distance away. Proximity to Marcas made me feel strange.

“It’s called the Seal of Solomon. It is a ring believed to have once belonged to the legendary Biblical king Solomon. It gave him special powers that strengthened his kingdom, most notably the ability to speak to animals and the ability to enslave Demons,” Marcas explained as I crossed my legs to keep my robe together. I wished he’d give me some time to dress.

I looked enviously at the clothes he’d brought me before laying them aside and looking back over at him.

“And this Seal of Solomon is supposed to help us?” I asked Marcas skeptically.

Marcas held my gaze.

“There’s a chance it may.”

“How?”

“By letting you enslave me,” he answered. My eyes grew wide.

“What?”

 The shock I felt was evident. I saw Marcas’ muscles bulge as he shifted slightly.

“By wearing the ring, you would not only be able to trap me but your body would purge the Demon blood inside your system. The plan is to release yourself, and then let me go free,” he answered calmly.

 My eyes went wide. I wasn’t feeling calm. Was he serious? The thought of entrapping the man before me was tempting, but I honestly had no desire to control anyone. And he didn't know me. He didn't know me at all.

“And you trust me enough to do that?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know me. Not really,” I said quietly.

Marcas pushed away from the bed and moved down toward the door. Maybe it was an attempt to put more space between us. The air was so thick with tension, I found it hard to swallow.

“I knew of your father, and I watched you some as a child,” he said suddenly. I stood up, my robe forgotten. What was he saying?

“I don’t understand.”

“I was sent to watch you once.”

“When?”

“The funeral. When Bezaliel left you unprotected,” he said harshly.

 I watched Marcas’ eyes. They glowed red. I had a flashback suddenly of me at ten sitting in a car watching the red eyes of a man in shadow as we drove away from my parents’ graves. Marcas?

“That wasn’t Damon?” I asked in a whisper.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I was sent to kill you,” Marcas revealed.

My blood ran cold. I had been a target even then? By Marcas? I walked toward him from across the room. I just didn't understand. My heart felt battered. The main scar belonged to my father. He'd left me. And, according to Marcas, left me unprotected. I wanted so badly to know why. And now . . .
now
I discover that Marcas had a chance to kill me once, but he must have failed. I was still here.

“And you didn’t succeed?” I asked.

Marcas' gaze followed me as I moved. I paused a few feet away from him.

“I didn’t try. It was a mission for my mother after Damon revealed his intention of using the Naphil child of Bezaliel for his own twisted purposes,” Marcas answered.

I remembered the vision I’d had of Damon stabbing him. It all made sense now. The whole damn series of events fell into place. Damon stabbing Marcas and talking about redemption, my father leaving and my mother dying, Marcas being sent to destroy me, the Abbey, Damon . . .
now
.

“Then you knew this would happen?” I asked.

“I knew my brother planned to use you for his purposes. I didn’t expect him to bind you to me. That’s where I underestimated him.”

“Why not Amber?” I asked. Marcas turned away from me, and I stared at him hard. Something he'd just said suddenly made its way past my confusion, and I clutched my stomach.
"It was a mission for my mother after Damon revealed his intention of using the Naphil child of Bezaliel for his own twisted purposes"
No!

“Because Amber isn’t Bezaliel’s," Marcas said.

The statement sunk into my bones with a jarring awareness.
No!
My whole body went cold and I cried out without meaning to. My sister? I didn’t understand.
Marcas
had told me she and I were the only two non-monstrous Nephilim left on earth. What was he telling me now? That it was all a lie?

“Of course she is,” I argued mostly to myself. Even Amber believed she was part Angel. My aunt believed it. Didn’t Damon believe it too? Or had he said that to convince my aunt to become involved with his scheme? I didn’t want to be the only anomaly. I was lonely enough.

“My sister?” I whispered on a sob.

I swallowed hard. Marcas turned back to face me again.

“Is still your sister, but she isn’t Bezaliel’s,” he answered.

He made no attempt to comfort me at all. I felt faint.

“How?” I choked out.

Why hadn't he told me this before? Was he afraid I wouldn't have come with him if I'd known? Would I have come? I had come with Marcas partly to protect Amber so she wouldn't have to be used for Damon's nefarious purpose. Had there been any point? Of course there had been! Damon would have still used her to get to me. I had seen enough movies and read enough books to know the bad guys always used leverage.

"How?" I asked again more calmly.

“Have you ever heard the Greek myths of the gods who took on a familiar human persona in order to lay with mortal women? Demi-gods were produced from the liaisons. Hercules, for example, or Perseus?” Marcas asked. I nodded numbly.