Redemption (33 page)

“Daniel was the man originally married to your mother. He was of the pure line of Seth. Together they had Amber. A month after Amber was born, her father was killed in a hunting accident. Bezaliel had been watching your mother for some time. He’d run into her once as a teenager, and he’d been fascinated ever since. It was said she was a remarkable woman. He loved her from afar. Lusted after her. When he saw Daniel die, he took the opportunity he'd been waiting for, assuming Daniel's appearance and returning home to your mother. But your mother was a smart woman, and she knew something was different. She confronted Bezaliel. He confessed what happened. She grieved; he stayed with her. Together, he helped her through the passing of her husband, and she agreed to lay with him. You were the result. Your mother and Bezaliel were an unusual pair, but they made what they were work. Unfortunately, there were higher powers involved and there was no way of denying your birthright. Bezaliel had no intention of leaving you, but when it was discovered a normal Naphil baby was born you were put in danger. Your mother was murdered and your father was ordered away from you,” Marcas explained.

 I moved toward him again. My whole body shook.

“My mother was killed because of me?” I asked him with a sob that wouldn’t be denied.
I
had been the cause of her death.
Me
. The grief was overwhelming.

“You were only a baby, Blainey. Your mother knew when you were born what she was doing. She knew when she discovered that she was pregnant that there were risks. She took them anyway. You may have been the reason your mother was sought out, but you didn’t kill her,” Marcas said gently.

I looked up at him. For the first time, I was almost sure I heard compassion in his voice. His eyes locked with mine. He moved slightly closer. I wasn’t sure which one of us took the step forward.

“I’m the only one? There’s no one else like me?” I asked. I knew the answer, but the need to ask was still there.

“The only sane one,” Marcas answered.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The pain felt good, and it kept the worst of my inner turmoil at bay. Marcas' eyes turned stormy.

“Does my sister know the truth?” I whispered.

“No. And neither does your aunt or her Order.”

So Damon
had
fooled them. The silent conversation between Marcas and Damon at the Abbey made sense now.
"You lied to them."

 
I looked at Marcas. From what I'd witnessed so far with Marcas, Damon, Lexi, and Luther, I knew Demons could communicate with their twins. Was Marcas communicating with Damon now? I pushed the thought away.

“How do you know for sure I’m his? I don’t look like an Angel,” I asked almost desperately.

Couldn’t they be wrong about all of this? I moved closer to Marcas until I was only a few inches away from him. I looked up into his face.

“Could you be wrong about me?”

Marcas shook his head. “No, you are more Angel than you are aware, Blainey. You saw the light you threw at Alexis."

I closed my eyes briefly.

“That was me, then?”

“It was,” he answered. I opened my eyes again.

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” I asked him so softly I was hoping he hadn’t heard the question. Marcas narrowed his eyes.

“Ask me that again one day, Blainey. But not today."

I searched his face but it was unreadable.

“And you think the ring will work?” I asked. Marcas nodded.

“I think it may. But it’s never been tried before and there are dangers.”

“Dangers?”

“Wearing the ring should purge the Demon blood from your system, but there’s no way to know how violent the illness could be or how it would happen. It could kill you and permanently enslave me,” he answered simply. There was no emotion in his tone. I didn’t understand him. The thought of dying terrified me. It could kill me?

“And there’s no other way?” I asked. He stared down at me.

“You could give me your soul."

 His eyes darkened. I almost stepped away from him then but managed to hold my ground.

“And the ring is worth the risk? Why
not
just take my soul?” I asked him curiously. He could have already killed me more than once and he’d chosen not to. Why?

“Do not mistake my saving your life for anything more than self-preservation. I don’t give a damn what happens to you,” he said fiercely. I took a step closer.

“Then why not kill me now?” I asked. Marcas growled.

“There are some questions I won’t answer, Blainey,” he said flatly.

His tone was final. There was nothing I could do but respect that. I was afraid to push the Demon in him too far.

“Then I won’t ask you to, Craig,” I said reluctantly.

Marcas reached down suddenly and grabbed the front of my robe. I started to fight him until I realized he was tightening the belt.

“Get some rest, Blainey. Then get dressed. I’ll be coming for you,” Marcas ordered.

He dropped his hands and turned toward the door.

“Where will we be going?” I asked his back.

“To find the ring,” he answered. I froze.

“My friends? I won’t leave them.”

“They are safer here, Blainey. I recall you telling me that you didn’t want to see them die,” he said. I stared at the way his shoulders moved as he reached for the door.

“But they came all this way to be with me,” I protested.

“And if you want them to go back with you, you’ll listen to me. They have a lot to learn here. They will be involved. Damon has made this a war, Blainey. We may never get the ring and, even if we do, it doesn’t end there. You and all of your friends are in for the ride of your lives. And it won’t be an enjoyable one,” he said as he opened the door and stepped through.

I walked over and touched the wood as he shut the door behind him. My forehead fell against the door.

“Monroe, Conor, Jacin, Lita . . .” I whispered as I finally turned toward the bed.

 I’d grieved my parents, made mistakes, lived with an Order of insane women, and been bound to a Demon. And, through it all, I somehow managed to forget that I’d not only lost a family but I’d gained one as well. No one could ask for a better one. And, if Marcas was right, this was just the beginning of our journey. This leg of it seemed focused on the two of us, but my friends were still there and they would help me when it was time. I was scared. Would the ring kill me? What would happen to my friends? What would happen to Amber? Where was my father? Who’d killed my mother? Why did Marcas protect me? What kind of Naphil powers did I have? A million questions flooded me, and I did the one thing I truly hated to do. I cried. I cried until there wasn’t a single tear left to shed.

Chapter 26

The Swords of Solomon are a group of men and women sworn by the church to protect the Seal of Solomon. They are trained warriors, skilled Demon slayers, and unmerciful to anyone who attempts to break through their ranks.

~Bezaliel~

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep. I walked the room instead hoping the exercise would work out the personal Demons eating away at my heart. It didn’t help. I spied the clothes lying on the chair I’d sat on earlier, and I picked them up carefully. The cardigan was beautiful, made to drape the figure but loose and comfortable enough to be easy to move in. The jeans were the same.

I shed the robe and pulled them on over the underwear and bra Marcas had left on the bed. The undergarments were the same color rose as the cardigan. The bra was a size A push up, and I cringed. It really bothered me that Marcas knew my size. I felt so tiny and young compared to everyone else. Weren’t Angels supposed to be tall and magnificent? I moved to the vanity next to the fireplace and took in my appearance. The cardigan was v-neck and fitted in the chest before draping loosely over the waist and dangling over my thighs. The look was appealing and far from the baggy, concealing clothes I was used to.

“What are you thinking, Marcas?” I asked my reflection as I ran my fingers apprehensively through my hair. It hung loose to the middle of my back and the curls framed my face chaotically. I had learned a long time ago that there was no way to tame my hair. How was red hair Angelic? I’d always felt Amber resembled more of what an Angel was supposed to look like. Not me. I ran my fingers across the cardigan before glancing down at the skinny jeans Marcas had left. They were made of stretch material and very comfortable. I wondered again where he got the clothes. They were too lived-in to be new.

I took one last look in the mirror before moving toward the bed, almost tripping over a pair of boots as I went. I looked down in surprise. Where had those come from? Had Marcas left those too? I picked them up and looked at them curiously. They were black and knee high. I was more a tennis shoe kind of girl, but I wasn’t going to turn down the loan.

“Not bad are they?” I asked the room as I slid the boots on and zipped them up over the jeans carefully. They were surprisingly comfortable and made me feel taller. Sexy, even. The need for a little makeup was overwhelming.

“Didn’t think of everything, did you?” I asked with a small laugh.

I had cried as much as I could cry today. There was nothing left to do but smile. I wasn’t going to wallow in despair. It’d just get me killed faster. I moved to lean against the bed with a sigh. It had been two hours since Marcas had left my room. I wasn’t sure I was patient enough to wait much longer. I climbed up onto the bed and weaved stories in my head to pass the time. Some of the stories were typical ones with Princes and Princesses and others were stranger and altogether unsettling. Should it disturb me that I kept imagining the hero as Marcas? He should be the villain. I brushed aside the image and thought, instead, about the events of the past two weeks, cursing fate as I thought about my past, the present, and the future. With no paper, I wrote in my head, the first line one I'd written the night Monroe slept over at the Abbey.

"Ludicrous is he, the tyrant that rules the past you see.

Smug is she, the ruler of now-a-day forever to be.

Enchanting will be the child,

Future's eaves hanging from her hair so wild . . ."

The bedroom door creaked open, and I jumped.

“It’s time, Blainey,” Marcas said from across the room.

I looked up at him and nodded. This was it then. I climbed off the bed and moved toward him. His gaze moved over my frame, and I actually blushed. It was a stupid way to react.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I said lamely as I passed him and moved into the hall.

He didn’t answer. I was used to that by now, and I let him take the lead before following him along the corridor. A noise made us both freeze.

“Where do you think you’re going, Demon?” Conor’s voice asked from behind us.

 I turned slowly to find him leaning against the wall not far from the bedroom I’d been assigned. Marcas moved up next to me.

“We don’t have time for this, gargoyle,” Marcas said coldly. My gaze moved between them. Conor’s face had reddened.

“I won’t let you go without me. It’s my job to protect her,” Conor said hotly.

I looked at the floor a moment as Marcas moved slightly in front of me. I hadn’t counted on running into anyone.

“This isn’t your fight, gargoyle. This isn’t your war. If you want to protect her, you need to realize that staying here now is the best way to do that. There’s a lot you still don’t know about Demons, Reinhardt. A lot that Luther can teach you,” Marcas said evenly.

I looked up again. Conor had begun pacing the hall.

“Then why take
her
, Demon? She isn’t prepared for this battle anymore than the rest of us. You’ll just get her killed,” Conor argued. I didn’t entirely disagree, but I knew why Marcas needed me.

“I don’t have a choice, Reinhardt. She goes because she has to. She needs to be the one to take the ring. I will protect her with my life,” Marcas promised.

 I moved closer to him. Conor looked surprised.

“Why are you doing this, Craig? Why are you protecting her?” Conor asked helplessly.

I didn’t understand it either, but I knew there was a reason. It would come out sooner or later. Marcas growled.

“That’s not an answer you need right now,” Marcas said harshly. I knew Conor was walking on thin ice.

“I won’t let you take her!” Conor protested.

I felt the sudden heat come off Marcas and I placed a hand on his arm before moving between them. I looked at Conor pleadingly.

“Don’t do this, Con."

 He moved closer.

“I won’t let him do this to you,” he said.

“He isn’t doing anything. I agreed to go."

 This made Conor pause.

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because I really don’t have a choice. I’m more of a danger bound to Marcas than I would be if I wasn’t."