Gates of Demons: A New Adult Paranormal Romance (Keepers of the Grail Book 1)

by Tamar Sloan

  Aunt Shell pushes herself so she’s sitting more upright. She glances around as if she’s looking for something. “We need to call the police.”

  Mac takes a hasty step forward. “Ah, I’m not sure that’s really necessary. Everyone’s fine.”

  Aunt Shell looks at her incredulously. “We were just broken into and held at gunpoint. Of course we need to call the police.”

  Reign’s shoulders want to sag, but he doesn’t let them. He should’ve known this wasn’t going to be a haven. That he wouldn’t get a break.

  If the cops are coming, then he can’t stay.

  CAIN

  Cain stands in the center of the circular library, welcoming the burn of Hell as it scorches through his veins. He’s known for a long time that this mansion is significant, and yet the why has always eluded him. Learning that the four teens who have captured his interest were here recently, all behaving strangely, only reinforces that.

  He smiles, wondering whether he can add trespassing to the list of charges he’s accumulating against the boy.

  The more leverage, the more likely he is to talk.

  Cain wanders around the round room, the angle of his lips turning sour. He’s read every book. Scoured every shelf. Analyzed every symbol. He knows the Keepers of the Grail have been here—their septagram is everywhere.

  And yet he’s found nothing. Despite the thousands of years of searching, despite the lives he’s had to take, he doesn’t have the answers he needs.

  His hands ball into fists as the fires of fury blaze even brighter. He strides out of the room and out of the mansion. Night blankets him, the whisper of a breeze trying to soothe him. But even the wind will die at some stage.

  Cain glances down at his arm, turning it until the mark on his inner forearm is visible. The Mark of Cain. The backward seven with two dashes within it is still red and raised. As if he was only freshly branded, as if the punishment of immortality has only just been inflicted upon him.

  His hand clenches, the shifting muscles and tendons causing the Mark to twist and ripple. How humans crave the promise of endless life, the fools. They romanticize and fantasize about living through the ages, of seeing what’s to come. But they forget that you steadily accumulate everything that has been. Mistakes. Disappointment. Loss. And that you inevitably outlive anything good. In fact, he has seen many things die. Innocence. Hope. The belief that time will heal all wounds.

  Because millennia have passed, and Cain is still living with shame and regret.

  He climbs back into his car, tamping down the fury of the ages. He has his own way of making this right and that plan has already been set in motion.

  The radio crackles. “We’ve had a one-four-six on Herald Street. Any available units please respond.”

  Cain’s hand is on the volume dial, uninterested in some mundane break and enter when he stills. He grabs the mic and presses the button. “Detective Kane here. Please confirm address.”

  “Three Herald Street,” the dispatcher clarifies. “Intruder armed but is believed to have fled the location.”

  The house he was at only a few days before. The house associated with one of the women who have been abducted.

  Grinning at his stroke of luck, Cain speaks into the handheld again. “Copy that. On route.”

  “Copy that,” responds the dispatcher. “Second vehicle on route. Proceed with caution.”

  Jamming the gas down, Cain roars away in a spray of gravel.

  The Keepers of the Grail know about the Mark. They know how to end this. Reverend Daniels told him as much just moments before Cain killed him.

  Except their solution will take time. And Cain has had enough of its infinite crawl to nowhere.

  He now knows that Lucifer is the only one with the power to end his suffering. He alone can remove the Mark. Releasing him is inevitable.

  But until then, Cain is determined to learn every secret the Keepers of the Grail have been protecting. It’s possible his liberation is only one more life away.

  And according to his research, Reign is the last living Keeper.

  22

  Arielle

  Aunt Shell hangs up the phone, tucking it back into the pocket of her nightgown. “They’re sending someone over straight away,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “Don’t you worry; the police will take care of everything.”

  Arielle turns to Reign, speaking quietly but urgently. “You need to run. Hide. Something!”

  Except Reign shakes his head. “Not happening. This is an ish-me, not an ish-you.”

  Arielle frowns, wondering what he’s talking about, but Mac steps in closer before she can ask.

  “Maybe she’s right. You being here isn’t going to end well.”

  Reign rolls his eyes. “Nothing I do ends well. I’m fine. There’s a chance they won’t recognize me.”

  Arielle bites her lip. The police will need to speak to Reign. They’ll want a statement from him about the man who barged in here, holding a gun.

  Aunt Shell hoists her hands on her hips. “What in the world are the three of you talking about? What would anyone want with a lovely young man like Reign?”

  “Look, Mrs—”

  “Please, call me Aunt Shell.”

  Reign seems to lose his ability to speak for a second. He shifts uncomfortably. “I’ve done some things that I regret,” he tries to explain.

  “We’ve all made mistakes, Reign.” She smiles at him reassuringly. “That’s not who you really are and I’m sure they’ll see that.”

  Unsure whether her aunt is being naive or deliberately obtuse, Arielle looks to Mac, hoping she’ll try again. Reign can’t be here when the police arrive.

  But Mac shakes her head. “I think he’s the love child of a mule and goat. He’s twice as stubborn as either of them,” she says resignedly.

  “Damn straight,” agrees Reign.

  “And if he’s decided he won’t let anyone cop heat because of him, then we won’t be able to change his mind.”

  “Double damn straight.”

  Arielle arches a brow. “Even if he’s wrong?”

  Reign’s mouth snaps shut as Mac grins. “Yep. Even when he’s wrong.”

  Reign scowls at her. “Not helping.”

  The sound of a car pulling up has the three of them stilling.

  Aunt Shell rolls her eyes as she bustles to the door. “Come on, you three. You’re acting more scared of the police than the man with the gun!”

  Aunt Shell opens the door and Arielle freezes. Three men stand in the doorway. One in a suit, two in uniform.

  Arielle feels Reign tense beside her. She wants to shove him out the back door. Hide him in a closet. Drop a paper bag over his head. Anything that will mean what’s about to happen next can be stopped.

  “Good evening, Michelle,” says Detective Kane. “We’ve had a call about a disturbance.”

  Aunt Shell opens the door to let them in. “Thank you for your prompt response, Detective. We’ve had quite the scare tonight.”

  Arielle sees the moment Detective Kane realizes Reign is there. His eyes flare. “I can see why.” He turns to the two uniformed officers behind them. “Arrest this boy.”

  Run, Reign! But he just stands there, stoic and silent.

  “I beg your pardon?” Aunt Shell asks in surprise. “There must be some kind of misunderstanding. This isn’t the man who attacked us. In fact, he was much taller—”

  “This boy is wanted for questioning, ma’am. He was involved in a robbery. In fact, he was seen driving the getaway vehicle.”

  Arielle flushes with anger. There are bigger things at stake here. “A man just stormed into our house and held us at gunpoint!”

  “And I’m very sorry to hear that. We’ll take your statements shortly.” Detective Kane turns hard eyes to Reign. “But you’re harboring a suspected criminal. I’m thinking of your safety.”

  Arielle leaps forward. “No! You can’t. He’s…a friend.”

  Detective Kane t
hrows his head back and laughs. “This street scum is your friend?” he asks incredulously. “You need to pick better company. Have you considered that your intruder is someone known to Reign? That maybe they were working together?”

  Mac slides closer to Arielle, forming a barrier between Reign and the detective. “Watch who you’re calling scum,” she spits.

  Arielle’s blood freezes when Detective Kane reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, pointing it directly between her and Mac. The two police officers’ hands shoot to their belts as the air congeals with tension.

  “He comes with me,” Detective Kane says flatly. “Now.”

  Reign pushes between them, inexplicably stepping closer to the revolver pointed at his chest. “This isn’t necessary. I’m not resisting arrest.”

  “Cuff him,” the detective growls, almost as if he’s testing Reign.

  Reign turns around and places his hands behind his back. His gaze is full of warning, silently telling Arielle and Mac to keep quiet. Arielle winces with each snap of the handcuffs.

  Detective Kane opens the door. “Let’s go and have a chat, shall we?”

  Something about the question has shivers spiraling down Arielle’s spine. She almost speaks up when Mac grips her arm, shaking her head imperceptibly.

  Reign pulls up a cocky grin. “Sure, but I’m going to be honest, I’m not a big talker.”

  Mac lets out an imperceptible groan as the detective’s face hardens. “All I want is the truth,” he states flatly.

  He goes to lead Reign out, but Reign flicks his hand off his shoulder. “I walk far better than I talk,” he growls.

  Detective Kane says something under his breath as he shuts the door. Arielle turns to Mac, intending to suggest they follow Reign, when she sees that all the caramel has faded from the girl’s skin.

  “You heard what he said, didn’t you?”

  Mac nods, her color returning as her face forms into a frown. “He said that could easily be reversed.”

  It’s Arielle’s turn to go pale. I walk far better than I talk.

  That could easily be reversed.

  What sort of questioning is Detective Kane planning? Images of cop shows and police brutality flash through Arielle’s mind like they’ve been discharged by a machine gun, but she pushes them away. They’re dramatized stories, nothing more.

  Aren’t they?

  Mac strides to the door. “I’m going to follow them.”

  Arielle jolts into action. “I’m coming, too.”

  “Oh no you’re not.”

  Aunt Shell’s voice cracks through the air. She’s stayed silent through this whole ordeal, no doubt trying to process what’s happening. But now, she seems to have found her footing again.

  She steps in front of the door. “Ari, you aren’t going anywhere.”

  Arielle glances from her aunt to Mac. She desperately wants to go. But she’s never defied her aunt before. She glances at the two uniformed police officers who are still standing in the hall, waiting. If she does storm off, she’s going to have to explain why…

  Mac steps in between them, facing Arielle. “Your aunt is right. You should stay.”

  “But—”

  “Look, I know Reign makes it a personal challenge to bring out the worst in people,” she says wryly. “And yes, that works fine if you want to be loner, but not so well when a detective with a frown for a face is wanting some answers. But neither of us can do much until they’re done.” Her gaze surreptitiously flicks over her shoulder toward Aunt Shell. “Plus, your aunt’s right. It’s probably nothing more than a great big misunderstanding.”

  Mac’s telling her that Arielle needs to look like she’s not getting involved. That they need to maintain a pretense that nothing big is going down.

  That there are no demons.

  No angels.

  No Gates of Hell.

  Arielle lets her shoulders drop. “You’re right. This is a big mix up. Everything that happened tonight has got me all jangled.” She looks to Aunt Shell. “And these lovely policemen need our statements.”

  Mac flicks a grateful gaze before walking to the door. She waves to Aunt Shell and the policemen. “I’ll give my statement at the station while I’m waiting,” she throws over her shoulder before quickly leaving.

  Aunt Shell gives Arielle a long look before leading all of them to the living room. There, the policemen take their statements. Aunt Shell didn’t get a look at the guy seeing as he was behind her, holding a gun to her back. Arielle, on the other hand, feels like his face has been imprinted on her memory, she suspects because of the terror of seeing her aunt at the end of a deadly weapon.

  Just like Aunt Shell said, the man was tall. His light-brown hair brushed over his ears and his eyebrows, looking as if fingers had been threading through it continuously. His eyes were blue, a strange mix of hot fury and cold detachment. And he now has the parchment. The ancient instructions to opening the Gates of Hell.

  She told the police the same thing she told her aunt—that she’d just found the parchment amongst her mother’s stuff but was unable to read it as it was in some weird looking hieroglyphics. And she was able to hold the man’s gaze the whole time because she was telling the truth. Just not all of it.

  The policemen take notes on everything, offering for Arielle to come down to the station to look through some mugshots. She nods, although she suspects this man isn’t on any police database. A quick search reveals little evidence—no fingerprints and a broken door. The policemen tell them they’ll do everything they can to track down the intruder. For some reason, it feels like an empty promise.

  Aunt Shell thanks them as they leave, even offering them some biscuits before they go. They decline and she sees them out, full of smiles and gushing gratitude.

  The moment the door closes, she spins around and crosses her arms. “What in the world is going on, Arielle?”

  Aunt Shell’s use of her full name tells Arielle that she’s mad. Really mad.

  “I want answers, and I want them right now.”

  23

  Reign

  Reign’s been questioned before. He glances around the bare room he’s in—table bolted to the floor, chair that certainly wasn’t built for comfort, concrete walls that are stained with guilt. Everything looks like the other times.

  Except for one thing.

  There’s no microphone and the video camera in the corner of the room is missing a red flashing light. There’s nothing to record what’s about to go down, and he doubts Detective Kane is planning on bringing anything with him.

  This little interrogation is going to be off the record.

  Reign keeps his hands clasped on the table and his face blank. It’s hard to intimidate someone who has little to lose.

  The metal door across the room opens and Detective Kane steps through, holding a sheaf of papers. He’s removed his jacket and tie, either trying to look casual, or ensuring he’s free to move. Reign suspects it’s the latter.

  The detective takes the seat across from him, the metal legs scraping loudly over the cement floor. Reign simply watches dispassionately. There’s something about this douche that he really doesn’t like.

  “I’d like my phone call and a lawyer,” he states flatly.

  Detective Kane snorts. “For a conversation that will have no evidence of existence? That’s hardly necessary.” He places the paperwork on the table between them, scanning it with great interest. “Petty theft. Unlawful possession of suspected stolen property. Public nuisance. Trespass.”

  “The first was for a bag of crisps and a six pack of soda. For the second charge, I stand by my signed statement that I found that cell phone and was on my way to return it. As for the last two…” Reign grins then shrugs. “They were the most fun.”

  Detective Kane continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “That’s quite the list of misdemeanors you’ve accumulated, Reign.” He angles his head. “The judge won’t like that.”

  “If I cared, that
would be mildly intimidating.”

  Detective Kane’s lip twitches as if he’s suppressing a snarl. “What was your involvement in the heist that occurred two days ago?”

  “What heist?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me, boy. We have witnesses.”

  And if they find the Audi, then they’ll have his fingerprints. But Reign knows what any other street rat has learned—deny until the proof is irrefutable. Then keep denying.

  “I’m happy for you,” he says warmly. “I hope they’re credible witnesses. It’ll make your job a whole lot easier in the courtroom.”

  Detective Kane doesn’t look surprised at Reign’s hedging. His gaze sharpens. “I have some information that suggests you were at the Sinclair Mansion today. In fact, two men were found dead not far from there.”

  Internally, Reign jolts at the sudden change of topic and the mention of the dead men. He arches a brow, trying to buy himself some time. “The where?”

  “The Sinclair Mansion,” the detective says smoothly, as if he’s willing to play the game. “Large house on the outskirts of Mercy City. Quite old. Belongs to a founding family of the area.”

  “Yep, just the kind of place I like to hang,” Reign scoffs. “When you’ve grown up with nothing, it’s a real buzz seeing how the people on the other side of the tracks live. I’d go every weekend if I could find more cell phones to hock.”

  Detective Kane’s fingers twitch on the paperwork, the only outward sign that he’s already had enough of the game.

  “Tell me, what is your interest in Arielle Hartely?”

  Already expecting another topic change, Reign suppresses the jolt at hearing Arielle’s name. He’s never heard her surname until now. He tucks away the nugget of information even as he tells himself it doesn’t matter.

  “She’s hot,” he says with another shrug. “I suspect my interest in her is similar to any other guy who has a pulse. I mean, those boots…” He leans forward, his gaze on the Detective. “They’re cute-sexy. Who can stay away from a girl who can pull off cute and sexy?”