by Kristie Cook
I continued to stare at the ground.
“Understood,” he answered before prodding me gently in my back.
I moved forward, looking up only long enough to discover we were in a finely decorated foyer. The floors were a rich wine colored stone covered in handsomely woven rugs. The table and chairs that sat a few feet within the entry were a deep mahogany. It matched the wooden bannister of the double-curved stone staircase further down the two-story entrance hall. It instantly brought to mind Gone With the Wind. I could almost imagine an Italian version of Scarlett O’Hara moving elegantly down the stairwell, her hand resting gently along the bannister.
“In here please,” the lady ordered.
The glimpse I got of the woman was an informative one. She was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair pulled up tightly on top of her head. She wore a brown business suit that looked starched to the nines. Her hand pointed us toward a small sitting room off to the side of the foyer. It reminded me of Jane Austen novels where the matrons and their daughters received guests in their parlors.
The woman glanced at me, and I looked back down at the floor. We moved into the room and the door closed quickly behind us. I heard a key turn in the lock and more than one pair of feet shuffle outside the door. I felt tempted to ask Marcas how many parlors he’d sat in wooing women, but I refrained. Barely.
“Sit, and look tired,” Marcas ordered.
My hackles rose with his tone, but I obeyed and looked around the room for the most comfortable looking piece of furniture. I spotted a fluffy looking brown suede sofa and moved toward it.
“Am I supposed to be sick too?” I hissed sarcastically.
Lowering myself onto the couch, I pulled my legs up behind me and rested my head on my arm. Marcas didn’t answer me. The door knob turned. I feigned sleep. The door opened, but there was silence. I had to fight not to look. Finally, heavy steps sounded inside the room.
“It has been a long time, Demonio,” a male voice said. It was deep and unemotional. He didn’t sound like a son of Maria’s.
“A very long time, Ander,” Marcas replied.
A loud huff followed the statement. “Alessandro to you, Demonio. Nothing more.”
“Alessandro,” Marcas consented.
The thudding of shoes made my stomach tense. I kept my face as relaxed as I could.
“What have you brought me, Demonio? What is this?” Alessandro asked.
“I have a feeling you already have some idea,” Marcas answered.
“My Seers have told me that you have brought an Angel. She has the glow.”
“A Naphil,” Marcas corrected. There was a slight hush.
“Impossible,” Alessandro finally said.
I wish people would quit saying that. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to exist. It made living somewhat depressing.
“Not so much. I came upon her in the States. She was alone in the dark, and I admit I was prowling for blood. She’s the daughter of a Watcher called Bezaliel and a mortal woman descended purely from Seth,” Marcas stated.
I felt a wave of air against my face, and I knew from the erratic way it brushed my cheeks and the stale odor of cigars, that Alessandro had approached me. I had to fight the urge to squirm.
“Remarkable,” Alessandro breathed. “And she has no flaws?”
“None,” Marcas answered.
“She rests as a mortal does, I see.”
“She is very mortal in her routine. She eats and sleeps as mortals do, but she retains a good deal of Angelic power,” Marcas said.
Alessandro seemed to absorb this. I felt like a science project.
“And why have you brought her to me? Is she another Sophia? Have you again taken up arms against your own kind?” Alessandro asked.
My nose started to itch. How often would I be compared to Sophia tonight?
“In a fashion,” Marcas answered. “She has indeed caught my interest. We were involved before I realized what she was.”
“Ah, one of your petty affairs. And now you are in love, no? Amazing how you Demons think we humans can be played.”
“She isn’t human.”
“I cannot argue with you there. My Seers would agree she has the blood of an Angel.”
“And she is in danger,” Marcas pointed out.
I felt Alessandro move away. I was fighting to keep my breathing even.
“What kind of danger?”
“There is a small group of Demons even now tracking her,” Marcas warned.
“And you are seeking refuge here?”
“Haven’t I before? The former director has welcomed me in the past," Marcas said. There was no argument.
“I don’t trust you, Demonio. I always felt Roman was a fool to do so. I do not trust you at all,” Alessandro said quietly.
“I should hope not,” Marcas answered.
I heard Alessandro’s heavy shoes move toward the door. “Ready a room for the Demon and his guest,” Alessandro called out into the foyer. Many people rushed about outside the room.
“You do realize you will be guarded closely,” Alessandro warned.
“I would not expect otherwise. For this courtesy, I will help your slayers defeat the Demons seeking us,” Marcas promised. My stomach clenched. He was going to fight?
“Our slayers do not need you,” Alessandro argued.
Marcas would not be moved. “I beg to differ.”
“The room is ready,” the female voice from earlier announced. The urge to frown was strong. Room? One room?
“Have someone help with the girl,” Alessandro ordered.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I bit my tongue to keep from reacting. I tasted blood in my mouth. There was a slight gasp from beside me and I knew it was Marcas.
“I’ll take her myself,” he said flatly, his teeth gritted.
I heard a male chuckle. “Always possessive, Demonio. This has never boded well for your relationships,” Alessandro retorted.
“Do not anger me, Ander,” Marcas warned.
There was a moment of silence. Marcas lifted me into his arms. The gesture made my entire body catch on fire. His embrace was entirely too warm and uncomfortable. I ordered my body to remain relaxed, but it and my brain were on two entirely different pages.
“Your anger is welcome here. I would embrace any reason to kill you. Know that your safety is not guaranteed. The Angel, I will protect,” Alessandro countered.
“That is all I ask,” Marcas said as he walked out of the room. I let my head fall back against his chest.
“She’ll need food, preferably with dessert,” Marcas said suddenly as we reached the stairs.
There was no reply as we moved. I was impressed he had remembered. The stairs were many, but I never once felt Marcas tire. Being this close to him was stirring, and I was glad when we finally made it to our destination. Marcas walked through a door and slammed it behind us. I opened my eyes.
“That nasty habit of yours must go, Blainey,” he said as he dropped me unkindly on the bed.
I stared at him in confusion. His eyes had gone red.
“What habit?”
Marcas moved close. I backed up. His hand suddenly gripped my jaw painfully, and I fought not to cry out. It was then I remembered the bite on my tongue.
“Never tempt me again,” Marcas growled.
He closed his eyes and backed away. I was breathing hard. My eyes watched him as he moved. I kept forgetting he could be dangerous. He loved the smell and taste of blood.
Chapter 29
Her strength is growing. The change has been gradual, but she is beginning to feel it grow within herself. When she learns how to use and control her powers, she will be a force to be reckoned with.
~Bezaliel~
“What are your plans, Craig?” I asked coldly as I rubbed my jaw.
My voice trembled, and I hated him for it. Marcas stood next to the massive four poster bed I was stretched out on. Not by choice. The rest of the room was just as massive and grand. E
verything was either pure polished mahogany or gilded in some shiny material. But, as pretty as it was, I was only interested in Marcas and his answer. He looked over at me. His eyes were dark again.
“Do you think it’s wise to keep running, Blainey?” he asked me.
His look was so full of disgust it made me angry. I had not meant to tempt him. Biting my tongue was something I did when I was trying to keep myself quiet. It hurt, but it worked. Pain could be like that sometimes—reassuring, reminding me I was human.
“Do you think it’s wise to turn ourselves over to a group we want to steal from while becoming sitting ducks for a group of Demons who want us dead?” I asked him in return.
He watched me with his normal unreadable expression. It made me want to slap him.
“I have fought in a lot of human wars as well as celestial ones. Do you question my knowledge of strategy?” Marcas asked dangerously.
I found myself taken aback by his anger. I hadn’t done this to us.
“I question what I don’t understand, Craig. You haven’t involved me in most of your decisions. You’ve just dragged me with you. And you want me to feel safe in your ability to strategize? That’s a lark.”
Marcas moved away from the bed. "There’s no need for you to be involved more than you have to be, Blainey."
I swear, I hated the man.
"You think I’m that weak, Craig?" I asked seriously.
"I think you’re that unprepared," Marcas answered.
I weighed that a moment. Maybe he was right. But I could change that. I climbed off the bed.
"What do you have planned, Craig? I am stronger than you think, and I know I’m more capable than this. I’m part Angel. That gives me an edge. I just need to know what that edge is," I said.
Marcas watched me carefully. "Do you even realize what being an Angel means?" he asked.
I shrugged. No, I didn’t know what it meant, and there was no use pretending I did. Marcas didn’t say anything for several minutes, just watched me silently. For the first time, I read turmoil in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed my shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever touched me without an underlying reason. It had always been done in anger or subterfuge. I shivered.
"We need the ring, Blainey. I can’t teach you what you need to know. I play ball for the wrong team even when I’m fighting against them," he said seriously.
I would have been turned off by the emotionless attitude if I wasn’t aware that, for the first time, the even tone seemed to be an effort for him.
"We can slay more than one dragon being here," Marcas said. He dropped his hands. "Eventually we will have to face the group of Demons behind us. I’d rather have an army fighting at my side when we do. The SOS will give us that. At the same time, we can draw closer to the carpet. With the carpet, we get closer to the ring."
The plan made sense. I didn’t know what the carpet was, but I still had time to figure that out. I saved that question for later.
"And you think the SOS will protect me and tolerate you because they believe we’re involved?” I asked.
Marcas moved away. "Yes. I brought Sophia here when I realized war with my kind was inevitable. The director, Roman, chose to fight with me. It seemed likely that they would choose to offer me sanctuary again. They are not aware of the bond.”
My blood boiled. I hated every moment of this, hated that I’d not been content with my life before I was bonded with Marcas or after, hated that I had few choices, hated that my existence should be impossible. I wanted to cry out of anger, but I fought back the tears. I looked at Marcas instead and blinked hard.
“I am not Sophia, and I am sick of being compared to her!” I cried out before slinking back to the bed.
Ever since Maria’s, I’d felt dragged along in an absent Angel’s shadow. Was Marcas doing this because of her? Was he helping me instead of stealing my soul because of her?
“You can have it, you know. If having a soul means I have to keep putting up with being dragged through an old tragedy I was never a part of then screw it. I never liked Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet was the story I hated most,” I said.
I was being honest. I had never seen myself as part of a tragedy. I wasn’t the type of person who cared about drama.
Marcas moved toward the bed. “You are nothing like her, Blainey. Never fear that."
I turned to face him and found he was standing at my back. It put us too close. I looked up at him. His emotions were back in check. His eyes were completely cold again. Strangely enough, I found that comforting. Out of the men in my life, Marcas was the one I depended on to be void of feeling. Conor was the emotional one. One was fire and one was ice. Both burned but in entirely two different ways. Conor’s fire was fast and to the point. Marcas’ was debilitating in its frostiness. It’d take a while before you even knew you had frostbite. It made no sense really. Upon discovering Conor was a gargoyle, I kept envisioning him as a cold, stone statue. Marcas was a Demon who emitted heat when he was angry and yet he was the one who made me feel cold. I closed my eyes.
“She was light, always smiling, gentle, and quiet,” Marcas said suddenly.
Sophia? He must mean Sophia. And he’d just said I was nothing like her. I opened my eyes. Was that supposed to make me feel better?
“And I’m the opposite?” I asked. Marcas’ jaw tightened.
“What kind of Angel am I if I’m dark, frowning, angry, and loud? Those are the antonyms, Craig,” I pointed out.
He looked like he wanted to throttle me. It should have frightened me, but it made me feel edgy instead.
“You’d be surprised how much stronger that makes you, Blainey. You don’t choose a path in life because it’s better for you. You choose it because you want something from it."
I was surprised by his answer, and I searched his eyes. Nothing.
“And that’s Angelic?”
Marcas didn’t move.
“No,” he answered.
Great! So I was one of a kind. Whoop-dee-doo. I thought about what Marcas had said about Sophia, and I sighed. This was all messed up.
“Is that why she left you? Because she chose what she believed would be best for her?” I whispered. Fear of his retaliation for intruding kept my voice low. I looked at the floor.
“Heaven or Hell, Blainey? What would you choose?” he asked in return.
He had a point. She chose Heaven over Hell. Or did she? I moved back a step. It put some space between us.
“It’d be a hard decision,” I said.
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want him to know what I truly felt about the subject. Sophia hadn’t just chosen Heaven over Hell, she’d chosen Heaven over love.
“And one I’d never ask anyone to make again,” Marcas said callously.
I did look up then. “What about your other affairs?”
He looked away from me. “Those were lust, Blainey. Demons are famous for their slovenly ways: lust, greed, envy, anger, murder … there are many."
I thought about that. So he’d never given that choice to anyone else before Sophia. It was a Shakespearean-type tragedy.
A knock sounded at the door, and we both looked up abruptly.
“I’ve brought food,” a male voice said harshly.
Marcas glanced at me and then began to pull off his shirt.
Stunned, I stared. “What are you doing?” I hissed.
The knock at the door came again.
“One moment,” Marcas called out as he reached over and tugged at the hem of my cardigan.
What the hell? I attempted to cross my arms over my chest, but Marcas shoved them away while unbuttoning the top half of the sweater. It fell completely off one shoulder. He raised a brow at the rose colored bra he’d given me and I struggled.
“Keep doing that and I’ll make it worse,” he threatened as he pulled the comforter completely off the bed before picking me up and throwing me on the sheets left exposed. His hands went into my hair and tousled it cruelly. I yelped
.
The knock at the door came harder.
“Look, Demon!” the male voice called out as the knob on the door began to turn.
My cheeks flushed red. Marcas moved to the end of the bed just as the door flew open. An angry looking young man stepped into the room before pausing just inside the door. Marcas never lost his cool.
“Leave it on the dresser,” he ordered brusquely.
The man glanced between us before finally obeying. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at Marcas on his way out the door. His hate for the Demon was obvious. I felt incredibly ashamed. I knew what he was thinking.
Marcas slammed the door shut.
I turned on him. “What the hell was that, Craig?”
Marcas turned, and I tried my damndest not to stare at his chest.
“That was me killing three birds with one stone,” Marcas answered.
My mouth hung agape. “Excuse me?”
He moved to the bed, and I backed away from him as fast as I could across the sheets.
“The SOS will now be certain we are involved and news will make it back to Damon that we’ve been intimate,” Marcas said as he turned away from me. A large tattoo of a serpent glared at me from his back. A cobra. It made me shiver.
“You want Damon to think we’ve had sex?”
Of course he did. It was why Damon had bonded us in the first place. He wanted us to bear a child. I moved back across the sheets.
“How the hell would he find out about this?” I asked.
Marcas turned, and I backed up again.
“The SOS is naÏve if they don’t believe there are spies even here. I don’t doubt Damon has a bonded servant among the SOS’s ranks,” Marcas said.
I suddenly felt chilled, and I began to button the cardigan back up.
“Bonded servant?”
Marcas sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Demons bond humans to themselves to gain servitude on Earth. Once a Demon and a mortal share blood, the Demon has the right to command anything of the bonded mortal. They become extensions of the Demon, able to live an immortal life doing whatever dirty deed they are ordered to do. If the Demon should tire of the mortal or become angry, he will take his soul and end the bond. The human then dies."
