by Ryals, R. K.
And when the darkness finally opened up, it was illuminated by hellfire. The pits of Hell. I had been there before. But this time, neither Marcas nor I had powers that would protect us from the flames. And just like in my dream, when I realized this was the end, I finally found the voice to scream.
Chapter 21
My daughter is a Naphil, a half-human child sired by an Angel. Nephilim have long since been considered the insane, blood thirsty offspring of Angels who desired human relationships. My daughter is different. She was born to a mother with blessed blood. But, in the end, no matter how different, my daughter is still a Naphil.
~Bezaliel~
One moment I was screaming, the next I was hanging in mid-air over the fire pits of hell, the heat so intense it took my breath away. Tortured souls enveloped in flame reached for me, my legs dangling close enough the figures below had gathered to welcome me to their misery. I choked down a sob, the pull on my hand a sudden reminder that I wasn't alone.
"Dayton," Marcas called, and I looked up, my eyes alighting on his strained face.
He was standing on a ledge near the gateway that led out of the pits, and I tightened my grip on his hand as hope sprang anew in my chest. His grip never faltered, but his eyes shifted, and I felt the same flicker of hope dwindle and then die. There wasn't enough room for two people.
Marcas reached down, his other hand lending support to the hand already entwined with mine. How he kept his balance was beyond me. I shook my head, my eyes skirting the souls below me before meeting his gaze. There was fire reflected in his pupils.
"He's not going to let us both survive."
As I said it, the truth of it hit me squarely in the chest. It had been too easy. Lucifer had let me go, had let me endure the trials with Marcas only because he knew, in the end, only one of us would survive. And with my death, he could say that Marcas had failed the trials. It was a brilliant plan really, and I had given him the ammunition to carry it through. I had volunteered to go with Marcas.
Marcas stood balanced, his stance proof of how comfortable he was in Hell. Even without his powers, he knew this place well. His gaze held mine, his jaw tight.
"It's a test, Blainey. Just a test. We just have to wait it out."
He was wrong. I knew, without a doubt, that he was wrong. It made too much sense. Lucifer had been trying to eliminate me from the beginning. Without me, there would be nothing standing between Marcas and his place at Lucifer's right side. I was the hindrance.
It's amazing really what will make a person smile in the oddest moments. I smiled now, not because I knew I was going to die, but because I knew Marcas was going to live.
"Let me go," I whispered.
I wasn't bound to Marcas anymore. Lucifer could throw me into the fire pits of Hell, but in the end, my soul would go to Heaven.
"No," Marcas said, his voice firm, final.
A soul from below jumped, and my ankle was suddenly on fire. The pain was too much, and I screamed. There is nothing worse than a burn. Even after the fire is gone, the pain lingers, intensifies, and I could feel tears fighting for release as my ankle throbbed.
Marcas cursed and pulled me up just enough I could reach the ledge with my free hand if I had the energy to try, but it was pointless.
"Marcas . . ." I began.
"Dammit, Dayton, look at me," Marcas said, his injured, grimy hands steadfast and sure around mine. I looked up.
His eyes were hard, the stubble on his jaw even more prominent in the fire lit cavern. His black hair was tousled, and his t-shirt no better than rags now. He looked dangerous. It suited him.
"Listen to me. The first time I saw you, you were a broken little girl at a funeral who shed no tears. Instead, you focused on a mourning dove perched on a tombstone and blatantly disrespected an aunt who wouldn't allow you to seek comfort in your closest friends. There was strength in you even then."
I shook my head.
"Not strength. Stubbornness."
Marcas smiled.
"Some people would argue it's the same thing."
I didn't return his grin.
"I'm not asking you to let me go because I'm weak," I said.
Marcas stared at me, his expression serious.
"No, never that, but I'm not letting you go. I'm too selfish for that."
"Selfish?"
I had to ask. I was in agony, my ankle burning with an intensity I'd never known before, my arm numb, but I had to ask.
"Because if I let you go, I'd lose the half of me that was better. Because if I let you go, I'd lose the only thing I've believed in for a long time. Because if I let you go, I'd lose what little part of me is human. And in that case, I'd rather follow you down. So unless you want to attempt a pretty graceless fall from grace, I suggest you hold on."
His words were enough. I held on, my eyes on his as I fought to bring my other hand to the ledge. I recognized the strain on his face for what it was. He was tiring. I failed, and my hand lay useless at my side.
"Graceless fall from grace, huh?" I said through gritted teeth as I tried again.
Marcas snorted.
"I never said I was poetic."
I laughed because it seemed better than crying. I got my fingers on the stone, but not far enough to get a firm grip. They slipped.
"I feel incredibly tempted to say I can't do this," I muttered as I tried again.
"Never say anything you'll regret later," Marcas replied, his voice weary.
My hand found stone, and I dug my nails in. It wasn't a good grip, but it was a grip and it took some of the pressure off the hand in Marcas' custody.
"I can't feel my arm," I said quietly.
Marcas' eyes caught mine.
"It'd be worse if you could."
He was right. I was sure it would be much worse. I whimpered against the pain in my leg, breathing shallowly to keep the tears at bay as Marcas strained to hold me up, and I fought not to give up. His words were my lifeline, and I looked at him, my eyes bright.
"You do realize you made relationship mistake number one, right?" I asked lightly.
There were lines now around Marcas' lips, and I knew his strength was waning.
"And how do you suppose I did that, Blainey?" he asked.
I grinned.
"You admitted I was your better half."
Marcas' face relaxed slightly, and he chuckled.
"Only you, Blainey," he said with a shake of his head.
I lost my grip on the stone, and my hand fell useless. Marcas fought to keep his balance, and I felt my heart plummet.
"You fall, I fall," Marcas promised.
I lost my battle with tears. It's easier to be brave when there's the possibility of saving someone else. We were going to die.
Another soul below chose that moment to leap, wrapping itself around the ankle already burnt, and I screamed, thrashing involuntarily. It was a small movement, but in an already precarious situation, it was enough. And just like in the movies when something disastrous is about to happen, time slowed down.
I could have professed a thousand sins in that one moment, but there was only one thought in my head. You fall, I fall.
Chapter 22
Defined, retribution is something given or demanded in repayment, especially punishment. In practice, retribution is payback.
~Bezaliel~
I expected to burn so much so that it took me a minute of screaming before I realized I wasn't on fire. My eyes were closed, stubbornly closed, and I forced them open to discover I was floating in air, my feet too close to the fire pits for comfort. I brought them up to my chest.
My hand was still in Marcas', and I looked over at him carefully to discover his mouth twisted wryly, his face no longer pink from his time in the wasteland. It didn't take me long to figure out why. His powers had returned, and he was using them to keep us both above the screaming, tortured souls below.
"That was a little too close for comfort," Marcas called out irritably, and I looked over
my shoulder to find Luther leaning casually against the gateway to the pits. His eyes were bright, his amusement obvious.
"I like a grand finale," Luther said with a shrug as Marcas pulled me to him.
I could feel fluttering in my chest, a full, overwhelming sensation, and I knew my light had returned. It was moving through me frantically, healing wounds that Lucifer had left untended. And yet my ankle still burned.
"What happened?" I whispered.
I didn't trust myself to speak. My emotions had been battered. I had been positive I was dead. The fact that I was suddenly against Marcas' chest while being lifted through a cavernous gateway hadn't quite registered yet in my brain. It was too much. It was all simply too much.
Luther eyed me curiously as we landed inside the now open gate, and I suddenly felt entirely too exposed. It didn't matter that I'd seen women on reality TV wear much less than I was at the moment, a bra and jeans wasn't sufficient enough coverage.
"I like the look, Dayton," Luther said with a wink.
I scowled at him.
"What happened?" I asked again.
I attempted to use my power to clean myself, but I was too keyed up. It was too much. It was all too much. The three trials hadn't just been an emotional roller coaster, they had been an emotional battering ram that left gaping holes behind. It was too much.
Marcas' arm was suddenly around my waist, and I could feel his power wash over me as wounds closed up and dirt fell away from my skin.
"You passed the test," Luther said simply.
I shook my head.
"No, we didn't."
Marcas held up his palm, and a simple white t-shirt appeared. He pulled it over my head, his hands pausing briefly as he smoothed the material down over my abdomen.
"We had a backup plan, Blainey," he whispered into my ear.
I turned and looked at him.
"A backup plan?"
"Developed, rightly so, after your completely indecent kiss with my brother inside an Abbey. Which, both of you should know, is utterly sinful by the way," Luther interrupted with a grin.
Any other time, I would have found a perverse humor in the moment. You know, a little sarcastic rejoinder in which I quote something from some movie or other. Something about priests and confessionals. But for now, I was too stupefied, bewildered, dazed, confused . . . whatever one wants to call it to care.
"Rightly so?"
I was a mumbling robot stuck on repeat. Luther lifted a brow.
"You sure she survived the tests?" he asked haughtily.
Marcas took me by the hand and led me slowly through the tunnel leading out of the pits, his gaze moving to Luther over my shoulder.
"The tests were not simple."
It was all Marcas said, but it seemed enough for Luther. His hand came to rest on my shoulder as we moved.
"Both Conor and Marcas have described you best. An open book, they call you."
I narrowed my eyes, but Luther ignored me.
"It's not an insult. One of the things people love the most about you is your openness. But Hell is ruled by a creature that excels at deception. And the only way to defeat him is to beat him at his own game. Marcas and I both knew Lucifer would see any challenge made to him as a risk to his kingdom. The next step would be the trials."
Marcas' arm was tight on my waist, so tight I squirmed a little with discomfort, and he loosened his grip. I think he was as keyed up as I was. It's simply not natural to come that close to death and not want to hold on as tightly as one can to the person who was almost lost.
"The trials are judge, jury, and executioner. They are never meant to be survived. You must be aware from our time in Petra that Lucifer enjoys tests and duels. They are never the same. His power stems from his ability to wear down the human spirit. He is evil personified, and evil enjoys cruelty. All Demons are aware of this. Lucifer knew I knew that," Marcas said.
I stared at him.
"You were going to your death," I breathed.
"And you volunteered to go with him," Luther added dryly.
I couldn't breathe. Luther was right. While standing in front of Lucifer, both Marcas and Luther had tried to stop me when I volunteered. They had known. They had known what the trials were, but they couldn't afford to tell me in front of Lucifer. I wondered suddenly if this was the decision in Hell Monroe had referred to. I couldn't shake the feeling that, in the long run, it had been a good thing I had volunteered.
Marcas pulled me into him, slowing to a stop as he placed a hand against my cheek. It was fast becoming a favorite gesture between the two of us.
"I truly didn't expect you to volunteer. Raise your voice a little, attempt to fight the system maybe, but never volunteer," he whispered. "Lucifer knew I wanted the hybrids. If I agreed to endure the trials, then I'd have what I wanted. It was a testament to my own confidence that I was willing to be stripped of power, tortured, and destroyed in the name of a cause. We needed the hybrids we came for to see that. We needed them to see I was willing to sacrifice my life for theirs."
"And the backup plan?" I asked.
Marcas smiled.
"Luther would use my time in the trials to rally the hybrids and lead them from Hell. Your father and Lucas would be waiting to speak with them."
I glanced at Luther.
"And did you succeed?"
Luther bowed, his eyes remaining on mine as he bent at the waist.
"Mostly. Marcas' willingness to go through the trials was enough to convince a good deal of our brothers and sisters. The hard part was releasing your powers."
Marcas eyed his brother.
"And how did you manage that, might I ask?"
Luther sighed.
"There is this absolutely aggravating, incredibly fascinating blonde-haired witch who seems to have a penchant for messing with Demons."
I grinned.
"Monroe."
A corner of Luther's lip twitched.
"One day, I will figure out how she manipulates our powers, but for now, I couldn't even tell you what she did to Lucifer to release them."
Marcas chuckled.
"It's killing you, isn't it?" he asked.
Luther nodded.
"You have no idea."
I didn't care how she did it. I was just glad she had. I limped as Marcas inclined his head in a gesture that suggested we move forward, and he looked down at my leg.
"It'll have to heal on its own," Marcas said quietly. "And you will always have a scar. The wound was caused by Hellfire when you had no power to protect yourself. Hellfire wounds cannot be healed."
Well, that was comforting. I winced as my damaged jeans rubbed against raw skin, but I didn't complain. A burn was much better than death.
"And now? What do we do now?" I asked.
The Demons flanking me stiffened, their jaws tightening almost imperceptibly. I saw Luther's fist clench from the corner of my eye.
"We fight."
Chapter 23
In any war, big or small, massive battle or small skirmish, there are always sacrifices. One can only escape Death so often before Death catches up.
~Bezaliel~
My ankle was really bothering me, a slow constant burn that had me cursing with every small step. It didn't help that every shadow, every teeny tiny noise made me jump a mile high, and I bit the inside of my lip to keep from whimpering.
Luther had taken the lead, and he looked back at me, his brow arched, and I knew by his expression that I had drawn blood with the whole lip biting thing.
"You have really got to stop doing that," he complained.
I shrugged. It helped keep me floored in reality, and it didn't hurt that the slight pain also took some of the throbbing out of my ankle. Marcas was eerily quiet as he followed me, and I looked back to find him scanning the darkness behind us. He noticed my interest and nodded at the path we'd left behind.
"He's aware we survived."
It was the only explanation Marcas gave, and he shared a loo
k with Luther before lifting a hand, placing it against the stone walls surrounding us. A portal opened.
"Go," Marcas said to Luther as he stepped behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist.
I could have flown on my own, but I didn't fight Marcas. It felt good to be close to him, safe, and my ankle was distracting enough I wasn't sure I'd be a very graceful flyer to begin with. And once we lifted, we were flying fast. Incredibly fast.
"We can't just take the easy way out of something, can we?" I muttered against Marcas' chest, my teeth chattering as the wind tore at my ankle. The cool air was both a relief and a nuisance. I was so tired of double-edged swords.
Marcas' arms tightened as we began to slow, and I saw light at the end of the portal.
"When this is over, I give you free reign to cry," Marcas said softly.
I looked up at him.
"Cry? I've spent plenty of time crying."
Marcas placed his lips near my ear.
"Not enough, Blainey. You owe it to yourself."
I hated to cry, and he knew it. I started to argue, but he shifted, keeping one arm around my waist while using the other to point ahead of us.
"Look."
The sight that met us was amazing. Lucas stood at the portal's exit, a sardonic grin plastered across his face and behind him stood hundreds of men and women. Most of them appeared to have a twin and they were built the same, dark hair ranging from black to chestnut, dark eyes, and tall. It was eerie, it was beautiful, it was exalting.
"All of Lilith's and Cain's children?" I asked.
"No," Marcas breathed into my ear."Not all."
It was still utterly impressive. We landed next to Lucas.
"I'm considering making a lewd joke about your mother, her hormones, and her ability to excessively breed," Lucas said as Marcas nodded at the crowd gathered.
A cheer went up as Luther patted Lucas on the shoulder, hard.
"Hardy har har, my dear Exiled Angel. Look at it this way, it means her children inherited her sex drive. I, personally, have had no complaints."
