Deliverance from Sin: A Demonic Paranormal Romance (Sinners & Saints Book 5)

by Rosalie Stanton

  The corners of her vision were beginning to dim. It would be so easy to just close her eyes and do as her body demanded. Fear remained a painful throb, but it had been joined by resignation. She knew there was a world beyond this one. She knew better than most, as she had spent most of her life straddling the boundaries.

  That didn’t make death easy. Nor did the knowledge that she would be torn from Campbell now—just when they had started having honest moments—were she to end up in the place reserved for good little boys and girls. She wasn’t even sure that was where she wanted to go.

  How great could Heaven be if it were run by a god that allowed Legion into her life?

  For a decision she thought she’d never make, it came without a fight. The world she knew had upended itself, and the truths she’d valued no longer existed. Letting go of her hatred should not have been easy, but it was. The love she had for Campbell made it so. She saw herself standing at a forked path, one prong leading to the Pearly Gates, the other drawing her home.

  And she knew what she wanted.

  “Turn,” Varina whispered.

  “What?”

  “Turn. I…I want…” She inhaled, death riding on her tongue. “Cam…let…stay. Let me…”

  Her body rattled and her mouth lost the will to form words. Campbell’s face floated above hers. He was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear anymore. Perhaps that was for the best.

  She’d forgotten what she’d been saying, anyway.

  The world spiraled out of focus. That horrid copper flavor filled her mouth again. Thick and tangy, and there was so much of it.

  Someone nearby began to scream. She couldn’t see who. She couldn’t see anything.

  Varina felt herself fall, and the darkness followed.

  29

  Six hours since her eyes had closed, since she’d fallen limp in his arms, her mouth full of his blood.

  Six long, agonizing hours for his mind to walk him through those last minutes on repeat, examine every angle, convince himself he’d done what she wanted only to start doubting all over again.

  Six hours wondering if she’d hate him when she awoke.

  Campbell lurched forward in the chair he’d dragged into her room and buried his fingers into his hair. The sun had long since set, and the house—now eerily vacant of sound, save the odd floorboard creak or hoot from animals outside—was pitch dark. It also stank of blood, and the scent wasn’t the type to which one adjusted. He breathed it in with every drag of his lungs, sat with the taste in his mouth. There had been so much of it.

  Legion had split her body in half. Her chest and been cracked, her gut torn open in a mess of ripped flesh and a mess of pinks, reds, and whites he hadn’t wanted to consider. How she’d remained awake at all astounded him. How she’d been able to talk, to look at him, to…

  Love.

  Campbell’s heart lurched again. It had developed a habit of doing that every few seconds. Every time the word surfaced, and he recalled the way she’d looked when she’d said it. How her eyes had fixed on his, full of warmth and regret, her inner light fading. But she’d wanted him to know.

  She’d wanted…

  God, he hoped she’d wanted. The decision had been so quick, and he’d second guessed himself the entire time.

  Campbell raised his head and looked again to the bed. Every few seconds, his brain whispered that he’d missed something. A flicker of movement, a moan or a breath, and every few seconds, reality would correct him. Varina remained on the bed where he’d placed her.

  She hadn’t moved.

  Campbell stared at her a long moment before dropping his gaze, a streak of pain shooting between his shoulder blades.

  There was blood on his hands. Her blood.

  His eyes, raw and tender, began to sting again. He wasn’t sure he had anything left to cry. If more people knew loving someone could hurt this much, he doubted anyone would be so keen to do it.

  The air thickened as though in response, filling the room with a familiar weight. Campbell sucked in a breath and looked up.

  Standing in the doorway was Lucifer.

  “Good evening, Superbia.”

  Campbell clenched his jaw, a spike of anger shooting down his spine, through his arms and lingering in his fingertips. Granted, he wasn’t sure why the sight of Lucifer pissed him off, but he didn’t care to examine it closely. This wasn’t anger that could be evaluated—it just was.

  Before he could help himself, he barked, “What are you doing here?”

  Lucifer motioned toward the remains of the dresser, where Campbell had left the collection box. “Among other things, picking up our friend, here.”

  “That sounds like a job for Pixley.”

  “Pixley will be delighted to hear she’s been demoted to errand girl.” The devil tilted his head. “I wanted to see you. And check in on Miss Jefferson. How is she?”

  “What the fuck do you care?”

  Lucifer paused. Though the room was dark, Campbell could see just fine—well enough to recognize the complete lack of shock on his would-be father’s face. Instead, the devil looked worn, resigned. He looked how Campbell felt, only he wasn’t covered in Varina’s blood.

  “I care because you care,” Lucifer replied, his tone soft. “I care because you love her.”

  Campbell blinked, and just as quickly, the fire in his body doused. He slumped forward, swallowing back a sob. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  In spite of himself, Campbell felt his mouth curve into something that might have been a grin. “Yeah, well, anyone ever tell you this sucks?”

  “Oh, trust me, I am well aware.” The soft thud of Lucifer’s footsteps reached Campbell’s ears, and he looked up just in time to see the devil stop at Varina’s bedside across from him. He gazed at her for a long, quiet moment. “You can have all the power in the world,” Lucifer murmured, waving a hand over her body, “but you can’t predict the future.”

  Campbell didn’t say anything. He kept his focus on Varina.

  “It’s a hard lesson to learn. One I find I must repeat every few centuries or so.” The devil pulled back his hand, and the blood that had clung to Varina’s hair, face and clothes—that had lingered in the air itself—went with him. “For instance, had you asked me, I would have wagered that you, pragmatist that you are, would have closed your heart to the possibility of love. You saw all too clearly the effect it has on those afflicted.”

  Yes, he had. Had it been only days since Campbell had wondered why his brother had opened his wrists to save Cassie? How Luxi and Ava could have so willingly put their lovers above the world? How Invi could have made the decision to stay with Roman when it seemed the end had come? Those choices had transformed from foolish to logical. The only acceptable decision to make when someone they loved was on the line.

  Eternity was a long time to be dead. It was also a long time to live with remorse. When he’d faced Legion, the need to save Varina had outweighed his fear of the never-ending dark. And while the fear remained—a low-burning sizzle in his chest—it had lost its voice for the moment. Varina was his concern.

  Campbell wasn’t dumb enough to think his nights were safe again, but when faced with a real problem, his mind had no trouble compartmentalizing the fears that were rational from those that weren’t.

  That was something, at least.

  “People change, I guess,” he muttered at last. And, because he couldn’t help himself, he said, “I gave her blood. Like Invi gave Roman after the last Seal opened. Varina was dying and I gave her my blood to save her. I don’t know if she wanted it. I think she did, but maybe I just wanted her to want it.” He paused. “How long will this take?”

  A beat, then, “As long as it needs, I suppose.”

  That was nice and vague.

  Lucifer cracked a small smile, as though he shared the sentiment. “I’m afraid your Varina is the first human to ingest the blood of a Sin. And if her wounds were extens
ive, her body might need more time to heal. We cannot compare her with either Cassie or Roman, for they both had an advantage she did not.”

  Campbell hesitated, his throat flexing around a question he needed to ask but didn’t want answered. Varina hadn’t had a pulse the last time he’d checked, or a heartbeat. Her wounds had closed but her body remained cold. She didn’t look asleep, even now that she wasn’t stained with blood.

  Still, he managed to find his voice. “Will she… She is going to wake up, isn’t she?”

  “Her name is not on our Registration, nor Jev’s, when I last asked. I have no reason to think she will not awake.”

  “Not exactly reassuring.”

  Lucifer lifted his eyebrows. “As I said, Superbia, this is new territory. Never before has a Sin attempted to transform a human. We know what happens with Virtues thanks to your brother, and Guardians, thanks to your sister. We know what happens when demons mix blood with humans.” He paused. “We know what happens when I do as well.”

  Yes. They turn into psychotic demigods with a hard-on for Armageddon.

  Campbell bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying that much aloud, but from the look on Lucifer’s face, he might as well have screamed it.

  Or maybe Lucifer had been thinking it as well. On closer inspection, Campbell realized just how tired the devil looked—not the worn-down exhaustion he’d seen during the rush to stop Lilith, but the sort of groggy sluggishness that came after a night of heavy drinking. And it occurred to him for the first time how much blame Lucifer must have assumed for Lilith’s actions—if not from Big J, then from himself.

  And Campbell. Though he hadn’t spent much time with his old man since learning the world hadn’t been destroyed, Campbell had kept tight hold of his resentment. He’d blamed Lucifer as he’d blamed his siblings for not sacrificing their lovers for the greater good. Yet if the devil had truly loved Lilith at one point, killing her—no matter what she’d done—couldn’t be easy.

  That seemed perfectly clear now. So clear he couldn’t understand why it had taken him so long to see it.

  “For what it is worth,” Lucifer said, drawing Campbell out of his reverie, “I am sorry.”

  Campbell frowned. “For what?”

  A humorless smile drew at the devil’s lips. “How long do you have?” he replied. The smile on his face, fake as it was, didn’t last. The haunted air returned, darker than the shadows. “I have of late lost all my mirth, though unlike that indecisive ninny Hamlet, I actually know why.” Lucifer met his gaze. “I left you in a lurch. All of you. We nearly lost your sister, and the world on top of that. I understand trust has been broken, and I admit I have spent the past little while feeling sorry for myself. Imagine the embarrassment—two old fools, Jev and I, so blinded by conceit that we could not fathom anyone, even Lilith, getting the better of us. That any Seal was lost was tragic, but I should have acted sooner, and with more force. I should have pulled the girls and Ira out of assignment immediately. I should have…”

  The devil trailed off, his expression faraway. He looked off distantly before blinking, giving his head a shake and seeming to come back to himself.

  “The truth is, Superbia, I didn’t take her seriously, at least not soon enough,” Lucifer said, his tone flat. “For too long I’ve seen Lilith through a very narrow lens, one I didn’t care to look through because of how badly that relationship failed. While her hatred for the world was well documented, the lengths to which she’d go… I didn’t anticipate that. I didn’t give her enough credit. I gave myself too much credit. I will carry that regret with me every day from here on.”

  Campbell stared at him a long moment, his exhausted head spinning. It wasn’t so much the words—those he understood well enough—but Lucifer had never been one to open up, least of all to him. He stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to navigate the dark forest that made up his thoughts, but getting lost among the foliage. He had slept too little and too long ago for this conversation.

  Finally, he settled for straightforward. The simplest solutions were often the best. “Why are you telling me this?”

  If Lucifer was thrown off by his bluntness, he didn’t show it. “You deserve to know,” he said simply. “All of you. After what happened…I owe you an explanation.”

  “You’re the King of Hell. You don’t owe us anything.”

  “There we disagree.” Lucifer offered a thin smile. “You all lost something because of me. I nearly lost the world. And, as I said, I have been feeling sorry for myself—ashamed of myself—for too long. Part of putting shame behind you is admitting your mistake. The next part is learning from it. That’s what I intend to do.” He released a long, steady breath. “Once Miss Jefferson awakes, she will need to acclimate to our world. The timing couldn’t be better—we need to acclimate, as well. The best way to do that is to get back to what we know.”

  “Uh huh. And where will she fit in?”

  The devil smiled again, this time sincere. “We’ll find out, I suppose.”

  “And if…” Campbell fisted his hands, fighting down a surge of fear. “If she doesn’t want to. If she… I don’t know if she wanted this, or if I wanted her to want this so much I made the decision for her. What happens if she wakes up and hates me?”

  “We will cross that bridge if necessary,” Lucifer replied. “Regardless, you still love her, which makes her important. Miss Jefferson will be well looked after in any eventuality.”

  A cool wave of relief washed through him. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted—and it wouldn’t be until Varina awoke, and he had his answer—but for the moment, it was enough. He could live with that.

  “Well,” Lucifer said, turning on his heel. “I believe it’s best if I am not here when she opens her eyes, don’t you think? And please, do not worry yourself with the late Mrs. Jefferson downstairs. Her earthly body is coming with me.”

  “Thanks,” Campbell croaked. He had truly forgotten about Lina Jefferson, but when Varina awoke, the last thing she’d need to see was her murdered stepmother.

  Lucifer had reached the dresser and had the collection box between his hands when the question pushed its way from the recesses of Campbell’s mind to the forefront. It was random and confused, but he felt compelled to ask rather than analyze. Might as well take advantage of the devil’s chatty mood.

  “Who is Hannah Barnes?”

  Lucifer drew still. “Pardon?”

  “You know what I mean,” Campbell said. “You’ve had Gula on her for a long damn time. We were camped in her front yard. Who is she?”

  The air between them practically hummed, and for a long moment, Campbell was certain Lucifer wouldn’t answer. There was something on the devil’s face he’d never seen before—not love or lust, nor the paternal fondness Campbell knew so well. No, whatever Lucifer felt for the girl was a cousin of the regret he’d expressed earlier, though deeper and more complicated.

  At length, the devil sighed, his shoulders dropping. “A casualty,” he said. “One of many. But she doesn’t need to be watched. I was doing that to assuage my guilt. Gula is home now, awaiting reassignment.” He paused. “Anything else?”

  Considering that was more than Campbell thought he’d get, he didn’t dare press his luck by asking for more. He shook his head.

  Lucifer smiled. “Do yourself and Miss Jefferson a favor—try to get some rest.”

  Before Campbell could retort, the devil had disappeared.

  Not that the parting advice did much good. While he appreciated the sentiment, Campbell knew damn well he couldn’t get any rest while Varina was out. Lucifer’s departure made the house go quiet all over again, removed the hint of distraction and had his worries shouldering their way front and center once more—quickly, and with a megaphone.

  The first spike of panic was brief but intense—a result of the dams being lowered without preamble. Campbell sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and drew in steady, deep breaths, waiting for the rush to slow. It took a
few minutes to get his anxiety back to where it had been, and by the time he arrived back at square one, the fatigue straining his body was damn near unbearable.

  He slumped back in his chair with a sigh, his head a dead weight his neck could no longer support. Gravity pulled down his eyelids, and he only thought to fight it when he realized the room had gone all dark.

  This was Lucifer’s fault. Rest. Putting that idea in his head had his body in agreement.

  But Campbell couldn’t rest. Not now. He needed to see her first. Needed to know.

  His brain grew fuzzy and all went dark again. This time, though, he didn’t have the strength to fight it.

  30

  Varina opened her eyes.

  For a long moment, she found herself staring at the fine stitch work that comprised her canopy. One of the mental exercises she’d utilized as a child had been to find shapes and faces, connect wayward dots and lines, and make something out of nothing. On this canopy, she clearly remembered forming the figure of a bat, a dog and an old man. All three were points she’d look to immediately when the light was good—a way of grounding herself when the world around her seemed to be unraveling.

  She saw them clearly now, which wouldn’t have surprised her were the room not pitch black. But the jolt of shock was short-lived, her memory filling in the shadowy places in her mind. Legion in her head. Her stepmother’s body at her feet. Campbell’s face, his eyes shining with tears. The blood that filled her mouth. The pain that had rooted itself in her bones as if it were a part of her.

  Varina raised her hands. They looked normal enough. Same amount of fingers, same pale shade of peach. She flexed them experimentally, and couldn’t suppress her sharp inhale at the ripple of strength that vibrated down her wrist and up her arm. It was unlike anything she’d felt, and she’d been told by reputable sources that she packed a rather mean punch.

  That had been with human strength. This was something else.

  She uncurled her fists and watched, dazed, as a small electrical charge the color of the sun flared between her fingers. A breath of fear washed through her body, chased by a larger, more powerful surge of something she hadn’t felt in a damn long time.