by R. K. Ryals
And then it was over.
And when I opened eyes I didn't remember closing, the first thing I saw was Marcas' face.
"Now, Blainey," he whispered, and because I was more connected with him in that moment than I have ever been in tune with anyone, I knew what he wanted. I felt for my power, our power now, and I gave it my fear. I fed it our desire to leave Hell, and I let it explode. This time when it knocked every Demon down, they didn't get back up. Only Lilith still stood, her face pale.
Marcas picked me up, and I hung on weakly as he turned to the two Angels. The roof of the tower was still open, still swirling with wind.
"Fly!" Marcas ordered, and we took flight.
Lilith began yelling from below us. The shock was wearing off, and she was angry. But it was too late. With our powers combined, even the Hellhounds had gone down. Whether they were dead was questionable, but they were definitely down for the count. I hid my face in Marcas' shirt. Had I just destroyed a room full of Demons?
Marcas had slammed my power and his into me. And it had been the most painful and exhilarating experience of my life. Had Marcas known he could do that?
"You've been holding out on me, Craig," I whispered, my voice weak as I repeated Lilith's earlier accusation. Marcas' grip tightened.
"Never play all your cards at once, Blainey."
It was a lesson I chose not to forget.
Chapter 13
The rules of Demon-binding have been rewritten. An Angel and a Demon. The possibilities are endless.
~Bezaliel~
Flying wasn't as scary as it used to be. After having to confront nightmares no one should have to face, flying actually seemed somewhat relaxing, liberating. Air washed over my skin as we moved upward, and I found my strength returning. I wasn't sure if it was from the blood Marcas fed me or the poison being pushed from my body, but I reveled in the returning energy. And I reveled in being held in Marcas' arms. The latter was more than a little disturbing.
"Tell me more about binding," I requested.
Marcas shifted a little, and I knew my bulky dress wasn't helping him any. I could see Sophia and Lucas ahead of us, their wings flapping gently, and I knew I needed to learn to fly.
"You know the details, Blainey."
Yes, I did, but there were things about the bond that were bothering me. For one, I kept feeling the need to be close to Marcas, to touch him even, as if being near him made me complete. And that was ridiculous. I wasn't a social butterfly. I liked my independence, and I had learned to relish being alone. This insane need to be near Marcas was alarming.
The atmosphere around us began to change, the air more fresh as we ascended, and I detected sky above. Dark sky, but sky nonetheless, with twinkling stars and even darker clouds. How long had we been gone? Did time in Hell differ from Earth time?
"I do know the physical aspects. I don't understand the emotional," I said as Marcas launched himself out of the black portal we were in, bursting into a night sky overlooking a desert. Egypt again?
I took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. The air was sweet. Heady. And I drew it in over and over again as our group fell into a pattern. Sophia took the lead while Lucas took the rear. I was crushed against Marcas in the center.
"The emotional?" Marcas asked after a minute.
I didn't want to say the next words. They were too direct, too personal, and I sought out my little tin box, the image I was using now for blocking. These were thoughts I didn't want shared with the Angels accompanying us.
"Does the bond affect how we feel? About each other?"
There. It was said. Marcas grew silent, and I looked up at him, my night vision taking over without me even needing to try. My power was so much stronger now. Marcas' jaw was clenched.
"It can affect loyalty," Marcas answered carefully. "When bound, a servant feels obedient to the Demon he's bound to."
I almost growled in frustration, but I settled for pounding one of my fists on Marcas' chest. His black button up shirt was mostly splayed open and his skin was hot.
"Not loyalty. Not obedience, Craig. We've established that doesn't exist between us. I'm not entirely human. I want to know if the bond is . . . if it's supposed to make me want to touch you. I-Is it supposed to make me feel like I can't breathe when you're in a room?"
Marcas looked down at me, his eyes glowing red. His forehead was creased.
"No . . . the bond doesn't affect how we feel about each other."
Silence stretched between us. I wanted to feel embarrassment but couldn't. It was a great feeling sharing complicated emotions. It made them seem less tangled. I didn't even care if he reciprocated. I just wanted to know I wasn't going crazy, that I wasn't being persuaded by some strange magic to care about a Demon. I wanted to know my emotions were my own, not the result of a bond. The rest I could deal with later.
"Dayton . . ." Marcas said suddenly, and I peered up at him. His eyes kept changing color. One moment they'd go red, then black, even amber at one point, as if each thought he had was being represented in his gaze through the different hues.
"If this was another life . . . if you or I were different . . . then maybe."
It was all he said, but it was enough. And I expected it.
I closed my eyes and laid my cheek against his chest. Feelings I wanted to deny swirled inside me. When had it changed? When had I started seeing Marcas as more than a Demon I'd been bound to? And what did this say about me?
Marcas had once said I was nothing like Sophia. He was wrong. Maybe our personalities were different, but we both saw something more in Marcas, something that we grew to love.
I looked up at the sky and saw Sophia looking over her shoulder at me. I hadn't blocked that last thought, hadn't really cared if she heard. Perhaps we weren't so different. We shared a bond, too, in our way. And I couldn't not like Sophia. She made me uneasy, but she had stayed behind in Hell when she could have chosen to leave. That said a lot.
I looked away and let myself lean on Marcas. It'd be the last time I let myself really rely on him. His arms tightened, and I knew he must have some idea what I was thinking. How he felt about it was a different story. He would be forever unreadable until he chose not to be. We were two separate beings from two very different worlds. But for now . . . for just this moment, he was mine.
"Do you know where we're going?" I asked.
"I have an idea."
I played with a button on his shirt to keep from biting my tongue in aggravation.
"Do you always have to be so damn vague?"
"Do you always have to be so damn forward?" Marcas asked, and I chuckled despite the intensity of my emotions. It felt good to be bantering with him.
"Being forward gets results," I countered.
"Being vague gets better ones. It's all about stealth, Blainey."
He had me stumped.
"And we'll need to be stealthy?"
Marcas looked down at me, his eyes dark blue. It was nice to see them in their original color.
"We'll need to use wits. Demons may excel at violence, but Angels excel at riddles."
It wasn't the answer I expected.
"Riddles?"
Marcas stopped in mid-air, hovering as Sophia shouted from in front of us. I looked away from the Demon and focused on the landscape now before us. It was mostly desert with very little vegetation and four strange looking tents. The tents were very nearly the color of the sand.
"What are they?" I whispered.
"Bedouin tents. These are friends."
Friends? For whom? More Demons or were these Angels? A few figures moved out of the tents, holding up torches to the night sky. They were expecting us.
Sophia glided down gracefully and landed within the torch light. Lucas followed. Marcas stayed hovering.
"Blainey . . . keep in mind that I am not your enemy."
It was all Marcas said, but I heard the warning in his tone. I looked up into his face and saw the shadows there.
"You quit being my enemy a while back, Marcas."
I said it with a confidence born, not from the bond, but from the situations he and I had endured together. He didn't answer, just glided downward, his feet touching the sand just outside the circle of light. He waited a moment, his arms tightening around my middle before suddenly letting go. And that's when all hell broke loose.
"Down, Demon!" a voice bellowed, and four men came up behind him. They were wrapped from head to toe in flowing dark garments, their heads wrapped in cloth.
They forced Marcas to his knees, an assortment of weapons held at the ready, wicked looking daggers, swords, and guns.
"Stop!" I yelled, mainly because I didn't know what else to do.
Why didn't Marcas fight back? They were mortals. I could "feel" it. He was stronger than them! I ran toward them just as one of the men rammed a gun into the back of Marcas' head, and I went to my knees, my dress billowing around me as I grabbed at the sand. My head was spinning. A growl sounded, and I saw all four men fly backward. Marcas was angry.
"Halt!" another voice cried, a familiar voice, and I saw the men pause as they forced themselves off the ground and readied their weapons.
"What you do to the Demon, you also do to the girl. Don't forget the bond."
It was a commanding voice, and I didn't have to look behind me to know who it was. Alessandro. Sophia had called in the Swords of Solomon. Considering the ring, it made sense. I looked up at Marcas and saw the red glow coming from his eyes. He was still angry.
"Call your men off, Ander! I did not land with the intention to run."
"And yet you ran before, Demon. And with an artifact that rightfully belonged among us."
Marcas did not reply. He didn't have to. This group wouldn't be as lenient the second time around. We were not trusted. Never really had been, but now . . .
"Take the Demon to the tents. There is much to be discussed," Alessandro ordered.
I didn't get off my knees. Even as they led Marcas away, I didn't move. I didn't have the faintest idea what they had planned for me. With Lucas present, I didn't foresee much harm, but I still didn't have the strength to move. The only thing I could think about was Monroe, Conor, Lita, and the Jacobs. If Alessandro had survived the battle, then I had hope.
"I see you've gotten over your fear of heights."
The sudden intruding voice made my head snap up.
"They won't harm him," the male voice continued, and I looked up with a cry.
"Conor!"
I hiccupped as his name escaped, the sob a deep one, a relieved sound so intense it had me fighting for air. And he looked good. Healthy, his body covered in jeans and a simple navy tee.
"Red."
It was all he said, but it was enough. His eyes shone, his voice deep, as he placed a hand on my arm, and I stood up directly into his embrace. It felt good being held by Conor, and I let a lot of weariness seep into the hold. He held me there a moment before pulling away, his gaze moving over my unkempt figure, over my sand covered silver dress and bare toes.
"You've changed."
He said the words slowly, and I knew instantly he wasn't talking about my appearance. My eyes met his, and I noted the strain there, the darkness that now haunted his gaze. Something had happened to Conor after I'd left. I didn't know what, and I didn't ask.
"I could say the same about you, Con."
He smiled, that lopsided smile I was so fond of, and shrugged. And, though the gesture was a light one, the smile never reached his eyes.
"Did you suddenly become one of the twelve princesses dancing at the midnight ball?" he asked, and this time, I knew he meant my attire. I laughed because I needed to.
"Something like that."
"Are you two planning on standing here all night exchanging one-liners?" a female voice broke in, and I squealed, because really, what else could I do?
"Monroe!"
"In the flesh."
She was smiling when I looked at her, and we literally ran at each other. My arms went around her, and I held on tight. She hadn't changed. Her eyes still glowed, her body encased in a loose vintage blue dress suitable for the desert climate.
"Are you okay?" she whispered into my hair.
I pulled away from her.
"I'm okay . . . but Conor?" I whispered back.
"He was given a new assignment. When you left, you forfeited his guardianship. I'm not sure what they have him doing, but he disappears often, and he always looks tired."
I looked over my shoulder at the man in question. I would have called him a boy once. Hell, I would have called myself a girl, but life has a funny way of aging people at inopportune moments, and Conor was definitely turning into a man. He was eighteen, but he looked much, much older now. His eyes met mine, and I saw understanding etched in the depths.
"I think his new assignment involves a girl," Monroe whispered into my ear.
She didn't have to say any more. I knew now why his look bothered me. It reminded me of my eyes, the way they'd looked when I'd gazed into the mirror back in Hell. He was conflicted.
"We need to get inside," Monroe announced, motioning toward the tent our group had entered.
Lucas stood outside it, guarding us while giving us time to reunite. But he looked impatient, and I knew he was more interested in what was going on inside. And I needed to get to Marcas.
"Let's go."
Conor walked over to us, and we headed for the tent.
"Where's Lita?" I asked.
"She is with the Circle back in Lodeston. I stayed behind with the S.O.S. I'm training to work with them," Monroe answered.
I looked at her in surprise. She was training with the Swords of Solomon?
Maybe the shock of seeing them was wearing off or maybe I was just finally beginning to piece together Monroe's words, but I was suddenly very, very confused. I had left my friends fighting in Italy only a few days ago, hadn't I? And yet . . . Conor was given a new assignment, Monroe was training with the S.O.S., and Lita was in Lodeston with the Circle, a group of witches headed by Monroe's mother, and Jacin?
I paused a few feet away from the tent and looked cautiously at my two closest friends.
"How long have I been gone?"
Monroe glanced at Conor then back at me. Her gaze was sympathetic.
"A little over a month," she answered carefully.
What!? Ice water suddenly flooded my veins. A month? One day in Hell, and a month had passed on Earth.
"We were there longer than a day," Lucas said suddenly from the tent's entrance.
I looked up at him. We were what?
"The reception happened in the span of a night, but when you were thrown into the fire pits, you were there much longer than a day."
I heard his voice in my head, but I couldn't quite grasp it. I hadn't been in the pits long. Marcas had come . . .
"You were always good at withdrawing. Your father calls it your defense mechanism. I promise, you were there longer than a day. Marcas came when he finally broke through Lilith's shields and took control of the Guardians of the Gate. Once there, she sent Brim after him, but he told the Hound he would only attend the reception if you were set free. Only then would he take his place among the Elitists in Hell. But he never promised. There's where Lilith made her mistake. Marcas almost always keeps his promises, but he never keeps promises he doesn't make."
I was staring at Lucas and knew it. Both Conor and Monroe watched us, their expressions even. It was obvious they'd seen an Angel before. Perhaps when I was gone? Because neither of them seemed in awe of our situation. We were standing at the entrance of a Bedouin tent in the desert with an Exiled Angel, and they didn't look the least bit fazed.
"No," I whispered.
But I knew they were right. We'd been gone long enough for quite a bit to transpire. My friends had changed. I had changed. I looked at the light glowing from inside the tent, at the voices raised now within.
"We need to enter," I said as Monroe gave me a q
uick worried look before ducking into the tent.
Conor grabbed me by the elbow.
"Is he worth it, Red?" he asked.
I knew what he was asking. Was Marcas worth my loyalty to him? I looked down at my toes, chilled now in the cooler temperatures brought on by nightfall. When I looked back up at Conor, my eyes were wide.
"Is she?" I asked in return.
He didn't answer, but the look he gave me was enough to verify what Monroe had implied. Conor was guarding a girl, and he was torn by it. I placed my hand over his.
"You're my best friend, Con. The two of us . . . we're smart enough to figure this out."
He let his head droop.
"Sometimes the heart doesn't want to listen to what the head has to say."
I smiled. It was kind of nice having someone to share a pain we were both experiencing but too afraid to admit. We were both captivated by the wrong kind of people. I refused to call it love. I remembered Conor's kiss back in Italy, and then our farewell at the fight. And I knew it had really been an understanding between us. We would always be incredibly close, but our lives were taking two different paths. Maybe he'd tell me about his adventure one day. Maybe I'd tell him about Hell. I let my hand drop as I lifted the tent flap.
"Maybe the heart knows better."
I ducked into the tent.
Chapter 14
Angels and the Swords of Solomon have always worked closely together. Many such organizations protect many different sacred artifacts. But while many religious groups covet the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail, Demons covet the Seal.
~Bezaliel~
"In no way should a Demon be allowed access to the Seal!"
Alessandro's voice was easy to discern as we moved into the tent, and tenseness permeated the air as I glanced at the group gathered near the center of the structure. It was an awesome tent, arranged the way a house would be, with large burgundy cushions set up like a couch on the floor and large Persian rugs beneath it. Lanterns hung from the top of the tent, their glow highlighting a group of makeshift beds along the side opposite the "sitting" area. And in the center of the tent was a table, a large table surrounded by people. Most of them I knew.
