by R.K. Ryals
~Bezaliel~
“What are your plans, Craig?” I asked him coldly as I rubbed my jaw.
My voice trembled slightly, 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. Everything 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," he said coolly. 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?" Marcas 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,” Marcas said.
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. I heard Marcas move 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?” I asked. 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 from the other side of the door. 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 to
p 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?” I asked as fiercely as I could without shouting. 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 slightly 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."
My body grew cold. I had known that demons could bond with mortals, but this was the first detailed account I'd had of it.
“But we’re bound. I don’t feel the need to obey you,” I reasoned as Marcas looked over his shoulder.
“You’re not entirely mortal, Blainey. This is why what we are is so different. So dangerous,” Marcas pointed out.
Things were slowly making more sense to me. I moved closer to him despite my discomfort. I didn’t have the comfort level with Marcas that I did with Conor.
“Why does your brother believe any child we had together would bring redemption to the children of Cain and Lilith?” I asked in confusion.
That had weighed on me back home in Lodeston. I was reminded of it now. Marcas turned completely toward me before moving to lean back against the bed’s headboard. For the first time since we met, he seemed to relax. It made him look the twenty years of age I’d always guessed him at.
“My brother is insane. He has the same mental problems you see in some humans. There is no way any child between a Demon and a Naphil would bring redemption. But he can’t comprehend that.” Marcas said slowly. I watched him.
“And yet, he has my aunt and her order convinced that it could happen,” I reasoned.
Marcas’ eyes met mine.
“Yes, and I’m not sure how he managed that. It makes no sense. Once he discovered the existence of a sole normal Nephilim, he became obsessed with the idea that mixing Sethian and Angel blood with the blood of Cain would reverse the curse. He believes this is because the Sethian blood is from the son Adam and Eve had in Abel’s stead. The curse doesn’t work that way. There are no loopholes." Marcas said.
And yet Damon was utterly convinced that it could happen. What could be more wonderful than gaining redemption? I felt sad.
“When did your brother go insane?”
Marcas looked away.
“We were only three hundred years old. To you, we would have appeared sixteen. Until the age of thirteen, we age normally. After that, the years pass more slowly. And after twenty one, we quit aging completely in Earth form. Damon was overtaken by bloodlust that year. He’d been fighting it up until then. He went on a killing rampage. He murdered thousands, and it destroyed him. His mind was lost,” Marcas answered.
He told the story with no emotion, but I couldn’t imagine it not affecting him at all. Damon was his twin. I felt tempted to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t. He didn’t like touch.
“Maria said you and Damon retained your humanity from your father as his first born children,” I said in a hushed tone.
I was encouraging him to tell me more, but I wasn’t going to force him. The bed grew warm, and I knew Marcas was feeling on edge.
“We retained the human conscience, yes. We can feel more than most of our kind. It’s what eventually drove Damon insane."
This much I knew from Maria but hearing it from Marcas made it more real. It made it more personal. What did that mean for my aunt and her order? Would Damon kill them when he was done with them? Marcas seemed to read my thoughts.
“I told Damon that you would be the end of us all because, by bonding us, he has started a war. The war is coming. The only chance of avoiding it is becoming unbound. Your aunt will be one of its fatalities. Her obsession with the Sethian bloodline has made her blind and maybe even a little insane herself. This isn’t uncommon in religious cults. And that is what she has made her Order. She has turned it into a cult. There are very few pure Sethian descendants left, and she is desperate that the line be restored and preserved,” Marcas said pitilessly.
I looked at him. Two desperate beings had come together and created the spark needed to start a war between Heaven and Hell on Earth. There had always been a war, but a war on Earth would be devastating to the mortals who called it home. And they had placed me in its center. I wanted to be angry at them, but I felt sorry for them instead. They had done so out of a desperate need for redemption. It wasn’t uncommon for people to do outrageous things in the name of God in order to save themselves.
“We need the ring,” I whispered.
Marcas leaned forward and touched my arm lightly. I looked up and he moved back again.
“I know,” he said. I watched his expressionless face.
“Why don’t you just take my soul? Honestly."
His eyes darkened by several shades. The blue seemed almost black.
“I know you’re aware my human flaw is mercy,” he said grimly. I nodded.
“It isn’t because of you and Sophia?” I asked. Marcas frowned.
"No."
His tone was final. I suddenly envied Sophia. I wasn’t sure why. Marcas was a Demon with as much penchant for evil as any of his own kind. But as fierce as his anger at the world was, I couldn’t help but wonder how much fiercer his love could be.
Chapter 30
There are armies amassing on both sides. Time is running short. She will prove to be a leader even as she seems to be a follower. The trumpet sounds.
