

Redemption

By R. K. Ryals

Copyright 2011 by Regina K. Ryals

Smashwords Edition

Dedication

First and foremost, I dedicate this book to my mother who passed away in 2005. She will be my hero always. I would also like to thank Sabrina Williams and Audrey Welch for their much needed support. They were a shoulder to cry on and an ear to vent in when I needed it most. Thank you to my husband who picked up a lot of my shirked duties while I was in the Zen of writing. He is a truly amazing man. And a very, very special thank you to Melanie Bruce, a truly remarkable woman who helped make this book the best it could be.

In the beginning . . .

It was dark. I was supposed to be sleeping but the television was turned up too loud downstairs, and I tossed and turned instead. Mrs. Cavendish was a big fan of Tru TV, and she was laughing appallingly loud as I glanced worriedly at the glowing heart-shaped clock next to my bed. The digital numbers stood out too bright in the pitch black room. Midnight. Shouldn't mom and dad be home already? My bedroom door creaked open, and I dove beneath my sheet.

"Dayton?" a voice whispered uncertainly, and I pulled the cover down to find my sister's silhouette framed against my open bedroom door. She took a hesitant step forward.

"You okay?"

I fought back tears. Amber knew I didn't like the dark, but our sitter felt I was too old for a nightlight.

"You're ten now, Dayton. There is nothing to be afraid of," Mrs. Cavendish always said. She claimed my parents were discouraging my growth. I didn't care one whit what she thought! I simply did _not_ like the dark.

"Dayton?" Amber asked again. I whimpered.

"Will Mom and Dad be back home soon?"

I felt her slide under the sheet next to me before pulling it over both our heads. She switched on a small Disney Princess flashlight, and I sighed with relief.

"It won't be long, I bet," Amber assured me.

She flicked the flashlight off and then on, watching the way our faces disappeared and reappeared over and over again. It made me dizzy.

"They've been gone an awful long time."

Amber clicked the light back on and left it that way. She lay flat, and we both stared up at the cotton sheet above our heads.

"I know," Amber whispered. She grew quiet a moment and then sighed.

"Why don't you tell a story, Day? It'll pass the time."

I turned to look at her. Our eyes met, and I saw the worry in her gaze. A story seemed like a good idea.

"Okay."

"Maybe the one about the girl and the mountain?"

I stared at the sheet a moment and then nodded. I liked making up stories, and Amber and I spent a lot of nights this way—flashlight on and a sheet over our heads. The thin coverlet was a blank canvas, the stories were the paint, and my mind was the paint brush. It was like painting with words rather than color.

I paused long enough to be sure the T.V. downstairs was turned up and Mrs. Cavendish was still laughing. There was still plenty of noise below, and I turned attentively to Amber. She scooted in close, and I began to tell her the tale of a girl who couldn't sleep no matter how hard she tried. Even counting sheep failed to work. The child was discouraged. One morning while eating breakfast, she saw her mother rub irritably at the corners of her eyes. "The Sand Man has been busy," her mother complained.

"This intrigued the girl," Amber interrupted.

I nodded. I had told this story often simply because it was Amber's favorite.

When the girl asked the mother who the Sand Man was, she described a magical being with a bag full of sand that had the power to make people sleep. This confused the girl. Why had he not come to see her? "What happens if the Sand Man doesn't come," she asked her mother.

"You have to go find him in a place far away called Sleepy Mountain," Amber cut in.

"That's right," I said. If sleep was not to come and the Sand Man failed to show, then the girl would have to seek him out by traveling to his home on Sleepy Mountain. This had to be accomplished before the sun rose over the horizon or the Sand Man would not part with his sand. The girl thought about this. That night, when sleep once again eluded her, she decided to go in search of the Sand Man. She followed her mother's instructions and, before you know it, she found herself at the bottom of the mountain. But when she looked up, the mountain she found before her was so high, she could not see the top. This scared her. How could anyone climb such a mountain before morning? She wouldn't give up! She had come this far and refused to turn back. Mustering up her courage, she began to climb.

"Whoa there!" Amber cried out before poking me in the ribs. I jumped.

"Hey!"

Amber didn't look the least bit guilty.

"Didn't the girl have to close her eyes and count backward from three while chanting some silly little chant first in order to even get to the mountain?"

I frowned at her.

"You forgot that part," she added somewhat sheepishly when she noticed me rubbing at the sore spot she'd left behind. The poke had stung. I poked her back in retaliation. She grunted.

" _Oomph_! I didn't poke you _that_ hard!"

"So _you_ say," I argued, grinning at her discomfort.

I retold the "chanting" part of the story before describing the mountain and the huge feat ahead. The girl began to climb. Slowly, so slowly, she propelled herself upward until her legs and arms burned. And still, she climbed. The sky around her turned purple, and she climbed faster. The top was visible.

"I can do it! I can!" Amber and I cried out at the same time.

We giggled. It was our favorite part of the story. The girl made it to the top of the mountain just as the sun began to move along the horizon. She was almost out of time, and she made a run for the Sand Man's throne.

"Help me, help me!" Amber whispered desperately as if she was the girl in the story.

The old man looked up from his throne, startled. What was this? "I need sleep," the little girl begged. The Sand Man's expression softened instantly. It had been many years since anyone attempted to scale his mountain and no one had ever been able to do it before dawn. The little girl had prevailed where stronger men and women had failed. The old man took out his black, star covered bag, closed her eyes gently, and blessed the girl with sleep.

"And he promised her a restful night of slumber forevermore for her success," Amber whispered, "That's a good story, Day."

Amber rolled onto her side groggily and placed the flashlight between us. She tucked her hands beneath her head, and her eyelashes fell heavily against her cheeks. There was more to the tale, but I was too tired to go on. I reached out and placed a hand over Amber's, a feeling of comfort stealing over me as I watched her chest rise and fall gently. My own lids fell closed.

***

A loud banging woke us. Amber's flashlight had dulled, and I pulled the sheet down to look at the clock. 2:00 a.m.

"What was that?" I whispered fearfully.

Amber moved in closer. The banging continued. This time it was louder.

"Someone's at the door," Amber said.

The sound came again, and I realized she was right. A moment later, Mrs. Cavendish's yells filtered irritably up the stairs.

"What in God's name!" she shouted as she made her way noisily to the front door.

I realized I was holding my breath. The sounds downstairs quieted. I grabbed Amber's arm.

"What's going on?"

She just shook her head.

"I don't know, Dayton."

There were sudden footsteps on the stairs and we froze. Amber wasn't supposed to be in my room, and neither one of us wanted to get into trouble. The bedroom light suddenly clicked on, and the glow flooded the room. Amber and I blinked hard.

"Girls?" a voice asked hesitantly. It was Mrs. Cavendish. Her tone sounded odd to me. Gentle. She didn't yell or lecture. I squinted as she moved toward the bed, her curlers bouncing in her gray hair. She was frowning.

"There are some people downstairs," she said quietly. Her voice bothered me.

Amber climbed out of the bed and reached for my hand. Both of us were shaking.

"Your parents . . . they were in an accident," Mrs. Cavendish began.

I glanced at Amber. Her eyes were round with horror. Clinging hard to her hand, I scooted off the mattress.

"Are they okay?" I whispered.

Amber moved so close, I could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. Mine were still dry. Mrs. Cavendish shook her head and looked down at the floor. What did that mean?

"They're hurt then?" I asked. "Are they in the hospital?"

Mrs. Cavendish shook her head again.

"Dayton," she said slowly, "they didn't make it, sweetheart."

Amber started sobbing. I just looked straight ahead. Didn't make it? That couldn't mean what I thought it meant. It just couldn't! Not _my_ parents. No . . . no, that wasn't right! She had to be wrong! I was just having a bad dream. That's all. I pinched myself hard.

"Girls, you need to come downstairs. I'll grab you some clothes. There are some people here . . . social services. They'll find you a place to go," she said, her wrinkled hand swiping at a tear. I'd never seen Mrs. Cavendish cry. It was disturbing.

"But we don't need to go anywhere! We're at home," I argued stubbornly.

Mrs. Cavendish tried to hug me, but I pulled away. It separated Amber and I.

"Dayton—"

"No!" I said. Over and over I said it. I knelt down and brought my knees into my chest. _No!_ There I stayed, repeating it again over and over. _No!_ _No! No! No! No!_ They weren't gone! They weren't!

At some point, someone must have moved me. I was outside, and then inside somewhere. People moved around me. Vaguely, I felt Amber scoot in close. I didn't know where we were. I didn't care. Someone gave us food, but I pushed it away. I wanted my parents. The hurt was all consuming. My heart felt broken but the pain wasn't limited to my chest. It ate away at my insides too, like tiny insects gnawing away at my gut. I had to fight the urge to punch myself in the stomach. I refused to cry.

"We need to go," someone whispered.

I finally registered where we were. It was a bright office, lights fluorescent and blinding. I think there had been a house before this but my memory was dim. Ugly green plastic chairs were pushed up against a shabby linoleum floor. It shined with a coat of wax, but it was obvious the place needed some remodeling. Amber and I were in two of the puke green chairs and it was cold. Amber's hand slid into mine. I looked at her and tried to smile. It wouldn't come. Her eyes looked as cold as my heart felt.

"Girls," a female voice said kindly.

I turned to find a small woman with mousy brown hair and a long nose kneeling carefully in front of us.

"Your mother's sister, Kyra, has been designated your guardian. This means you'll be going to live with her. Do you understand that?" the woman asked.

Neither Amber nor I responded. The only memory I had of my aunt was the faint, disturbing image of a scowling woman dressed all in black. She was younger than my mother. That much I knew. I didn't care to know more. The woman in front of us frowned at our lack of response and looked behind her at an older man leaning against a scarred desk. He nodded.

"We'll be taking you to her soon," she said.

I felt Amber's hand tighten in mine. I shut my mind down quickly. The woman moved away from us and started filling out paperwork. I let my mind wander again. It seemed easier to move through each minute using only vague images, never fully concentrating on each individual moment. The hurt had eaten a hole through my stomach. I wondered why no one else could see the wound.

"Time to go," a voice said distantly.

There were images again—a car, a brief drive, a sign that read: _Blackstone Abbey_. I didn't really focus until we entered a long driveway. It was well manicured with trees lining the avenue. Each one was spaced precisely. Sun dappled the road. Amber was leaning against me.

"There it is," a voice said.

I looked up and up and up again. The building that came into view was huge and made of grey stone. The front was circular and looked eerily like a church. The rest of the building seemed to stretch forever outward on both sides. It was three stories high. The face of the structure appeared new, gardens lining the building in sporadic well designed plots along the front. The closer we got; however, the more visible the age became. The structure was old. Any renovations done couldn't hide the maturity the building still maintained. It was like botox. It only held the attention briefly.

"What is this?" Amber asked.

I couldn't look away from the building.

"This is your new home," the woman from earlier said brightly. The enthusiasm sounded forced. A numbing chill crept up my spine.

"Your aunt is the Abbess of Blackstone Abbey. She resides here with her Order. She seems to be a lovely woman."

"We'll be living in a church?" I surprised myself by asking.

Everyone froze. It was the first time I had spoken since receiving the news of our parents' death. I couldn't avoid it any longer. Our parents were gone. The gnawing intensified.

"You'll be a part of the Abbey community, yes," the woman answered.

I think she realized my reluctance. Who grew up in a church? The car pulled to a stop. It was then that I noticed the woman. Amber gasped from beside me. She looked just like our mother, only younger.

"Aunt Kyra," Amber murmured.

I stared. It was hard not to. She was a tall blonde-haired beauty with piercing blue eyes who exuded the kind of presence that demanded attention. Her body was enfolded in a billowing black robe that made her shape mostly indistinguishable. She was frowning. I frowned back. She may look a lot like our mother but the similarities ended there. Her eyes were too cold.

"Mr. Adams, Ms. Smith," my aunt said cordially as we climbed out of the car.

She shook the social workers' hands then turned toward Amber and me. We clutched each other tightly.

"Amber, Dayton . . ."

She scrutinized us a moment. Her eyes raked over our disheveled clothes and weary faces, and I caught a glimpse of disdain in her gaze. It made me scowl. Our parents were dead. We'd not been concerned with our appearance. Aunt Kyra continued to study us, and I looked down at my shoes self-consciously. I knew what she saw. Amber's hair and eyes matched Aunt Kyra's. I was different. With auburn curls and green eyes, I more resembled my father. Both of us had the dark circles and red eyes brought on by grief. My eyes were dry from unshed tears. Amber's was swollen.

"Welcome to Blackstone," she said simply. "I've hired a local woman to help with your care."

She turned toward the Abbey. Our eyes followed hers. A merry, rotund woman bustled forward with a smile. She wore big round glasses, and was fighting the wind for control of a disheveled mousy brown bun. Pins didn't seem to stay well in her hair.

"This is Diane. You'll go with her for now."

The ordered command was meant for Amber and me but was directed at the smiling woman. I bit my tongue to keep my expression neutral. Her indifference hurt. Diane took us each by the hand. It meant Amber and I had to let go of each other. Emptiness filled me, and my lungs burned with unshed tears. I thought of the Sand Man's mountain, and I lifted my chin stubbornly. _I can do it. I can,_ I thought. We were pushed gently toward the Abbey as our Aunt turned back toward the two social workers. We never heard what was said.

***

The sun was bright the afternoon we buried our parents. The cemetery was a pretty one, small and well-tended. It seemed appropriately quaint. People surrounded us and whispered sympathetic words as they moved to stand before the two open graves. The caskets hovered above them solemnly. They gleamed as sunlight bounced off of them, and I found it hard to look away. They were in boxes. My _parents_ were packaged away in polished mahogany boxes. It seemed wrong to me. I wanted to set them free.

As if summoned by my thoughts, I watched as a bird alighted on a nearby tombstone, its wings fluttering as it pruned its light grayish brown feathers. A mourning dove. Its black eyes met mine suddenly, and I stilled as it cocked its head inquisitively. I stared transfixed, the comfort of those eyes drawing me in until someone passed between me and the grave. The connection broke. I fought to see around the large woman blocking my view, but was met only with emptiness when the woman finally shifted. The bird had disappeared. I hadn't seen it fly away.

A hand slipped into mine, but when I looked up, it wasn't Amber's eyes that met my own. It was Monroe's. I gripped her hand hard, our eyes meeting briefly. She was attired as always in a vintage child's dress meant more for the 1950's, her blonde hair flipped and held back by a dark headband. Born Ellie Elizabeth Jacobs, she had declared at the ripe old age of nine that she was to forthwith be referred to as Monroe after her new idol, Marilyn Monroe. Her mother was addicted to old black and white films. It had rubbed off on her daughter. We'd been best friends since preschool when I'd offered to beat up a three-year-old boy for stealing her cookie. I'd un-regretfully kicked him in the nuts.

"Dayton," Monroe's mother said quietly from behind her.

I moved away from my aunt and stuffed my face in Mrs. Jacobs' middle, never letting go of Monroe's hand as I did. Mrs. Jacobs put her hand on the back of my head. She didn't tell me she was sorry, that she understood, that my parents were in a better place, or that my parents would want to see me happy. She just held me. Monroe came in to hug my back.

"Dayton," my aunt said, her voice full of disapproval.

I flinched a moment and began to pull away, but Mrs. Jacobs held on.

"You call me if you need anything," Mrs. Jacobs whispered before letting me go.

I nodded against her stomach and then moved back over to my aunt. Aunt Kyra didn't touch me. The funeral was short and people began moving away slowly. I recognized a small number of faces, mainly close friends of my mother. A few of their children were my age, and I nodded at them as they moved past—Conor, Lita, and Jacin. Out of all three, only Conor attempted to approach me the same way Monroe had, but my aunt moved between us. I stood frozen. Conor nodded at me before hanging his head and turning away. I still didn't move. The sight of the caskets being lowered into the ground had me entranced, oblivious to anything but the pain. Dirt began to fall into the holes, thumping as it hit the wood below. My aunt didn't pull me away. Amber left the graves and went to the waiting cars. I didn't follow.

"Will I get to see you now that you live at the Abbey?" Monroe asked me timidly. Like her mother, she didn't ask me if I was ok.

"Yes." I answered. Nothing could keep us apart.

"Time to go," a voice ordered, and I turned to see my aunt holding out her hand. She was looking at Monroe with disgust.

I hugged Monroe fiercely despite Aunt Kyra's glare and moved toward the cars, ignoring her hand pointedly. I didn't look to see if she reacted.

I was in the car, the engine purring, when I noticed the man. He stood in the trees to the side of the grave. To most, he would be hidden by the shadows. His hair was black, his clothes the same shade. His face was shadowed, but I could swear his eyes glowed red. I shivered. That night the dream began.

It was always the same dream, like a movie looped to replay over and over in my head. It cut me, wounded me beyond belief. It scarred my soul. There was no relief from it.

" _You have to close your eyes, Day," my father whispered, his hands closing over my face gently but near enough my lashes brushed up against his palms. Butterfly kisses. I had to fight the urge to giggle._

" _What am I looking for?" I asked him, not for the first time._

He leaned in closer from behind me, his breath fanning along my neck as he bent even more to accommodate my height.

" _The light, Day. Always look for the light."_

I squinted against his hands. I wanted so very badly to get this right, to hear approval in his tone as a conclusion to whatever lesson I was supposed to be learning, but my mind was blank. I did not understand him, in so many ways.

" _I can't see anything. There's only darkness!" I cried. This was ridiculous._

Dad didn't move, just grew very still in that way of his, the one that reminded me in vivid detail of a marble statue I'd seen in a museum once. It was a little scary.

" _I'm sorry," I whispered as the seconds ticked by._

He didn't remove his hands. The silence stretched.

" _There is always light in the darkness, Day," Dad said suddenly._

I almost jumped as his voice boomed around me. He wasn't yelling. He just wasn't whispering anymore. Dad had what I liked to call a large voice. He spoke. You listened.

" _You need to learn to look past the dark. If you don't, it can consume you."_

_I opened my eyes to look at the back of his hands. I didn't understand that word consumed. I said it to myself as I stared at the lines etched into his palms. They almost seemed to glow. His hands dropped, but he still held me away. The sun was setting behind us, and our shadows loomed large against the ground, his monstrous one looming over my smaller one. I felt like I was going to cry, and I hunched in on myself as I watched his broad shoulders lift in a sigh._

" _Don't worry, Day. It's not your time yet," Dad said._

His shadow hand came to land gently on my small shoulder. His skin was warm. I wanted to lean into it, but I was too hurt by my own sense of failure. I would never understand him.

" _I never get it right!"_

Stomping my foot, I pouted. He stood and moved around me then, his face stone-like and solemn.

" _Day_ — _"_

_I stomped again anyway. I knew I was throwing a fit, but I didn't care._

" _Amber always gets everything right. Always!" I whined._

Dad studied me a moment before kneeling down in front of me.

" _Amber is . . . different," he said slowly, as if carefully weighing his words, "And it's good that you two aren't alike. You are special, Day. There's a fire in you no one else can see. Not yet, but it's there."_

I squinted up at him. I didn't understand this stuff about fire, but dad looked so sure, so confident that it made me feel a little better. It didn't stop me from stomping my foot again though just for good measure. Dad smiled.

And then the darkness came.

Confusion engulfed me. The scene changed. It was like someone pulled a rope and the backdrop was different.

It was sudden, the rain, but I felt it pelting my body unmercifully as the clouds came tumbling one over another across the sky—thick, black, and ominous. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. Lightning flashed in jagged lines across the sky and mud started to slide in large avalanche-like chunks as water piled on top of water. The rain hurt, digging sharply into my skin, and I cried.

" _Run, Day. Look for the light," I heard him whisper in my ear, but when I started turning to look for him, the space behind me was empty. The rain was coming harder, more brutal, like fingers trying to peel away the skin._

" _Run. . ." I heard again._

This time I listened, slipping and sliding as I tried to get my feet into the sucking mud. I kept falling, my knees gripped by the punishing ground. I cried harder. Blood was dripping from my face, and I worried skin had indeed been peeled away. I tried running again. I had to run. Had to!

" _Dad!" I screamed as I fell again, the earth trembling beneath my knees, bucking and rolling till fissures began to open up along the ground, widening until a large hole had materialized in front of me. There was nowhere I could run, no one to turn to._

" _Daddy!" I sobbed as the earth gave way beneath me, and I fell. It was dark. So very dark, and I held my breath waiting for the end._

" _Look for the light, Day," I heard my dad whisper, but as the air rushed in around me I welcomed the darkness. The thought of light now, scared me. I didn't want to see the end._

" _Day. . ."_

It was an echo this time. My name moved around me and through me, and I finally found the voice to scream.

7 Years Later . . .

Chapter 1

The Time has come when He will come looking. She is ready. I have faith in her. She is her father's daughter. She carries my blood. And I will never forgive myself for feeding her to the wolves.

_~_ _Bezaliel~_

"Remind me again why we're watching this?" I asked Monroe breathlessly, my face stuffed unceremoniously in my pillow. A popcorn kernel hit me on the side of the head and my stomach heaved. I didn't see how she could eat.

"You have to ask me that?" Monroe remarked as I looked up just in time to see the girl on the portable DVD player yell profanities at the priest next to her bed. My face hit the pillow again.

"Oh!"

Monroe laughed before moving to plop down beside me.

"How many people can say they've watched the _Exorcist_ while inside a church?" Monroe asked. I saw her point. My stomach didn't.

"I'm very glad you're so easily amused," I complained as Monroe reached over and hit the pause button.

I refused to glance at the screen. I had never liked horror movies. I wasn't starting now. I was your typical cry during a Gerber commercial, chick flick, over-sensitive kind of gal. If that made me a romantic, then so be it.

"We've got to work on hardening you up," Monroe said with a grin.

I threw my pillow at her.

"Speak for yourself. Let's watch a tamer classic. Maybe a little _Gone With the Wind_?" I suggested gamely while leafing through Monroe's overnight bag.

Monroe always brought her entire house in one piece of luggage. It was like being best friends with Mary Poppins. I kept expecting her to pull out a coat rack, coffee table, and lamp. Monroe claimed being prepared was an essential part of living. I was convinced being under-prepared led to adventure. We tended to debate the issue. I found the Margaret Mitchell-based film and held it up.

"Hell, for that matter, let's just fast forward it to the end so we can watch Rhett walk out the door."

Monroe gasped in delight at the suggestion, jumping up to lift my hand theatrically before feigning a faint on the bed. I sprawled out next to her, and we both reached a hand toward the ceiling. Our other hands rested forlornly against our hearts.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!" we both cried out in unison, our gaudy southern accents sorely overdone as we collapsed into a fit of giggles.

We are, admittedly, cheesy "closet" performing artists who love to dramatize things for fun. And I was definitely seeking laughter over goose bumps. No more _Exorcist_ for me tonight. I had to live in this dank, stone fortress my aunt called home. And while Aunt Kyra coveted the Abbey, it was obvious I didn't share her love for the place. It was simply a place to sleep. The only way I could handle its monotonous gloom was to constantly re-imagine it in my head. Even now, I saw the stone walls transform in front of my eyes, becoming a foreboding dungeon protected by a fire breathing dragon. Only I wasn't a damsel in distress and I wasn't holding my breath for my knight in shining Armani.

"Stop it, Dayton," I whispered to myself as I glanced over at Monroe.

She got to go home. I envied her that. A familiar sense of depression and foreboding filled me, and I let myself sink into the mattress before growing still. Our giggles still echoed around us. Monroe must have noticed the change in mood because she rolled over onto her side and propped her head up on her fist.

"There you go again," she said. "Where do you go when you do that?"

I turned my face away, determined not to bring down the mood. I didn't want to ruin our moment. They seemed to come fewer and further between the older we became.

"What do you mean?" I asked vaguely. Monroe snorted.

"You know exactly what I mean."

I turned my head back toward her.

"I'm being Rapunzel, my tower a lifeless dungeon of doom," I joked, waving my hands the same way I'd seen Marshall Duncan do when he narrated a school production of _Romeo and Juliet_ the year before. Monroe gave me _the_ look. I rolled my eyes.

"I don't know, Roe. I'm just having a blah-ness moment. Sometimes, I get this feeling . . . I don't know. Really, let's just let it go."

Monroe sat up and tucked a pillow beneath her chin. She hugged it. I knew she expected a better response, but sometimes it's just easier to _feel_ rather than broadcast an emotion and I met her expectant stare with one just as stubborn. I stared until she broke eye contact. It worked every time. She grumbled profanities, something about stubborn-ass red heads, as she reached out and picked at a piece of fuzz on my comforter. She was funny about things like that. Obsessive compulsive even.

"You know, since the funeral—" she began hesitantly. I cut her off.

"It's not about my parents."

Monroe shrugged and looked down at her hands. I hadn't meant to snap at her. I just didn't want to give her the wrong impression. I reached over and patted her leg.

"I'm sorry . . . it's just not about them," I said distantly, my mind wandering as I glanced around the small bedroom. It was a drafty room constructed almost entirely of stone, mostly bare with the exception of a small wooden desk and a cheap plywood dresser. The bed was the main focal point. It was twin size with purple satin sheets and a deep violet comforter. Beside it, there was a small wooden table with a stack of composition books. Crumpled paper littered the floor. Each piece held a discarded thought or idea. One sheet was turned up and I read the line I'd scrawled on it in my head. _Ludicrous is He, a tyrant that rules the past you see._ The past. A tyrant. _My_ tyrant

"It's the Abbey."

Monroe looked up, startled.

"The Abbey?"

I nodded. It was definitely my dungeon, my own personal Hell. It was filled with nothing but grieving memories and little affection. I'd never shared that thought before but speaking an emotion made it real. I hadn't wanted that. Reality reeked. I watched Monroe a moment, imagining her as a fussy psychiatrist with tiny, wire rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. The image was missing the legal pad and pen, but it still made the whole "spilling of mental deficiencies" easier. My bed became an office corner lounge.

"It scares me," I said. "Something about it . . . I don't know. It's like the walls themselves are waiting for something. Watching."

Monroe shook her head, her eyes round.

"Waiting for what?"

I frowned.

"I don't know. It's just a feeling."

"Are you trying to scare me?" she asked.

I looked her straight in the eyes. I _never_ lied to Monroe. She knew that. A simple shake of my head told her I wasn't. She looked around the room, her eyes troubled. We'd gone from watching a scary movie to me creating the plot for one. I was regretting it.

"Waiting for what you think?" she asked again.

Maybe she felt it too. I honestly didn't know, so I shrugged. It was, like I said, just a feeling. Sometimes it was suffocating. It had me counting down the days till I graduated, mentally marking the stone walls of the Abbey the same way Edmond Dantes recorded his time of imprisonment in _The Count of Monte Cristo._ I loved that book. If only I had my own island of treasure to discover minus the need for vengeance.

"And then there's my aunt," I said, moving away from the Abbey subject.

I was afraid the walls could hear. Sometimes they seemed to close in on me. Maybe I _was_ going crazy. Monroe found another piece of fuzz.

"Lady Ky _is_ intimidating," Monroe said, using the nickname she and I had given my aunt years ago. I didn't disagree.

"And disappointed in me."

It surprised me to admit that. The psychiatrist image was working too well. I hadn't meant to say it. Monroe removed the pillow and leaned forward, her expression thoughtful.

"What makes you think that?"

I pointed out another piece of lint. She scowled at me but didn't reach for it.

"There's always some reason to feel _not_ good enough," I said. "She has very high expectations. And I don't seem to be what she wants me to be. Amber is, I think."

Monroe scooted off the bed and walked over to my desk. I could tell she knew what I was talking about. She had seen the way things were at the Abbey, but she didn't seem to know what to say. And I was more than ready to let go of the whole conversation. The Abbey was a whole world of its own, a society ruled by little affection but iron clad rules. The halls were always full of black robed, short-haired sober women who seemed intent on a purpose no one else knew about. It was eerie, and it tended to make most people uncomfortable. Even Monroe seemed tense when she stayed. I didn't blame her.

"We need to do something to your room," she said, changing the subject as she reached into the back of my desk drawer. Her hand came out holding a dumdum lollipop and a piece of gum. The gum, she popped into her mouth, the dumdum, she handed to me. I took it gratefully. Mmmmm . . . pineapple. Monroe watched my face.

"Tastes like the tropics, right?" she asked. I grinned.

"Tahiti," I added as I rolled the sucker around on my tongue.

We did this often, pretending we were somewhere other than Lodeston, Mississippi. Monroe loved this game.

"There's sand the color of pearls and water like turquoise. And coconut scented suntan lotion—" she continued. I picked up where she left off.

"We have Bahama-mama size cold, fruity drinks with those little toothpick umbrellas and huge padded lounge chairs—"

Monroe began fanning herself desperately.

"And Paul Walker is rubbing lotion into my back."

I laughed as she sighed heavily. Monroe was obsessed with Paul. She told me he reminded her of those sexy surf dudes in the old _Gidget_ films. Only Monroe. There weren't many sixteen-year-olds who'd even know what those films were. Paul was _ooookay_ , but I, personally, found the dude from _Clash of the Titans_ more appealing. Sam Worthington. He just had sex appeal. Or maybe it was Perseus I found alluring. I did have the uncanny ability of falling in love with book and film characters. Who wouldn't want to rub up against a sexy, tortured demi-god?

"You are impossible," I said. She grinned.

"Touché."

I stuck out my tongue. She danced around the room, pretending to waltz with her invisible "Paul." She was tall enough and elegant enough to make it look like a ballroom demonstration. I rolled my eyes and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as Monroe sang softly under her breath. We stayed that way awhile until my dumdum had completely melted and I'd thrown the stick on my bedside table. That was the great thing about our friendship. We didn't always have to be talking or stay busy to enjoy each other's company. I closed my eyes briefly, letting myself drift off into my own daydreams. The bed was comfortable beneath me, the satin sheets warm, and my body began to slacken.

A blood curdling scream woke me.

What the hell? I flew upward, my heart a heavy drum in my chest, to find Monroe pushed up against my bedroom wall. She had a hand clamped over her mouth, and her face was bone white. Her eyes were glued to my bedroom window. I climbed off the bed and moved toward her.

"Monroe?" I asked carefully, my gaze following hers.

My heart beat twice for each step I took. Sweat made my neck feel cool. The curtains were pulled back and dusk was beginning to fall outside. Purple and pink weaved through a semi-dark cloud strewn sky pierced by a rising crescent moon. Nothing seemed out of place.

"Th-there was a man at your window," Monroe stuttered.

I turned toward her, my eyes wide. My heart skipped a beat before resuming its too quick staccato.

"What?"

Monroe came unfrozen, her hands flailing in agitation.

"A man, Dayton. A fucking man," she breathed as she moved shakily over to my curtains, hiding in the fabric as she searched the yard beyond.

I moved up behind her, and she jumped as I looked over her shoulder. A man? Really? I wasn't slow. It just seemed too unreal. My bedroom was on the second floor.

Monroe began shaking. I was close enough to see the goose bumps lining her shoulders, and I stiffened. There was no doubt she was telling the truth. I grew numb. The prickly sensation of being watched gripped me,

"What did he look like?"

Monroe let go of the curtain and slid down to the floor. Her breath was coming fast. I stayed standing.

"It was just his face. I saw it briefly. Dark hair, dark eyes—"

My bedroom door flew open.

"What in God's name!" my sister cried out as she marched into the room.

Monroe and I both looked up at her, startled. Amber's face was pale. I glanced quickly at Monroe and found she had turned to face me as well. The unspoken words were there. " _Are you going to tell her?"_ my eyes asked. " _Don't say anything!"_ Monroe's eyes shouted back. Mine narrowed. " _Why not?"_ Amber moved over to the window.

"What's wrong?" Amber asked, her gaze moving between us frantically, settling finally on Monroe's pale visage.

"Monroe?"

Monroe pushed to her feet.

"I'm okay," she said unsteadily, "I thought I saw a mouse."

Amber didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed. It was a lame excuse. I glanced at Monroe quickly before looking down at the floor. I wasn't good at lying. It was a good thing Amber didn't question us further. Weak or not, the excuse _was_ plausible. Mice liked the Abbey. I looked at Monroe again. She shook her head.

"What are you doing in here?" Amber asked, her gaze moving to land on my bed and Monroe's portable DVD player.

I cringed. The screaming girl was still plainly paused in mid-action. Very few electronics, unless approved, were allowed at the Abbey. It corrupted the soul. Amber stared at the image on the screen. Neither Monroe nor I answered.

"Put it away before anyone finds it. Please. You know the rules, Dayton. The Order is already pushed to its limits with you," Amber whispered. I knew that.

"And after last year . . ."

I pushed away from Monroe and stalked over to the bedroom door. It was already open, but I held it wider, my knuckles white with the desire to shove Amber through it. Logic stopped me. I wasn't mad at her. I was angry at the memory.

"I know, Amber."

I was weary of being reminded of my flaws. Last year had been a mistake. Monroe and I had gone with a group of friends to a bar called Everett's on the edge of Lodeston to celebrate our friend, Lita's, birthday. We'd used fake I.D.'s, put back more than the legal amount of alcohol, and managed to wreck Lita's brand new car on our way home. At the scene of the accident, marijuana had been discovered stuffed inside the glove compartment of her candy-red Sentra. It had not been a good evening. All five of us involved tested positive for THC, spent a few days in Juvenile Detention, had our licenses temporarily suspended, and came out of the incident with tainted records and months spent on parole doing community service. Not to mention our friend, Conor Reinhardt, had to spend six months in physical therapy for a leg injury. He still limped occasionally.

"Everything's fine. We just had a scare," I said as I motioned for her to leave my room.

Amber glanced at us warily. The reminder of last year's incident had brought the color back into Monroe's cheeks.

"We're fine," Monroe echoed. Amber took the hint.

"I'm just down the hall, Dayton," Amber said as she walked out the door.

I slammed it behind her. My irritation with Amber was evident. I knew she loved me, but I wished she'd find a new way to show me she cared. Being pushy was her preferred method. It annoyed me only because the older we became, the more she sounded like my aunt. Monroe walked toward me.

"Why didn't you tell Amber about the face in the window?" I asked.

She looked down at the floor.

"I wasn't sure it was real."

She didn't have to say more. We both knew she had a talent for seeing things no one else could see. Visions her mother called it. Her parents considered it an esteemed gift. As practicing Wiccans, her family valued the rare ability. Sometimes it frightened Monroe, mainly because she couldn't always discern vision from reality. She'd never admit it though. She saw it as a failing. I felt it meant she was incredibly powerful. The more real a vision appears, the more ability you must have. The concept made sense to me.

"Let's put in a comedy," I suggested lightly while moving over to the bed. Monroe nodded.

I'd never admit it, but the window incident had me freaked out. I kept glancing over at the side of my room. Monroe settled in next to me, and we went through her movies, popping in one we knew we'd both laugh at before settling in for the night.

The sky outside my window grew darker, the crickets outside grew louder, and my Grumpy Care Bear nightlight made up for the lack of light as the sun faded completely. Sleep came to us. The dream engulfed me. But, used to it as I was, it only woke me up once that night. I stared at my bedroom window as I came to. My heart was beating fast. The window mesmerized me. Maybe it was a mix of the dream and Monroe's vision but I could swear that I saw a face. It seemed familiar to me, and I squinted. It was gone. One blink and it was no longer there. Grumpy Bear scowled back at me. Weariness carried me away again.

Chapter 2

In spirit, she is her mother. The mystery of her life will be hard to unravel. She will grieve. But, as her mother before her, she will own her problems even when it seems she has given up. This I trust.

~Bezaliel~

My alarm clock buzzed, and I threw my pillow at it. It missed and fell on Monroe instead.

"Hey!" she grumbled before sitting up on her sleeping bag reluctantly. I peered over the side of the bed and grinned.

"Oops."

She threw me a glare before pushing herself off the floor. You didn't ignore an alarm at the Abbey. The clock read 5 a.m. Days tended to dawn early here. It was a religious thing. And today, of all days, you didn't oversleep. It was Sunday. At the Abbey, it was a day of reckoning. I sat up and glanced at the window. Light was beginning to chase away the darkness, fog wove along the grass and among the trees, tiny sparkles glinted off a small pond in the distance, and there was an exuberant chorus of bird calls. The sight should have been comforting, but the vision of a face plagued me.

"I guess I'm gone," Monroe muttered as I turned to look her way.

Her eyes moved from me to the window. Neither one of us mentioned the previous night. There was reluctance there. I nodded. We didn't talk much in the mornings anyway. It was too damned early for conversation. Monroe threw her stuff into her bottomless overnight bag, walked over to the door, waved at me, and left to drive home in her pajamas. She'd climb back in bed as soon as she got there. She was NOT a morning person. I wasn't much better. I fought the urge for sugar-laden coffee and artificial flavored lollipops.

"Couldn't we make sleeping late a priority?" I asked the Heavens, my face tilted upward.

The snooze on my alarm went off. I slammed it against the wall before getting up with a groan to go through my closet. I donned a dark skirt and white-cotton button-down shirt, ran a brush through my hair, and made my way to the door. Will power is an amazing thing.

Once downstairs, I avoided the dining room, referred to as the refectory, and moved to the back stairwell. The longer I could avoid the Order, the better. Sunday was free advice day. Unless you wanted it, it was best to avoid it.

Organ music filtered from the church across the yard, and I moved into the building soundlessly, slipping into the last pew to watch my sister play. Amber sat alone, her back to me as her fingers moved over the keys. I'd always thought the organ sounded haunting, and Amber played it well. She'd learned from a Sister called Mary a few months after our parents passed, and I appreciated the discipline it must have taken. She was a fast learner and desired approval. That same desire was the reason the Order had taken to Amber so quickly after our move. She had, out of the two of us, always sought acceptance. I tended to withdraw. _Amazing Grace_ filtered through the room.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.

That saved a wretch like me.

"You're here early," a voice said suddenly, and I scooted over.

"You are too," I replied with a grin.

Harold Grayson sat down next to me with a chuckle. He was an old man, maybe in his seventies, who lived on the edge of Abbey property and tended to minor maintenance issues. His older sister, now deceased, had once been a part of the Order.

"We lost folk have to be, I reckon," Harold commented.

I covered my mouth and laughed into my hand.

"That we do."

Harold turned toward Amber.

I once was lost, but now am found.

Was blind but now I see.

"Your sister has a way with the organ," Harold said after a moment.

I nodded in agreement, my lips curling upward in a pleased smile. I was really proud of her. We may have grown apart over the years, even to the point of being strangers, but she was still my sister. My senses flooded with both nostalgia and music as I took in a deep breath and ran my fingers over the soft fabric covering the pew. I loved the way the sanctuary smelled, the way the candles glowed at the front. It almost felt like home.

Amber made it to the end of the song and started over. It was one of her favorites. Mom used to sing it to us when we were children. I closed my eyes as the memory assaulted me. It was an old one. Mom was singing as we helped her make the beds. She always turned it into a game, throwing the sheet up and letting it billow down on top of us. She'd catch us up in it and hold us there until we yelled to be let free. As soon as she let go, we'd beg for her to do it all over again. And the whole time, she would sing. She loved to sing.

"She'll be one of them," Harold whispered suddenly.

I froze, my smile slipping a little as the memory left me. I looked over at him in confusion.

"Sir?"

He turned toward me and patted my hand.

"Just the rantings of an old man, my dear."

I stared at his profile as he turned back toward the organ. One of them? The Order?

"How have you been, Dayton?" Harold asked, his gaze still glued to Amber's back.

I faced forward. Thoughts raced through my head as I worked to keep up with Mr. Grayson's abrupt change in conversation.

"Okay, I guess," I answered. Harold snorted.

"They're too hard on you," he said knowingly.

I continued to look at Amber. This conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Harold put a hand on my shoulder.

"Our mistakes don't define us, Dayton. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise. Our mistakes make us stronger, wiser. If we didn't make mistakes, we'd be open to much more temptation. Hard lessons learned are harder battles fought."

I swallowed the tears that tried to rise. It had been a difficult year for me. What did the old man know? Was there talk outside the Abbey? My imagination perked up, lifting to attention, and I saw newspapers flipping toward my face from across the room. Headlines flashed neon.

_Blackstone Abbey: Estranged Niece Arrested. Blackens Name; Local Order Responsible for Rebellious Orphan_ . . .

The images made me nauseated, and I shifted. The imaginary headlines ripped and vanished. I had no desire to read them. My heart thudded as I looked at the old man from the corner of my eye. His face was understanding and compassionate. There was no censure there.

"Thank you, Mr. Grayson," I replied unsteadily, turning to give him a brief smile.

He winked at me before sitting back in the pew. Amber kept playing, the song weaving its soul-searing magic as the congregation began to filter into the church. Chatter and music weaved in and out of the room as people visited, and I snuck away from the pew to the stairs at the back of the sanctuary. No one stopped me to talk. I wasn't known for mingling. The stairs led up to the balcony, and I walked up them slowly, my thoughts on Mr. Grayson and Monroe. The night and morning had been a strange one.

"You should be sitting on the main floor," a voice said from behind me and I jumped.

Aunt Kyra. I should have heeded her comment and responded in turn, but I kept climbing. A wall of imaginary flames seemed to sear my back. If anyone could be a dragon, it'd be my Aunt Kyra.

"I feel closer to God in the balcony," I replied dryly as I climbed the last three steps and took a seat on the front pew.

"Do you?"

I nodded. The organ still played, and Aunt Kyra looked over the balcony at Amber.

"Why don't you try to fit in at the Abbey, Dayton?"

I looked up at her, my eyes meeting hers before we both looked away. We both knew what she was asking. It wasn't about getting along with her or the Order. She wanted me to feel a desire for service. I had none.

"You're old enough now to be considering a place in the Order," Aunt Kyra said.

I didn't so much as blink. She knew my thoughts on the matter.

"I don't want the same thing as the Sisters. I have aspirations outside the Abbey."

My answer was blunt. Aunt Kyra sat down beside me. I looked over at her, startled. This was new.

"Sometimes destiny doesn't give us a choice on what we do with our lives, Dayton."

I sat still a moment. What was she getting at? I didn't want to be a part of the Order. Was she telling me I didn't have a choice? As the only Abbey in a state dominated by Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians, I knew my aunt struggled with the low number of initiates called to service. What I never understood is why we didn't have a bigger congregation or a larger number of Sisters. There was a Catholic church in almost every county. As the only Abbey, I always wondered why she wasn't swamped with women who would otherwise have to leave the state. I certainly didn't feel the calling.

"Destiny has nothing on free will," I finally said.

She put her hand on my shoulder, and I froze. I waited for a feeling of warmth to overcome me. It was finally here, a show of affection after seven years of living under the same roof. Seven years of no hugs, no tenderness, no emotion had culminated into this moment, a comforting hand on my shoulder. And all I felt was cold.

"You should give the Order some thought, Dayton."

Her hand was beginning to disturb me. Maybe something _was_ wrong with me. I should be enjoying this moment. But when I looked up at Aunt Kyra, I realized her gaze wasn't for me. It was for Amber. Her eyes were frozen on the organ below. I sighed heavily and shook Aunt Kyra's hand from my shoulder. I used the sigh well.

A sigh, if done right, could translate a lot of different emotions. This one spoke three languages: irritation, weariness, and acceptance. The last was reserved for my sister. It made me feel good knowing Amber had made choices that assured she would belong. She was in her first year of college, did everything the sisters expected of her, and asked questions that hinted at a curiosity for service. I couldn't make those same decisions. I wasn't capable of it. I had an innate desire to make myself happy, not to please a collection of women I'd never had a chance to get close to.

"I _have_ given it some thought," I said.

Aunt Kyra shook her head and stood up. The music downstairs had changed. The service was about to commence. I kept my seat in the balcony. Aunt Kyra moved away from me, and I watched as she walked back down the stairs. The long black robe she wore made her look like she was gliding, and her short blond hair glowed as if she were wearing a halo. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to converse with four other Sisters, and I cringed as they glanced up at me simultaneously. I felt like a sinner in a room full of Angels. I had been judged and been found lacking. The women looked away, and I relaxed only slightly. My nerves were raw. Aunt Ky's presence had shaken me. She had _sought_ me out. I should be pleased, but I was alarmed instead. I couldn't help but wonder why.

Lounging against the pew, I snuck a book out from under my blouse. It was a weathered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. It was the book I always read in church hidden within my Bible. It probably made no sense why I liked reading Austen during a sermon rather than something more gothic like Bronte. Maybe it's because the sermons seemed less intimidating if I read something light. I flipped to a marked page and tried to immerse myself in the book. But Aunt Kyra's words wouldn't leave me alone. Why did she suddenly care about my choices?

Chapter 3

She is being watched. His interest in her has brought her to the attention of unsavory sources. He will endanger her. He will get her killed.

~Bezaliel~

The weekend wore on me as I walked to my car the next morning, balancing my backpack in one hand and a paper cup full of sugary coffee in the other. I just couldn't shake the weird sense of foreboding the weekend had left me with. It had me peering over my shoulder.

"Damn," I grumbled as coffee sloshed slightly over the side of my cup, burning the edge of my hand.

I shifted my bag onto my back and sucked on the burn. Damn, but that stung! My car should really be closer to the Abbey, but my aunt refused. It was a pain in the ass, but at least I was burning calories. I was an optimist at heart.

The old metallic purple '86 Pontiac came into view and I grinned. My aunt hated the old clunker, but I'd earned it working for old Elsie Davis one summer cleaning out a rundown shed and doing odd jobs on her property and, to me, it had character. My aunt claimed it represented shame since the work I'd done had been for charity; therefore, I shouldn't have expected payment of any kind. I didn't disagree. After all, Elsie _had_ been charitable. She'd finally convinced my aunt it was a gift. When it wasn't in use, Aunt Kyra made me park it behind the Abbey near an old shed. It was such a shame.

"Hello Lady," I whispered to the old vehicle as I threw my backpack into the back and climbed in.

Taking a sip of coffee, I flipped on the radio and pulled out of the drive. It wouldn't do to be late for school and I still had to swing by Monroe's. We took turns driving to save on gas.

I had just noticed how bad the trash had piled up on the passenger side of my car when I pulled up to the curb near Monroe's. She was waiting impatiently. I rolled down the passenger side window and whistled.

"About damn time," she muttered as she marched over.

One look through my car window and she paused. I could see the green flush that rose up over her cheeks at the sight of the old drive thru McDonalds' bags strewn haphazardly on the seats, and for the first time all morning, I felt myself fight not to laugh. According to Monroe, the Goddess had a sense of humor when Fate proclaimed I be born under the sign of Virgo. No one would ever describe me as tidy, and a perfectionist I was not.

"You should really clean this thing out soon," she muttered as she threw open the door.

I leaned over and started knocking junk off the passenger seat and smirked.

"And give my aunt a reason to think I'm becoming responsible? I think not."

Monroe delicately swiped crumbs off the seat before sitting down, plopping her bag beside her gingerly. It was beaded, big, a loud minty green color, and ugly.

I snorted. Only she was allowed to complain about my car, and I her accessories. This morning, I managed to refrain, but I was sorely tempted to tell her the bag was entirely too retro for our era. Even if vintage was in.

"Ugh! It'd take a lot more than a clean car to do that," Monroe declared nasally as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

I threw her a quick glance before shifting the car into drive.

"Wonder if your aunt knows how often you sneak fast food." Monroe said.

She kicked at the trash on the floor and cringed.

"Better yet, I wonder if she knows you pay for it by filching money from the congregation."

I coughed. I didn't filch. I simply did side work my aunt didn't know I was being tipped for.

"You'd take tips too if you had to help Mrs. Gunther clean out her closets and wash her cat. Her house smells like moth balls and the cat scratches," I complained.

Monroe moved a McGriddle wrapper to the side gingerly.

"Her house probably smells better than your car."

"Are you insulting me, Roe?"

She sat back, flicked a crumb off the seat cover, and grinned.

"If you feel it's an insult, then you know it's true."

I thumped her in the arm quickly, the car swerving a moment before I looked back at the road. Silence stretched between us, our thoughts occupied. She moved a piece of gum around in her mouth and snapped two bubbles before finally looking over at me.

"I've been worried," she said quietly.

I knew what she meant, and I didn't comment. My silence was answer enough. The minutes stretched on.

"This weekend—" Monroe said, her voice fading as she looked out the window.

I peeked at her before focusing solely on the road. It was obvious we had the same thing on our minds, but we seemed uneasy discussing it _._ Skirting the issue somehow seemed safer. It wasn't like us not to be direct though. I scowled.

"Has been a strange one," I supplied. "I'm a little bothered by it."

Monroe blew another bubble with her piece of gum and let it pop before shifting slightly. I could tell the vision was foremost in her thoughts.

"Yeah—"

The weekend _had_ been eerie. Even the energy at the Abbey felt different. More intense. I waited for her to elaborate but she didn't. I shrugged. I wasn't going there if she wasn't.

"Maybe it's nothing. I _am_ naturally paranoid," I whispered. Monroe coughed.

"Hell, we both are."

We shared a shaky laugh as Monroe moved her feet awkwardly on top of the trash. She squealed when there was an audible "squish" and looked down at the floorboard in horror.

"I seriously do _not_ want to know what that was," she muttered thinly as I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

Monroe was a genuine neat freak and germaphobe. I saw my chance, and I took it. Monroe made it _soooo_ easy.

"You remember that cat I picked up for the Abbey? The one that went missing a few months back?"

Monroe nodded.

"You just found him," I quipped as I parked somewhat lopsidedly in the school parking lot. Monroe started wheezing.

"Oh I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

She threw open the door and leaned over into the parking lot, her head between her legs to keep from retching. I giggled.

"Couldn't handle the Dayton Mobile?" a voice asked wryly from beside us, and I turned to see Conor Reinhardt leaning casually against the side of his black Mercedes. His sandy blonde hair was impeccably groomed, and his navy Ralph Lauren tee went well with the American Eagle brand jeans he always favored. I knew without looking that, not unlike the pristine white Cadillac Monroe drove, the inside of his ride was clean enough to eat off of. I had to squelch the urge to stick out my tongue. After all, we weren't in grade school anymore.

Monroe tucked her shining blonde hair behind her ears before standing up slowly.

"Someone should burn that thing!" she complained dramatically as I leaned in to grab my ratty back pack. I'd been carrying the hunter green Jansport since my sophomore year and just never felt the need to replace it.

"Hey, don't insult the Lady," I warned as she flipped me the bird.

Conor moved in between us.

"Alright Marilyn and Morticia, the mighty halls of Brownstone High awaits no one. Even you self-righteous know-it-all bestie freaks."

Conor arched his eyebrows in a flirtatious, mocking manner. I snorted. Morticia, my ass. I liked my eye liner a little on the heavy side when I could get away with makeup, but that's where the similarities ended.

"They haven't turned cannibalistic yet, have they? Or better yet, built the impenetrable Wall of Silence?" Lita Delgado asked as she sauntered up behind us from the parking lot.

I tried not to groan. Being around the same people for years tended to invite the jibes. There wasn't much we didn't know about each other. The silent treatment of 2006 applied as such.

"Watch yourself," Monroe commented in a gravelly voice as she pointed crone bent fingers toward Lita's forehead.

This time I did groan, drowned out by the shrill ring of the tardy bell. Students poured around us as they rushed to class.

"Incoming!" Monroe warned.

I looked up. Jacin Young walked toward us from down the hall, his head bent and hoodie pulled low over his forehead. The sight of our shoes kept him from plowing into us. It was a good thing he didn't walk with his eyes shut.

At 5'6, Jacin wasn't a tall guy, but what he didn't cover in height, he more than made up for in muscle. As the quarterback on the school's football team, he was an instant school celebrity. And he had it pretty bad for Lita, our resident punker.

Lita made most girls look tame, but she did it in a "my attitude doesn't match my look" manner. With shining black hair highlighted in neon blue, tribal tattoos on her dark Hispanic skin, piercings in places that the school board hadn't yet managed to make her take out, and leather dominating her wardrobe whenever she could get away with it, she was, surprisingly, the quietest girl in our group.

"You could hear the bell if you pulled your ear buds out occasionally," Monroe joked as she tugged at Jacin's iPod. "Btw, class is _that_ way."

Jacin rolled his eyes at her before moving to walk alongside Lita.

"Not me. I have to meet with coach. And anything that gets me out of Fitzpatrick's class is Heaven sent," Jacin grumbled as Monroe stuck one of his ear buds into her ear. She immediately scrunched her nose and threw it down in disgust. She hated most modern music.

"Whatever happened to Sinatra? Hell, even Elvis or the Beatles would do," she murmured as Conor looked down at her callously.

"Try appreciating us "alive" guys a little more, Roe. What is it we're missing that disgusts you so much?" he asked before flicking a glance at Jacin.

Jacin just shrugged and started whispering something into Lita's ear. She smiled as he broke away from our group. I'd choose coach over Fitzpatrick any day too. Lucky guy.

"A certain civility, gentility, and sensitivity," Monroe answered. Conor snorted.

"Sounds gay to me," he commented before breaking away from the rest of us. Lita followed him.

"Dumb ox," Monroe grumbled as we walked into Fitzpatrick's first period English class.

I just shook my head good naturedly. Listening to them quarrel had almost made me forget my strange concerns. Almost. I could spin a mean fantasy world in my head, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pretend the weekend away.

Chapter 4

He is one of the Cursed, a bloodline with no true link to Hell and no link at all with Heaven. The Earth is their domain. Mortals should fear them. They have no love for humankind.

~Bezaliel~

"What's up, Red?" Conor called out as he limped to me from across the hall.

We were headed for fourth period philosophy, a new elective class my aunt insisted I take and the only one Conor and I shared. It was cloudy outside and his leg always bothered him when there was a chance of rain. I grinned at him and raised my hand. He pulled up alongside me, his six-foot broad frame completely overshadowing my five-foot-nothing thin one.

"Hey, Con," I said lightly.

He leaned over and took my backpack off my shoulder, throwing it onto his back with his. I didn't try and make him give it back. Even with a limp, his chivalry wasn't lost.

"You seem distracted today. You okay, Red?" Conor asked as we moved into the classroom and took a seat at the back of the room. Neither of us had any desire to sit near the front. Conor was only in the class because he needed one more elective and everything except Home Ec and Philosophy had been filled by the time he managed to finish his schedule. I grunted.

"I'm fine," I answered quietly, leaning my chair back on two legs as I watched him drop my back pack on the floor. It thudded loudly. It was obvious I didn't like using my locker.

"Uh-huh. Roe told me about her vision," Conor whispered.

I let my chair drop so hard, it jarred me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Even my hair vibrated.

"Huh?" I mumbled dumbly. Had she really? Conor shrugged.

"She seemed disturbed by it, Red."

"Well, yeah . . . we both were."

Conor noticed the scowl on my face. It just wasn't like Monroe and me to skirt around an issue. But we had done that. Both of us. She had gone to Conor, and I still hadn't told her about the weird conversation with Grayson, or the confrontation with Aunt Kyra. The window incident had been disturbing enough.

"Look, we back each other up when something is bothering us. And she had a right to be worried. What if it wasn't a vision?"

I shivered. My room was high enough up it had to be a vision. _Had_ to be.

"You don't have to be all detailed about it. It already has me scared shitless," I told Conor crassly.

Conor leaned forward and grinned.

"Think your aunt would be freaked out if I camped outside your window?"

He wrapped one of my curls around his finger before pulling it slightly. I laughed and slapped his hand hard enough it made him rub it with a scowl.

"She'd have you hanged, you big flirt. Besides, I'm sure it's not my window you want to lie outside of," I said. He frowned.

"It's not?"

His eyes caught mine a moment. The emotions I saw there bothered me, and I gave him my best "be serious" look. He shrugged.

"I'm the quintessential knight."

I rolled my eyes. A tapping sound made us look up.

"Mr. Reinhardt, Ms. Blainey, if you two would please refrain from conversing in my class, I would appreciate it," Mr. James announced loudly. I hadn't even heard the bell. Conor shrugged.

"I'm afraid she's a lot prettier than you, Mr. James. I got a little distracted."

Laughter filled the classroom. My cheeks burned. I was going to kill Conor! Mr. James' jaw tightened, but he seemed unwilling to waste anymore of his class time punishing the two of us. Conor winked at me.

"Let's just get back to the topic at hand, shall we?" Mr. James asked before turning back to the board.

My mind wandered as he began talking about the philosophy of Camus, the most recent chapter we were on. The fact that Monroe had talked to Conor meant the vision had been more disturbing than she had admitted to me. What had she really seen? How much more detailed had it been? Anxiety filled me.

More than halfway through the class, Conor tapped me on the back and pointed at the front of the room. Mr. James was looking at me expectantly. I sat up straight.

"I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?"

Some of my classmates snickered but most just felt sorry. None of us truly paid attention. Honestly, many of us just had too much going on to concentrate. Mr. James took a few steps down the aisle.

"I wondered what your opinion about life after death was, Ms. Blainey. Each philosopher had a theory about death. I was curious to hear a student's perspective."

His scornful tone made me nervous, and I eyed him before looking around the room. Lodeston was a small town with the majority of the acreage owned by the Abbey. Everyone here knew I lived there. It wasn't a secret. And it hadn't made me the most popular student. If it wasn't for my association with Conor and Jacin, I'd be nonexistent.

"Shouldn't that be obvious?" I asked.

Mr. James shrugged and leaned against an empty desk a few feet away from me.

"We're all aware of your upbringing, Ms. Blainey. But I'm asking for your opinion, not your aunt's."

My shoulders tensed, and I could feel Conor sitting up behind me. I tried to let him know not to interfere. Mr. James might be walking the "family" line but I had been the one to bring it up. It was my bad.

"I'm not sure what you want, Mr. James. I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell," I said flippantly.

I didn't like reminding people I lived at the Abbey. It made me stare at Mr. James hard. He was a young teacher, strict but incredibly good looking. Most of the girls at the school were in love with him. He disturbed me.

"I want your in-depth opinion, Ms. Blainey. We know the basics of modern day religion. I'm talking about death. Camus believed that there was a void after death. Once we died, that was it. We must live life while we have it to live. What do you believe death holds for you? If you believe in Heaven, then what do you believe waits for you there?"

I looked at the clock. Five minutes till the bell. I refused to say what first came to mind. Conor raised his hand behind me.

"I'll answer," he said, knowing, I'm sure, what I was afraid to say out loud.

Mr. James came to stand beside my desk, his gaze looking down into mine.

"I asked Ms. Blainey, Mr. Reinhardt," he said firmly. I cringed.

"Your answer, Ms. Blainey."

I was getting angry, my cheeks flushed.

"Angels, I suppose," I said. "Streets of gold—"

Mr. James didn't give an inch.

"Your true opinion, Ms. Blainey. Not a guess," he ordered.

His knuckles rapped my desk. I jumped. Conor stood up.

"Yo, dude—"

Mr. James rapped my desk again. Harder this time.

"Your opinion, Ms. Blainey!" he said. I flinched, tears burning the back of my eyes. He rapped yet again and I snapped.

"My parents!" I cried out just as the bell rang. A tear slid down my cheek. Mr. James nodded.

"Was that so hard, Ms. Blainey?" he asked as he walked away.

The rest of the students slowly gathered their things and walked out the door, some glancing surreptitiously in my direction. Conor scowled at them all.

"That bastard!" he exclaimed as he held his hand out to me.

I stared at it a moment. What had been the point of that?

"You okay?" he whispered as I finally took his hand. Mine was sweaty. His was warm and dry.

"I'm okay."

I didn't look at Mr. James as I followed Conor out of the classroom. Conor threw the bird at his back.

"Why should he jump you like that?" Conor complained, echoing my own thoughts as Monroe came up on us in the hall. I glimpsed Lita and Jacin beyond, but I was too upset to socialize. Monroe looked from me to Conor.

"What the hell?" she stated as she saw my red eyes and Conor's deep scowl. Conor shook his head.

"That jackass, Mr. James," Conor said before handing me my back pack. He had gym last period. Out of all of us, Conor had the easiest five period senior schedule.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again.

I nodded, and he flicked my chin before turning to head for the gymnasium. Monroe's gaze followed him a moment before turning back to me.

"What happened?"

I didn't think I could talk so I opened my mind up to Monroe. She couldn't read thoughts but if you projected them at her, she could see images. Her eyes widened.

"The bastard!"

I smiled for the first time since the bell.

"I think you and Conor are on the same wavelength. Anyway, it's no big deal. Let's just go," I said as I pulled her along to our last class.

I smiled at Lita and Jacin as we walked by. They gave me raised brows. I was okay. Really I was. Even if Mr. James' voice kept penetrating my thoughts. _What do you believe death holds for you?_

***

All five of us met at Monroe's house after school. It was something we'd done since being put on probation the year before. We had fulfilled our community service two months ago, but my aunt still thought I was working off my time.

"Try not to get the couch wet, please," Monroe said to Conor as the rest of us threw ourselves down haphazardly around the living room. He had come straight from the gym showers.

Conor shook his head, grinning as water droplets hit us in the face. Monroe growled.

"Fight it out in a ring, you two," Jacin joked.

I laughed, and Lita joined in. Monroe might enjoy a good wrestling spar, but I was pretty positive Conor had more interesting ideas for relieving angry tension. Conor winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. Lita began twirling a skull-covered cigarette lighter around in her fingers as Monroe popped a piece of gum into her mouth. She handed me a dumdum lollipop. We all had our addictions, though we were all trying to get Lita to quit hers. She wouldn't light up in Monroe's house, but it didn't stop her from wanting to.

"How long do you think it's going to take your aunt to realize we've done our time?" Lita asked me lightly. I shrugged. I honestly didn't care.

"At this point, I don't think I could get her any angrier."

Monroe didn't look convinced. Her face was shadowed. Conor must have noticed it too.

"I don't know. I think you need to be more careful, Red," Conor said.

Monroe seemed relieved by his statement. She let out a pent up breath. I looked around the room. Everyone was trying to avoid my gaze. My eyes narrowed.

"Now would be a good time to tell me what's going on."

Conor came to sit beside me, one arm stretched casually behind my head. It didn't make me feel uncomfortable even if it should. He was familiar with anything female.

"We're just worried," Conor said. I looked up into his face.

"Because of one vision?"

I saw Monroe shift uncomfortably from the corner of my eye. She seemed willing to leave the explanations up to Conor. Conor touched my shoulder lightly.

"It's more than one vision, Red. Monroe did a scrying last night."

I sat up straight, my back hitting Conor's arm as I did so. A scrying, I knew, was the Wiccan method of divining the future or getting a clearer perspective on something. Monroe came to sit at my feet.

"Now, Day. Don't get angry. Please. What I saw . . . something's wrong."

I looked down at her. I wasn't Wiccan, but I knew from being friends with Monroe as long as I had that scrying wasn't accurate. Lita sat forward, her elbows on her knees as the lighter started flipping faster. She was a part of Monroe's Circle.

"The visions were too clear to be discarded," Lita said.

I looked between Monroe and Lita, my eyes narrowing.

"I asked her to sit in on the scrying," Monroe clarified.

I grew pale. What was this?

"What did you see?" I whispered.

Conor's arm tightened around me. Maybe he thought I needed the support. Monroe bowed her head.

"Blood."

Her voice was so low I almost missed it. Blood? Jacin's face grew pale. I assumed this was the first time he had heard this too. I'm sure my face mirrored his.

"There were figures, blood, a chain . . ." Lita explained, her voice trailing off as she watched my expression.

I could hear my own breathing in my ears. Silence filled the room. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. Terror filled me.

"What does that mean?" I asked, choking on the words as I did.

Monroe moved to sit on the opposite side of me. She made me look her in the eye.

"Day, I think you need to find a way to leave the Abbey. I couldn't give you an accurate reading because I'm honestly not sure what any of it means, but I do know there's danger ahead. It has me terrified," Monroe pleaded.

I shook my head. I couldn't speak. Lita moved to sit on an ottoman closer to the three of us.

"Blood can mean death, rebirth . . . anything. The figures are completely unknown to us. No meaning seems linked. The chain can mean connection or imprisonment," Lita told me.

I nodded at her gratefully. Her words frightened me more, but I had wanted to know. I looked at Monroe again.

"I can't leave the Abbey, Roe, especially after last year. And the vision you saw might not have anything to do with the Abbey. Besides, my sister is there."

This was too much for me! Monroe's hand found mine and gripped it unmercifully.

"Whatever it is, I don't think there's much time, Day."

I looked around at the four of them. The room was tense. This was stupid. One vision while sleeping over and suddenly my life was in danger? I had lived at the Abbey since I was ten. Nothing happened there. It was the most emotionless, suffocating, boring place on earth. Right?

I pointedly ignored the feelings I'd shared with Monroe Saturday night. I didn't trust my instincts not to be influenced by my dreams or fantasies. I had a powerful imagination. The Abbey was only a prison in my head, its talking, closed-in walls a product of my mind.

"Scrying isn't accurate. You've told me that before, Roe. We were pretty scared Saturday night. Couldn't the visions be affected by that?" I asked.

Monroe didn't answer, just looked away. The gesture made me feel a little less afraid.

"It doesn't matter, Day. I'd rather take the chance I was wrong than risk your life."

I agreed with her, but there were few options left open to me. I wouldn't run. The vision hadn't been of the Abbey. The group seemed to recognize this because everyone moved away from me except Conor. Monroe watched me warily as she took a seat on the sofa. I didn't blame her. If the roles were reversed, I'd be terrified for her too. But I just didn't understand the fear. I lived in an Abbey surrounded by nuns. How much safer could you get? Conor leaned down, grabbed the half-eaten dumdum I was holding in my hand, and stuffed it in his mouth.

"You should listen to her," Conor whispered in my ear.

I shivered. Maybe I should. But I couldn't. The room around us began buzzing with conversation. Lita began picking on Jacin and Conor followed suit, his gaze drifting every so often to Monroe. They would let the subject drop because that's what I wanted, but they wouldn't quit watching me. I sat back and watched them chat, my body there but my mind gone. At some point, I felt Conor massage my shoulder and point to my cell phone. It had been a birthday present from the Jacobs. Monroe's mother had given it to me and told me not to worry about the bill. I owed a lot to the Jacobs. I glanced at it quickly and noticed the time.

"I've got to go," I said immediately, jumping up to grab my stuff.

Monroe followed me to the door. I waved at Lita, Jacin, and Conor. They waved back.

"See you tomorrow, Red," Conor said. I smiled half-heartedly and nodded.

"Be careful. Please, Dayton," Monroe pleaded. "You need me, call me."

I nodded and hugged her hard.

"See you tomorrow."

I moved outside and climbed into my car, laying my head briefly against my steering wheel. Images plagued me. _Figures, blood, a chain . . ._ that wasn't my life.

***

I drove down the lane to the Abbey, taking in my surroundings with a trepidation I hadn't felt before. Everything looked eerie. Things seemed to leap out of the shadows. I was so jumpy, I almost ran off the road when a squirrel bounded out in front of my car. This wouldn't do!

" _Just breathe, Day."_

There was a reason I didn't watch horror movies. I got scared too easily. This was my life, not some Michael Meyers film. I took in a few deep breaths and my heart rate slowed.

"That's better," I mumbled as I climbed out of the car.

The Abbey loomed upward behind me. It looked like a gothic mansion from a Bronte novel. This didn't comfort me. The wind blew my hair as I walked across the lawn, and I entered the Abbey just as the first sprinkles of rain began to fall.

"You're late," a voice said from behind me, and I fell into the door.

My heart rate increased again, blood rushed into my ears. Aunt Kyra. She stood just inside the dark foyer, her arms crossed. I righted myself slowly. Her black robes took on a sinister cast, judgmental and cruel.

"I'm sorry," I said. No excuse would do.

"Dayton—" she began.

I stood waiting.

"How long have you been lying to me?"

I just looked at her. Her face was shadowed, but the half that wasn't was solemn and angry. I knew suddenly that she'd discovered I wasn't doing community service. My fault, considering I hadn't kept a watch on the time. She had probably called looking for me. I sighed. I hadn't lied really. I just hadn't kept her informed.

"Two months."

There was no arguing with my aunt. She didn't move, just stared at me. Her gaze raked my figure slowly. Her eyes were blazing.

"Go to your room, Dayton."

I began to walk by her quickly, but she stopped me when I came up on her, her hand taking my arm.

"I've done all I know to do" she said almost sadly. I didn't look at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

This time I did look, startled. Her face was hard.

"Ma'am?"

She didn't answer, just pointed to the stairs. What did she have to be sorry for? I stood there a moment before finally walking away. I was almost to the top of the stairs when I heard the laughter. It was faint and it was male, but when I glanced down the stairwell, it was empty. Even Aunt Kyra was gone.

Chapter 5

There are no laws among the Cursed. They live recklessly, indulging in every whim whether murder or lust. Their conscience is clouded by poor judgments. There can be little hope of redemption.

~Bezaliel~

The week didn't get any better for me. On Tuesday, Mr. James decided the class needed to write an essay on Camus, his life and philosophy. I was still angry about his treatment of me in class. Add that to my utter dislike of Camus' philosophy, and the paper ended up being fairly passionate. I spent two hours writing it. Mr. James' face as he graded papers in class Wednesday said the two hours I had spent was wasted on him. The paper was just the beginning.

I got a sense that some unspoken protection agreement had been put in place by my friends, and it had my nerves frazzled well beyond their already twisted state. Monroe seemed more troubled with each passing day though she played it off well. I wondered briefly if she was still scrying. Conor was still flirtatious but quiet. His mood seemed decided by Monroe's. And Lita and Jacin seemed determined to shadow me in between classes. I was becoming good at dodging them. James Bond had nothing on me. Besides, letting them bodyguard me around school meant I had to admit I was afraid. And I was determined not to go that route. The first moment I gave into the fear, I'd be consumed by it. So I did what I did best. I let moments and images pass me by. The week became a jumbled mess of mental pictures.

Then there was the Abbey. It had become eerily tomb-like. The Sisters avoided me, sometimes pointedly, and Aunt Kyra was mysteriously absent during meals. While this was a relief, it was also odd and disconcerting. I was becoming depressed. The worst part was the fact that my seventeenth birthday was that upcoming Saturday. I was not looking forward to it.

"Amber?" I asked that Thursday morning.

She looked up from clearing the table in the refectory. I avoided her gaze, moving to finish sweeping the part of the floor I'd been working on.

"Yeah?" she asked.

I moved a few chairs away from the wooden dining table, swept under that particular section, and pushed the chairs back in flush with the wood. Leaning against the back of one of the intricately carved chairs, I looked Amber directly in the eye.

"What do you think of me?"

She froze, her expression troubled.

"What?"

"What do you think of me?" I asked again, louder this time.

Amber perused me a moment in silence.

"What brought this on?" she asked me finally, her chore forgotten as she pulled out a chair and sat down. I moved down a chair.

"Nothing. I just want to know."

She played with the rag in her hand. For a moment, I thought she wouldn't answer.

"I don't know, Day. You're . . . brash, I guess," she said cautiously.

I looked down at the floor. Brash? Okay.

"That's it?"

Amber blew a loose strand of hair out of her face and rolled her eyes.

"What is this, Day?" she asked, her cheeks flushing slightly. Her skin was pale enough it showed, and I watched her curiously. She was hiding something.

"Is there a reason for this?" she insisted.

I moved even closer to her and nodded.

"I want to know where I fit in here at the Abbey, Amber. What I'm even doing here?"

This seemed to startle her.

"What?"

"Where do I fit in, Amber? It's a simple question," I said reasonably.

Amber looked conflicted. I felt a momentary flash of guilt at my interrogation, but thoughts had been eating away at me for days. Memories I hadn't let myself dwell on before swamped me. I saw myself at eleven being reprimanded for telling stories to those who came to the Abbey, I saw myself at thirteen being punished for drawing pictures on a dry erase board my aunt used to write down lessons she wanted remembered, I saw myself at fifteen being told that my soul was in danger of being corrupted. Punishment, reprimands, corruption . . . my memories were engulfed with lectures. At sixteen, the punishments stopped. The Sisters quit their lectures, and my aunt retreated into the Abbey's darkness.

And then there were the memories of my sister. There were memories of Amber at eleven being taught to master the organ, Amber at twelve being told that my stories were damning to the soul because they were full of fantastical creatures that did not belong in truth, Amber at fourteen deep in discussion with the Sisters, Amber at seventeen withdrawing into the Abbey's Order. The most disturbing of all, however, was the silence. It had been separating Amber and me since our move to the Abbey. And it still remained. I missed my sister.

"Something has changed here, Amber. You don't feel it?"

Amber's cheeks grew redder. This encouraged me.

"We quit talking about things after mom and dad died—"

Amber jumped up, her eyes frantic. Her gaze moved everywhere.

"Dayton, don't go there!" Amber warned.

But I did. I very much went there. I was tired of the space between us. I missed the little girls who used to share stories beneath a thin sheet.

"What happened to us, Amber? What is this place? Really?"

Amber leaned over the table.

"What are you trying to do, Dayton?"

I just stared at her.

"Me? What am _I_ trying to do? Is this really what our life has come down to?" I cried. "Us being left here to be raised by an aunt who has hardly any contact with us, surrounded by women we barely know, our lives monitored but lonely? What does that accomplish, Amber? We used to be so much more colorful. Now we live our lives in shades of black and gray walking on egg shells. We don't talk and when we do, we look over our shoulders. Why do we do that?"

Amber was in a panic now, watching the room as if the walls were about to collapse in on us both. We weren't normal teenagers. Teenagers gossiped and even ragged on their parents occasionally. We seemed to have a mythical straight jacket around us waiting to be tightened. When in the past seven years had that happened?

"The Abbey has been a good home. Aunt Kyra does care, Dayton. You'll appreciate it one day," Amber said in a low tone. I snarled.

"Fuck that crap!" I shouted, my words echoing off the walls.

Amber looked suddenly sick.

"Dayton!"

I didn't apologize for my language.

"Oh, come on, Amber! Ever since our parents died, we've been raised here in the Abbey, separated from almost everything except what we see or do when we're outside its walls. And we aren't allowed out often. School, community projects . . . I had to sneak out just to go out with my friends!"

Amber looked behind her at the door, motioning for me to keep my voice down. That was another thing. We couldn't be disruptive. It was enough to make you want to scream.

"And you see where that got you," Amber said callously, her courage returning.

I narrowed my eyes.

"It got me in trouble, Amber. Okay, I admit that. But the point is still the same. What is this place? We've even been raised differently. You've obviously been accepted. Where does that leave me?"

She met me across the table.

"You chose that, Dayton. _You_! No one else. You closed yourself off after mom and dad passed. You shut everyone out. Now you decide to wake up and realize you were lonely? That's not fair. _I_ was lonely too! _I_ was scared! And _you_ weren't there! I'm not like you, Day. I can't grieve alone. I'm not that strong. Don't blame everyone else for something that was your fault."

Amber's eyes flashed. My heart turned cold. Had I really shut myself off? Worse yet, had I pushed Amber into the Sisters' arms? I reached a hand across the table but dropped it when I saw Amber back away slightly.

"Amber —"

She shook her head.

"No!"

Now, _she_ was the one withdrawing. My eyes met Amber's. I had hurt her. I could see that, but I'd only been ten at the time. I hadn't pulled away intentionally. It had been a coping mechanism. Why had no one tried to get through to me?

"No one tried to open me up," I said, mostly to myself.

Amber's gaze softened.

"What was the point in leaving me to grieve alone, no attempt to get through to me?" I asked.

Amber looked down at the floor.

"Your actions mean more here at the Abbey than you think, Day. You close yourself off, guard yourself. You are spontaneous, indulgent, and outspoken. Even then, even before mom and dad, you were the same. They had you chosen years ago," Amber said tightly, her eyes moving to the door again.

I froze. My brows furrowed, my heart clenched. Chosen? I had not expected that.

"Chosen for what?"

Amber shook her head, her lips pinched and white. Footsteps in the hall made her step away.

"You weren't meant to be brought into the fold, Day," she whispered as Diane came whistling into the room. Amber wiped the table as if nothing had happened. I wasn't as quick. What? I wasn't what?

"Day?" Diane asked.

I looked up.

"Hmmm?"

Diane smiled affectionately.

"You know how your aunt feels about day dreaming. Might better get moving," she insisted.

I picked up my broom and moved two more chairs away from the table. Diane walked out of the room. I glanced again at Amber.

"Do you love me?"

She dropped the rag.

"What kind of question is that?" she asked, her gaze disturbed. I shrugged. I wasn't asking her again. I cleaned under the chairs and moved down the table. I was pushing the last two chairs in when Amber coughed. I looked up at her.

"Yes," Amber answered. "Yes, I do. It's why this hurts so much."

She finished up the table and walked to the door. At the entrance, she stopped and looked over at me, her face red and her eyes haunted. What had started out a normal week was fast becoming a scene from my nightmares.

"You were never meant to be accepted into the fold."

I felt my stomach drop as she turned and walked away, no explanation forthcoming. What the hell did that mean? What fucking fold? Whatever it was, it had me scared. This time, I let the fear consume me. If I could, I would have let the fear paralyze me. But there was nothing to do but move forward. I may not understand what was happening around me, but I was not a coward. Fear didn't create cowards. It created caution. Shoving my broom away, I left the refectory without a single backward glance.

***

My confrontation with Amber had me drained, worried, and anxious. I went through Thursday's motions, but barely felt like I was involved in my surroundings. Monroe still seemed preoccupied, though she clung to me and tried, without success, to cheer me up. I didn't tell her what had happened between Amber and me. She was already worried way more than she should be. My day blurred into a group of moving images as they passed me by: classes, hallways, restrooms, people. Was I really like Amber said? There had been so much hurt in her eyes. My heart felt torn.

"Hey Red, you okay?" Conor asked me later, pulling me out of my reverie and into the present.

I looked up at him and nodded, my head pounding as he led me to one of the lower bleachers in the field outside the school. A crowd was gathering around us, and I watched a minute as Coach Anderson moved to the side of the playing field toward Jacin. They talked briefly before Jacin nodded and began warming up. He was suited up. It hit me then.

"I forgot today was the charity football game," I mumbled as I sat down and waited for Conor to sit down next to me. He looked momentarily distracted.

"Yep," he replied, his eyes scanning the crowd before waving wildly.

Lita and Monroe walked toward us. I hunched forward, my legs wanting to involuntarily curl into the fetal position. I didn't want to be here. Our school held the game every year against another school in our county as a way to raise money for the PTO. It always garnered a lot of attention. It was the South. Football was as much a necessity as boiled peanuts and grits.

"Hey Gizmo," Monroe said breathlessly when she reached us, her eyes on me as Conor finally sat down. The nickname was an old one, a reference to the old _Gremlins_ movie.

"Hey," I said, smiling slightly. She frowned.

"You okay?"

She sat down and scooted in close. I touched her arm.

"Have you scryed any more?"

Monroe glanced around us and lowered her voice.

"Why? Something happen?"

I shook my head, my conversation with Amber consuming my thoughts. It had been an emotional overload. But, other than the blow to my heart, nothing bad had happened lately at the Abbey. I continued to look at her, the same question in my eyes. She sighed, her head tilting slightly.

"I've scryed some, but it's still the same images. Over and over again."

I could see this disturbed her. It was unusual for a scene not to change occasionally, influenced by outside events, by people's own free will. My aunt's comment about destiny plagued me. Did I believe in destiny? Monroe leaned in briefly.

"You sure you're okay?"

I nodded. Something hit me in the back of the head, and I looked behind me to see a small piece of ice fall to the bleacher.

"Hey, you Lesbos! Scoot, would you!" a pimply boy asked sourly as he pushed through our group. Conor shoved him.

"I suggest you run. Now!" Conor growled. Conor was a lot bigger than the boy, and he heeded Conor's warning.

"No foul," the boy called out, one hand held out as he backed up into the crowd.

Lita cupped her mouth and yelled, "Prejudiced ass!"

I smiled. I suspected Lita might be bi. She had as much interest in women as she did in men most of the time. Right now though, she was as caught up in Jacin as he was in her. They made a good match, even if they weren't really committed. That was what made it seem to work.

"God, some people," Lita murmured as she leaned over and waved briefly at Jacin. He smiled at her.

"How's it going, Day," she asked me quietly. I tried not to roll my eyes.

"I'm fine. No murdering marauders or alien invasions here."

Monroe and Lita shared a brief, knowing look. I swear I'd punch them both if I didn't love them so much.

"We're all on Team Dayton, you know. You should never beat up your cheerleaders," Conor said suddenly in my ear. The air against my neck made me shiver.

I turned too fast and almost cracked my skull against his head.

"What? You read minds now?" I asked him snidely. He just grinned.

"Honey, it's written all over your face. You're as open as a book."

Ugh! That was good to know. Conor winked and put an arm behind my head.

"Hey, that's a compliment, Red. Honesty is attractive."

Whatever. I was glad _he_ thought so. Conor was watching me now.

"C'mon, let's just watch Jacin get his ass kicked, huh?"

That made me smile. Conor had been quiet all week, but whatever had been bothering him seemed resolved.

"Fat chance of that," I said with a laugh as I glanced toward the field just in time to see Jacin throw the ball to a guy in the end zone. Touchdown!

Lita cheered, Monroe whooped, Conor gave a thumbs-up sign, and I fell back into the group, my chest tight. I was determined to enjoy the rest of the day, but when I tried to sit up, my chest felt tighter. What? I shook my head hard. Just anxiety. Smiling toward Jacin, I tried to wave but when I started to move, my hand fell limp and my chest grew even tighter. It took me a moment to realize something other than anxiety was most definitely wrong with me. Conor picked up on it first, mainly because his arm was still behind my head.

"Dayton?" Conor asked, his face swimming in front of my eyes as he leaned over me.

I squinted but my vision didn't clear. If anything, it got worse. Spots swam before my eyes, and my throat began to burn. Was I choking?

"Dayton?" Conor asked again, his voice an echo now. A hand touched me but I barely felt it.

"Oh my God, Day!" Monroe screamed.

I could feel her breath on me, but her voice came from miles away. My toes went numb. A cold chill began working its way up through my body.

"Jesus! Someone help!" a voice shouted, my ability to discern its owner gone now.

A strong hand clasped my wrist, and I tried to turn my head.

"Con?" I whispered, my throat catching on the word, turning into a gurgle as it left my mouth. The pressure on my wrist became stronger.

"Mine," a male voice said suddenly, filling my mind so completely, my whole head burst with pain. I tried fighting it, thrashing so hard that distant hands had to hold me down.

"Is it a seizure?" I heard someone ask as I fought my invisible assailant. His grip became unbearable on my wrist.

" _Please_ ," I begged as I fought. There was no relief.

"Mine," his voice repeated just as my world went black.

Chapter 6

They are, by nature, ruled by blood. Blood isn't a necessity for life, for they are immortal. It is a thirst, a need for blood. Their curse. There is one who seeks an end to the Hunger. If it can't come by Redemption, he will seek war.

~Bezaliel~

There was darkness surrounding me. I squinted but could barely make out my surroundings. Stone? Something fluttered above my head, and I ducked instinctively. What was that? I cringed, my eyes growing wide until they finally began to adjust to the darkness. A cave? I looked around desperately. What I saw didn't make me feel any better. Shadows crawled through a cavern, inching along like spider monkeys in the jungle, creeping with each flicker of flame coming off sconces inserted along the wall. And then there were the voices. I was terrified. What was this place? What had happened to me? Shadows came at me from everywhere, and I tried reaching out to grab at the cave wall. I couldn't see my own hand. I tried again. Nothing. Was I only viewing the scene? Was this a vision? Had I died? The voices grew louder, and I began to register them. They seemed a part of the shadows.

" _You crave too much the power of our forefathers," one voice mocked as another rose in laughter. Both male, both low and frightening. I looked for the men but could only make out shapes. They were tall and dark._

" _No, brother, I crave redemption," the second voice uttered sourly. This time the first voice laughed, but solemnly._

" _There is no redemption for us. There never can be," he said._

" _You're wrong, Marcas. There is. I've seen it," the second voice remarked. Marcas?_

I tried harder to see, but the darkness in the cavern was too much, the light too faint.

" _You imagined it," Marcas argued. I knew his voice now. "You're a fool to think otherwise."_

" _Oh ho, brother! No, you are the fool! Maybe it is you that seeks power."_

" _I seek only vengeance," Marcas stated. The shadows crept closer, swirling around the two men as they faced each other defiantly._

" _We had redemption once. And then it was revoked, leaving the rest of us cursed for eternity," Marcas pointed out, waving what appeared to be gloved hands upward. The second man waved his own hands in agitation._

" _No, I have found the cure. And I will have it!" the man yelled vehemently as Marcas began to circle him suspiciously._

" _At what cost, brother? At what cost would you have your redemption?" Marcas asked in frustration._

This was a mistake. I didn't belong here watching this. Both of the men terrified me. I tried to touch something again and failed. Maybe I was invisible. I hoped so. I had no desire to be caught among them.

" _It's better we are damned than the world," Marcas said quietly, stopping only inches away from his brother. "I could stop you."_

The second man reached forward, patting his brother affectionately on the cheek before shoving forth his right fist. Marcas slumped forward, clutching his side as a wet stain spread slowly onto the other man's hand. Oh my God! Was that blood? I felt nausea swamp me. Oh my God! The man laughed as he produced some kind of container and filled it with the crimson fluid. My stomach burned as if dry heaving. Oh my God!

" _No, you won't stop me," the man said before pulling out the dagger he had pushed into his brother's side. Marcas crumpled._

" _You'll heal," he murmured as he cleaned the dagger on his jeans. "Some things are worth more than family."_

He turned to walk toward me. I couldn't let him see me! He drew closer, closer still, and I screamed.

"No!" I cried out, shoving at something hard, my fists clenching desperately at fabric and skin. I wouldn't let him get me! A hand caught my wrist, and I fought harder, my legs kicking frantically as I opened my eyes only to discover the lights were too bright, images too blurry.

"Dayton!" a voice cried out. "Dayton, calm down! It's Conor!"

His words penetrated the fog, and I loosened my grip slightly.

"Dayton?" another voice cut in, and my grip tightened again. My nails dug in unmercifully. I didn't recognize this voice. Hands came down on me harder.

"Give her a moment, dammit!" Conor's voice cried out, strained as I kicked him again. His voice made me pause. Conor?

"Just give her a moment," he repeated, his voice more relaxed as I loosened my grip. My eyes began to adjust.

"Day?" yet another voice questioned, and I almost sobbed in relief. Monroe.

"She's coming around," Conor said.

I turned my head slowly and tried looking in his direction. Pain engulfed me.

"Slowly. You hit your head, sweetheart," Conor soothed.

A small hand slipped into mine, and I knew from the manicured nails that it was Monroe's. I gripped it gratefully.

"What happened?" I managed, my throat dry and my voice raspy.

"You had a seizure," the strange voice supplied, and I tried again to focus. A lined but blurry face came into view. A seizure? He leaned closer, and I recognized his uniform. A paramedic. He smiled and began asking questions. I answered them haltingly.

"Any head pain?"

"Some."

"I'm going to remove a collar I put around your neck, and I want you to tell me if you can move your head."

I just stared at him distantly as he moved closer. Air rushed against my skin. I tested my neck experimentally.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"No."

"Can you touch your chin to your chest?"

I leaned up.

"Yes."

"Alright, I'm going to try and sit you up. Is that okay, Dayton?"

I nodded. Hands began pushing against my back. I recognized things a little better now. Blood rushed back down into my body, and I looked around carefully. The walls around me were white. The library?

"It was the closest room to the field," Monroe whispered from beside me.

I looked over at her and smiled slightly.

"Books are healing," I muttered. She chuckled before frowning again.

"What happened, Day?"

The paramedic began checking my vital signs. I could tell he was irritated at the group of teenagers surrounding him, but none of them seemed prepared to leave or seemed to care that he wanted them to. Monroe leaned over me worriedly, and I could just barely make out Lita and Jacin hovering in the background.

"I'm not sure," I answered, the vision crashing down all over me again. My breath caught, and I turned toward Conor. He was watching us quietly, one of his hands still resting securely at the small of my back. My gaze fell to his chest.

"Oh, my God!" I cried out.

Conor grabbed at his shirt but not fast enough to hide the damage I had done. The fabric was ripped and there was a gash along one bicep.

"Jesus!" I exclaimed. Conor laughed.

"Enough cries to Heaven, and I may be miraculously healed," he joked. I didn't laugh. He moved carefully as the paramedic motioned for him to back off.

"Look, Red, I'm fine. Let's just figure out what happened to you," Conor whispered.

I nodded, but my mouth still hung open. Had I really done that?

"I'm going to take you in and have you checked," the paramedic said suddenly.

What? My mind was having trouble keeping up. Too many things were going on at once. Take me in? I gave him my full attention. He was a small, almost elderly man. It made sense that Conor had helped him hold me down.

"Wait a moment, Bobby," a female voice called out from in front of us.

It was then I noticed another paramedic a few feet away, her hand lifted to show her partner he needed to hold off. She was small and brown-headed and deep in conversation with a black robed figure. Nausea overcame me.

"I don't think the hospital will be necessary," the robed figure said, turning around to face us. Aunt Kyra.

Bobby looked up at her, startled, his gaze searching as he looked between us. An open book, Conor had said. I'm sure my face was revealing a lot more emotion than it should be right now.

"It's protocol that I have her checked," Bobby said carefully.

My aunt looked at him intently, and I noticed him step backward. She may be a small lady, but she had presence.

"I'll take her to our family doctor," Aunt Kyra said firmly.

I stared at her. Family doctor? Bobby started to speak, but his partner shook her head from behind the Abbess. Bobby looked between us again. Aunt Kyra never flinched, never blinked.

"I guess I'll leave you to it, then. There's some papers I'll need signed," he said.

He was my aunt's senior by some years and I could tell he refused to appear cowed despite her black habit and her grim self-assurance. My aunt nodded. I cringed as she moved toward me, her robes slapping softly against her legs. I felt tempted to hum the Darth Vader theme music from _Star Wars_. It was a silly thought, but my weird seizure-like vision had cast a sinister shadow over everything. I felt like I was losing my mind.

My aunt grew closer. Conor and Monroe both remained where they were. Lita and Jacin kept their distance, but I could see they were ready to move in if need be. Were they really that worried about my aunt?

"I think I have it from here Mr. Reinhardt, Ms. Jacobs," my aunt said shortly as she reached the stretcher I was on.

Conor and Monroe shared a brief look and stood their ground. Aunt Kyra grew eerily silent as she gazed at them both. In the background, I heard the female paramedic whisper something about "the girl's history of faking illnesses." I looked up at my aunt. Had she told them that? I'd never been sick a day in my life.

"Maybe I could assist you?" I heard Conor ask. "I could carry her to your car."

My aunt glanced briefly at Conor's exposed chest and lifted a brow.

"I think you've been helpful enough, Mr. Reinhardt. I'm fairly certain Dayton can walk."

I looked between Conor and Monroe and nodded my head. It wouldn't do to continue this show here. I'd have to go with her sometime. I could tell Monroe wanted to say something then thought better of it. _Call me,_ her eyes said. _I will,_ mine answered back. Conor ignored my aunt and leaned in close.

"Who's Marcas, Red?"

My head snapped up, and I fought not to put my hand over my mouth. His expression was inscrutable. Had I said that name aloud?

"Be careful," Conor warned.

I shivered. Did I really need to be afraid? I avoided his gaze as my aunt held out her hand, her eyes full of disdain. She moved between Conor and me.

"Let's go, Dayton."

I looked down at her hand for a second then looked away. I didn't need her help. With every ounce of energy I had left, I climbed off the makeshift bed, stumbling only slightly as she signed a medical release form. I was unsteady but she was fast and I followed her out of the library, out of the school, and into the car.

I gazed out the window as she pulled away, my eyes locking on four figures lounging on the walk just a few feet away from the curb—Monroe, Conor, Lita, and Jacin. They must have followed us out. Conor leaned against a light pole, his arms crossed and a frown marring his features. A few girls giggled as they walked by and caught sight of his shirt. He ignored them. Monroe looked sick with worry, her eyes darker than usual and her stance restless. Lita said something to Jacin before pulling a cigarette out of her blue jean pocket and twirling it between her fingers. Jacin put a comforting hand on Lita's shoulder and stared after the car. I lifted my hand and waved at them all.

Chapter 7

If there is war, there will be many mortal deaths. War will not end until the world has been damaged beyond repair. The ranks will be divided, the losses heavy. The burden seems unfair. Whether there is war will depend on one thing: Her strength.

~Bezalial~

"What did you see?" my aunt asked me pointedly once we'd pulled away from the school.

I looked up, startled. Her eyes were watching me in the rearview mirror. She knew about my vision?

"See?" I asked.

Aunt Kyra continued to stare, her eyes moving occasionally to the road as she drove. Her mouth was tight, lines around them revealing her increasing age. I looked away, watching the scenery change outside the car window.

"What's happening to me, Aunt Kyra? What do you know that I don't?"

My voice was pleading. I hated that it sounded that way. Aunt Kyra ran over a small curb, and I realized that I had unsettled her. The car straightened quickly.

"What did you see, Dayton?" my aunt asked again. "It's important that you talk to me. This is a lot bigger than you."

What was? The answer seemed important to her, urgent even, but the question made me furious.

"You want me to talk to you? _Me_ talk to _you_? Ha! That's funny. I won't talk, Aunt Kyra. I won't. Not until I find out the truth. What's bigger than me? What's happening to me?"

Aunt Kyra pulled into the lane leading to Blackstone Abbey. I could see her cheeks flushing in the mirror. Maybe it was anger, maybe frustration. At this point, I didn't care.

"Nothing is happening to you, Dayton."

I narrowed my eyes.

"That's a bunch of bullshit!"

The car lurched as Aunt Kyra suddenly hit the brake. The force threw me into the back of her seat, and I rubbed my shoulder as pain shot down my arm. What the hell? She jerked the car into park and pointed at the Abbey.

"You can walk from here, Dayton," she ordered. I didn't move.

"What is going on?" I asked calmly despite my thumping heart. My determination far outweighed my fear. Her eyes were flashing. I had crossed the line with the language. She had crossed the line with her secrecy. It was my life that was changing.

"You are a small part of something so much bigger, Dayton. The time has come for you to understand that. And you will. Until then, you respect me and you respect the Abbey. Understood?" she said. I just nodded. She pointed at the door again.

"I suggest you walk up the lane and think about what I said."

I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the car door.

"You can't avoid my questions forever, Aunt Kyra," I said as I stepped out of the car.

"I don't intend to," she replied.

I shut the door. She pulled away and sped down the lane, leaving me alone coughing up dirt and kicking pebbles with my tennis shoes. Dammit! Think about what she said? Yeah, right. The only thing I thought about as I began to walk was how ridiculous this whole thing was becoming. To hell with it all!

"Damn, damn, damn!" I cursed as I came closer to the Abbey, my voice rising with each word. God it was hot! Which didn't improve my mood any. I hated September weather in the South. Southern weather was as temperamental as its people. Hot one moment, chilly the next. But rarely ever cold. Forty degrees was enough to make every person in the street complain it was freezing. And on the rarer occasion it snowed, the whole town shut down. Today was a humid one and sweat trickled slowly down the side of my face. I swiped at it.

"Damn!" I screamed one last time.

It was childish and utterly foolish to challenge this sacred place with words of condemnation, but I was well beyond frustrated and it made me feel better. Simple as that. I kept my eye on the prize as I marched.

The door of the Abbey grew larger, and I was panting by the time I put my hand on the knob. I paused and looked up at the building, the dark stone walls hovering over me ominously. I saw something move in my peripheral vision, and I backed up slightly. What was that? Leaves rustled in a nearby magnolia tree, and I moved back to the door as a cloud rolled in front of the sun. The day went dim. Spooked, I pushed at the door again, cursing the old hinges when it didn't open immediately. The vision from the school consumed me, and I shivered. I turned the knob.

Voices moved down the hall from the refectory as I opened the door, but instead of moving toward the dining hall, I turned instead to the stairwell. I wasn't hungry.

"Dayton?" a voice asked as my foot hit the stairs. I paused. Amber. She looked up at me worriedly.

"You okay?"

I was having a self-pity moment, not because I'm the type to wallow in despair but because I was tired of having to accept these strange new changes in my life without knowing why. I kept my back to her and began to climb. I was withdrawing again. Why did I find it so hard to ask for help? She didn't call after me, and I was glad she didn't. I was _not_ okay, I was _not_ happy, and I was tired of pretending I wasn't angry, confused, or scared.

I stormed into my room, slammed the door as hard as I could, tore through my desk for a dumdum and shoved my desk chair into the wood. Damn! My room turned into a gym full of punching bags, my imagination supplying me with a million different outlets for stress. I took them all. Damn! Something cracked as I hit my cheap plywood dresser. Let Aunt Kyra replace it!

"To hell with this crap!" I cried out, loud enough I hoped the whole Abbey heard.

I screamed so much and lashed out so vehemently that it wasn't until exhaustion hit me that I realized I was crying. My cheeks were soaked with tears. I swiped at them angrily. I hated them for making me cry. I hated them all!

"I won't let you do this," I murmured as I moved to close the curtains on my window. I was determined to shut out the world.

One week. That's all it had taken to make my already unstable world flip over. I was tempted to rip the fabric I held fisted in my hands into shreds. My fingers tightened on the violet material. What would it help though? The twilight outside beckoned, and I stopped to stare a moment. How long had I been fuming? I leaned closer to the window.

Eyes met mine from the semi-darkness outside.

My need for solitude was forgotten instantly. The eyes that stared back at me blinked. Real eyes, not a reflection. I fell back against my dresser, the wood cracking again. Something fell apart and hit the floor. Pain blossomed along my back. Oh my God! I began to shove away from the wall, my mouth opening in a scream as the window behind me began to lift. I could hear the squeal of metal against metal. I backed away toward my bedroom door. The scream wove its way up into my mouth.

"Dayton, no! It's ok! It's Con," a voice cried out.

The scream got stuck in my throat, and I choked on it. Conor? Jesus! A hand materialized from around the curtains, and I swore under my breath.

"A little help here," he grunted as I swore again. My adrenaline levels dropped as fast as they had risen, leaving me drained and faint.

"Are you kidding me?" I whispered loudly as he pulled himself over the ledge.

I moved to the side of the window and glanced outside. A ladder was propped up against the building.

"It was already in the garden," Conor explained from beside me.

I turned around and, without a second thought, hit him as hard as I could in the stomach. He barely flinched. It was like hitting rock, and I cradled my fist in pain.

"You asshole!" I yelled.

If humans could have nine lives, I'd just lost most of mine. Conor shrugged somewhat sheepishly. At least his shirt was in one piece this time. I didn't need a reason to get distracted.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed.

He moved to sit on my bed, folding his six-foot frame as best he could into the small cubicle I called my bedroom. He grunted as he sat down, his gaze sweeping the room with a look that reeked of disgust.

"What? They make you sleep in a closet?"

I ignored him. The living quarters were meant for contemplation, not for comfort.

"What is this? How did you find my room?" I asked him, my previous question not forgotten in the least.

He looked up at me, didn't seem to like having to do so, and stood so that I was the one left glaring up.

"Monroe," he answered

I grew still. Monroe? Conor moved around a bit, shifting papers that were hanging off my desk and picking up the dumdum lollipop I'd dropped when I backed into the dresser. He lifted a brow in my direction.

"Sugar is a sin, you know," he joked, the innuendo not lost on me.

I snatched the sucker out of his hand and threw it back into my desk drawer.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him a second time.

He took a step toward me, his expression changing.

"To check on you."

His eyes stared directly into mine. The same look I'd seen in Philosophy class filled his gaze. It was something I hadn't noticed in them before this week. It unnerved me.

"You worried us, Dayton. Seemed appropriate someone make sure you were okay," he said calmly.

I was glad _one_ of us was calm. He had moved closer during his explanation and my heart stopped. My neck hurt from looking up. Did he have to be so dead-blasted tall? I was used to Conor's presence, even his familiarity outside of the Abbey, but in my room . . .

"You could have just called." I said softly, my hand moving to the cell phone I had stuffed in my blue jean pocket.

Conor glanced down briefly, following my hand with his eyes before looking again at my face. His usual grin lit up his features, his dark blue eyes flashing with humor.

"What fun is there in that?" he said while lifting his brows suggestively. It was such a Conor kind of move.

I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. It was like having someone look you in the face and asking you not to smile. It was impossible not to.

"Whatever. As you can see, I'm fine. You can go back the way you came now," I said, pointing determinedly back toward the window. Conor's gaze moved between me and the opening, but he didn't move.

"After all that work? I think not," he said before sitting down on my bed again, patting the empty space next to him. The stubborn bastard. I stared at his hand a moment apprehensively. This was insane.

"I don't bite," he said, one brow lifted and a corner of his mouth turned up. I swore under my breath.

"Said the spider to the fly," I told him pointedly when I finally sat down.

He laughed a moment, his arm resting lightly along the back of my shoulders. It didn't feel like it should with us being alone and all. He seemed to realize this, and he dropped his hand subtly, his palm coming to rest on the comforter a few inches away from my tailbone. I tried not to squirm. I stared hard at my knees.

"What happened to you today?" Conor asked suddenly, his tone serious.

I noticed a small stain on my jeans and I picked at it. The vision fell over me, and I shivered. I just wanted to forget it.

"Is it smart for you to be here?" I asked. "I mean, what is this really?"

I knew the question was rowing us into uncharted, dangerous waters, but I asked it anyway without regret. I didn't want to discuss the vision. At all. Conor smiled.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Red?"

I glared at him.

"Honestly?"

My tone was serious. Conor quit smiling. He leaned closer.

"I wanted to see you."

I stared up at him, realizing in that instant that his face was entirely too close to mine. He smelled like peppermint. He loved mints the same way I did dumdums.

"Why?" I whispered. Conor didn't move away.

"Because I'm worried about you." He leaned closer. "More worried than maybe I should be."

His statement was unexpected, and I leaned away slightly.

"Oh."

The hand he had lying behind my back moved closer. My spine tingled. I was feeling closed in.

"Monroe suggested I ask you out," Conor revealed suddenly.

This took me by surprise, and I almost stood up. I fought the urge. What the hell? My gaze shot to his. He grinned.

"Th-that's ridiculous," I stuttered.

Conor shrugged.

"Maybe. I used to think so too," he said. I searched his face intently.

"What do you mean?"

Conor ran one hand through his hair restlessly, leaving it disheveled and in need of a comb.

"I'm not quite sure, Red. You've never known me to skirt an issue. And today, when you started to come out of whatever trance you were in, when your nails dug into my skin, I realized something I think I've just been avoiding for a long time." Conor said slowly, taking his time as if he were afraid I'd be like one of those girls in the movies Monroe and I liked so much—the kind that swooned. I wasn't that type.

"What's that?" I asked instead, my eyes wide. Conor shook his head.

"I realized I wanted you to give me your pain. I wanted to take it away from you. It was an interesting moment for me. I've known you a long time, but this past year . . . I don't know. I-I'm beginning to think that I've been using my flirtation with girls as an excuse to stay close to you."

I stared at him, my gaze frozen. I spent minutes without blinking. _Now_ I felt uncomfortable. The space between us was suddenly way too small, way too claustrophobic. He noted the reaction.

"I'm not here to make a move on you," he said, his gaze moving steadily over me.

I felt suddenly self-conscious. My jeans were dusty and ripped at the knee, I had kicked my shoes off at the door earlier as it was my habit to do so, and the oversized black dolman I was wearing had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a pink bra strap. My hair was frizzy and curled up from the walk earlier, and I ran my fingers through it nervously. Money was tight at the Abbey, and my aunt believed heartily in teaching humility. I didn't own a lot of clothes and the ones I did were usually outdated. I mentally slapped myself. Why should I care about that now? I fidgeted. This was different. Conor had never made me feel nervous before.

"I'll be honest though. I'm not having good boy thoughts right now. And if you think that surprises you well . . . hell, it surprises me just as much," he said.

He had always been too blunt for his own good. I found I couldn't speak so I just kept staring instead, leaving my face open to interpretation. Whatever he read there made him move away slightly. My breathing came easier.

"What happened to you earlier, Red?" he asked me again, changing the subject smoothly.

It didn't rid the room of the buzz I could feel between us now. But this time I didn't skirt the issue. The vision actually seemed a safer topic at the moment. Who would have thunk? I leaned back slightly, pulling the sleeve of my dolman back onto my shoulder as I did so.

"I think, but I'm not one hundred percent sure, that I had a vision," I said uncertainly.

Conor watched me quietly, his gaze frozen on the shoulder where I had just readjusted my shirt. I was tempted to slap him.

"Who's Marcas?" he asked huskily.

He didn't question my vision theory. This made him more sure of it than I was. I shrugged. The dolman fell again, and I rolled my eyes. Ugh! Fixing it would just bring more attention to it. I left it alone.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

The name and the man filled my mind instantly. I could almost taste his name on my tongue. It was a warm feeling and more than a little strange.

"The vision was about two men. They were arguing. I don't know. I-I'm pretty sure one of them was referred to as Marcas."

I didn't include the part where the aforementioned Marcas was stabbed. Conor nodded slightly, his gaze finally moving back to my face. His eyes had darkened.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I sighed.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Was I supposed to be okay? No, I wasn't, but I wasn't going to fall apart either. Conor shifted.

"Something is going on here, Day."

I looked at him a moment before answering. His face was a lot more rugged than I remembered. Maybe because I'd never really looked at it before. Or I had but never this closely.

"No shit," I said in return. "One sleepover and there's suddenly invisible people after me, dark visions, and something strange about the Abbey. I think you guys made hash brownies and didn't tell me about it."

Conor laughed sarcastically. "That's hilarious, Red."

"I try."

Conor shook his head and moved closer. The discomfort level climbed again.

"It does seem like we're making a big deal out of nothing, but Monroe's visions have been pretty dead-on in the past. They're not something to shrug off," Conor pointed out. I knew that. I did. I put my face in my hands.

"God, we're a weird group," I muttered. Conor snorted.

That was an understatement. Monroe and Lita were both Wiccans, Monroe was a visionary, and Jacin was a football player with a less-than-desirable home life and a very strange gift. While Lita's family was pretty lax on the rule system, they still loved her and accepted her eccentric ways. Hell, she even had a grandmother who practiced voodoo in its most extreme form. Jacin's family, on the other hand, was a different story. His father was a lawyer who wouldn't take anything less than perfection. Jacin usually gave him that. But there were some things your nature couldn't hide. The fact that Jacin saw auras was one of them. I wasn't lying when I said our group was weird. As for Conor, I suspected something was different about him, but he never revealed it. His mother was a real estate agent who read palms on the side. That was the only freaky thing I knew about him.

"We're friends for a reason," Conor remarked.

I gave him a look. While there seemed to be something unique about everyone in the group, the only thing strange about me was the fact that I pretty much lived in a church. Conor put a finger under my chin. I fought not to pull away.

"I told you your face is as open as a book, sweetheart. You're just like the rest of us. You don't have an aura. Jacin has never seen one around you."

I pulled away from him. We might all be different, but we never discussed what made us that way. It didn't seem right that we were discussing it now and all because of me.

"Let's drop it," I said.

Conor might not agree, but he didn't argue. The silence between us grew. I sneaked a glance in his direction. His face was tilted, a strand of hair falling forward along his forehead. His jaw was set. I was more aware of him than I ever had been. It was at that moment, I realized that Conor was as close a friend to me as Monroe. He had always been there, in the background, picking us up whenever we fell. He caught my stare and smiled.

"I never pegged you for a pink girl," he joked.

I think he was trying to relieve the tension, but it made heat climb up my neck anyway. His eyes dropped to my bra strap, and I smacked him. He stood up and backed away, his hands held out in front of him.

"You're becoming rather abusive. Should I be concerned?"

I laughed and pointed at my window.

"Get out of here, Con."

He saluted and walked to the open sill. I followed him over. He started out, pausing briefly with one foot still braced inside my room.

"Stay safe, Red," he whispered, his hand coming up to rest against my cheek. I probably should have pulled away but I didn't. His gaze fell on my shoulder again.

"Just so you know, pink suits you."

His face was suddenly serious. We were entirely too close. His gaze fell to my lips. My pulse picked up. I liked Conor, but it was a little too soon to know how much. I didn't know how to reply to that and Conor didn't wait for a reaction. Pulling himself over the side, he pulled away from me and scaled down the ladder easily with a grace that seemed strange for his height. I watched him go down the driveway, his figure fading into the distance. I was deep in thought when my phone beeped at me from my pocket. Pulling it out, I flipped it open and glanced at the screen. It was a text message from Monroe.

Did Conor stop by?

Talk about timing. I stared at the screen a moment, glancing only briefly at the window before answering.

He did.

It took less than a minute before she replied.

How did it go?

I almost laughed.

Are you trying to set me up?

I was being blunt and I wasn't sure she'd answer. She didn't make me wait long.

Who me? Nah. Just wanted to make sure you were ok.

I cocked my brow. Conor wasn't a liar. None of my friends were.

**Yeah, right**.

A second later a **:D** appeared on the screen. I laughed.

I really was worried.

She texted suddenly. I smiled softly. I knew she was. She'd do anything to keep me safe. I'd do the same.

I know. I'm ok.

I answered her back quickly. There was a pause between texts, and I stripped down hurriedly, grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top out of a hanging dresser drawer. It was the one I'd relieved my stress on earlier. Conor hadn't helped. It'd have to be fixed for sure now.

He'd be good for you.

Monroe texted just as I lay down in the bed. I pulled the covers up to my chest. I knew it! What the hell? She could have at least warned me before sending Conor in like that. He wasn't the type to hold back.

**I'm not sure that's true**.

I answered back. My phone beeped again.

Give it some thought, Day. I'm worried about you. The vision has me scared. I feel safer knowing he's keeping an eye on you. I wish you would leave the Abbey.

Monroe texted. I closed my eyes briefly. There was more behind her words.

What aren't you telling me, Roe?

I asked her. There was a long pause and my eyes began to drift shut. I was just about asleep when the phone vibrated and beeped. I lifted it wearily.

**When Jacin saw your aunt today, he said her aura was black**.

My eyes shot open. I think she knew the remark would startle me because she texted again. This time it was to check if I was okay. I didn't answer. The phone kept beeping. She knew me well. I didn't have it in me to answer back. The next text was to tell me she loved me and to call or text if I needed her. I nodded as if she could see me. Sleep was a long time coming. Aunt Kyra's aura was black?

Chapter 8

He has come for her. I knew he would. He is enchanted by her fire, her thirst for life. I fear for her. But I cannot come. I cannot save her. May God have mercy on her soul.

~Bezaliel~

" _You have to close your eyes, Day," my father whispered, his hands closing over my face gently but near enough my lashes brushed up against his palms. Butterfly kisses. I had to fight the urge to giggle._

" _What am I looking for?" I asked him, not for the first time._

He leaned in closer from behind me, his breath fanning along my neck as he bent even more to accommodate my height.

" _The light, Day. Always look for the light."_

I squinted against his hands. I wanted so very badly to get this right, to hear approval in his tone as a conclusion to whatever lesson I was supposed to be learning, but my mind was blank. I did not understand him, in so many ways.

" _I can't see anything. There's only darkness!" I cried. This was ridiculous._

Dad didn't move, just grew very still in that way of his, the one that reminded me in vivid detail of a marble statue I'd seen in a museum once. It was a little scary.

" _I'm sorry," I whispered as the seconds ticked by._

He didn't remove his hands. The silence stretched.

" _There is always light in the darkness, Day," Dad said suddenly._

I almost jumped as his voice boomed around me. He wasn't yelling. He just wasn't whispering anymore. Dad had what I liked to call a large voice. He spoke. You listened.

" _You need to learn to look past the dark. If you don't, it can consume you."_

I opened my eyes to look at the back of his hands. I didn't understand that word consumed. I said it to myself as I stared at the lines etched into his palms. They almost seemed to glow. His hands dropped, but he still held me away. The sun was setting behind us, and our shadows loomed large against the ground, his monstrous one looming over my smaller one. I felt like I was going to cry, and I hunched in on myself as I watched his broad shoulders lift in a sigh.

" _Don't worry, Day. It's not your time yet," Dad said._

His shadow hand came to land gently on my small shoulder. His skin was warm. I wanted to lean into it, but I was too hurt by my own sense of failure. I would never understand him.

" _I never get it right!"_

Stomping my foot, I pouted. He stood and moved around me then, his face stone-like and solemn.

" _Day_ — _"_

I stomped again anyway. I knew I was throwing a fit, but I didn't care.

" _Amber always gets everything right. Always!" I whined._

Dad studied me a moment before kneeling down in front of me.

" _Amber is . . . different," he said slowly, as if carefully weighing his words, "And it's good that you two aren't alike. You are special, Day. There's a fire in you no one else can see. Not yet, but it's there."_

I squinted up at him. I didn't understand this stuff about fire, but dad looked so sure, so confident that it made me feel a little better. It didn't stop me from stomping my foot again though just for good measure. Dad smiled.

And then the darkness came.

Confusion engulfed me. The scene changed. It was like someone pulled a rope and the backdrop was different.

It was sudden, the rain, but I felt it pelting my body unmercifully as the clouds came tumbling one over another across the sky—thick, black, and ominous. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. Lightning flashed in jagged lines across the sky and mud started to slide in large avalanche-like chunks as water piled on top of water. The rain hurt, digging sharply into my skin, and I cried.

" _Run, Day. Look for the light," I heard him whisper in my ear, but when I started turning to look for him, the space behind me was empty. The rain was coming harder, more brutal, like fingers trying to peel away the skin._

" _Run. . ." I heard again._

This time I listened, slipping and sliding as I tried to get my feet into the sucking mud. I kept falling, my knees gripped by the punishing ground. I cried harder. Blood was dripping from my face, and I worried skin had indeed been peeled away. I tried running again. I had to run. Had to!

" _Dad!" I screamed as I fell again, the earth trembling beneath my knees, bucking and rolling till fissures began to open up along the ground, widening until a large hole had materialized in front of me. There was nowhere I could run, no one to turn to._

" _Daddy!" I sobbed as the earth gave way beneath me, and I fell. It was dark. So very dark, and I held my breath waiting for the end._

" _Look for the light, Day," I heard my dad whisper, but as the air rushed in around me I welcomed the darkness. The thought of light now, scared me. I didn't want to see the end._

" _Day. . ."_

It was an echo this time. My name moved around me and through me, and I finally found the voice to scream.

"Shit!" I cried out as I sat bolt upright in my bed, the room around me dark except for the single nightlight. I looked at it a moment desperately. I really needed to check its bulb. It had been awhile since I'd changed it, but Grumpy Bear looked as dourly bright as ever, and I gave him a weak thumbs-up sign as I placed my other hand over my chest. My breathing came fast.

The dream. It had been clearer than it ever had been. I could almost feel the rain still on my skin. I cringed, looking down at my bed to be sure my phone was still under my pillow. I hadn't found the strength to reply back to Monroe.

" _He said her aura was black,"_ Monroe had texted.

I closed my eyes briefly, thoughts of Aunt Kyra and the dream clinging to my conscious. Waves of anxiety flowed over me. Sweat made my top cling to my back, and I shivered from the chill. Nausea built and then subsided. Bile rose and I swallowed hard. The dream had never affected me this physically before. I didn't understand it. Was it because of Monroe's revelation about Lady Ky? I bent over a second, letting my head hang low until the faintness passed. It took me a moment to reassure myself, not only that the dream was just that—a dream, but to remind myself that nothing had changed. I was still breathing, I wasn't falling, and both my parents were still deceased. My body shook as I looked it over, letting my mind slowly let go of the last cobwebs, the tiny fragments of the dream still hovering.

" _Look for the light_ ," his voice whispered again.

I fought not to cry. I missed my parents. Running my hand over my face, I looked again at Grumpy.

"Survived another one, oh Dour One," I said wearily as I tried to settle back against my pillows.

The moment I reclined, I sat back up again. It was no use. There was no point. My heart was still a jackhammer in my chest and my head pounded relentlessly against my temples. Every muscle jumped restlessly as I swung my pajama clad legs over the side of the bed. Big red hearts surrounded by the small scripted word _Juicy_ swam in front of my eyes. I scowled. It was times like this that I missed Amber coming into my room. My breathing faltered, and I reminded myself to take it slow.

The dream was a double-edged sword, a mix of joy and nightmare. It was agony. But last night it had also been different—more real, more deadly in its clarity. I fisted my hands into the blankets around me. My nails dug into the mattress. Cramps invaded my calf muscles as the anxiety worked its way downward, and I stood up slowly, gasping as the shock of the cold floor against my bare feet brought me out of my reverie. The walls seemed to close in on me, and I cursed under my breath as I stepped on whatever items were playing "trash of the week" on my bedroom floor in my attempt to flee. The Sisters would fret if they saw it.

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness," I mumbled as I stumbled to the door and threw it open.

The hallway was already lit, and probably had been since right before dawn. The Abbey really did come alive at ungodly hours.

Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped, my back going up against the stone wall hard before I realized it was the mouser cat my aunt thought would help with the Abbey's rodents. Exterminators could only do so much in a building as old and as large as the Abbey.

"Want to give me some kind of warning next time, Raven," I growled at the cat as I shimmied past her to the bathroom.

My heart rate was still up but slowing. I didn't bother looking up into the mirror. I didn't want to see the sweat on my face and the dark circles under my eyes.

" _Look for the light_ ," his voice whispered around me, and I stiffened.

The voice sounded _so_ real. The nausea came back. I swallowed convulsively. What the hell!?

"I don't see it," I gritted out as I gripped the sink so hard I was shocked the porcelain didn't crack.

"Don't see what, sweetie?" Diane asked from behind me, and I jumped again. My nerves were downright raw. Diane moved to my side and glanced at me worriedly.

"You okay, Dayton?" she asked. I straightened up. Where had she come from?

"Yes'm," I mumbled.

Looking behind me, I realized I had neglected to shut the door. Wonderful. Diane narrowed her eyes but didn't question me further. She knew from experience I wasn't the forthcoming type. Diane had lost some weight over the years, but she still looked and dressed the same way she had the day she led Amber and I into the Abbey for the first time.

"Okay, sweetie. Your sister is already down in the kitchens, and there's breakfast in the refectory," Diane said as she laid some clean towels down in front of me and turned to leave.

I wished I could tell her to stay, but the dream wasn't a new one and seemed too personal to share somehow. I bit my lip to keep from talking. It wasn't even about sharing it. I just didn't want to be alone. The whole week had felt strange. I closed my eyes briefly. _"He said her aura was black."_ Today felt scary.

"I'll warn you though. Your aunt is in the refectory and she's in a temper," Diane called into the bathroom.

I sighed and leaned over to turn on the sink, splashing ice cold water into my face. The kitchens it was then. I had chores to do anyway. I couldn't face Aunt Kyra.

The car ride yesterday still made me angry. I didn't understand it. Didn't understand why she refused to talk to me. She was like a black hole. She sucked me dry. She may be the Abbess of Blackstone Abbey, my mother's sister, and my guardian but she was also one cold sanctimonious bitch. She wasn't the maternal type and, even after seven years, still seemed to be adjusting to us. And her aura . . . I shook my head hard. _No!_ I couldn't go there! I bit the inside of my mouth, letting the slight pain it caused redirect my thoughts as I dove for the shower then rushed to finish before the hot water disappeared.

One swift shower down and a wardrobe change later, and I was running down the stairs. I was determined to turn my morning around. I _needed_ to turn it around. Hell, I _needed_ my week back. I couldn't ignore everything that had already happened: the visions, my aunt, Amber, the dream, and the whole revelation about Conor, but I could put a fresh coat of paint on the whole situation. This was _my_ life, _my_ choices.

"Don't run!" a Sister called out to me, and I managed to refrain from being derogatory. Just barely.

Shoving into the kitchens, I slid to a halt just long enough to grab a broom and cross my eyes at my sister standing at the stove. She ignored me. No surprise. If the rift had been wide before, our conversation yesterday had made it wider. I turned my back on her and began to move around the room. I was feeling better, my body relaxing into my chore when an indistinguishable voice infiltrated a daydream I'd been having. I paused.

"What?" I asked Amber as I turned toward her; sure she'd been trying to get my attention from the stove.

She glanced up briefly, her look confused. A cold feeling climbed up my spine. I shook my head. As edgy as I was, I was sure I was just imagining things. Whatever. I watched my sister a moment.

"You might want to try a little spice in the dish this time," I suggested helpfully as I moved to sweep the last of the morning dirt out the back door. Kitchen duty was such a pain in the ass. Amber raised a brow but continued stirring.

"The more natural the dish, the more cleansing it is to the soul," Amber quoted solemnly.

I leaned over the broom and pretended to wretch.

"Is your head always stuck up someone else's ass?" I asked before dropping the broom and hefting myself up on the counter.

The way she quoted the Sisters seriously grated on my nerves. The broom bounced loudly against the floor and landed on Amber's foot. She huffed indignantly but refrained from swearing. I just smiled and balanced carefully before reaching up to grasp my prize.

My sister watched me warily but didn't say a word as I unwrapped the lollipop I had hidden among the kitchen's plants. It wasn't my most creative hiding spot but it'd do for now.

"You know that stuff is nothing but solidified poison," Amber murmured, kicking the broom aside as I hopped back down onto the brick floor.

An image of Conor warning me about sugar and sin made me bite back a laugh. I looked over at her and grinned. Amber was too serious. Mom used to say she was intense and contemplative. My translation for that: _Dull!_ I danced over to Amber and held the pink dumdum up lovingly.

"O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die," I said theatrically, my hand caressing the stick as my tongue shot out to French kiss the lollipop. With a jolt, I slid down to the floor, my body thrashing in dramatic convulsions.

Amber pinched her lips together, and I knew she was chastising herself for feeling amused. I grinned and arched my brows.

"Shakespeare consorted with the devil," Amber lectured, and I groaned.

"Oh my God, Amber! Seriously?" I asked before leaning against the counter next to her and stuffing the dumdum in my mouth. She ignored me.

"The Abbess has corrupted you," I concluded around the sweet lump, the sugar melting comfortably against my tongue.

Amber shifted but still ignored me. Her strawberry blonde hair, pulled tightly up on top of her head, seemed to chastise me quietly as she turned her head away. I tried not to let it bother me as I watched her. But it did.

With her flawless skin and deep blue eyes, Amber looked every bit the Angel. And she thrived off acting the part she wore so well in appearance. Good thing too since, by all appearances, I was the devil incarnate.

"Just a little salt and pepper maybe?" I goaded as she stirred the soup on the stove.

It would slow cook throughout the day, but that wouldn't improve the flavor. At least Diane wasn't on kitchen duty. I preferred tasteless over charred. She could clean but damned if she could cook.

"You need to start conforming more," Amber murmured quietly.

I growled. God, I hated that word!

"No chance of that, sister dear. Love me for the heathen I am," I replied with an impish grin while holding my heart forlornly. She wasn't impressed.

"I think the Abbey actually makes you surlier," I said with a snort. "If that be possible."

Amber didn't bother to reply. I fought not to grumble. She bent to her work, and I frowned. Every once in a while, Amber reminded me of mom. I shut the thought down quickly, worrying the wound I'd opened earlier in the bathroom.

_Don't feel. Just retreat._ I wouldn't think about them. Not now. Not today. My heart clenched. There are some things time can't heal.

"The Abbey has a long history, Dayton, and an even longer tradition. Don't always knock it so much, huh?" Amber said carefully as she stepped away from the stove and glanced at her watch.

I frowned. Her words about "being accepted into the fold" rang through my head. There was no way to repair this week. Too much had transpired, and the Abbey was the worst part. It was my modern day Hades. The Sisters were constantly filling my sister's head with drivel. I blamed them for the tension between us, and I didn't appreciate the rift. Damn it, I missed my sister!

"Been talking to Lady Ky much? We won't be here forever, Amber. Why are you so set on this place?" I asked her with a "crunch." Oh yeah, cotton candy heaven. I never make it through the whole lollipop. I wouldn't win the "how many licks does it take to finish the dumdum" contest.

"Didn't you know the Abbess is secretly a foul monster dressed as a penguin?" I asked.

I grinned at her but, truth is, I believed the monster part. Her idea of guardianship translated into overbearing tyranny. I, personally, had no desire to please her. If there was any reason to be bulimic, she'd be it. Gag. But, while I maintained my distance, my sister seemed obsessed with pleasing both Lady Ky and the robed women that made the Abbey their home. It drove me nuts. " _He said her aura was black."_ I shivered.

"Just sayin'. If the bird man can escape Alcatraz, we can escape Blackstone," I said around the now crumbled candy. Amber fidgeted.

"Maybe I don't want to leave, Dayton. Maybe there's more purpose here than you think."

My mouth dropped open. I had always suspected her interest in the Order, but I never suspected it was more than curiosity.

"You're fucking with me, right?"

Amber kicked me in the shin. Jesus!

"Damn it, Amber!"

Amber looked ready to kick me again.

"Drop the cursing, Day," Amber ordered as I hopped around the kitchen nursing my throbbing ankle.

"Lecture me next time, would you. Save the physical abuse for the crones."

Amber shook her head. She hated when I referred to the Sisters that way. And I was all about disappointing lately. I just didn't see what the big deal about the Abbey was. Amber was in her first year of college and still living here. I didn't understand it. God help me if Amber really decided to become a nun. A thought passed fleetingly through my head, and I frowned. Surely not . . .

"You can't replace her you know," I said quietly.

Our mother. That's who I meant, and Amber knew it. She stiffened before swinging around, her hands on her hips and her glaring gaze meeting mine evenly. It made my heart clench.

"I'm not trying to replace anyone, Day!" Amber argued, her shock and anger evident as she moved close enough to me her nose almost touched my forehead. I hadn't inherited my father's height gene. It showed.

"It's just . . . " Amber frowned. "I'm trying to make her proud. One of us needs to."

She retreated a few steps as she spoke, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her words to register but, when they did, the sting whacked me squarely in the soul. I wanted to protest but found I couldn't. The insult sat heavily between us. Anger and embarrassment clawed itself up my neck, appearing as a flush along my cheeks. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I turned away. What had happened to the two of us?

"Look, Day—"

I shook my head slowly. Words wouldn't help right now. We both knew it.

"Mom wouldn't be proud of this," I whispered, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.

I put pressure on my tongue with my teeth. I was so _not_ going to cry! A loud banging from the hallway diffused the situation, and we both stiffened. No, not now!

"Dayton Marie!" a voice yelled from the corridor, and I stuffed the lollipop stick quickly down the front of my shirt and into my bra.

Amber rolled her eyes. Aunt Kyra materialized at the door looking weary and exasperated, a sheaf of papers hanging from her fingertips. I cringed.

"What is this, Dayton?" she asked angrily. I shrugged. My heart was very evidently _not_ into arguing.

"Rewrite it! And I mean it, Dayton. I'll call the school and see if they will take a redo or extra credit. An F!"

She held out the papers, and I took them gingerly. I knew better than to say anything.

"What am I going to do with you?" she murmured almost to herself. She turned away from me.

I stood up straight. There was no way I was cowering in front of her or Amber. Not today. I was my father's child in a lot of ways. Stubborn was one of them.

"It was one paper," I said defensively.

She didn't turn around, but she did shake her head.

"It's not just the paper, Dayton. It's everything," she said wearily. "The cursing, the disobedience, your choice in friends . . ."

I stared unblinkingly forward. If I was supposed to act suitably chastised, I was going to disappoint.

"I don't get it! Am I that bad?" I asked, my eyes moving between Amber's gaze and Aunt Ky's back. Neither one of them moved. After a moment, Aunt Kyra looked over her shoulder.

"Dayton—" She paused and looked away. "We have a guest coming to dinner this weekend. He's coming to meet you specifically. Don't mess this up."

My brow furrowed.

"Me?"

Aunt Kyra nodded.

"Do _not_ mess this up," she repeated firmly.

WTF! I glanced over at Amber, but she just shrugged and looked at the floor. I knew that look. She knew something.

"Is it about the paper?" I asked in confusion. I knew Mr. James was going to give me a failing grade. I'd seen it in his face. And it wasn't the first run in I'd had with my philosophy teacher. He was a total prejudiced ass.

"He's a recruiter," Aunt Kyra said, and I froze. For college? Me thinks not.

"To see _me_?"

She didn't answer, just gave me one final look before walking out of the room. Aunt Kyra wasn't one to elaborate on anything. Did she seriously think being vague was part of her "mommy" job description? My fingers moved restlessly over the essay in my hands. A recruiter? That made no sense. Amber was the scholarly one. With my grades, I'd have to go looking for the colleges, not the other way around. I wasn't dumb. I just didn't try hard enough to get good grades.

"Is this some kind of school thing? Is it about my birthday?" I asked Amber once Aunt Ky disappeared. I noticed a figure loitering in the hallway trying to make herself appear small, but it was a familiar one and I concentrated on Amber. She shrugged before moving to stand behind me. She peered over my shoulder and moaned. It brought my attention back to the present and to the group of papers in my hand.

"What?" I groaned. "The whole point of philosophy is argument."

"Argument, Dayton. Not re-theorizing. You were always good at telling stories. No wonder you failed."

My spine stiffened. I'm pretty sure she was trying to re-direct my thoughts, and it worked. The insults were really starting to dig. It still didn't answer my earlier questions, but I let her re-direct me all the same. I'd find out soon enough.

"I wasn't re-theorizing. Read the paper," I said with a huff as we both moved out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"I thought it was ambitious," the figure said from the corridor, and I paused with a grin. Amber kept walking.

"You would," Amber called over her shoulder. She walked down the hall toward the refectory as I turned to face Monroe.

Monroe leaned against the wall with a smile, her vintage jeans and 50's flavored cream top clashing with the usual collection of black robes that normally inhabited the place. She dropped her bag, and I rolled my eyes at yet another big beaded purse on the floor between us. I was refraining.

"Lady Ky can smell bad news from a mile away. She'd put a drug dog to shame," Monroe quipped before blowing a pink bubble and popping it with her fingernail. The two of us needed to take out stock in DumDum and Hubba Bubba.

"That's an understatement," I mumbled as I leaned against the wall next to her. "I'm not re-writing it."

Monroe looked up.

"Then don't."

"I don't see the point anyway," I complained.

I was irritated about the whole thing. I had way better things to worry about than a disgruntled philosophy teacher who, in my opinion, didn't teach us anything. Mr. James abhorred arguments. It was almost as if we were supposed to take what we heard and live it, breathe it, be it. He really unnerved me. I got that most of the girls were in love with him. He was young, too young to teach in my opinion, and I have to admit, pretty hot. But still a total dictator.

"How was your night?" Monroe asked quietly.

My problems came rushing back. Monroe's last text sprang into my head. _"He said her aura was black."_

"Can we not go there right now?"

I wasn't avoiding the issue really. I just didn't know what to do about it. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. Monroe picked up her bag and nodded toward the stairs. I kicked away from the wall.

"So, you ready for your birthday tomorrow?" Monroe asked suddenly, smoothly changing the subject as we moved toward the Abbey's living quarters to grab my back pack. I looked over at her and groaned. _Wrong_ change of subject,

"Not really."

"Oh come on, Gizmo! It's your birthday!"

I gave her _the_ look.

"We don't celebrate birthdays at the Abbey, Roe," I said off-handedly. She knew that.

"Maybe your aunt will this year. It's your last year harassing her," Monroe said with a laugh. I grabbed my backpack and picked up a wadded up piece of paper off my floor. I threw it at her head. She ducked. It missed. Damn.

Chapter 9

He will not stop now. He has corrupted the Order. And he has an insatiable thirst for blood. His control is impressive, but limited. I have watched too long, forbidden to interfere. She will not be cowered, I know her well. These things I know. What I had not counted on was the Other. He has surprised me.

~Bezalial~

The day passed too quickly, maybe because school was mainly spent arguing with my philosophy teacher who refused to let me do extra credit. My aunt had made good on her promise to talk to Mr. James. But, as I suspected, he wanted me to re-write the paper, and I refused to do it. It put us at an impasse and neither one of us was budging.

"You are looking at it all wrong, Ms. Blainey," Mr. James growled.

I leaned forward slightly.

"Mr. James, I argued a point I felt strongly about, and I made sure to include references to back it. It was a good paper," I growled back.

Mr. James looked away from me, his fist clenched at his side. From where she sat, Mrs. Pierson, the so-called counselor, couldn't see his restraint, but I could. With his golden hair, amber eyes, and muscled physique, he resembled a Greek god. His personality, however, resembled a pit bull. He swallowed hard.

"The paper wasn't about disproving Camus. It was about the man himself, his life, his philosophy," Mr. James ground out.

I shrugged.

"I didn't like his philosophy," I countered.

Mr. James' face reddened and Mrs. Pierson sat up abruptly behind her desk. _Now_ , she decided to intervene.

"Now, now . . ." Mrs. Pierson soothed, but I let her voice drone on into the background.

I simply wasn't interested in being soothed. The whole argument was pointless. It was obvious we were at a stalemate.

In the end, I ended up spending three hours in the counselor's office having a teacher/student conference that resulted in me telling Mr. James to stuff his paper where the sun doesn't shine and to covet the F he gave me if he wasn't going to let me do extra credit. I simply refused to re-write a paper I believed in, one that I felt effectively disproved Camus' stupid "Life is Absurd" theory. It was going to piss my aunt off royally. Not because the paper wasn't good. It was. But because I wouldn't change it to earn a better grade.

I was so thoroughly irritated by the time I left the office, I slammed into the bathroom and stayed there. As a senior, I only had five periods, and Mr. James had wasted most of them. I slid down the restroom wall and pouted.

"Smoke?" someone asked quietly, and I looked up to see Jessie Grey leaning up against one of the bathroom stalls. She must have been standing on a toilet when I'd come in. I'd checked under the doors.

She held a cigarette out and I took it. I didn't smoke but, at this point, it wouldn't hurt to look like I did. I took a quick puff and handed it back, swallowing the cough that rose up in my throat.

"Thanks," I said tightly. She cocked her head.

"It's a bad habit," she said before puffing on the butt.

I didn't know Jessie well. We were both seniors, but she was a loner who spent most of her time secluded. She didn't do much to invite company, and, honestly, she was somewhat unnerving. I watched her a minute as she blew smoke toward the ceiling. Her torn jeans, loose black off-the-shoulder tee, and short black hair suited her. A red lacy bra flashed occasionally through the shirt, and I felt a momentary flash of envy. She looked like a C. I was barely out of an A.

"You got probs today?" Jessie asked.

I looked up and caught her eye. It seemed to twinkle a moment. I shook my head.

"Nothing big," I answered vaguely.

She pushed away from the wall.

"Whatev," she said as she put the butt out and fanned the air with her hand.

She reached into her back pack, pulled out an aerosol Febreeze can, and sprayed the room. It hinted of apples. I watched her pop the can back into her backpack and rolled my eyes. If only my aunt had to raise her.

"You should watch your back, Blainey," Jessie said suddenly.

I looked up, startled.

"What?"

"Just watch it," Jessie repeated.

Her face was empty, her eyes dark. The bathroom suddenly felt like a scene from a Stephen King novel. She leaned toward me.

"He's coming."

What the hell? Maybe it was the way she said it, with no inflection, but an eerie feeling stole numbly over me. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but Jessie moved toward the door and disappeared into the hall, no backward glance, no wave goodbye.

_He's coming._ I looked down at the floor and sat in silence, my thoughts tumultuous as I traced the geometric shapes the tiles made on the floor.

_He's coming._ The bell rang, and I finally moved. _Look toward the light,_ my dad's voice whispered. I was going crazy.

"You look beat," Monroe stated sympathetically when I met her by her car.

Conor was with her. He gazed at me a moment, leaned in close, looked like he was going to say something, and then flicked one of my curls playfully instead.

"Hey, Red. Didn't see much of you today."

"Likewise, Con."

I wasn't sure how to deal with the Conor situation just yet, so I ignored it. He peered into my face a moment and then began to move away. He knew us well enough to know when to make his exit. I watched him as he walked. He glanced back briefly and our eyes caught. He winked and I managed a quick wave. I couldn't help but wonder what he and Monroe had been discussing. I inclined my head in his direction but Monroe shook her head.

"Oh no! So _not_ going there!" she huffed. "I'm way more interested in your day than anything else right now."

I got the feeling she didn't want to break Conor's trust, but the change in subject put me back in an instant foul mood. Aside from my aggravation with Mr. James, I couldn't shake Jessie's dead-panned comment. _He's coming._ I shivered.

"Uggg," I mumbled as I slid inside Monroe's pristine white Cadillac.

Even her car was still stuck somewhere in the late 50's and it was disgustingly clean. In my mottled state of irritation, I wanted desperately to mess it up. Monroe slid in beside me and gave me the "don't even think about it" raised brow. I grumbled. It made me wish I'd driven my messy, old clunker.

"Let me guess. You spent the whole day re-writing James' paper," Monroe stated before turning the key in the ignition and backing out of the parking lot. I gave her the evil eye.

"You underestimate my stubbornness, dear Roe."

She laughed. She knew better than to ask. I was so worked up, I could cry. And that made me even more upset. I tend to cry when I'm angry which only serves to piss me off more and make me cry harder. It made me feel weak, and I was NOT weak.

"Oh well," Monroe soothed. "It's Friday. And, from what I overheard this morning, you have an interesting weekend ahead."

I saw the humor in her eyes, and I almost laughed. Monroe loved to re-invent moments almost as much as I did. She was in invention mode.

"Your aunt has invited a mystery man for dinner," Monroe began, her voice husky. It reminded me of the narrator off one of Monroe's movies.

"A recruiter," I corrected.

She gave me a look.

"Let me have my moment," she complained. I snickered.

"Then, by all means, continue."

"Ok, just imagine," she said with a big wave of her hand.

"He's dark and elusive with a manly jaw covered in five o'clock shadow, jeans slung low on the waist, and no t-shirt. His chest is tan and muscled and, ten minutes into the meal, he offers to give you a private massage. Mmmmmm,yummy." She sighed dreamily, leaning over me just long enough to pull down the glove compartment. I ogled the bag of dumdums that stared back at me. God, she was terrific!

"If it's Mr. James, you can have the massage," I said as I filched a sucker and popped it into my mouth. I closed the compartment with my knee.

"I'll take it! A man that uptight has to be passionate. God knows, we all have to find release somehow," Monroe pointed out.

I shook my head and snorted. I so didn't miss the implication.

"You missed your calling in life, writing hyped up, cheesy romance novels," I goaded.

She flipped me the bird. Besides, only Monroe would consider a recruiter "date" material. Her mother would hyperventilate if she knew Monroe was a glutton for older men and, when I say older men, I mean quite a bit beyond the suitable few years older age gap. Mature she called it. I insisted she just didn't know a better word for geezer.

"Feel free to be my stand in," I said as we moved onto the lane that led up to the Abbey.

"And have your aunt threaten to have my family burned at the stake. No thanks," Monroe spat.

I laughed. Monroe's Wiccan upbringing made my aunt cringe. It had taken threatening my own conversion to Wicca to convince my aunt to let Monroe stay on Abbey property. The whole friendship was not debatable.

"You think it's serious?" I asked after a pause.

I was worried. And I wasn't really all that good at hiding it. Monroe looked at me askance.

"I don't," she said. Her face was scrunched, her pitiful attempt at neutral. She noticed I noticed and shrugged.

"I don't know, Dayton. I honestly think you need to leave the Abbey. The vision . . . what Jacin said about Lady Ky's aura . . . it's all messed up. But, if I can't convince you to leave then worrying about it isn't going to get us anywhere. If it's bad, we'll figure it out," she said as she pulled to a stop in front of the Abbey.

I sat there a minute, my gaze staring but not really seeing a thing. My aunt was always vague. And I had made myself sick thinking about this whole week. Something just _felt_ wrong. Finally, I moved.

"It'll be fine," I mumbled, taking the dumdum out of my mouth before sticking it sucker down on the seat next to me. She didn't notice, but she would later. Monroe patted the steering wheel.

"That's the spirit! Text me!" she said as I climbed out in front of the Abbey. I leaned in and flipped her back the bird.

"Well then!" she gasped dramatically as I slammed the door with a laugh.

We were a "flip the bird" and "roll our eyes" kind of group, mainly out of habit rather than a need to be cliché. There was comfort in habit. I grinned at Monroe as I backed away. It ended shortly when my back came up against a familiar stoic figure. I closed my eyes briefly, opening them only long enough to see Monroe's sympathetic frown as she pulled away from the curb.

"The school called," Aunt Kyra said.

I rolled my eyes before turning to meet her gaze.

"I made one request, Dayton, and you not only refused to do it but clearly disrespected a teacher and me. What were you thinking? The things you said to him . . . Dayton, you know better."

I didn't even attempt to argue with her. She'd not only give me fits about the whole ordeal, but begin a rather lengthy lecture on morality. She looked disappointed. I knew the look well.

"Dayton, I'm only trying my best to look out for you."

I just shook my head. Sometimes I think Aunt Kyra really tried, and I'm pretty positive that I wasn't the easiest teenager to foster, but she never attempted to understand me. I wanted to be closer to her, but I didn't want to sacrifice my own personality to do it.

"Tell me what you want to hear," I offered, preparing myself for a verbal bashing, but Ky surprised me when she pointed at the Abbey's arched entryway instead. She wasn't looking at me; though I could tell her lips were clenched tight enough they were turning white.

"We'll discuss this at dinner, Dayton. This weekend could mean a lot for you."

She reached up and brushed a stray curl out of my face, her eyes watching me intently. I think I reminded her of mom sometimes. Not so much in looks, but in character.

"Oh Dayton . . . the man you'll be meeting Sunday . . . give him a chance, please. He's not your average guest. He has plans for you. We _all_ have plans for you," Aunt Kyra pleaded.

I narrowed my eyes. The mystery man again.

"What kind of recruiter am I meeting?" I asked. She didn't answer, just motioned to the Abbey again.

"Just give him a chance," she repeated as she brushed passed me and headed for the chapel side of the Abbey. It was probably to pray for my soul. It wouldn't help.

"A hint?" I asked sarcastically as she continued to move away.

"I'll see you at dinner," she called out.

Her silence on the subject unnerved me so much, I shivered. I was used to my aunt being vague but never this vague. Something was up. My imagination was working overtime, and as I opened the door to the inner sanctum, I began picturing Monroe's shirtless male creation. It made me giggle despite the gnawing in my gut. Not because the scene was giggle worthy, but because the location was. A Mississippi Abbey love affair. Yeah right. My phone went off, and I looked down at the text message on my screen.

Come stay with me if you need to, Day.

I smiled as I moved to the stairs. Sometimes it seemed Monroe could read my feelings entirely too well.

You better be txting at a red light

I texted back as I pushed open the door to my room.

Yes'm *Big Salute*

I chuckled.

Chapter 10

The Other has me confounded. He is lawless but remains on the outskirts of his own kind. He seems to seek only to indulge himself with no ultimate goal. What could he want?

~Bezaliel~

Dinner came too quickly that night, and I made my way warily down to the refectory.

"Try smiling, Day. You look like you're headed for the guillotine," Amber murmured as she passed by me on the stairs.

I attempted the smile but only ended up grimacing. Easy enough for her to say. I felt the spirit of Marie Antoinette keenly tonight. Seemed appropriate my middle name was Marie. It wasn't hard to imagine the executioner grinning at me from the bottom of the stairs. I waved my hand through the smoky vision as I moved to the open door.

"Good evening Amber, Dayton," Sister Pauline said merrily as we entered the refectory.

The long table was crowded with Sisters and novices. Aunt Kyra sat at the head.

"Girls," Aunt Kyra said, her hand motioning to the two seats at her side.

I found the gesture disturbing. I let Amber take the right. We hadn't been seated by Aunt Kyra since the Abbey move seven years before. It seemed somehow significant. The table was quiet as we took our seats. As the last ones to arrive, we were immediately led into prayer. We complied by bowing our heads. Aunt Kyra said grace then recommended we commence with the meal. Chatter filtered down the table. It made the room hum. Normally, we were forced into silence at meal times. The chatter was strange.

"The Abbess spoke to us about your day at school," Sister Rosaline said suddenly from my left. I froze.

"My day?" I asked carefully.

The Sister looked down at her hands. All eyes seemed glued to the discussion. A lump formed in my throat. The dinner chatter made sense now. _This_ was what my aunt meant when she'd said _we'd_ discuss it at dinner? I felt fury burn my cheeks.

"You made my day Abbey business?" I asked Aunt Kyra furiously.

Aunt Ky let her gaze move slowly down the table, taking the time to pause on each face before finally deigning to give me her full attention. I was keenly aware of my place at the bottom of the totem pole.

"The Sisters are your family, Day. We are all worried about you," Aunt Kyra answered me calmly. I actually growled.

" _This_ was _my_ problem, not the so called family's. The Sisters are _your_ Order, not mine," I said stonily.

Aunt Kyra didn't even blink. She took a bite of bread and nodded her head at one of the Sisters further down the table. Sister Katherine stood up hesitantly.

"We could help you, if you like, Dayton. There are much better ways to deal with situations than anger," Sister Katherine said patiently.

I pushed away from the table and stood. Aunt Kyra reached out and touched my hand.

"Sit back down, Dayton," she ordered.

"Why?" I asked. "So each of you can take your turn condemning me?"

"We aren't condemning. Only advising," Sister Mary assured.

I turned toward her slowly. My gaze seemed to startle her, and she looked away.

"I don't need your sanctimonious bullshit advice," I roared. "It was a fucking paper. And I refused to re-do what was good work! End of story!"

Aunt Kyra shoved away from the table, her face calm. Her eyes, however, flashed with fury.

"Your mouth will remain clean at our table, Day," Kyra ordered.

I looked her in the eyes.

"What do you want from me?"

"Subservience," she answered. My eyes widened. Was she serious?

"Fuck that!" I answered as I moved away from the table. The Sisters stood as one.

"What do you expect to do when you leave here, Day?" Aunt Kyra asked as I moved along the wall. I paused.

"I have dreams, Aunt Kyra. I'm not without talent. I am a good writer," I said confidently.

"I hope your written word is better managed than your mouth," she said. I turned on her.

"You wouldn't know, Aunt Kyra. You've never tried to know. What do you really expect from me? I'm not a bad person."

Aunt Kyra moved toward me.

"When you are not at the Abbey, you represent this institution. What you consider mild behavior is considered repulsive to us, Day. We expect more from you."

I stared at her a moment, the silence stretching between us. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. Never before had Aunt Kyra brought me before the Sisters this way. Something was wrong.

"I am not making the Abbey my home, Aunt Kyra. I want more than that. You expect what I can't give."

She moved closer still.

"Sometimes you can't deny a calling," she replied.

I glanced at Amber. She was still seated, her head bowed primly. I turned back to Aunt Ky. It seemed Amber was resigned to this "calling." I wasn't.

" _I_ can," I answered simply.

Aunt Kyra nodded her head, her face taking on a determined expression. She seemed to be making a decision. She glanced at the Sisters and they all nodded.

"That's that then. We can proceed. Dayton, you are dismissed," Aunt Kyra said.

I was frozen with shock. What? I risked another glance at Amber and saw that her head was still bowed, tears glistening on her cheeks. What had just happened?

"You are dismissed," my aunt repeated.

I didn't spare her a glance, just turned on my heels and ran. I was in my room with the door closed behind me when the tears came. They were angry tears and I recognized them as such. My back slid down my bedroom door, and I let my head rest on my knees.

"Day?" a voice asked.

I looked up in time to see Conor leaning against my bedroom wall. I didn't ask him what he was doing there, I didn't think about why I should be questioning him about it, and I didn't ask myself how I felt about him. I just stood up and ran into his arms, letting the feeling of being held cushion the jarring tears. He moved us to the bed and we sat, my tears soaking his shirt until my eyes fell shut in sleep.

Chapter 11

The factors of this fight are changing. The Other has not been expected, the amount of people involved is increasing. I am not sure if this relieves me.

~Bezaliel~

I woke up the next morning feeling drained and more than a little exposed. My head was on my pillow, the covers pulled up to my chest, and the first thought that came to my head was Conor. Where was he? All the questions I should have asked him last night reared their ugly heads. What had he been doing here? Had he used the ladder again? Did he want something? I shook my head wearily. The sun was bright and I squinted. What time was it? I glanced over at my bedside table and swore: 11:00. Had I really slept that long? I started to move and something rustled beneath me. I lifted up my pillow to find a note folded neatly, my name etched in fine script along the front. I recognized the handwriting, and I hesitated as I lifted it up. I flipped it open.

You need to leave, Dayton. Before tonight. Please think about it and call me.

Yours,

Conor

I just stared at the letter for a long time. His words penetrated the fog swirling around my brain, but I didn't know what to do with them. I couldn't leave. The _Yours_ jumped out at me. Where did Conor and I really stand? I didn't know what everyone wanted from me. I wasn't leaving. This may not be much of one, but it was my home. I stood up, looked down at my day old clothes and stripped down to nothing, pulling on a robe I had in the back of my closet before heading for the bathroom. I wasn't going to deal with this right now. On my way out, I noticed my phone blinking, a sign that I had messages, but I ignored them, threw my phone in my desk drawer and headed down the hall. I couldn't do this.

"Dayton!" a voice called out as I reached the bathroom door.

I didn't turn around. I had no love for any of the Sisters at the Abbey. The Sister came up to me hurriedly, her breathing ragged as she paused. I still didn't turn around. I didn't care to see her face. They all looked the same to me anyway. I could barely distinguish them or their voices when they were robed. They were nothing but clones.

"Yes?" I asked, my hand gripping the door knob tightly. The Sister caught her breath but didn't ask me to turn around.

"Your aunt wants you downstairs in three hours. Her guest is early. There will be an early dinner."

I just nodded, turning the knob and moving into the bathroom. I shut the door firmly before finally turning around, my forehead coming to rest against the wood. Aunt Kyra's guest would be here soon. I shuddered. I was not in the mood for visitors.

"Don't be late!" the Sister called from outside the door.

I didn't bother answering, just listened to her thudding steps as she moved back down the hall. I showered quickly and headed back to my room. My phone still beeped from where it lay inside the desk drawer.

I pulled open my closet door to look inside. There weren't many choices if I decided to go dressy. A few skirts, yes. Dresses, no. Hmmm . . . well, if he was here to meet Dayton Marie Blainey, I was going to give him Dayton Marie Blainey. A pair of hole-ridden jeans, jade leggings, white wife beater, and an off-the-shoulder jade hoodie flew onto my bed. I changed in record time, pulling the jeans over the leggings and hoodie over the wife beater before donning socks and a pair of Nikes. It left plenty of time to wander around the Abbey before dinner. I grabbed my cell phone and a notebook, opened my bedroom door, skulked down the hallway to the back staircase, and climbed down into what used to be the back gardens. Now it was mainly a well maintained herb plot.

Sage and mint filtered through my nose as I crept into the yard, the notebook in one hand, my phone in the other. The small, seldom-visited courtyard area was a haven mainly because of its un-tended state and its smaller size. The grass was somewhat higher here than it was on the large public, landscaped yards. Weeds grew up along a crumbling stone wall separating a five foot sloped drop into a larger, more maintained garden. The herb plot was the only part of the garden still in use.

A moment of digging in the corner of the crumbling wall and I found the small box I was looking for. Oh yeah! Out came a hidden root beer flavored dumdum, and I sighed with pleasure as I settled against the stone wall. It was then I looked at my phone messages. Most of them were from Conor. My breathing hitched. We had never really talked much by telephone.

Dayton?

Are you ok?

Did you get my message?

We need to talk.

I flipped through the messages he'd left, my heart heavy as I did. I cared about Conor but I wasn't sure what he was looking for. Was he worried about me and the Abbey, or did he want to talk about the two of us? I didn't want to find out so I left the messages to answer later. I just wanted to get dinner over with before I dealt with the whole Conor issue.

I pulled my notebook out and began to write a bit, constructing a story too complicated to say aloud. I incorporated enough about me in it that it helped relieve some of my worries. Afterwards, I felt drained. I was so tired today. My eyelids fell against my cheeks. Ever since supper the night before, I had been incredibly fatigued. I hoped I wasn't coming down with something. I shook my head hard, but it didn't help. It was a cool day today due to a cold front, but the slight heat from sitting in the sun and the reclined position made my head dip. I leaned it back against the wall. The world faded around me.

A cough woke me up.

I squinted, clearing my eyes with my hand as I started to stand up. The sun had moved slightly as I slept, and I saw my own shadow as I moved.

"I'm really worried. Are you sure about this?" a voice asked suddenly, and I jumped.

Sitting back down hard, I glanced quickly at my phone and realized I had dozed off much longer than I thought while sitting in the sun. Great! Just what I needed. Freckles. Add one pissed off aunt if I was late for dinner and the result wouldn't be good for me. At least lemon juice could fade the freckles. There was no cure for Aunt Kyra. Grass rustled as someone made their way slowly across the yard, and I grew still. I really wasn't in the mood for company

"I'm just not sure about this is all!" a voice said nervously and I sat up straight, all drowsiness suddenly gone. Amber.

My butt burned as I shifted, and I attempted to rub feeling back into it as I leaned closer to the wall. I was intrigued. It wasn't often she gave me a reason to eavesdrop.

"Do you doubt the Sect?" a male voice asked, and my eyes widened.

What the . . . my knee came up against the wall hard, and I winced. Huh? And Lady Ky thought I was the troublemaker? I suddenly wanted to laugh. Amber and some guy? This was priceless. I was having all kinds of " _if only my aunt realized I wasn't the only one with faults"_ moments.

"Do you?" the male voice asked again, persistently this time. It sounded vaguely familiar.

"I don't. I just doubt _him_ ," Amber said fiercely, and I almost stood up. She sounded drained and, even if appearance seemed otherwise, I did love my sister. A gut feeling made me keep my seat.

"None of us fully trust him, but it's worth the risk," the other voice continued, and I worried the bottom of my lip furiously.

Whatever this was about, it didn't sound good at all. What _were_ they talking about? Was Amber involved in something? She _so_ wasn't the type.

"Oh, Ian! I don't know. You can see why this isn't easy for me. You have to see that!" Amber pleaded, her voice full of distress. It made me tense up. My sister wasn't the emotional type, and the worry in her voice pierced me in the gut.

There was some movement, and I turned slowly. The scene behind me grew quiet. Had they left?

"Amber, we fit, you and I. You were chosen for me for a reason. Leave Dayton to her destiny," the male voice said quietly.

My mental brakes went into overdrive and slammed to a screeching stop. What the fuck? I got to my knees and peered over the wall. And almost gagged.

"Is it her destiny?" Amber asked Ian James as he ran a hand along her back in a way that suggested a deep familiarity.

Bile rose up in my throat. Ian James. Mr. James. Mr. Fucking James. I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling out. A slight copper taste filled my mouth, and I swallowed hard.

"It's for the good of the world, Amber. This isn't something any of us are taking lightly. I promise it has been considered, reconsidered, and considered again. You can't change it. I can't change it," Mr. James said almost vehemently.

Amber may have missed the dangerous glint in his eye, but I was all too aware of it. Amber looked at the ground. She was way too damn submissive. I had to get out of here! What was this crap? Sects, destiny . . . it was like waking up inside a bad B rated movie.

I snuck along the wall, ignoring the tearing pain from thorns scattered sporadically among the brush. My phone was crushed cruelly into my palm as I finally made it to the door, and I welcomed the cutting pain. Mr. James and my sister? This had to be a bad dream. I paused until I was sure I was alone before moving into the dim interior of the Abbey. This was so screwed up.

I'm worried

I texted Monroe quickly. The reply was instant.

What's up?

I barely glanced at the screen.

idk

My phone beeped to notify me she'd replied, but I didn't check it. Sliding down the wall of the Abbey, I played back the scene I had just witnessed and almost retched. Nausea engulfed me. The whole thing was seriously messed up. Mr. James was a young teacher but still a good four years older than Amber. They had to be involved. James' voice rang through my head, " _Chosen for me_." What did that mean? How involved were they? And the stuff they were discussing? It made no sense. My phone beeped again.

You ok?

Monroe texted. It was a multiple message, sent more than once but I didn't text back. I wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"Dayton!" a voice called out distantly, and I looked toward the back staircase. Diane.

"Dayton!" Diane called out again, and I moved back up the wall.

My phone showed it was well past time for dinner and, even though I wasn't ready to talk to anyone, I also wasn't ready to deal with Aunt Ky if I didn't respond to the summons.

"Here!" I called out as I turned the corner at the top of the stairs and ran straight into Diane. She put her hand up against the wall and gasped.

"Dayton! You shouldn't come up on people like that!" she insisted before looking me over critically. I knew my cheeks were flushed from the sun, and I hoped it hid the sudden paleness underneath. It didn't.

"Are you sure you're okay, Day? You've seemed sort of unwell lately," Diane asked with concern, brushing limp brown hair out of her eyes as she placed a calloused hand on my shoulder. She generally wore scrubs to work in. As long as she didn't wear jeans to the Abbey, Aunt Ky was pretty lenient with Diane's choice of attire. Today, it was powder blue scrubs with smiling kittens scattered throughout. Visions of Alice's mischievous Cheshire cat flashed unerringly through my head, and I coughed slightly. I sure felt like I was in _Alice in Wonderland_. I just wasn't sure where the rabbit hole was. Obviously I had sleepwalked into it.

"I'm fine," I answered lightly, moving to gently brush her hand off my shoulder. She narrowed her eyes but didn't dig any deeper. I was getting a lot of that from her lately.

"Your aunt sent me to tell you it's time for dinner," Diane murmured as she looked disapprovingly at my clothes.

I glanced down briefly before looking defiantly into her eyes. She just shook her head and sighed.

"It can't be helped. Go before she sends up the Sisters," Diane ordered while pushing me gently down the hall.

I complied automatically. If my dinner was with Mr. James, I wasn't sure I could manage to sit through it. Unconsciously, I smoothed down my hair and straightened my hoodie before moving toward the dining room, my whole body tense and cold. I pushed open the door and paused. It was empty.

"Aunt Ky?" I called out uncertainly before glancing down at my watch. 5:30. I was more than an hour late.

"She won't be joining us tonight," a deep, male voice said suddenly, and I jumped before scanning the room hesitantly.

A chair scooted back, and I found myself watching a dark figure stand up slowly at the end of the table. I took a small step forward. It wasn't Mr. James.

"Are you the recruiter?" I asked timidly as I skirted along the wall, moving just close enough to make out the man's appearance.

The sight shocked me. Monroe had certainly pegged our mystery man. Only his attire differed. He was dark-haired and built, but his frame was covered in a black suit jacket over a black tee. No tie. His pants were dark blue denim, and he wore a black belt fastened securely at the waist. His eyes were as dark as his hair, his face pale. And though he was very attractive, his gaze was not. It was hard and cold, making him look much older than the age I would have pegged him at.

"Are you the recruiter?" I repeated more loudly this time. He smiled then, but it seemed forced.

"Something like that," he answered as he moved to the side and held out a chair.

I looked from him to the chair with an uncertainty I knew he could read.

"Have a seat, Dayton," he said, his tone commanding.

A strange feeling settled over me, and it seemed foolish to argue. I stepped forward and sat. He moved back to his own chair, and I got my first close look at him. He was definitely younger than I first perceived. His cheekbones were high, his mouth and eyes full. A scar ran from the corner of one eye to just along one cheek. It made me feel cold. Silence stretched and I shifted uncomfortably. He seemed content to watch me as he ate. He waved a hand at my plate but I shook my head. I wasn't hungry. Today was moving too fast for me, one strange thing after another. And it had me feeling motion sick.

"What are you recruiting for?" I asked, my gaze scanning the length of the table.

The emptiness was disconcerting. Why was no one else present? The table was normally full of women, novices, and occasional employees. I shifted slightly away from the man's chair.

"For a special event I have coming up," he answered vaguely.

I looked over at him and furrowed my brow. He noticed the confusion.

"I've heard you may be perfect for the job. You seem suited. Your aunt has told me a lot about you. It seems we have a lot in common."

The furrow in my brow deepened.

"What do you mean?" I asked as I reached for a glass of water in front of me.

My hand shook, and I dropped it. He followed the movement with his eyes. What was wrong with me? I felt incredibly funny.

"Nervous?" he asked as he reached over to help right my glass.

I dropped my hand and moved away. Something didn't seem right about his eyes.

"Why don't I introduce myself?"

He brought his right hand across the table.

"I'm Damon Craig."

I stared at his hand a moment, maybe too long before taking it in mine. It was hot and his grip was firm. He held it for an unsuitable amount of time, and I snatched my hand away. Something about him seemed familiar but not in a good way.

"I'm assuming you know who I am," I said shakily.

Damon laughed softly to himself.

"And so I do."

I busied myself with cleaning the mess I'd made with the water. It was a shame too. I really was thirsty. I was being ridiculous. It wasn't like this guy was some kind of mass murderer. I took a deep breath and tried to smile, but the room closed in. For some reason, the air felt thick.

"Your aunt tells me you have a fascination with decadence," he remarked out of nowhere, and I looked up sharply. What?

"I'm sorry?" I asked him stupidly.

Who the hell said words like decadence?

"I'm going to get right to the point, Day. You don't know me and have no reason to trust me, but your aunt and I go a long way back. She's aware of my reasons for being here. Simply put, I want you," Damon said casually, reclining back in his chair until his elbows rested on his arm rests. He steepled his fingers.

I watched him uneasily. Wanted me? For what? A long way back? He didn't look a day over twenty at the most.

"I have a special assignment I need done and you are most definitely qualified for the job," he continued, interrupting my jumbled barrage of thoughts.

"I don't think I'm following, Mr. Craig," I said.

I was still reeling over his decadence comment.

"What did you mean by decadence? What has my aunt told you about me?"

I was not looking forward to the answer. Damon seemed to move closer without having left his chair. I knew my eyes were round.

"Sweets, satin sheets, foul language, a disdain for authority . . . most anything the Abbess doesn't approve of. Does that sound like anyone you know?" Damon asked.

My whole body had frozen in shock. I had gone cold as soon as he mentioned satin sheets. It filtered through me so numbingly fast, I barely noticed that I had dropped my silverware and shoved away from the table. What was this?

"Who the hell are you?" I asked him.

I couldn't help but be affronted. He had no right! What the hell was this?

"Whatever you're selling I don't want it," I said as I stood up and began to move away.

A hand clamped down on my wrist. It wasn't a soft grip. Fear slid up my spine. I fought not to let it show.

"You're aunt seems to believe you are well qualified for the position I am looking to fill. She believes the work may change you," he said in a low tone. It sent shivers all the way down to my toes. I attempted to move away. His grip tightened.

"I'm really _not_ interested," I repeated forcibly.

He moved closer. His eyes almost seemed to shine.

"You are stubborn aren't you?"

It wasn't a question. I tensed.

"Is this some kind of reform school? Is that what my aunt is after?" I asked.

His grip finally loosened slightly. Blood flowed down into my hand and caused it to tingle painfully. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. It opened the wound from earlier. Damon gasped.

"It will reform us both," he said in a husky voice that made the hair stand up along my arms.

This man scared me. How did my aunt know him? What were they planning? I tried moving away again. Had I really been that bad? What did Aunt Ky want with him? This time when his grip began to tighten, I shoved my elbow into his ribs and moved away. He didn't even flinch, but he did let go. I suspected he let go on his own.

"That wasn't very nice, Dayton," he scolded.

I backed away from him, and moved toward the door.

"Fuck you!" I said loudly, the word echoing along the dining room walls. He grinned then before moving back to his seat.

"Oh yes, Dayton, I think you will do quite nicely," he said as I moved out of the room.

My heart beat erratically against my ribs and sweat was beginning to gather along my back and hairline.

"Happy birthday, Dayton. It was so good of your aunt to let me meet you first. It's a shame you never asked what the job was," he called out as I turned and fled toward the stairs.

I was crying by the time I made it to the top, and I noted it for what it was. Anger not sadness. It made me even angrier and I cried harder.

"What is wrong with you people today!" I cried out loudly through the upstairs living quarters. No one answered me.

"What is going on?"

The sobs were coming heavily now. I just wanted to curl up on my bed, go to sleep, and start my day all over again. I cried out one more time, but the only answer I received was my own echo.

Chapter 12

The first stone in the war has been thrown. He thinks he has the answers to Redemption. He will discover it comes at a much greater cost.

~Bezalial~

The floor. That's where Amber found me, curled up against the wall at the top of the stairs. She didn't say anything, just touched me lightly and inclined her head toward her room. I nodded and let her lead me gently by the elbow. It's amazing how long you can live at a place and still not feel at home. Amber didn't seem to share my feelings and her room reflected it. A small desk, books, thick blue comforter, and warm lamp on the bedside table screamed peace. I wasn't feeling the mojo.

"You okay?" Amber asked quietly.

I should have been angry at her but I wasn't. This whole day seemed skewered. Life as I'd always known it seemed distorted. The man from downstairs had been my mad hatter. I suddenly understood how Alice felt in Wonderland. I hadn't just sleepwalked into her rabbit hole, I'd stolen it. I nodded at Amber, too afraid of the tears if I tried to speak. She read my expression well enough and patted her bed. She didn't talk, just moved around gathering up books before spreading them out on her bed along with an assignment sheet. It all seemed so normal.

Amber sat down at the head of the bed, and I sprawled at the end. Maybe that had been Amber's intention all along, to create a sense of normalcy in a sea of chaos. Whatever it was, I was letting it sink into my bones. I needed normal. But the worries still nagged me, and I knew, without a doubt, that Amber was aware of something I wasn't. It made me feel afraid and alone, adrift and without anchor. I wanted to lay here and fall asleep, pretend this day had never happened. Erase the confusion. Something was happening around me, and I wasn't included in the secret. I was living a day walking in the middle of something that I obviously had not been prepared for, that I was only catching snippets of as I moved through. It was like trying to piece together a quilt, and I wasn't getting the pattern right. No, I couldn't sleep it away. I needed answers.

I lay there at the end of Amber's bed, quietly watching her for a while as she flipped through one of her textbooks, stopping here and there to scribble a note. The lamp next to her highlighted the gold in her hair, and I tried not to feel envious. She shone like the sun even in the dark. I was muted, a fire that burned low right before it was supposed to go out. I looked away. I had more weighty things on my mind. It was time I work through it all.

"What's going on, Amber?" I asked suddenly.

I could hear the pages in her textbook become still.

"It's your birthday tomorrow, Dayton," Amber answered simply.

It wasn't the answer I was expecting, and I looked up so quickly my neck popped. I was definitely missing something. If I wasn't confused before, I was now. The puzzle pieces didn't fit—the dream, Mr. James, the weird man, Amber's odd behavior . . . out of it all, only the dream had ever been a part of my normal day. The rest, not so much. And what did my birthday have to do with anything? I stared at Amber a moment, but she remained silent.

"So?" I asked, confused. Amber set her book aside.

"You don't remember what my birthday was like a year ago?" she asked.

My forehead wrinkled with thought. I had been so caught up in my own problems at the time, I wasn't sure I could remember. I thought harder. I did remember it being slightly odd. We didn't celebrate birthdays at the Abbey, but that year, Aunt Ky had taken Amber out. Amber had not been the same since. I just figured it had something to do with hormones.

"Not really," I admitted finally. Amber sighed.

"There are some things about the Abbey you haven't let yourself see, Dayton. You've always been good at avoiding the obvious," she said quietly.

I felt affronted but didn't argue. I think it hurt to hear her say it because I knew it was true. I did prefer fantasy over reality.

"What have I missed?" I asked.

I knew she was leading up to something, Amber closed her eyes briefly, and I watched as she visibly collected herself. This worried me.

"When you turn seventeen, things change for you here. It's like a rite of passage. And for you and me, it's more than that. It's life altering," she said before looking away from me.

Rite of passage? I shook my head wearily, my brain overflowing with confusion and nerves. Something told me Amber felt she had said too much, but I wasn't letting this go. If this had something to do with me, with her, and our birthdays, I needed to know. I was more than a little unnerved.

"Help me out here, Amber. I'm missing something."

"It isn't that easy, Day," Amber replied. I sat up.

"Then make it that easy. Cause I'm beginning to feel more than a little freaked out. It doesn't help that my own sister keeps avoiding my questions and some strange man shows up at the Abbey! And not just any man, Amber. A freaking psycho!" I whispered loudly. Amber shrugged.

"It's all part of the cycle, Dayton," Amber said off-handedly. I snapped.

"What cycle, Amber? What fucking cycle are you talking about?"

I knew by the sudden stillness I had shaken her. She leaned toward me, her face red with fury. She hated when I cursed.

"You have no idea what you open yourself up to when you do that, Day. There are things out there that like your dirty mouth, you know that. They feed off of it," Amber said angrily.

I recoiled. What the hell?

"Like vampires?" I asked snidely.

The sudden image made me smile. Amber didn't seem amused.

"It's not a joke, Day. You risk yourself more than you know by the way you talk and behave," Amber insisted.

I was getting seriously disturbed. Ok, scratch that. I had been disturbed before the day had even started. Now I seemed to be suffering dementia. Twilight zone much?

"What fucked up planet did you visit and fly back from, Amber? I'm not an idiot, dammit!" I said irritably. Amber's gaze pierced mine.

"You aren't a normal girl, Day. And your behavior, no matter how tame it seems to you, matters here," Amber said fiercely.

Cold chills ran up and down my body. She really did have me seriously freaked out. My feet and hands were numb from nerves. This day kept getting more out of control, more nonsensical. Amber retreated.

"Do you believe in Demons?" she asked suddenly.

I stared at her. What? The change in subject had me putting on the mental brakes. After all the theology we'd been fed the past seven years, I suppose it was normal to find ourselves sitting here having this conversation. But it was out of context. We weren't being questioned by Aunt Ky and we weren't at mass. Amber's eyes burned into mine, as if the question was far more vital than the heartbeat I could now feel heavily in my own throat. I thought a moment.

"I suppose so."

Amber nodded. "They are with us, Dayton. Everywhere. Among us, even a part of us. And when tomorrow comes, you'll know them well," Amber droned on, her eyes darkening perceptibly.

What? Where had that come from? I moved away from the bed. Had I believed this scene felt normal? Forget B rated movie. This was worse. Was I crazy or was she? I pinched myself and winced. Oh, it was definitely her! My own sister was having some sort of mental breakdown. Demons? Rites of Passage? I was more confused than I had been when I walked into her room.

"Do you feel okay, Amber? You need me to call someone?" I asked, my feet moving slowly toward her closed bedroom door. I'd never feared my sister before. Tonight I did.

"The Abbey is more than a religious institution, Day. It's a calling," Amber quoted, her eyes glazed over as if she were repeating lines from a well-read script.

I almost fled then but didn't. She was still my sister. Fear gripped my heart. What had they done to her?

"I don't understand," I whispered. Amber didn't move.

"I think you do, Day. I just think you choose to ignore it. The Abbey isn't normal. It isn't even Catholic. It's much older than that. Much, _much_ older. The people here aren't normal. Our descendants are old. They are glorious. You don't choose the Abbey. It chooses you. Everything about you. Even your classes at school. The Abbess chooses those. You'll get tutors, Dayton. And like me, you'll study philosophy, theology, out dated mathematics and science. We study history as if we were a part of it. And we are, Day. No doubt about it. You live here and you balk at us, make fun of us, curse. It's blasphemy. Where do you think all of the women here come from?" Amber asked me with such hostility I shrunk into the door.

She looked over at me suddenly, noticed my fear, and shook herself. I was clutching the door handle, my knuckles white.

"Dayton—" she began, her face hollowed and disturbed. The real Amber, the Amber I knew, looked over at me, and I swallowed. She started to stand up, but I shook my head.

"You don't understand, Dayton. It's complicated," she whispered. I had no sympathy.

"Then _un_ -complicate it."

She sighed and sat back. I relaxed enough to move back toward the bed.

"The Abbey is part of a Sethian Sect," she said softly. Yet something else I wasn't expecting to hear. I sat down hard at her feet.

"A what?"

Now it was sects? She tapped the cover of her textbook.

"Think back on some of the theology we had to learn here, Day. Remember Genesis?" she asked me as I crinkled my nose in disbelief. Now, she was throwing religion at me. I just nodded. She took that to mean I understood.

"In the Bible when Cain killed his brother Abel, Adam and Eve had a son that, in a sense, replaced Abel. They called him Seth. He is the line from which Jesus was born. Some believe it makes those descended from Seth special. They are warriors and Sons of God. The Abbey is made up of people, women, novices, and employees who can all trace their lineage back to Seth."

She paused a moment, looking down at the history book in her lap before placing her hand reverently on the cover. I'd never really taken notice of her books before. This one looked old. Her gaze found mine again and she took a deep breath before continuing.

"Built by Morrison Jacobs when the French brought Roman Catholicism to our shores, the Abbey has been hiding here for a long, long time. And we aren't the only ones, Day. We have managed to build institutions in every state. In one form or another," Amber explained.

I stared at her for a moment until what Amber was saying began to dawn on me, and my expression changed to one of horror.

"Omg! Is the Abbey a cult? Are we part of a cult?"

The church here _had_ always seemed strange. She placed a finger over my lips, and I quieted. A Sethian Sect? I'd never heard of such a thing! And did this mean . . .

"We are not a cult. We are an establishment dedicated to good, to pursuing good, to banishing evil, to fixing wrongs. We have a calling," Amber said morosely, interrupting my thoughts completely.

I looked up at her disbelievingly.

"You've been brainwashed."

"I've been called."

"You've been led."

"You think that, Dayton, because you are afraid."

"Afraid of what, Amber?"

"Of being part of something. Of the truth," Amber answered.

I looked away from her.

"This is messed up, Amber. You realize how crazy this sounds? It doesn't make sense. So does this make us descendants of Seth? And if so, what do we do, us descendants of Seth? Do we smite someone if they shoplift, condemn those who curse?"

"Don't be sarcastic, Day. We're more than that. We protect."

"Protect from what?

"From Demons," Amber answered. My eyes widened. I _sooo_ wasn't expecting _that_ answer. I wasn't expecting any of this.

"This is bullshit!" I exploded before getting up and heading once again for the door.

"Is it, Day?" Amber asked as I made my exit. This time, I wasn't listening.

"Day, you will change. We aren't like the rest of them. They will use you," Amber called out after me.

I wasn't listening anymore. From just outside the door, I turned back to Amber, my mouth open for one final protest. It froze on my lips when I saw Amber's expression. Her gaze settled on something behind my head, and I felt numb with sudden fear.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as pain suddenly radiated along my head, down into my spine and ended with my world going instantly black.

Chapter 13

The Rite won't bring peace. It will bring destruction.

~Bezaliel~

Monroe once told me she believed that the world was a flow chart marked by lines of karma, that nothing was coincidence. She revered this. I, on the other hand, was beginning to have a rather differing opinion. Point blank, karma is a bitch. I know this because right now the only thing I wanted to do with karma was give it back to its Maker.

My vision blurred. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I was pretty sure I didn't want to be here. My head hurt where I had been hit, and I fought the urge to rub it. Looking up, I squinted through the blurriness and grew stock still with terror. My blood went cold. A group of robed figures surrounded me, each one hooded so that their faces were nothing but pockets of shadow. The result was eerie. I closed my eyes. _No, no no no no_. Amber's voice echoed through my head, _I'm sorry_. Sorry for what?

"She's ready," someone whispered, and I started to struggle.

What? I was _not_ ready! Ready for what? Who were these people? Monroe's vision came to mind— _figures, chain, blood_. Oh my God! One of the robed figures moved up beside me. I moved my mouth, realized it still worked, and started to scream. Someone put a hand over my lips. I struggled harder and bit the hand. I barely registered the person's muffled exclamation.

"I don't want to do this!" I declared shakily, my legs kicking violently. Willful I did well. Agreeable, I was not.

"Keep her still," someone hissed.

Through it all, the figure next to me never flinched, just looked calmly down at a thick, leather-bound black book and signed a page within it with a flourish as the group of robed men and women around us moved in closer. My head began to swim, the pounding behind my temples becoming unbearable.

"What you want and what has to be done are sometimes two entirely different things," the figure murmured under her breath before removing her hood and turning to face the group now before her. Aunt Ky!

"It is done."

_Done_. It sounded so final. What was this? Aunt Ky?

"Congratulations, Dayton!" Several members of the group exclaimed heartily before pounding me on the back without glancing at my face. They all seemed full of jubilation, as if being here on the verge of my seventeenth birthday was _my_ idea, _my_ choice. No wonder they avoided my face.

"It's time, Kyra," a woman, Francine Biscoth, said quietly as she came up to stand behind my aunt.

I just stared at her. Francine was the Abbey's secretary. She had never liked me much. How many people did I know here? Tears burned the back of my lids. What was Francine talking about? My aunt frowned but nodded. The group spread out around me, and I froze. _Time?_

"Aunt Ky?" I whispered desperately just as one of the robed figures broke away from the group and moved toward us angrily, snatching off the hood of the robe with one swift movement.

"No! This isn't fair!" my sister yelled vehemently as I stared at her in disbelief. Amber?

Fuzzy words about Sects and Demons flitted through my foggy brain, and I grasped at them. Amber? What was this? I didn't want this? In just twenty-four hours, a lot of what I believed in, of who I thought I was, of who I believed my family to be had changed. And now I was being . . . what? Hazed? _Rites of passage_ , Amber had said.

"Amber?" I whispered as she faced off against aunt Ky, her face red enough it was beginning to turn purple.

She ignored me. Our aunt looked calm as she stepped forward and laid a hand firmly on Amber's shoulder. She clamped hard enough I realized it wasn't meant to be consoling.

"Not now Amber. Don't do this to yourself. I've made my choice," Ky murmured, low enough that only those closest could hear.

I trembled. Even though I was well-clothed, I was freezing. _Choice?_ What was happening to me?

"We need to go before the night is over," Mott Jackson spoke sternly, his face coming into view as he made his way toward us.

As the Abbey's accountant, he looked out of place dressed in the black robes surrounding me, his usual business suit nowhere in sight. His face was determined as he placed his hands on Amber's arms, and Aunt Ky nodded at him as he dragged her back into formation. She didn't protest although I thought I heard her whisper, "Please don't do this to her." It made my blood freeze. The circle fanned out again, and I cowered.

"Tonight, our rites brought us Truth, and brought into our group the Chosen . . ." Kyra began, and my knees buckled.

These people sounded like cultists, not religious followers. I saw my aunts' lips moving, but her voice faded as my ears began to roar. I felt something cold seep through my palms and realized rather belatedly that I was on my knees on the chilly, stone floor. I tried lifting my head and couldn't.

"Aunt Ky?" I tried whispering again.

Blessed warmth touched my cold forehead, and I leaned into it.

"It's ok, Day. Drink this," Kyra murmured as she held a silver Chalice engraved with strange looking hunched figures up to my lips. I hesitated.

"Drink, Dayton. It will warm you," Ky ordered, and I struggled to see the contents before she tilted it. Warm liquid ran unerringly down my throat, choking me as I swallowed convulsively. It was bitter and thick. I gagged. And then my back arched, and I groaned as pain shot through me. The only person I wanted right now wasn't here, couldn't save me. I wasn't even sure why I thought of him.

"Dad!" I screamed anyway as hands descended upon me, a million hands it seemed as I lay there writhing.

"Let's move her," a voice said quietly, and I looked around me in vain. It was so very dark! Was I blind now? _Look for the light, Day!_ I couldn't see anything.

" _Don't do this!"_ I thought desperately. And then there was air rushing all around me as the hands propelled me upward. I tried to scream but couldn't.

"What's happening?" I managed instead, so low I figured no one heard. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard Amber's voice filter through all the madness as her face swam in and out of my vision. Where were we now?

"You're the sacrifice," she said bitterly, a hint of anger making her words sharp.

My lungs constricted. Sacrifice? I had sudden images of knives and blood, and I struggled against the seat. Seat?

"You're safe," Aunt Ky whispered, and I cringed as I tried making out my surroundings. An engine turned off somewhere, and I blinked. A car? I was _in_ a car. It was parked and it was dark.

"Amber, why don't you stay here?" Aunt Kyra suggested firmly.

I tried sitting up and groaned. Everything was blurred, and I struggled against the need to vomit.

"We're here to celebrate, Dayton. You've done incredibly well tonight," Aunt Kyra murmured gently. Her tone suggested normalcy and begged for compliance. But this wasn't normal! They had done something to me!

I blinked over and over again, fighting the fogginess as I looked toward the windows in confusion. And then I lost time.

"Stand up straight, Day," Aunt Kyra ordered as I stumbled beside her.

What? It was like I was sleep walking and waking during incredibly awkward and strange moments. Time didn't exist. Where was I now?

There were people everywhere and music so loud my head pounded. I glanced around frantically. The room I found myself in was large and dim, people were dancing around a lighted hardwood floor, a bar was stretched across the back of the room complete with stained glass bar lights and glowing beer signs, music alternated between country, techno, and rock and roll, and "Upcoming Event" posters were taped up all over the room. Oh my God! Were we at a club? I shook my head. Hard. The Abbess had brought me to a club? I tried looking at my aunt but only saw a blurred image of her. Her robe was missing, but I couldn't make out her attire. Was she wearing jeans?

"Don't be afraid, Day," Aunt Ky breathed into my ear, and I shivered.

I was in a club, underage, high on some weird brew, and listening to my religious aunt tell me I had nothing to fear. Screw that!

"What is this!" I yelled over the music, pushing my aunts' hands away from me with such force I fell against the bar. The bartender behind it glanced up sharply, and Ky grabbed me from behind, holding me firmly as she smiled sweetly at the tattoo-covered man.

"Excuse us. One too many I'm afraid," Ky said smoothly, her eyes narrowed as she looked unblinkingly at the burly man.

I struggled against her hands. The bartender narrowed his eyes, looking at me a moment in silence. It was so obvious I was underage, but he seemed the type who'd rather avoid trouble than worry about age appropriate drinking and he accepted Kyra's lame excuse. Or maybe, it was out of fear.

"Just get her home," he said brusquely before turning away to slide a beer to someone across the wooden surface.

Aunt Ky pushed a drink at me, and I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat at the sight of the amber filled shot glass.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

This could not be the formal, criticizing Abbess I'd been raised by these past seven years. She froze for a moment, a look of weariness settling across her features. It made the crow's feet around her eyes stand out, and the wrinkles around her lips deepen in a momentary guise of despair. It didn't last long.

"You're the key," Kyra said, almost to herself as she forced the glass into my hand.

I tried shoving it away but obscure hands suddenly held me firmly from behind, and I realized that Aunt Kyra wasn't alone.

"Just drink it, Day," Ky said quietly and there was nothing left to do but obey.

Chapter 14

My heart is heavy. What have they done?

~Bezaliel~

My head was pounding, breathing hurt, and my entire body felt like I had been dunked in a vat of liquid lava. Where was I? I squinted and groaned. Even my eyes hurt. They were gritty and dry, and I forced them open as I turned slowly to take in my surroundings. My confusion grew as I noticed the mass of people surrounding me, the familiar setting causing my eyes to widen. What was I doing at Everett's? An old image of my friends and I partying flitted through my brain.

"Monroe?" I whispered hoarsely.

My eyes scanned the dark room. A bar on the outskirts of Lodeston, Everett's wasn't an unsavory place, but it wasn't somewhere you went alone either. My head swam as I squinted at the other patrons. Could I have come alone?

Wait. No. What day was it? Glancing quickly down at the screen of a cell phone next to me, I shook my head to clear it. The date and time glowed neon. I started to reach for the phone as the numbers blurred together and almost fell over when a hand came down on it swiftly.

"Hey!" the cell phone's owner exclaimed before jerking it away and placing it soundly in her purse.

"Nosy much?" she accused with a screech, and I flinched away with the pain the sound caused in my head. I didn't reply. I had seen enough.

It was my birthday and I was sitting on a stool in Everett's in the early, still dark hours of predawn with a fuzzy head and what felt like a nasty hangover. I certainly didn't remember getting here but looking at the large number of shot glasses in front of me, it wasn't hard to figure out why. But even that didn't make sense. I wasn't much of a drinker. Especially after last year. And why was my memory of the past day a blank? My head began to spin wildly. Was I having one of those "uh oh" disoriented moments common to heavy drinkers?

"Dayton?" a voice asked warily.

I turned quickly but saw no one.

"Dayton?" my brows knotted in confusion as the voice called out distantly again but I ignored it and shook my head hard. It didn't help.

Suddenly, I needed air. Needed it bad! A hand brushed my shoulder, but I waved it off and stumbled away from the stool I had been sitting on, not quite sure which direction I was going but knowing I had to escape the sudden fuzziness. I was suffocating! Whoa! The club lights were too bright, the air too hot, the bodies too thick, and I was disgustingly close to being completely and utterly sick. Ugh!

"Hey, watch it!" someone yelled angrily as I blurred past them toward the door, my head spinning as the lights around me coalesced into a fascinating halo of wavering colors.

My heart thudded loudly. It was all so strangely beautiful and disorienting at the same time. And I fought to keep my focus as I battled the sudden strange urge to just lie where I stood, becoming as one with this new, overwhelming ambush on my senses—the rainbow of colors, the musky scent of sex, and the intoxicating sound of low moans that filtered just below the flow of screaming music. A stray arm brushed against my breast as I weaved unsteadily, and I gasped. My body was on fire, my breasts heavy, my thighs damp, and I cursed inwardly as I realized I was turned on by the music, by the cacophony of raw need that surrounded me from all sides. Oh sweet Jesus! What had been in those drinks? I really needed air!

"Yo, hey now!"

More angry exclamations followed me as I jerked towards the edge of the wall, stumbling over a pair of alcohol besotted lovers on the floor, their movements jerky but obvious. And I quickly averted my gaze, cheeks flaming as I groped for the door.

"Sorry," I muttered helplessly as my hand finally found the knob. It wouldn't budge. No! This was fucking ridiculous! I kicked at it but still it wouldn't budge. I shoved at it desperately.

"Dammit!" I yelled as I pushed at it one last feeble time before finally throwing all my weight into the wooden frame, my hip burning with the impact as air suddenly gushed profusely against my face.

Ahhhhh. Air! Wonderful. Soul searing. Life giving. Air. I gulped it down hungrily, drinking it, savoring it, indulging in every last merciful breath.

And then I shuddered.

Something wasn't right. The air didn't _taste_ right. It was delicious but metallic, tainted warm and thick. The alley I looked up to find myself in explained most of the discrepancies, but something still tasted very wrong. Steam filtered fancifully through the narrow concrete passageway, and I suddenly felt very vulnerable, very alone and very afraid. The door behind me snapped shut, and I fought hard not to cry out. I had made a mistake.

I was female, and I was alone after midnight in a dark alley. This was a bad combination. I shouldn't have left the interior of the club. Every pore in my body cried out that I was in danger, but I stubbornly refused to believe I was stupid enough to have gotten myself into this predicament. No, I was smarter than that. Wasn't I? Then again, being here at all, alone, meant I had been stupid. Dammit, _why_ was I here? I inhaled sharply.

The metallic air hit me again and I froze. I froze because I suddenly realized first what the odor reminded me of and secondly because the sound behind me sounded wet. Something was _feeding_. A dog maybe? A dog _hopefully_. Either way, it was in the alley with me and every nightmare I'd ever had and every scene from every horror movie I'd ever seen suddenly flashed through my head, and I cringed against the sudden surge of adrenaline. The alley seemed too narrow, the pale brick walls and dark gravel-filled pavement below pushing at me from all sides. There were only three exits: the door next to me, the street beyond, and a chain link fence behind me. I knew I wouldn't be fast enough to reach any of them. Any movement would draw attention. My heart beat so hard and so fast, I was afraid I would die of terror before I died any other nauseating way. No, I was being ridiculous. Dammit, _why_ was I here?

The memories suddenly hit, and I gasped. _Aunt Ky, Mr. James, Amber, Sects, a building , angry words, robes, Amber again, Francine, Mott, a chalice, sacrifice, the car, the bar, the drink_ ...Wait! Had something been slipped into my drink? Sweet Jesus! I had been drugged! Of course! And if I had been drugged then maybe I was hallucinating! Dear God!

A feeling of betrayal swamped me as I struggled with the images rushing through my head. I almost cried out at the pain that tore at my heart until I remembered I wasn't alone and that whatever was behind me was hungry and feeding. The sound continued, and I realized quite dejectedly that the only thing I could do was turn around. It was truly the only option I had.

"You reek of fear," a voice spoke suddenly from behind me, and I squeaked.

Oh my God! I wasn't alone. Duh! Of course I wasn't alone. I had known that, had hoped, however, for some sort of deliverance. _Not likely_ , I realized now as I felt the power of the man behind me slam into my back, encompassing every inch of my body. I swallowed hard.

"Who are you?" I stuttered uncertainly, my voice hoarse from fear. I didn't just reek of it, I _was_ fear. The "voice" behind me chuckled.

"Or rather, what _am_ I?" he intonated softly. I cringed.

"Please. . ." I began, trailing off as a pale hand suddenly gripped my shoulder in crushing cruelty.

The impact of the wall was barely noticeable, it happened so fast. One moment, I was standing in the middle of the alley, the next; my head was slammed up against a brick wall, warm blood trickling unpleasantly into the collar of my shirt. And then I saw him—dark, ominous, huge. He was dark and he was light, his outrageous height accentuated by a long, ebony leather jacket. His hair was black as obsidian in the night, his face pale as snow in comparison. It was Damon Craig. But then it wasn't. No, this man didn't have the scar. I stared dazedly, my eyes traveling his face in fascinated horror. It was the contrast between his pale face and his mouth that brought on the harshest reality of all. Blood glistened from elongated canines jutting threateningly from a slightly opened mouth.

"I am Eternity," he breathed.

His breath was metallic and behind him lay the dazed looking figure of a scantily clad woman, flushed as if in the heat of unimaginable passion. She moaned, and I fought the urge to panic. Holy crap! He was Death. And I was the sacrifice. It all made sense now. My mouth widened on a scream that never came as my gaze met his. His eyes were the most appalling of all. I knew suddenly what he was though my brain had a hard time wrapping itself around what it saw.

"Are you going to kill me?" I whispered as he rubbed my hair lovingly before pulling his hand away from the back of my head. I hadn't even seen him touch me, but there it was. My blood. My blood and his hand. And he looked delighted by the crimson liquid as he slowly brought his fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine as he sucked at them hungrily. I was fascinated despite the pain and fear as I watched, wondering suddenly if hallucinations could be so devastatingly real. He suckled and I watched. Fascinated. Was that really _my_ blood?

My blood, his hand, his mouth, his eyes widening . . . he stopped. Something was wrong. He growled before suddenly spitting my blood loudly into the dirt at my feet. And then he snarled.

"Fuck! You bitch!" he accused angrily as black spots wavered dangerously in front of my eyes. This was it. I was dying.

"What?" I managed before darkness overtook me. Overwhelmed me. Consumed me. Somewhere in the distance I thought I heard him. Thought I felt him swing me effortlessly upward, even thought for a moment we were flying. But no. That would just be absurd.

"Bait. Damn you, Damon! I ought to have known it'd come to this."

Had he spoken? Did it matter? This was, after all, Death.

Chapter 15

The Other is a part of her now. I did not forsee this coming, and I am afraid. What does this mean?

~Bezalial~

The dark enveloped us as he laid me gently down on my bed, his jacket falling around us in a strange but comforting cocoon of warmth. He lifted his head weakly. It was almost as if whatever edge I'd seen in him earlier had been filed away, the danger no longer quite so suffocating. He looked younger now with his eyes downcast and hooded. I put him, like Damon, at maybe twenty years of age. They looked so much alike. Damon Craig? This couldn't be Damon.

" _Why?" he asked me quietly, and I frowned._

" _Why did you do it?"_

" _Whaaa..." I began as he lifted his gaze._

_His eyes were old. There was no other way to describe them. And considering my love of words, I could have tried. It was as if the dark, coffee colored depths had seen more than I'd ever hoped or even dared to see. I shook my head._

" _I don't understand."_

He stared at me a moment in silence, his gaze moving slowly along my face until my cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Never had I been scrutinized so intensely. And then he sniffed, as if testing the air before lifting himself away from me. His hand swept through his ebony hair, and I almost felt the agitation coming off of him as he drew himself up.

" _Of course you don't."_

He paused a moment, his fists clenched as if prepared to hit something but too afraid to dare.

" _And I let my guard slip," he murmured as I watched him pace._

My body felt funny, fuzzy still, and I curled up into myself. Why was he here? What was he talking about? He turned and gave me one last look before moving to my open bedroom window. Had we come in through there?

" _You've grown, Dayton. I never suspected . . . unfortunately, you'll see me again." I heard him say as part of him exited through the opening. I fought hard to sit up._

" _Who are you?" I managed as he disappeared._

" _Marcas." I thought I heard him say into the darkness._

The name tore through me. Was this the man who was stabbed in my vision? Once again, I faded out of consciousness. It was welcoming.

I was cold next I woke. The curtains of my bedroom were billowing out from the breeze outside. I had a sudden, faint recollection of a bar, my aunt, a young man with his mouth covered in blood. I tried rolling over, but my body hurt.

" _She did well," a voice spoke suddenly from outside my closed bedroom door. It was a deep voice, rough and monotone. It made me shiver. Was that what had roused me?_

" _What does this mean for her?" I heard someone ask, and I fought not to cry out. Aunt Ky! I wanted to ask her to come fix this! To tell me what was going on! But no, I couldn't trust her. I had never been able to. Something nagged at the edge of my memory, and I fought to remember._

" _She is the Chosen, Kyra. It means a good deal."_

" _She won't be hurt?"_

" _She will end a war," the man replied cryptically. "She will bring him to me. I can no longer influence her thoughts. That fact alone proves she's tied to him now."_

Kyra said something then. It sounded concerned, but the blackness was once again beckoning and in its depth one word circled out of the gloom. Marcas.

***

BEEP BEEP BEEP. . .oh hell! Damn that old alarm clock! AHHHHHH! If only I could ignore it! Very slowly, I peeked open an eye and instantly winced. The moment I got a glimpse of the sun through my open window, I wanted to hiss. Oh it hurt! My head pounded.

"Argh," I moaned quietly as I tried to move, every muscle in my body constricting at once. The clock said 6:00 a.m., and my mind tried desperately to figure out the day.

"Dayton!" Diane yelled from the hallway and memories suddenly assaulted me, her voice a key somehow to the black box my brain had forged around my thoughts.

I cried out without meaning to. Had I dreamed it all? The memories were too much! Memory after memory lashed against me.

" _Okay, just think,"_ I thought frantically as I managed to slide myself with an indelicate 'hrrrrmph' to the side of my bed, my mattress rubbing me wrong as I realized with even greater alarm that I was still fully dressed. The jeans I wore were caked in dirt, and the hoodie pushed up against my chest was sprinkled with blood. Oh my God!

" _Don't panic!"_

I looked around my spartan but paper-ridden room, my eyes catching on the violet curtains billowing softly against the stone walls. My phone beeped suddenly, and I looked around a moment until I spotted it sitting casually by the side of my bed. That was odd. I always kept it under my pillow. The date glared up at me. Somehow, it was Monday. I had to work this out. I reached for a notebook at the side of my bed and scribbled on it mindlessly. I did that sometimes when I was trying to think.

I was seventeen now, that much I knew. Saturday had been my birthday. Ok, there was Aunt Kyra . . . then school. That's right! There had been a quarrel with Mr. James over an essay.

The quarrel, Aunt Kyra, dinner with a stranger, my sister and then . . . then what? Wait. And then . . . I went blank. Blank? I thought back over the events again—the quarrel, Aunt Kyra, dinner, my sister. My sister . . . " _I'm sorry."_

_I'm sorry_! Oh my God! I had been hit! Everything after that was hazy, riddled with holes. Bits and pieces filtering through my brain, and as I grasped each one, it came to me. Events fell into place hazily. I had been hazed? Whatever it was, it had been against my will. Amber had been there. Amber? And then . . . and then after that . . . NO! Oh, but yes! I had been drugged, dragged to Everett's and used . . . used for what?

" _Bait,"_ I thought sourly.

The word wasn't mine. Someone else had used it. I had been used to draw out something. What? The rest couldn't be real. The alley, the man, the blood, my bedroom...

That was a dream. It had to be. If it wasn't then I had met a. . . NO! Damn it! It couldn't be!

" _Marcas,"_ I thought warily.

The name weighed on me, and the back of my head burned. I knew my hair was matted with blood. My blood.

"Dayton!" Diane called from the hallway again. "You're going to be late for school! You can't afford any more confrontations with the Abbess."

Her voice sounded so normal, I began to doubt myself. Looking down at the notebook in front of me, I winced. I had scrolled his name over and over again. This wasn't right! Turning seventeen wasn't supposed to feel like a nightmare. Maybe I _had_ been drinking. But if I had, I'd have taken Monroe. I needed to talk to Monroe! Oh no!

"Oh no! Monroe!" I groaned as I pulled myself sluggishly out of bed and made my way painfully toward the shower. It was my day to drive. We had school. And as mundane as that seemed right now, mundane was easier than the alternative.

When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I almost screamed. My face, surrounded by a mass of tangled auburn curls, was streaked with blood. My eyes widened. Were my pupils dilated? My eyes certainly seemed more black than green today, and my skin was pale beneath the tan I had so carefully cultivated over the past summer.

Lifting up my shirt, I hesitated. Did I want to see what was beneath my clothes? Not really. I closed my eyes as I shucked the hoodie, wife beater, jeans, and bra all so swiftly, I wondered vaguely why I didn't feel any pain.

" _You're too afraid to."_

And then I opened my eyes.

And there they were.

The bruises. Some ran along the sides of my stomach, others were in the shape of vague fingers along my shoulders, and even more disappeared around my back where I knew the worst ones would be hiding along with abrasions from the brick wall he had slung me up against. This couldn't be happening.

"Dayton? Are you okay?" Diane asked suddenly from outside the bathroom door, and I jumped before glancing quickly to make sure the lock was in place.

"Go away!"

"I'm not okay," I whispered as I gazed stonily at my reflection.

"I'm fine!" I answered Diane hoarsely.

I leaned over to turn on the shower, and as I adjusted the knobs I heard her walk away. Relief engulfed me. I didn't know how to deal with anyone right now.

The water fell in a comforting stream, the steam rising mist-like from the floor, and I let the tears fall. I wasn't okay. I had been drugged by my own aunt and some weirdo group and then sacrificed to a . . . to a . . . oh for God's sake, Dayton! To a fucking vampire! _This_ wasn't okay! And it wasn't normal. Twenty-four hours? That's all it had taken for my world to turn into a nightmare.

Tears poured as I shucked my underwear and moved into the steaming stream of water, tears and moisture mingling as I began to scrub. A vampire! I wanted to laugh hysterically. Why hadn't he killed me? Was I going crazy? I scrubbed harder. And lost time again. Not the drug induced kind, but the "I can't deal with this right now" kind of time.

The next thing I knew I was dressed and moving toward the stairs, so full of anguish I didn't even remember getting out of the shower.

"You hungry?" my sister asked as I entered the kitchen.

I just stood there, staring at her. Who was she? I didn't answer and Amber looked up. She started to move toward me just as a figure glided into the kitchen. Amber froze.

"Aunt Ky," Amber said softly, her gaze flicking from my aunt back to me. I knew what they were both seeing.

"Oh Dayton," Aunt Kyra sighed audibly before walking over to a prep table we kept shoved against the kitchen walls. She pulled out a chair. I just continued to stare.

"Dayton, I think we need to talk."

I ignored her. Talk? _Now_ , she wanted to talk? She held out a glass of orange juice, and I backed away. Oh hell no!

"You tried to kill me!" I whispered as she moved toward me.

I continued to back away. As it had been at the club, her habit was missing. A wrinkled gray t-shirt hung loose over a pair of straight un-adorned blue jeans. Her short blonde hair was wild.

An image of my mother suddenly assaulted me, and I wanted to reach out and make her real. I wanted to feel her long golden hair fall around my face, her _Mississippi State_ sweatshirt against my cheek as I inhaled her scent. She always smelled like Bounce fabric softener. I wanted her to tell me I was going to be okay. I bit my tongue to dispel the memory and keep the tears at bay. It wasn't going to be okay. _This_ reality . . . _my_ reality was the harsh looking woman in front of me. My mother's sister. Aunt Kyra closed her eyes briefly and set down the glass she'd offered before running her hand through her hair. The gesture reminded me of Marcas. _Marcas_.

"No, honey, I didn't. We really need to talk," she said again.

I shook my head. I didn't want to talk. Right now, I needed to get to school. And soon.

"No, I have to go. I'm supposed to pick up Monroe," I said, moving evasively toward the front of the Abbey. She followed and, for once, didn't fight me.

"This afternoon then?"

She reached out to touch me on the shoulder. I pulled away and she let her arms drop.

"Dayton, please. This is important."

I looked at her for a moment, noted the strain in her face, and nodded.

"This afternoon then."

I walked away. A whole weekend of my life had been taken away from me replaced by nightmares, images of monsters that weren't supposed to exist, and a betrayal too strong to handle. The prospect of talking seemed like a piece of cake.

Chapter 16

I am watching Them now. They have my rapt attention. They are brothers—Twins—and they are Cursed. One I know well. His name is Damon. The Other I fear. He is now bound to her.

~Bezalial~

For the first time ever I lied to Monroe. I didn't point blank alter the truth, I just avoided answering her questions. And she had many.

"What happened to you this weekend? I came to the Abbey, but your aunt said you weren't there.Why didn't you answer my calls or texts?" she asked me on the way to school.

I just looked over at her quietly. She looked at my face and fell silent. Maybe she saw the despair there, the same kind of grief, in a way, that I felt the day my parents had died. Maybe she saw the fear. Maybe she saw the creatures I imagined were inside me, the ones eating a hole in my stomach. My soul was laid bare. Whatever she saw, she didn't question me anymore. I was pretty sure I was in shock.

" _What's wrong with Dayton_?" was mixed with multiple " _Happy birthdays_ " as we arrived at school and moved through the halls. I never heard the answer to the former, and I didn't give thanks for the latter. I wasn't feeling thankful.

"Dayton?" Conor called out sometime later that day.

I ran. Maybe I was a coward, but I couldn't see him today. I couldn't tell him or Monroe that they had been right. I should have left the Abbey. My stubbornness had caused this defiling. I was thinking like a victim now. I sat in the bathroom during fourth period. I couldn't go to philosophy. I couldn't handle both Mr. James and Conor in the same room knowing one had feelings for me and the other was involved in whatever ritual my aunt had initiated. I was admittedly afraid. The bell rang and the halls became crowded. I edged into them. Something brushed against me, and I looked up to see Jessie Grey's face bobbing in the maelstrom of students. Her eyes flashed red. I stared harder. She vanished.

"Dayton!" Monroe called out, and I fought the bodies as I moved into the open doorway of our last period Spanish class. Monroe smiled, and I managed a lopsided grin.

"You okay?" she whispered.

I nodded before moving to my seat. We were in the last fifteen minutes of that same class listening to a tape we were supposed to be translating for extra credit when Monroe suddenly jabbed me from behind. I fought the urge to yelp as I looked over my shoulder with a glare.

"What?" I hissed.

She pointed out the window next to us.

"Hottie stage right," she remarked in a dreamy whisper as I shifted to glance across the small expanse of green lawn to the woods beyond. One look and my heart practically stopped beating.

_"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"_ I thought to myself as I cringed inwardly at my own choice of words. I really needed to start cursing less. My aunt would have my hide. Ha! But then again she had drugged me and taken me out to a bar. After that, cursing seemed tame. The thought made me curse again. This time without regrets. If I had doubted any of last night's events, the "hottie" just made them reality.

"Marcas," I murmured as I looked at the tall, black-haired guy leaning casually against the trunk of an ancient oak tree. His arms were crossed, pulling his black tee snugly against his broad chest as his full length leather jacket flapped gently against his dark jeans. His eyes met mine as his name slowly exited my lips, and I cringed. Last night slammed into me once again, making my head spin and every bruise on my body suddenly throbbed.

"Hot, huh?" Monroe asked cheerfully from behind me, and I tried to keep from wincing.

"Sure, I guess."

"You guess? Are you blind! I wonder what lucky girl he's waiting on?" Monroe said with a smirk as she draped heart shaped fingers against her chest and began to thump.

"It's fifth period. Has to be a senior," Stefanie Davies suddenly stated from in front of us. "If only it were me."

I rolled my eyes. What guy wouldn't be thrilled to have Stefanie? She had a delegation of men following continuously in her blonde model-like wake. Maybe it was the body, but most of us figured it was because of her "daddy" and all his cash and cars. Amazing how much money you could make if you owned the oil rights to a property riddled with black gold.

"I don't know. He looks dangerous," Lita remarked from beside us.

I glanced around the room. How many girls had seen him?

"I'll be Lauren Bacall to his Humphrey Bogart," Monroe said pointedly to Lita, and I shushed them before glancing once more out the window.

Was he here to kill me? He had certainly failed before. But it was daylight now.

Daylight! What did this mean for my whole "vampire" theory? Maybe I _had_ dreamed up that part. That still didn't explain why he was here.

"May I be excused?" I asked suddenly, my voice wavering as I stood up a little too quickly. It made me stumble, and Monroe reached up from behind me.

"What's up with you today, Day?" she asked.

Mrs. Gomez peered up sleepily from behind her desk. I couldn't stand it anymore! I stumbled again, and Mrs. Gomez's eyes widened at the sight of my pale face and shaking hands. She quickly stood up and moved down the aisle.

"Are you okay, Senorita Blainey?"

"I think I need to see the nurse," I whispered before heading toward the door.

I think she may have asked me if I needed help, may have even tried to send a student after me, but at this point, I had broken into a run. And I had no intention of getting caught.

"Come and get me, you freak!" I hissed loudly as I exited the school.

A few freshman students glanced at me wildly from the sidewalk in front, but I ignored them as I moved toward the parking lot.

"Freak?" a smooth, low voice asked calmly from behind me just as I reached my beat up old '86 Pontiac. My hand froze on the door handle.

"You sure do know how to make an impression, Ms. Blainey. But you're not the first one to call me a freak. Try again."

"Murderer, stalker, monster," I bit out coldly. Looking down at my white, clenched hand on the handle made it easier to stay calm and unaffected. As long as I didn't give his voice a face, I could stay angry. Angry was better than afraid.

"Those aren't new either," he said before moving into my peripheral vision. I fought not to turn toward him.

"Quit pretending I'm the problem, Blainey!" he commented wryly and my face flushed red. Who did he think he was? How did he know who I was?

"You don't know me!" I shouted before swinging open my door, finally looking at him fiercely as I scooted inside.

The light on his face made me pause. The pale skin I had thought belonged to him the night before was more tan than white, his eyes a deep blue so dark they shone like midnight, and he stood a good 12 inches taller than me. His hair was the only thing that remained the same, so black it could only be described as ebony. He didn't seem pale or unhealthy in the least. If anything, he seemed flushed. My vampire theory was finally crushed even if I was fairly sure he had drunk some of my blood the night before. My face heated.

"But, au contraire, my sweet, I know you more than you or I would like. Go home. Talk to your aunt. But don't trust any of them. I am not your enemy, but neither am I your friend," Marcas spoke quickly, his gaze moving over me a moment before he turned away. "I'm not the one who threw us together. I like it even less than you do."

I cranked my noisy engine to drown him out. I didn't trust anyone right now. And I didn't know this man. I drew out my phone, texted Monroe to find out if she could hitch a ride with Conor, and then looked out the window. He was gone.

***

The three-level, grey stone Abbey looked ominous to me as I pulled up, and I cringed. Homes were supposed to look welcoming. So much for that.

"Here goes nothing," I mumbled before yanking my keys out of the ignition and moving toward the door.

"Aunt Kyra!" I called out as I walked inside, keeping my voice level and confident. She didn't answer.

I moved deeper into the Abbey. Most of the lights were off to save on power. The philosophy was, "If the room wasn't in use, then the lights shouldn't be either."

"Aunt Kyra?"

A noise made me spin, and I looked toward the kitchens. What the hell?

"What's this all supposed to mean, Damon?" I heard my aunt ask as I moved stealthily toward the door across from the refectory.

Damon? The recruiter? The one that looked like Marcas? Maybe coming home early wasn't such a bad idea. Something told me she wasn't discussing the weather, and I was more than ready to put an end to my questions.

"She's been linked to him, Kyra. Now we wait," Damon answered, and I shivered. I knew his voice now. And it scared me.

"You didn't tell me it would change her!" my aunt insisted, her voice rising as I moved deeper into my corner.

Change? Someone moved, and a crash resounded against the wall where I crouched. I fought not to cry out.

"Do you doubt me, Kyra?" Damon asked, his voice low. My aunt gasped, as if her windpipe couldn't take in enough air. I struggled to sit still.

"No," she ground out, and a moment later I heard a thud before Aunt Ky began wheezing desperately, as if she was gasping in huge lung-fulls of air. Had he tried choking her? Jesus!

"I don't doubt you!" she coughed. "I'm just trying to understand—"

"Understand this. Without your niece, we would be nowhere right now."

"But the link? You didn't tell me it would be so strong!" Ky argued. She sounded desperate and afraid. "It could kill her!"

The kitchen grew quiet. My heart sped up. Kill?

"It's a chance we have to take." Damon said flatly.

Ky let out a shuddering breath. "Then it _could_ kill her? You admit it!"

Damon didn't answer. Ky hiccupped. I wasn't sure if it was from the lack of oxygen or from real emotion.

"And it's worth it?" she asked.

Still, Damon remained silent. After a moment, I heard Aunt Ky walk across the kitchen, her shoes thudding softly against the stone floor. The door leading outside creaked.

"This is what you meant by sacrifice," she said meekly.

"It's worth the risk, Kyra. It could end a war," Damon finally said as he too moved across the kitchen. His stride was longer, and the sound his shoes made quieted as he moved outside.

"Why are you really helping us?" Aunt Kyra asked as I fought not to peer around the corner.

If Damon answered, I didn't hear it. The door closed firmly behind him, and I heard the latch slide into place. Braving a peek around the doorway, I saw Aunt Ky slide down the wood of the door wearily before hitting the floor, her head coming to rest in her hands. My mind played back the conversation, and I moved to stand in the empty entryway. The stainless steel kitchen prep table lay on its side on the floor, and I focused on it a moment in silence.

The word _sacrifice_ played silently through my head, and I suddenly felt a wave of nausea sweep over me. It took everything I had not to puke. Swallowing the bile working its way up into my throat, I forced myself to face the defeated woman on the floor.

"What have you done?" I asked her quietly, the question making its way through the room like an arrow. It found its mark, and Kyra looked up quickly. Shadows haunted her eyes and her hair stood up haphazardly. Around her neck, bruises were forming. My eyes widened.

"Dayton," Kyra whispered as she pushed herself off the floor.

I backed away slightly. "You said we needed to talk."

Aunt Kyra sighed and bent to pick up the table. I helped her.

"Who's Damon?" I asked her as she reached for one of the kitchen chairs.

She looked up at me and handed me the chair.

"A Demon," she murmured as she sat down on one side of the table.

My heart stopped. I knew without a doubt she was serious. I thought back to Amber's room the night before my birthday. Amber had mentioned Demons. But she had talked about protecting people against Demons, not working with them. I wasn't sure what was real anymore.

"Please sit, Dayton," Ky begged.

I watched her a moment, her eyes staring up into mine, and I realized she was scared. This didn't comfort me. But I sat.

"I don't understand."

My back was rigid against the wooden chair. Relaxing just didn't feel the right thing to do. It felt like relenting, and I was scared of what I'd be relenting to.

"He's a Demon," Aunt Kyra repeated.

I stared. I _got_ that much. It suddenly made sense why Marcas had been able to walk around in the daylight. He wasn't a vampire. What I didn't get was . . .

"What the hell?" I cried as Ky looked at me with narrowed eyes.

I wasn't apologizing for my language. What a joke!

"I know you probably find that hard to believe. Your sister did too at first."

She thought I was upset by the revelation. I almost laughed. It _wasn't_ hard to believe. If I had thought it was, I didn't after sharing my blood with one. At least I knew what they were now. Damon and Marcas. Demons. They looked identical except for the scar. What I found hard to believe was the Abbess cozying up to one.

"What does he want?" I asked her in a whisper.

Aunt Kyra grew pale. She reached for my hands across the table, but I leaned away and her own hands fell between us, trembling. She had never tried to soothe me before.

"Oh, Dayton."

I covered my face with my hands. Why had all of this been hidden from me until now?

"Why didn't I know about any of this? Why didn't I know about Amber?" I pleaded haltingly.

Ky tried moving closer. I scooted the chair back.

"I won't apologize," Kyra muttered, almost to herself.

She sat back in her chair, and I let my hands drop. She was staring at the wall above my shoulder.

"I met Damon after your parents passed." Kyra paused and looked me in the eyes. "Keep in mind; we are at war, at war with all Demons. We still are. I had just taken over the Abbey. We are not your typical religious institution. We run the same way, in many ways, but we have a higher purpose. We are warriors."

She pulled her shoulders up tight, erect, stubborn.

"Your dad was a part of the Abbey, you know. Not by birth or choice, but because of your mother. He adored my sister. But your father was different. He . . . He . . ."

Kyra paused and stood up, and I followed her with my gaze as she paced for a moment before moving to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. I wanted to shake the story out of her, but I kept quiet. She took down a filter and the Folgers can, and I sniffed the air as she started scooping coffee. The smell was a familiar, comfortable one. I think Aunt Ky was just looking for something to do with her hands. They still shook. The coffee started dripping and Aunt Ky moved back to the table.

"Your dad didn't approve of my ideas. I had radical views about the war, this is true, but they were effective. We were making a lot of progress. But, like I said, your dad was different," Kyra said distantly, her mind fully engrossed in the past as she moved from the table once again to stand next to the coffee pot.

"He was judgmental, his tall, red-haired demeanor looming over us all. He didn't understand. He—"

"He was an amazing father," I interrupted, images of my dad's strong presence and deep, melodious voice more than clear in my memory.

I wasn't going to put up with parental criticism from a woman who'd turned her back on her own niece, who'd tried to kill her. My parents were better than that. Aunt Kyra let the subject drop. Facing me, she looked down at the floor.

"When your parents passed, I found strange notes scribbled everywhere in your dad's study. They were mad! Talk of Demons, their hierarchies, leaders . . . it astounded me. It was stuff I should have known." Kyra shook her head. "And one of the names he had written down several times was Damon. There were notes about him coming to see your father, discussions they'd had, things Damon had propositioned to your father. It was all there. And with the name was a number. I took it upon myself to contact him."

Aunt Kyra paused and poured a cup of coffee. She held it out to me, but I shook my head. My palms were too sweaty to hold a cup, and my stomach hurt too much at the moment to even think about drinking any.

"What did Damon want with dad?" I whispered.

Kyra's hand began to shake so badly coffee leaked over the side of the cup and she laid it down on the bar beside her. My throat closed up.

"He didn't want your dad. He wanted one of his children."

I froze.

"Why?" I managed, my pulse beating rapidly in my neck. It was making my head begin to throb. Kyra didn't even try to approach the table.

"Because he said your dad's blood held the key to redemption. And that his children would end the torment placed on his kind. He said you or Amber could be the key to preserving humankind," Kyra finished, her face flushed now with heat. Something wasn't right.

"What went wrong?" I asked, my head throbbing so badly, I could hear the pounding in my chest. Kyra looked up.

"You were the one. Damon said he smelled it in your blood. You were supposed to lure him to us, not be sacrificed to his kind. No one ever said anything about you becoming his."

I almost forgot to breathe.

"Marcas?" I asked.

"Marcas is his enemy. It went differently than I planned but the mission is still the same, Dayton," Kyra said so quietly I knew the talk had left her empty. There was nothing more I'd get from her tonight. I still didn't know what it had to do with me. I was left more confused than I had been before. Nothing felt right.

I stood up and left her there in the kitchens. She didn't try to stop me.

Chapter 17

The Other is interesting. He is bold, but aloof. He is angry. Silent. Brooding. He has his own unspoken war with his brother.

~Bezalial~

My bedroom felt like a stranger's. It was mine, an organized mess of paper and clothes, the floor a wastebasket for discarded stories and poems. But instead of being comforting it made me dizzy. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out distantly. The screen glowed. It was Monroe.

What up, Day? What happened to you?

Just a headache. I'm fine.

Hangover huh? Lmao

What?

There's a rumor you were seen at Everett's this wkend. When were you going to tell me?

Oh

Day?

Yeah?

You ok?

Yeah, we need to talk

Sure. Now? Need me to call?

No, in person. Meet me at the library?

Sure. In fifteen?

Yeah.

The minute I drove up into the library parking lot, I felt a million times better. There, leaning against the outside of the building with a hot latte and a bottle of Tylenol was Monroe wearing a pair of tight black leggings and a peasant top complete with platform sandals. The sight made me grin. It didn't matter if she was upset about the rumor she'd heard. It didn't show, and it wouldn't. She didn't work that way. Not without an explanation from me.

"Just so you know, I owe the bro a whole English paper typed and double spaced for dropping me off here," Monroe complained as I sauntered toward her wearily. She and her middle brother were forced to share a car.

One look at my face and she thrust forward the latte and Tylenol adamantly. I took them.

"You'll just buy him one off the internet," I commented wryly. She shrugged.

"Yeah . . . well, it's the thought that counts. Don't knock my sacrifice. It's going to cost me nonetheless."

Her lip poked out. I tried to laugh but found I couldn't. Monroe led me into the library.

"What's up, Day?" she asked seriously. "I'm worried about you. It's not like you to spend the weekend avoiding me, then the way you left school so abruptly, and the rumor . . .what happened this weekend, Day? Did that guy have something to do with it? The one at the school?"

I could tell she'd been giving this a lot of thought, and I hated she'd worried.

"I'm not sure you'd believe me. I don't think I believe it myself yet," I said cryptically.

Monroe walked into an empty reading area and hijacked two cushy chairs in the corner. She fell back into one and propped up her feet.

"That bad, huh?" she asked as I plopped down on the floor in front of the chair.

She hummed a moment as she started plaiting my hair and I sighed.

"Isn't the 'you won't believe this' crap supposed to be my line? I'm the one convinced Elvis is still alive and living on my street," Monroe remarked offhandedly, and I cracked open an eye with a snort.

"This is a lot more serious than Elvis and your Marilyn Monroe conspiracy theories."

Monroe's fingers stilled in my hair.

"What's wrong, Dayton?"

Her hands moved to my shoulders. It was the compassionate tone of her voice that finally did me in. I started to sob, the tears spilling so fast, my shirt stuck to me slightly. It wasn't the pretty kind of crying you see in movies either. No, it was the snot dripping, hiccuping, totally mortifying kind of tears you normally reserve for closed bedrooms or bathroom stalls. Monroe sat up abruptly and hugged me.

"Talk to me, Dayton!"

I talked. I told her everything, beginning with the strange day I'd had the day before my birthday to the unbelievable conversation I'd just had with my aunt. By the middle of the story, Monroe had grown rigid.

"What are you saying?" Monroe asked me dazedly, her tone edged with doubt. "That your aunt is the head of some cult who is now working hand in hand with a Demon she's supposed to kill?"

I hadn't expected her to believe me, but it still stung. I spun around to face her and grabbed her hands.

"I'm telling you that your vision was _real_! That you can tell me 'I told you so' if you want to. I don't know! I don't know anything anymore! All I know is that the day of my birthday, my life suddenly turned into a 24 hour hallucinogenic trip, full of dreams, nightmares, and truths all rolled into one. And I'm scared," I said desperately.

She looked at me silently a moment, and I pulled hard at her hands.

"I've _never_ lied to you, Roe!"

She looked down at her callous-free, manicured hands, and I felt like biting off every single polished nail. Dammit! I'd never lied to her!

"Well, there was this one time in second grade—"

I threw down her hands.

"My God, Monroe!" I huffed, my chest tight until I noticed the small smile playing wryly at the corner of her mouth. It gave me hope.

"You believe me?"

She leaned back against the chair, her eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

"This Marcas? He was the hottie outside school, right?" she asked as her eyes rolled back down to meet mine. I nodded. She shrugged and sat up again.

"Well, yum. I always did like bad guys," she commented wryly.

I half-laughed, half-sobbed.

"You do believe me then?"

"I'm not sure I get it, but I don't think you'd lie to me," Monroe answered.

"I don't get it either, Roe. But I'm scared, and I think they plan to kill me."

Monroe leaned toward me.

"They wouldn't!" she breathed. I wasn't so sure.

"Library is closing in thirty minutes," a voice said from beside us, and we both jumped a good foot in the air.

The librarian looked at us strangely before turning to walk away. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but my phone vibrated and I grabbed at it before it could ring. The name on the screen made me cringe. The Abbey.

"Hello?" I said quickly into the receiver, looking over my shoulder to see if the librarian was anywhere near.

"Don't go home, Dayton!" Amber answered breathlessly, her voice winded and short. I glanced over at Monroe.

"What? Why?"

"Just don't go home! It's not safe," Amber insisted. "I can't explain it to you right now. Just don't go home!"

Amber hung up. I stared at the receiver. Her voice had been loud enough I knew Monroe had heard. I looked up and caught her eye.

"You believe me now?" I asked.

"Let's get out of here!" she said quickly. "You can stay with me."

I wasn't going to argue.

***

"Mom, Dayton's going to stay tonight if that's ok!" Monroe shouted once we reached her house.

Loud banging noises led us to the living room, and I grinned at the disheveled middle-aged woman sitting on the floor outside the living room closet, her hair wrapped in a bright yellow bandana and a dust streak on her cheek. Half the contents of the closet sat in her lap.

"Remind me to just keep ignoring this closet when I decide to spring clean," Mrs. Jacobs complained as we rounded the corner.

"It's fall, mom," Monroe pointed out. Her mom rolled her eyes.

"Details, details," she murmured, pushing the contents of the closet off her lap and dusting off her pants as she stood up.

"Hello, Dayton. Fine by me if you stay. The Lady Ky okay with it?"

I nodded. Mrs. Jacobs clapped and dust fanned off her hands.

"Okay, then. Dinner's ready when you want it. Dad had business out of town, and Robert is about to help me with this mess," she warned before heading for the stairs. Monroe grinned.

"Robbie, watch out! She's reverted to Robert!" Monroe yelled before pushing me toward the kitchen. I stumbled forward. Once inside, Monroe pushed me onto a bar stool.

"So, what are we going to do about all this?" Monroe asked.

I looked at my phone and shrugged. I'd been trying to reach my sister since we left the library. I wasn't getting any answer at the Abbey.

"I honestly don't know," I mumbled.

I pulled a grocery list pad in front of me, and began doodling on it with a pen nearby.

"None of this makes sense," I added as Monroe pulled the notepad away and replaced it with a dumdum. She popped a piece of Hubba Bubba in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"My mom may wonder why she needs to pick up 'Marcas' at the super market." she said knowingly, and I looked at the notepad she held up warily. Marcas' name was scrolled on the first four lines. What the hell? Then it hit me.

"Marcas!" I cried out before jumping down off the bar stool.

Monroe watched wide-eyed.

"We get it. You're obsessed. Do you have to clue in my mom and brother?"

I shook my head.

"I need to find Marcas! He can tell me what's going on," I said.

Monroe looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.

"You want to go searching for a Demon vampire?" Monroe asked. I nodded and Monroe put a hand against my forehead.

"Are you ok? Running any fever? Seeing two Roe's instead of one?"

I ignored her. She didn't take that well.

"What the fuck, Dayton? He could kill you!" she cried out before covering her mouth with her hands when she realized she'd raised her voice. I looked over at her and frowned.

"He's had two chances to try already, and he hasn't done anything," I pointed out. Monroe snorted.

"And if he's the one your sister is suddenly warning you about—"

I shook my head. I couldn't keep living in a hole, always hiding.

"If that's the case, then he _is_ the one I want to find."

My words were more courageous than I felt.

Chapter 18

They are the children of a cursed race, Demons partly by blood. Whatever mortality they have comes from their father. I hope it's enough.

~Bezaliel~

"You've totally lost your marbles, you know that!" Monroe hissed as we rounded the corner of Everett's. I wasn't sure I disagreed, but I didn't know what else to do.

"You should have let me call Conor," Monroe added vehemently.

I stopped at the entrance to the alleyway, my gaze searching the darkness.

"He would have tried stopping us."

_"And that would have been a bad thing?"_ I heard Monroe mutter under her breath, and I smiled. Probably would have been the wiser thing to do but I had already walked the plank so why not take the plunge?

"What do we do now?" Monroe asked at my back.

I shrugged. I wasn't really sure.

"Call him I guess."

Monroe snorted.

"It's like we're looking for a dog, not a Demon. Here Marcas, Marcas. Here boy! That's a good boy!" Monroe quipped.

I stepped into the alley. I couldn't help but snicker. Imagining Marcas as a big loveable puppy wasn't remotely possible.

"That's right, Monroe. Goad the Demon," I said snidely. Monroe "hrruumphed."

"You got a better idea?"

I didn't. I just walked instead of answering, moving deeper into the shadows. I could hear Monroe cursing as she followed behind me. I told her she should have left her platform shoes at home, but she claimed that would be sacrilegious. I was quite thankful for my trusty old pair of Nikes. As soon as I reached the back entrance of the club, I stopped. Monroe ran into me.

"Ow!" she complained.

I barely heard her. My attention was riveted on the spot of the wall where Marcas and I had first encountered each other. There were crimson stains on the pale bricks, and I touched it hesitantly. Blood? I could almost see his face inches from mine, my blood on his fingertips.

"Marcas," I whispered. Something told me there was no reason to yell. He'd hear me anyway."Where are you?"

Monroe had grown silent behind me. We stood there for several minutes. Monroe grew restless.

"We should go, Day. There's nobody here," she said.

I looked back down the way we had come. I was just about to agree with her when I _felt_ him. I glanced around me wildly. The alley was empty.

"What is it?" Monroe asked hesitantly.

I narrowed my eyes and looked harder into the dark.

"He's here," I said without thinking.

Monroe stiffened. "Where?"

I didn't answer because I didn't know. I just knew he was there. I felt his presence like an electrical current, warm and slightly uncomfortable.

"Where are you?" I asked the alley again, louder this time. Still no reply. His presence was near.

"I need answers!" I pleaded.

The energy shifted. It seemed he'd created more distance between us. The current wasn't as strong.

"Let's go," Monroe begged.

There were voices coming from outside the club. Marcas' energy disappeared. He'd left me.

"Let's go," I agreed.

We moved out of the alley and ran to my car. I cast one more glance behind me as we drove away. There were red spots shining from the alleyway. I didn't go back to find out why. I wanted out of this. I wanted to leave the Abbey and be rid of the whole mess. I had hoped Marcas could tell me how.

"That was counterproductive," Monroe said after we'd re-entered her driveway. Neither one of us had spoken since the club.

I looked at her as I parked and pulled the keys from the ignition.

"He was there, Roe. I felt him," I said confidently as I climbed out of the car.

She climbed out on the other side and looked at me over the top of the Pontiac.

"Felt?"

I shook my head. I didn't know how to describe it. I just knew he'd been there.

"Geez, Day. This isn't _Star Wars_. If he was there, why didn't he come out?" Monroe asked as she motioned toward the house. I followed her through the garage and into the kitchen.

"I don't really know," I whispered as she walked over to the fridge and pulled out two cola cans and a plastic container of leftovers. Fried chicken.

We both popped the drink cans open simultaneously and took a bite of the battered white meat. I chewed quickly, my hunger decreasing as I devoured the food. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I looked at Monroe. She was eerily quiet.

"Do you have any dumdums?" I asked.

She looked up.

"You're thinking of candy now?" she asked incredulously.

I put my hand to my forehead. Sweat was beaded along my brow. There hadn't been enough sugar in the food or the coke.

Monroe's eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate?"

I shrugged. It wasn't lack of food. I'd always eaten a lot of dumdums during the day. Maybe it was my blood sugar. She sighed.

"I have some in my car," she said calmly.

I shook my head and walked over to her refrigerator, grabbing a spoon out of a drawer nearby before dipping it into a bag full of sugar Mrs. Jacobs kept in her refrigerator door. I filled the spoon and shoved it in my mouth. Monroe shrieked.

"Geez, Dayton!"

I ignored her, the sugar dissolving wonderfully on my tongue. I felt instantly better, and I walked back over to the bar. Monroe stared at me. I stared back. I could tell the sugar thing had disturbed her, but I'd always eaten a lot of sweets.

"We should call Conor," Monroe said finally.

I shook my head. "No!"

Monroe's eyes narrowed.

"Why?" she persisted.

I put my coke down and walked toward the stairs at the back of the kitchen. I just wanted to go to bed and that was a loaded question. Monroe followed.

"Does this have anything to do with Conor's new potential beau status?" she asked me as we thudded up the stairs. I rolled my eyes. She wasn't going to let it go.

"Who uses words like beau anymore?" I asked her as I marched into her bedroom.

Monroe closed the door behind us and pushed past me to plop onto her bed. Her room was three times the size of mine and crowded with vintage furniture, posters, and knickknacks. I settled on a black bean bag chair next to the white comforter covered bed. The sheets underneath were as black as the bean bag. Monroe had a thing for mixing black and white. She felt it was retro.

"Don't change the subject," she warned as I leaned back enough I was staring at the ceiling. I _so_ didn't want to go there.

"I don't know, Roe. I just don't want to call Conor on this one. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Monroe stood up and pulled her comforter back before walking over and pulling out a drawer on the other side of the bed. She and her brother had to share a room once when the Jacobs had renovated their house. Their parents had purchased a trundle bed rather than trying to move two beds into one room. Monroe had kept the bed. It came in handy when I stayed over.

"I think you're conflicted if you want my opinion. Here, you take the top mattress, I'll take the trundle. You're the guest," Monroe offered.

I moved to the bed. Normally, I'd argue, but exhaustion made me unreasonably compliant.

"I'm not letting you off that easy, but you look ready to faint so we'll rest on it for now." Monroe said. I smiled at her sleepily.

"I'll take the reprieve," I said before taking a pair of black fold over yoga pants Monroe handed me from her dresser.

I shed my jeans and pulled them on before climbing into the bed. The loose red shirt I had on over a black cami was comfortable enough I didn't ask her for a shirt. Sleep came almost immediately.

The bedroom was dark when I woke up to find him sitting there watching me, his face highlighted by the full moon outside Monroe's open bedroom window. It should have upset me, but it didn't.

"We need to talk," he murmured into the darkness, his voice louder than it should seem. Not because he spoke loud, but because the moment was too intimate, too clandestine not to make even the smallest voice sound like a yell.

I glanced over at Monroe warily, but she never stirred. He'd had his chance to talk to me. I'd sought him out. He'd disappointed me.

"Talking is overrated. Can't you just disappear?" I asked him coldly.

I was tired of working on everyone else's schedule rather than my own. And it was late. I wasn't anyone's servant. Not a chance. No matter how hard it was for me to shake the heavy weight the lack of truth placed on my shoulders. Marcas leaned forward, and I watched in both awe and fear as his eyes shone brightly in the darkness.

"You can't even begin to understand how much I'd love to do just that. I even tried, but the pull is too strong. My brother's groupies have more than destroyed any chance of me going anywhere," Marcas said through gritted teeth, and I bit my lip to keep from cursing. My mouth wasn't going to help my situation any.

"I want you gone," I whispered groggily instead, my eyes shining with dread.

I just wanted them all to leave me alone so I could pick up the pieces of what little life I had left and move on. It's why I'd sought him out tonight, for answers and to find out how I could end all of this. Marcas shook his head.

"You think either of us has that choice right now? Because if you think we do, you'd be dead wrong," Marcas said sourly. I blinked. I was fully awake now.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Of course we had a choice.

"Oh, quit pretending you don't know!" Marcas spat, and I backed away from him until I was pushed up against the headboard of Monroe's bed in an awkward sitting position.

I refused to look at him. Know what? What was I supposed to know?

"You can't run away from this. You can turn a deaf ear and a blind eye, but when you open yourself back up, it's still going to be there," Marcas pointed out.

I continued to stare at my lap. What was he talking about? The club?

"What am I running away from?" I asked.

Everyone around me was crazy! Plain crazy! And my aunt was the most mentally impaired of them all. Sleep had helped me draw one final conclusion. I didn't have to stay at the Abbey and be a part of this crazy Sethian/Demon idea. This whole thing was ludicrous. Marcas and his brother could go back to Hell. Literally. Marcas didn't answer. Minutes ticked by and I finally risked a glance only to find him watching me cautiously. Did he think I was falling apart? I wasn't weak, damn it. Nervous break downs were NOT my style. I just didn't want to be a part of whatever was going on. I wanted to be normal. The whole thing was making me angry.

"Can the pity stare!" I said forcefully.

He didn't blink or remove his gaze.

"Don't mistake disgust for pity," Marcas said as he moved slightly away from me. It made me relax.

"I need—" Marcas began as a loud gasp interrupted us both.

I cringed and Marcas moved even further away.

"What the hell!" Monroe cried out sleepily from the side of the bed, and I let my gaze drift from Marcas' only long enough to give Monroe a long, hard stare. And the longer I stared, the more she got the unspoken message my eyes revealed. Words weren't needed. She knew enough about the situation to put two and two together.

She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and shook her head, her blonde hair almost white in the dim light as she moved.

"You've got to be kidding me," Monroe moaned before making her way slowly up onto the mattress, giving Marcas a wide berth as she settled next to me. I could feel her trembling slightly.

"What's going on?" Monroe whispered urgently. I shrugged.

"What do you need?" I asked, my question directed at Marcas as I placed a placating hand on Monroe's flannel covered leg. Marcas watched us both, his eyes full of feral heat.

"I need you to go somewhere with me," he said.

I froze. Monroe's nails suddenly dug into my arm.

"No way!" she hissed into my ear, but I found myself regarding Marcas thoughtfully. The strain around his eyes and the white that spread through his clenched knuckles was proof enough that he was not happy about needing anything from me. It made me oddly triumphant.

"No fucking way!" Monroe reiterated.

I looked over at her a second pleadingly. As soon as my gaze met hers, I saw her blink before throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"You're crazy!" she whispered.

I turned away.

"What could you possibly need _me_ for?" I asked Marcas pointedly.

Monroe's nails dug deeper into my arm as Marcas and I regarded each other carefully. We were both holding back. I was still smarting from the betrayal of all that I'd ever known, and he had to deal with me. This was war, and I was somehow a liability. I could see it in his gaze.

"You need me too, Blainey," Marcas muttered, and I narrowed my eyes. This whole thing was becoming more than I could take.

"You're not telling me something, _Craig,_ " I stated matter-of-factly, using the last name Damon had given me at our "recruiter" dinner. I knew now I'd dined with a Demon. Marcas didn't argue. Monroe sat up straighter.

"She's not going anywhere with you," Monroe ground out.

Her protectiveness filled me with warmth. True family came in odd places sometimes. And Monroe was definitely my family. Marcas regarded her calmly.

"I wouldn't be here if there was any other choice."

He turned back to me, his eyes blazing and heat coming off of him in waves

"But there isn't. I'm not keeping anything from you, Blainey. _They_ have. I am not your enemy. It wasn't me that took away this choice for you," Marcas said before pulling out a small blade hidden within the inner folds of his jacket. My eyes widened and Monroe yelped.

"Day—" Monroe croaked as she backed away from the bed, pulling me with her forcefully as she moved.

I was dead weight, too engrossed by the glint of moonlight on metal. Danger can be like that. So mesmerizing it takes away free will. Marcas lifted the blade so fast neither of us predicted the blood we suddenly saw gushing from the palm of his hand, the crimson fluid appearing black in the feeble light. We both gasped. He had cut himself, slashing shallowly into the meat of his palm. And not once did he flinch. Pain burned along my skin and I froze.

"Marcas—" I began.

Monroe suddenly yelped again before grabbing my wrist crushingly in her hand. It made me cry out.

"Oh my God, Dayton!" Monroe said disbelievingly, and I finally looked down at the hand she clutched so dramatically.

It all happened in slow motion, my eyes riveted to each new detail as if I was stuck holding a portable time machine set on repeat. My vision blurred, and I blinked hard as I fought to focus on the sight before me. My hand. My blood. My blood beading slowly up across my palm before dripping thickly onto my wrist. My eyes followed the trail to my elbow. _What the hell?_

My gaze swept between Marcas and me, first perusing the palm of his hand and then examining mine. They were identical. _NO!_

"What did you do?" I asked in horror.

Marcas shook his head as he watched the same scene in silence, moving only enough to staunch his bleeding. The blood flowing from my palm slowed.

" _I_ didn't do anything," he said quietly. I was having a hard time believing him.

"You are a part of me now, an extension. I bleed, you bleed. I tire, you tire. I didn't do this to you. _They_ did," Marcas said.

I felt the blood rushing through my head, and I grew dizzy. _They did_. I didn't want to believe him.

"How?" I whispered hoarsely.

He leaned toward me and Monroe sat up straighter. The beast versus the friend. I was placing bets on the beast, and I didn't like the odds.

"You drank from the Chalice. It was filled with my blood," Marcas explained.

I looked down at my hand. The ritual. The Chalice. The thick fluid that'd burned when my aunt forced it down my throat. A lot of things started to make a lot of scary sense. My shoulders slumped, and I felt Monroe tense behind me.

"Where are we going?" I asked Marcas wearily.

Monroe cried out. But what choice did I have? I wasn't just tied to the beast, we were somehow part of the same person. The freakishly opposite sides of the same fucking coin.

Chapter 19

When Cain kills Abel in the Bible, God curses Cain. The ground no longer yields crops for him. He is cursed to wander the earth restlessly. Cain tells the Lord his punishment is more than he can bear, that whoever finds him will kill him. But the Lord says to him in Genesis 4:15"Not so; anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over. Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him."

~Bezaliel~

"If you think you're going anywhere without me, you really are crazy," Monroe hissed as she followed us out of the house, while pulling an _Elvis is alive_ sweatshirt on over her hastily thrown-on clothes.

Marcas' figure loomed in front of me. I wondered absently if he was taller than Conor or if they were the same height. Either way, they both towered over me.

"This isn't some simple day trip," Marcas said brusquely, his stride lengthening.

I cursed him in my head. Didn't tall people realize walking faster meant short people had to jog to keep up? Monroe moved past me and tugged on Marcas' jacket. Talk about bravado. He stopped abruptly and spun around, his face almost feral, his eyes tinted red. Monroe took several steps back.

"I don't care how long it takes," she said confidently.

I stared at her in awe. Marcas glanced between us.

"And she's worth that much loyalty?" Marcas asked, inclining his head in my direction. I scowled at him.

"Bastard," I muttered.

He looked at Monroe. She edged closer to me.

"Yes," she answered. No other explanation needed. It was all wrapped up in that one word. We had a long history together. I touched her arm gently.

"What about your mom?"

Monroe looked at me, her face determined. I knew then no one would win this battle. Monroe was in.

"I'll call her later. But I'm going and that's that."

I shrugged. Okay by me. Marcas shook his head and looked Heavenward.

"Is this part of my curse now too?" he asked the night sky.

I looked at him silently, my gaze tracing his strong jaw before working its way down the line of his neck. He had muscles everywhere. And what did he mean curse? A thought hit me.

"Do you have a car?" I asked reasonably.

His head dropped, his eyes finding mine before inclining his head slightly to the left. Why couldn't he just point? I looked in that direction and almost yelped. Monroe whistled.

"Damn, it's Eleanor," she muttered, quoting the Gone in Sixty Seconds movie as we both perused the sleek black 1967 Shelby Mustang GT 500 that sat at the end of the drive.

Marcas didn't reply, he just moved on, almost gliding as he came up on the car and entered the driver's side. He seemed more like a motorcycle guy. Something told me he was making a lot of adjustments for me. Like he needed any more reasons to loathe me.

"Don't offer to open the door or anything," Monroe mumbled as she climbed into the back. The snide remarks were usually my forte, but I was still reeling over the whole he-bled-I-bled thing. Kinda spins a person for a loop.

Marcas glanced at me as I slid in next to him. I thought for a moment he was going to ask me if I was okay then thought better of it. He shifted gears. I looked over at his profile.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He backed out of the drive and sped into the night. His gaze didn't meet mine again.

"You know what I am."

I hated vague answers.

"That's not what I asked," I said shortly.

He did glance at me then but briefly.

"I'm going to make one thing clear. I'm not here to get to know you. I could give a damn how you feel, and I'm not here to explain myself to anyone. I'm here because my brother has wild ideas that are going to get a lot of people killed. And because he didn't give me a choice," Marcas fumed. I just stared at him.

"That was helpful," I remarked sarcastically. "If you're done with the whole Demon tirade, can you tell me what I have to do with any of this?"

Marcas stiffened. If he thought his verbal montage affected me any, he was wrong. I had spent seven years in a home where my feelings weren't spared. Why start now?

"They haven't told you anything, have they?" he asked me quietly. I shrugged.

"The most I've gotten out of all this is that my aunt is the head of some Sethian sect hell-bent on destroying Demons. Somehow she has allied herself with one, drugged me on my birthday, forced me to drink your foul blood, then left me disoriented in a bar. Now I find out I'm somehow tied to you. That's about the extent of it. Any further explanations are welcome."

The car slowed.

"It shouldn't surprise me that they'd do this. But it does surprise me that they'd involve you this unwillingly. I thought you at least knew what you were," Marcas said.

Monroe leaned forward in the back seat.

"And that would be what exactly?" she asked.

I just kept staring at him.

"I'm a descendant of Seth right?"

My thoughts were suddenly on Amber. I saw Marcas' jaw tighten.

"You are a descendant of the Biblical Seth through your mother's bloodline. Not your father's."

"So?" I asked, confused. Did it matter?

Marcas sighed. Maybe he thought I was slow. I sure felt that way lately.

"Your aunt runs a Sethian Sect. This, I'm assuming, you know. There are groups out there, other Sethian groups who prefer a pure Sethian bloodline. Both parents are descended from Seth. But it isn't a prerequisite. They are quiet, good Christian followers who believe their calling is leading through example. They do not care if your heritage is Sethian although their leaders are. They do not discriminate. But as with any religion, no matter the denomination, there are extremist groups. Your aunt's group is one of them. They marry only within the Sethian bloodline. The Sisters are an exception only because they've chosen not to marry at all. There are Brothers who make that same choice," Marcas explained. The car was quiet.

"And this makes Dayton and her sister an anomaly?" Monroe asked from the backseat.

I stared out the window in front of me. I got one thing out of that whole explanation. If my mother was Sethian, but my father wasn't . . .

"My father is the key isn't he?"

Marcas didn't answer. I looked over at him.

"What was my father?"

Dad's voice rang through my head, " _Look to the light, Day."_ Marcas glanced at me sharply. The car swerved. Had he heard that?

"There's a road, you know," Monroe complained from the backseat.

Marcas straightened the car. I kept watching him.

"What _was_ my father?" I asked again.

Marcas looked over at me briefly. Our eyes met.

"He's a Watcher. They are Angels."

He looked away. My heart sped up. What did he say? My father? An Angel? As in the Heavenly, I can fly kind of Angels? Monroe sat up abruptly.

"He was a what? Seriously?" she asked.

I knew this was even harder for her to swallow with her Wiccan background. I looked back at her and our eyes met. I knew my gaze was conflicted.

"My father?" I whispered.

Marcas pulled to a stop at a red light. He turned to me.

"Your father," he confirmed. "It's important you know that. It's why my brother is so interested in you."

Monroe unbuckled and moved up between us.

"Okay. Wait. It's not that I'm slow or anything, but can you explain please. What does this make Dayton and Amber? And why is it important?"

The road around us was empty. The light turned green, but Marcas didn't move the car.

"Dayton . . . and Amber were conceived from a union between a Sethian woman and a Watcher. People born from the line of Seth are considered Sons of God. This not only makes Dayton and her sister Nephilim, it makes them unique." Marcas said, his voice even.

He'd paused before he'd said Amber's name, but I didn't have time to wonder why. I watched him thoughtfully. A few things in my life were beginning to make a little more sense but not many. Marcas' eyes caught mine.

"Nephilim, or a Naphil in the singular sense, are half Angel/half mortal children. In Biblical times, the Nephilim were aberrations. They were giants and blood-thirsty. Maybe even mad. When the great flood transpired, the Nephilim were wiped out. Never has there been a birth between an Angel and a Sethian descendant. They were always born to the daughters of Cain, the son of Adam and Eve who was cursed because he slew his brother Abel. You and your sister are the first Nephilim born from a Sethian mother. You were not mad, not blood thirsty and not aberrations."

I sat there a moment, processing the information slowly. My mother was Sethian. My father was an Angel. It was a lot to take in. A thought struck me suddenly, and I bent over in pain. " _He's a watcher,"_ Marcas had said. He'd used the present tense. No! _No!_

"Can Angels die?" I asked Marcas, my head resting resolutely on my knees.

I couldn't see his face and didn't want to. The car was dead silent.

"They can't."

A sob escaped my throat and I bit it back. Grief engulfed me. Then that meant . . .

"My father isn't dead."

I could feel Monroe's hand move onto my shoulder.

"My God, Dayton!" she whispered.

I swallowed the anger that suddenly engulfed me and sat up.

"My mother?" I asked Marcas resolutely.

He didn't answer. I reached out and grabbed his leather jacket. My fingers dug into the material.

"MY MOTHER?" I pleaded.

He looked down at my hand before looking at my face. I didn't give a damn if I was leaving marks on the expensive leather.

"She is dead."

Everything drained out of me. I let go of his jacket. A sudden honk behind us made me jump, and Marcas glanced in the rearview mirror before turning to drive under the light. I didn't know what to feel. My whole body was fighting an internal battle.

"Where is he?" I asked Marcas so silently I wasn't sure he'd hear. I didn't have to explain who "he" was.

"He's been ordered not to come near you or your sister. It is forbidden that Angels lay with mortal women. He was lucky he got the time with you that he did," Marcas said.

Monroe still sat up between us, her hand still on my shoulder. It tightened. _He's alive!_ My father was alive. He was an Angel. _And he left us_. My heart felt like it was bleeding. Why? He'd obviously forsaken the rules for my mother. Why didn't he forsake them for me now when I needed him? Was I not good enough?

"Day—" Monroe said gently.

I ignored her. And my mother? Dead. How? If my father was alive, then what really happened to my mother? I wanted to ask, but I couldn't. I _wasn't_ going to ask. Not now. I just couldn't! I wanted my father. I wanted him to tell me why this was happening. I wanted him to make it all go away. Why couldn't he? I swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay. Monroe suddenly dropped her hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked angrily.

I looked up, my face burning with the need to cry. The Abbey sat in front of us. Marcas put the car in park.

"I'm coming to see my brother," he said.

"What the hell?" Monroe yelled. "It's not safe here. Did you bring her here to give her to Damon?"

"I came for my own explanations," he answered, his gaze looking over us both.

I just felt cold. I wasn't sure I cared what happened to me anymore.

"You asshole!" Monroe spat as we exited the car.

"I've been called worse," Marcas said as he waited for me to walk in front of him.

Maybe he just wanted to make sure I didn't try and run. He stayed close behind me. Monroe walked on my right. I tried to feel angry, but I couldn't. I wasn't angry; I was resolved.

"Who are you?" I asked Marcas again as we walked through the Abbey's door. He moved in closer at my back.

"I am the son of Cain and the Demon Lilith," he said quietly.

I almost stopped walking then but his hand found the small of my back and the pressure kept me moving. The son of Cain?

"Dayton, no!" a voice yelled suddenly from our left, and I turned to see my sister Amber. She looked distraught.

"I told you not to come!" she cried out desperately.

She started to move toward me until she caught sight of Marcas. Her expression changed from distraught to placid. Her gaze moved over the three of us before landing on Marcas again.

"So that's that then," she said, her voice defeated.

I reached out and touched her, my fingers curling into the plain blue t-shirt she wore tucked into a pair of blue jeans. She looked me in the eye.

"Did you know?" I asked her quietly.

Amber didn't answer and my fingers dug desperately into the material. I heard it rip slightly, and I let go in surprise. Amber's eyes grew round.

"Did you know?" I asked again, pointedly ignoring what I'd done to her clothes.

Amber looked down at the tear in her shirt before glancing back at me. She nodded. A sob escaped me, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. She had known about our parents, had known about the Demons. I wanted to yell at her, and I would have said more, but Marcas prodded me slightly in the back. I yelped, and Amber looked up quickly.

"Where is my brother?" Marcas asked.

Amber's gaze moved back to mine.

"I'll take you to him," she replied, her answer directed at Marcas, her pity reserved for me. I hated pity.

Chapter 20

The curse is a secure one. It is futile to think there may be a way to reverse it. Damon isn't just asking for war. He is going to guarantee it.

~Bezaliel~

Amber led us to the chapel. It was the last place I expected a Demon to be, but there he was, Damon and a room full of people. Marcas kept me in front of him as we moved down the main aisle of the church. I vaguely heard Amber behind us asking Monroe to stay silent. It was important that she remain vague. That scared me. What were we headed into? Marcas moved confidently. It didn't take long before people took notice. The room fell silent.

"What were you thinking, brother?" Marcas asked loudly.

I cowered. The whole room was full of sect members, men and women, Sisters and Brothers, and even teenagers I went to school with. And in the midst of them all stood Damon. He looked like Marcas. Or maybe it was the other way around. But, either way, it was obvious to all gathered that the two Demons were twins. Damon's eyes fell on me a moment, and I shivered. It wasn't because his gaze was cold. No, it was because it was warm, intent . . .obsessed even. It made me recall the last time we'd met. Marcas moved in front of me and the connection broke.

"You, of all people, are aware of my intent, Marcas," Damon answered quietly, his voice full of an assurance no one else seemed to be feeling. The whole room was full of goosebumps, shuffling feet, and fidgeting arms. Marcas took a step forward.

"You made a mistake, brother," Marcas hissed.

I saw Damon frown. Failure, as far as I could tell, was NOT a part of Damon's vocabulary.

"I made no such thing," Damon argued. "She's from a line of Seth and the Watchers. She will bring us redemption. She will bring her people redemption."

_"You lied to them,"_ Marcas' voice said suddenly in my head, and my eyes went wide.

_"I had to, brother,"_ Damon's voice replied. What was this? I looked around the room, but no one else seemed to hear their voices. All eyes were on the twins.

"She will be the end of us all," Marcas said aloud.

I looked between the two men, both so young and so old, and I felt hatred. I wasn't anything more than a girl. They were making me much more than that and not giving me a choice.

"Damon has a point," my aunt spoke up suddenly. "The Watchers fell because they lay with the daughters of Cain. From them were born the Nephilim: aberrations, giants, madmen"

My aunt moved to the front of the room. I felt cold looking at her. Maybe it was because she agreed with Damon. Maybe it was because she was so willing to use me to save herself. Either way, she didn't seem to notice. She waved a hand to encompass the room.

"And the line of Seth became contaminated because it did the same. Sons of Seth lay with daughters of Cain and we became impure. But then, by some miracle, maybe even destiny, two people came together. A Watcher and a pure woman, untouched by the blood of Cain, of the Seth line bore two children, and the result was clear. They were NOT aberrations or giants or mad as the Nephilim born of the line of Cain were. Never before have the Nephilim not been aberrations. No one thought it possible," Aunt Kyra said as she came to stand at Damon's right side. The sight was unnatural—a Sethian leader and a Demon in league. The thought was terrifying.

_"Two children?"_ Marcas asked Damon in my head.

Damon didn't reply. Marcas stared up at my aunt.

"It doesn't make them saviors," Marcas pointed out.

I couldn't help but nod. The man might be a Demon, but I was inclined to agree with him. Even if I had no idea what I was agreeing to.

"Doesn't it?" Damon asked.

His eyes raked over me again, and I fought not to shiver. His interest was definitely obsessive. Marcas moved closer.

"If a Watcher and a Sethian descendant bore two pure children, what would happen, brother, if a Demon son of Cain were to mate with a Naphil daughter of Seth?" Damon asked.

I froze. Do what? Mate? Jesus! Was he serious? Was he trying to say mixing the blood would cancel out one of the genes, hopefully the cursed one? I found myself moving closer to Marcas. His brother was nuts with a capital N.

"It would condemn us all," Marcas answered.

I shivered. Marcas looked toward my aunt. She stood and met his gaze defiantly.

"What has he been telling you?" Marcas asked.

She shifted then, but barely. Her gaze moved briefly between the brothers before she stared once more at Marcas.

_"Don't go there, brother. You think they'd believe you when I have possession of their leader?"_ Damon warned inside my skull.

I shook my head. Was I hearing things or were they really talking? Possession? Marcas didn't answer his brother.

"You would sacrifice your own family to redeem a Demon?" Marcas asked my aunt. Kyra stiffened.

"It isn't a sacrifice. It's her duty. We could shift the balance back to the side of good. If one Naphil daughter of Seth were to marry a pure male Seth descendant and the other a cursed line, it could redeem us all. It would restore the balance. It wouldn't rid the world of Demons, but it would rid the world of your cursed line," Kyra said passionately. She looked at me.

"Don't you see that?" she asked me.

I looked away. Tears burned the back of my eyes. This was _my_ aunt. This was my mother's sister. My father was alive, my mother was dead, and my aunt was giving me to a Demon. My heart tore. I looked around the room, my gaze finally landing on my sister. Amber's head hung, her eyes staring resolutely at the floor. Marcas shook his head and moved closer still. I was in front of him now. I looked up at his chin. His face was creased with anger.

"He has you brainwashed. Do you all seriously believe mixing our blood would erase everything? Fix it all? It's a curse that can't be undone. Do you believe our line would let it happen without a fight? There are many of us who don't want change," Marcas said to the room.

No one answered. Kyra took a step down from the dais.

"There's never a guarantee with anything. But it's worth a try. It would be a huge step in our war against all of your kind. Do you realize how many Demons this would destroy? It could make your line extinct!" Kyra said hotly.

Marcas laughed. "And you think Damon is giving you the tools to accomplish this? Oh, you're definitely asking for a war. And it won't just be Demon lives lost."

His eyes moved to encompass the whole room.

"And if it didn't work? What would you do with the child?" Marcas asked.

No one answered. They didn't have to. Nausea engulfed me. But while I felt weak with the thought of someone sacrificing an infant, it only seemed to fan Marcas' flame.

"You would destroy what you are so willing to create? Like a failed science project!" Marcas cried out before looking once more at my aunt.

"And why Dayton then? Why was she chosen to redeem the sons of Cain?" Marcas asked.

I looked up then, both wanting to know and dreading the answer. I felt more than saw Monroe take a step forward. She was having a hard time not interfering. I shook my head, knowing she would see it. I felt broken, but I was strong enough for this. Kyra looked at me before averting her gaze to Amber. And it was the way her gaze took Amber in that brought realization. It washed over me with a heat that burned my soul.

"I'm not good enough for the Sethian line," I whispered. The truth pierced me in the gut. My cursing, my attitude maybe, my lack of humbleness. . .

"I was never good enough."

I wasn't good enough because I was never willing to give up who I was as a person for a cause I wasn't sure I believed in. Marcas glanced at my aunt. I knew he saw what I saw. I knew he knew what I knew. But what no one knew was the way my whole body burned with the shame I felt at being considered lesser. I wonder if my aunt knew I had always had the same faith as my sister. I had just always believed that God loved us for who we were, not for what we could do. Amber looked up then, and I saw tears on her cheeks. I didn't blame her. She wasn't at fault.

"I see," Marcas said loudly. "I think I see."

He stared at my aunt.

"You should have considered your choices better," he said as he glanced between my sister and me. There was something in his eyes I couldn't read.

"He's misled you," Marcas said. His gaze moved back to Damon.

"I'm leaving, brother. And the girl leaves with me," Marcas growled as I raised a brow in his general direction. I had agreed to go with him, but he didn't have to sound all "me man, this be my woman" about it.

Damon moved forward a step, and I fell backward. I wasn't crazy about either man, but Marcas was definitely saner. Marcas' hand found my arm, and he pulled me into him. My body was suddenly flush with his and my head came quite a few inches below his chin. I shuddered. The movement felt too intimate for me, but I didn't move. Something told me it was important not to.

"Where do you expect to go, Marcas?" Damon asked coolly. He wasn't moving any closer.

I could feel heat and the quivering restraint of anger moving through Marcas' muscles and my heart rate sped up. If he noticed, he didn't react.

"To fix what you messed up," Marcas answered.

Damon's eyes shifted away from Marcas long enough to gaze a moment at my face. I fought not to look away.

"You are the elder by minutes, Marcas. It needs to be your blood, but if you won't finish what we started, I will. You will bring her back to me," Damon ordered. I stiffened.

"I don't belong to you, you imbecile!" I said vehemently. It might have been so much more effective if I wasn't hugged up to Marcas' chest, but I was tired of the 'Barbarian He Man' routine.

Marcas' arm tightened on me in warning, and I was very tempted to hit him. I was no one's puppet. Damon only laughed.

"You will bring her back to me," Damon repeated, his voice full of glee. Had I entertained him?

"If the damage can be undone, brother, she is yours," Marcas replied.

I heard Monroe's cry from behind me, and my heart skipped a beat. I was what? The bastard! I turned toward him and tried pushing away, but his arm was like iron so I settled for elbowing him in the ribs.

"Damn you!" I growled against his chest, so low I wasn't even sure he heard, but it made me feel better and that was the point.

Damon had moved toward us, and I suddenly felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. It took all the fight out of me. Marcas didn't move.

"Then go, Marcas. But once the bond is broken, I will know it. And I will bind her to me," he warned. I felt more than saw his gaze move to my back.

"You will return to me, love. Don't doubt that," Damon said hoarsely. I fought not to turn around and glare.

"I'm all aflutter," I said instead.

Marcas shifted slightly, and I wondered briefly if I had amused him. Damon remained quiet. As long as I had insulted _him_ , I was happy. Marcas let go of me long enough to move around me. He was at my back now and the door was in front of me.

"Move, Blainey," he whispered.

I didn't argue. I walked. Monroe fell in behind us.

"He's just going to let us go?" I whispered fearfully. Marcas pushed me.

"For now," he said.

I stumbled forward. Monroe ran to catch up. We were silent only until the door closed behind us. I glanced at Monroe.

"What the hell was that?" she and I asked Marcas simultaneously.

I was tempted to cry "jinx" but I didn't want to look like I belonged in elementary school. Marcas kept poking me in the back, and I kept moving. I glanced at Monroe again.

"Why isn't Damon coming after us?" Monroe asked, her voice low. We shared the same fear.

"He will," Marcas said cryptically. I stopped walking.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Marcas poked me again, and I grunted before moving.

"Leave it be. My brother is the least of our concerns. When the time comes, I'll deal with Damon," Marcas ordered gruffly.

I didn't have to look at Monroe this time to know she felt as frustrated as I did, but there was nothing we could do. _The least of our concerns?_ What could be worse? I felt Marcas jab me again.

"Could you quit with the pin cushion act?" I asked Marcas sulkily.

If he poked me one more time I'd scream! He poked me. I growled. Monroe took me by the hand and we walked as fast as we could to put some distance between us and the Demon. The car actually looked welcoming. We all climbed in. I turned on Marcas.

"What was that?" I asked, a little more calmly this time.

Marcas glanced behind him before starting the car and backing out of the drive.

"That was me trying to figure out how to get rid of you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Well, that's comforting. At least one of you doesn't want to impregnate me.'

Monroe snorted from the back seat. Marcas was silent.

"And the voices in my head?" I whispered. "I heard—"

"Nothing. You heard nothing, Blainey," Marcas said clearly.

I looked away. Maybe it was best I didn't know.

"That was rather enlightening," Monroe muttered.

I shuddered as I thought back on the chapel. This wasn't _Rosemary's Baby_. I was not about to carry any Demon's child for any reason good or bad. Heck, I still had yet to make it past first base with a guy. Not because I was some goody two shoes. I was just picky. And my first time was _so_ not going to be because a Demon claimed he had "bonded" with me _._

"Where are we going?" I asked Marcas quietly. I was suddenly a little wary of going anywhere with him. Marcas turned the car toward town.

"We're going to work on getting unbound," he answered.

I lifted a brow. Well, that didn't sound so bad.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" I asked. He looked at me then.

"We look for the impossible and do it without getting ourselves killed."

I glanced back at Monroe.

"Oh ok . . . well then."

Chapter 21

Creatures were created to protect humankind both from themselves and from the war they are unaware is raging around them. These creatures are guardians. They are born and raised to know their role. It is ingrained in their nature. They are gargoyles.

~Bezaliel~

We had passed three road signs before I realized where we were going. I glanced back at Monroe wildly. Her eyes were round.

"Why are we going to the airport?" I asked Marcas hesitantly. He didn't glance my way.

"I figured it'd be a lot more comfortable for the two of you if we went by plane rather than me flying you myself," Marcas answered.

My mouth hung open. I thought back on the night I'd met him at the bar, the part where I had been convinced we'd flown to my bedroom. I'm assuming that wasn't a drug induced hallucination. Was he saying he could fly? And why would we need to now? I went for the latter question. The former disturbed me too much.

"Why do we need to fly anywhere?"

He did glance at me then.

"How many reasons do you want me to give you? There are many. But if we're being short and to the point then we're going because, one, it's not safe here and, two, I need to see a friend who might can help us," Marcas said.

I wanted to remark on his sarcasm, but I found myself too worried to care. Monroe was way too quiet in the back seat.

"Why isn't it safe here?" I asked.

Marcas sighed. I was getting a lot of that from him. But what was I to do? I still didn't understand any of this. And I was a question asker. I hated girls who just sat back and let things happen to them. I _wasn't_ one of those girls. _I_ , personally, liked answers.

"Damon may be ecstatic about the bond he's created but, by doing so, he's incited war. There are going to be a lot of people and Demons who are going to want you dead. Given that and the bond, I'm not sure what that would do to me," Marcas answered. I looked at him.

"Glad to know you care."

"I don't."

"Kinda figured that," I said as I looked in the back seat to see Monroe gazing out the window thoughtfully. She glanced my way and caught my eye. I read the intent there and groaned. What was she up to? She glanced down and my gaze followed hers to the cell phone sitting idly in her hand. The text screen was lit up. No, she didn't! She nodded. Wonderful!

"Are you a vampire Demon?" I asked Marcas as I gave Monroe the evil eye before turning back around.

"Vampires don't exist," Marcas answered. I snorted.

"Then what was with the whole 'drinking my blood' thing at the bar?"

There was no sarcasm. Just curiosity. Marcas glanced in the rearview mirror for a moment before answering.

"It's a curse. Any son of Cain craves blood. It isn't a necessity. We don't need it to live, but we do crave the taste."

I stared at him in horror.

"Seriously?"

"You won't start craving blood," Marcas said flatly. I wasn't reassured.

"How do you know? You ever been bound to anyone before?" I asked.

He looked over at me.

"If you were going to crave it, you'd already know," he said, his tone certain.

My gaze met his, and I saw the red glow that consumed it briefly. I shivered. I was going to trust him on this one. Marcas glanced in the rearview mirror again. It was the second time I'd seen him do it in the past few minutes. I glanced behind us.

"I think we're being followed," Monroe said worriedly, and I noticed she too had been staring out of the back windshield. Headlights glared behind us.

"Put your seat belt on," Marcas told Monroe pointedly. She didn't argue. The click was audible in the silence. It seemed to signal an end to a moment.

A squeal filled the air, and I noticed the car behind us swerve into the next lane. Its engine revved.

"This can't be good," Monroe said fearfully. She tended to state the obvious when she was afraid.

Marcas revved his own engine and his foot floored the gas. My head slammed back against the headrest.

"Oh, my God!" I cried out as the other car sped up and veered into Marcas' bumper. Marcas fought against the impact and recovered.

"What do they want?" Monroe cried out.

Marcas pressed the gas harder, his gaze moving unflinchingly from the front windshield to the side window. He watched the other car as if it was prey. Something told me I should be comforted by this, but I wasn't. Not when I wasn't sure who or what the driver of the other car was.

The following vehicle fell back, then edged closer again. We came up on a bend and both cars careened around it so fast I was sure two of our tires came off the blacktop. I barely managed to keep my head from banging into the passenger side window. My stomach churned.

"You're going to get us killed!" Monroe shouted.

Marcas pulled the car out of the curve and lurched into the other lane in front of our pursuer. He didn't comment. The other car pulled up close again. The sound of metal against metal didn't bode well for us. I braced myself against the dashboard.

"You've got to do something!" Monroe pleaded as the pursuer pulled up alongside us and slammed into the driver's side.

We swerved off the road. Marcas swore before shoving the gas and pulling back onto the blacktop. He rammed into our pursuer.

"Jesus!" I cried.

The other car faltered and slowed. Marcas floored the gas, pulled out in front of the other car, hit his brakes and spun the car around. It stopped in front of the pursuing vehicle. Monroe and I both screamed and covered our eyes simultaneously.

A series of noises filled the car—squealing tires, crunching gravel, and a slamming door. I opened my eyes to see the other car halted on the shoulder of the road. The driver was standing next to his damaged vehicle. He was a tall man with dark brown hair and sunglasses. I wondered how he could see. Marcas stared at him a moment in silence before reaching for his door handle.

"Stay in the car," he ordered, his voice low and rough.

He turned toward us both, and I fought hard to hide a gasp. His teeth were now fangs, all of them pointed. His two canines were the longest in length. It wasn't a romantic sight. Monroe squeaked.

"We're going to die," she whispered as Marcas opened the car door and slid out into the night. The men faced each other.

"Marcas," the other man greeted almost amiably, his head nodding slightly.

"Samuel," Marcas answered back.

They sized each other up. It was like watching two lions facing off on the Discovery channel. I was waiting for both of them to sprout claws. It wasn't entirely out of the question since I noticed the other guy had fangs as well. Samuel shifted his weight slightly.

"Give me the girl, Marcas," Samuel commanded.

My whole body went numb. Marcas hadn't been lying. We were in danger. And, for some reason, it was all because of me. Marcas shifted. Both seemed to be settling into a fighting stance.

"I can't do that, Samuel," Marcas said evenly, his voice held no inflection. Samuel didn't move.

"She means that much to you?" Samuel asked coldly.

"She means nothing."

"Then why risk a fight? I'm not the only one who's come after you."

"You know why."

"You're in deep shit, aren't you, Marcas?"

"Not by choice."

"Give me the girl!"

"No."

Samuel lunged, hitting Marcas squarely in the chest. Both flew into a tree on the side of the road with such force, the huge oak bent in two. Monroe squealed. Pain engulfed me.

"We need to get out of here, Dayton!" Monroe begged suddenly.

She unbuckled and grabbed me by the shoulder. I was still staring at the fight, my mind trying to wrap itself around what it saw. Like any girl, I'd always dreamed of two men fighting over me, but not this way. Not when one of the men wanted me dead and the other was bound to me unwillingly.

I stared as Marcas pushed himself off the tree and punched Samuel. The other man growled and shook his head before circling Marcas. The fight was on. Both seemed evenly matched. I glanced away.

"We wouldn't be safer on our own," I said quietly. My voice trembled.

Something hit the windshield and we both screamed. I looked up to see it crack, lines moving along the glass like a spider's web. Marcas' back was shoved up against the web-like surface. Blood trickled onto the glass. I unbuckled and crawled carefully into the back seat just as the windshield caved in. Marcas growled. The sound was deep and guttural. The men seemed to be communicating in some primal language beyond human comprehension. Marcas shoved off the car. Another crash resounded, and the driver's side door caved in. I could feel burning along my back now.

"We've got to move!" Monroe cried.

I didn't argue. I could tell Marcas was trying, but the other man was determined to get inside the car. The back seat in the Shelby was cramped and Monroe had to work to get to the passenger handle of the two door car.

"Don't let him see us," I whispered urgently as Monroe opened the door slowly and squeezed through as small an opening as she could manage. I followed. There was enough growling outside, I was hoping neither man had heard.

Monroe inched along the side of the car. I lost sight of the men as I followed. The car shook. I glanced around desperately.

"The trees," I whispered.

Monroe nodded. We didn't have any other choice. I stood up cautiously and looked for the two Demons. Marcas had Samuel pinned against the road, but Samuel was gaining the upper hand. Their backs were to us.

"Now!" I hissed.

We made a run for the forest just beyond the road. We spread out and hid behind two trees spaced fairly close together. The trunks were thick. I turned and put my stomach against the bark, my gaze searching the road until I caught sight of the Demons.

The two men were staring hard at each other, their bodies outlined in the harsh gleam of headlights coming from their damaged vehicles. Samuel lashed out at Marcas, and I noticed his hands had morphed into claws. It didn't surprise me. Marcas turned and Samuel ripped into Marcas' arm, just barely missing his stomach. He grunted but didn't falter. Both men were bleeding.

"We can't just stay here," Monroe argued from behind her tree.

I looked over at her. My arm was burning, and I was afraid to look down at it.

"Where else are we supposed to go?"

"Anywhere but here," she hissed just as a loud crashing noise made us both look toward the ensuing fight.

Marcas had thrown Samuel on top of the car. It was now badly crushed. I assumed he knew we were no longer in it. Samuel rebounded and pulled himself up on top of the crushed vehicle. He leaped. Marcas moved aside but not before Samuel managed to knock his feet out from under him. He jumped on top of Marcas. I didn't see what happened next, but I did see Samuel's figure loom suddenly upward. Marcas wasn't moving. I felt like I was suffocating, but I didn't black out. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Samuel looked up and sniffed.

"It would be easier on you if you'd come to me, sweet one." Samuel called out.

I cringed. He sniffed again and moved toward the trees. My heart rate sped up.

"Jesus, Dayton." Monroe whimpered as he came closer.

His fangs and claws were dripping blood. It was a terrifying sight. Headlights suddenly swept across the area, blinding us. Samuel growled and covered his eyes. Tires squealed across the blacktop, crunched on leaves and gravel, and spun to a stop not far from the trees. Fear consumed me, and I peeked around the trunk expecting to find another Demon hell-bent on killing me but was met with Conor Reinhardt's idling Mercedes instead. The back door swung open just as his window rolled down.

"Get in!" Conor shouted.

Monroe didn't argue. I knew she'd contacted him earlier. Conor yelled at us again, but while Monroe began to run toward the car, I looked toward Marcas. He still lay in the same spot, but he was moving. I felt torn. I wanted to leave but realized I couldn't. I was too weak, and I couldn't abandon Marcas knowing he'd refused to turn me over to Samuel. I looked down and, for the first time, noticed all the blood. I felt faint. Marcas hadn't been the only one to take the blunt of this fight.

Conor yelled again, and I looked up at the car just in time to see Samuel intercept Monroe. She screamed. He smiled. It was feral, fangs flashing as he dove for her neck. It would be a killing blow.

The image of Monroe in her vintage dress with her hand tucked into mine at my parent's funeral flashed through my head, and I leaped toward them. Conor's door flew open, but it wasn't as fast as I was. One moment, I was weak and faltering, the next I was next to Monroe grabbing Samuel by the neck and throwing him over Marcas' crumbled car and onto the blacktop.

Marcas sat up suddenly a few inches away from him and growled before leaning over and tearing out the other Demon's throat. Nausea hit me and I doubled over, listening to the sound of Marcas ripping into Samuel's body. I was going to remember that moment for the rest of my life. I stared at my hand.

"Dayton?" Monroe asked uncertainly from beside me.

I felt Conor move in next to us. The fight was going out of me, and I could feel the effects of blood loss.

"We need to get you in the car," Conor said. I didn't look at him.

"I can't leave," I whispered. "I can't leave him now."

I couldn't leave Marcas. I looked at the hand I'd used to grab Samuel's throat, and I gagged. There was no way I could leave Marcas now. I could hear the Demon move toward us, and I looked up at him. His claws and fangs had retracted, but the blood was still there. I avoided the scene behind him.

"Was that part of the bond?" I asked Marcas weakly. He stared down at me.

"You have my strengths and none of my weaknesses," Marcas said quietly, his eyes raking the scene behind us as I tried wrapping my mind around the fact that I had just thrown a full grown Demon across a car. Super hero much? That thought made me pause.

"And you . . . what did you get from me?" I asked him hesitantly.

Marcas looked down, his blue eyes meeting my green ones evenly.

"All of your weaknesses," he said.

Oh. Um . . . oookay. Well, that was a downer.

"You sure do know how to make a girl feel important."

Chapter 22

The bond is unnatural. Never before has a Demon been bound to an Angel or a Naphil. This has caused unrest among the ranks of both Angels and Demons. The Demons are steadfast in their solution to this aberration: The girl must die.

~Bezaliel~

"Is she going to be ok?" Monroe asked Marcas uncertainly.

I looked faintly down at my blood covered arm. The gashes were already beginning to heal. The question broke the tension between the two of us.

"She'll live," Marcas commented as he pulled the knife he'd used to demonstrate our bond out of his pocket. He made a small gash on his wrist without flinching. I felt the same wound open up on my own wrist.

"Don't you think you've made her bleed enough?" Conor asked with a growl.

I looked up at the two of them. Marcas glanced at Conor with a look of disgust. They seemed to know each other. This confused me.

"Drink," Marcas said suddenly, holding his wrist out to me without taking his eyes off of Conor. I stared at his wrist in horror.

"Hell no!" Conor yelled.

"Omg!" Monroe exclaimed.

"Seriously?" I asked in a whisper. Marcas turned to look at me.

"It won't strengthen the bond. And it will restore you."

I continued to stare at the wrist.

"You don't know that!" Conor said angrily. Marcas glanced at him.

"Leave the Demonology to the Demon, Gargoyle. I'm aware of the limits on bonding," Marcas hissed. My eyes widened. Gargoyle? Monroe swore.

"What the fuck is a gargoyle?" she asked, her tone shocked. "Oh, _this_ is wonderful. Dayton is bonded to a Demon hunted by psychos and I've managed to call in a gargoyle."

I was too weak to care what anyone was right now. My legs buckled and I went down on my knees. Spots swam before my eyes. Marcas kneeled.

"Drink, Blainey, before you're too weak and before I have to open another wound," Marcas whispered.

I looked up at him. Our eyes met.

"Drink," he ordered.

This time I complied, closing my eyes as my mouth closed around the wound on his wrist. Blood filled my mouth and I fought the urge to gag. I forced myself to swallow. The blood was thick and it burned. Pain engulfed me.

I tore my mouth away and fell to the ground. Marcas' hands were suddenly on my shoulders, keeping my back to the damp forest floor as I seized. Liquid fire coursed through my veins. I screamed. Conor moved in close but Marcas growled and flashed his fangs when he made to touch me.

"Don't!" Marcas yelled.

The heat in my body increased, and I screamed again. Hell. It felt like the fire pits of Hell. Marcas pushed down harder, and I realized my body was bucking as the effects of the Demon blood started waning. I felt open wounds on my body sear closed, and I panted as the liquid fire pooled around the injuries before dimming. My eyes found Marcas'.

"I think I'd rather have died," I whispered weakly. Marcas didn't reply.

Conor yelled something at the Demon as I pushed at Marcas' hands and fought to sit up. Marcas released my arms and put a hand behind my back for support.

"I didn't say the healing would come easy," Marcas answered in a low tone as the pain began to pass.

I looked up at them all. Marcas was a little too close for comfort, and my heart rate sped up. Conor bent close.

"You can move now, Demon," Conor said, his tone surly.

Marcas' gaze moved between the two of us, and he moved aside slowly. I braced myself against the ground, the loss of Marcas' support causing a heavy feeling in my chest. The wounds on my arm were gone and I moved my limbs experimentally. No stiffness.

"We need to go," Marcas said from above me.

I looked up to find his gaze on the wrecked carnage behind us. He was right. It wouldn't do for us to be found here. Conor and Monroe flanked me quietly, and I used their hands to help lift me off the ground. Blood rushed back down into my body, and my breathing came easier. No dizziness. The weakness was gone.

"Not with you she doesn't," Conor threatened.

Marcas turned on him, his face coming even with Conor's. The contrast between them was startling. Light and dark.

"The gargoyles failed to protect her. Now she's stuck with me. Don't blame me for something I didn't want," Marcas said, his voice low. Conor's eyes narrowed.

"I wasn't aware of your brother's intentions," Conor defended. Marcas never even blinked.

"There is where you failed. We both underestimated him. Now we're stuck with the consequences," Marcas replied.

I watched them both quietly, my eyes moving between Conor's golden frame and Marcas' dark one. Why did it always seem everyone but me was discussing my future?

"I'm voting in Conor's favor," Monroe added glibly from beside me.

I glanced down at my arm before moving my gaze to Marcas' wrist. There was no sign of injury, but the memory was still there. He'd been hurt, I'd been hurt, and he had healed me. I closed my eyes. We were bonded. It was time I got used to it. Marcas' words haunted me, _"You can turn a deaf ear and a blind eye, but when you open yourself back up, it's still going to be there."_ He was right.

"I don't think I have a choice," I said quietly.

Marcas looked over at me and, for the first time, I noticed something akin to compassion in his gaze. The look was gone as fast as it appeared. He swept his arm toward the wreckage.

"We move now," he ordered, his eyes on the empty car Samuel had left behind. It was damaged but usable. Conor stood defiantly, his arms crossed.

"We'll take _my_ car," he said suddenly.

I looked up at him, startled. He was going with us? Our eyes met, and I saw the challenge there. He was not accepting arguments. Monroe moved to his side. She looked scared and unsure. Coming as close to death as she'd come, I knew she was feeling insecure and helpless. The fact that she was still here spoke highly of her strength.

"I concur with the gargoyle," she said, flipping her thumb in Conor's direction. I think, at this point, anything familiar was less terrifying than the alternative.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Marcas complained, his eyes rolling upward.

"A little break here," he said Heavenward.

There was no reply. He looked back down, resolved. He could have argued, even challenged Conor to a fight, but he didn't. And I found myself respecting him for that. He was stronger than all of us. And what he may lack in strength, I knew he made up for in experience. His eyes were ancient. I'd watched him kill the Demon Samuel with a cold efficiency that only came with time. Or, at least, I hoped it came with time. I'd rather the kill had been a defense mechanism and not because he had no human emotion. My knowledge of demons was practically nonexistent. Marcas sized Conor up.

"Then I drive, Gargoyle, or no go."

Conor looked like he was ready to argue, but I shook my head. I didn't like the position we were in, but I did trust Marcas to an extent. He knew more about the danger we were in than we did.

Conor's jaw tightened perceptibly and his gaze found mine, his eyes searching. What he saw there made him swear and he looked away quickly, the car keys jangling as he threw them at the Demon.

"This isn't over," Conor said to Marcas before sliding into the passenger seat.

Marcas didn't reply. He looked pointedly at Monroe and me, and I moved to the car as Marcas slid into the driver's seat. Monroe and I climbed into the back.

"This should be fun," I mumbled sarcastically as Marcas started the engine.

He shifted into drive and eased the car around the wreckage in the road. I looked at the blacktop and noticed Samuel's body had disappeared. Where had it gone? The image of Marcas leaning over Samuel's prone figure flashed through my head, and I felt sick to my stomach. I had never seen anyone killed before, and I had been a part of it. I swallowed convulsively.

"What's a gargoyle?" I asked Conor suddenly, my eyes closed against the image as my mind sought distraction.

I heard Conor shift subtly, and I opened my eyes to find him glancing into the backseat. Monroe and I both stared back at him expectantly. His gaze moved between us.

"They are guardians, protectors," he said carefully. "It's an ancient line made up of families assigned by Heaven. We are, in a way, a type of Angel. It's hereditary. Each family is broken down by crests. We live as mortals live, die as mortals die. Every once in a while when there's a great need for protection of certain individuals, we are assigned as guardians."

I stared at him as he explained, each new sentence working its way past the gut-wrenching feeling of disgust I felt over Samuel's death. I concentrated on his words. Assigned as guardians? My eyes searched Conor's, and he looked away. But I had seen the conflict there. I thought of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and I leaned forward slightly.

"I thought they were gothic statues," I said.

"We can be perceived as such. I can turn into stone," Conor said unexpectedly.

I was too numb from everything that had already happened to be much surprised. I just nodded, accepting his explanation with much more aplomb than even I expected. I just couldn't find it in me to be shocked. I thought back over his words again, over the conflict I'd seen in his eyes, and I sighed heavily as another invisible burden settled over me.

"How long have you been _my_ guardian?" I asked.

He looked up, resigned. He knew I wasn't stupid. It wasn't hard to deduce. He'd always seemed to show up at my worst moments, always seemed to have the solution to whatever problem arose. He didn't argue my conclusion.

"A year," he answered.

I nodded and laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. I saw Marcas glance at me in the rearview window, and I kept my expression even.

A year. The next thought came unbidden. " _I realized I wanted you to give me your pain. I wanted to take it away from you,"_ Conor had said when I'd had the vision of Marcas and Damon, a vision I now suspected had been caused by Damon himself. Had Conor ever really had feelings for me or had the scene in my bedroom been an act, an attempt to get closer, a _job_ even? Monroe seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"Bastards, all of you," she mumbled.

I looked away, my eyes searching the dark ever-changing landscape through the tinted windows. Shadowy trees made way to street lights and empty buildings. Jackson, Mississippi.

"I didn't lie," Conor said. I knew he was referring to the moment we'd shared. I didn't answer.

"Like you didn't lie to us about what you were all these years," Monroe argued in my stead. Her hand made its way into mine and I squeezed. Conor sighed.

"Monroe—"

She snorted and gave him the hand. It was childish, but I understood why she did it. We'd known Conor for as long as we both could remember, and we'd always believed there were no secrets between us. My mother and his mother had been close friends. _Very close friends._ I stared up at Conor hard, my mind struggling with the idea now taking root. Pain radiated through my stomach. I plunged my free fist into my gut. I hated this feeling, hated the invisible parasites I'd been infested with the moment Mrs. Cavendish had told me my parents were dead.

"Your mother is a gargoyle," I whispered. It wasn't a question.

Conor shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes."

I choked down a sob.

"She was my mother's protector, wasn't she?"

Conor turned in his seat. Marcas glanced at me again in the rearview mirror. His expression was unreadable.

"Dayton—"

" _What_ went wrong?" I asked Conor. Where had my father been when my mother died? Why hadn't he been able to stop it? Where was he now? And why had Mrs. Reinhardt failed? I dug my fist in. Conor fidgeted.

"I'm not sure," he answered finally.

His troubled expression was genuine. I left it alone. I _would_ find answers about my mother's death. _Someone_ was going to pay. But now wasn't the time. I knew that. I bit down on my tongue. Marcas glanced up sharply from the front seat. I saw his jaw tighten in the rearview mirror, but I ignored it, looking instead at the airport parking lot he suddenly pulled into.

"Where are we going?" I asked Marcas boldly.

He stopped the car and shifted into park. I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned forward. I was getting a direct answer from him. Meek Dayton was long gone. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. I didn't look away.

"Italy," he answered.

Monroe gasped. Conor didn't say anything. I continued to stare. Marcas' words registered in my brain, but the ability to be shocked seemed beyond me. I actually felt relief at his answer. I needed to get away.

"Don't tell me. We have an audience with the Pope," I said mechanically, my attempt to lighten the mood falling flat. Marcas didn't break eye contact.

"You're as much an enemy of the church as I am now, Blainey," Marcas said coldly.

I watched him as one of his brows lifted inquisitively. I think he expected to see fear in my eyes at the remark, but there was none. I was too numb.

So? I was an enemy of the church now. If Samuel was any indication, they'd need to take a number and get in line. I let my gaze linger on Marcas' face. He was stained with blood but it didn't take away from his appeal.

"Guess this means a tour of the Vatican is out of the question," I quipped. I thought for a moment Marcas was going to smile, but Conor interrupted.

"We've got one problem," Conor stated with a wave of his hand.

I looked over at him blankly. I felt so, so very cold. Would I ever feel warm again?

"And that would be what exactly?" I asked.

His gaze moved down my shirt before glancing over at Marcas pointedly.

"If you think airport security is strict about weapons being brought aboard a plane, I'm pretty positive a blood covered Demon and Naphil won't make it past the door."

I saw his point. Marcas looked at Conor a moment before holding his hand out, palm upward. A black t-shirt appeared, and he wrapped his fingers around the material before bringing his other hand up. A clean red dolman materialized. I looked at them in amazement.

"Please tell me I can do that," I said in awe.

All the plays and books I'd ever read about the devil offering people their heart's desires in exchange for their soul came to mind. It made me wonder what Marcas was capable of. How many people had he bribed in the past with his powers? Marcas threw me the dolman before shrugging out of his leather jacket and pulling his shredded black tee over his head.

"Don't push your luck, Blainey," Marcas said as I gaped at the sight of his chest. I hoped I was inconspicuous about it, but the man was an Adonis. A marble statue couldn't be carved any better than the abs I saw before me.

Marcas pulled the clean, new shirt over his head and down his abdomen. I noticed even Monroe stared.

"Your turn," Marcas said as he pointed at the dolman on my lap. Thank God I wore a black cami on under the ruined shirt I had on now.

"It's just a reproduction of the clothes we had on before," Marcas explained as I pulled the bloodied, torn dolman over my head. The black cami underneath was still in one piece and unsoiled.

I pulled the clean shirt on hurriedly before anyone had a chance to comment on my pink bra straps clearly visible under the cami. We still had dried blood on our bodies, but Conor produced a pack of wet wipes from the glove compartment of his car and we cleaned up the best we could. Monroe even handed me a pony tail holder she had wrapped around her wrist. I pulled my hair up on top of my head and left it that way.

"That'll have to work," I said as Marcas climbed out of the car. A few curls escaped my pony tail as I climbed out into the night. I hated my hair.

"We don't have passports," I said as we all met at the front of the vehicle.

Marcas held his hand out again, and I watched intently as a group of cards materialized. It looked like such an easy gesture for him, like walking or breathing. I _really_ wanted to be able to do that. He handed each of us a card. I stared at mine numbly. There was a picture of me, but the name was different.

Danielle Mays

I glanced at the other cards. All of us had an alias. Conor was Chad Edwards, Monroe was Ellen Edwards and Marcas was Mark Mays. I stared at the last names. _Danielle and Mark Mays?_

"Is there a reason for the shared surnames?" I asked Marcas suspiciously. He didn't look at me.

"With Reinhardt's and Jacob's height and blonde hair, they can pass as siblings. We're married."

I coughed. _What?_

"Fuck that!" Conor exclaimed, his gaze full of horror.

I coughed again. Monroe patted me on the back.

"W-why?" I stuttered.

Marcas looked around the group. His expression never changed. I wondered what he'd look like if he laughed.

"Because the best you can pass as is nineteen and that's barely. It'd be less suspicious for us to leave the country as a couple and siblings than as a group of independent teenagers and one adult. It's just until we land," Marcas said.

He didn't look much older than we were. Twenty at the oldest. I glanced again at his passport. He had his age at twenty-one. _It's just until we land_. That was a relief.

"Guess that means we're newlyweds?" I asked him cautiously. He had my age at nineteen. He looked at me.

"Yes, my dear. You are my young, loving new wife," he said coldly as he pushed to the front of the group. I cringed at his callousness. I wasn't used to lying, and I wasn't an actress. Forgive me for being wary.

"Smartass," I muttered as I followed.

Conor moved next to Marcas.

"This is bullshit!" Conor said as we walked.

Marcas glanced at me.

"I would have gladly made her your wife," he said evenly. I was insulted.

"Can we just do this?" I asked sullenly.

Monroe snorted next to me. I looked over and realized she was trying not to laugh.

"What?" I hissed. She just shook her head.

"If it wasn't for the danger, this trip would be interesting as hell," she said with a laugh.

Our humor was returning. I flipped her the bird, and she stuck out her tongue. The gestures felt familiar and nice. We moved into the airport and Conor fell back next to Monroe. He'd done subterfuge before. It was obvious by the way he suddenly grinned and elbowed his "sister" as if they shared a joke.

Marcas took my hand and tucked my arm into his. My skin crawled. Nerves overtook me. We moved through the terminals easily. No one questioned our motives and when it came time to produce tickets, Marcas handed four over without blinking an eye. I was having a hard time saving face. Monroe had always been a good actress and Marcas and Conor seemed experienced in lying. I was sorely unprepared for this.

"Mrs. Mays," the lady said respectfully from behind the desk as she handed back my ticket. It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. I reached for the slip of paper with my left hand and almost gasped at the beautiful diamond solitaire engagement ring and white gold wedding band that suddenly appeared.

"Ummm . . . thank you," I said with a smile.

She looked at me curiously before moving to Conor and Monroe. I had a hard time not staring at the ring. The diamond on the engagement ring was heart-shaped and tinted pink. It was very unusual. I walked through the metal detector and met Marcas on the other side. He took my hand once more. The tingling hit me again. It made my stomach ache.

"Are you ok, Mrs. Mays?" a flight attendant asked me when we finally made it on the plane. Marcas had produced first class tickets. I was impressed.

I looked up at the woman sheepishly.

"Just a little nervous about flying," I answered.

It wasn't a lie. I'd never flown before. She smiled and assured me it was safer than being in a car. I wasn't convinced. At least a car didn't disregard the rules of gravity. Marcas let me take the window seat. It was a nice gesture, but I wasn't appreciating it in the least. I didn't like heights. I was sure my face was turning green and we hadn't even taken off yet.

"I've always wanted to go to Italy," Monroe said cheerfully as she took the seat in front of me. She was still in character. She popped a piece of bubble gum with her finger. Oh, how I could use a dumdum! Conor glanced at Marcas and me before sitting down next to Monroe glumly. I wanted to tell him I'd much rather be sitting with them, but I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The plane filled up and the seat belt light came on. I was already buckled up.

"Breathe, Blainey," I whispered to myself as the plane's engines started up.

The pilot came over the loudspeaker and the flight attendant began a safety lesson. I ignored them both as I searched the seat in front of me for a barf bag. I found it and grabbed at it greedily. Marcas glanced at me. I ignored him.

"Try this," Monroe said from in front of me, and I looked up to see her holding a piece of gum over the back of the seat. It was spearmint. She must have gotten it from Conor. I took it gratefully. Both of them knew I had a phobia of heights and spiders. Both tended to paralyze me. The shock from the Samuel incident had worn off, and my body was on high "frantic" alert.

"Thanks," I muttered before unwrapping the gum and popping it into my mouth. It did help some with the nausea. The plane moved.

"Oh, my God!" I uttered helplessly.

Marcas took my hand, and I looked down at it, startled. I was about to pull away when I noticed the flight attendant looking our way. I let him take it. His other hand suddenly moved to the back of my neck, and I cringed.

"Relax," he said quietly, and I realized he was concentrating. His eyes were focused, the pupils dilated. The tension in my stomach eased. The plane lifted off. Marcas kept his hand on my neck. The nausea went away. The seat belt light went off.

"Ok?" Marcas asked.

I looked over at him. I knew he'd done something to ease my fear, I just wasn't sure what.

"Yeah," I answered.

He removed his hand. My skin felt instantly cold.

"Thanks."

He didn't look at me.

"I didn't think having to produce another shirt because you got sick a very good idea," he said in return. I shrugged. Either way, I was still grateful. A flight attendant appeared next to our seats.

"Can I get you some champagne?" she asked us kindly.

I shook my head. According to my I.D., I wasn't old enough anyway. Marcas nodded. She disappeared. I glanced at Marcas.

"I'm beginning to see my life in movie shades," I told him lightly. I was attempting, if somewhat feebly, to make small talk. Marcas glanced at me sharply.

"What?" he asked. I shrugged.

"You ever seen that movie _Just Married_? You know the one where Brittany Murphy and Ashton Kutcher get married and have all kinds of honeymoon mishaps?" I asked conversationally. Marcas looked away and didn't answer.

"Not a movie guy, huh?" I asked. He still didn't answer.

"Oh well."

I'd tried. Of all the Demons in the world, I had to get bound to this one. He was the coldest, most unreadable person I'd ever met. Maybe it was a Demon thing. Maybe Demons abhorred small talk. Who knew? He didn't look like a Demon. I had to remind myself that he wasn't human. The flight attendant brought Marcas his champagne. She smiled at him. He didn't smile back.

"Does craving blood make you an asshole?" I asked Marcas after the attendant walked away. Marcas took a sip of his champagne and took his time savoring it before looking at me.

"What is it about you Angels? Did you _want_ me to smile at the attendant?"

I snorted. It was so _not_ ladylike.

"I wouldn't know. And a little grin wouldn't have hurt," I said with a frown.

I didn't know anything about being an Angel. I still couldn't believe my father was one and that I shared his blood. And what did Marcas have to compare me to? How many Angels did he know?

"I'm supposed to be a newlywed," he said dryly.

I lifted my brow. The attendant had smiled at him. I didn't consider that flirtatious. He'd obviously never seen a Southern girl circling a guy she was interested in. Southern women had gumption.

"Could have fooled me. Newlyweds SMILE. They _look_ happy," I pointed out.

Marcas leaned over slightly and bared his teeth. They were fangs.

"That better?"

"Real attractive," I said with a grimace. He looked away. The attendant walked by and I asked for a pillow.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked pleasantly.

I hooked my thumb in Marcas' direction.

"A new husband. You can have this one."

The woman choked before looking at us both, her eyes wide with shock. Oh yeah, she wasn't from the South. If she had been, shock wouldn't have been the reaction I'd gotten. A Southern woman would have either verbally destroyed the man next to me for whatever crime he'd committed to ignite my ire, or she would have taken the cards I'd laid on the table and made a play for my "husband." Monroe snorted from the seat in front of me.

"Ma'am?" The attendant asked. I waved my hand.

"Sorry. Lover's quarrel. Give us some time. You know what they say about make up sex." I said with an apologetic grin.

Someone called out to the attendant and she moved on quickly. Monroe was laughing fully in front of us now. Conor was silent.

"Like you know anything about that," Marcas muttered. "Are you always this aggravating?"

"Pretty much."

Marcas moaned. "This is going to be one helluva long flight," I heard him whisper.

I wasn't going to disagree. I grew silent. Time moved slowly. The darkness outside finally caught up with me and I yawned.

"Why does everyone want me dead?" I asked Marcas softly. I didn't want anyone around us to overhear. He leaned back in his seat.

"Because of what we are," he answered.

I didn't understand and I told him so. He looked down at me.

"It is not unusual for Demons to bind mortals to them. Many enjoy having human servants with increased strength and a long life who can serve them on earth for centuries. When they tire of these mortals, they take their souls. Never before has a Demon been bonded to an Angel. Ever. There are no rules for this. It could have disastrous results. It's not natural. My brother believes it will bring the race of Cain redemption. Others believe it will throw the war on the side of good or evil. Right now, they are equally matched. Neither side can afford for the other to get the upper hand," Marcas said. I looked at him.

"So we're writing the rules for this as we go then?"

I didn't really expect an answer. And he didn't give me one. I watched him as he turned away from me, his profile erect, and I wondered how he felt about this whole debacle. Did he hate me for what I was? Or did he hate his brother for binding us? Did _I_ need to hate _him_ because my father is an Angel?

"You said your father was Cain. The Cain that killed Abel in the Bible?" I asked Marcas. He looked away.

"Yes."

I had a hard time swallowing that.

"And your mother?"

Marcas looked at me again.

"Are you always this chatty?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I'm normally worse," I answered. "And you're avoiding the question."

Marcas leaned his head back.

"My mother is the Demon, Lilith, the first perceived wife of Adam," Marcas said. I frowned.

"Adam had another wife before Eve?" I asked, confused.

"So some believe. It's more myth than fact. The truth remains, though, that Cain did lie with a Demon and our race was the result." Marcas said.

I touched his arm. He looked down at my hand pointedly. I pulled away. So he didn't like touch.

"So you're the descendant of Cain and Lilith?" I asked. It didn't seem possible that he was the son. He looked me in the eye.

"I am their first born son," he said unflinchingly.

My eyes grew wide. He was serious.

"That makes you—"

"Really old," he finished for me.

I sat back. Well, I hadn't expected that. And here I thought Monroe was the one attracted to older men. God, I should be disgusted. I looked at Marcas from the corner of my eye. He looked confident even leaning back in the first class seat of a 747. It was hard to believe he'd existed before the invention of flight.

"How many of you are there?" I asked him. He didn't move.

"Millions," he answered. I thought about that. Vampires may not exist, but I had a feeling Marcas' race had been the basis for the myth.

"This doesn't feel like reality," I said quietly. He didn't answer me. I yawned again but fought sleep. I still had one more question.

"How are we supposed to get unbound?"

The interior lights of the cabin were dimmed. Most of the passengers were asleep.

"I'm not sure yet," Marcas answered. That was comforting.

I stood up and looked over the seats in front of us. Monroe and Conor were both asleep. I sat back down and turned toward Marcas.

"I don't want to die," I whispered. "And I don't want my friends to die."

Marcas glanced over at me, his gaze intent. The cabin suddenly felt way too small.

"I can't promise anything," he said.

I knew that. I just felt better knowing someone knew I did care about what little life I had. Even if it was a Demon. I gave him one last look before leaning my head against the back of my seat and letting my exhaustion take me away.

Chapter 23

There are few ways to unbind a Demon from his/her charge. One would be for the Demon to steal the soul of those bound to him. The other way is less known. It has never been attempted.

~Bezaliel~

With sleep came the dream. My father leaned over me again, the scene changed and the rain poured. And again, I fought it. It was the same and yet different. Each time was clearer. And each time I screamed harder for him. And, as always I woke up suddenly. Nausea flooded me, and I bit back a scream. My whole body shook as I leaned over to rest my head against the back of the seat in front of me. My breathing was ragged.

"What do you want?" I whispered. There had to be some hidden meaning to the nightmare, some message, but I was missing it. It made me want to cry. I beat my head against the seat gently. _Damn it, where are you, dad!_

"How long have you had the dream?" a voice asked, and I squeaked. My mind was still groggy and it took me a moment to remember where I was. The airplane. Marcas. I turned toward him. He was leaned back against his seat, his eyes watching me intently. I felt my face flood with heat.

"You don't sleep?" I whispered.

Speaking louder would require breathing, and I wasn't sure I was capable of pulling that off at the moment. He just stared. I inhaled sharply and attempted to sit up. My muscles cramped.

"How long have you had the dream?" Marcas asked me again.

I clutched my stomach and sat back carefully, my eyes roaming the cabin to be sure the lights were still low and the passengers still sleeping. How long had I been out? Marcas shifted slightly, and I turned to him.

"Since I was ten."

I didn't ask him how he knew about it. It was becoming increasingly obvious to me that our bond opened up lines between us I didn't want open. Marcas watched me a second then turned away. He made no move to comfort me.

"Did you see it?" I asked him softly. Talking helped calm me.

"Did you want me to?" Marcas asked.

I looked at his profile. His face was expressionless. I envied his lack of emotion. I wish I could adopt that nondescript behavior but it was beyond me.

"No," I answered bluntly. Marcas looked at me.

"Then I didn't see it."

It was that simple. He brushed it away, and I didn't have to fear discussing something that tore my heart into pieces. I turned away from him and stared out the window. Darkness met me. I was glad I couldn't see how far up we were, but I could see Marcas' reflection and that disturbed me almost as much. He was facing forward, his profile toward me. His face was grim.

"What's a Watcher?" I asked. The dream had me thinking about my father. Marcas' reflection didn't move.

"You said my father was an Angel. But you also called him a Watcher. Is that significant?" I asked persistently. In the glass, I watched him massage the back of his neck almost wearily.

"They were Angels sent to Earth to watch over humans," Marcas answered.

I looked down at my hands. He'd used the past tense.

"Were?"

"It's a long story, Blainey," Marcas said. I glanced up at him.

"It's a long flight, Craig."

Our eyes met and held. Neither one of us looked away. The connection should have felt awkward and uncomfortable but it didn't. Marcas sighed.

"The Watchers were sent to Earth to watch over humans but they corrupted them instead. They began to lust after human women. Two hundred of them met and made a pact which would ultimately cause them to fall from Heaven. They agreed to lay with mortal women. Nephilim were the result. From there, they continued to sow their seeds and taught humans things that would ultimately lead to their own corruption," Marcas explained. My heart felt heavy.

"They are fallen Angels then."

I knew about those. This meant my father had disobeyed God.

"And there are more Nephilim like Amber and I?" I asked. Marcas held my gaze, his jaw tightening perceptibly.

"No. There are other Nephilim but you and your sister are the only two on Earth who aren't monsters," Marcas answered.

I'd known that. I just couldn't seem to make myself believe it. I didn't want to believe it. The thought was a lonely one. It was so unlike all the books I'd ever read about Angels or Nephilim. They all made it sound so romantic. It wasn't romantic at all.

"And my father was one of the two hundred?" I asked. There was silence.

"He was one of the leaders," Marcas finally said.

My eyes went wide. My heart completely crumbled. Not only a fallen Angel but one of the leaders? Did that make me any better than the Demons? But wait. No! The memories I had of my dad . . . it-it just couldn't be! No, the memories I had were all too normal for this to be true. He had been a handsome man who liked playing chess and smelled of rain. I shook my head.

"He didn't seem like an Angel," I whispered.

Marcas looked away briefly before meeting my gaze again.

"What name did you know your father by?" he asked me.

I felt my blood run cold. What was he saying? That my father had an alias? That's crazy! I stared at Marcas. His gaze was intent. He was serious. I swallowed hard.

"Daniel," I said slowly, my voice cracking as I did so. I wouldn't cry.

Marcas leaned forward slightly, his breath fanning across my face. His dark blue eyes went black. I felt momentarily afraid.

"Bezaliel. His name is Bezaliel."

My world fell away. A single tear escaped.

"Bezaliel," I repeated dumbly. Even his name had been a lie. Marcas leaned back and faced forward again.

"That's all you need to know about your father, Blainey. The rest will come with time."

I sucked in a deep breath. My head was swimming. I didn't realize until now that I'd almost forgotten to breathe. I closed my eyes. My father was a fallen Angel named Bezaliel.

"Can this get any worse?" I mumbled.

I opened my eyes and looked again at the dark window next to me. What I saw there made me gasp, and I fell against Marcas limply before pushing away from him. I didn't want to touch him but I also didn't want near the window. I looked again and would have squealed if Marcas hadn't put a hand gently over my mouth. A face peered at me from the dark depths. It was a grotesque, monstrous face with a mouth full of pointed teeth and small horns protruding from a bald, dark brown head. Its skin looked like rubber. It was wrinkled and pitted. Its eyes were red, the nose large and bulging. Drool and slime rolled down the window from where the nose and mouth pressed against the glass. It was smiling. Fear made me panic. I fought against Marcas' hand, and he let go.

"Don't move," Marcas ordered.

I felt his hand move to my shoulder, and I tensed. Terror gripped me. The fact that I actually obeyed Marcas spoke of how used to the unexpected I was becoming. I wasn't immune. Just somewhat accustomed. Fear ate at me, but I kept still. The thing outside the window sucked on the glass. I had to swallow to keep from getting sick.

"It can't hurt you," Marcas whispered.

I begged to differ. The face was only inches away from me and it didn't appear to be leaving. If it had a body, I couldn't see it. Its face dominated the window.

"Wh-what is it?" I stuttered.

Marcas growled, and I turned my head just enough to see him flash his fangs at the creature. It quit sucking.

"It's a type of Demon," Marcas said, his gaze locked on the monster's deep red eyes through the glass. His own eyes glowed in return.

"It won't hurt you as long as I'm here."

I wasn't feeling comforted.

"And you know this because?" I asked, my voice high.

I cleared my throat loudly. I was determined not to look as afraid as I felt. Marcas stood up and moved into the aisle. He motioned for me to do the same. I stood up carefully and he moved past me into the window seat. I took the one on the aisle.

"I rank higher than this particular Demon," Marcas said.

What did that mean? I looked at the creature's face again. Its red eyes followed me, and I stuck my tongue out at it. Its nose bulged.

"It's one of my mother's minions," Marcas explained.

He raised his hand and laid it against the glass. The creature screeched soundlessly and suddenly disappeared into the night. My breathing came easier. I looked at Marcas. He was still staring out the window.

"Your mother?" I asked.

Marcas pulled the shade down over the dark pane before turning to face me.

"She's a Demon, Blainey," he said calmly. As if that explained everything. Well, duh! I knew she was a demon. What I didn't understand was why one of her followers would be attached to our airplane window.

"And?"

Marcas' gaze moved over my face.

"A very powerful Demon. She's not happy with what Damon has done."

My eyes narrowed. That didn't sound promising.

"What are you trying to say?"

Marcas looked me straight in the eye.

"It means she wants you dead," Marcas answered.

My heart stopped. It literally quit beating for several counts before thumping again. Was he serious? And here I'd wondered if it could get any worse. It just had. A wave of bitterness swept over me.

"Wow. Aren't I feeling the family love? Gives a whole new meaning to monster-in-law," I bit out coldly. A thought hit me suddenly and my head jerked up.

"You aren't taking me to her, are you?" I asked Marcas fearfully. He met my gaze evenly.

"Even I'm not that cruel."

That didn't make me feel any better. Was she that bad? I yawned. The fear had me both restless and exhausted. It was a miserable feeling.

"Sleep, Blainey," Marcas whispered. "You're safe for now."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Safe was such a pathetic four letter word.

"I'm not sure I trust you, Craig," I said harshly. He lifted one of his brows.

"Then you're smarter than I've given you credit for. Trust no one."

"And how does that help me?"

"It keeps you alive. Something I intend to help you with until we're unbound."

"And after that?"

Marcas didn't answer. I reached out and touched his arm. He pulled away.

"After that?" I asked him again, louder this time. Marcas faced forward.

"Just take it as it comes, Blainey," Marcas advised.

What else could I do? I laid my head back against my seat and fought back unshed tears. Sleep was welcome. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't sure I had it in me.

Chapter 24

I have very little information on Marcas. This worries me. He seems tamer than most, but Demons are an unpredictable breed. They live to steal souls, break hearts, and wreak havoc.

~Bezaliel~

The week had caught up with me. I slept deeply; waking only when Conor shook me gently to inform me it was time to switch flights. We were on our last leg to Italy. The images of the next airport were vague, seen only through sleep drugged eyes as we made it to our gate and boarded the new plane. Monroe wasn't faring much better. This plane was bigger than the last and the four of us managed to share a row of seats. Monroe sat next to the window followed by Conor, me and Marcas. The plane took off, and I leaned against Conor wearily. Monroe did the same. We were both asleep almost instantly. The rest of the flight was mostly a blank for me. There were vague moments when I'd stir, but it felt like a dream. Conor and Marcas were still awake.

"What do you plan to do in Italy, Demon?" I thought I heard Conor ask. If Marcas answered, I never heard it. There was darkness for a while then voices again.

"I've never heard of a Demon getting unbound from a person without taking his soul," Conor murmured. His chest vibrated against my ear. It was strangely comforting.

"I'd be afraid to take hers. The Angel in her could kill me," Marcas said. "But it's not out of the question."

Conor's chest rumbled. I felt the anger move through him. I wanted to tell him I didn't care, that I knew Marcas would kill me if he could, but I was too tired and too curious to interfere.

"You'd have to kill me first, Demon," Conor warned.

His bravado was impressive, but it wasn't the least bit intimidating. Or was it? Was that what Marcas was thinking ? Or was it me? Was I feeling Marcas' reaction to the comment? I hated this feeling of duality!

"Don't tempt me, gargoyle," Marcas growled.

Their voices faded out again. I had never felt this tired before

"And you think the ring will work?" I heard Conor ask sometime later.

"It's an option, Reinhardt. I didn't say it would be a solution. No one's ever tried it before."

"You think the church would relinquish it?"

"I'm not planning to ask."

"Ha! Well, stealing _is_ what you creatures do best."

"We murder too, Reinhardt," Marcas warned. There was a pause. The threat didn't go unnoticed.

"What kind of danger are we looking at?" Conor asked.

"You want me to make a list, gargoyle?"

"I want you to quit being a smartass and be blunt.

"Then I'd have to ask you what kind of danger are we _not_ looking at," Marcas answered.

"There are groups that want us destroyed. The Demons are in an uproar. Even some

Angels are convinced Dayton should be removed. And then there's Lilith," Marcas pointed out.

Lilith's name almost made me shiver. And Angels? Really?

"Our most immediate danger?" Conor asked.

"A group called the Swords of Solomon. The SOS."

"And they are?"

"The people who guard the ring," Marcas answered.

The ring? I felt like a character in a Tolkien novel. I fought to hear more, but my body was heavy. Was I having to suffer because Marcas was tired? I dozed off once more.

"I won't let you hurt her," Conor's voice said as I drifted awake once again. He shifted subtly. I lay still, my eyes too heavy to open.

"You don't have a say in the matter, gargoyle," Marcas replied.

"My actions speak louder than words, Demon."

"You are in love with her then?" Marcas asked.

The question jarred me even more awake, and I fought hard not to tense up. Conor didn't reply immediately.

"It's hard not to be," he finally murmured.

Conor's arm fell across me. It was an uncomfortable weight only because I could feel the possessiveness in it. The feeling was both pleasant and frightening all at the same time.

"She's been hurt enough," Conor continued.

"And she'll be hurt more, Reinhardt. You can't protect her from everything."

"I can try," Conor spat. " _You_ didn't see her face the day her parents were buried. _You_ didn't watch the next seven years of her life lived in a prison with no affection and only condemnation. _You_ can't even recognize the fact that her strength comes now from betrayal. What must it feel like to find out you were raised to be sacrificed to a Demon. For what? For an ideal? For a redemption even _you_ think doesn't exist?" Conor argued.

My heart expanded. He was passionate and protective. The emotions chipped away slightly at the block I'd encased my heart in. But it didn't last long. Marcas' presence tended to overwhelm any feeling. I felt the heat coming off of him and I cringed. I'd begun to notice that, while his face was always expressionless, his body grew uncomfortably warm when his mood changed.

"Are you in love with the girl or with the damsel in distress?" Marcas asked.

The question made me feel instantly cold. Did Conor care about me or was it just an innate need to protect those weaker than him? I wasn't weak. Conor grew silent.

"Some people look weaker on the outside than they really are. It takes a strong person to endure what you've described. It doesn't seem like she's the type to fold under pressure. If she was, I would have already possessed her," Marcas said quietly.

Possessed? As in the _Exorcist_ possessed?

"You wouldn't dare!" Conor said heatedly.

I heard Marcas sit up, and I felt his back brush up against mine as he moved in closer to Conor. The heat chased away the cold. Now _he_ was intimidating. My heart rate picked up.

"I've already tried, gargoyle. The night she sought me out at Everett's. Or did you know she did that? Despite her fear. How many people do you know who would seek out a Demon? I could have killed her. And I tried. I did try. Her resolve is stronger than you think hero. I couldn't even get inside her head enough to do anything more than cause discomfort," Marcas said.

I did open my eyes slightly then, just enough that I could see Monroe dozing next to me on Conor's chest. Our heads were touching slightly. Her breathing was shallow. Something told me she was eavesdropping too. _That's_ what that electric buzz at Everett's had been about. I _had_ felt Marcas' presence. He hadn't come out of the alley when I called for him because he'd actually been trying to possess and kill me! Jesus! The thought didn't surprise me, but it did make me angry. God, he was a bastard! Not that Demons are supposed to be anything less than that.

"You would kill her?" Conor asked.

Well, duh. He'd obviously already tried. I felt Marcas move away.

"Would you expect anything less? I'm not here because I want to be, Reinhardt. I've been around a long, long time. Anything good in me was worn out centuries ago," Marcas said. The tone of his voice made me shiver.

"You can quit pretending to sleep, Dayton. Monroe," Marcas muttered.

Well damn! There's nothing worse than getting caught spying. I opened my eyes to find Monroe staring back at me sheepishly. I shrugged. She could feel bad about listening in if she wanted to, but I sure as hell didn't.

"How much longer is the flight?" Monroe asked.

The seat belt light came on, and Marcas glanced over at her.

"That answer your question?"

Something told me we were well beyond getting on his nerves. The captain's voice came over the loud speaker and I sat up. There was light streaming in through the window next to Monroe, but I avoided it like the plague. I had a genuine fear of heights. This was probably strange considering my father was an Angel, but it was true nonetheless. A hand came to rest on my back gently, and I looked up at Conor. His face was clouded.

"You okay?" I asked him.

He looked down at me and our eyes met. His usual sparkling humor was replaced by something darker, and, for the first time, I felt like our roles were reversed. I looked down and saw his other hand lying in his lap, and I took it in mine. He gripped it hard. My eyes found his again.

"This is changing a lot of things, isn't it?" I whispered.

Conor leaned close.

"Not everything, Red. It isn't changing everything."

His eyes searched mine. It hit me then. Marcas was wrong. Conor didn't care about me because he thought I needed him. He needed me. I wasn't sure why. He was one of the strongest people I knew. Always had been. He'd been a champion for me from the day he'd thrown a bucket of mud over my head while dressed in my Sunday best to the day he'd asked me to dance at the formal our ninth grade year when no one else would because I'd had a little accident with Monroe's hair straightener and washable hair dye. He was tall, proud, and strong. And, for the past year, he'd obviously been my guardian.

"Maybe," I muttered as I pulled my hand away.

The connection had become uncomfortable. There wasn't a moment of my life that didn't include Conor in some way. I did love him. I did. I just wasn't sure in what way. Conor looked away but he didn't remove his hand from my back. I looked over at Monroe. She gave me her best "we'll figure this out" look. I smiled slightly.

"So, do we get to do any touring here, or is it all James Bond-wanna-be-hell?" Monroe asked, her tone light.

Marcas looked over at us blankly. The plane rolled to a stop and the seat belt light "dinged" off.

"We have got to make you watch some movies," I said to the Demon as I unfastened my seat belt. He didn't reply.

People began lining up in the aisle and we all moved toward the exit. My eyes grew round as we drew close to the opening. I'd always wanted to travel. Italy was on the top of my "places I wanted to see" list.

"I hope you enjoyed your flight," an attendant said merrily as we climbed out of the plane.

Late afternoon sun blinded me momentarily, and I didn't bother acknowledging her. "Enjoy" wasn't the word I'd use to describe the long hours spent hanging _way_ too far up in the air with a reluctant Demon and a pissed off gargoyle. My feet hit the tarmac and I sighed. I wondered if it would look strange for me to kiss the ground. I loved gravity.

"Is it wrong that I'm standing on Italian soil and the only thing I want is a shower and a toothbrush? The film on my teeth is beginning to drive me nuts," I muttered as we walked through the airport. We didn't have luggage. Monroe laughed.

"Ditto. Please tell me we get to go shopping," she pleaded.

Conor snorted. "With what?"

Monroe slapped him on the side of the head playfully. He flinched and pretended to be seriously injured.

"Don't go spoiling my dreams," she said sulkily.

Marcas walked ahead of the three of us. I knew our company annoyed him on many levels, and I felt genuinely sorry for the way we'd been thrown together. Neither one of us had asked for this. I watched his back a moment, my thoughts whirring, as Monroe and Conor threw jibes at each other next to me. There were still a million questions left unanswered, so many things I didn't know about myself and the Demon I was bound to. I glanced quickly at Monroe and Conor, watching them argue a moment before jogging slightly to catch up with Marcas.

"Where to next?" I asked breathlessly. He didn't slow down.

"Marcas?" I persisted. He looked behind him.

"We meet up with a few Demons I actually trust," he answered.

Demons? Wait a minute. I let him move ahead. Demons? I jogged to catch up with him again, almost tripping over several people as I went. I was panting as I came up beside him.

"I thought they all wanted me dead," I said shakily.

He moved through the crowd easily. People seemed to know to stay out of his way. I needed that power too. If it even was a power. Maybe it was just Marcas.

"I have a few kin loyal to me, Blainey. They won't harm you if I order them not to," Marcas said as he walked out into the street.

I froze. The scene before me was awe inspiring. People moved along the busy stone road screaming into cell phones, dragging luggage, or hailing taxis. Italian words wrapped themselves around me as I glimpsed some of the architecture in the distance that made Italy famous.

"Awesome," I heard Monroe whisper from behind me.

I smiled. We weren't even at a tourist attraction, just standing outside an airport, and I was already in love with the country. I think it was the atmosphere. It was a mix of modern society and ancient history. The Italian language around us didn't hurt. Not being able to speak or understand the tongue made the scene feel exotic. I found myself whispering a sonnet by Oscar Wilde, the lines making so much more sense in that moment than when I'd first read them.

"Italia, my Italia, at thy name:

And when from out the mountain's heart I came

And saw the land for which my life had yearned,

I laughed as one who some great prize had earned."

I finished as I looked toward the road, my eyes finding Marcas. He was looking at me quietly, and I felt my face burn. I had a tendency to talk to myself, and I knew it probably looked like a childish habit. I kept my expression blank and Marcas turned away, flagging down a car idling further down the street. The driver seemed to pick up on Marcas' gesture, and the car pulled into the crowd before stopping next to us. I glanced nervously at Conor and Monroe. It didn't look like a taxi, but I didn't argue as Marcas stood back and motioned for us to climb in. So far, he'd kept his promise to keep us safe. He leaned into the front seat and said something to the driver in the native tongue. If he wasn't such an ass, it would have been sexy.

"I'll go first," Conor said abruptly. Monroe and I looked at him in surprise. Unless he was angry or sick, it wasn't like Conor to enter a vehicle before a female. The fact that he did so now meant he must be worried. It made me more cautious. Monroe followed Conor, and I slid in last. The vehicle's interior was made up of dark leather and smelled new. Yep, this wasn't a taxi. Marcas slid into the front seat and began talking to the driver.

"Should we worry?" Monroe asked me nervously as she watched the man behind the wheel nod before pulling away from the airport. He and Marcas appeared to be the same height. His head was level with Marcas' and his hair was just as black. His face, however, was shaped different. Longer. And he _felt_ younger than Marcas. There was no doubt he was a Demon. Somehow, I just _knew_ he was. Must be something else I'd inherited from my dear ol' bound-buddy.

"I don't think so," I finally answered. "If there is such a thing as a friend in the Demon world, I think he's one of them."

I watched Marcas and the stranger talk. They seemed at ease with each other. It was completely different from the way he'd been when talking to Samuel. There was no "animal kingdom" animosity, suspicious glares, or barbed comments. We lapsed into silence as the man drove. I glanced at Conor and noticed him staring out the window. The conversation in the front seat halted.

"Forgive my brother's rudeness," a smooth husky voice said suddenly. I looked up to find the driver watching us in the rearview mirror. His eyes were green, his cheekbones high.

"I am called Luther," he said.

His accent wasn't deep. Something told me he wasn't originally from Italy. We didn't introduce ourselves, and he didn't seem to expect us to. The car moved quickly through the streets before pulling up to a building nestled on the edge of what appeared to be a large plaza. I didn't know enough about the country to know where we were, but I found myself staring in awe at the people casually walking by as if they had all the time in the world. There were birds flying around the heads of passersby, and other birds limping from foot to foot along the stone walks. There was an incredible fountain visible from the car, and I craned my neck trying to get a better look. A Piazza. _This_ was a Piazza. I had read about those, but nothing prepares you for the beauty of reality.

"Ladies," Luther said suavely as he climbed out of the car and pulled open the back door, his gesture punctuated by a long, deep bow.

It was a ridiculous, over-done move that reeked of charm, and I heard Monroe choke on a cough next to me. I knew without looking that she was fighting the urge to giggle. I caught a glimpse of Marcas swearing at the Heavens behind the stooped Demon, and a smile spread across my face as Luther straightened. For a Demon, Marcas sure did talk a lot to God.

"Thank you," I murmured as I slid out from the interior. I heard Monroe mumble the same. Luther let go of the door and walked toward the building before Conor could emerge. I guess the hospitality ended when it came to gargoyles. Conor didn't seem to care.

"This is your brother?" I asked Marcas as we all followed Luther.

"I have a lot of siblings, Blainey. He's one of many. Some are sons and daughters of Cain and Lilith and others I just share with one parent," Marcas answered, his back to us.

I glanced at Monroe. There was no telling how many that would be. Talk about sibling rivalry.

"Must make for some nice family reunions," Monroe hissed.

I snickered. I saw Conor smile from the corner of my eye. His humor was returning. Luther stopped at a doorway on the side of an ancient stone building and held it open. We all moved through it. A hallway opened up to us, and Marcas said something else to Luther in what I assumed was Italian. Maybe I was wrong. Who knew? It was obvious they both spoke English but wanted whatever they were discussing to remain on the down-low. Whatever.

"You do realize that having foreign conversations in front of guests is rude," I pointed out to the two Demons as we started down a flight of stone steps. It got darker as we descended. Marcas looked away from his brother.

"You're not a guest," he said. Ouch, that hurt.

"No, I'm just your unwilling, bonded Naphil," I complained.

Luther actually laughed. He seemed much more comfortable with joviality than his brother. I still had yet to make Marcas smile. I put my hand against the wall as we moved, my balance precarious as the stairs narrowed. Light filtered upstairs from a room below, and the engagement ring and wedding band from the airport suddenly glowed as it caught the light. I stared. They were still on my finger? I looked away just in time to see Luther staring at the rings. Why hadn't they disappeared?

"I'm sure he finds the bond detestable," Luther said as he looked at Marcas curiously.

Marcas' eyes met mine briefly, his gaze glancing quickly from the rings to my face. He didn't say anything, and I found myself reluctant to ask why they hadn't disappeared. We both looked away.

Curiosity engulfed me as we came to the bottom of the stairs and entered what appeared to be a living room. Cushy leather furniture was scattered throughout the room. Most of it was red and black. These Demons weren't very creative. A bar stretched along the back of the room. Stools covered in black leather lined the front of it. Luther leaned against the corner of a sofa. He made the move look irresistibly sexy. I heard Monroe whistle quietly under her breath.

"Does he do that on purpose?" she grumbled.

I couldn't help but grin.

"No doubt."

She shook her head before grinning back. It felt nice to relax a moment. Things had been pretty tense. I was seriously contemplating trying out one of the couches when I _felt_ it. I looked up.

"Dayton?" Monroe asked, her senses tuning into the wariness I was feeling.

Another Demon? The sound of a door creaking made us all pause. Monroe swore under her breath. This Demon didn't _feel_ right, and I broadcast the emotion to Monroe. It didn't hurt to be prepared.

"Well, what do we have here?" a sultry female voice asked suddenly from the side of the room.

I glanced at Conor and Monroe. Both of them had turned toward the voice, and the expressions on their faces spoke volumes. I fought the urge to run away and turned toward the woman slowly instead. What were we going to have to deal with now? I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration, but temper tantrums weren't going to get me anywhere.

My gaze found the source of the voice easily. A svelte, raven haired woman sauntered into the living area. She was tall and curvy with straight, shining black hair and clothes that looked painted on to every valley, plain, and dip her body made. Each step she took emphasized her physique. She moved stealthily, her eyes pinned on me. Once again, I _felt_ Demon. It made me nervous, but I didn't move.

"Is this the one?" she inquired curiously.

I glanced at our male Demon escorts but they barely reacted. Luther only raised a brow and Marcas didn't move at all. Conor, Monroe, and I were the only ones who seemed startled and put off by the woman's sudden appearance. Her presence filled the area with tension and anxiety. I wondered briefly if she was doing it on purpose. She didn't look pleased to see us here. Her focus was undoubtedly on me.

"A little thing, aren't you?" she asked with a sneer as she moved across the room to stand before me.

She was as tall as the other two Demons. It left me just about eye level with her boobs, but I didn't look up at her. Something told me she was expecting that. And I was determined not to let her believe she was dominant enough to influence me or I'd have to deal with a bitchy power gamble. Thus, the whole "mean girls" concept. Movies can be oh so educational. And I assumed the whole Lindsey Lohan movie example worked the same way with any female species. The Demon circled me.

"I expected more from the daughter of Bezaliel," she continued, her eyes curious as she ran painted black fingernails somewhat painfully along my collarbone.

It took all I had not to shiver. What did she know about my father? News obviously traveled fast in the Demon world. The fact that I was a target must not be an exaggeration. And it really, _really_ frustrated me that so many people and creatures knew more about my father than I did. I glanced at Marcas. He was leaning against the wall, his gaze focused elsewhere. Was this a test?

"You think you might give her some space?" Conor asked guardedly from behind me.

He must have noticed my discomfort. An open book, he'd called me once. I seriously needed to learn to keep my book cover closed. The woman's head popped up with a frown until she caught sight of the tall gargoyle behind me. She grinned. Her eyelashes fluttered.

"Why, of course, sweetheart! Aren't you a handsome young thing?" she purred as she gave him the classic feminine once over.

She moved around me just enough to put Conor fully in her view. It gave me a little space but not much. Her gaze moved between Conor, Monroe, and me before landing once again on me. Her eyes were searching.

"Hmmm." she murmured before glancing at Marcas.

"They couldn't have bound you to the sister?"

I must have been found wanting. Marcas gave her a look. Some unspoken message seemed to pass between them. She laughed.

"So, the little Angel doesn't know?" she asked gleefully.

I narrowed my eyes. Know what? The woman circled me. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Even so, I hear the sister is still more impressive," Lexi muttered.

Marcas looked away, his gaze focused on the opposite side of the room.

"The sister wouldn't have lasted a day," Marcas said evenly.

My gaze shot to his face. Did he mean that? The female Demon drew back in surprise.

"Well!" the woman said.

She lifted my chin up slightly. I continued to avoid her gaze. She dropped my face.

"Marcas here must think highly of you," she said before reaching out to touch me again.

I flinched. Luther pushed away from the couch.

"Forgive my sister. She's obviously my more evil half. She forgets mortals have manners. This is Alexis," Luther said pointedly, his eyes riveted on the female Demon. His gaze was full of disapproval.

"Lexi," she corrected him with a pout. The similarities between them were undeniable.

"She's your twin," I said quietly. Luther didn't deny it. I could hear Conor huff from behind me as he threw his hands up into the air.

"Jesus, do all you God forsaken creatures come in pairs?" he asked irritably.

Monroe snorted next to me. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. Only Monroe could find something amusing in a moment so dark.

"Lexi . . .Luther. . .Lex Luther. Ha! Someone was a fan of DC comics," Monroe said snidely. I got the joke and it tickled me.

"Oh, my God," I said with a giggle.

The Demons didn't look pleased. I'm sure they'd been around before the invention of comic books, but it didn't make the coincidence any less amusing. Lexi glanced at Marcas. She seemed perturbed. I guess she wasn't the type of Demon who enjoyed being goaded by humans.

"You traveled with these mortals?" she asked. He nodded his head slightly.

"And you didn't kill them?"

Her mouth sprouted fangs. I think at this point I was too numb and delirious to care about the dangers pissing off a Demon posed. I still giggled. Lexi growled.

"Young ones! All of them! And this . . .," she paused just long enough to give me a look of disgust, "is the daughter of Bezaliel?" Lexi spat as she waved her hand in my direction. I grew still.

"He'd be so disappointed in her," she added with a laugh.

It was like rubbing salt into an open wound. I brought my shoulders back and took a small step forward. She didn't know shit about my father or me!

"Dayton," Monroe warned as Lexi leaned toward me, bending over so that her eyes were just about level with mine. I didn't look away. My blood pressure was rising.

"What would he say if he saw you now, darling?" Lexi drawled. "Would he enfold you in his protective Angel wings or abandon you?"

She tapped my nose.

"Oh wait! He already did that," she said with a laugh.

Anger filled me. I tried deep, soothing breaths, but I just wasn't feeling the calm. Something inside me burst, and I shoved the Demon woman as hard as I could. She flew across the room, her eyes going wide.

"You bitch!" I screamed.

A light shot forth and hit the wall just above Lexi's head. She watched it a moment in amazement before getting up with a snarl. Had I done that? I looked down at my hands. What _was_ that? I looked up fearfully, my gaze finding the red, angry eyes of the female Demon easily. Lexi was pissed.

"You wanna fight, Little One?" she asked before moving with lightning speed toward me.

Her pointed teeth and newly expelled claws shone in the overhead light. I stood frozen, my body numb with terror as I watched her move toward me as if in slow motion. Conor shoved himself in front of me, and I grabbed his shirt desperately. I didn't want him protecting me! I wanted him out of danger! I pushed at him, but he wouldn't budge. I heard Lexi's snarl as I quit fighting Conor and braced for impact, but something stopped her midflight and she bounced onto the floor.

"Want to calm this down a notch, girls?" Marcas said calmly from the spot he'd been in since we'd gotten there. His hand was raised. Lexi bared her fangs. She didn't appreciate his interference.

"What the hell are you going to do with her?" she growled.

Marcas pushed away from the wall and slowly moved between us.

"Kill her if I can, save her if I have to."

Chapter 25

There is danger coming for them both. Lilith is angry, but she bides her time. Her son must know this. He is an unusual creature. For while he is as much Demon as he is man, there is rumor that he once fought his own kind and almost gave up his soul.

~Bezaliel~

Thirty minutes later, I still wasn't feeling the calm. Marcas had stopped Lexi from attacking me, but he couldn't turn my thoughts off. Had the light that shot out at her been because of me?

"She's giving me the creeps," Monroe whispered from beside me.

We'd moved to the back of the room, and I glanced next to me warily. Alexis peered at me from a stool against the bar. She didn't sit; she leaned in a position that gave everyone in the room a wonderful view of her cleavage. If I was supposed to be impressed, the effect fell short. Her skin tight leopard print skirt and solid black v-neck top suddenly undulated as she shifted, and I fought not to roll my eyes.

"You smell nice, Angel. I've never had Nephilim blood before," Lexi snarled.

I threw her my best "fuck you" stare.

"Being bound to one Demon is enough, thank you," I snarled back. Lexi straightened up.

"Marcas is more Demon than you can handle, princess," Lexi said with a tight smile.

She lifted a leg onto the stool, and I looked away so I wouldn't have to see what color her panties were.

"I didn't know I was supposed to be handling him," I mumbled irritably.

I wanted nothing to do with Marcas beyond getting unbound, and he made no secret that he felt the same way. I felt Lexi move closer, but I didn't look at her. I just couldn't stand the hatred I knew I'd see in her eyes. I had enough of that in my life at the moment.

"Our mother has plans for him, you know," Lexi said unexpectedly.

Startled, I looked up to find myself facing a mirror positioned just behind the bar. A reflection of the female Demon looked back at me.

"Am I supposed to care what your mother wants?" I asked.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She smiled and her fangs flashed. I was getting sick of sharp teeth.

"He's one of her oldest children, he's the first of her sons with Cain, and he's incredibly powerful. He and Damon have been groomed for great things. Lilith won't let you get in the way of that. I'm amazed Marcas has chosen to protect you."

I looked away from her reflection only to discover Marcas's figure in the mirror as well. He was across the room talking on a cell phone. I watched him curiously. Why _was_ he protecting me?

"So he's being prepped to do incredible evil? Wow, that's comforting," Monroe said sarcastically from next to me. Lexi faced her.

"If that's what you want to call it, mortal. But, I warn you, Lilith is not the type of Demon you want to fool with." Her tone was harsh, threatening even.

I saw Marcas look up from his cell phone conversation and our eyes met in the glass. My body suddenly felt way too warm.

"I think we should rest while we can," I suggested to Monroe. My gaze stayed locked on Marcas'.

"Human weaknesses," Lexi said derisively.

I didn't care what she thought. We had our limits and if we weren't aware of them, then we were only hurting ourselves. I saw Conor and Luther step up next to Marcas, but he didn't break eye contact with me. Luther followed Marcas' gaze, and I saw his eyes narrow.

"Maybe you're right," Monroe said wearily.

I saw Conor glance up into the mirror and then, and only then, did I look away. It killed me to do so. It proved that Conor was a weakness for me.

"There are some rooms with clothes and toiletries in it if you're ready to make use of them," Luther said suddenly from behind us.

It startled me and I jumped. It was amazing how fast these Demons could move. Why it surprised me was beyond me. They were demons, they could fly, and they could sprout all kinds of malicious animal characteristics. Gravity didn't pertain to them. I turned around to face Luther.

"We are," I answered.

I could tell by his face that he'd heard a good deal of our conversation with his sister. Either that or Lexi was sharing thoughts. It didn't seem impossible. I knew some human twins who could do it.

"Where did the clothes come from?" I asked Luther suspiciously. He glanced at his sister.

"I volunteered some items from my closet for Mr. Reinhardt and my sister has done the same for you and your friend."

I cringed and Monroe moaned from behind me. Great. We were going to be in Italy dressed like vixens. James Bond would be proud.

"Her clothes aren't going to fit me," I pointed out quickly. I was, by far, the shortest person in the room by a good foot. Not to mention, I had the flattest chest out of the three females present. Luther didn't seem concerned.

"We'll make it work," he said before standing back just enough to hold his hand out toward us politely.

"Ladies. After you," he said with a bow.

Monroe and I shared an amused look.

"Would you be Darcy or Mr. Bingley?" I asked Luther in a faux British accent as we moved in front of him. His only response was to point at the side of the room. We followed his direction.

"Not an Austen fan, I presume," Monroe whispered, and I hid a smile.

Luther led us through the door we'd seen Lexi enter from earlier and we found ourselves in a hallway that branched off into several intimate living chambers. The first one we came to was wide, with a large canopied bed on a raised dais and a black sofa and chair against the wall. The floor was stone but had strategically placed throw rugs that complimented the furniture and bed. A vanity was positioned near a large stone fireplace and a wooden door stood open to a bathroom filled with white and black marble tile. I didn't have to glance behind me to see the look of admiration I knew was on Monroe's face. She adored those two colors.

"You'll rest here, Ms. Blainey," Luther said with a smile as he motioned for Conor and Monroe to follow him farther down the hall.

I wanted to protest, but I just watched them walk away instead. What was the point? Luther closed the door behind him, and I walked over to the bed. There was a black robe thrown over the rust colored comforter, and I picked it up before moving into the bathroom. I closed the door and faced the mirror. Tired eyes met mine. My face looked pale beneath the bright bathroom light, and my red hair had mostly escaped the pony tail I'd had it in to frame my face wildly. It was not a pleasant sight. I stripped down quickly and moved to the tub. The water felt delicious against my sore body, and I soaked for what felt like an eternity. It was only when the water turned cold that I finally washed my hair and climbed out reluctantly. I dried off and pulled on the robe.

"What now?" I muttered as I belted the dressing gown and moved back into the bedroom.

"Do you always talk to yourself, Blainey?" his voice asked suddenly, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from screaming. Marcas!

"What the hell!" I exclaimed angrily.

My gaze moved to his where he leaned on the bed post some feet away, and I crossed my arms over my chest. What was it about the men in my life and them showing up out of nowhere? We needed ground rules.

"Do you have any sense of propriety?" I asked him with a frown.

He pushed away from the bed and held up a rose-colored cascade cardigan and blue jeans. I noticed he left undergarments lying on the mattress.

"These should fit you better than Lexi's attire," Marcas said evenly.

I searched his gaze but there was no emotion there.

"Who did they belong to?" I asked him quietly as I moved in just close enough to take the outfit from his hands.

He didn't answer me. I moved away from him. We were both silent a moment and I looked down uneasily at the robe. What did we do now that we were in Italy? Where did Marcas and I stand? I knew some from the conversation I'd overheard on the plane, but not a lot of it had made sense. I looked up.

"What do we do next?" I asked nervously.

The fact that I was only wearing a robe was beginning to bother me slightly. Marcas didn't seem to notice.

"I need to know what you have planned for me," I whispered.

If he was going to appear in my guest room without an invite, then I was determined to ask questions he probably didn't care to answer. Marcas' gaze found mine and he watched me with an intensity that startled me.

"We find the ring," he answered shortly.

The Tolkien feeling I'd felt on the plane returned.

"The ring?"

He moved to lean against the bed again, and I sat down on a sofa a good distance away. Proximity to Marcas made me feel strange.

"It's called the Seal of Solomon. It is a ring believed to have once belonged to the legendary Biblical king Solomon. It gave him special powers that strengthened his kingdom, most notably the ability to speak to animals and the ability to enslave Demons," Marcas explained as I crossed my legs to keep my robe together. I wished he'd give me some time to dress.

I looked enviously at the clothes he'd brought me before laying them aside and looking back over at him.

"And this Seal of Solomon is supposed to help us?" I asked Marcas skeptically.

Marcas held my gaze.

"There's a chance it may."

"How?"

"By letting you enslave me," he answered. My eyes grew wide.

"What?"

The shock I felt was evident. I saw Marcas' muscles bulge as he shifted slightly.

"By wearing the ring, you would not only be able to trap me but your body would purge the Demon blood inside your system. The plan is to release yourself, and then let me go free," he answered calmly.

My eyes went wide. I wasn't feeling calm. Was he serious? The thought of entrapping the man before me was tempting, but I honestly had no desire to control anyone. And he didn't know me. He didn't know me at all.

"And you trust me enough to do that?"

"Yes."

"You don't know me. Not really," I said quietly.

Marcas pushed away from the bed and moved down toward the door. Maybe it was an attempt to put more space between us. The air was so thick with tension, I found it hard to swallow.

"I knew of your father, and I watched you some as a child," he said suddenly. I stood up, my robe forgotten. What was he saying?

"I don't understand."

"I was sent to watch you once."

"When?"

"The funeral. When Bezaliel left you unprotected," he said harshly.

I watched Marcas' eyes. They glowed red. I had a flashback suddenly of me at ten sitting in a car watching the red eyes of a man in shadow as we drove away from my parents' graves. Marcas?

"That wasn't Damon?" I asked in a whisper.

"No."

"Then why?"

"I was sent to kill you," Marcas revealed.

My blood ran cold. I had been a target even then? By Marcas? I walked toward him from across the room. I just didn't understand. My heart felt battered. The main scar belonged to my father. He'd left me. And, according to Marcas, left me unprotected. I wanted so badly to know why. And now . . . _now_ I discover that Marcas had a chance to kill me once, but he must have failed. I was still here.

"And you didn't succeed?" I asked.

Marcas' gaze followed me as I moved. I paused a few feet away from him.

"I didn't try. It was a mission for my mother after Damon revealed his intention of using the Naphil child of Bezaliel for his own twisted purposes," Marcas answered.

I remembered the vision I'd had of Damon stabbing him. It all made sense now. The whole damn series of events fell into place. Damon stabbing Marcas and talking about redemption, my father leaving and my mother dying, Marcas being sent to destroy me, the Abbey, Damon . . . _now_.

"Then you knew this would happen?" I asked.

"I knew my brother planned to use you for his purposes. I didn't expect him to bind you to me. That's where I underestimated him."

"Why not Amber?" I asked. Marcas turned away from me, and I stared at him hard. Something he'd just said suddenly made its way past my confusion, and I clutched my stomach. _"It was a mission for my mother after Damon revealed his intention of using the Naphil child of Bezaliel for his own twisted purposes"_ No!

"Because Amber isn't Bezaliel's," Marcas said.

The statement sunk into my bones with a jarring awareness. _No!_ My whole body went cold and I cried out without meaning to. My sister? I didn't understand. _Marcas_ had told me she and I were the only two non-monstrous Nephilim left on earth. What was he telling me now? That it was all a lie?

"Of course she is," I argued mostly to myself. Even Amber believed she was part Angel. My aunt believed it. Didn't Damon believe it too? Or had he said that to convince my aunt to become involved with his scheme? I didn't want to be the only anomaly. I was lonely enough.

"My sister?" I whispered on a sob.

I swallowed hard. Marcas turned back to face me again.

"Is still your sister, but she isn't Bezaliel's," he answered.

He made no attempt to comfort me at all. I felt faint.

"How?" I choked out.

Why hadn't he told me this before? Was he afraid I wouldn't have come with him if I'd known? Would I have come? I had come with Marcas partly to protect Amber so she wouldn't have to be used for Damon's nefarious purpose. Had there been any point? Of course there had been! Damon would have still used her to get to me. I had seen enough movies and read enough books to know the bad guys always used leverage.

"How?" I asked again more calmly.

"Have you ever heard the Greek myths of the gods who took on a familiar human persona in order to lay with mortal women? Demi-gods were produced from the liaisons. Hercules, for example, or Perseus?" Marcas asked. I nodded numbly.

"Daniel was the man originally married to your mother. He was of the pure line of Seth. Together they had Amber. A month after Amber was born, her father was killed in a hunting accident. Bezaliel had been watching your mother for some time. He'd run into her once as a teenager, and he'd been fascinated ever since. It was said she was a remarkable woman. He loved her from afar. Lusted after her. When he saw Daniel die, he took the opportunity he'd been waiting for, assuming Daniel's appearance and returning home to your mother. But your mother was a smart woman, and she knew something was different. She confronted Bezaliel. He confessed what happened. She grieved; he stayed with her. Together, he helped her through the passing of her husband, and she agreed to lay with him. You were the result. Your mother and Bezaliel were an unusual pair, but they made what they were work. Unfortunately, there were higher powers involved and there was no way of denying your birthright. Bezaliel had no intention of leaving you, but when it was discovered a normal Naphil baby was born you were put in danger. Your mother was murdered and your father was ordered away from you," Marcas explained.

I moved toward him again. My whole body shook.

"My mother was killed because of me?" I asked him with a sob that wouldn't be denied. _I_ had been the cause of her death. _Me_. The grief was overwhelming.

"You were only a baby, Blainey. Your mother knew when you were born what she was doing. She knew when she discovered that she was pregnant that there were risks. She took them anyway. You may have been the reason your mother was sought out, but you didn't kill her," Marcas said gently.

I looked up at him. For the first time, I was almost sure I heard compassion in his voice. His eyes locked with mine. He moved slightly closer. I wasn't sure which one of us took the step forward.

"I'm the only one? There's no one else like me?" I asked. I knew the answer, but the need to ask was still there.

"The only sane one," Marcas answered.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The pain felt good, and it kept the worst of my inner turmoil at bay. Marcas' eyes turned stormy.

"Does my sister know the truth?" I whispered.

"No. And neither does your aunt or her Order."

So Damon _had_ fooled them. The silent conversation between Marcas and Damon at the Abbey made sense now. _"You lied to them."_

I looked at Marcas. From what I'd witnessed so far with Marcas, Damon, Lexi, and Luther, I knew Demons could communicate with their twins. Was Marcas communicating with Damon now? I pushed the thought away.

"How do you know for sure I'm his? I don't look like an Angel," I asked almost desperately.

Couldn't they be wrong about all of this? I moved closer to Marcas until I was only a few inches away from him. I looked up into his face.

"Could you be wrong about me?"

Marcas shook his head. "No, you are more Angel than you are aware, Blainey. You saw the light you threw at Alexis."

I closed my eyes briefly.

"That was me, then?"

"It was," he answered. I opened my eyes again.

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" I asked him so softly I was hoping he hadn't heard the question. Marcas narrowed his eyes.

"Ask me that again one day, Blainey. But not today."

I searched his face but it was unreadable.

"And you think the ring will work?" I asked. Marcas nodded.

"I think it may. But it's never been tried before and there are dangers."

"Dangers?"

"Wearing the ring should purge the Demon blood from your system, but there's no way to know how violent the illness could be or how it would happen. It could kill you and permanently enslave me," he answered simply. There was no emotion in his tone. I didn't understand him. The thought of dying terrified me. It could kill me?

"And there's no other way?" I asked. He stared down at me.

"You could give me your soul."

His eyes darkened. I almost stepped away from him then but managed to hold my ground.

"And the ring is worth the risk? Why _not_ just take my soul?" I asked him curiously. He could have already killed me more than once and he'd chosen not to. Why?

"Do not mistake my saving your life for anything more than self-preservation. I don't give a damn what happens to you," he said fiercely. I took a step closer.

"Then why not kill me now?" I asked. Marcas growled.

"There are some questions I won't answer, Blainey," he said flatly.

His tone was final. There was nothing I could do but respect that. I was afraid to push the Demon in him too far.

"Then I won't ask you to, Craig," I said reluctantly.

Marcas reached down suddenly and grabbed the front of my robe. I started to fight him until I realized he was tightening the belt.

"Get some rest, Blainey. Then get dressed. I'll be coming for you," Marcas ordered.

He dropped his hands and turned toward the door.

"Where will we be going?" I asked his back.

"To find the ring," he answered. I froze.

"My friends? I won't leave them."

"They are safer here, Blainey. I recall you telling me that you didn't want to see them die," he said. I stared at the way his shoulders moved as he reached for the door.

"But they came all this way to be with me," I protested.

"And if you want them to go back with you, you'll listen to me. They have a lot to learn here. They will be involved. Damon has made this a war, Blainey. We may never get the ring and, even if we do, it doesn't end there. You and all of your friends are in for the ride of your lives. And it won't be an enjoyable one," he said as he opened the door and stepped through.

I walked over and touched the wood as he shut the door behind him. My forehead fell against the door.

"Monroe, Conor, Jacin, Lita . . ." I whispered as I finally turned toward the bed.

I'd grieved my parents, made mistakes, lived with an Order of insane women, and been bound to a Demon. And, through it all, I somehow managed to forget that I'd not only lost a family but I'd gained one as well. No one could ask for a better one. And, if Marcas was right, this was just the beginning of our journey. This leg of it seemed focused on the two of us, but my friends were still there and they would help me when it was time. I was scared. Would the ring kill me? What would happen to my friends? What would happen to Amber? Where was my father? Who'd killed my mother? Why did Marcas protect me? What kind of Naphil powers did I have? A million questions flooded me, and I did the one thing I truly hated to do. I cried. I cried until there wasn't a single tear left to shed.

Chapter 26

The Swords of Solomon are a group of men and women sworn by the church to protect the Seal of Solomon. They are trained warriors, skilled Demon slayers, and unmerciful to anyone who attempts to break through their ranks.

~Bezaliel~

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sleep. I walked the room instead hoping the exercise would work out the personal Demons eating away at my heart. It didn't help. I spied the clothes lying on the chair I'd sat on earlier, and I picked them up carefully. The cardigan was beautiful, made to drape the figure but loose and comfortable enough to be easy to move in. The jeans were the same.

I shed the robe and pulled them on over the underwear and bra Marcas had left on the bed. The undergarments were the same color rose as the cardigan. The bra was a size A push up, and I cringed. It really bothered me that Marcas knew my size. I felt so tiny and young compared to everyone else. Weren't Angels supposed to be tall and magnificent? I moved to the vanity next to the fireplace and took in my appearance. The cardigan was v-neck and fitted in the chest before draping loosely over the waist and dangling over my thighs. The look was appealing and far from the baggy, concealing clothes I was used to.

"What are you thinking, Marcas?" I asked my reflection as I ran my fingers apprehensively through my hair. It hung loose to the middle of my back and the curls framed my face chaotically. I had learned a long time ago that there was no way to tame my hair. How was red hair Angelic? I'd always felt Amber resembled more of what an Angel was supposed to look like. Not me. I ran my fingers across the cardigan before glancing down at the skinny jeans Marcas had left. They were made of stretch material and very comfortable. I wondered again where he got the clothes. They were too lived-in to be new.

I took one last look in the mirror before moving toward the bed, almost tripping over a pair of boots as I went. I looked down in surprise. Where had those come from? Had Marcas left those too? I picked them up and looked at them curiously. They were black and knee high. I was more a tennis shoe kind of girl, but I wasn't going to turn down the loan.

"Not bad are they?" I asked the room as I slid the boots on and zipped them up over the jeans carefully. They were surprisingly comfortable and made me feel taller. Sexy, even. The need for a little makeup was overwhelming.

"Didn't think of everything, did you?" I asked with a small laugh.

I had cried as much as I could cry today. There was nothing left to do but smile. I wasn't going to wallow in despair. It'd just get me killed faster. I moved to lean against the bed with a sigh. It had been two hours since Marcas had left my room. I wasn't sure I was patient enough to wait much longer. I climbed up onto the bed and weaved stories in my head to pass the time. Some of the stories were typical ones with Princes and Princesses and others were stranger and altogether unsettling. Should it disturb me that I kept imagining the hero as Marcas? He should be the villain. I brushed aside the image and thought, instead, about the events of the past two weeks, cursing fate as I thought about my past, the present, and the future. With no paper, I wrote in my head, the first line one I'd written the night Monroe slept over at the Abbey.

"Ludicrous is he, the tyrant that rules the past you see.

Smug is she, the ruler of now-a-day forever to be.

Enchanting will be the child,

Future's eaves hanging from her hair so wild . . ."

The bedroom door creaked open, and I jumped.

"It's time, Blainey," Marcas said from across the room.

I looked up at him and nodded. This was it then. I climbed off the bed and moved toward him. His gaze moved over my frame, and I actually blushed. It was a stupid way to react.

"Thank you for the clothes," I said lamely as I passed him and moved into the hall.

He didn't answer. I was used to that by now, and I let him take the lead before following him along the corridor. A noise made us both freeze.

"Where do you think you're going, Demon?" Conor's voice asked from behind us.

I turned slowly to find him leaning against the wall not far from the bedroom I'd been assigned. Marcas moved up next to me.

"We don't have time for this, gargoyle," Marcas said coldly. My gaze moved between them. Conor's face had reddened.

"I won't let you go without me. It's my job to protect her," Conor said hotly.

I looked at the floor a moment as Marcas moved slightly in front of me. I hadn't counted on running into anyone.

"This isn't your fight, gargoyle. This isn't your war. If you want to protect her, you need to realize that staying here now is the best way to do that. There's a lot you still don't know about Demons, Reinhardt. A lot that Luther can teach you," Marcas said evenly.

I looked up again. Conor had begun pacing the hall.

"Then why take _her_ , Demon? She isn't prepared for this battle anymore than the rest of us. You'll just get her killed," Conor argued. I didn't entirely disagree, but I knew why Marcas needed me.

"I don't have a choice, Reinhardt. She goes because she has to. She needs to be the one to take the ring. I will protect her with my life," Marcas promised.

I moved closer to him. Conor looked surprised.

"Why are you doing this, Craig? Why are you protecting her?" Conor asked helplessly.

I didn't understand it either, but I knew there was a reason. It would come out sooner or later. Marcas growled.

"That's not an answer you need right now," Marcas said harshly. I knew Conor was walking on thin ice.

"I won't let you take her!" Conor protested.

I felt the sudden heat come off Marcas and I placed a hand on his arm before moving between them. I looked at Conor pleadingly.

"Don't do this, Con."

He moved closer.

"I won't let him do this to you," he said.

"He isn't doing anything. I agreed to go."

This made Conor pause.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because I really don't have a choice. I'm more of a danger bound to Marcas than I would be if I wasn't."

Conor shook his head.

"There's no guarantee it will work," he said hoarsely. I knew what he was referring to. The risk was great, and I still wasn't sure it was worth it.

"Do you love me, Conor?" I asked him suddenly.

His head snapped up and his eyes met mine. His gaze was conflicted.

"I do," he admitted. There was no doubt in his voice. My heart clenched.

"Then let me go," I said softly as I moved to stand before him. I looked up into his face.

"If you love me, then let me make this decision. Let me go now. Let me make this sacrifice for you and for Monroe. Give me that."

His hand came to rest on my cheek, and I didn't pull away. I wouldn't this time.

"I'm not sure I can," he said as he bent over me.

Our faces were so close I could smell the mint on Conor's breath. It was such a familiar, comforting feeling that I found myself smiling.

"Yes, you can," I said as I placed my hand along his cheek as well.

Conor's eyes darkened. I saw the guilt there. I knew he felt he'd failed me because he hadn't been there to stop my aunt and Damon. He was young. I didn't blame him. I let my eyes show him that.

"Let me go," I added gently.

He closed his eyes a moment as if needing the time to make a decision. They opened again reluctantly.

"You better come back, Red," Conor said darkly.

I grinned. The smile made his frown slip away. I didn't promise to come back, but I let my eyes be the open book he'd told me I was. They promised I'd try. Conor moved so close our noses touched.

"I love you, Red," he whispered.

"I know you do."

I couldn't say it back, but he didn't seem to expect me too. I started to pull away, but he held me tightly and brought his other hand up to rest on the other side of my face,

"Give me this much," he said huskily before placing his lips firmly on my own.

The contact was so unexpected I froze as his lips moved over mine. The pressure was pleasant and warm, and I thought about the words he'd just said. _Give me this much._ I kissed him back. That much I could do. My hand slid to his shoulder and I gave everything I had to that kiss. Fire burned between us. I did it because I knew he needed it. I did it because I wasn't sure I could ever kiss him again. Not in that way. Conor pulled away.

"Come back," he pleaded softly.

I nodded as I backed away. I turned to find Marcas watching me with an unreadable expression. I let my eyes lock with his. I wasn't going to feel bad for that kiss.

"Let's go," I said as I moved next to Marcas.

He turned and walked back down the corridor. I followed him. Neither one of us said a word as we moved until we reached the stairway that led to the street above.

"Do you love him?" Marcas asked unexpectedly.

I looked up at his back. He had changed clothes and wore a new leather jacket. He climbed the stairs. I followed.

"In my own way," I answered quietly.

Marcas stopped at the street and peered cautiously into the night. I moved in close to him and fisted my hands into his jacket. I was nervous and the contact made me feel better. He shifted and my hands fell away.

"You don't like to be touched, do you?" I asked him lightly.

I didn't want him to know that it hurt when he pulled away. I didn't even like the man for God's sake, but he was all I had at the moment and I was scared.

"No, I don't like to be touched."

I looked out into the street. It was empty. The one time I had the chance to see Italy and, of course, it'd be at night.

"No contact at all?" I asked.

I couldn't let it go. Everyone needed some kind of affection. Was it different for Demons? Was it always all about hatred and sin? Marcas stepped out into the street and turned toward me. His face looked pale in the darkness, and I could tell he was irritated.

"Do you want to touch me, Blainey?"

My gaze shot to his. What a bastard thing to say! And just when I was beginning to feel we were making some type of progress. Not friends maybe but at least more civil.

"Not in the way your tone suggests, Craig. Not if my life depended on it," I answered crossly as I moved into the street next to him. He turned away.

He started across a stone path next to the building we had been in and I stumbled as I followed. There were lights throughout the city, but the alley he was moving into was dark. I couldn't see a thing. Starting to reach out to him again, I stopped. I wasn't going to touch him now.

"You could see in the dark if you tried," Marcas said from in front of me.

My eyes narrowed. "How?"

I'd always been almost blind in the dark. My mother used to joke that I was night blind. Marcas quit walking and turned around. I almost bumped into him. He reached a hand out and steadied me before placing a hand on each side of my head. Warmth flowed into me.

"Close your eyes, Blainey," Marcas ordered.

I looked up at him in the dark.

"I thought you didn't like to be touched."

His hands were in my hair, and I felt him pull it slightly in agitation. It made my toes tingle.

"Just shut up, Blainey, and close your eyes."

This time I complied.

"Imagine a light. When you see it, watch it grow and expand around you," Marcas said quietly. His voice was hypnotic, but even if it hadn't been, the task would have been simple enough. I'd always had a great imagination. Light blossomed in front of me, and I pulled it toward me with my mind. I stepped into it.

"When you have it pulled around you, open your eyes," Marcas continued.

I put my hands up and placed them over his. Gently, I pushed his away. If he didn't like to be touched, then I didn't either. Our hands fell apart, and I opened my eyes.

"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed as I glanced around me. The alley was still dark, but I could see everything in it plainly. I looked at Marcas. Every line of his face was visible to me.

"What did you do?" I asked him in awe. He turned away.

"I didn't do anything. You did. It's part of being a Naphil."

He had started to walk away, and I rushed to catch up with him.

"I've never been able to do any of this before," I said reasonably.

He had to have done something. Maybe it was part of being bound to him. His powers? Marcas kept walking.

"You didn't try before," Marcas said simply. "But it's not the first time someone's tried to show you how."

I stopped dead in my tracks. What did he mean? Marcas came to the end of the alley and stopped, but he didn't turn around. I didn't move. _Look for the light, Day_.

"Jesus!" I mumbled under my breath. My father. The dream.

"Is that how you knew to show me?" I asked.

I knew he'd seen my dream. I'd known it on the plane, and I had been grateful to him for not commenting on it.

"Demons can already see in the dark. Angels can too. Because you are half mortal, you have to work a little more at it. But the power is still there," Marcas answered.

I gave that some thought before moving to catch up with him.

"What does my dream mean?" I asked him as we started to move again. We stuck to the alleyways. I wondered if I'd even get to see Italy.

"It's not my dream to decipher," he answered.

I rolled my eyes. Why couldn't anything ever be simple? If he saw the meaning, why couldn't he just tell me? And why the hell didn't my dad find a simpler way of getting in touch with me? Was the dream even from him? Marcas came to the end of an alley and turned again. I was getting tired of walking.

"Is there a faster way to get where we're going?" I asked Marcas wearily.

"We could fly," he said from in front of me. I shuddered.

"I don't know which would be worse, the height or you having to endure touching me."

Marcas ducked under an overhanging roof.

"Do you, by any chance, have an off button?" Marcas asked.

I followed him under the roof without having to stoop at all.

"Didn't you know? I'm one of a kind, Craig, with a few necessary malfunctions," I grumbled as we moved into a small courtyard. The house it belonged to was small. A cross was hung carefully on the arched wooden door. Marcas moved up along the walk to the small porch beyond. I followed carefully.

"The cross doesn't bother you?" I asked Marcas as we moved to stand in front of the door. He reached up and knocked.

"You read too much," Marcas answered as the cross on the door shook suddenly.

My eyes widened, and I moved closer to the Demon. My hand found its way into his jacket. To hell with his dislike for touch! There was no telling what would open the door. Marcas didn't shake me loose. Someone yelled in Italian from within and Marcas answered. The door creaked open.

"Speak English," Marcas said coldly to the figure that appeared.

I peered around Marcas and found myself staring at an old, stooped woman with gray-peppered black hair twisted into a severe bun. She wore a dark blue house dress and had a rosary hanging plainly around her neck. She was scowling.

"What do you want, Demonio?" The woman asked harshly.

There was evidently no love lost between the two of them. Marcas put his hand on top of the door and shoved it open. The woman backed up hurriedly while sprouting a nice string of what I assumed was Italian curse words. He moved into the house and I moved with him.

"Be gone, you lousy Demonio!" she shouted. Marcas' eyes glowed red.

"Now, Maria, I've heard much nicer things from you before," Marcas crooned.

The woman spat at his feet. Her ire was evident, but the fight was slowly draining out of her. There was no denying that Marcas had the upper hand.

"What do you want?" she asked again as Marcas moved further into the house.

I let go of his jacket but stayed close to his side. Maria switched on a light and I blinked. It was too bright, too fast.

"Close your eyes," Marcas said softly. "Imagine the light you wrapped yourself in earlier suddenly shutting itself off."

I complied quickly. I opened my eyes and the light looked normal again. Maria had gone stock still, and her complexion was pale. Her eyes were focused on me.

"Holy mother of God!" she swore as she crossed herself. She glared at Marcas. Her fingers entangled themselves in her rosary.

"What have you done?" she asked him forcefully.

She held her hand out to me, and I looked at it warily.

"It's all right," she soothed. "I won't hurt you, Angel."

My head snapped up. What had she said? I looked up at Marcas.

"She has the Sight. It's a blessing some are bestowed which allows them to see what creatures like us are," Marcas explained. Maria clucked.

"It's a curse, Demonio. Not a blessing. I see too many of your kind lately," she snarled as she urged me to take her hand again. This time I placed my right hand in hers. It was papery but soft and dry. I'm sure mine were soaked with sweat. Maria's eyes widened.

"A half-breed," she muttered.

She pulled me to a scarred kitchen table and urged me to sit.

"It can't be," she said to herself.

I sat down. Marcas moved in behind me.

"She's the daughter of Bezaliel," Marcas said.

Maria looked up at him wide-eyed. She glanced at my face again. She shook her head and moved away from the table muttering to herself in Italian. She reached into a cupboard and came back to the table bearing two china tea cups. I noticed she didn't offer one to Marcas. I nodded my thanks.

"And she's not a monster? Her mother?" the woman asked as she took a kettle and placed it on a small stove.

The house was small. There appeared to be only three rooms and they were all open to each other. Rosaries hung everywhere. Fresh herbs hung above an old fashioned stove and crocheted throws were flung over threadbare furniture, the original colors of the sofa and chair unrecognizable due to age. At the moment, they appeared grey.

"A Sethian descendant," Marcas answered. Maria paused.

"Pure?"

Marcas nodded. Maria started sprouting things in Italian again. I would be amused if I wasn't so confused. What were we doing here? The kettle whistled and Maria moved back to the table. She sat opposite me. She stared at me for some time before glancing up at Marcas.

"What are you doing with a Naphil?" she asked suspiciously. "I would have hoped you had learned your lesson, Demonio."

I glanced up at him. Lesson? Marcas avoided my gaze.

"She's bound to me," he answered.

Maria swore. She reached across the table and grabbed my left hand. I tried pulling it away, but she wouldn't let go.

"Look at me," Maria demanded.

I did as she asked. I didn't see a way to get around it. Marcas sure as hell wasn't any help. Maria took one look in my eyes and cursed again, her eyes glancing down at the wedding and engagement rings on my finger.

"All of this is impossible," Maria said.

I looked away and she dropped my hand. I twisted the rings worriedly. I needed to make Marcas get rid of them, but the weight of them was comforting somehow.

"It's apparently possible," Marcas remarked off-handedly.

Maria focused her attention on him.

"Being bonded should have killed her."

"It didn't."

"Why did you do it, Demonio? For revenge? For Sophia?" Maria asked. Marcas roared and his fangs flashed.

"Do not go there, old lady! This was my brother's doing. He bound us with the hopes that her blood would bring the line of Cain redemption," Marcas said heatedly.

It was the first time I'd really seen him become incensed. Who was Sophia? Maria's eyes narrowed.

"Your brother has lost his wits."

"A lifetime of bloodlust will do that to you," Marcas said. Maria didn't argue.

"And now he's incited a war," Maria said thoughtfully.

"I wondered why the Demon activity had picked up. What did you bring her here for?" Maria asked, her eyes moving once more to the rings. It was definitely time to get rid of them. Marcas didn't even blink.

"For the Seal of Solomon."

Maria's eyes widened. Her tea cup shook in her hand.

"You are not serious, Demonio!" she exclaimed. I looked between the pair.

"I know the dangers," I said quietly.

Maria's head snapped in my direction. Her eyes focused on me.

"Do you, Angel? Do you really?" she asked me bitterly.

My brows furrowed in confusion. Was there something Marcas hadn't told me?

"If you're lucky to even survive getting the ring, there's a huge possibility you won't survive wearing it," Maria said plainly. I knew this.

"I know," I whispered.

"And you agreed?" Maria looked at Marcas. "Why didn't you just take her soul? Why attempt the impossible?" she asked him hotly.

She slammed her cup down on the table. It shattered. Marcas leaned over and placed his hand over the debris.

"Where's the ring, Maria?" Marcas asked.

He moved his hand away from the table to reveal a completely mended china tea cup. Maria watched him quietly.

"I understand you don't care about your own existence, Demonio. I even understand if you want to end it. But to risk the Angel?" Maria asked.

I looked at Marcas warily. Didn't care about his own existence?

"You want to die?" I asked him softly.

Marcas' jaw tightened as he continued to stare at the old woman.

"Where's the ring?" he asked her again.

I stood up. Maria stared down at her hands.

"Do you want to die?" I asked Marcas more forcefully.

He looked down at me. His eyes were glowing.

"I wouldn't find it unwelcome," he answered me coldly. The chill went straight to my bones. I placed my hands against his chest and shoved.

"So this is a suicide mission?"

He didn't answer me. I shoved again. I knew Demons could die. I'd seen Marcas kill Samuel. Didn't I?

"Can you die?" I asked curiously.

He still didn't answer. I heard Maria shift in her chair.

"It takes a lot to kill a Demon, but they can die. Because they are already occupants of hell, there is no true life for them after death. Only recycled life," Maria answered in Marcas' stead.

I shoved him again. It wasn't having much of an effect, but I was angry.

"Do you care that I could die too?" I asked him fiercely.

Marcas continued to stare at Maria.

"Where's the ring?" he asked her again. She didn't answer.

"Fuck you, Marcas!" I shouted as I shoved him again.

Maria gasped in shock and Marcas finally glanced down at me. My hands were still against his chest.

"I told you not to mistake my saving your life for anything less than self-preservation," he said coldly. I reached up and slapped him.

"What preservation, you asshole?"

He grabbed my hand by the wrist, and I bit back a scream. I wouldn't let him win this one.

"Do _not_ slap me again," he ordered harshly.

How dare he? I had once thought he was saving me because he feared his brother. Now, I realized he'd promised Damon he'd return me because he wasn't expecting either one of us to make it back. And I'd trusted him.

"You are one arrogant son of a bitch!" I hissed. Marcas' eyes lit up.

"Figures you'd mistake confidence for arrogance," he replied.

I clenched my fists. I was so naïve. I slapped him again. He snarled.

"And here I thought you'd been through puberty, Blainey," he said through gritted teeth. Oh, that did it! I'd had enough. I tried to ignore the rub. Really I did. The slap had been childish but he'd deserved it.

"Well, geez. They keep raising the age of adulthood, Marcas. At least I'm not stuck for an eternity having to relive an age too young to drink," I snarled.

Marcas quit moving, looking down at me so swiftly if I had blinked I would have missed it.

"Would you like to be, Blainey?" he asked.

"Are you threatening me, Craig?"

"Damn it, woman! If killing you wouldn't destroy what little part of me _wasn't_ a monster, I would murder you!" Marcas cried out before punching the wall behind me so hard the plaster crumbled. I felt fear but didn't blink. I had his strength now. He wasn't the only one who could badly redecorate a house.

"Awww, Marcas. I'm flattered. I didn't realize you liked me so much," I said quietly, using that moment to twist the rings from my finger.

I threw them on the floor before ducking under his arm. We both needed space. But even as I walked away, his words resonated so deeply within me, it made me rub the sudden goosebumps on my arms. " _If killing you wouldn't destroy what little part of me wasn't a monster. . ."_

Chapter 27

There is nott much known about the artifacts of Solomon beyond myths. Demons have always sought them, been obsessed with their so called powers. They could give a Demon control of his kind. It could give him control of the earth. It cannot be allowed to happen.

~Bezaliel~

I went only as far as I knew I could go in a strange country with a strange language while being followed by a league of Angels, Demons, and fanatic religious groups who wanted to see me dead. I went out into Maria's small courtyard and sulked. What else was I supposed to do? Run?

"Is there anyone who doesn't want me dead?" I asked the Heavens in frustration.

Great! Now I was yelling at the skies the same way Marcas did. A light from over the courtyard wall illuminated the garden, and I kicked at the rich green soil in the corner of the yard while practicing yelling at myself in my head. It seemed more productive than having someone else do it. And yet, Marcas' voice _still_ managed to interfere. " _If killing you wouldn't destroy what little part of me wasn't a monster. . ."_

"Damn it!" I cried out irritably.

"Ah, piccola Ragazza. This is not pleasing. You curse a lot for an Angel," Maria said pointedly from behind me. I froze. Now was _not_ the time for company.

"You curse a lot for an old woman who wears a rosary," I bit back as I closed my eyes and lifted my face up toward the sky. The breeze felt good against my skin. The old woman chuckled softly from behind me. At least one of us was amused.

"You glow when you are out of doors," Maria said.

I looked down at my body before turning to face her. I saw no glow.

"Only a select few can see it. Angels and Demons have their own distinct marks," Maria explained. She held a shawl firmly around her shoulders as she moved down the porch, and I tried my best not to glare at her as she made her way over to my side. She looked up at the sky while I looked behind us at the porch. All seemed quiet.

"He's fixing the damage he did to my wall," Maria said suddenly, and I turned to look at her. Her eyes bored into me.

"I honestly don't care what he's doing," I said with a frown. Maria shook her head.

"Of course you do, Angel," she commented wryly.

This time I didn't refrain. I glared. Maria seemed unfazed.

"One thing I have learned in my old age is that lying to yourself only causes further damage. The Demonio is an interesting specimen, no? You aren't the first Angel he's been involved with," she said haughtily. My eyes went wide.

"What do you mean?"

Maria snorted.

"Her name was Sophia. Or Aurelia. Angels tend to have many names. In this case, it is Sophia," Maria said as she turned to look back up at the sky.

What? I looked at the house. Sophia? What was she saying?

"What do mean by involved?" I asked.

The question slipped out before I could catch it, and I groaned. There was no taking it back now. Ugh, why couldn't I _not_ care about the stupid Demon and his messed up past. I shook my head miserably. It couldn't be helped. The old lady was right. I couldn't lie to myself. Marcas interested me way more than he should. Maria lifted a brow and laughed softly.

"Oh, ho! So the Angel _is_ interested in the sordid tale," she said derisively.

I blew my cheeks out in frustration.

"Fine, I'm interested," I said in annoyance. I didn't need it rubbed in.

"What happened?"

Maria pointed to a bench on the side of the courtyard, and I followed her over.

"These old bones can't stand the duration of this kind of tale," she explained as she sat carefully. I took her elbow and helped her down. She nodded her thanks. I remained standing. Maria looked again at the sky.

"The world above and below us is a complicated one and our world is caught in between. They are everywhere. Demons and Angels. We interact with them daily at times and never know it. The Demonio in my home is no exception. He is an old Demon. His mother is one of the most powerful evil creatures to ever exist. His father is an immortal cursed to travel the earth with a bloodlust that would drive mortal men insane. Their children are as powerful as the mother and as bloodthirsty as the father. They are a cursed breed. But you knew that. That isn't a new part of the tale. Sophia is," Maria said in an intriguing tone most storytellers would envy. Knowing this didn't make me any less enthralled. Maria shifted and her knees popped. I pretended not to notice.

"It was a century ago. Not so long in the life of a Demon when Sophia happened upon Marcas. She was a young Angel. Probably older than Marcas himself but that is still young for an Angel. And they fell in love."

I gasped. "They _what_?" I interrupted.

Maria looked over at me and smiled widely. She was missing a few front teeth. It should have distracted me but it didn't. I stared at her in disbelief. Marcas and an Angel?

"Ah, I knew this would be the part that would capture your attention," she said as she patted the bench next to her. I sat. I wasn't sure I wanted to remain standing.

"Now, it is important for you to know that there are many theories about Angels and Demons. For one, it is believed that Demons cannot love. It is believed that, if they do have a soul, it is corrupted. They are borne of evil and are, therefore, an incarnation of evil itself. This is also the reason why Demons can be killed but Angels can't. Demons are borne of darkness. They can be destroyed, but they are reincarnated in Hell. With each death, a new Demon is created. So, in a way, they never die. Just the body they reside in can be destroyed. The only way to truly rid the world of a Demon is to know his true name.

The only exception to this is the children of Lilith and Cain. If they die, they return to the earth their father was cursed to roam. There is no Hell for them but neither is there Heaven. These cursed children are an exception to many Demon rules, one of which is love. Most still argue that even the cursed children cannot love, but Marcas contradicted this theory. He has lived, like any Demon, unlawfully. His crimes, I am told, are many. But he has fallen short where the worst of his kind has not. He has spared lives when many would not have, taken souls only when people have offered it to him, and killed only when necessary. This does not please many among his kind. His own twin brother has shown no sign of these demonic shortcomings. But both brothers do have their difficulties. Many believe this is the result of being the first Demon born sons of Cain when Cain still had a certain amount of humanity. His sons seem to have inherited this. Damon's unending search for redemption is his human fault. No matter how insane it has made him or how dangerous he has become because of it. Marcas' failure is his mercy," Maria explained.

I looked at the house.

"Mercy a failure?" I muttered. Maria cleared her throat, but I didn't turn back to her.

"To a Demon, any human weakness is a failure. The most powerful of that is love. Marcas broke the laws of both his own kind and that of the Heavens when he fell in love with an Angel. I don't know Sophia and Marcas' story beyond the fact that they loved each other. No one has dared repeat it for fear of Marcas' retaliation but what is known is no less amazing. The love they shared was forbidden and, when it was discovered, both were ordered to end their relationship. They were forced to choose between each other and Heaven and Hell. For Marcas, there was no choice other than Sophia. He began a war with his own kind over her. It almost destroyed him," Maria said. She didn't continue.

I looked away from the house and faced her.

"And Sophia?" I whispered.

Maria's eyes met mine.

"It's a choice no one should ever have to make. Heaven or Hell," Maria answered just as quietly. The story made my heart break.

"Her choice?" I persisted.

Maria didn't answer.

"She walked away," a male voice said instead.

Startled, I looked up to find Marcas standing a few feet away from the bench. I stood up. The story had made me feel inexplicably forlorn. I couldn't say I blamed Sophia. Who could make that kind of choice? Marcas had said no to Hell. That was a lot simpler than saying no to paradise. I watched Marcas' face for any sign of emotion but there was none.

"And you want to die because of it?" I asked.

Marcas looked from me to Maria. His gaze remained on her.

"No. I have no interest in dying."

I glanced between the old woman and the Demon curiously. What kind of past did they share? I stood up slowly.

"Then what is this mission really about? You said yourself you wouldn't find dying unwelcome," I asked.

The story had somehow smoothed down his edges. He was still scary, he was most definitely intimidating, and he was still a bastard. But he was more real now.

"I was being honest, Blainey. Dying wouldn't be unwelcome, but I don't seek death," Marcas answered. His gaze stayed locked on Maria's, and he took a determined step closer to the bench.

"Where's the ring, Maria?" he asked sharply.

The old woman didn't budge. I looked between them.

"The _ring_ , Maria."

This time he didn't ask. He commanded with a fury that made me nervous. I moved between them. Without thinking, my hand went to Marcas' chest.

"Look, calm down, would you?" I said.

Marcas' gaze met mine. His eyes shone red.

"That's your job, Blainey. Hell hasn't given me much patience," Marcas warned.

He glanced down at his chest and removed my hand. This time, it didn't bother me. I looked over at Maria.

"Do you know where the ring is?" I asked. Her gaze met mine.

"It's a fool's trip you two go on. It isn't natural. The ring was made for Solomon. And _only_ Solomon. It was never meant to be used by Angels or Demons," Maria said steadily.

She showed no fear. Marcas huffed from beside me. He shifted forward. Heat came off of him in waves.

"It hasn't stopped Demons from using it before," he said. Maria's gaze returned to his.

"No, it hasn't. This, Demonio, is the reason why it is better protected now," she replied.

Marcas moved around me. Maria stood up shakily, her old age apparent.

"I'm not afraid of you, Demonio. I've seen what you are and what you can be. I've spent my life among your kind because my so-called gift didn't give me a choice."

She took a shaky step forward.

"I am not interested in your anger or your threats. I have lived a full life. Threats do not bother me. But I will help you," she said.

I looked at her in surprise. Marcas watched her warily.

"This time is different. Your brother has changed the rules of the game. And brought a Naphil many thought couldn't exist into the fold. It has changed everything," she said.

Marcas moved to her.

"The ring," he said again.

This time his voice was low, calm even. Maria reached up and placed a hand on Marcas' shoulder. He didn't push her away.

"I'll help you, Demonio. But only because I'm afraid of what will happen if you two stay bound. If you won't take her soul, then there's little choice left. The ring isn't in Italy," Maria said as she dropped her hand.

I coughed. What? She was joking, right? Marcas' back straightened, and he grabbed Maria's arm.

"Where?" he asked.

"The SOS hid it in Egypt," she answered.

I had to move back to the bench. I sat down hard.

"Egypt?" I whispered. Both Marcas and Maria ignored me.

"Why?" Marcas asked. Maria leaned against him slightly. She was tiring.

"The SOS was becoming afraid. You aren't the first Demon to pursue the ring. Lilith has been the most aggressive. The SOS made the decision to move it after your mother's last attempt. But they kept a few of Solomon's artifacts in Italy. Only one would help you now."

Marcas took Maria by the elbow and led her to the bench. She sat down next to me.

"The carpet?" he asked. Maria nodded. I tried my best to follow.

"Who has it, Maria?"

"Alessandro."

I wanted to ask them what they were talking about but even I recognized the need for silence. Maria looked down at her hands.

"It's been a long time, Demonio. He may not remember you," she warned.

Marcas backed away from the bench and motioned to me. I stood up and followed him. Maria's hand gripped my wrist. I paused.

"Don't do anything you feel uncomfortable with. There are always choices," Maria told me quietly.

I looked up at Marcas. He was watching Maria with an unreadable expression. His gaze moved to mine.

"We need to go," he ordered.

I glanced away from him and placed a hand over Maria's.

"I'll be careful," I promised. She patted my hand with her free one and let go of my wrist.

"You'll see me again," she promised as I walked away. I didn't look back.

"I'm assuming you know where we're going," I asked Marcas shortly. He moved in front of me.

"No, Blainey. I'm just going on instinct," he said in return. I was sick of his snide remarks. I threw him the bird behind his back. Jackass.

Chapter 28

The air is changing. The trumpet has been blown and the troops have rallied. The SOS is only a safe house. It won't remain safe for long. What has Damon, in his insanity, caused?

~Bezaliel~

I closed my eyes and looked for my inner light. It made seeing in the dark so much easier. I just wished I could keep my eyes closed. Opening them meant I had to look at Marcas. Big joy.

"So, who's Alessandro?" I asked.

Marcas turned a corner and moved up to a vehicle parked on the side of the road. With my new night eyes, I could tell it was red. He put his hand against the car door and it fell open. I looked around us cautiously.

"Ummm, please tell me this is some rental car you forgot to tell me about," I hissed as I moved up behind him. Marcas gave me a bemused look then pointed at the passenger side. I sighed.

"No such luck huh? Great! Now I'm an Angel who's committed grand larceny. Is that even legal in Heaven?" I asked as I slid into the car.

I'd never get used to being a passenger while sitting on the driver's side. It was just wrong. Marcas placed his hand on the steering wheel and the car started up. Seriously? Watching him made me wonder what kind of powers I was supposed to have that I hadn't managed to discover yet. So far, I could throw light balls and see in the dark. Cool, but not as cool as producing clothes out of thin air, fixing broken china or walls, and starting vehicles without a key. I felt like I was in an episode of Criss Angel Mind Freak. My stomach growled.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything . . . okay, I'm complaining, but please tell me that there's food where ever we're going," I said as I buckled the seat belt. The last car ride I'd had with Marcas hadn't been all that rad. I was seriously devoted to protective gear this time around.

Marcas glanced over at me. His eyes spoke volumes. I was getting used to this one-sided verbal communication thing. This should worry me but it didn't.

"Don't give me the whole 'high maintenance' look. It's not that I have a thing against blood. I'm just part of the 'I like my food well done' fan club. Donuts, dumdums . . . now that's fine cuisine," I protested as Marcas drove. I was babbling again. Logically, I knew that meant I was nervous.

"You're talking about high fructose corn syrup and fried flour, not food," Marcas said flatly.

I glanced at him. Had he actually gone all normal person speak mode on me? Be still my heart, I was impressed.

"Well, well, the Demonio does speak. I beg to differ, my blood-bound Demon counterpart. Dumdums are the nectar of the Earth," I said dramatically. Marcas snorted, and I saw his lips twitch slightly. Had he almost smiled?

"Earth bound Angels tend to have a thing for sugar. They crave it. Some even need it," Marcas said quietly.

Was he talking about Sophia? The thought actually made me feel a little depressed. I'd ask myself why, but I wasn't really sure I wanted the answer.

"You're spoiling my mood, Craig. And here I thought I was one of a kind. Are you telling me I'm not the only person who eats cake frosting like it's ice cream?" I asked sullenly. Marcas sped the car up.

"Never fear, Blainey. You're definitely one of a kind," Marcas muttered.

I looked over at him. Was that a compliment or an insult? Marcas took a curb fast, and I looked down at the speedometer.

"Is there a reason we're speeding like a bat out of Hell through what's supposed to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world?" I asked Marcas nervously.

He glanced in my direction briefly.

"You'd feel it if you let your guard down."

I stared. "Feel what?"

Marcas shifted gears.

"The Demons," he answered.

I held my breath. The _what_? I looked around us. The windows were dark.

"Feel it, Blainey. I know you knew what Luther and Lexi were when you met them. It's the same difference. Just open up your mind and feel," he ordered.

I sat back in my seat. Nothing came to me. Marcas took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on my arm. The floodgates of Hell opened. Literally. Nausea swept through me and I doubled over in pain.

"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed. Marcas removed his hand.

"God has nothing to do with that," he said sourly. My fists clenched the seat.

"What was that, Craig? That wasn't just one Demon!" I cried out.

My eyes searched the night. The city was flying past my window. I didn't know how Marcas saw to drive.

"It's at least fifty Demons," Marcas answered.

"Fifty! Oh, my God!"

My heart began to beat well beyond the normal pulse rate. I was tempted to sit in Marcas' lap. I wasn't being a girl, I was just being smart. Right now, he was stronger than me.

"You need to learn to feel them on your own, Blainey. They've been following us since we landed. They aren't as close as you think they are. They are closing in, but we still have time. Maybe a day or two. But we do need to hurry," he said calmly.

I looked over at him.

"You're telling me we are being followed by at least fifty Demons who I'm sure aren't looking to make friends and you want me to take 'feeling' lessons. What is this? On the job training?" I asked bluntly.

My tone was edged with terror. Marcas moved onto a road that seemed to lead out of the city. He ignored my question. I took in deep breaths to calm my breathing.

"Who's Alessandro?" I asked him again. Marcas picked up speed.

"He's the head of the Swords of Solomon."

He was what? I closed my eyes and counted slowly to ten. It didn't work.

"What the fuck, Craig! There's a mass of Demons wanting to see at least one of us dead, and we are driving into the hands of a group protecting an item we want to steal. Oh yeah, I see the brightness in this plan!" I yelled. Marcas didn't so much as flinch.

"You don't strike me as the type who enjoys taking the easy way out of anything, Blainey," Marcas said. I shot him a look.

"You seem to forget I haven't been given the choice. If it were up to me, I'd hit the easy button every time," I snarled. Marcas snorted. He _actually_ snorted.

"I doubt that, Blainey."

"Fuck you!"

"If you did that, you'd at least have Damon off your back," Marcas said.

Seriously? He went there? I covered my face with my hands and screamed. It may have been a little on the cheesy side, but the release made me feel better. I managed to regain a modicum of calm. Fine! So, there were a mass of Demons following us, we were driving to meet the leader of the Swords of Solomon, and Damon was back in little ol' Lodeston, Mississippi hoping I'd breed with his brother? How dandy! Where was my fucking easy button? I looked at Marcas.

"Now might be a good time for you to teach me how to kill a Demon," I said bitterly.

He shifted gears before glancing at me. The look he gave me was a hard one. I narrowed my eyes.

"I need a quick lesson, Craig. If you go all Karate Kid on me and start that wax-on-wax-off shit, you will be the first Demon I try to kill," I warned.

Marcas shook his head. I had to quit using movie analogies. I was pretty sure he didn't get them.

"You'd only kill yourself with the attempt," he pointed out. I slumped down in my seat.

"It'd be worth the try."

Marcas turned onto an empty dark road. I could see a field on my side of the car. A vineyard maybe?

"You have to tear out their hearts and crush it," Marcas said suddenly.

My head shot in his direction.

"What?"

"To kill a Demon, you have to tear out his heart then destroy it," Marcas explained. I stared.

"Demons have hearts?" I asked skeptically.

"Not typical ones, but they are built like mortals to a fashion. Demons can be grotesque and some are animal-like, but we all have some form of a heart. In our case, it's only an organ for survival. Take that away and even we die. Those not Cursed return to Hell and are reborn," he said. I watched his face. It was calm and unlined.

"How do you do it?" I asked him. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Stay so calm, so detached?"

"I've been around a long time, Blainey," he answered. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, cut the old man crap! The old men I know are more emotional than guys my own age. Especially in the Southern U.S.. This is a Marcas Craig thing," I said sharply.

The car turned, but I didn't look out the window to see where we were going. My gaze was locked on his face.

"It's a Demon thing," Marcas corrected. "It's never good to let a Demon know how you feel. It gives them a weakness to prey on. You either learn to shut yourself off or you suffer the consequences."

"Death?" I asked. Marcas gripped the steering wheel.

"Much worse, Blainey. Death would be so much easier to handle."

I started to say something, but he shook his head. I closed my mouth briefly.

"And Angels? Why can't they die?" I redirected.

Marcas' hands tightened on the steering wheel. If he didn't ease up, he was going to break the thing.

"They are borne of light. They belong to Heaven. Only God can kill an Angel. When Lucifer fell, the ability to be invincible was taken away. But Demons can't die either. Not really. Most of us are always recycled," Marcas said.

I furrowed my brows in concentration.

"And yet the Angels don't have the upper hand?"

Marcas glanced my way. "You have to remember that Demons are constantly recycled when their bodies are destroyed, new half-Demons are continuously born to mortal women or bred by mortal men with Demon women, and Satan is constantly collecting human souls he forces into the war. Our numbers are always huge. And while Angels cannot die, they can be injured by Demons. And only Demons. And then they need time to heal," Marcas answered.

I processed the new information before opening my mouth again, but Marcas stopped me.

"We're here," he said.

I looked out the window and gawked. How rich was the man who guarded the artifacts of Solomon? The white stone home we stared at now wasn't much smaller than the Abbey itself, and the cars parked along the front would make any man or woman who saw them salivate in envy.

"I'm assuming the Swords of Solomon isn't a full time position for this Alessandro," I said blandly. Marcas opened the car door and stepped out. I followed suit.

"You'd be surprised. He is the director of the group and there are a lot of private investors dealing in religious artifacts," he pointed out.

I watched Marcas over the hood of the car. Why had he chosen to come here?

"How do you know him? How does Maria know him?" I asked.

Marcas shut the door and turned to face the house.

"He's her son," Marcas explained. He left my first question unanswered. Her son? Maria's son? This made me pause. What _was_ Marcas to Maria and Alessandro?

"How do you know Maria?" I asked.

The question had plagued me since we'd met her. He started walking across the yard, and I followed. I thought for sure he wouldn't answer but he surprised me.

"She was a young girl when I first met her. She was an earthbound pursuit of mine once. At the time, she was a young widow of nineteen with a two-year-old son," Marcas answered.

I gawked at him. He had _dated_ her? Maria? I shook my head. I stopped walking a moment. Really? Marcas paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Demons have earthly affairs, Blainey. You may do well to dispel yourself of any naïve ideas now. I will never be a saint. Maria was beautiful once. Her soul still is. It shines with a brightness that would attract any Demon."

I stared at him. The curdling of my stomach wasn't because he'd dated Maria. I wasn't naïve by any means. No, it was the sudden dawning realization of something much bigger than that. He'd been alive a long, long, long, long time. That meant he'd been with a LOT of women.

"How many women does that put you at?" I asked without meaning to.

My hand flew to my mouth. Had I actually asked him that? Jesus! Marcas started walking again. I hurried to catch up.

"I won't continue this discussion," he said flatly.

I didn't push him. It was a question I shouldn't have asked in the first place. It didn't mean I couldn't ask them in my head. There were many. How long had he been with Maria? I had a hard time picturing the rosary clad woman with a Demon. Was it a rebellious time in her life? Maybe a time when she was angry at God? Could it have been because she was a widow? Had she blamed God for the death of her husband? I suddenly couldn't wait to meet up with her again. She fascinated me. I looked up at the house.

"Are we just going to walk up to the door?" I asked Marcas with a frown.

If the Swords of Solomon had gotten wind of our situation, they'd be ready to kill on sight, wouldn't they? They'd have to be aware that Marcas was interested in the ring.

"We are going to talk with Alessandro, yes," Marcas answered. I stared at him in disbelief.

"Won't they want us dead?" I asked cautiously. Marcas looked at me.

"Not necessarily. _I_ am their threat. You, on the other hand, will be news to them. They are mortals, Blainey. They won't be aware of your existence or the fact that we are bound. You are a Naphil seeking refuge among a group who assassinates Demons. The fact that we are being tracked by Demons will help your case," Marcas said.

I watched him. I felt like I was being debriefed for an undercover operation.

"I am not an actress," I complained reasonably. Marcas lifted a brow.

"It's time you learn to be," he said before ringing the doorbell. "They already know we're here. They have enough security to be aware of it."

I looked at the door.

"And they haven't captured us?"

"No doubt they are curious as to why a Demon is here with an Angel. They will have a Seer with the same gift as Maria. It is essential that they have men and women who can discern the difference between mortals, Angels, and Demons. I have a past history with an Angel. Maria has made you aware of this. It won't seem out of place for me to be involved with another," Marcas answered. I heard footsteps approaching from within.

"Involved?" I whispered.

Marcas put a hand on the small of my back. It made me jump. What was he playing at?

"Just look down and appear scared, Blainey," he ordered.

I did as he commanded. I didn't have to pretend to look frightened. I was terrified. The door swung open. Light illuminated our feet, and I closed my eyes to let go of my night vision.

"Can I help you?" a female voice asked. Her tone was stern and almost cruel. There was no doubt she knew what Marcas was.

"I seek an audience with Alessandro. Tell him it is Marcas. Tell him I require a favor," Marcas said coolly. The woman grew quiet. The door drew further open.

"I imagine you are aware of our group. I will inform Alessandro of your presence, but you will be guarded until he decides what is to be done with you," the woman said. 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 as I lowered myself onto the couch and pulled my legs up behind me. I 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 said. 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, Demonio? 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 but 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," Marcas said flatly. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. I heard a male chuckle.

"Always possessive, Demonio. This has never boded well for your relationships," Alessandro retorted.

"Do not anger me, Ander," Marcas said, his voice full of menace.

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, Demonio. 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 a little. 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 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 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?" 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.

~Bezaliel~

"Sleep," Marcas prompted after I'd indulged myself heartily on the food left behind by the member of the SOS.

The plate left for me was scrumptious, a pasta dish I didn't recognize with a velvety cheesy tomato sauce I was wary about at first but enjoyed despite my reserve. I stretched out on the bed and stared up. There were faded religious frescoes on the ceiling. The building must be older than it appeared.

"Is it even night anymore?" I asked Marcas.

He looked down at me. He was still sitting back against the headboard.

"Does it matter, Blainey? There will be few opportunities for sleep before long," he said distantly.

I knew he was right. There was something terrifying coming. I could feel it in my bones. It made me shudder even as Marcas' heat made me drowsy. My eyes grew heavy, and I dozed.

The dream immediately came to me: my father teaching me about the light, the sudden change to rain, the pain, and the fall. I felt myself waking up, and I fought it. I wouldn't run away this time. I refused to keep letting this dream win. Darkness engulfed me as I fell and then, without any warning, there was light. Brilliant light. It surrounded me from all sides. It made me blind. I'd found it.

"Dad? I found the light," I whispered.

It cushioned me, and I gave myself over to it. I felt warm. I rolled over and found myself waking up . . . on Marcas' chest? What the . . .

"The dream has changed," Marcas said from beneath my ear.

I pushed away from him and moved a safe distance away. He hadn't moved which meant I had been the one to lay on him. I wasn't a lax sleeper. I moved like crazy. My cheeks burned.

"Do you seriously not sleep?" I asked him shortly.

My embarrassment made me sour. Marcas looked up toward the ceiling.

"Sleep is a human need. Those things don't sustain a Demon," he muttered. I sighed, my thoughts irrevocably on the books I'd read in the past. In many of them, supernatural beings didn't need to sleep. And he'd said I read too much.

"Gotcha," I mumbled as I slid from the bed. I'd had enough rest.

"Clothes were sent up for you," Marcas said from behind me.

I stared at the dresser and saw a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeve black shirt folded neatly on top along with intimate apparel and a pair of socks. I'd have to keep the boots. I looked around the room.

"The bathroom is to your left," Marcas pointed out.

I glared at him over my shoulder.

"Could you just shut up?" I asked him frostily.

He raised a brow, and I saw an emotion pass briefly over his face that made me pause. Had he smiled? Even just a little?

"Spoken by the Angel who doesn't know the meaning of silence," Marcas said unemotionally.

I had to grit my teeth to keep from flipping him the bird. I'd learned my lesson about biting my tongue. I moved into the bathroom and closed the door.

The room I found myself in was made up of Tuscan tile with latte colored walls. There was a large claw tub in front of a arched stained glass window. I twisted the knobs and sighed as steam began to filter into the room. I shed my clothes and sank into the water. I had hoped the bath would help with the anxiety I'd been feeling since arriving at Alessandro's home, but even the hot water couldn't ease the fear from my body. It infiltrated every pore. After a few minutes, I gave up on relaxing and ducked under the water just long enough to wash my hair, scrub, and jump out of the tub. I pulled on the clothes I'd grabbed off the dresser and was pleasantly surprised to find the jeans fit well even if the shirt was a little on the big side. The sleeves were too long, and I rolled them up hurriedly.

"What do we do next?" I called out to Marcas as I opened the bathroom door.

The bed was empty. I looked around the room. Nothing. The bedroom door stood open.

"Marcas?" I called out as I moved cautiously into the room. The emptiness made me nervous. Why had Marcas left me? I made it to the open door and peered out into the hall.

"Marcas?" I hissed as I sidled into the corridor. I kept close to the walls. Where the hell could he have gone? I hissed his name again.

"He's with Alessandro," a young male voice said patiently from behind me, and I froze.

"Uh . . . ok," I answered lamely without turning around. I didn't want to ask him to show me where they were because then I'd look dependent and weak, and I wasn't having any of that.

"I'll be glad to show you the facility if you like," the man behind me offered helpfully.

I turned around slowly and found myself staring open mouthed at the lean blonde-haired man that came into view. He looked at me rather sheepishly.

"Ethan?" I asked in a whisper.

Ethan Jacobs shrugged and leaned back against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture was so much like Monroe I wanted to cry. And here I thought Monroe's oldest brother was away at college.

"What is this?" I asked.

He looked up and down the hall before motioning me back into the bedroom. If it had been anyone other than Ethan, the move would have been a suspect one. I followed him back in.

"I'd ask you the same thing except I suspected you were the one brought here after mom called about Monroe disappearing," Ethan said calmly.

I just stared at him. He noticed my confusion.

"I work for the SOS, Dayton. I've been with them ever since I left home. Our family, on my father's side, has been involved with them for years," he said softly.

I just couldn't quit staring. I thought Monroe's dad was Wiccan too. Or maybe I'd just assumed that. He had always been gone a lot. And when Monroe talked about Circles, she always chirped on and on about her mom.

"Does Monroe know?" I finally whispered hoarsely.

She would have told me if she knew. I was sure of it. Ethan shook his head.

"She didn't, but I am sure mother has clued her in by now. Monroe chose mom's path into Wicca so it seemed unnecessary to reveal anything to her about dad's occupation."

I sat down on the nearest chair I could find in the room. Why is that people always assumed it was better to keep something hidden rather than be honest? It wasn't protecting anyone from anything. I suddenly felt bad for leaving Monroe. She had as much surprising information to deal with as I did.

"Start from the beginning please," I begged in astonishment.

Ethan moved over to the chair and leaned down in front of me.

"I assume you know what the SOS is, so I won't start there. Our group is everywhere. Mainly we are sent where the need for spies is greater or for protection of Solomon's artifacts. My father was stationed in Lodeston because of your aunt. The Sethian sects can be suspicious at times and your aunt's order was at the top of our list. Her religious eccentricity was making waves and when the SOS became aware of her involvement with a Demon some years ago, it made us worry," Ethan explained.

My whole body had gone cold with fear. I didn't know how to feel about the whole revelation. Had the SOS had spies in the Order? If they had, Marcas and I were screwed. Another thought came to me. Had Monroe revealed the truth about Marcas and me to her family? If she had, Marcas was in serious danger. I fought to play it cool.

"Your father works for the SOS and married a _Wiccan_?" I asked suspiciously.

Ethan smiled widely and the corners of his eyes crinkled attractively.

"Dad always said there was no saying no to mom. Mom's side of the family is as deeply entrenched in Wicca as dad's is in the SOS. They make their religious differences work," Ethan said with a chuckle.

I'm sure he was imagining his parents. It made me smile too despite my fear. My history with the Jacobs family made me comfortable with Ethan, and I decided to take the plunge.

"How much do you know about me?" I asked Ethan as coolly as possible.

He stared up at me searchingly.

"Not much. That's what I came up here to find out. You totally surprised us all, Dayton. Mom mentioned that Monroe had been worried about you recently. She didn't know why and then you and Monroe suddenly disappeared from Lodeston along with Conor Reinhardt in the company of a Demon. Maybe you should tell me why."

I read the slight censure in his eyes, and I looked away. I'm sure he'd heard about the supposed romantic interlude between Marcas and me. In his eyes, I wasn't an innocent anymore.

"Have you talked to Monroe?" I asked him unsteadily. I kept avoiding his gaze. I heard him sigh.

"I have. And I'm not exactly happy with her reply or her circumstances."

His tone made me look his way.

"Her reply?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed.

"She told me to ask you," he answered.

I almost sighed with relief but looked away instead to hide the smile in my eyes. Trusty ol' Monroe. My body relaxed.

"I wasn't happy to find she'd been left with Lexi and Luther. I don't trust either of them further than I can spit which is why I've sent for both her and Conor. I feel safer knowing Monroe will be here with me," Ethan said almost irritably.

He sounded accusing, but I wouldn't feel guilty. I didn't have room in my emotions for that right now. I thought about what he'd said instead. Monroe and Conor were coming here? The thought made me both uneasy and excited. Ethan's hand came to rest on my knees.

"I need you to tell me what's going on, Day. Right now, you and your Demon are security risks to us all," Ethan said imploringly.

I looked down at him. He had no idea. __ I adopted Marcas' emotionless expression. My Demon? He was soooo far off.

"I didn't know he was a Demon when we first became involved," I said bleakly.

I hated the look Ethan gave me at that word. But, at the same time, I felt surprisingly more forward knowing he thought I was tarnished.

"Involved?" he asked.

I nodded and looked away again. I had to get used to this lying thing.

"I met him at Everett's on my birthday. I shouldn't have gone, and most certainly not alone, but if it hadn't been for Marcas I wouldn't have discovered what I was," I said softly. Only part of that was a lie.

I looked back at Ethan. He was watching me closely.

"A Naphil," he said.

I nodded, and Ethan closed his eyes briefly. I'm sure he was telling himself it was impossible I existed too. I was getting used to knowing I wasn't supposed to be alive. Or, at the least, not supposed to be sane.

"So Marcas didn't lie to Alessandro?" Ethan asked.

I shook my head. Not entirely. Ethan stood up and ran a hand through his hair.

"My God, Day. Part Angel? Your aunt really has covered up way more than we anticipated," he said in agitation.

She hadn't hidden it that well. The Demon Lilith had known. She'd even sent her son to kill me. Ethan looked down at me.

"And Amber?" he asked. He didn't have to say more. I shook my head.

"We don't share the same father. We do in looks, but not in make-up."

I hope he made sense of that. I didn't have the heart to re-tell the story I'd been told about Bezaliel's assumption of Daniel's identity. Ethan nodded. I guess this was not unusual for fallen Angels. He stopped next to me and leaned against the wall beside my chair.

"Why the Demon?" Ethan asked me seriously.

I looked down at my hands. How did I answer a question like that? I thought about Marcas a moment. It made my heart feel funny.

"Because, despite what he is, he's been straight with me where most have lied," I said honestly.

This time, I wasn't lying. I stood up and faced Ethan defiantly. The meek Dayton was going to have to go. If Marcas could play this game, I could too. I had come into this situation unhappy, sullen, and unsure, but I was going to leave it by making my own decisions. Choosing to stay with Marcas was up to me now. And I knew we needed that ring.

"What about you, Ethan Jacobs? How much more am I going to have to be faced with? What is Lodeston? The psycho capital of the world? Or the melting pot for religious disorder? How many people in my life are not who they seem to be?" I asked him angrily. Ethan looked surprised. His gaze wandered over me.

"You've changed, Dayton."

I glared. "I've had to. Answer my questions," I ordered harshly. Ethan frowned.

"It isn't just you who's been surrounded by organizations and people who are involved with things the general public aren't aware of. You've just been dragged into it. Are you even aware how big this is? How big the interaction between Heaven and Hell can be? Earth is the platform for their disagreements and the vacation spot for Demons' ugly deeds. There is a constant battle for the human soul. We are minute compared to this," Ethan argued.

I watched him begin to pace. He had grown a lot since the last time I'd seen him. He'd been eighteen when he'd left home. He was twenty now, but he seemed older. He wasn't as carefree as he used to be. I took in a deep breath. He was right. There was no telling what was going on out there in the world. If I wasn't a Naphil who'd been bound to a Demon by his insane brother and an eccentric aunt, I'd still be blissfully unaware of it all. Ethan came to a standstill.

"I can't forget why I'm here," he said almost to himself.

I stood up straighter. I knew what he was after. He was here to gather information. I'm sure he'd been ordered to confront me as soon as the SOS had discovered his sister and I were close friends. He looked up, and I met his gaze unblinkingly.

"What is your aunt doing with Damon?" Ethan asked pointedly. I shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. Ask her," I lied before moving toward the door. Ethan followed me.

"Who is your father, Dayton?"

I turned on him just inside the open door way.

"Bezaliel. Any more questions, Ethan? I'd really like you to take me to Marcas and Alessandro now," I said bitterly before turning to walk back out the door.

I'd taken only one step when I came face to face with Marcas. He was leaning casually against the wall next to the bedroom.

"I'll take this from here," Marcas said flatly as Ethan exited the room. His words were for Ethan, his stare was for me. I met it without flinching. Ethan started to speak but Marcas interrupted him.

"Alessandro could use you now. Demons are approaching. They will be here by nightfall," Marcas ordered. His gaze never moved from mine. Ethan glanced between us then shook his head before moving away. He was down the stairs before Marcas finally spoke to me.

"You have friends everywhere don't you, Blainey?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Unexpected ones, I assure you," I answered him icily. He shoved away from the wall.

"There'll be more surprises, I'm sure. Come with me, Blainey. You have a lot to learn before tonight."

I stared after him wide-eyed.

"You're going to teach me how to use my powers?"

My surprise was evident. He nodded slightly. I followed him as he moved down the hall.

"I'm going to fight too?" I asked hesitantly. Marcas paused and turned.

"Maybe, maybe not. But I don't want you unprepared if you discover you have to," he answered.

The look in his eyes remained cold. Did he care about what happened to me or was he afraid my being injured could injure him? I didn't even attempt to discover an answer. It was pointless. Marcas didn't reveal anything until he was ready to. I let that be my first lesson. I was determined to become the same way. I waited for him to start walking away again, but he surprised me. His gaze searched mine before suddenly moving toward me. I hated when he got close. He towered over me. I stared at his chest. Thank God it was covered. He leaned down and brought his lips close to mine. I almost screamed. What was he doing?

"Are you going to kiss me, Craig?" I asked him shrilly. His expression didn't change.

"I'd ask you if you wanted me to, but I honestly don't care, Blainey. We need to find the carpet tonight after the fight," he whispered against my lips.

My heart was beating so fast and my body was so tense that it took me a minute to realize he was doing this so he could speak to me privately. I swallowed.

"Assuming we make it through the fight," I said softly. Had I brushed my teeth? I couldn't remember. Marcas put his hands on my arms. I had to work at staying relaxed.

"We'll make it through the fight, Blainey. This is just the start of the Demon war. The first wave won't be as strong as the one coming. I know where the carpet is. Tonight we fight, then leave. Follow my orders explicitly," he commanded before placing a soft, quick kiss on my lips and moving away. My own lips burned. I wanted to touch them but didn't want to get caught doing it. It had been a peck, damn it! How great a kiss could that be? I looked up at Marcas expectantly.

"Then you have a lot to teach me and little time to do it in."

Chapter 31

An Angel's powers are unique according to the type of Angel. For example, God's Enforcers have entirely different powers than Guardian Angels. Each Angel must learn to use his abilities accordingly. There has never been a sane Naphil. The type of powers she could harbor is unknown. Many fear her abilities.

~Bezaliel~

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" I asked Marcas crossly half an hour later.

Only thirty minutes into his "training" exercises, and I wasn't sure I'd make it to the battle tonight. I tried throwing a light ball and ended up sitting on my ass while my "flaming" _un_ -success of a ball snapped off the limb of a nearby olive tree. Marcas proceeded to catch it in mid-air, not with his hands but with his abilities, and throw it at me. Show off. I tried rolling out of the way but it still pinned my leg. I shoved it off and frowned.

"Olive branches are supposed to stand for peace, right?" I asked sarcastically.

Marcas just gestured at me. His desire for me to stand back up was evident. I threw him the bird. I may have been afraid to do it before, but I was pretty sure he couldn't hurt me more than he already had.

"Will taking my soul hurt less?" I whined as I stood up slowly and groaned.

I was allowed to have an "It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to" moment. Marcas moved toward me.

"It'd hurt much, _much_ worse. Imagine having a part of your body waxed. The pain of ripping out your soul is a thousand times more painful than that," he said candidly. I eyed him suspiciously as he neared.

"You're not going to start throwing _me_ now, are you?" I asked him guardedly.

Marcas hissed. "You need more control, Blainey."

I had angered him. No surprise there. He moved behind me, and I froze. I honestly couldn't take another direct hit.

"Why don't we learn more about protecting yourself and less about attack for the moment," he said in a low voice.

That didn't sound so bad. I glanced around us. The grounds of Alessandro's home were surrounded by olive trees with a vineyard visible in the distance. When I'd asked Marcas where we were he'd said something about hill towns near Rome in Lazio. Maybe Tivoli. He had been vague. Where ever we were, it was secluded and beautiful. The afternoon sun was warm but not overly uncomfortable. I wanted to enjoy it, but the situation was making it impossible.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked soberly.

His instructions made sense, but my body wasn't producing the desired results. Marcas placed his hands over my eyes. I tensed.

"You couldn't show me with another method?" I asked him shortly. The way he stood now reminded me of my father and the dream. I wasn't happy with it. Marcas didn't move.

"No, the only way you're going to learn anything is if you learn to rely on yourself and not your senses."

I grimaced.

"I feel like I'm in an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ ," I said through gritted teeth. Marcas didn't comment.

"Angels and Demons have very different powers and they all depend on the type of Angel or Demon you are. But one thing remains the same. We tap into our powers the same way. The way you imagined your inner light when you needed to see in the dark is the same way you tap into your powers. That inner light _is_ your power. For a Demon, it's their inner darkness. By cloaking yourself in the light, you can prevent or cause an attack. It's not rocket science, Blainey," Marcas lectured. I stared at the back of his hands. For him it wasn't.

"Always look for the light, right?" I asked.

The comment wasn't lost on Marcas. He leaned down until his mouth was directly next to my ear.

"Your father is considered a wise Angel, Blainey. He was teaching you the fundamentals. You just weren't old enough to understand what he was doing, and you weren't aware of what you were. The concept is the same," Marcas whispered. I shivered.

"Close your eyes, Blainey," he commanded.

I didn't argue. I didn't have the energy to. His hands fell away.

"I'm going to attack you now," he said smoothly. He was _whaaaat_? I started to open my eyes.

"Eyes stay closed!" Marcas yelled.

I jumped. He sounded quite a few feet away from me now. How'd he move so fast? Why hadn't I heard it? Attack _me_? I started looking desperately for my inner light. I pictured it easily, and it moved toward me. In a panic, I grasped it.

"Pay attention to the air around you. Not what you wished you saw, not what you hear, not what you smell. Just the air itself. When you are being attacked, you will feel a buildup of pressure," Marcas explained.

The air grew tense around me. Was that the buildup?

"As the attacker gathers his resources, the pressure will get steadily stronger."

The air grew so thick, I felt like I was going to choke. Yep, now _that_ was the buildup.

"As the attack happens, you will feel the air release as if a gun has discharged or a slingshot has ejected a stone. Once the ammunition is in the air headed toward you, you can feel its approaching energy. You can track it. As it draws near, use your light to catch it and dispel it away from you," Marcas ordered.

He didn't give me time to think about it. As soon as his explanation was finished, I felt the release he'd just described in my body, and I tensed. I knew he'd just sent me his attack. His instruction became immediately clear. I could feel the energy move closer and I strained to recognize its every move. I couldn't handle another hit right now. My desperation made me let go of everything but the feeling of the approaching danger. Why had he planned an attack for now? The energy came up on me, and I created a shield with my light before dispersing it before me. It just managed to catch the approaching force. I felt something shove against the light hard. I flew backward slightly. My tailbone hit the ground.

"Not bad, Blainey," Marcas said.

I opened my eyes. There was a black mark on the ground about a foot away from where I'd been standing. My butt felt like it was on fire. Not bad?

"That was good? Am I supposed to end up on my ass each time?" I asked him angrily. I was trying my best not to get discouraged. Marcas stared at me with his ever-calm expression. I wanted to spit in his face.

"That was a killing shot, Blainey," Marcas said coolly.

I froze. What did he say? Shocked, I stared at him.

" _What_?" I asked lamely.

He didn't repeat himself and he didn't have to. But it would have helped if he had. Killing shot? I took in a deep breath.

"You have that much faith in me?" I asked him suddenly. He didn't move.

"I have that much faith in your _power_ , Blainey. Remember, there are times when I feel your powers so strongly, I forget they are not my own."

The bond again. He started to walk toward me.

"Need some help?" a familiar voice asked from beside me, and I looked up to find the smiling eyes of Conor Reinhardt. I had just seen him the night before, but it felt like it'd been forever. I cried out happily as he reached down and pulled me up. I hugged him tightly.

"Save some of that for me," Monroe's voice said laughingly from behind Conor, and I flew at her. I could see her brother, Ethan, standing some distance away. He smiled slightly at the three of us.

"I heard you were having too much fun without us," Monroe said teasingly.

I punched her lightly on the arm. Our eyes met and our expressions grew serious.

" _How are you?"_ my eyes asked hers. I knew she'd had to deal with a lot of revelations.

" _About as well as you are,"_ her eyes seemed to answer.

I nodded. I understood the feeling. My backside throbbed, and it reminded me of Marcas. I looked behind me. He was gone.

"He went back into the house," Ethan Jacobs said as he approached. I looked at him crossly.

"Was it a safe idea to bring everyone here now?" I asked Ethan shakily.

I didn't want Conor or Monroe to see how hurt I was that Marcas had left without saying anything. Outside the bond, we weren't even friends.

"Safer than they would be in Rome," Ethan answered.

I glanced between the two men and Monroe. The battle ahead weighed on me. It didn't help that my friends would be in danger now too.

"What will happen tonight?" I asked quietly.

I assumed Monroe and Conor had been briefed on the drive here. The look on their faces confirmed I was right. Ethan looked at Conor.

"Conor will fight with us. Lexi and Luther have arrived against our wishes to fight with Marcas, and Monroe will work with the Coven," Ethan said evenly. I looked at Monroe.

"The Coven?"

"We figured the extra power would help," a voice said from behind me, and I turned to find Mrs. Jacobs standing with three other women and Lita.

The sight was so welcoming that I bit my tongue to keep from shrieking. A coppery taste filled my mouth, but Marcas wasn't here to chastise me. Tears wet my cheeks as Mrs. Jacobs held open her arms. I went into them. It reminded me of my parents' funeral.

"I don't know what's happened, Dayton. We don't understand a good deal of what is going on with you, but I made you promise to call me once if you ever needed anything. It looks like you have that need now," Mrs. Jacobs whispered.

I blinked my eyes to keep from crying more. I pulled away and looked at the brightly dressed woman with an affection I'd once felt for my own mother. She had long blonde hair she kept brushed and unfastened, and she wore a loose-fitting long sleeve red dress that almost resembled a kimono. It definitely represented her quirkiness.

"What have you gotten involved in, sweetheart?" Mrs. Jacobs asked softly as she looked into my face. I knew I looked a mess. Monroe had moved over to her mother's side and I glanced at her briefly. I had no ready answer. I shrugged.

"A lot of people want Dayton dead. And she's shacked up with the enemy. Simple as that, Mother," Ethan said coarsely. I knew he wanted me to give him a reason why, but I couldn't. Monroe looked at her brother.

"There have been a lot of people and creatures who've attempted to kill her since she and I discovered what she was. This isn't her fault. The Demons fighting with us may be on the wrong side, but they've kept us safe up until now. Isn't it enough that she's discovered she's a Naphil that isn't supposed to exist and who's being targeted because of it?" Monroe asked sharply.

She moved to my side and Conor moved in behind me. Lita moved next to Monroe. I reached over and took her hand briefly. It meant a lot that she'd traveled with the Coven.

"Jacin?" I asked her softly behind Monroe's back.

"Holding the fort down back home," Lita said with a wink.

I smiled and let go of her hand. Ethan looked uncomfortable.

"I'm not attacking Dayton. I just don't understand why this fight is about her. Why are the Demons gathering now? _Why_ now?" Ethan asked uneasily.

I sympathized with him. He really should know the answer but not until Marcas and I were gone. I looked at the ground. No one answered him.

"What will I need to do during the fight?" I asked lightly. I felt the sudden need to change the subject.

"Stay out of it," Ethan and Conor said simultaneously. I glared at them both. Mrs. Jacobs placed a hand on her son's shoulder.

"She can sit in with the Coven. The fact that she's an Angel may help boost our powers," She said reasonably. I started to nod.

"She'll be with me," a voice said sharply and the entire group looked up to find Marcas, Lexi, and Luther moving in our direction. Marcas' eyes were dark. I read the message in them. If we got separated, our chances of getting to the carpet plummeted. Ethan took a step forward.

"You've committed us to protecting her and now you want to get her killed," Ethan argued hotly. Marcas' gaze moved to his.

"With me, she's less likely to die," Marcas said with enough menace the threat was evident.

He was warning Ethan to back off. Ethan shook his head. I expected Conor to argue as well, but I suspected he knew something about our plans. The rest of the group remained silent though the expression on Mrs. Jacobs' face spoke volumes. I understood Marcas' actions, but I was still mortified.

"Leave us. All of you!" Marcas suddenly ordered. The voices of the group rose in anger. Marcas' gaze found mine.

"If the Naphil is to have any chance at survival, I'll need to continue working with her," Marcas said uncompromisingly. He left no room for argument.

I took a step away from the group. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I felt like I was choosing sides. Lexi and Luther took their place at my back.

"I'll be okay," I murmured as I looked at my friends in turn. My gaze ended on Mrs. Jacobs.

"He's not here to hurt me."

I knew it wasn't much consolation. Her eyes softened.

"I'm not sure I believe that, Dayton, but I'm here to support you in whatever decisions you make. I don't trust him, but I do trust you," Mrs. Jacobs said frankly.

I nodded my thanks while fighting hard not to cry. She was misplacing her trust.

"Let's go. There's a lot to be done," Mrs. Jacobs commanded as she moved toward the house. The group trudged along behind her. Conor and Ethan hung back, but Mrs. Jacobs grabbed both men by the arm and dragged them resolutely toward the house. The looks on their faces were priceless. Leave it to her.

"We begin again," Marcas ordered.

I sighed and turned reluctantly toward the Demons. Lexi and Luther didn't appear to be going anywhere.

"I need all three of you?" I asked suspiciously.

Lexi's eyes brightened. That didn't bode well for me.

"They get to be your enemy army," Marcas said. Lexi rubbed her hands together.

"This is going to be so much fun," she said giddily as she moved to flank her brother.

I looked up at Marcas.

"You want me to die, don't you?" I complained. He didn't say anything, but Lexi's voice floated over to me as she and Luther moved across the lawn.

"The pleasure will be all mine," she sang happily.

I looked up into the sky.

"No doubt about it. I'm going to die."

Chapter 32

War is a terrible thing fought for terrible reasons. We fight each other knowing the only victor in the end will be death. Those left living are haunted, those who are injured suffer terrible pain, but those who pass on get their moment of peace.

~Bezaliel~

"If I have to endure one more moment of pain, one more jibe, or one more riveting Lexi remark, I fully intend to bitch-slap that monster," I hissed as I watched Lexi pace back and forth in the distance.

She was playing cat and mouse games with me and about eight times out of ten, she was coming out ahead. I found myself imagining her heart crumbling in my hand. It was more than a little soothing. This should disturb me.

"This is getting so _duuuuuull_ , little bit!" Lexi called out with a pout. __

I saw Luther move in from the corner of my eye. Dull my ass! Eventually I was going to figure this whole power thing out and, when I did, I was rewriting the rules of the game. I felt Luther's energy before I saw it, and I dispersed it easier than the last eight times he'd thrown it my way. He retreated. Lexi continued to dance. If I had to be all politically correct and shit then I'd have to grudgingly admit that Lexi was pretty good at the whole fighting thing. She teased until she wore her enemy down. I was her fingernail and she'd more than bitten me down to the nub.

"Would you just do something, already?" I growled as she danced behind a tree.

Another bout of energy came my way, and I ducked. There hadn't been enough time to dispel it, but I still managed to avoid a hit. It went into a tree a few yards away effectively splitting the large trunk in half. I gawked. Seriously!

I looked back toward the Demons attacking me. They'd upped the ante. I had figured out the whole "stop the energy" lesson, but I was still working on the attack part. My first few tries had been so pitiful, Lexi had laughed till she was gasping for air, Luther had looked apprehensively at Marcas, and I had briefly considered hiding my head in the ground like a flamingo. Lexi did some type of fancy ballet movement across the yard before turning toward me long enough to flash her fangs. I rolled my eyes.

"Smile with your mouth shut, bitch? The teeth are hideous," I whispered to myself as Lexi turned so fast, I almost missed the intent in her blood red eyes.

A bolt of energy flew from her hand. It looked just like a bolt of lightning. If I hadn't been so worried it'd kill me, I'd have shrieked like a girl. I jerked at my inner light so hard it actually hurt. A wall of light flew out in front of me. I gasped at the sudden brightness, and I fought to see beyond the glare. Had I done that? The lightning bolt bounced off the radiant wall so hard and so fast, Lexi had to throw herself on the ground. The wall remained. I reached out and touched it warily. It was slightly warm but pliable. For once, Lexi was quiet.

"Amazing!" Luther said as he moved around the wall.

He examined it intently before coming to stand at my side. The curiosity in his eyes was evident. What had I done? My chest hurt and I touched it lightly. Luther reached out to touch the bright barrier and was immediately thrown backward into a tree. He fell to the ground with a "humph." My eyes widened in amazement.

"What the hell?" I whispered.

"It's your power, Blainey. You've released too much of it," Marcas said quietly from behind me.

I hadn't felt him move in, but his presence didn't startle me. My body recognized his body as my own. It was a strange but comforting feeling. If I was being honest with myself, I'd have to admit that being attached to Marcas had begun to make me feel less lonely. I could hear Lexi snorting indignantly from behind the light.

"Whoo hoo, she created a table lamp," Lexi said resentfully. She studied the wall almost as closely as Luther but refrained from touching it.

"And we're supposed to be impressed?" Lexi asked.

I would have felt angry at her snide behavior if I didn't detect an almost wistful tone to her voice. Had I managed to impress the imperious Lexi? I reached out tentatively and touched the wall again. It felt warm and comfortable, and I shut my eyes with a sigh. The most amazing feeling came over me. It felt like being hugged, felt like sucking on a million dumdums while reading a favorite book, felt like a spring rain when the sun's still shining, felt like standing on the edge of a cliff knowing if you jumped there'd be no doubt you could fly. It felt like love. It felt wonderful, but I didn't know what to do with it.

"Mold it to your intentions, Blainey. This light isn't just a part of you, it is you. It's everything you love and care about, everything that makes you hurt, everything that makes you afraid, and every small idiosyncrasy that makes you unique," Marcas whispered into my ear.

I didn't shiver at the feel of him there. I just listened to his voice flow through me. It was hypnotizing. He lifted the hand still resting at my side and placed it against the glowing partition. I froze. With my eyes closed, I was overwhelmed with sensation. The feel of being connected to the wall was so great; I didn't even question Marcas' immunity to it. I felt a slight breeze blow against my cheek, and the coldness that resulted made me suddenly aware that I was crying. I opened my eyes slowly and gasped.

"What is this?" I asked in awe.

The wall! It wasn't a wall anymore. It was a cloak wrapped completely around Marcas and me. We stood in the center of its glowing orb as if we were the eye of a hurricane. It circled us in dazzling strings of light that moved over every inch of our bodies. The feeling was amazing. I had never felt so alive, so loved. I looked up at the Demon at my back. Tears still flowed down my cheeks.

"It doesn't hurt you?" I whispered.

Marcas stared down at me. His expression was still unreadable but the illumination made his eyes look light blue instead of midnight. It was startling.

"The bond, Blainey," he answered.

I nodded but I didn't understand. Even with the bond, this light was _so_ strong. I felt every vibration, every nuance of its energy as if I were a taunt guitar string being played by a masterful musician. I wanted to cry out with the joy. _This_ was my power.

"You need to pull it back inside yourself, Blainey. I'll help you," Marcas ordered.

I stared at him dumbly. Put it back? Why? It wasn't hurting anyone. And it felt so good! I couldn't put it back. I wouldn't! Marcas closed his eyes briefly, and I saw his jaw tighten. Was this as much an effort for him as it was for me?

"The feeling will still be there even when you can't see the light. You've found it now, Blainey. It won't leave you," Marcas said, his voice gentle. I struggled against him but he held me tight.

"You have to pull it back in," he said through clenched teeth.

My tears came harder. The light made everything better: the grief I'd felt over my parents, the betrayal I'd felt over my aunt, the fear I still had for my sister, the confusion I had over Conor, the sympathy I felt for Damon and Aunt Kyra, the anger I had toward my father, the fear I had about the future. I didn't want to take that away. I felt strong. Invincible.

"Being too confident makes you fallible, Blainey. Your fears have never made you a coward. Being afraid makes you more aware of the dangers surrounding you," Marcas said carefully.

I wasn't sure what he saw in my eyes, but even I knew I was walking a thin line. I had pulled too hard on my light and I'd discovered a power strong enough I'd almost give my sanity for its comfort. Marcas squeezed my arms. The pain brought me somewhat to my senses but it made Marcas swear. I felt the shock the light gave him for hurting me, and I winced.

"Pull it back in, Blainey," Marcas ordered. His tone made it easy to obey. The light made it hard to care. I leaned into him and searched frantically for his hand. I found it and squeezed. The gesture kept me grounded.

"How?" I finally whispered. He leaned over me.

"Close your eyes, Blainey."

I complied. The light was so strong I could see it through my closed lids. I squeezed Marcas' hand tighter. I didn't want the light hidden. It was so beautiful. Marcas squeezed back hard enough it hurt. I felt another shock go through him. The pain made me more lucid, but it was hurting him. The light may be protecting me, but I realized belatedly that he was trying to help me too.

"Begin to pull at the light. The more you pull, the smaller it will become," Marcas ordered wearily.

I obeyed, but slowly. I could feel the light in my hands as I pulled. It flowed through me, made me so very strong. I pulled harder to keep from being pulled back in by its comfort and beauty.

"You're doing good, Blainey. Just a little more," Marcas murmured.

I pulled harder, faster. Marcas suddenly put his hands over mine. I could no longer see the light through my lids. He pushed my hands up against my chest, and I fought to breath. The light squirmed against me.

"Just stay calm," Marcas mumbled as he pressed my hands tighter against my chest. I felt the light pierce my skin and I cried out.

"Don't bite your tongue!" Marcas ordered harshly as I fought to remember why it was important I did as he said. There were three Demons surrounding me. Blood was a bad idea right now.

I whimpered as the light seeped into me. It sunk down into my bones, burning as it surrounded my heart. But nothing hurt like the pain that went through me as it entwined itself into my soul. I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming.

"Give it a moment," Marcas breathed. I felt the tears pouring down my cheeks. How could something so wonderful hurt so bad?

"Because it's the best emotions that hurt the worst," Marcas whispered.

The pain passed through me, and I collapsed. Marcas went down behind me. I crawled slightly away from him. My body seemed to know he needed space. When I looked up at him, I noticed his face looked strained and somewhat pale. Had I drained him? He looked up.

"It's not weariness. You made me stronger, but my body is adapting. It doesn't know how to handle the Angel part of you," he murmured.

I found it strange sometimes that he could read my thoughts so well. I knew he wasn't inside my head because that's one power we'd share if he was. I'd be able to feel it. Right?

"That was fucking unbelievable!" Luther said quietly from behind Marcas.

I looked up at the other two Demons on the lawn. Both Lexi and Luther stood frozen. Luther's face was filled with amazement. Lexi's countenance was nothing but horror.

"That's unnatural!" she breathed. She looked at Luther.

"It should have killed him," Lexi said to her twin. Luther shook his head. There was no making sense of it. Lexi stamped her foot. She seemed pissed about the whole ordeal.

"It should have fucking killed him! Maybe everyone else is right. Maybe the girl should die," Lexi said angrily.

Her blood red eyes found mine. I scooted backward along the grass. Anger might fuel cautiousness in mortals and even Angels, but I knew from the expression on Lexi's face that the only thing it fueled in Demons was murder. I searched for my light and found it so easily; it was like simply turning a key in the ignition of a car. I wasn't going to let her intimidate me. After what I'd just experienced, her anger seemed mild. I wasn't mortal. Not entirely. And for the first time, I knew that I didn't mind being what I was. I embraced it. Lexi took a step forward and growled. Marcas stood up and Luther moved toward his sister. I gave both men a look that made them pause.

"Back off!" I hissed as I pushed myself off the ground. I was doing this alone. I was so tired of being rescued. Lexi giggled.

"Ohhhh, she wants to plaaaaay!" she said as she clapped her hands merrily. Her eyes went redder. I stared at her. I waited for the fear to engulf me, but it never did.

I didn't have the life experience with my power that these Demons did, but I had just become more acquainted, more comfortable, more in tune with it in the past few minutes than I'm sure Lexi ever had in her Demon life. She used her powers because she loved the feel of it. She loved the strength it gave her. She loved the dominance she got from hurting others. I knew it by the way she moved. I knew it by the way she laughed. I knew it by the way she loved making others feel weaker. I would use mine, not because of the way it made me feel, but because I knew I'd be lost without it. My power wasn't my strength. My power was my determination. It was my fear, it was the overwhelming emotions I tended to let swamp me. It was me.

"I'm not up for games," I told Lexi quietly. I didn't want to fight. If I could avoid it, I would. Lexi's head swiveled. It was more than a little disconcerting. I stood my ground.

"You're dangerous to us all, mortal. I won't let you win the war for the Angels," she growled as she lifted her hands with obvious intent. They sprouted claws. I stared at them a moment in silence. I was afraid of her, but my need to fight back was stronger. I was so very tired of being the victim. I wasn't the cause of this war. I wouldn't let them make me one.

"I'm only as dangerous as you make me, Lexi," I warned in a low tone.

She grinned, and I saw a mouth full of fangs. The Demons didn't have the typical vampire fangs the myth-created creatures did. They had ultra-long canines, but the rest of their teeth were pointed as well. I took in a deep breath.

"You're making threats now, mortal. How cute," Lexi said as she circled me playfully.

She kept a five foot radius between us. She toyed with me until I couldn't keep up with her movements. I felt the attack just as it hit me and it sent me to my knees. Lexi had a particular talent for making her victims feel weak. My legs burned where her energy hit me. I looked up at her. My inner light circled the area she attacked and healed it carefully. I kept my gaze blank. I didn't need her to know that my body had fought off her attack. I fought not to check on Marcas. Had her attack hurt him through me? It was strange having to worry about someone else while worrying about yourself. Maybe we _were_ an aberration. But not by choice.

"Your hatred makes you blind," I said steadily as Lexi sneered.

I stopped the incoming energy she threw at me just as it reached my head. I wasn't attacking until I had to.

"You will die, mortal," she said so coldly, I finally felt a hint of fear.

I gazed at her intently. Her eyes glowed so bright I squinted. But, even with the grotesque shape her face had taken because of her eyes and teeth, I saw the look she tried instantly to hide. It made me pause. She was afraid. She was afraid of my power, and it made her angry. Angry enough to kill. She moved so quickly I didn't see her get close until she grabbed my head in each of her hands. Her claws pierced my skin. She sniffed deeply.

"Please, don't make me do this," I whispered.

Lexi stared into my eyes and laughed. I felt blood trickle down my neck.

"Oh, mortal, you smell divine."

Her mouth opened, and she lunged. I took the light I'd been holding inside myself and released it. I'd not meant for the attack to be so strong. I'd done as Marcas ordered. I gave the light my intentions. I gave it my need to destroy those who wanted me dead for their own gain. I gave it my need to end the pain Lexi had caused me and others. I gave it my need for an end. I was tired of this quest. I was tired of the hatred. I was tired of my fear. Light shot forth. Lexi's teeth barely grazed my neck before she flew backward in surprise. Her mouth hung open. I didn't see the damage I'd done until Luther moved cautiously toward his sister. I felt something close over the abrasions on my neck and looked back to find Marcas had removed his shirt and was pressing it into my wounds.

"What did you do?" Luther asked hoarsely as I faced his sister again.

Lexi's face was contorted and she was fighting hard not to scream as her body began to convulse. Her skin began to move. It was a grotesque sight, but I couldn't look away. What _had_ I done?

"Fuck!" Luther cried out as a beam of light suddenly burst through Lexi's stomach.

He backed away quickly. Lexi was looking down at her body in horror. Another beam of light burst forth from her hands. I wasn't afraid of it. The light was mine. She looked at me. And I felt pity.

"I'm not a mortal," I whispered as a beam of light shot forth from her heart.

This time she did scream. It was a terrible, terrible sound, and I closed my eyes tightly. I had never intentionally killed anything in my life. And I knew she was dead. Knew there was no way she could have survived it. There was an awful sulfuric smell, and I gagged.

"What was that?" Luther screamed.

I could hear him pacing the area. I had killed his twin. I had killed someone's sister. I put my hands over my face even though my eyes were still closed. I felt shame.

"What did she do? I've never seen anything like it before! Ever!" Luther shrieked as he moved across the yard.

I peeked through my hands to find him leaning over a small black stain in the grass. Lexi. I sobbed silently. I'd killed her. Marcas gently took my hands away and placed them over the black t-shirt he had pressed it into my neck. I held it there as he moved away from me. The serpent on his back almost seemed to move as he walked, and I focused on it. I had to concentrate on anything other than the black stain.

"She fed Lexi her power," Marcas said smoothly.

Luther stared at him in disbelief. My gaze moved between the two men. Was that not supposed to be possible?

"Can she do that?" he asked.

Marcas just looked at the stain. It was answer enough. Luther glanced between me and the stain. There was regret in his eyes but not sorrow.

"She could change the tide of war for the Demons," Luther said suddenly in awe. I felt anger course through me. I stared at Luther sullenly.

"I won't fight for your side," I snarled. I wouldn't help the Demons win the war.

Luther faced me. His eyes were still red. I knew he smelled my blood, but he kept his distance.

"Then you'd fight for the Angels?" he asked darkly. I saw the anger smoldering in his eyes. I shook my head.

"I won't fight for either of you. I won't be a pawn of this war at all. I just want to go home." I answered.

My small bedroom at the Abbey didn't seem so bad anymore. Luther watched me for a moment as if he were trying to gauge my intent. He finally nodded before looking at Marcas.

"You're right. We need to get you two unbound," he said evenly.

Marcas didn't reply. I saw Luther glance between the two of us before slapping Marcas soundly on the shoulder. Only a Demon could recover so quickly after seeing his sister killed.

"I don't envy you, brother. I wouldn't want that soul either," Luther murmured.

I watched the two men silently. It should hurt that neither cared to have what I treasured most, but I was simply happy that my soul wasn't an issue. The sound of grass rustling made me look up, and I found myself gazing into Monroe's astonished face. She stood far enough away that she could take the whole scene in with one big sweep. Her gaze found mine.

"What happened?" she mouthed. I looked at the black stain again.

" _I'm not a mortal."_

Chapter 33

The rare Naphil causing fear among the ranks is a half mortal, half Angel being who retains the power of her Angelic father while retaining the mortality of her mortal mother. Her emotions are human ones; her need for earthly things is human; her heart is human. But, in the end, her strength, her soul, her death is and will be an Angelic one.

~Bezaliel~

"Dayton?" Monroe asked uncertainly as she drew cautiously closer to the three of us.

I looked up at her blankly. I wasn't in shock. I was just assimilating a lot of information at once. I noticed the sun hung low behind Monroe's back and my gaze moved to her face. She read the question there.

"They've spotted the Demons. It will be soon," she answered. I nodded wearily. Monroe's gaze scanned the area.

"Lexi?" she asked simply. I think she knew what had happened. A petulant Luther, a shirtless Marcas, and a black stain on the grass between them didn't leave much to the imagination. Monroe's eyes locked with Luther's. A look passed between them. She turned back to me.

"We need to move," she said softly. Marcas and Luther made their way over to us, and I pulled Marcas' shirt away from my neck.

"I'm assuming you two still plan to go after the ring," Monroe said as I handed the shirt back to Marcas. He took it gingerly before suddenly making it disappear. Another shirt, a clean one, appeared in his hand and he pulled it over his head.

"You know about the ring?" I asked carefully.

"I told her," Luther said as we all began to move toward the house. I looked between the two warily. Monroe stared at the ground.

"She can help us," Luther defended.

I didn't argue with him there. I was more worried about the connection I'd seen pass between the two of them. I'd had my fill of Demon related problems. I wanted to say something but decided not to go there. Time was short. Luther stopped suddenly, his gaze finding Monroe's and then Marcas.'

"I take my leave here, brother. This is not my fight. Not yet," Luther said. Marcas nodded as Monroe and I both watched them solemnly. Luther turned to us and bowed.

"Ladies, it has been a pleasure," he said with a smirk. I knew he was lying, but it was no less charming. Monroe watched him with an unreadable expression as I reached out and touched his hand.

"Thank you," I said seriously. He may be a Demon, but he had helped us. And I had killed his sister. I wanted to apologize but there were no words big enough. He backed away, his eyes finding Monroe's a moment before Marcas nudged us.

"Walk," Marcas ordered. We obeyed. A "whooshing" noise sounded behind us, and I knew Luther had taken flight. I started to reach for Monroe, but she surprised me by taking my hand firmly in hers.

"Take this," she said unexpectedly, her voice shaking. I knew she'd not wanted to see Luther go, but she brushed it aside with a cool composure only Monroe could pull off. She handed me a necklace made of twine with a small piece of clear quartz hanging from its center. I took it.

"It's charmed," she said sheepishly.

I smiled at her. I had never believed much in charms, spells, or potions but the experiences I'd had recently vastly changed my opinion. Anything seemed possible at this point. I fastened it carefully around my neck. It felt warm. I took Monroe's hand in mine and squeezed.

"They're approaching," Ethan Jacobs announced as we stepped into the house.

I shivered. I wasn't sure I was up to the battle I knew was coming. I saw Mrs. Jacobs gather with her Coven in the foyer. With a piece of chalk, she began drawing a circle at the foot of the grand staircase. People were running everywhere.

"There's at least a hundred," a man yelled from across the house.

I glanced at Marcas. A hundred? The Demon ranks had grown. Another voice replied to the man's yell in Italian, and I looked up to find Alessandro hurrying down the stairs. He motioned at the blonde woman we'd met the night before. She rushed to him, and he whispered something into her ear. She went running. Alessandro looked up and caught our eyes.

"You will stay on these grounds within sight of my people, Demonio. You and the Angel," Alessandro ordered as he hurried to the back entrance.

Everyone was ready for a fight. Some even looked excited. I just wanted to hide.

"Are you okay?" a male voice asked softly, and I turned around to see Conor leaning casually against the wall beside us. I hadn't heard him approach over the noise in the house. I nodded.

"It's going to be a big night, Red."

Our eyes were locked. I nodded again.

"Be careful," he warned.

I knew he was aware of our intent. I stepped toward him.

"Do you know how to fight these things, Con?" I asked hesitantly.

I didn't want to seem too worried about his welfare, but I was. He smiled the kind of smile that made Conor the boy I loved in so many different ways. \ With one corner of his lips curled upward and his eyes shining bright, I could read a touch of humor mixed with mischief. It made me smile. He never failed to do that.

"I'm a sight to behold," he bragged as he wagged his brows flirtatiously. I actually found myself laughing.

"I don't doubt that," I said with a chuckle. Someone shouted his name and he looked up.

"That's my cue," he said as he pushed away from the wall. I reached out and touched his arm carefully. He paused and looked down at me.

"Please be careful, Con."

He grinned and winked at me. Neither one of us mentioned the kiss we'd shared or talked about feelings expressed and unexpressed. We just smiled at each other. Sometimes the best farewell is the kind you can laugh at. Conor wasn't a boy anymore.

"As you wish, Red. Gargoyles have a knack for this kind of thing. When this is over, I'll introduce you to what we can do," Conor said lightly.

I nodded. We weren't saying goodbye. The ring was the next step. After that, I fully intended to take him up on his offer.

"I look forward to it," I murmured as Conor's name was called again. He started to walk away, but I pulled him toward me for a quick hug before finally letting go. There was no need for words.

"Don't let him die," I prayed as I watched him fade into the group of people gathering at the entrance. The lawn would be full of warriors. We were as ready as were going to get. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Keep low, Day," Monroe pleaded.

I looked up to find her eyes shrouded with tears. My throat closed up. I hadn't had the time I wanted with her today and I was feeling the hollowness that came with fearing for someone else's life. I had brought Monroe into this. If something happened, I wasn't sure I could forgive myself. I watched her with regret.

"Don't, Day!" Monroe said fiercely as she slapped my arm hard. I winced at the sting.

"I know that look, Dayton Marie. Drop the guilt. I would have been involved in this even if you had tied me up and thrown me into a padlocked cement box. It's been a journey full of revelations for us both. And it's just the beginning. Besides, two of the bad guys are hot," Monroe whispered with a wink.

I tried to laugh, but I couldn't. The first tear of the battle fell, leaving a track on my dust covered cheek. Just the beginning. And yet I was so ready for the end.

It's time," a voice said from behind us, and I turned to find Mrs. Jacobs watching us wistfully.

I think she knew we'd both had to deal with feelings of betrayal. Despite that, I envied Monroe her mother. I hugged Mrs. Jacobs hard without warning and she patted me on the back of the head. Monroe took my hand.

"Good luck," I whispered.

A sob escaped Monroe. I let go of Mrs. Jacobs and stepped away from the two of them.

"She's a good mom, Roe, and you are more sister to me than friend."

Monroe smiled despite her tears.

"I know," she said. "And ditto."

Mrs. Jacobs took her daughter's hand. The Coven beckoned at them both, and I nodded at Lita. She smiled and winked.

"It'll be over before you know it," Mrs. Jacobs said as she led Monroe away.

I smiled despite my doubt. I wasn't sure it'd ever be over for me.

"Time to go, Blainey," Marcas said coldly from behind me, and I turned with a sigh.

"No way out of it, huh?" I asked half-heartedly.

"Death," Marcas answered.

I scowled while shoving away the tear that still clung stubbornly to my cheek. He couldn't be comforting just this once? I gave him a look.

"I never saw any point in cushioning the truth," Marcas said as he took me by the elbow and led me through the crowd. A few glanced curiously our way. I avoided as many gazes as I could.

"Where are we going?" I hissed as Marcas made his way stealthily to a living area on the first floor.

The first level didn't end with the foyer and parlor. The house extended backward almost as far as it extended upward, and the living area we suddenly found ourselves in was awe-inspiring because of its main feature: a floor to ceiling picture window facing the vineyard I'd spotted earlier. Marcas stopped in front of the glass and stared. I came to stand next to him.

"Use your night vision, Blainey," Marcas ordered, and I looked at him a moment warily before complying.

It was dusk outside. There was still light visible above the trees and even more so in the vineyards. It made it possible to see without using any special abilities, but it was getting difficult. I wrapped my light around my eyes and opened them slowly. I hadn't even had a chance to focus when Marcas put a hand steadily on my shoulder.

"Now look straight out across the vineyard," he said.

I looked out into the dark, my gaze searching the beautiful land in front of us and had to fight not to scream. I just managed not to bite my tongue. I grabbed a handful of Marcas' shirt.

"Can we do this?" I asked frantically.

What I saw could never be described properly. There were creatures, maybe a hundred of them, marching our way. And each one of them was more grotesque than the others. I couldn't make out minute details, but I knew from that one glance that none of these Demons looked like Marcas or Luther. They were the kind of creatures you'd imagine hiding under your bed as a child, the very reason I still kept a nightlight in my room.

"There's no choice," Marcas answered.

He didn't push me away, and I took advantage of his sudden acquiescence. The bond had forced me away from the friends I was comfortable with and forced me to trust and endure a creature I'd normally run from. Our time together had been short so far, but the things we'd endured had made me feel differently about him. I didn't want to examine the feelings too closely, but I did know it didn't feel wrong to seek comfort from him. I did so now and, as long as he wasn't pushing me away, I'd continue to do so.

I scooted in closer and stared across the vineyard. I wanted to look away, but this was one of those incidences where looking away almost seemed worse than facing it.

"And they are all looking for me," I said hopelessly.

I was the reason the people on our side were fighting. They were protecting me while I was lying to them. The SOS was going to lose lives while I was stealing the artifacts that gave them their cause, their existence. My heart couldn't take the idea.

"I'd rather die," I whispered.

I felt a vibration move through Marcas' body and his skin warmed. I looked up carefully and saw his jaw tighten. I'd come to recognize that as a sign he was keeping his emotions in check. Tightening his jaw was the same thing as me biting my tongue.

"Your existence is more important than you think," Marcas said tightly. I shook my head.

"Only as long as I'm bonded to you. Everyone's afraid of the two of us together, they are afraid of what we could create, what we could be if we mixed our powers," I said grimly.

If I wasn't who I was and I hadn't been bonded to Marcas, then this wouldn't be happening. I blamed myself. It was hard not to, especially when Monroe had warned me something was wrong and, from that first night, I had ignored the signs.

"I'm as much a cause of this as you are," Marcas said calmly.

I wanted his calmness. Needed it. It seemed wrong that he was the one feeling it. I stared out the window. The creatures were so much closer.

"But it's me they want dead," I pointed out.

Marcas looked down at me.

"They want you dead because, whether they want to admit it or not, the bond is only a small part of why they want you destroyed. You are a rare occurrence, Blainey. A Nephilim has never been born that wasn't tainted with cursed blood. Not only were you created because of the love an Angel had for a mortal woman, but you were born from a line of people blessed by God. As the first, there is nothing known about what you could be capable of. There is nothing known about what being what you are could mean to the rest of us," Marcas said as he looked back out the window. I watched his face a moment.

"I couldn't possibly be stronger than any of you. I'm half human," I whispered.

I watched as Marcas' shoulders lifted wearily.

"And yet you created a wall of light that you not only managed to pull from your body but that protected you once it was out," Marcas said.

I shook my head. I still didn't understand. All Angels had the light, didn't they? Marcas looked down again.

"Angels have powers they use without trying. All of it comes from the light. What's unique about yours is that, even though you have to work at it, it responds to you differently than it would to an Angel or a Demon. It not only lets you use it, it almost becomes an ambient being that will protect you at all costs. It's like having a separate guardian Angel within your body. Ours doesn't work that way. We use our powers to protect ourselves. They don't become ambient enough to protect us on their own. And you were able to feed that ambient power into a Demon. The power then took it upon itself to destroy her. Even without me, you would be feared."

I stared at him dumbly. The information was hard to take in. If he thought what he told me would help make me feel less guilty, he was wrong. I was still the cause of this fight and realized, rather belatedly, that I still would be blameworthy without the bond. I had just been safer before this. The bond had brought me to my enemies' attention.

I looked past the Demon hoard at the dim horizon. We still needed the ring. Unbinding us could mean allowing me the chance to hide or at least finding supporters who respected me, and who would fight with me. We didn't need more factions on earth. There was enough of that between Heaven and Hell. I looked back out the window. The creatures were close enough now, I could see the drool coming out of their mouths, the glare their eyes made in the dark, the different colors, horns, and pitted skin that made each Demon unique. Marcas backed away from the window.

"Time to fight," he said.

I shivered. Marcas suddenly pulled my hands away from his shirt but he didn't put them down. He held them tightly.

"You won't die tonight, Blainey. I promise you that," he said with a conviction I didn't feel.

I stared at him. His face was still expressionless. Was he just trying to save himself? Did I care? I nodded and we moved out of the room. The Coven in the foyer was busy murmuring chants and moving in their circle. I could feel the power rising.

The members of the SOS who remained in the house had equipment that revealed they were medical professionals. They were preparing a makeshift hospital. My heart sank.

"These are Lilith's Demons," a man said suddenly, his voice full of awe. Alessandro stood near the door. Dressed down from previously, he was holding a sword.

Marcas and I joined him before moving into the night. I heard screams in the distance. Some sounded human, some didn't. I knew then the ones on the front line were already engaged in battle. I had to keep reminding myself that it could be worse. There could be way more than a hundred Demons. If there had been, we'd have been finished. But this was just the beginning.

"Are you willing to fight your mother?" I heard Alessandro ask Marcas.

"I have before, Ander. Many times," Marcas answered.

Neither one of us were handed weapons. There was no reason. Our bodies provided that for us. I was suddenly glad Marcas had taught me how to shield. I'd only managed one well-completed attack this afternoon, and it had been a killing one. I wasn't sure I could handle another kill. My soul already hurt badly.

" _She was a Demon!"_ I told myself angrily.

Did that matter? Did killing someone because they were on the wrong team make it right? I was so confused.

"Get ready. Blainey. And don't leave my side," I heard Marcas say as I took the stance he'd taught me.

I'd barely gotten into position when I saw the first angry creatures come our way. I grabbed for my light.

Chapter 34

Lilith is angry. Whether this anger is because she is afraid of the Naphil brought into her midst or her son's bond with the half Angel is not known. One fact remains: She will see the Naphil dead.

~Bezaliel~

The first Demon that came up on us was a small one but fierce. I barely had time to throw up a shield when his energy came our way. He was an ugly creature whose swollen tongue hung out of his mouth so far it hid a good deal of his teeth. And what teeth they were! The ones I managed to see were yellowed and razor sharp. Add a slime dripping bulbous nose and hairy body and the picture was complete. It narrowed in on me instantly as if it had been programmed to seek me out. I shielded two energy attacks before Marcas picked the Demon up by the neck and dug his heart out with his claws. I gagged.

"It's not going to be pretty, Blainey," Marcas said fiercely as he threw the limp Demon's body to the side. The smell of sulfur was strong. There were smoking bodies everywhere.

"I didn't expect it to be!" I cried out irritably.

Pretty or no, I wasn't used to so much death. Marcas moved closer and I tried my best not to cringe at his red eyes, claws, and pointed teeth. He was what he was, and what he was happened to be all I had right now.

"Think quick!" Marcas ordered as two Demons moved up on us at once.

I shielded. A wet gurgling sound alerted me to the progress Alessandro was making. He obviously knew how to use a sword. I concentrated on shielding.

One of the Demons made it close enough to run a claw along Marcas' arm. The resulting wound was very shallow and barely bled, but I felt the burn on my own arm as the scratch appeared above my elbow. I gritted my teeth and watched as two more Demons moved out of the dark. There were four creatures now instead of two.

I went into attack mode. With a ripping sound and a sulfuric smell, I knew Marcas had managed to discard the one he'd been wrestling with.

I threw a light ball and watched as it hit the chest of the closest of the three Demons left. He flew backward a few feet. It wasn't the most effective attack, but it bought Marcas some time.

I heard more than saw some of the SOS warriors move our way. A young man engaged the Demon I'd hit and managed to slice through his chest with a thin looking rapier. The Demon screamed. Four more moved out of the shadows. I counted six now.

"They're coming in fast!" I called over to Marcas. We had been separated slightly. He lessened the distance between us.

"Just keep shielding, Blainey," Marcas ordered.

I nodded. Fear made tingling tracks up my spine. Would we even make it out of the battle in order to seek the ring? The Demons cackled and howled. The more noise they made, the more confused I got. Were there more of them?

Marcas lit into another Demon. He had him on the ground before I had a chance to blink. His claws lunged at the Demon's chest and I looked away only to see two more Demons taken out. One was stabbed through the chest by Alessandro and another was pinned to the ground by an African-American man with a weapon I'd never seen before. I didn't doubt I'd be introduced to it eventually.

I felt an energy approach me and I threw out my shield. The strike hit my invisible wall hard. More Demons moved out of the dark. I was discouraged. Could we really keep up?

"Chin up. The odds are never balanced in battle. You only die when you lose faith in yourself and in your comrades," Alessandro said breathlessly as he swung around me in order to slice off the head of a Demon crouching low near the house. I had to swallow my own bile.

Alessandro patted me quickly on the shoulder as he swung back into the battle. I watched him go. Handsome even in middle age, his hair shone dark, his face was lined from years in the elements. Bitterness showed in his expression, but I saw the kindness in his eyes, the same kindness that attracted me to his mother. He and Maria were more alike than I'd anticipated. He was right. War of any kind, even small ones, are never fairly balanced. I just needed faith. I should have that, right? Angels are supposed to be faithful. This whole journey had more than tested the faith I had.

I looked up and cried out. A Demon moved in behind a young warrior, and I threw a light ball at the Demon's head. It barely stunned him. His claws reached toward the man's neck. I screamed at him, but I knew it would be too late. The man turned and his eyes grew wide. I couldn't let him die.

" _Give it your intentions!"_ I heard Marcas' words scream into my head, and I threw my guilt, shame, and need to save his life into the next light ball and hurled it without thinking.

It blew the Demon in two. I threw my hands over my head and cringed as the Demon's body fell in pieces around those of us left fighting near the house.

There were exclamations everywhere. The field of battle experienced a deafening moment of silence. I removed my hands slowly and found human and Demonic eyes alike locked on me. The gazes I managed to catch looked afraid. I didn't blame them. I scared myself.

"What the hell was that?" Alessandro asked as a Demon growled and lunged toward me. Alessandro ran him through with his sword.

I had managed to scare the enemy, but in return I'd also managed to gain their ire. Every Demon in the field turned to me.

Marcas moved in front of me and began his attack. Several members of the SOS and Alessandro joined in. The battle had seemed fierce before, but now it was crushing. Devastating. They wanted me! People were putting their bodies between me and the enemy. They would die. I grabbed at Marcas' shirt.

"I can't do this!" I cried out as one of the warriors near us was clawed in the gut. I could feel the anger rising in me. I wouldn't be the reason these people died. I wouldn't! Marcas pushed my hands away.

"You can, Dayton. You can," he said harshly. It was the first time he'd ever used my name. I stared. Tears were pouring down my cheeks.

"Fight back! Don't let them see your reservations. Demons feed off your weaknesses," Marcas ordered.

I wiped clumsily at my tears as he turned to engage another monster. I saw another of our men go down. My resentment built. I couldn't decide if my tears were borne of my despair or my anger. Did it matter? I gathered up my energy.

A Demon snuck up on me, and I felt its claws dig into my calf muscle. I fought hard not to scream. I could hear Marcas growling from somewhere near me and knew he'd felt the wound.

The Demon crawled up my leg. He was a small creature but deadly. He resembled a spider and everything about him was sharp. I felt him crawl up my arm and I pooled the energy I'd gathered together. This light was full of despair and regret. Anger, and even vengeance.

I gritted my teeth as the Spider-Demon moved to my neck. I could see Marcas stepping toward me, but I moved away. I wanted the creature to bite me. I wasn't sure why. I just knew if I fed it my power, something big would happen. Its fangs made its way into my neck.

I cried out despite my resolve not to and shoved my energy into it. The Spider-Demon grew rigid and fell at my feet. A chorus of screams went up around us.

"Jesus!" I heard one of the warriors murmur just as I fell to the ground weakly. The bite had drained me. I wondered belatedly if the fangs had been filled with venom. My power concentrated on the area, and I felt something drip down the side of my neck. Was the light shoving out any poison? More screams filled the air. I looked up wearily and saw light bursting forth out of several surrounding Demons. My eyes widened.

"What did she do?" Alessandro asked Marcas in amazement. Five Demons suddenly went down at once. All of them were surrounded with light. One bite had done all of that. The light at my neck shoved hard, and I put my head between my knees. Nausea engulfed me.

"Don't let me die," I begged the light.

I was scared of death. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I wanted the chance to live before I died. Maybe it was because I wanted to make sure the ones I loved didn't die too. Truth was, I just wanted to live. It was selfish of me. I pushed myself up. Shouts and swearing filled the air. I think Marcas answered Alessandro, but I didn't make out the words. More poison dripped down my neck, and I felt stronger. Was Marcas suffering it too? I looked up desperately.

"Marcas!" I called out. I saw him a few yards away from me. He turned my way. I saw the bite at his neck, but there was no poison. I sighed in relief. Alessandro watched the two of us a moment before motioning at me.

"Get her out of here, Marcas. She's managed to kill the Demons closest to us in one swipe. It's put us ahead of the game. She doesn't look capable of much more," Alessandro said quietly.

Marcas moved toward me and lifted me into his arms. I struggled slightly and he tightened his grip.

"Just let go," he commanded and I went limp.

The light at my neck was weaker. It had healed a lot of the damage and didn't need as much power to do the rest. Alessandro moved up to us.

"Thank you," he whispered.

His eyes met mine. I nodded, and he walked away. I didn't want any gratitude. He would hate me before long.

Marcas carried me into the house, and I let myself lean against him. The air was thick with power and I knew from the feel of it that the witches were sending out a shield. It was a strong one and I hoped it helped. Their chanting was hypnotic.

A man approached us and asked Marcas if I needed medical attention. I could hear moaning everywhere.

"I've got this one. Her injuries aren't bad," Marcas answered firmly. I turned my head into his chest. I knew what his intentions were even without asking him. The battle outside was dwindling and it was in our favor. I'd put the odds in our hands. Now, we were going after the carpet while everyone around us was distracted. The doctor nodded and Marcas moved on.

Sounds of despair surrounded me, and I realized with chagrin that the room we were moving through was full of injured men and women. I kept my face in his shirt. We were in another room, the sounds more hushed, when Marcas put me on my feet.

"We need to go now," he said quietly.

I nodded and let him lead the way. He went into an office built into the side of the grand staircase. It was a small room, and I didn't understand the reason behind our presence there until Marcas suddenly went up to a thermostat built into the wall and twisted it hard. I watched in amazement. I was suddenly Nancy Drew and I was waiting for a secret door to swing open. It didn't happen.

"What are we doing?" I hissed nervously.

My gaze swung to the open door. Marcas twisted the thermostat again and a loud whooshing noise filled the office. The wall pulled apart in two different directions.

An elevator? I'd never heard of a secret elevator. Or maybe I'd just never read any books or seen any movies with any. I needed to Google it. I was suddenly interested to know if one had ever existed in reality or in fiction. My thoughts babbled and ran together, trying to distract me from the horrors I'd witnessed that night.

I was at my breaking point. There'd been so much death, so much blood . . . it was enough to drive any sane person mad. I began to understand, just a little, why Damon had been driven insane. Marcas stepped into the elevator and held out his hand. I took it and stepped in beside him.

"Hold on tight," Marcas said quickly.

I wrapped an arm around his waist just as the elevator doors closed firmly. We sped upward so fast my stomach dropped into my feet. I pictured Gene Wilder in _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ , and I panicked.

"We're not going to go through the roof are we?" I yelled as Marcas steadied himself visibly. I was literally climbing up the side of him. I did NOT like heights.

"We're not going through the roof," Marcas answered as he tried pushing me away gently.

I fought him as the elevator lurched to a stop and we both fell into the doors. They opened and we sprawled out onto a roof. It wasn't very graceful, but I wasn't letting go until I knew my feet were on solid ground. The cement under my cheek made me feel better. Stars were everywhere above us. Marcas pushed himself away from me and stood up cautiously.

"Follow me and be careful where you step. The roof is lined with motion sensors. Once we find the rug, we have to go as soon as we get it. Using it will set off the alarms," Marcas ordered quietly.

I stood up carefully and moved after him. Using it?

"How are we supposed to make it out of the house unseen once we have it?" I asked Marcas curiously.

He threw me a look. I narrowed my eyes. Something was terribly wrong. I could feel it. Using it?

"Exactly what is this carpet?" I asked guardedly.

Marcas didn't answer. I could hear the fighting going on below and my chest constricted. I felt like a traitor. Marcas stopped at the corner of the roof and motioned at me. I moved closer and found him standing in front of what appeared to be a greenhouse.

"This is it," Marcas said confidently. He looked back at me.

"When I open this door, we have to go. There is no time for doubt. Understand me," he said shortly.

I nodded and got ready to run. Marcas pulled open the door and stepped inside. I stepped in after him only to have my eyes widen in disbelief. I looked at Marcas as he pushed a button on the side of the greenhouse. The roof opened up above us. I tapped Marcas on the shoulder.

"How are we supposed to carry that thing?" I asked frantically.

The carpet I was looking at was huge. At least the size of two large living rooms. The color was rich reds, browns, blacks, and the design was strong. Marcas glanced from me to the carpet. The look I saw confirmed my fears. He pointed at it.

"We fly," he said simply. The alarms went off.

Chapter 35

In myth, the Carpet of Solomon was a flying carpet that allowed the wise king to transport whole armies of thousands of men. In truth, the carpet was much smaller than that but no less magnificent. Created not only to aid Solomon, the carpet can also seek out his other artifacts. Its flight path will lead to the ring.

~Bezaliel~

"You want me to what?" I asked Marcas shrilly.

He pointed at the carpet again but didn't say a word. We fly? Not this half Angel creature! I didn't do heights. I started to turn away but Marcas grabbed my shoulders and pushed me toward the carpet. The alarms around us were deafening.

"Go, Blainey! Now!" Marcas ordered.

I swallowed hard but didn't move.

"Oh, this is just great! We've gone from the Bible to _Arabian Nights_ ," I grumbled as Marcas pushed me somewhat roughly from behind. I lifted my leg and stomped rather hard on his foot. He didn't even flinch, but it made me feel better.

"I'm going, okay! Geez!" I said quietly.

I was incredibly freaked out by heights. He knew this. Even my pride couldn't keep me from hyperventilating. I took a step forward gingerly.

"At least tell me this thing has seatbelts. It's the law right? Click it or Ticket," I asked lightly as Marcas moved in behind me.

"Just sit down and be still. Do that and you'll be fine," Marcas said.

He was annoyed I could tell, but I was too shaken up to care. Being dragged into this hadn't been my choice. Of course, I had to concede, it wasn't his choice either but. . .

"Easy for you to say," I grumbled as I sat down cross legged, as close to the center of the huge rug as I could get.

I'm sure he'd clocked some massive frequent flyer miles in his Demonic lifetime. The only trip I'd made had been to Italy and my stomach still protested at the thought. To make matters worse, this wouldn't be inside a vehicular metal body. We'd be completely exposed to the elements.

Marcas sat down behind me, so close my back lay slightly against his chest. I tried not to wiggle. His proximity unnerved me, and I fought the urge to move.

"If you're that bothered by it, just close your eyes, Blainey," Marcas practically growled.

Yeah, he was annoyed. I shifted a little. The tone of his voice made me defensive. The alarms grew louder.

"I'm not bothered by it," I argued.

He hrrrummmphed. The carpet suddenly moved, and I yelped. Oh my God! Just breathe, Blainey. _Just fucking breathe!_

"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble, Dayton," Marcas said from against my back, and I cursed. Crap! Had I been talking aloud to myself?

"Thanks for the insight, Craig." I mumbled.

He remained silent. Maybe I did need to watch my language more. I didn't need more trouble than I already had. The carpet moved upward, and I forced myself to breathe evenly. I wanted to close my eyes, but that would admit a weakness I was _not_ willing to admit. He knew I didn't like heights, but I didn't want him to think I was a coward. I could do this. Stubbornly, I looked straight ahead, watching as the night sky enveloped us. Stars twinkled, closer than the norm, and I concentrated on the beauty rather than the fact we were getting higher. Wind whipped my hair, and I shivered.

"It's a chilly way to travel," Marcas said suddenly, his voice breaking through the night as he leaned closer.

Leather material fell around me, and I realized he must have used his powers to produce the jacket he'd worn when we first met. I felt thankful for his sudden charity. Not only was the leather warm, but it kept my vision limited. As thankful as I was for the warmth, I was just as irritated by his help.

"If you start singing _A Whole New World_ , Aladdin, I'll puke," I muttered. Marcas backed away a little.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed," he said as I lamented the warmth of his jacket. It still fell forward around me but not as securely.

Blast me and my mouth! There were screams from below us and I looked down, startled. The movement made me grab for Marcas' jacket. Not only was the distance terrifying but so was the scene laid out before us.

The battle was still going strong. The members of the SOS were frantic. They were fighting off the Demons we'd led to them while frantically moving toward the house. They'd heard the alarms. A tear slid down my cheek.

"I'm a traitor," I sobbed silently. The wind whipped the words right out of my mouth. Marcas leaned in from behind me.

"We need the ring, Blainey. The carpet will take us to it. Even your friends understand that or they wouldn't have helped," he said coldly.

I didn't find any comfort in his words. I was a traitor. I was aiding and abetting a Demon. That simple fact remained.

Looking up at the sky, suddenly the height seemed less important to me than the magnitude of what I'd just done. People were dying below us.

Conor was battling with them, Monroe and Lita were helping the Coven, and most of the Jacobs family was working to help the SOS. The Jacobs had always taken care of me in some fashion or another. I was betraying them.

I sobbed into my hands. The wound on my neck throbbed. The light pushed at it. I cried out. The last of the poison dripped down my neck, and I opened my eyes to find the cloudy image of a very beautiful woman wavering in front of my face.

I cringed and crawled back into Marcas. What was this? Marcas' arm came around me, and I knew he could see her as well.

"Son," the woman said with a chuckle as she glanced between Marcas and I. She had raven hair with skin as alabaster as the moon. Her lips were as red as blood. She reminded me of the description the Grimm Brothers used to describe Snow White minus the whole child-like, innocent princess persona. Her eyes narrowed and shone red.

"Daughter of Bezaliel, hear my cry. You will die, Naphil. If not tonight, then soon. Our battle isn't finished. It has just begun," she warned before fading mist-like into the night. The poison dissipated.

Another sob escaped me. Marcas didn't have to tell me who the woman was. I knew instantly. Her spider had bitten me. She had sent me a personal message I couldn't ignore.

"Lilith," I whispered as I looked toward the moon. It was full tonight. My friends were fighting a battle I'd run from to find a ring I thought could end this war. Or at least manage to pacify most of the Demons and even Angels who might want me dead because of Marcas.

But I'd been wrong.

The ring would only fix one small problem in a huge tapestry of trouble. Even unbound, Lilith would want me dead.

There would still be the SOS to face.

I would still be a Naphil with untrained powers and nowhere to go.

My journey hadn't even truly started. I closed my ears to the cries that still filled the night and the carpet soared quickly away. I looked up at Marcas and realized he was already staring down at me.

The arm around my waist was tight, possessive even. His eyes met mine and I realized suddenly that I cared about him. I wasn't sure he gave a damn about me, but he seemed to feel the need to protect me. Possession, Alessandro had said, tended to destroy his relationships. Had this same possessiveness driven Sophia from him? Did he still love her?

"This is just the beginning isn't it?" I asked Marcas quietly.

He looked up at the stars and then back down at me. He nodded solemnly. His face was so near mine I could see the blue in his midnight eyes. If he had tried to kiss me then I may have let him.

I sighed and looked away. He was what he was and I was what I was. No future in that. His voice suddenly circled me as he drew his jacket close again. I looked back up at the moon.

It almost seemed to frown at me.

"Blainey," Marcas whispered. "We haven't even started."

My tears hit the carpet.

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About The Author

R. K. Ryals is a scatterbrained mother of three whose passion is reading whatever she can get her hands on. She makes her home in Mississippi with her husband, three daughters, a Shitzsu named Tinkerbell, and a coffeepot she _couldn't_ live without. Visit her at http://rkryals.blogspot.com/, or on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=100002962212970

Other works available:

Ransom: Redemption Series Book II

Retribution: Redemption Series Book III

The Acropolis: Acropolis Series Book I

