Retribution (Redemption Series) (23 page)

Marcas
didn't
answer,
his eyes half-closed as his breathing deepened.

"Damn it,
Craig! Remember? I told you if you died on me, I'd find a way to bring you back
to life and kill you myself. Understand?"

Luther's hand
was on my shoulder again, but I shook it off.

"Dayton,"
he said gently.

I turned around
and shoved Luther as hard as I could,
pointing
at his
chest as his eyes widened.

"No!"
I yelled.

I turned back to
Marcas
. His eyes were open now, and he was staring at
me.

"Dayton,"
he whispered.

I shook my head,
hard. He wasn't dying! But his breathing, his skin, was changing, and I sobbed,
my heart a twisted, messed up version of what it used to be.

"I love
you," he breathed.

But I didn't say
it back. I didn't say it back because he wasn't dying. He wasn't leaving now
when he needed to rule a kingdom. He wasn't leaving now because it didn't
matter if I could be with him or not. As long as he was alive, I was alive.

"Please!"
I begged the
Heavens, but there was no response. Not until . . .

"Look for the light, but never forget the
darkness."

It was my
father's voice, and I brushed away the tears as I looked up, startled.

"What?"

"The dream,"
he answered.

The stupid
dream! The Godforsaken dream that never died! It had haunted me my entire life,
and it haunted me still. I wanted to scream.

"Remember who you are
," his
voice said, and I laid my cheek against
Marcas
'
chest.

His heart was
slowing too quickly, his breathing more shallow with every second. Tears soaked
his t-shirt. He should have already been dead. If he had been human, I'm sure
he would have been. I closed my eyes and thought about the dream.

My
dream.
The dream where my father kept telling me to look for the
light.
It was always about the light. The dead blasted light I never
seemed able to find.
Until the scene changed.
And then
there was darkness, darkness and rain that ripped into my skin and made me
bleed as if it could sink into my soul and rip it free.

Light
then dark.
Who was I?

I was Dayton. I
was part Angel. I was part human.
Light and dark.
I
was the only
Naphil
to ever walk the face of the
Earth who wasn't insane.
 
But I had the
tendency for evil. Even Lucifer had known
,
had known
that the part of me that was an aberration was tempted by sin, by evil.
Light and dark.

 
It hit me like a ten ton boulder dropped on
top of my head. The damn dream had been a clue all along. Always beneath the
light, there is darkness. I was stuck between two worlds and always would be.

I reached down
and grabbed the handle of the dagger in
Marcas
'
chest. Luther swore and grabbed my wrist.

"What the
hell are you doing?"

I shoved every
last bit of power I had into Luther's hand, and he jerked backward, his face a
mask of pain.

"
Dammit
!"

I didn't spare
him a glance. Again, I grasped the dagger, my eyes on
Marcas
'.
There wasn't much life left.

"Trust
me," I whispered. "Don't let go."

With that, I
leaned over and placed my lips on his before pulling the dagger free. And in
that moment, in that final moment, I bit the inside of my cheek, using my teeth
to slice it open until blood gushed forth into his mouth from mine. And then I
bit his lip, drinking down his Demonic blood as fast as I could.
All within the space of a second.
All while pulling a dagger
free. And as I slid the knife from his ribs, I heard
Marcas
swallow and breathe for the final time.

And that was
before the convulsions began. That was before one final thought blazed through
my head.

"You had your revenge, Lucifer. This is my retribution."

Chapter 27

In Heaven, there
is a prophecy. In the name of retribution, a relationship will arise between an
Angel and a Demon. And, in the end, this relationship will destroy the world.

~
Bezaliel
~

Pain.
I had spent a
lot of time over the past two months in pain.
Pain, near
death, and dying.
I was dying now. I was sure of it. My heart was
destroyed, and there was a fire in my blood that was boiling me from the inside
out.

"Don't let
go," a voice whispered, and I realized it was mine.

I was talking to
myself. It was a bad habit.

"That's
right," a voice answered.

It was female.
Monroe? I opened my eyes and regretted it instantly. My heart couldn't take the
scene.

"Hello,"
Monroe said gently from next to me, her blonde hair falling into her face as
she leaned over me.

My eyes met
hers. I was at S.O.S. headquarters in the bed of a room I had once shared with
Marcas
.

"Hello,"
I responded.

My answer was
dull, lifeless. Monroe smiled.

"You are a
glutton for punishment, you know that."

I let my head
roll to the side.

"Not now,
Roe. Not now."

I couldn't talk.
It hurt too much to talk. Everything hurt, and it wasn't a physical pain. It
was worse, much worse.

"Dayton,"
Monroe said, her hand taking mine in hers. "You don't feel it do
you?"

I turned back to
her, my eyes narrowed.

"Feel
what?"

Monroe leaned
over, her mouth near my ear.

"The
light, Day.
Look for the light."

She pulled away,
and I sat up, my eyes wide as she grinned.
The light.
I grasped at the power in my chest and gasped. It was different. My power was
different! It was stronger, edgier, darker, and that excited me.

I threw the
covers off, barely sparing a glance at the pink 'Peace' yoga pants and white
tank top someone had managed to get on me.

"Where is
he?" I asked.

Monroe pointed
at the door.

"Two rooms
down, but Dayton . . ."

I didn't stop to
find out what she was about to say. I simply ran. I ran two doors down and
stopped,
my hand on the knob. It was cold against my palm,
and I was suddenly afraid. I had bound myself to him again. In a last ditch
effort to save his life, I had bound us, and I wasn't sure he'd be happy about
it.

I took a deep
breath and pushed the door open, and there he was.
Marcas
,
his back to me, his cobra tattoo dark against his tan skin. He was leaning over
a bed, a hand on top of the mattress as if he, too, had just awoken from
convulsions. But when the door opened, he straightened. And then he turned.

It was the
slowest turn in history.

And when he was
finally facing me, I avoided his gaze, doubt consuming me. Instead, I stared at
his waist where a pair of black cotton drawstring pants were tied, and then I
let my gaze move upward, slowly, ever so slowly, freezing suddenly when my eyes
reached his chest.

There was a scar
there, a jagged white scar the length of a dagger. No wound, but there was a
scar, and it didn't look like it would ever heal.

"I'm told
she was a magnificent sight,"
Marcas
said
suddenly, his voice low.

I continued to
stare at his chest.

"Who?"
I finally
asked, my heart beating faster than any human's ever should.

"The
girl
who pulled a dagger from the heart of a Demon ruler and
gave him back his life."

My eyes finally met
his, and the smile in it was enough for me.

I ran. I ran,
and he caught me.

My face was
against his chest now, his heartbeat steady and solid beneath my ear, his arms
around me, steadfast and sure. I closed my eyes because the emotions were too
much.
Too strong.
No . . . no, they were enough.
Just enough.

"There is a
prophecy," I began.

"That isn't
us,"
Marcas
interrupted.

I listened to
his heart.
Strong.
Steady.
Beating.

"How do you
know?"

"Because
you aren't truly an Angel and I'm not truly a Demon. It's a prophecy that may
or may not happen, but it won't be now. It won't be us. And when war does come
to Earth, we will fight it, together, on the same side."

I couldn't get
enough of his heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
Beating.

"I think,
however, it's probably important for you to know that I'll be spending a good
deal of time in the Outer Levels of Hell," he said quietly.

So the hybrids
still had their kingdom. The thought made me smile against
Marcas
'
chest. We were bound again. Where he went, I'd have to go.
And
vice versa.

"As long as
dumdums are allowed there, it'll be all good."

Marcas
chuckled, and
the vibration was the most wonderful sensation in the world. I waited for him
to get quiet, and then I took a deep breath.

"Heaven is
where ever you are," I whispered, my tone serious.

Marcas
grew still. His
heart rate picked up. One, two, three, four . . . I would never quit counting
it. Each beat meant something to me.

One of
Marcas
' hands found my face, and he lifted my chin until
our gazes met.

"Say that
again," he said.

My face was
serious when I said it, all doubt gone.

"Heaven is
where ever you are," I repeated.

Marcas
smiled, his
gaze searching mine.

"How
incredibly cliché of you,
Blainey
."

My eyes
narrowed, and I glared, my temper flaring.

"Cliché?
And after
everything . . ."

"
Blainey
?"
Marcas
said.

I paused.

"Yeah?"

"Shut
up."

His mouth
covered mine before I even had a chance to argue, his lips desperate, a hand
tangled in my hair. All I could do was hold on, one hand over the scar on his
heart. The kiss wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Epilogue

The Heavens are
watching them, the Demon ruler bound to the only
Naphil
ever born sane on Earth. By being bound, they have given up the protection of
both Heaven and Hell. They will live in Exile, watched.
Always
watched.
Always in danger.

~
Bezaliel
~

Two weeks later
. . .

The sun was
beginning to set in the vineyards beyond S.O.S. headquarters, cloaking the sky
in a myriad of pastel colors, and I watched as a bird spread its wings and took
flight, moving from the limb of one tree to another some distance away. It was
a white bird.
Pure as snow.

"A
dove," a voice said.

The wind moved
over the balcony where I stood, and I smiled.

"Dad."

Bezaliel
stepped
forward, leaning on the rail near my shoulder.

"That is
music to sore ears."

I grinned.

"I figured
it was about time."

Bezaliel's
gaze moved to
mine.

"How are
you doing?" he
asked,
his tone serious.

I looked out at
the horizon.

"Good, Dad.
Really, really good."

It was all we
said for a while, leaving the moment in silence, letting the wind heal wounds
still raw.

"They are
busy,"
Bezaliel
said suddenly inclining his head
to the yard below.

I glanced down,
smiling when I saw Maria berating one of the younger members of the S.O.S. He
made the mistake of rolling his eyes and met the wrath that was Maria's cane.