Retribution (Redemption Series) (20 page)

Marcas
cursed and
pulled me up just enough I could reach the ledge with my free hand if I had the
energy to try, but it was pointless.

"
Marcas
. . ." I began.

"
Dammit
, Dayton, look at me,"
Marcas
said, his injured, grimy hands steadfast and sure around mine. I looked up.

His eyes were
hard, the stubble on his jaw even more prominent in the fire lit cavern. His
black hair was tousled, and his t-shirt no better than rags now. He looked
dangerous. It suited him.

"Listen to
me. The first time I saw you, you were a broken little girl at a funeral who
shed no tears. Instead, you focused on
a mourning
dove
perched on a tombstone and blatantly disrespected an aunt who wouldn't allow
you to seek comfort in your closest friends. There was strength in you even
then."

I shook my head.

"Not
strength.
Stubbornness."

Marcas
smiled.

"Some
people would argue it's the same thing."

I didn't return
his grin.

"I'm not
asking you to let me go because I'm weak," I said.

Marcas
stared at me,
his expression serious.

"No, never
that, but I'm not letting you go. I'm too selfish for that."

"Selfish?"

I had to ask. I
was in agony, my ankle burning with an intensity I'd never known before, my arm
numb, but I had to ask.

"Because
if I let you go, I'd lose the half of me that was better.
Because if I
let you go, I'd lose the only thing I've believed in for a long time. Because
if I let you go, I'd lose what little part of me is human. And in that case,
I'd rather follow you down. So unless you want to attempt a pretty graceless
fall from grace, I suggest you hold on."

His words were
enough. I held on, my eyes on his as I fought to bring my other hand to the
ledge. I recognized the strain on his face for what it was. He was tiring. I
failed, and my hand lay useless at my side.

"Graceless
fall from grace, huh?"
I said through gritted teeth as I tried
again.

Marcas
snorted.

"I never
said I was poetic."

I laughed
because it seemed better than crying. I got my fingers on the stone, but not
far enough to get a firm grip. They slipped.

"I feel
incredibly tempted to say I can't do this," I muttered as I tried again.

"Never say
anything you'll regret later,"
Marcas
replied,
his voice weary.

My hand found
stone, and I dug my nails in. It wasn't a good grip, but it was a grip and it
took some of the pressure off the hand in
Marcas
'
custody.

"I can't
feel my arm," I said quietly.

Marcas
' eyes caught
mine.

"It'd be
worse if you could."

He was right. I
was sure it would be much worse. I whimpered against the pain in my leg,
breathing shallowly to keep the tears at bay as
Marcas
strained to hold me up, and I fought not to give up. His words were my
lifeline, and I looked at him, my eyes bright.

"You do
realize you made relationship mistake number one, right?" I asked lightly.

There were lines
now around
Marcas
' lips, and I knew his strength was
waning.

"And how do
you suppose I did that,
Blainey
?" he asked.

I grinned.

"You
admitted I was your better half."

Marcas
' face relaxed
slightly, and he chuckled.

"Only you,
Blainey
," he said with a shake of his head.

I lost my grip
on the stone, and my hand fell useless.
Marcas
fought
to keep his balance, and I felt my heart plummet.

"You fall,
I fall,"
Marcas
promised.

I lost my battle
with tears. It's easier to be brave when there's the possibility of saving
someone else. We were going to die.

Another soul
below chose that moment to leap, wrapping itself around the ankle already
burnt, and I screamed, thrashing involuntarily. It was a small movement, but in
an already precarious situation, it was enough. And just like in the movies
when something disastrous is about to happen, time slowed down.
 

I could have
professed a thousand sins in that one moment, but there was only one thought in
my head.
You fall, I fall.

Chapter 22

Defined,
retribution is something given or demanded in repayment, especially punishment.
In practice, retribution is payback.

~
Bezaliel
~

I expected to
burn so much so that it took me a minute of screaming before I realized I
wasn't on fire. My eyes were closed, stubbornly closed, and I forced them open
to discover I was floating in
air,
my feet too close
to the fire pits for comfort. I brought them up to my chest.

My hand was
still in
Marcas
', and I looked over at him carefully
to discover his mouth twisted wryly, his face no longer pink from his time in
the wasteland. It didn't take me long to figure out why. His powers had
returned, and he was using them to keep us both above the screaming, tortured
souls below.

"That was a
little too close for comfort,"
Marcas
called out
irritably, and I looked over my shoulder to find Luther leaning casually
against the gateway to the pits. His eyes were bright, his amusement obvious.

"I like a
grand finale," Luther said with a shrug as
Marcas
pulled me to him.

I could feel
fluttering in my chest, a full, overwhelming sensation, and I knew my light had
returned. It was moving through me frantically, healing wounds that Lucifer had
left untended. And yet my ankle still burned.

"What
happened?" I whispered.

I didn't trust
myself to speak. My emotions had been battered. I had been positive I was dead.
The fact that I was suddenly against
Marcas
' chest
while being lifted through a cavernous gateway hadn't quite registered yet in
my brain. It was too much. It was all simply too much.

Luther eyed me
curiously as we landed inside the now open gate, and I suddenly felt entirely
too exposed. It didn't matter that I'd seen women on reality TV wear much less
than I was at the moment, a bra and jeans wasn't sufficient enough coverage.

"I like the
look, Dayton," Luther said with a wink.

I scowled at
him.

"What
happened?" I asked again.

I attempted to
use my power to clean myself, but I was too keyed up. It was too much. It was
all too much. The three trials hadn't just been an emotional roller
coaster,
they had been an emotional battering ram that left
gaping holes behind. It was too much.

Marcas
' arm was
suddenly around my waist, and I could feel his power wash over me as wounds
closed up and dirt fell away from my skin.

"You passed
the test," Luther said simply.

I shook my head.

"No, we
didn't."

Marcas
held up his
palm, and a simple white t-shirt appeared. He pulled it over my head, his hands
pausing briefly as he smoothed the material down over my abdomen.

"We had a
backup plan,
Blainey
," he whispered into my ear.

I turned and
looked at him.

"A
backup plan?"

"Developed,
rightly so, after your completely indecent kiss with my brother inside an
Abbey. Which, both of you should know, is utterly sinful by the way,"
Luther interrupted with a grin.

Any other time,
I would have found a perverse humor in the moment. You
know,
a little sarcastic rejoinder in which I quote something from some movie or
other.
Something about priests and confessionals.
But
for now, I was too stupefied, bewildered, dazed, confused . . . whatever one
wants to call it to care.

"Rightly
so?"

I was a mumbling
robot stuck on repeat. Luther lifted a brow.

"You sure
she survived the tests?" he asked haughtily.

Marcas
took me by the
hand and led me slowly through the tunnel leading out of the pits, his gaze
moving to Luther over my shoulder.

"The tests
were not simple."

It was all
Marcas
said, but it seemed enough for Luther. His hand came
to rest on my shoulder as we moved.

"Both
Conor
and
Marcas
have described
you best. An open book, they call you."

I narrowed my
eyes, but Luther ignored me.

"It's not
an insult. One of the things people love the most about you is your openness.
But Hell is ruled by a creature that excels at deception. And the only way to
defeat him is to beat him at his own game.
Marcas
and
I both knew Lucifer would see any challenge made to him as a risk to his
kingdom. The next step would be the trials."

Marcas
' arm was tight
on my waist, so tight I squirmed a little with discomfort, and he loosened his
grip. I think he was as keyed up as I was. It's simply not natural to come that
close to death and not want to hold on as tightly as one can to the person who
was almost lost.

"The trials
are judge, jury, and executioner. They are never meant to be survived. You must
be aware from our time in Petra that Lucifer enjoys tests and duels. They are
never the same. His power stems from his ability to wear down the human spirit.
He is evil personified, and evil enjoys cruelty. All Demons are aware of this.
Lucifer knew I knew that,"
Marcas
said.

I stared at him.

"You were
going to your death," I breathed.

"And you
volunteered to go with him," Luther added dryly.

I couldn't
breathe. Luther was right. While standing in front of Lucifer, both
Marcas
and Luther had tried to stop me when I volunteered.
They had known. They had known what the trials were, but they couldn't afford
to tell me in front of Lucifer. I wondered suddenly if this was the decision in
Hell Monroe had referred to. I couldn't shake the feeling that, in the long
run, it had been a good thing I had volunteered.

Marcas
pulled me into
him, slowing to a stop as he placed a hand against my cheek. It was fast
becoming a favorite gesture between the two of us.

"I truly
didn't expect you to volunteer. Raise your voice a little, attempt to fight the
system maybe, but never volunteer," he whispered. "Lucifer knew I
wanted the hybrids. If I agreed to endure the trials, then I'd have what I
wanted. It was a testament to my own confidence that I was willing to be
stripped of power, tortured, and destroyed in the name of a cause. We needed
the hybrids we came for to see that. We needed them to see I was willing to
sacrifice my life for theirs."

"And the
backup plan?" I asked.

Marcas
smiled.

"Luther
would use my time in the trials to rally the hybrids and lead them from Hell.
Your father and Lucas would be waiting to speak with them."

I glanced at
Luther.

"And did
you succeed?"

Luther bowed,
his eyes remaining on mine as he bent at the waist.

"Mostly.
Marcas
' willingness to go through the trials was enough to
convince a good deal of our brothers and sisters. The hard part was releasing
your powers."

Marcas
eyed his
brother.

"And how
did
you manage that, might I ask?"

Luther sighed.

"There is
this absolutely aggravating, incredibly fascinating blonde-haired witch who
seems to have a penchant for messing with Demons."

I grinned.

"Monroe."

A corner of
Luther's lip twitched.

"One day, I
will figure out how she manipulates our powers, but for now, I couldn't even
tell you what she did to Lucifer to release them."

Marcas
chuckled.

"It's
killing you, isn't it?" he asked.

Luther nodded.

"You have
no idea."

I didn't care
how she did it. I was just glad she had. I limped as
Marcas
inclined his head in a gesture that suggested we move forward, and he looked
down at my leg.