Revelation (23 page)

"The Council is counting on me."

A curt laugh. "And you're going to trust them? After all they've done? They're taking innocent people from this earth and turning them into Guardians. They brought me in to train you under the guise of protecting you from Viola. They stripped your protection. And now they demand you kill Lucien—a demon who
cannot
be overthrown!"

"I have to
try
. They promised Seth."

"This is your death sentence," Mara insists. "Carter is doing his best, but those men? The two you encountered tonight? This is only going to keep happening."

Now that my coffee is sufficiently cooled, I take a quiet sip. "I'll tell Luke," I finally say, returning the mug to the table. "I'll tell him I went for a walk and two guys came up to me asking about him. They were demons, so if he is who you say he is, he can do something about it." 

"I don't want you near him, Gee. It isn't safe for you," Carter says, head shaking in disapproval.

The words themselves ring familiar, reminding me so much of Seth that an unexpected pang of guilt and regret burns my chest. "It's not like that. He seems . . . I don't know, almost protective of me. I don't think he'd let anything happen to me if he could help it." 

"What if Lucien sent them?" Mara asks.

"What?"

"What if Lucien was behind the actions of the two demons tonight? What if he was trying to determine your true motivations? What if it was a test?"

"A test? Why would Luke test me?"

"He
controls
the demons, Genesis."

I stumble across the implication of these words.
He controls the demons
, the tiny voice in my head echoes. I lean back in the seat, rubbing my eyes with the base of my hands. "Shit."

"Exactly," Mara replies. "You can't trust anyone. Not Lucien. Not the
Diabols
. Not Viola. Not the Council."

"Then what am I supposed to do? I
have
to get Seth back. I can't just quit!"

My thoughts shift, sifting through possibilities—another way out. A way around Viola and the Council. Another way to Seth. And then I realize: there
is
another option. Another choice. It's sitting right across from me.

"Make me a Guardian," I blurt out, before the words even register.

Mara shakes her head. "They'll know what we've done. Carter was easy, but they're watching you too closely. You have more power right now just as you are."

The rejection—her refusal—stings. It's my only hope—the only safe way out.

"If I can't win, then what's the
point
?" I ask. "If what you're saying is true, then Seth didn't deserve this. He's innocent. Of
everything
. He doesn't belong to the
Diabols
or
the Council. I have the power to bring him home. And if this
is
a death sentence, I'm better off."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Carter says. "What if there was a way to get Seth back without Viola knowing?" He looks to Mara for approval. "We could assemble a . . . a rescue mission or something. Go behind her back."

"Viola isn't the problem anymore," Mara reminds him. "It's the Council that worries me most."

"I have to finish this," I say. "If I fail, I fail. But I have to
try
."

Each of us falls silent. I stir my coffee, certainly lukewarm by now, thoughts scattered, dissolving from hope to despair to resolve.

"But if I succeed," I finally continue, "I want to be like you. I want to be a Guardian. I want to find Seth and be like him." A heavy sigh. "I feel like I wasted half of the time we had together—all of the chasing and fighting and arguing. . . . I don't want anything else between us. He deserves better. We deserve a
real
chance." 

"Genesis . . ." she begins.

"Don't screw with me, Mara," I say, voice rising instinctively. "I'm doing what I came here to do, and if I'm alive to see the end, I want out. I don't belong to this world. We both know that. Promise me you'll do it."

She frowns, hesitating, refusing to meet my gaze.

"
Please
," I beg. "I've had enough. I just want this to end."

"All right," she answers, words stiff. Resigned. "I promise."

T
WENTY-EIGHT

The walk to the hotel takes longer than I expected. I hadn't planned to venture so far—to be chased by demons. To find Carter. Mara. I hug my elbows tightly, protecting myself from bitter cold. My heart swells knowing Carter is in the shadows, close by, watching. It gives me strength.

"I need Luke
Castellani
," I tell the night manager, breathless, unable to feel my fingers and toes.

He adjusts his glasses, taken back by the unusual request, unsure. "It's very late. Perhaps you'd like to leave him a message?"

"I have to talk to him now. It's important." I move toward the private elevator. "How does this thing work?"

"I'm sorry, but we can't give you access to the penthouse without approval in writing from Mr.
Castellani
. Hotel policy."

My jaw tightens, smarting from pressure. "Hotel policy my
ass
. Get him on the phone," I demand.

He frowns, but reaches for the telephone, anyway, turning from me. And though his tired voice barely registers, the hotel lobby is empty, and every word rings in my ears.   

"Good evening. I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there is a young woman in the lobby. She'd like to speak with Mr.
Castellani
." He turns, casting an unfriendly glance, eyeing me expectantly.

I force my eyes not to roll. "Genesis Fleming."

"A Ms. Fleming, sir." A pause. "Of course. Absolutely." When he hangs up: "He'll be right down."

I smile, biting back the "I told you so" perched on the tip of my tongue.

Not a full minute passes before the elevator doors open and Luke appears, still wearing his dinner clothes. I step inside, joining him.

"I'm sorry. I know it's late."

"Nonsense," he replies, fingers sweeping across my cheek. "You're freezing. Is something the matter?"

My eyes close, feeling his skin warm mine.

Yes. Everything is the matter.
I have to kill you.

"I went for a walk," I mumble.

I have to kill you and I don't know how.

"In the middle of the night? Without your coat?" he asks.

"Apparently."

Everything—my entire world—is riding on this.

My stomach lifts as we rise, climbing to the top of the building. I let out a huff of air, lungs still aching. "I was followed tonight," I confess, facing him. "By two guys. They knew you. They wanted . . ."

His face pales, finger brushing his lips, as if to silence me. "We'll discuss this in a moment." The elevator slows, stopping when it reaches his floor. Luke places his hand on the small of my back, ushering me into the room. It's not empty. We aren't alone. "Excuse me, gentlemen. This is Ms. Fleming. Genesis, these are some associates of mine," he explains. "Charles. Tea, please."

Charles rises from his place at the dining room table, moves into the kitchen.

A business meeting? After midnight?

Luke twists the doorknob to one of the bedrooms and I slip inside, passing him. He removes a feathery blue blanket from the edge of the king size bed and drapes it across my shoulders, hands lingering, gently squeezing my arms. His eyes fix on mine. "I'll remove them. Allow me a moment, and I'm all yours."

And he leaves me.

The door clicks shut.

I glance around the room, drinking in my surroundings.

His room.

Shit.

I'm alone in Luke
Castellani's
room.

He left me alone in his bedroom.

I rip the blanket off my shoulders. There's nothing on top of the dresser, so I pull drawers—one by one—as quietly as possible. I sift through clothes, feeling for something—anything—that doesn't belong. The nightstand drawers are empty. I pause on my way to the closet, ear pressed against the door, listening to muffled voices until I'm sure I'm safe. The closet door slides easily, revealing a long row of dress clothes. Suits. Colorful shirts. Matching ties. I shove my hand in each coat pocket, feeling for notes, receipts—anything.

Jesus. This guy doesn't have any kind of identity.

I flick the light switch in the bathroom. There's more to be found here—toothpaste and face wash and cologne—but nothing that will help me. I need . . . a photograph. A wallet. Something that will shed some light on who Luke is and what he wants from this world.

The bedroom door opens. I grasp for the faucet handles. The cold water runs warm over my frozen fingers. They tingle, thawing.

"Everything all right?" Luke calls.

"Y—yes, it's fine," I stammer, reaching for the washcloth folded neatly beside the sink. The water turns quickly. I breathe in steam, wipe beneath my eyes, fixing eyeliner and mascara threatening to run.

I return to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry . . . I just. . . ."

"There's no need to apologize. Everyone's gone. Please." He stands at the door, motioning for me to join him in the common area. I sink into the cool leather sofa. He hands me a cup of tea, sits beside me—so close our knees are almost touching; so close I can feel heat radiating from his body.    

I try to ignore an irrepressible urge to slide even closer.

"After you left I . . . I couldn't think. I needed to clear my head, so I went for a walk. I was just going around the block, I swear. But these two guys—they chased me. They . . . pulled me into an alley. They knew you. They wanted to know what I was doing with you. Why we were spending so much time together. I told them we'd just met and. . . ." I trail off, hesitating.

"And?" he insists.

My breaths shallow. I can't let him know that I know what they were. Who he is. "They threatened me?"

I shot one of them. They disappeared.

"I'm very sorry this happened. Especially on my account."

I train my eyes on his, drawing every nerve I can find, the courage needed to continue. "Why would anyone corner me like that?" More than an answer I need information. I need confirmation—to know what he's after. I need him to give
something
away—anything. The missing piece, a guiding clue to his motivation. Without it, I have nothing. Without it, I lose everything.

"I'm a businessman," he replies, expression softening. "And I should confess I've amassed my share of enemies over the years."

"Enemies who would go through me to get to you?"

"It appears so. I'd like to know what these men looked like."