Soul Surrender (16 page)

G
rayson was finally coming to. We had him dressed in some of Drew's spare clothes and lying on the couch covered in blankets. Despite the many layers, he shivered. Blinking eyes cracked open, and a hand darted to shade them from the incoming light. “Where—where am I?” he rasped, and immediately placed a palm to his throat. Drew handed him a glass of water. The journey back from Hell hadn't been nearly as bad, but having the dead weight of an unconscious body sort of diverts your mind from wandering too much.

Grayson's eyes landed on Drew. I could see the gears churning in his mind, fitting the puzzle pieces together to form the memory. On cue, he bolted to a standing position, kicking the blankets off. He wobbled on his feet, bracing his palm against the wall.

“Calm down,” I whispered, not daring to come too close. Touching a frightened wolf was as dangerous as . . . well, as touching a frightened wolf. “You're okay. We saved you. Brought you back from Hell.”

Drew snorted. “She brought you back. She's taking the risk. Me? I would've left you there to burn.”

“That wasn't a dream? That was you there? Trying to stop my father from beating me?”

“I was there . . . but your dad—that was just an illusion.” I dug in my purse and tossed him a compact mirror. “Have a look for yourself. Physically, you're fine.”

He stared into his reflection, moving his head about to examine the different angles. “It felt so real. How did you get me out of there?”

Drew's arms folded across his chest, and it noticeably puffed out. He was making himself as large as he could—doing his best to dominate the wolf. Fucking men. “She vouched for you. Do you know what that means, pup?”

Grayson's eyes narrowed. “Who you calling
pup?
”

Drew continued, ignoring him. “It
means
that if you leave her or run away or fuck up again, Monica will be held personally responsible.” He flicked a glance at me, his brow stern. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

Grayson's eyes widened and met mine. “You really did that? For me?”

“I made a promise to help you. I couldn't just leave you down there.”

He watched me, nostrils twitching.

“I could've,” Drew growled.

I darted him a glare. There was a time I would have called him out as a liar . . . but these days, I wasn't so sure. There was a hardness—an edge there that didn't exist before his experiences in Hell.

My door burst open and Damien leaped through the entryway, crushing me in a hug. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed, cupping my face. “Are you okay? When Kayce called me, I was going crazy, worrying about you.”

“I'm okay. Never want to experience that again, but still . . . I'm all right.” If I thought Drew's face was hardened before, it was a downright ice sculpture now.

Damien lunged for Drew, slamming him against the wall. “I should fucking kill you, you know that?” He paused, eyes tracing Drew's busted nose, split eyebrow, and swollen lip. He smirked and released Drew's collar. “But it looks like my girl got to ya first, huh?” He chuckled, sending a smile my way. “What's the matter, Drew? That ‘vessel' of yours not big enough to take on a succubus?”

Drew's smile was equally wry, but not nearly as jolly. “My vessel more than satisfies. Isn't that right, Mon?” He slid his gaze over to me.

Damien's face turned red, and his smile pinched into a scowl.

“Really?” I stepped between them. “A battle of penis size?
Now?
”

Before the conversation could continue, Kayce, Jules, and Adrienne walked in. Her arms were folded, and she stepped in beside Drew, but still at enough of a distance that they weren't touching. Her lips pursed together, and her eyes were glued to the floor. “You're back,” she said.

“Yeah.”

The room was silent, and even though we all knew it was rude, no one could tear their eyes away from the spectacle. “I take it you got my message?”

Drew shuffled a toe over my hardwood floor, scuffing a ball of dust around. Damn—I needed to sweep more.

Damien cleared his throat. “Why don't we give them a moment while Monica explains what happened.” Just then he noticed Grayson, glancing back to me. “And it seems we've got a lot to catch up on.”

Ten minutes later, Drew and Adrienne had gone for a walk, Grayson was resting in my bedroom, and the gang and I were chatting in the living room.

“Monica, you made a very dangerous deal with the devil. Literally.”

“Jules, it's fine.” In reality, it didn't feel fine. I was shakier than a diabetic in an ice-cream shop.

“It is not fucking fine,” Damien snarled.

“Do you really think he can help find Lucien?” Kayce asked.

I snuck a sideways glance to Jules. Damn, he'd know if I was lying. “I don't know. I think he can definitely help. His nose is incredible. Maybe there's something he can sense.”

“So, it'll be like having our very own Seeing Eye dog?” Kayce snarked.

“In a way . . .”

“And what if he runs? Or continues plotting against Saetan? Did you ever think of that?” Damien paced the room, fine Italian loafers clicking against the hardwood flooring. “What do you do then?”

“Then we'll have to track him down.” I shrugged, but my fingers trembled despite the relaxed facade I presented.

“Son of a bitch,” Damien huffed, glancing at the bedroom where the werewolf rested. “Literally.”

“Well, then.” Jules was still calm. His voice was the equivalent to catnip to our frazzled senses. “Let's get this guy working, then.”

 

After our run-in with Lenny at Lucien's office, I didn't want to risk visiting again unless we needed to. Besides, we had a better chance of finding something new in different surroundings. We pulled up to Lucien's house—a large home on the outskirts of the city, not far from the club.

We crawled out of my Toyota like a bunch of stuffed circus clowns. Grayson stretched, and his T-shirt lifted above the waistline of his jeans to reveal a thin, happy trail that disappeared at the button. Muscles lined his hips, creating a V-like funnel directly to his—

“I didn't know you had a thing for bestiality,
babe,
” Damien whispered as he brushed by my shoulder.

“I
don't.
” I rolled my eyes. “He's just interesting, isn't he? Kind of weird in a bohemian cowboy kind of way.”

Grayson closed his eyes, tilting his head to the sun. The sherbet sky reflected across his tanned face. His nostrils twitched as a breeze rustled the palm trees, and his shirt billowed with the wind. It was a nice reprieve on this hot day.

Kayce groaned and looked up at the house. “Damn,” she said. “I might as well cancel my date tonight. It's gonna be a long search.”

I followed her gaze. She was probably right. How many rooms did Lucien have? Ten? Twelve? Even with five of us, it would take hours.

Grayson's eyes popped open, and this time they were glowing and yellow. The sight was a startling one—particularly when you weren't expecting it. “I'm picking up a scent. Do you have something of his to compare it to?”

I handed him the manila folder of bounties. “I can grab you a shirt of his as well from inside.”

Grayson snatched the file from my hands and buried his nose into it. “Don't need it at the moment. But for later—we should grab one or two. Scents last longer on fabric than objects. Luckily paper is porous.”

He smelled the folder again and then popped to attention, his neck elongating and his focus directed around the side of the house.

Sniffing the air, Grayson took off at a run.

“Motherfucker!” Damien shouted, bolting after him. The rest of us were only fractions of a second behind.

Damn. That werewolf could run . . . and here I thought demons were fast.

Back behind Lucien's house was a shed. Grayson slowed his sprint as he rounded to the shed and dropped to his knees, nose in the grass. “Yes, this. This is where he spent most of his time.”

“What?” My shrill voice pierced even my own ears. “That's crazy. You haven't even been inside yet.”

“Don't need to.” Grayson sat back on his haunches. “This is where he lived.” He nodded his head in the direction of the shed again.

“Bullshit. If Lucien lived in a shed, I think I would have known.” I folded my arms and held his gaze.

“Fine.” He slapped his hands down onto his thighs. “Choose not to believe me if you want. I could give two shits if you actually find this guy or not.”

“Really?” I raised a challenging eyebrow. “Because one word from me that you're not as helpful as I thought and back to Hell you go.”

Grayson's face became whiter than balled-up toilet paper.

“Yeah,” I said. “That's what I thought.”

He held up two hands. “Fine, you're right. I surrender. But that doesn't change the fact that my nose doesn't lie. Whether or not he
lived
out here—he spent an awful lotta time in this here shed.”

“Well, then,” Jules cut in. “Let's go see why.” With a
crack,
he teleported inside and opened the door for the rest of us.

D
amien's palm flattened at the small of my back, and the group waited as I took a deep breath and entered. Goose bumps rose along my arms despite the oppressive heat inside the shed. There was a cluster of candles sitting on a shelf above a ratty pillow.

The scent of cedar wafted in my nose, and I inhaled it deeply. Yep, cedar and Lucien. Wood carvings of the Virgin Mary and Jesus on the cross were flanked by the candles and a rosary hung on the wall, the beads covered in dust from years of unuse. A plank of wood held up by archaic chains created the most uncomfortable cot I'd seen in decades—shit, maybe in a century. A ratty wool blanket was in a crumpled pile on top of the bed . . . if you could even call it that.

“Is this . . .” Kayce's voice trailed off before she could finish the question. Her dark eyes arched around the room. It was audible as she swallowed. “Does Lucien
pray?
”

“It sure looks that way, doesn't it?” Damien added.

On another shelf, next to the hanging beads, was a Bible, bound by hide and twine. I lifted a hand and stopped myself before coming into contact with the holy relic. Not for fear of the burn—but because I was certain the Bible would disintegrate with my touch, it was so old. “Why wouldn't he tell me?” I whispered. I, of all people, would understand the desire to pray.

“Religion is a very personal thing,” Jules answered. And it wasn't until that moment that I realized he was standing right beside me. It felt like someone had taken hold of my throat and tied it into a knot. I swiped a knuckle beneath my eye and sniffed back the encroaching tears.

Grayson clutched the withered blanket in his fists, nose nestled into the folds. His chest expanded, his eyes reflecting a glimmering shadow. He tossed the blanket back onto the cot. “Yep, this is his. He slept here.
A lot
.”

The room went out of focus, and without even thinking I walked over beside Grayson. Lifting the blanket, I closed my eyes and inhaled Lucien's scent. One single tear fell into the fabric, and the wool quickly absorbed it. I sniffled and folded the blanket, draping it over my arm. The fabric was rough and scratched my forearm before I set the folded blanket back onto the wood cot.

I turned back to the group with a steadying breath. “Well? Anyone see anything of importance? If not, we should move on?”

“Mon—” Kayce stepped forward cautiously, took my hand, and gestured around the shed with the other. “This has to mean something. Right? You knew Lucien better than anyone.”

“It might mean something. It might not. There's not a whole lot to be found in here, though. It's sparse. And we should search the rest of his home just in case.”

Damien nodded and, with a flat hand, circled my back. “She's right. We'll have plenty of time to discuss the meaning of the shed. But we should gather as much information as we can first.”

We all circled the tiny room once more, and I took note of every detail. Every carving. Every cobweb. Every nail in the baseboards. One by one we filed out of the shed until it was just Jules and me left. He held out a palm in the universal “after you” signal.

I narrowed my eyes, holding his crystal blue gaze. They twinkled, and from over his shoulder I could feel the Virgin Mother's eyes on us. “You know something,” I whispered, barely able to even get the words out. “I don't know what it is—but this room. This place.
You
know what Lucien was doing here and why.”

Jules's head tilted thoughtfully. “Monica, Lucien was an angel before he was a demon—”

“Yeah. I know. He was one of the original fallen ones.”

Jules folded his hands in front of him. “There you go. That in itself explains this room. You, of all people, should understand that one's relationship with God doesn't end just because you fall from grace.”

“I do understand that. But wouldn't you say this is a little much?” I flicked a glance around the room—partially to get another look and partially in place of a hand gesture.

“I say that everyone gets to choose how they treat their relationship with God without judgment.”

“Yeah, but we're talking about a man who pimps out Saetan's whores for a living . . .”

“Yes. A job he only took upon meeting
you
. Prior to your arrival, Lucien had nothing to do with succubi.”

And there it was—that was the shocker. “What?” I shook my head. “No. No . . . he-he always had other women around him.”

Jules shook his head. “Maybe I'm wrong.” He moved to exit the shed, and I latched on to his elbow.

“You're hardly ever wrong.”

Jules smirked. “And it only took three hundred years for you to admit that.” He covered my hand with his and led me outside. “Look, I only know what Lucien told me . . . but he wasn't lying. I didn't know the man back then. But apparently, he had nothing to do with succubi as a demon. He had no desire to be an ArchDemon. He was content with being a founding demon and leaving it at that.”

“So what changed with my existence?”

Jules shrugged, and we followed the others inside Lucien's house. “I think it's pretty safe to say that
you're
a game changer, Monica.”