Soul Surrender (24 page)

J
ules entered the back room with one last glare at Ink. “I didn't realize you had humans working in your establishment.”

Mia shrugged slowly, with intent. “You'd be amazed at how many humans want to bow down and worship Hellish creatures.” She sent a smirk to Ink, who winked and closed the door behind him.

Jules crossed the room, hands relaxed into the pockets of his ripped jeans. They were casual and yet he managed to make the look worthy of a billboard ad.

My heart clenched.

“What's this all about, Mia? My superiors would not be happy that I'm having a secret meeting in the back room at a succubus hangout. They despise the fact that I'm as connected to the demon world as it is.”

“You mean to say that they're mad you're as connected to a succubus as you are.” Her plump, scarlet lips lifted into a feline grin. Julian didn't take the bait and continued to look upon her with quiet command.

“Fine.” She took one more sip of her martini before placing it back onto the table. A satisfied
mmm
hummed from her lips. “I know I am the main suspect—not only in Lucien's disappearance but in Monica's hit.”

A breath caught in my throat, and I had to swallow the urge to cough.

Mia held Julian in a stern glare. “Read my aura, Julian. I am not involved in any of this. I do not want to kill one of my daughters. Nor did I have anything to do with Lucien's disappearance. Am I lying?” She tilted her head.

Julian looked on, eyebrows softening, and he brushed a hand through his silky, gold locks. My own fingers twitched to touch him, as well. “You are not lying.”

Mia floated to the couch in a seated position so elegant, Princess Caroline would have a thing or two to learn from it. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the other end of the couch, and Julian lowered himself, much more cautiously. Tensed.

“I know that you and Lucien were close,” Mia continued after another sip of her martini. “As close as an angel and a demon could be, that is. But I know Lucien better than you ever will. And there are some things that perhaps you don't know?”

“Quit with the games, Mia,” Julian growled, and it was the first time in a while I had heard him so angry. “Tell me why you brought me here.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Very well. You really are no fun.” She crossed a thin knee over the other. “Before Lucien fell from Heaven, he was a watcher . . .”

“I know,” Jules interrupted.

“Patience,” Mia purred. “When he and the others lost the rebellion, they formed a counsel of demons to head up Hell. Lucien is among the higher ranked originals. Lucien was given his Earthly position as a watcher as well—but for Hell. They took his angel medallion and marked it with sunstone dust.”

“So?” Julian's gaze narrowed, and I, too, was wondering what the Hell this had to do with anything. Jules's throat tightened, and the muscles in his jaw jumped. Had I still been his partner, I would have brushed a knuckle across his gritted jaw . . . a reminder to him to relax.

I forced my eyes back to Mia. That wasn't my job anymore. Not for centuries. It was up to Adrienne to keep him calm now.

“So,” Mia said, “Lucien was assigned to work in Ireland back in the middle ages. Assigned to a very special human. His task was simple—get the human to sign away her soul.”

Warmth tingled through my body, and I was suddenly filled with so much heat, I feared I might pass out. With an outstretched hand, I found the wall and leaned back against it.

“Monica?” Julian whispered, and I snapped my head up to look at him. “It was Monica?”

Mia nodded. “Monica was one of the many subjects assigned to him to watch and convert to the dark side. Only—he loved her.”

“What?” Julian growled, hopping to his feet.

“Oh, calm down.” Mia flipped a hand dismissively. “Not in the way you love her. He developed a fondness for her. And he couldn't do it. He never showed himself. If anything, he acted the opposite and protected her. She died with her soul intact, and Lucien was punished gravely for his choice.”

“Was he looking to be redeemed? By Heaven?” Julian's face crunched in thought.

“I don't know. I doubt it—Heaven was just as furious as Hell. There's an order to things, I suppose.” Mia sighed and finished her martini, chewing on an olive. “Lucien was punished for his choice. Severely. And on top of his torture, he had to corrupt a large number of souls to reinstate his status on the counsel.”

“Why didn't they just fire him? Banish him from the counsel and Hell?”

“They couldn't,” Mia answered simply. “He was one of the originals. Without his sunstone, Hell's fortitude wasn't strong enough to withstand a battle of Heaven and Hell had it arisen.”

“What exactly are you telling me, Mia?”

“I'm saying that perhaps you are investigating the wrong side.” She leaned forward and hushed her voice. Not as if that mattered—we were in a securely enchanted room. “Examine your angels as much as the demons—you're more likely to find the kidnapper and Monica's hitman among your own kind.”

Julian snorted and pushed to his feet. “Don't be ridiculous. Angels don't murder.”

“They don't murder
humans,
” she corrected. “If you think for a second they would bat an eye at killing a demon, you're in denial.”

“How do you know it wasn't someone from Hell's counsel? Someone still angry about his sacrifice for Monica and looking to get rid of Lucien and steal the sunstone?”

“Because,” Mia responded calmly, “if they had the sunstone, they wouldn't be ransacking his home and office. They wouldn't be hiring everyone and anyone they could to find Lucien. I'm telling you Julian . . . whoever did this is likely not from my side of the realm.”

Jules's hands flailed to his sides. “Why are you telling me all this? Why not San Michel?”

Mia snorted and rolled her eyes. “
You
shouldn't even trust those guys, let alone me trust them.”

“You're speaking ill of my superiors.” Julian shook his head and stalked toward the door. “We're done here,” he growled.

“Ironic, isn't it?” Mia called over her shoulder. “Monica was destined for Hell. No matter how Lucien tried to spare her, she still ended up there. Only, it wasn't a demon who put her there—it was an angel.”

“No!” Julian shouted. “Buckley put her there. Dejan put here there. Heaven had nothing to do with it.” He yanked the door open.

And Mia rose to her feet. “Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”

Julian's hand clenched around the knob, his knuckles white.

“Just think, Julian. Had you only done your job better—” Mia didn't get the rest of the sentence out before Julian slammed the door and rushed her. His hands clenched around her throat, and he shoved her into the wall just beside me.

She smirked, not affected by his attack in the least bit. “Yes,” she rasped through the grip he had on her windpipe. “Prove my point, Jules. Angels can murd—”

Her voice cut out on a squeak, and I lifted my invisibility and mask. “Jules, no!” I shoved his arms, and he released his hold, falling back onto the couch.

“Monica!” He ran to me, taking me into his arms. “What—what's going on here?” He glanced back and forth between Mia and me.

Mia's face was red, and she shifted it back to its normal porcelain coloring. “I wanted Monica to hear the truth. And I wanted her to see that I wasn't lying. An angel was the best way to prove that.”

“I wouldn't have killed you,” Jules said stiffly.

Mia smirked, walking slowly past him. With a light slap to his cheek, she crinkled her nose. “Believe me,” she said, “if I thought for a second you could, I would have put up much more of a fight.”

Jules rubbed the front of his forehead, swiping at the concerned wrinkles there. “So, Lucien risked everything to save your soul.” Jules looked to me, wetting his lips. “And you think angels kidnapped him?”

“No—” I cut in. “Whoever got Lucien we think meant to capture me.”

“Though I'm sure getting Lucien was a nice consolation prize,” Mia said.

“Mia,” I said. “Did you realize that the Suck 'n' Swallow is one of only five places in the city where a summoning can take place?”

“Yes. Of course. Why do you think I bought it? Along with the parking garage and a series of homes near Paradise.”

I chuckled to myself. “You own more than half of the summoning areas in Vegas?”

“Well, I couldn't buy the damn cemetery. And I've been searching for the owner of that mine for decades without any luck.”

Julian cleared his throat and looked between us. “If an angel was behind this, they certainly wouldn't need one of the five points to get Lucien. It doesn't make sense.”

Mia rolled her eyes in a manner that was still poised. “You are so naïve. The angels themselves would never do the task. Much like Ink or my lackeys, they get a human to do their dirty work with the promise that they will get through those pearly gates.”

“I'm meeting Kayce and Grayson here in a few. Are you able to stick around?”

“I have a little time.” His eyes flickered, locked on me, and a flush flared across my skin. The tiniest smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and my gaze fell to his heaving, tensed chest.

“Right. Of course.”

Mia opened the door for us, allowing me first, then Jules. As I exited, I set my purse down on the bar and flipped open my phone to check on how far away Kayce and Grayson were.

“Do you mind if we wait outside?” Julian asked with a sneaking glance around the club.

I nodded and followed Jules out the door, still texting. With a deep breath, I tucked the phone back into my pocket and looked up into the night sky. It was past midnight and yet our evening was just beginning. I snuck a glance to Julian to find his gaze locked on me. “It's going to be a long night,” I said.

“With you?” Julian smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. He looked to the moon as well. “It always is.”

Two headlight beams caught Julian's hair with a golden light, creating a halo effect. I smiled. Damn, was he beautiful.

“Stop staring, Monica.” I could hear the smile in Julian's voice. “Your boyfriend is watching.”

Kayce's car pulled into the spot in front of us, and she switched the engine off, climbing out and hopping onto her hood. “Hey, guys.” She gave us a bemused smirk as Grayson and Drew climbed out of the car.

Drew's swagger was confident, sexy. He stopped just in front of me. “Fancy seeing you here.” His grin widened, and he twirled a stray curl around his finger before tucking it behind my ear.

“I should have fucking guessed.” A growl came from behind me, and I twirled to find Damien's hard gaze cemented on us.

New Jersey, December 26, 1776

 

T
he frigid morning winter air blasted me in the face as I ran out to King Street. A formation of men was lined in a V, and the entire town was blockaded, stopping any escape to Princeton or beyond. A pair of eyes I recognized glistened as they connected with mine. Tom! I wanted to run to him, but I had to be covert in how I fought. Though gunshots could not kill me, the locals would surely burn me at a stake if a bullet to the heart didn't kill me instantly.

Colonel Rall walked the line in front of his men across from the Patriot artillery, outnumbered by at least double. Fear rattled in his watery eyes. “Fall back!” he shouted in German. “Take cover in homes! Taverns!”

Gunshots mirrored his orders, blasting through the quiet morning. And the onslaught of bloodshed began. Jack loaded his musket, firing the line. He froze, and I followed his gaze to where it landed directly on Tom. A smirk rose, crinkling his eyes. Tom's head was down as he was reloading.

Jack raised the hilt to his shoulder and, squinting an eye, took aim at his only child. His blood. His legacy.

“No!” I screamed, charging Jack and managing to knock the gun from his hands just in time.

“You traitor!” He curled back and spat in my face. Yanking my hair, he threw me to the ground. I looked around King Street. Some Hessians had already taken cover in other establishments. Others surrendered and were being taken in as prisoners of the Patriots. Rall lay on his back, a giant bloody hole in his gut, lifeless eyes directed to the sky.

Jack pulled me to my feet, holding me in front of his body as a shield. Using me as a hostage, he backed toward Assunpink Creek—the only area not guarded by Washington's men.

His gun was shoved under my chin, pushing the skin up and into my tongue. Blood filled my mouth as my teeth came down on sensitive tissue.

Tom watched on, a horrified expression marring his beautiful face. I shook my head at him as he twitched to charge his father. I squeezed my eyes shut. Please, no, Tom. For once, don't be chivalrous. Don't be the hero.

If only I could have told him my nature. Warned him that no matter what, I'd be fine.

But of course, he had no way of knowing such things. And as his fellow Patriots took prisoners and invaded homes and Bear's Tavern, Tom took off at a sprint, following Jack and me. Though Jack had no way of knowing just yet, I could hear Tom's footsteps several yards behind us. I could smell his perspiration. Hear his pounding heart and staggering breath.

Jack swiveled around, gun cocked, knocking the barrel into Tom's knee and sending him spiraling to the icy ground.

“No!” I shrieked. “Jack, no! Don't kill your son!” The sobs clenched my chest, and my tears fell to the snow, heating tiny holes into the ice.

“Quiet!” he shouted back. “Thomas, drop your weapon.”

“You won't get away, Father,” Tom panted, catching his breath. “The town is surrounded.”

“I'll get away,” Jack sneered. “I'm just a civilian.”

“You think the Patriots won't know your involvement here? You think I haven't already given them your name and all your mates?”

“Why you ungrateful little sod!” Jack's hold on my hair tightened. “Throw me your weapon!” he shouted again, and Tom did as his father asked.

Jack chuckled and kicked the gun away. “You're a stupid little thing, you know that?” He looked to me, yanking my head back, exposing my neck. “And you, you whore. You two thought you could pull one over on the likes of me?” He chuckled in a bitter way that brought bile to my throat. He looked back to Tom, the metal barrel colliding with his son's temple. “You love the whore, son? You think she will make a loving mother to your future bastard children?”

“On your knees, streetwalker,” he gritted through clenched teeth, undoing his fly. “Watch closely, son. And tell me if after this, you still want to make this whore your wife.”

He pushed himself into my mouth, and when I slid a glance to Tom, he was crying. Steady streams of tears flowed past his cheeks.

Panic swelled in my chest—the tree behind him—the snowfall. It was the scene from my vision. Tom would die soon if I didn't act quickly.

I took Jack all the way into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. Then I bit down. Jack cried out with a curse and slammed his boot into my nose. Stars flooded my vision, and I could taste the blood as it flowed into my mouth.

I blinked open, barely registering the feel of steel against my sternum. A blast of pain ripped through my chest—the most pain I'd ever felt. In the distance, I could hear Tom's screams. Felt his arms cradling my body.

And with a sudden windstorm, life entered me again with a deep breath. I blinked, coming back to life, and shifted my gaping wounds closed, pulling myself to my feet.

Tom and his father were in a full on fist-to-fist battle, rolling in the snow, throwing punches. I ran for Tom's gun Jack had kicked away. The two fought, and I could barely discern who was whom in the scuffle. “Tom!” I shouted.

The men froze, each of their faces paling to the same white as the snow. “What . . . it's not possible,” Jack stuttered.

Tom scrambled to his feet. “Darling—Monica, how is it possible?” He rushed to me, grasping my face with his hands and planting a firm kiss on my lips.

“Tom, run!” I shouted, pushing him from me just as a blast cracked through the air. Blood splattered onto my face, and Tom swayed before falling into my arms, his short breaths sporadic at best. A puddle of blood seeped from beneath his body, absorbing into the snow.

From behind us, Jack panted, musket in hand.

I fell to the freezing ground with Tom, cradling his head in my lap. With the palm of my hand, I brushed his sweat drenched hair from his eyes. “Breathe, my love. Breathe.” I squeezed my eyes shut as my tears fell one after the other onto his face. Though he was looking directly at me, I didn't think he could see me. His hand trembled, lifting into the air, and each breath was a labored wheeze. I grasped his hand and brought it to my lips. “I'm sorry, Tom,” I said through my tears. “I'm sorry. Where you're going, my love—you're so much better off.”

With one final breath, his empty eyes rolled back into his head. I wrapped my arms as best I could around his heavy, limp body and embraced him one final time.

When I finally looked up again, Jack had the musket aimed between my breasts. A terrified frown tilted on his face and hatred burned through me. “What are you?” he said, aiming the gun at me once more. “Are you the devil?” he shouted, firing off another round.

The bullet burned once more, ripping through my flesh and my organs, and I fell to the snow beside Tom. Only my heart didn't need to pump in order for me to exist. I didn't need to take oxygen into my lungs to survive. I lay in the snow, watching the white powdery flakes fall to my face. One landed cold and wet on my nose. And despite the burning pain, I slid my palms under me and pushed to my feet, Tom's gun still in hand.

“You are a stupid man. If a bullet didn't kill me once, did you think it would the second time?”

I was unsteady for a moment. The pain was there, but bearable. The wooden butt of the gun was coarse against my palm, but also a calming reminder of revenge.

He shot again, only this time I was ready for it, and I steadied myself for the hit. I dug a finger into the hole and pulled out the steel ball, throwing it at Jack's feet.

His breaths were shorter, sharper, and he scrambled to reload.

I walked toward Jack at a steady and controlled pace. “You killed your son,” I whispered, stopping just in front of his body. His chin bounced as he looked for a retort, but only silence came from him. “You killed your son!” I said again, louder, and slammed the butt of the gun into Jack's nose. Blood spurted like a geyser, raining droplets of red onto the snow. “You killed your son!” I screamed this time, bashing the gun into his eye socket.

He stumbled back but managed to stay on his feet, shouting with each hit and cradling his face in his hands. “How—how are you alive?” Jack asked. His fear was tangible on my tongue. It was bitter and popped in the back of my mouth along with his coppery blood.

“On your knees,” I said with a peace that I couldn't explain.

Jack obeyed, falling to the ground before me with his hands up, palms out. “P-please. Monica . . .”

“Do not speak to me. Don't you dare speak to me right now.” Tears caught in my chest, and I wanted to simply lie there, spooning with Tom's body.

I cocked the gun and pressed it between Jack's eyes. “I'd tell you to tell Tom I love him—but I don't think you'll see him where you're going, Jack.” I paused. I knew what I had to do. I had to pull the trigger. A shiver ran down my spine. I'd never before taken a life this way. Not at my very hands. But of all the people I had come across in my existence, this was a man who didn't deserve to live. A tear welled in my eye and fell down my cheek. With a final deep breath, I whispered, “I'll see you in Hell, Jack.”

A gunshot blasted through the air, and Jack fell to his side. I looked down at my gun—only, I hadn't pulled the trigger. Pieces of Jack's skull were splattered in my hair, and with numb fingers I wiped his blood from my cheek.

“Monica!” Lucien ran to me, and I fell into his arms. He took me by the shoulders, forcing eye contact. “You can't murder. Not like this. Not out of spite.” He crushed me into an embrace, his hand flanking my cheek.

“But you did,” I whispered, and I could feel his nod within the embrace.

“There is no redemption for me,” Lucien whispered. “But there's still hope for you.”