Blood Redemption (Angel's Edge #3) Read online

  “Don’t worry,” he said into my ear. “My room is right next to yours.” He gestured to the balcony next to mine. “It’s how I’ll come and go with no one knowing.”

  I stared at him in horror. If he fell…

  Jack saw the terror written on my face and grinned. For a second he looked exactly like a ten-year-old boy who had succeeded in stealing a whole jar of cookies. He leapt so that he stood balanced on the very edge of the balcony railing.

  Then he jumped.

  I shrieked, willing myself to look away, but in the end, I couldn’t. Jack leapt through the air like a raptor―and landed with the grace of a cat. He waved at me from the balcony next to mine as if it had taken him no effort at all.

  My heart was in my throat. “See?” he said. “Easy as falling asleep. For me, anyway. I wouldn’t recommend you try it. Yet.”

  “No worries there,” I replied. I made a point not to look down. “When will I see you again?” Although I had a complicated relationship with my fellow Azalene, he was still one of the few souls I knew in this terrible place. A wave of anxiety washed over me.

  “Don’t worry,” he called back, flashing me a reassuring grin. “I’ll see you in a few hours. We’re to start training after your breakfast with Belial.”

  I might as well have been punched in the stomach. I wanted to beg Jack not to leave, to demand that he come with me, but I knew it would do no good.

  Jack must have read my expression. “Just give him what he wants, and you should be okay. You’d better go get ready. And no matter what happens, I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.” He disappeared into his own room, leaving me alone on my dizzying balcony.

  His confidence did not reassure me.

  Why did such a horrible place have such a hypnotic sky? When I had first come here in a dream, Shadow-sick and burning, the eternal twilight above me had made me feel disoriented and nauseated. But now, its dusky purple light reminded me of home. Except this time, memories of home were not so idyllic. I thought of the fountain and how it no longer lit up at the start of evening, and of the fairy lights in the trees that were broken. I had always loved this time of day. Now, I knew I would never feel the same about it again. I slipped through the balcony doors.

  One of the Grey Ladies stood in the middle of the bedroom, hovering near the bed. I could just make out the outlines of long, old-fashioned skirts that encased a female form, but that was as clear as she got. I couldn’t make out any facial features at all, just swirling gray mist coalesced into a vaguely solid form. But still, there was something familiar about her. Perhaps it was her scent, which carried hints of rain and summer grass. It was incredibly soothing, here in the bowels of Belial’s realm, and I found myself leaning toward her.

  I stopped, however. Jack had told me to trust no one in this place. What did I know about these creatures, after all? They were Belial’s servants, even if they didn’t appear dangerous. This one hovered near my bed.

  She gestured to the bed with a spectral arm. “For me?” I asked, and the Grey Lady made the same gesture again. I drifted closer to the bed and reached for the pile of clothes. I hesitantly stroked the fabric. It was silky instead of suede, and made the softest of rustling sounds as it rubbed together between my fingers. At least it was pretty, although every part of me rebelled against wearing anything that belonged to Belial.

  Once I put it on, there would be no way to pretend I wasn’t a member of his army, willing or no. Unless…

  I still had one request I could make of Belial. I could, with one simple exchange of information, free myself. The demon had said as much. I could be back in Whitfield today. Back in Ethan’s arms. Back home.

  But then I thought of all I had seen since I’d come here: the neglect, the fear, and the beaten down looks of all the Nephilim.

  Twelve-year-old Caroline Bedford popped into my mind. Since his plot to destroy Whitfield with an onslaught of Hellhounds had failed, he held the girl responsible. Even now she remained locked in a cell all by herself, subjected to nightmares no twelve-year-old should have to bear.

  Could I leave her there and return to a place of safety, knowing that a child suffered Belial’s brutal punishment? Even if that child had played some part in my appearance here?

  I picked up the pile of clothing, and my breath caught in my throat. I had expected the same uniform everyone else here wore: long pants and a white shirt, covered by a matching long jacket. But what I held before me now was a far cry from the standard uniform. In fact, it had me vaguely alarmed.

  He’d sent me an evening gown. A skimpy one, at that.

  The silky gown tumbled down to the floor. It was a deep purple color; so deep it appeared black in dim lighting. I held it up to the window and watched as it refracted colors from the sky, blues and purples making the silk appear as living water. It was one of the most beautiful gowns I had ever seen in my life.

  It also terrified me.

  Just what did Belial have in mind?

  I steeled myself against my rising fear and turned to the Grey Lady. There was no way I was getting dressed in front of a stranger, no matter how spectral she might be. Just how was I supposed to communicate with the thing, anyway? “I’m fine,” I said, hoping a simple dismissal would do. “I can handle it from here.”

  The Grey Lady refused to move. Instead, she pointed to the wardrobe on the far side of the room.

  With me resolutely maintaining the impasse, the Grey Lady seemed to shrink in on herself. She made one more halfhearted gesture to the wardrobe and drifted to the door, and then turned. I could swear she was studying me. What did she see when she looked at me: a wild-haired girl, or something different? Something stronger? The mist-woman turned her back and exited.

  By drifting through the door itself.

  Well, that answered my question as to how substantial she was. I suppressed a shudder. It wasn’t everyday you saw someone, even a strange someone, walk through a door. I wondered if Belial could do it too, then turned my attention to getting dressed.

  For a very brief moment, I wondered why she kept pointing to my wardrobe. I decided to look later; nothing was more important to me than getting this meeting over with.

  I stripped to my skin and stood looking at myself in the full-length mirror beside the wardrobe. A tangle-haired girl stared back at me. I had a few bruises where I had run through the woods, but nothing more. There was no trace of pain in either my hand or my head. Miranda had done an excellent job healing me. I found myself wondering what day it was, and what time. I wondered if time even mattered here, where it was always twilight.

  And then I turned to the dress. I slipped it over my head. It cascaded to the floor like rivulets of moonlit water, sinfully soft against my skin. Floor-length, it clung to my hips and pooled out around me until only the tips of my toes showed beneath the hem. I pulled up the halter style top. The straps snapped into place just behind my neck, leaving my back and shoulders totally exposed to the chilly air. I gave a slight twirl in front of the mirror, and watched as it belled around my legs.

  I examined myself critically. Having never worn something so revealing before, I felt a new blossom of terror. Just what might Belial want from this meeting? He had said it was only to talk, to exchange information, but this dress…

  For a brief moment, I thought about defying him. I put my hand on the knob of the wardrobe, wondering if there were more normal uniforms in there, but stopped myself. Belial held all the cards. I had better do what he asked, at least until I got what I wanted from him.

  I poked my head out to find more Grey Ladies waiting for me. I didn’t recognize them; the familiar one from my bedroom was nowhere to be seen. They started off down the hallway, and, not knowing what else to do, I followed.

  I walked through what seemed like miles of corridors. One Grey Lady glided in front of me while the other trailed us like some bizarre honor guard. I knew conversation was useless, so I spent the time thinking about Ethan, and Asheroth, and yo
ung Caroline Bedford, alone and terrified.

  And then, abruptly, we stopped at a heavy wooden door banded with iron. The Grey Ladies flanked it. I took a deep breath and pulled on the handle.

  The room inside was dim, lit only by a fireplace that did little to dispel the chill in the air. I stood shivering on the threshold, arms wrapped protectively around my upper body.

  “Come closer,” said a voice in little more than a whisper.

  Belial.

  I wanted to protest, but a traitorous part of me couldn’t resist his pull. He sounded so much like my Ethan. Acutely aware of the skimpiness of my dress, I moved closer. He stood shrouded by shadows in the corner of a dim, fire-lit room. I recognized it from my earlier visit: the big, four poster bed, the fireplace, and the books lining one wall.

  I saw one more thing that made my blood run cold. A portrait hung on the wall opposite the fireplace, over the bed I’d been unconscious in for over a day. It showed a dark-haired woman kneeling before an angel with a shining sword. Her hands were clasped together in the universal gesture of supplication, and a village burned around her. My breath caught in my throat.

  The woman looked exactly like me. I recognized it as the portrait Dr. Christian had shown in class the day he tried to kidnap me. I realized I was looking at the original.

  I swallowed hard. “What… what is that?” I asked, pointing with a trembling arm.

  “Does it look familiar, Caspia?” Belial asked, gliding forward from the shadows. He now stood close enough to touch me. His shirt was black instead of white, and it hung loosely from the muscular frame that looked so much like my Ethan’s. If he had wanted, he could have reached out and caressed my face. I took a single nervous step backward, just in case.

  “M-maybe,” I stuttered, terrified. My composure was melting away like the last winter snow as the demon stared at me with his empty black eyes.

  “Who is she?” I somehow found the courage to ask.

  “Do you remember why I brought you here?” Belial demanded, ignoring my question.

  “Breakfast?” I stammered.

  Belial threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed around the chamber. Had this all been a ruse to get me back into his bedroom? As scantily as I was clad, that could only mean one thing. I felt myself edging for the door.

  “Don’t worry, sweet Caspia. Breakfast is on the balcony. I didn’t lie about that. Although I must admit, you look stunning.” He studied me in the dimness. His black eyes roamed over my body, making me feel ashamed despite the fact that I knew he couldn’t really see me. It was as if I was naked under his sightless gaze. What would Ethan do to this creature, were he here? The thought gave me some small measure of courage, and I stood my ground as he paced close enough to embrace me. He didn’t try to touch me, though.

  “You remind me of midnight,” he said, almost reverently, inhaling deeply. He gestured to the balcony. “Midnight in a land of eternal twilight.” Then his expression hardened, became less like Ethan’s and more like a demon’s. “We have much to discuss, Caspia Chastain. Starting with how Ethan’i’el saved your brother’s life.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath. “Yes. And in return, you promised to grant one request.”

  Again he ignored me, and reached out to touch my hair. He rubbed the strands between his fingers. “So much like her,” he almost whispered. I had to strain to hear him.

  “Like who?” I asked, fighting back the strange mixture of revulsion and longing that rocked me at his touch. So like my Ethan… and so different.

  “My wife,” he said, still softly. “The one your Ethan murdered.”

  urder. Ethan.

  The words made no sense to me. Ethan, a murderer? What the hell?

  I tried to step back from Belial, nervous and confused. He hadn’t let go of my hair, though, and a wave of fear wash over me. His presence was close, so close I could see the lifeless irises of his black eyes, could count each individual eyebrow, could see the beginnings of a mocking smile forming on his lips.

  “I see you didn’t know,” he said, the hint of a smile twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

  Still holding on to the lock of my hair, he gave it a quick cruel twist before letting me go. My scalp smarted and my eyes stung, but I’d be damned if I would let him see me cry. I blinked back the tears and tried to banish the words that were still ricocheting around in my head.

  Ethan. Murder.

  How dare Belial suggest something like that?

  And then I stopped myself, remembering an afternoon that seemed forever ago, when Asheroth had told me the truth. The truth about Ethan’s past, the truth about how he had once been a Hunter. I hadn’t known what the term meant then. In the first Nephilim war, Ethan had been charged with wiping my kind from the face of the Earth. As far as I knew, he had done his job, fighting for the Light against what they saw as the monstrous powers of the Nephilim. That had been the final piece of information that pushed me over the edge, driving me here.

  And then, stupidly, I believed in a demon’s promises. And just look where that landed me―in a dark place with others of my kind, totally at the mercy of Belial. With a demon who stood looking at me now, telling me my Ethan had killed his own brother’s wife.

  “What makes you think I’ll even believe that?” I demanded, ignoring the tingle of doubt that had wormed its way into my stomach.

  “Do you see that portrait?” Belial indicated the woman over the bed. “The one who looks more than a bit like you?”

  “So what if she does?” I said, ignoring the implication underneath his words.

  “She was my wife,” he said quietly. For just a millisecond, he looked lost and vulnerable, staring at the portrait. Then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Come, Caspia. Let’s have breakfast, and I’ll explain things a bit.” He gestured toward the balcony. “I assume you are familiar with the first Nephilim wars?” He took my arm.

  I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held me with all the strength of his kind: as unmoving as stone, and cold to the touch where Ethan’s had been warm. His grip was tight, to the point that it hurt, and I gave up the struggle after barely a minute. Belial obviously didn’t care if he left bruises. I felt them forming beneath his hold on me.

  And still, those two terrible words wouldn’t go away: Ethan. Murder.

  “I don’t want to have breakfast with you,” I said softly, but with an edge. “I’ll tell you about my brother. None of this is necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is.” He flung open the double glass doors and dragged me out.

  I had my feet planted firmly to the flagstone floor, but to Belial, it didn’t matter. It probably didn’t even register with him that I was resisting. Out on the patio, a small table made of black wrought iron and glass waited for us. Two chairs that looked as if they had been made of twisted thorns waited on either side of the table. Only one place was set. The twilight sky in all its variegated glory continued to move behind us. In Belial’s presence, it lost its beauty, and turned again into something nauseating and hopeless.

  “Sit,” he commanded, and so I did as he asked. In this place there was no way to disobey. The cold iron of the chair seeped through the thin silk of my gown, making me want to squirm, longing for the warmth of Belial’s fire inside his room.

  Then I remembered the great hall where I first met him, and the fire that had burned bones there. I really didn’t want to find out what the demon used for fuel in his private chambers. I straightened my spine. I would just have to sit and shiver.

  “What do you mean?” I found the courage to ask at last. “What did you mean about Ethan being a murderer?”

  “‘And when the angels of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, they took unto themselves wives of all of them whom they chose,’” Belial intoned, obviously reciting a well-rehearsed passage. I recognized it as the Book of Genesis. I’d heard it in the class Dr. Christian had taught on this very subject. “So I took
a wife.” He nodded to indicate the room we’d just vacated. “Her.”

  “You mean…” I said, trying to grasp the implications.

  “Yes, Caspia. I was among the first to Fall. And I Fell for love, just as my brother apparently has.”

  “And you think Ethan killed her in this war of yours,” I said. I still couldn’t believe what he’d told me, that the man I loved had murdered his brother’s wife. “Surely there has to be some other explanation.”

  “No,” Belial said. “No more about her for now. I believe we had an agreement. You tell me what I want to know, and then I’ll grant you one request.”

  “But I need to know more,” I began, stopping short when Belial gave me a sharp, predatory look that chilled me all the way down to my toes.

  “Your brother was dying,” he said. He had his back to me now. His clothing was very similar to the uniform everyone else wore, but more ornate. His black and silver cloak snapped and furled in the wind. I brushed my hair from my eyes and looked down at my plate. There was fruit and bread and a carafe of a dark red liquid I fervently hoped was wine.

  “Yes,” I snapped, suddenly tired of Belial’s torments. “My brother was dying.” I took a sip of wine and toyed with a piece of bread to give me time to gather my thoughts. I had to be very careful here; my brother Logan meant more to me than almost anything, and I would do everything in my power to protect him. I couldn’t bring him to Belial’s attention, so I swallowed my wine and did my best to speak in a normal voice. “He had cancer, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it was terminal.”

  Belial sneered. “Let me guess. Ethan’i’el first appeared to ‘safeguard’ his soul.”

  I nodded very slightly. “He came for my brother,” I said hoarsely, remembering the events of what seemed like so very long ago. “He came to safeguard his soul until he… he…”

  “You can say it,” Belial said, his voice surprisingly soft. “Until he died.”

  Mutely, I nodded, tears filling my eyes. That had been such a horrible autumn, full of overwork and worry and death’s shadow. This time, when I reached for the wineglass, it was because I wanted it.