Redemption

Chapter 22

The bond is unnatural. Never before has a Demon been bound to an Angel or a Naphil. This has caused unrest among the ranks of both Angels and Demons. The Demons are steadfast in their solution to this aberration: The girl must die.
~Bezaliel~

"Is she going to be okay?" Monroe asked Marcas anxiously.

My blood soaked arm was covered in healing gashes, a strange hazy dizziness descending on me. The ground looked far away one moment and then too close the next.

Marcas stiffened. "She'll live." Pulling the knife he'd used to demonstrate our bond out of his pocket, he made a small gash on his wrist. The same wound opened up on my own wrist.

"Don't you think you've made her bleed enough?" Conor growled.

Marcas' gaze filled with disgust. There was something familiar about the way they looked at each other, their eyes screaming I know you and hate you.

Marcas offered me his arm. "Drink," he ordered.

I stared at his wrist in horror.

"Hell, no!" Conor roared.

Monroe's eyes widened.

"Seriously?" I whispered.

Marcas' gaze held mine. "It won't strengthen the bond. It will restore you."

"You don't know that!" Conor hissed.

Marcas glanced at him. "Leave the Demonology to the Demon, Gargoyle. I'm aware of the limits on bonding."

Gargoyle?

"What the hell is a gargoyle?" Monroe hissed, her suddenly suspicious gaze falling on Conor. "Oh, this is wonderful!" She threw her hands up. "Dayton is bonded to a Demon hunted by psychos and I've managed to call in a gargoyle."

My body didn't care about any of it. My legs buckled, my knees meeting the ground. Spots swam before my eyes.

Marcas kneeled. "Drink, Blainey, before you're too weak and before I have to open another wound."

My weary gaze met his, his darkened pupils comforting in an odd way.

"Drink," he ordered.

Closing my eyes, I let my lips fall to his wrist. Blood filled my mouth, and I fought the urge to gag, forcing myself to swallow. It was thick, and it burned, pain engulfing me.

Tearing my mouth away, I fell to the ground. Marcas' hands gripped my shoulders, his firm hold keeping my back to the damp forest floor as I suddenly seized. Liquid fire coursed through my veins.

Screams leapt from my throat and filled the night. Conor rushed toward me, but Marcas growled, his fangs flashing. "Don't!" he warned.

My increasing screams met the increasing heat and pain in my body. Hell. It felt like the fire pits of Hell.

The seizing intensified, and then began to wane, Marcas' fingers digging into my bucking body as the effects of the Demon blood began to subside. Open wounds on my body seared closed, liquid fire pooling around the injuries before dimming.

My eyes found Marcas'. "I think I'd rather have died."

Releasing me, he placed a supporting hand against my back as I sat up. "I didn't say the healing would come easy."

The pain passed slowly, and my pulse sped up as Marcas' proximity suddenly became too real and too close for comfort.

"You can move now, Demon," Conor muttered.

Marcas' gaze passed between the two of us, his hand falling abruptly away from me. I braced myself against the ground, the loss of Marcas' support causing a heavy feeling in my chest.