“Welcome to my hotel. I hope you’ve found your accommodations…comfortable,” the lead warlock says smoothly, the hint of a smirk on his face. It’s as if he knows what I did to his desk clerk, and he wants me to know that he knows. And regret it.
Toyol pipes up with a slight bow of his head, “We appreciate your hospitality, your majesty.”
Your majesty?
Legion told me we would be sitting down with Dark royalty, but he never said anything about the king. I squeeze the arm of the chair to force myself not to flee.
“Please,” the king says, waving a dismissive hand. “Call me Dorian.”
Dorian. The Dark king’s name is Dorian. That just doesn’t seem fair. He’s the most powerful Dark force in the world, he’s impossibly gorgeous, and his name is Dorian?
“This is my Queen, Gabriella,” he adds, looking at the young woman at his side. He squeezes her hand and brings it up to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. It’s several seconds before he turns his loving gaze from her to the man to his right, the one whose skin is the color of butter toffee. His eyes are also a shade of radiant blue. “My advisor and father-in-law, Alexander. And Light ambassador, Lars,” he says nodding towards the tall blonde male before waving towards the other confidantes sitting beside the queen. “I believe you’ve met Cyrus, my cousin. And this lovely lady is Morgan.”
I meet the eyes of each and nod, just as a chocolate pastry lifts itself from the platter between us. I yelp before I can stop myself, causing Legion to roughly grip my thigh in alarm. A child’s giggle sounds right after, causing me to yelp again.
“Nikolai Christopher, that’s enough,” Gabriella admonishes gently. And right before my eyes, a little boy no older than three appears in the middle of the table, holding the chocolate confection.
“Aw, mama. Can’t I have it?” The toddler scoots his pudgy body to the edge of the table where his mother sits, his glossy black curls bouncing around his adorable face. He has his father’s eyes, but his mother’s milky complexion. Rosy, chubby cheeks, thick, dark lashes, and a permanent pout. He has to be the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen.
“Not until after dinner, Niko,” the peculiar-eyed queen coos, scooping her son up to deposit him on her lap. She smiles fondly at the little cherub, her gaze filled with so much love and adoration that I can literally feel it radiating from her petite frame, painting them in colors of rose and lavender.
Something inside of me twists uncomfortably. I’ve never been on the receiving end of a look like that. And I know I could never be in the queen’s position—as a mother. To love and be loved so unguardedly, so completely…I wouldn’t even know where to start.
“Please excuse my son,” Dorian remarks. He reaches over to lightly pinch the boy’s chubby cheeks, eliciting a peal of giggles.
“I want to sit with Gampy, Papa!” Little Niko squeaks, squirming on his mother’s lap. Dorian picks him up with ease and passes him to his father-in-law, Alexander after kissing his forehead. The proud grandfather ruffles the boy’s curls before bouncing him on his knee.
“Apologies,” Dorian says with a bow of his head. “Please…” He waves a hand in our direction, as to give us the floor. “What brings you to Colorado Springs?”
Toyol clears his throat, taking point. “Your majesty—Dorian—as your cousin, Cyrus explained, we represent the Se7en.”
“Ah, yes. The Se7en,” Dorian muses, the blue in his eyes appearing almost opaque against the shocking backdrop of black hair. He leans forward, intertwining graceful fingers below his chin. “Demon assassins of redemption. Sinners of salvation. I’ve heard of you—all brute strength and merciless killing. They say you hunt humans that your master has…infected.”
“More or less, yes,” Toyol nods.
“And you feel no…remorse? For murdering innocents? For failing to preserve human life?”
Toyol opens his mouth to answer, but looks to Phenex who quickly pipes up. “Our goal is to preserve countless human lives by intercepting an imminent threat to their survival. Their world is constantly wrought with destruction—terrorist bombings, mass shootings. Incidents we can avoid by taking out a solitary perpetrator.”
“Before they actually become the perpetrator. Before they’ve committed any actual crimes against humanity.” The warlock king lifts a single, speculative brow, challenging him. I feel a fiery blast of heat from beside me where Legion sits, his knuckles white from gripping the arms of the chair, his jaw ticking frantically. Don’t say a word. I mentally beg. Just let Phenex handle this.
“It’s much more complex than that. Over weeks—months—of recon and research, we track signs of the Calling. Nothing is done without cause. We don’t act unless necessary.”
“And this girl,” Dorian nods to me, “is your next victim?”
I swallow thickly as that penetrating, ice-filled gaze lands on me. Victim. It sounds like an act of violence on his lips.
“Eden is destined for the Calling, yes. But our intent is to spare her, and ultimately, spare the angel inhabiting her body.” That seems to get the king’s attention, and he leans forward just a bit more. Phenex continues. “When Eden was very young, she suffered a horrible incident that nearly claimed her life. A fallen angel seeking redemption was able to jump into her body, but could not fully control her soul.”
“Because she had already been infected,” the queen says, equally as interested in the account.
“Precisely. Because of the angel’s gifts, Eden has the unique ability to bend the will of humans. And if she is Called, she could very easily become the most deadliest of all of Lucifer’s weapons.”
“Is that so?” Dorian replies thoughtfully. “How?”
Phenex spares me a glance before answering, “If Eden is Called, she could simply tell every human in her vicinity to walk off a bridge. Or tell a pilot to crash an airplane. If Eden is Called before we can stop her, she could instruct anyone to go home and murder their entire family before killing themselves.”
I don’t dare utter a word in protest even though my chest is caving in with the need to scream. It’s like they’re talking about someone else. Someone vicious and calculating. Someone who hasn’t spent most of her life longing for just one person to love her, despite her scars, inside and out.
The king looks at his bride, an unspoken communication passing between them. Then he turns his unforgiving gaze on me. “Show me.”
“It only works on humans,” I manage to say, barely above a whisper.
“Morgan is human. Perhaps she would allow a demonstration?”
I turn to the mocha-skinned woman sitting beside the queen. She appears just as reluctant as I, her brown eyes widened in skepticism. Could this be a trap? Is the Dark king dangling a carrot in front of my nose, only to catch me in his snare?
“I ask that you not hurt her. I’m afraid my wife and son would not take it well, not to mention Lars. Something simple—a show of this great power your friend speaks so chillingly about. You don’t mind, do you?”
He words it as a challenge. As if he can’t believe any measure of my mortal power could be a threat. I take the dare, allowing his condescension to only spur me on.
I take a deep breath, sucking in her scent of cinnamon, cardamom and herbs. It’s not the perfume of her skin, it’s the fragrance her thoughts emit, as if they are attached to a memory. I dig a little deeper, tasting the remembrance as I slide over the frontal lobe like slow moving oil. She stares back at me, perplexed by the intrusion but unable to fight it. She can feel me in her private space, stealing her thoughts, her feelings, her free will. She attempts to push me out, but it’s futile. I latch myself to her mind.
“Stand up.”
She rises without preamble, her face marred in disbelief.
“Pick up the chocolate donut.”
She does as I command, and bends toward the platter of sweets, swiping the pastry.
“Now give it to Nikolai.”
Her limbs move as if
disjointed from her body—jerky and uncoordinated—as she tries to fight each step. She’s helpless to my compulsion, despite her iron will. Despite the flavor of magic that runs through her blood and now tinges my tongue.
Morgan offers the squirming toddler the donut, who squeals and claps at both the show and his treat. I pull back my invisible claws, dislodging them from her mind. She exhales loudly when she feels my exit.
“What did you do to me?” she frowns, quickly making her way back to her seat.
“I’m sorry.” It seems like the right thing to say, although I had about as much control of this charade as she did.
“What did you do?” she demands.
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling exposed and dirty. I don’t know what I’ve done and how I’ve done it. I’ve never understood how it worked. I just knew that I could make people do as I said, no matter how self-serving or depraved the request.
“You have an interesting gift, young one,” the king remarks. Young one? He can’t be more than a few years older than I am. None of them can. Which is really creepy considering Gabriella’s father doesn’t look a day over thirty.
“Thank you.” It doesn’t seem appropriate, but I don’t know what else to say.
“However, this is angel-demon business. Why should my kind get involved in something we have no stake in?” He leans back in his chair with an air of finality.
“With all due respect, your majesty,” I stupidly pipe up, refusing to accept no for an answer. It’s out of character for me—the girl who’s tried to go unnoticed for most of her life—but if there was ever a time to step out of line and fall back on courage, it’s now. “You probably have more stake in this than any of us. You live in the human world. You sit beside them, work with them, build friendships with them. If humanity ceased to exist, wouldn’t it mean that you’d failed? That you’d failed at being a just and worthy ruler?”
He silently contemplates my words, sitting so still that I’m certain he can’t be breathing. It’s like that moment right before a waiting predator strikes. Quiet viciousness seems to gravitate toward him as fury builds in waves of violence.
I hold my breath waiting for the onslaught, and when he leans forward once more, Legion does the same. But before he can open that perfect mouth, the queen raises one hand and it all…
Stops.
No more restless shifting or anxious breaths.
No more sounds of exuberant chomping and licking from little Niko as he devours his donut.
Everyone is encased in glass—living statues captured between heartbeats.
Everyone except me. And her.
“Don’t be afraid,” she says gently. “I was just getting bored with all the back and forth. I swear, I am so sick of politics. Dorian promised no business during family time, but…” She shrugs, looking more and more like a regular girl. “Duty calls. However, he has his methods, and I have mine.”
“How did you…?” I swallow, trying to collect my thoughts and line them up with my words. “How did you do that? Freeze everyone?”
“It’s simple. Although, it took me a little while to control it after my ascension. At first, it would only happen during high stress moments when I’d panic. Then the true test was getting them to remobilize.” She chuckles as if she’s talking to an old friend. I stare at her, wide-eyed, wondering if I missed something. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. He’s usually not so much of a prick. Not on purpose. Are you married? Boyfriend?”
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s a good thing—all things considering.”
I spare a glance at Legion’s frozen form, still teetering on the verge of impatience and rage. If I were to ever have that option, in another life, in another time, maybe he’d be something I’d choose, or someone I’d hope would choose me. Someone strong and protective. Someone warm to the touch, and that just the sound of his voice would turn my insides to lava. Selfless, yet demanding. Beautiful, but brutal. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be a weapon of evil, and he wouldn’t be a demon assassin seeking penance. I wouldn’t be his mission or obligation. And he wouldn’t be my captor or bodyguard. He would just be…mine.
Maybe.
In my next breath, I nearly fall out of my chair. The queen, Gabriella, is standing right beside me, somehow clearing a good six feet in a blink of an eye. But, I never saw her move an inch. It’s as if she was one place then another, dissipating and taking form right before my eyes. I clamp my lips together, forcing the rising panic to ease.
“Sorry. It’s just faster and easier for me,” Gabriella grins sheepishly. “Come. Let’s go for a walk. I want to talk to you.”
I look to the demons at my sides, completely immovable and oblivious. Or maybe they aren’t. Maybe they can hear everything that’s going on right now and are incapable of breaking out of her spell.
“I thought your kind held no power over demons.”
“We don’t,” she shrugs. “Well, in most cases.” She holds out a hand for me. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
With a silent prayer on my lips, I extend my shaky palm and grasp the queen’s hand. She could force me, but she’s giving me a choice. She wants me to trust her. And as stupid as it sounds, I kinda do.
I follow her out of the conference room, despite the niggling feeling that I should stay put. But I’m curious about her and her powers. And if spending some time with her will get us the information we need, and shed some light on how she can control demons, then I’ll do what she asks. This is me being an asset, not a victim.
“I was a lot like you a few years ago,” she remarks, leading us towards a glass door. The moment we leave the lavish confines of the hotel and step onto the cobblestone walkway, springtime comes alive with bursts of emerald and honeysuckle. The air is brisk, yet somehow the cold isn’t overwhelming—nothing like I’d expect for late fall. Considering the snow-capped mountains looming to my right, it’s safe to say that magic is responsible for the climate control.
“Like you? How so?”
“I was human once. At least I thought I was. Brash, careless, sometimes reckless. No…always reckless,” she replies, her voice tinged with amusement. She lifts her face to the sky, allowing the sun to cast a golden shimmer on her delicate features. “I had to learn and grow a lot faster than most. Not just for me, but for them—my family.”
“Is that why you’re able to control them?” I don’t have to specify whom I’m talking about.
An elderly couple strolls along the slate stone path, hand in hand, basking in the splendor of the resort’s lush grounds. Gabriella smiles and greets them by name as they pass before she answers me. “What I am…is different from my husband. I am a hybrid, so my magic manifests differently.”
“And…your eyes?” I remark sheepishly. She may look my age, but I know better than to trust what I see.
She turns and smiles, and those peculiar irises—plucked from the sun and the moon—glitter with diamond luminosity. “I am both Light and Dark equally, so my magic is not only unique, it’s an enigma for most of the supernatural realm. Some believe it is the most powerful magic on Earth.”
“And is it?”
Her lips twist into a half smile, giving me all the answer I need. “You’re here to see me, you know. Not my husband. What your friends seek is something only I can give. Which is why my husband was acting like a royal ass. But my question is, Eden…what is it that you’re seeking?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want? All of this must be a huge change for you, and your friends don’t seem like the compromising type. Is this what you’ve chosen for yourself? To be under their safeguard until the time comes when they must kill you? To be a pet, a novelty? Or to be the strong, confident woman that I know you’re capable of becoming?”
Her words seem to echo in my befuddled mind as we follow the stone walkway edging a lake, so clear and vibrant that the surface looks like ripples of smooth sea g
lass. Many passersby offer warm smiles and waves, which Gabriella cheerfully returns. Not too exuberant, as if she’s trying to put on a show. But in a way that says that she’s happy to be alive. That every day, every breath, is a gift.
To have that sense of inner peace, to feel safe and assured in her skin… I envy her. Not because of the seemingly perfect husband and child. Not because of her expensive, stylish clothing or immeasurable power. I envy her because she knows exactly who she is, and she’s not afraid of it.
“When I was younger, I wanted normalcy. I wanted what you would expect from a mother—love, comfort, security. She didn’t even have to be good at it. I just wanted her to try. I think, in many ways, I’ve always searched for those things, even when I knew I was setting myself up for failure. Even when I knew all of that was completely unobtainable for me. The Se7en have given me a comfort I never knew before. And security—as frustrating as that can be at times. I think I am the most secure future serial killer in history.”
“And love?”
I shake my head and muster a manufactured smile. “You know the saying, “a face only a mother could love”? Well…I have a soul only a mother could love. And even she couldn’t. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to take on that burden.”
She stops, turning to me so quickly that I don’t even register the movement. “You don’t actually mean that, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I shrug.
“What about the rest of your family?”
I look away, not willing to let her see the pain of remembering staining my eyes. “I have a sister—had a sister. From foster care.”
“And what happened to her?”
“I told her I needed space and not to contact me. Then I blocked her number.”
“Why?” Her quiet, raspy voice is like the scrape of a fallen leaf against the ground.
“Because it’s what I do—I push people away before they can figure out what a mess I am. Before they see the true me. She’s used to my disappearing acts, and she’s good about giving me time to stop feeling sorry for myself. But honestly, it’s all because I don’t feel worthy of her. I never have. She was the one good thing in my life since I was just a kid. And I hate myself for not being the same for her. She doesn’t need me—she never did. Now she can stop worrying, and stop feeling obligated to care about me. Now she can get married and have kids without wondering if I’ll ever get my shit together or meet a nice guy. Cutting her off was my last gift to her.”