Revelation (Redemption series Book 4)

  Revelation

  By R.K. Ryals

  Copyright © Regina K. Ryals, 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  There are a lot of people involved in this project that I want to thank. To my husband, who is diligently behind me in everything I do. To my children, because you are my life. To my sisters, who help inspire me every day. To Audrey Welch, because you not only did the amazing photography for this book, but you help keep me smiling. I love you. To Christina Silcox, I seriously could not have done this without you. For staying up with me on those final nights even when I know you were tired means more than you will ever know. I adore you. To Melissa Ringsted because you aren’t just an editor, you hold a special place in my heart always. To Eden Crane, who gave this book its absolutely beautiful cover. You are impressively talented. To Melissa Wright, because I’m not sure when this journey became so personal for us, but it’s created a lasting friendship I couldn’t live without. To everyone who supports these books, I love you. To Bree High. Elizabeth Kirke, Whitney Deboe, Ashley Morgan, Alicia Lane Kirke, Jessica Johnson, Lisa Markson, Nanette Bradford, Katherine Eccleston, Ashley Ubinger, Beth Maddox, Vicky Walters, Katy Austin, Amy McCool, Julia Roop, Pyxi Rose, Alexis O’Shell, Anne Nelson, Jessie de Schepper, Derinda Love, Jodi O’Brien, Merisha Abbott, Tina Donnelly, and so many, many more. All of you truly inspire me! And to the fans: you make every day worth it. Your words and your kindness mean so much. I can’t thank you enough for reading. It truly means the world. Sharing the love of reading one book at a time! From my heart to yours!

  To my Redemption series fans because this series has been my heart since 2011 when Redemption first released. Knowing that you have followed Dayton and her friends this long really touches my soul. I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as I have. I love you all!

  Prologue

  There are moments in life where you think you know yourself so well and others where you just … don’t. I’d been through a lot of those moments. I mean when you learn on your seventeenth birthday that you’re a half-angel who has been blood bound to a cursed half-demon, it kind of levels the playing field. Throw in some forbidden romance, flying carpets, magic rings, and a hell of a lot of angst, and you’ve got yourself a pretty messed up senior year. And that’s without the gargoyle buddy and Wiccan best friend who both had obvious angsty love issues of their own.

  Come to think of it, my life up until this point would have made a killer movie. Until people realized the heroine was shorter than some corn stalks, could practically wear a training bra (the boob fairy totally passed me over), had enough sass and language issues to make a sailor blush, and a demon boyfriend who was about as emotional as a kitchen sink. Actually a sink cries more. Turn it on, and whoosh, waterworks.

  Okay, so in retrospect, my life was probably more one star, grade A rotten tomatoes material, but the point is, it was my life. If you’d met my teenage self, you probably walked away from me disgusted, turned off, or infatuated. I’m leaning toward the first two. I’d been a woe is me orphan with daddy issues raised by a crazy cult leader aunt.

  Cue sexy demon.

  Typical story, right? That’s where you’re wrong.

  That life changed me. Journeys kind of do that. My odyssey transformed me from a superficial, sad girl living in denial by turning everything she went through into a pop culture reference—see what I did there—into a young woman who suddenly saw life in a brand new way. It turned me into a woman who loved a man enough to take risks and make sacrifices for him. I became a woman who saw more than just the narrow tunnel in front of her face. She saw the big picture.

  Appearances are deceiving. Everyone has layers. It just takes peeling them back. That superficial teen I’d been was really just a sad girl who was still grieving. That unemotional, sexy demon who came into her life turned out to be a really awesome guy with a tragic past and a hell of a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders.

  Fast forward a few years.

  The day I turned twenty-one—still trapped in that wholly unfair (and now immortal) miniscule, flat-chested frame—I’d learned about the travesties of warfare, the beauty of love and friendship, and emerged with a deeper understanding of how multi-faceted life is. The way I saw life now made me dislike what I’d once been. But, let’s be honest, no one starts a journey being the best version of himself. It’s all in how you come out at the end.

  For me, there’d never be an end. I chose that. For me, there’d only always be beginnings with the constant threat that things could go wrong, that one day the two worlds I belonged to would collide, and what I shared with the man I loved would be destroyed by it. We were two sides of a single coin, circling a table, waiting to fall off and land with only one side facing up.

  I guess we all have issues.

  Chapter 1

  There’s this interesting thing about the only sane half-Angel to ever be born on Earth. She chose a world of monsters to live in. Albeit, the monsters she chose to cozy up to walked that fine, grey line between right and wrong. But living among monsters is still living among monsters. Eventually their past sins catch up with you. My brother’s past is as dark as the rest of ours, and it’s going to be the beast that swallows Dayton Blainey whole.

  ~Luther Craig, the Demon of Lust~

  Dayton

  The day the prophet came to us, I was doing yoga. I’d learned after all of the training I’d done with Marcas over the years that it helped mentally and physically to have something to help balance what our life had become. For me, that was yoga.

  I was in this really complicated upside down pose when Marcas’s voice exploded in my head.

  “We’ve got company.”

  The unexpected intrusion startled me, and I crumpled, not so delicately, to the ground.

  “There is absolutely no reason to yell,” I complained, pushing myself up to rub the back of my neck, my gaze searching the lawn.

  Marcas and I spent our time divided between working with the Sethian Sisters at the Abbey in Lodeston, Mississippi, the headquarters of the Swords of Solomon in Italy, and the Outer Levels of Hell. At this moment, we were in Italy, and I was taking advantage of the scenery.

  A shadow fell over the yoga mat I was sprawled on, and I threw a disgruntled look at the amused man looming over me. “Was that really necessary?”

  Marcas smiled in that complex I’m smiling but I’m not kind of way only he could pull off. “It’s so hard to catch you unawares these days that when the opportunity arises—”

  “Just you wait,” I interrupted, winking.

  He offered me his hand, and I took it, his fingers folding over mine. Warmth spread through my middle. After all these years, while the level of excitement in our relationship had changed, that wonderful sense of peaceful security remained.

  “Want to clue me in on what the crude interruption is for?” I asked.

  Marcas nodded at the white stone manor that housed the S.O.S, and my gaze followed his to two figures standing on the lawn, one of them shifting awkwardly, the other an imposing, frowning statue. The statue was Alessandro, the head of the S.O.S, a group who protected magical artifacts that once belonged to the Biblical king Solomon. He was also the father of a hybrid-Demon in a somewhat hidden relationship with my friend, Conor Reinhardt, the Director of gargoyles. But that’s an entirely different story.

  “Who’s the short, squinty old guy?” I asked, releasing M
arcas’ hand so that I could kick my mat into the tootsie roll shape it’d started out in.

  He moved toward the figures, and I followed, leaving the mat behind.

  “He’s a prophet,” Marcas answered.

  The way he said it—with biting derision—made my stomach clench, a feeling of dread permeating my gut. “Tell me why I’m not feeling so good about this.”

  We’d drawn near the figures, and Marcas answered in my head, “Because prophets will never bode well for us.”

  The older man was short, even more so than me, coming up to my chest, which put him under five foot. He was stooped, as if his shoulders couldn’t bear the world. A beard covered his face, the grey hair hanging low. If beards weren’t becoming a trend now, he would have looked out of place. Instead, he looked like he’d fit right in at a comic con trying to impersonate Gandalf.

  Despite all of that, he was a cheery sort of fellow, a wide grin spreading over his wrinkled face when he caught sight of me. “So, you are the naphil everyone is going on about.”

  My gaze flicked from Marcas’ stoic face to Alessandro’s, my brows rising. “Depends on who’s going on about it …” I answered slowly.

  The man’s smile grew. “You are quite the celebrity among the gifted.” He glanced at the demon next to me. “I’m Abner, and I’ve been a prophet for the Heavens for a long time.”

  Marcas scowled. “You’ve been sent here?”

  Abner’s smile changed, turning into something dark and disturbing. “I’ve been led … by dreams.” He threw me a glance, something about his eyes making my pulse quicken. “There’s so much talk about you,” he said. “You’re so young to be so deadly.”

  My spine stiffened, and I felt more than saw Marcas grow rigid next to me.

  “Is there a reason you’re here, prophet?” Marcas growled.

  The man smiled again, the gesture a happy one, a total contradiction to the way his arm suddenly shot out. He was quick, but not quick enough to deflect the blow Marcas gave him.

  A sharp burning pain exploded in my abdomen, the feeling so unexpected that my eyes widened and teared up, my hands falling to clutch my stomach.

  Marcas roared, his fingers circling the prophet’s neck. “You bastard! You’ll die for that!”

  “Dayton!” Alessandro yelled.

  A red stain was spreading across Marcas’ T-shirt, soaking it. Distantly, I saw this, my palm covering an equally wet wound that I was afraid to look down at. My gaze blurred and then re-focused.

  “Dayton,” Alessandro called.

  The prophet, Abner, was against the ground, his face turning red as Marcas tightened his grip.

  I stared at them, shocked. “Did he …” I gasped, stumbling forward, Alessandro’s arm catching me. “Did he just try to kill me?”

  Alessandro snarled. “He tried to kill both of you.”

  Marcas’ lips curled, revealing sharpened teeth, his eyes glowing red.

  His intent was obvious, and I clutched Alessandro’s arm. “Stop,” I cried weakly, switching to mind-speak. “Don’t kill him yet.” The pain was crippling, but despite the discomfort, despite the shortness of breath, and the difficulty focusing, I knew the gash was healing. What could have been a fatal blow had been deflected by Marcas.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, old man,” Marcas rumbled, loosening his grip.

  The prophet sputtered, his eyes frantic, his face continuing to redden despite the oxygen. “I failed! I missed the heart!” His face was full of devastation, his gaze going to the sky. “I’m so sorry. I failed you.”

  Alessandro had lowered me to the ground, his hands joining mine over the wound. “Failed who?” he asked.

  Sobs suddenly erupted across the yard, the old man’s face crumpling into a mask of tears.

  “What were you trying to do?” Marcas snarled. His patience was wearing thin, his concerned gaze flicking from mine to the squabbling prophet.

  Abner’s sobs grew. “I’ve failed the world. I’ve seen it.” His swollen gaze passed between Marcas and me. “You’re going to be the death of us all.”

  Chapter 2

  Power is such a beautiful thing, but even more beautiful, is the treachery it takes to earn it. It’s a challenge acquiring supremacy with little blood spilt. There’s no such thing as too much power, unless you stoop to unnecessary measures to get it. I never stoop. If I can’t stand to fight another day, you better hope you’re dead.

  ~Luther Craig, the Demon of Lust~

  Marcas

  Any child of Cain, whether demon-sired or not, knows that the first and most important rule to remember is to never lose your cool.

  Damn the rules.

  I was losing my cool, and the sudden desire for blood that rushed through my veins made it hard to focus on anything except the need to kill.

  I’d had a lifetime of anger management and lessons in patience, but over the past few years, the entire existence of control I’d prided myself on had been seriously tested.

  “Old man,” I growled, “you’ve got a lot of talking to do in a very short period of time.”

  Dayton groaned, and my gaze flicked to where she lay on the lawn, Alessandro supporting her. The blood had drained from her face, her lips were pinched, and her forehead was creased in an attempt to stay silent. Bound to me or not, her body had never been meant to take the kind of blows mine did. She might be part Angel, but her mother had been mortal. My father, Cain, on the other hand, hadn’t been entirely human.

  “You’ve got to understand,” the man below me whimpered, “there are too many lives at stake.”

  Puncturing my wrist with my teeth, I glanced at Alessandro. “Bring her to me. Even with the bond, she’ll heal quicker with the blood.”

  “Damn it, Craig,” Dayton breathed, the pain she knew was coming causing her to cringe.

  If not for the situation, I would have been amused.

  My eyes returned to the prophet. “Who sent you?”

  The man’s horrified gaze was riveted on Alessandro and Dayton, on the way she stumbled against me as he brought her to my side, cursing under her breath before taking the blood I offered. When the spasms from ingesting it hit her, I cushioned her fall, one arm supporting her, the other poised to kill Abner.

  “That … it’s just not natural,” the man stammered. His gaze swung to me. “I’m a holy man, you understand? I see things in dreams, and I feel led to stop them.” He glanced at Dayton again. “You should be stopped.”

  My gaze raked his face. “I’ve been around long since before you were born, you understand?” My hand flexed above his face, claws sprouting from my fingers. “I’m tired of playing this game with the realms. I don’t want any part in Heaven or Hell. So you give me a better reason for being here other than ‘you’ve been led,’ and I’ll let you keep your soul.”

  Terror filled the man’s face. That was the thing about men like Abner. They never feared death, but damnation was another thing entirely.

  “Blood,” he screeched, frantic. “There’s going to be a lot of blood, fire, and death. The Heavens will fall to the earth, and Hell will rise to join it.” He watched me, petrified. “That’s it! That’s all I know!”

  Dayton, who’d fallen against my side, pushed against me, her strength returning. “You saw that?” she asked.

  Abner stared at me, sweat beading up along his brow. “Kill me if you must, but please leave my soul.”

  Irritated, Dayton exhaled loudly. “Stop this madness. I’m not going to let him take it,” she promised.

  My brows rose. “You’re not going to let me?”

  She threw me a look, and I fought to keep my face stern. That was the thing I loved most about Dayton. Even when she knew she couldn’t stop me from doing something, she wasn’t afraid to try.

  “What do you mean Heaven will fall and Hell will rise to join it?” she asked, ignoring everyone except the man on the ground.

  The prophet was sweating profusely now, and I retracted my claws, le
aning back to give him enough room to calm down. His thudding heart called to me, the anger I’d felt before feeding the urge to take his blood.

  Abner took a chest-expanding breath, his gaze moving cautiously to Dayton, his eyes trying to avoid the red stains that marred her white tank top, her hands, and her face. He couldn’t escape it though. The blood was everywhere.

  “War, child. It must mean war,” the man whispered.

  Dayton looked at me, sadness filling her gaze. “The old prophecy. It is us.”

  My jaw tightened. “No,” I argued, “it’s not. Four years bound. If it was us, there would have already been war.”

  “You’re wrong,” Abner wheezed. “I’ve seen it, and in the midst of the smoke and the fire, I saw your face,” he said, nodding his chin in my direction.

  It was taking everything I had not to kill him.

  As it was, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the ground once more for good measure.

  He moaned. “My soul!”

  “Keep the damned thing,” I growled. My gaze found Dayton’s. “There’s no point jumping to conclusions until we’ve looked into the matter. As for the old man,” my eyes slid to Alessandro, “keep him here. He might be of use to us.”

  The S.O.S leader nodded, his expression grave. “If what he says is true, Marcas, it might be time to consider the Seal again.”

  “No!” Dayton cried, her hands finding my T-shirt, her fingers clutching the material.

  There were two things Dayton feared most after the journey we’d been through years before, the magic ring of Solomon and the eternal lake of fire. She’d almost been destroyed by both.

  My hand found hers, covering it. “First we look into it.”

  There’d be no Seal of Solomon. I planned to do everything in my power to make sure of it.