There are few ways to unbind a Demon from his/her charge. One would be for the Demon to steal the soul of those bound to him. The other way is less known. It has never been attempted.
~Bezaliel~
With sleep came the dream. My father leaned over me again, the scene changed and the rain poured. And again, I fought it. It was the same and yet different. Each time was clearer. And each time I screamed harder for him. And, as always I woke up suddenly. Nausea flooded me, and I bit back a scream. My whole body shook as I leaned over to rest my head against the back of the seat in front of me. My breathing was ragged.
“What do you want?” I whispered. There had to be some hidden meaning to the nightmare, some message, but I was missing it. It made me want to cry. I beat my head against the seat gently.
Damn it, where are you, dad!
“How long have you had the dream?” a voice asked, and I squeaked. My mind was still groggy and it took me a moment to remember where I was. The airplane. Marcas. I turned toward him. He was leaned back against his seat, his eyes watching me intently. I felt my face flood with heat.
“You don’t sleep?” I whispered.
Speaking louder would require breathing, and I wasn’t sure I was capable of pulling that off at the moment. He just stared. I inhaled sharply and attempted to sit up. My muscles cramped.
“How long have you had the dream?” Marcas asked me again.
I clutched my stomach and sat back carefully, my eyes roaming the cabin to be sure the lights were still low and the passengers still sleeping. How long had I been out? Marcas shifted slightly, and I turned to him.
“Since I was ten."
I didn’t ask him how he knew about it. It was becoming increasingly obvious to me that our bond opened up lines between us I didn’t want open. Marcas watched me a second then turned away. He made no move to comfort me.
“Did you see it?” I asked him softly. Talking helped calm me.
“Did you want me to?” Marcas asked.
I looked at his profile. His face was expressionless. I envied his lack of emotion. I wish I could adopt that nondescript behavior but it was beyond me.
“No,” I answered bluntly. Marcas looked at me.
“Then I didn’t see it."
It was that simple. He brushed it away, and I didn’t have to fear discussing something that tore my heart into pieces. I turned away from him and stared out the window. Darkness met me. I was glad I couldn’t see how far up we were, but I could see Marcas’ reflection and that disturbed me almost as much. He was facing forward, his profile toward me. His face was grim.
“What’s a Watcher?” I asked. The dream had me thinking about my father. Marcas’ reflection didn’t move.
“You said my father was an Angel. But you also called him a Watcher. Is that significant?” I asked persistently. In the glass, I watched him massage the back of his neck almost wearily.
“They were Angels sent to Earth to watch over humans,” Marcas answered.
I looked down at my hands. He’d used the past tense.
“Were?”
“It’s a long story, Blainey,” Marcas said. I glanced up at him.
“It’s a long flight, Craig."
Our eyes met and held. Neither one of us looked away. The connection should have felt awkward and uncomfortable but it didn’t. Marcas sighed.
“The Watchers were sent to Earth to watch over humans but they corrupted them instead. They began to lust after human women. Two hundred of them met and made a pact which would ultimately cause them to fall from Heaven. They agreed to lay with mortal women. Nephilim were the result. From there, they continued to sow their seeds and taught humans things that would ultimately lead to their own corruption,” Marcas explained. My heart felt heavy.
“They are fallen Angels then."
I knew about those. This meant my father had disobeyed God.
“And there are more Nephilim like Amber and I?” I asked. Marcas held my gaze, his jaw tightening perceptibly.
“No. There are other Nephilim but you and your sister are the only two on Earth who aren’t monsters,” Marcas answered.
I’d known that. I just couldn’t seem to make myself believe it. I didn't want to believe it. The thought was a lonely one. It was so unlike all the books I’d ever read about Angels or Nephilim. They all made it sound so romantic. It wasn’t romantic at all.
“And my father was one of the two hundred?” I asked. There was silence.
“He was one of the leaders,” Marcas finally said.
My eyes went wide. My heart completely crumbled. Not only a fallen Angel but one of the leaders? Did that make me any better than the Demons? But wait. No! The memories I had of my dad . . . it-it just couldn't be! No, the memories I had were all too normal for this to be true. He had been a handsome man who liked playing chess and smelled of rain. I shook my head.
“He didn’t seem like an Angel,” I whispered.
Marcas looked away briefly before meeting my gaze again.
“What name did you know your father by?” he asked me.
I felt my blood run cold. What was he saying? That my father had an alias? That's crazy! I stared at Marcas. His gaze was intent. He was serious. I swallowed hard.
“Daniel,” I said slowly, my voice cracking as I did so. I wouldn’t cry.
Marcas leaned forward slightly, his breath fanning across my face. His dark blue eyes went black. I felt momentarily afraid.
“Bezaliel. His name is Bezaliel.”
My world fell away. A single tear escaped.
“Bezaliel,” I repeated dumbly. Even his name had been a lie. Marcas leaned back and faced forward again.
“That’s all you need to know about your father, Blainey. The rest will come with time."
I sucked in a deep breath. My head was swimming. I didn’t realize until now that I’d almost forgotten to breathe. I closed my eyes. My father was a fallen Angel named Bezaliel.
“Can this get any worse?” I mumbled.
I opened my eyes and looked again at the dark window next to me. What I saw there made me gasp, and I fell against Marcas limply before pushing away from him. I didn't want to touch him but I also didn't want near the window. I looked again and would have squealed if Marcas hadn't put a hand gently over my mouth. A face peered at me from the dark depths. It was a grotesque, monstrous face with a mouth full of pointed teeth and small horns protruding from a bald, dark brown head. Its skin looked like rubber. It was wrinkled and pitted. Its eyes were red, the nose large and bulging. Drool and slime rolled down the window from where the nose and mouth pressed against the glass. It was smiling. Fear made me panic. I fought against Marcas' hand, and he let go.
“Don’t move,” Marcas ordered.
I felt his hand move to my shoulder, and I tensed. Terror gripped me. The fact that I actually obeyed Marcas spoke of how used to the unexpected I was becoming. I wasn’t immune. Just somewhat accustomed. Fear ate at me, but I kept still. The thing outside the window sucked on the glass. I had to swallow to keep from getting sick.
“It can’t hurt you,” Marcas whispered.
I begged to differ. The face was only inches away from me and it didn’t appear to be leaving. If it had a body, I couldn’t see it. Its face dominated the window.
“Wh-what is it?” I stuttered.
Marcas growled, and I turned my head just enough to see him flash his fangs at the creature. It quit sucking.
“It’s a type of Demon,” Marcas said, his gaze locked on the monster's deep red eyes through the glass. His own eyes glowed in return.
“It won’t hurt you as long as I’m here."
I wasn’t feeling comforted.
“And you know this because?” I asked, my voice high.
I cleared my throat loudly. I was determined not to look as afraid as I felt. Marcas stood up and moved into the aisle. He motioned for me to do the same. I stood up carefully and he moved past me into the window seat. I took the one on the aisle.
“I rank higher than this particular Demon,” Marcas said.
What did that mean? I looked at the creature's face again. Its red eyes followed me, and I stuck my tongue out at it. Its nose bulged.
“It’s one of my mother’s minions,” Marcas explained.
He raised his hand and laid it against the glass. The creature screeched soundlessly and suddenly disappeared into the night. My breathing came easier. I looked at Marcas. He was still staring out the window.
“Your mother?” I asked.
Marcas pulled the shade down over the dark pane before turning to face me.
“She’s a Demon, Blainey," he said calmly. As if that explained everything. Well, duh! I knew she was a demon. What I didn't understand was why one of her followers would be attached to our airplane window.
"And?"
Marcas' gaze moved over my face.
"A very powerful Demon. She’s not happy with what Damon has done.”
My eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound promising.
“What are you trying to say?”
Marcas looked me straight in the eye.
“It means she wants you dead,” Marcas answered.
My heart stopped. It literally quit beating for several counts before thumping again. Was he serious? And here I'd wondered if it could get any worse. It just had. A wave of bitterness swept over me.
“Wow. Aren’t I feeling the family love? Gives a whole new meaning to monster-in-law,” I bit out coldly. A thought hit me suddenly and my head jerked up.
“You aren’t taking me to her, are you?” I asked Marcas fearfully. He met my gaze evenly.
“Even I’m not that cruel."
That didn’t make me feel any better. Was she that bad? I yawned. The fear had me both restless and exhausted. It was a miserable feeling.
“Sleep, Blainey,” Marcas whispered. “You’re safe for now.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Safe was such a pathetic four letter word.
“I’m not sure I trust you, Craig,” I said harshly. He lifted one of his brows.
“Then you’re smarter than I’ve given you credit for. Trust no one.”
“And how does that help me?”
“It keeps you alive. Something I intend to help you with until we’re unbound.”
“And after that?”
Marcas didn’t answer. I reached out and touched his arm. He pulled away.
“After that?” I asked him again, louder this time. Marcas faced forward.
“Just take it as it comes, Blainey,” Marcas advised.
What else could I do? I laid my head back against my seat and fought back unshed tears. Sleep was welcome. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t sure I had it in me.
I have very little information on Marcas. This worries me. He seems tamer than most, but Demons are an unpredictable breed. They live to steal souls, break hearts, and wreak havoc.
~Bezaliel~
The week had caught up with me. I slept deeply; waking only when Conor shook me gently to inform me it was time to switch flights. We were on our last leg to Italy. The images of the next airport were vague, seen only through sleep drugged eyes as we made it to our gate and boarded the new plane. Monroe wasn’t faring much better. This plane was bigger than the last and the four of us managed to share a row of seats. Monroe sat next to the window followed by Conor, me and Marcas. The plane took off, and I leaned against Conor wearily. Monroe did the same. We were both asleep almost instantly. The rest of the flight was mostly a blank for me. There were vague moments when I’d stir, but it felt like a dream. Conor and Marcas were still awake.
“What do you plan to do in Italy, Demon?” I thought I heard Conor ask. If Marcas answered, I never heard it. There was darkness for a while then voices again.
“I’ve never heard of a Demon getting unbound from a person without taking his soul,” Conor murmured. His chest vibrated against my ear. It was strangely comforting.
“I’d be afraid to take hers. The Angel in her could kill me,” Marcas said. “But it’s not out of the question.”
Conor’s chest rumbled. I felt the anger move through him. I wanted to tell him I didn’t care, that I knew Marcas would kill me if he could, but I was too tired and too curious to interfere.
“You’d have to kill me first, Demon,” Conor warned.
His bravado was impressive, but it wasn’t the least bit intimidating. Or was it? Was that what Marcas was thinking ? Or was it me? Was I feeling Marcas’ reaction to the comment? I hated this feeling of duality!
“Don’t tempt me, gargoyle,” Marcas growled.
Their voices faded out again. I had never felt this tired before
“And you think the ring will work?” I heard Conor ask sometime later.
“It’s an option, Reinhardt. I didn’t say it would be a solution. No one’s ever tried it before.”