Revelation (30 page)

Everyone is driven by something. Something that motivates them deep within. Stirring their very core. And this one—this is the easiest of all. Because Silas is more wicked, more malicious than any demon I've ever encountered. His eyes grow wide. I pull the trigger, silencing him.

"Mara trained me well," I answer, gun falling to my side.

The cartridge is empty. Eight shots. Seth. The Council. But there's one more.

I click the magazine. It falls, skittering across hardwood floor.

I reach for my back pocket, remove the additional cartridge. Only one bullet. One more shot and I'm done.

Forever.

"Genesis!"

I find Luke first, the voice in my head whispering a name. And I turn to see her arm extended, gun—
my
gun—gripped tightly in her fingers, fitting her palm perfectly, as if waiting a lifetime for this moment.

This is it.

Her eyes narrow, centering, empty.

This is where I die.

I hear the explosion, feel the flinch, see sparks—a stunning display of fireworks. The bullet bursts midair, shattering halfway between us, a stream of fire charging, traveling back to her. The gun falls to the floor, but the damage is done. I don't know what—I don't know how—but I cover my mouth and nose, protecting them from the acrid smell of burning flesh. Screams muted by the roar of flames, tattoos melting, skin dripping off her arm.

But there's only one way to be certain. One way to be sure—to know this is really over. So I point my gun.

Resentment
.

Close my eyes.

Squeeze the trigger.

And, when they open. . . . Nothing. Nothing but a pile of sand and ash on the penthouse floor.

The phone rings.

The scene like something out of a
slasher
film. Death and gunpowder and smoke hang in the air, burning my nose. The metal bite of blood. Blood pooling around their bodies, brilliant sprays seeping into furniture. The walls. The floor.

And the phone rings.

"May I?" Luke asks me, still cautious.

And it rings.

He motions for Charles to answer. Charles picks it up, greets the caller, then listens. "Everything is fine," he says, eyeing me carefully. "The television must have been too loud. Mr.
Castellani
is terribly sorry for any inconvenience." I'm sure it's the night manager. And that he or she is scattering apologies like seeds, insisting there's no trouble—despite the noise complaint. Because that's what happens when you're VIP. Everyone turns the other way.

Hands wipe my eyes, palms slick with sweat, a riot of emotions swallowing me whole. Images churning in my mind, over and over, permanently etching themselves into my subconscious, ready to haunt me forever.

When I open them, Seth is gone. Viola is gone. The Council—gone. The entire room wiped clean. No blood. No damage. Nothing. As if this night never transpired, this trial never took place, though the entire world—Heaven
and
Hell—has shifted. I can feel it.

I turn to Mara. "Please," I beg. "Tell me this is over."

She forces a smile. "It's finished."

It's finished. But I can't feel relief.

"He was right," I choke, strangled, swallowing hard. "I would've fought for him. I would've picked wrong."

"No one would have blamed you," she assures me. "He was worth fighting for."

I hold my breath, eyes stinging. I exhale, lungs shuddering. "I need a minute," I tell Mara, Carter. "I need a minute alone with him." Luke's eyes meet mine. He nods, and even Charles disappears, everyone deserting us.

"I suppose you're going to kill me now," he says after a few, quiet moments.

"Don't tempt me. I have seven bullets left. And I know what drives you." I point the gun straight to his heart, to the source that binds him.

"It wouldn’t matter. Either way, I lose."

The
you
, unsaid, hovers between us.

"I know. Which is why I think
life
is pain enough. Passing through the centuries, driving people to their deaths. Taking what belongs to them. Losing everyone you've made the mistake of loving." The gun falls to my side. "You're not my responsibility. Your day is coming, but I won't be on the other end. I won't pull the trigger."

"I appreciate knowing that," he says.

"I'm not going to Europe with you."

A sad smile. "I know."

I slide the bracelet—diamond-encrusted flowers—off my wrist, gently place it on the end table.

The weight of the night's events presses against my shoulders, consuming. Seth is dead. Viola is dead. I killed an entire angel council. Luke's mark blisters against my skin. "What's going to happen to me?"

"I don't know," he confesses.

"There are no rules for this," I confirm, suppressing a thousand thoughts, instants, reflections surging through my head, which throbs with relentless ache. A hasty breath. "I'm going home. I'm leaving, and I want to be left alone. I won't be indebted to you—or anyone." I move toward the elevator, turning from him.

"Please," he insists. "Before you go, I'd like to thank you. For sparing my life, I mean. This isn't something I will forget, I promise you."

"I just lost the only promise that matters. He's suffering now, because of
me
."

Luke shakes his head, disagreeing, voice dimming. "He's not suffering, Genesis. He made the greatest sacrifice of all. He gave his
life
for you. That isn't something Hell can hold."

T
HIRTY-FOUR

I jerk awake, wrestling upright, throw the comforter aside. My feet find the floor and I stumble-run to the bathroom, flip on the light, reaching the toilet. My stomach churns, chest heaving, and I gag, retching as bile rises in my throat. I heave, coughing. Sputtering. Mouth burning. And even now I wonder how there's anything left to throw up.

Carter enters as I flush. I blink back tears, squinting against brightness, wiping the edges of my mouth.

"You okay?"

I swallow the lump jamming my throat. "I should've done something," I say. "I should've known. Should've seen. It was never Luke. It was always Viola. The Council."

"You did everything you possibly could," he says.

"I could have saved him."

"There's no way you could have known, Gee. The whole thing was fucked up."

I run my nose against sleeve.

"I hate him," I whisper. "I hate him for doing this to me. For leaving me here. And for
what
? Stu is gone. Selena's gone. Joshua. What was the
point,
Carter?"

He shakes his head, because he doesn't know, either.

He tried so hard to keep you from all of this. You knew he would take your place. You knew if it came down to his life or yours, he'd pick you
, the voice in my head reminds me.

I finally pull myself off the floor. Brush my teeth. Wash my face with cool water.

When I climb back into bed Carter is there, waiting for me. Carter, who doesn't sleep—who stays awake for me.

I don't mind sleep. It isn't sleep that haunts. It's daylight. The nightmares behind open eyes. The memories relived over and over in my mind.

"I'm so scared," I confess, pulling comforter to chin.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," Carter says. "You're
safe
. That's the only thing he ever wanted for you."

"No. It's not that. I'm afraid—I'm afraid I'll forget. But I'm afraid I'm going to remember, too. And right now I don't know which is worse."

*          *          *

Suitcase wheels click across seams in the marble floor.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fleming," the manager says—the very manager who refused to check me in that first day. That first day, which already feels a lifetime ago. "I hope you're feeling better."

I force a smile. "Stomach flu. What can you do, right? I need to check out."

"Absolutely. Let me just pull up your information." She strikes computer keys—clacking, clacking, clacking—and studies the screen, frowning. "There doesn't seem to be. . . ." She trails off. "Just one moment." More clacking. "Okay. It appears Mr.
Castellani
had everything billed to his account. He moved you to a suite, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Well, according to this, he had everything transferred at that time. What a nice surprise," she adds, smiling brightly, admiration in her eyes. As if being a Fleming, attending the galas, commanding attention from Luke
Castellani
somehow makes me worthy.

"So . . . the room? The meals?"

"Everything shows up on Mr.
Castellani's
bill."

"Well, can you take it
off
his account?" I ask, temper sparking. "I can pay for my own room."

"I suppose I
could
, but there's no need. Everything is already paid for."

"You're serious?"

"Both accounts are current as of. . . ." She checks the screen, then her watch, eyebrows furrowing. "This morning."

I heave a sigh. "Great. Has Mr.
Castellani
checked out, yet?"

"He did. He left last week."

"Amsterdam," I mutter, remembering. "That's right."

She smiles a cheerful smile, that five years of service pin reflecting the light overhead. "We hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Mrs. Fleming. Please come again."

*          *          *

The valet pulls Carter's SUV around and loads my bag. Halfway down the block, he appears.

"Holy shit," I mutter. "Okay, we
gotta
come up with some kind of warning system for you, because I'm done with this. I'm over it. I can't take any more jumping out of nowhere."

A tiny laugh. He reaches for the handle above the passenger side door, peers out the window. "You want me to drive?"

"No, I'm fine. Just enjoy the ride."

But progress is slow. City traffic. I've left at the worst possible moment: morning rush hour. When we finally reach the outskirts I check my mirrors, change lanes, the pressure easing.

"Would you believe me if I told you Luke paid for my entire stay?"

"Yes."

"He took care of
everything
. The room, the food. Jesus—I even had new clothes charged to that account."