A Betrayal so Cruel (The Reckoning Book 2) Page 3

  Dagon tugs at the neckline of his shirt, icily staring at me. “Did you wish these clothes up?”

  I quickly bring my wandering eyes away from the hug of the jeans on his hips, fighting the rising heat in my stomach. “No. I would’ve wished up a straightjacket.” When his eyebrows rise, I add, “For myself.” And then I walk past him, kneeling beside Mike.

  Aphrodite is quick to straddle him and yank open his shirt, tearing off buttons. It’s clear he stinks, but she does her best to not comment on it. When Mike stirs, opens his eyes to see the ebony goddess on top of him, she gives him a warm grin.

  “Who…” he starts, flicking his gaze to me.

  “I’m Aphrodite, honey,” she answers him, drawing his attention to her. “And I’m here to save you.” He passes out, head thumping backwards from a mixture of shock and exhaustion. “In more ways than one,” she murmurs, holding a hand over his cut Mark. Gold glitter falls from her hand, coating his chest, coming together and growing, becoming liquid. She leans to me as she works her magic. “Give him a chance. He did what he did out of love.”

  For his dead daughter, Erin, and his wife, who we were fortunate enough not to meet in our sojourn in the Underworld.

  Aphrodite steps off him as the gold liquid seeps into his chest, drying to form a series of girly flowers beneath his thick chest hair. The Mark of Hades is covered with the golden Mark, the cross cut Erin made healed and scarred over already. Another wave, and his clothes are once more crisp and sharp like they were when I met him in that coffee shop.

  She looks at me, smiling. “It’ll be a while until he wakes.” She dramatically pretends to wipe sweat off her forehead, even though I know she probably never sweats. “Phew. You guys wear me out.” She steps over Mike, dragging her translucent trail across his face. She grabs my hands. “You have no idea what awaits you, sugarplum. None.” Her eyes flick to Dagon, who glowers at both her and me, obviously not as entranced in her beauty and bouncing bosom as me. Her voice quiets, “Be patient with him. Where he comes from, love is in very short supply.” She lightly touches my cheek, and I feel a sizzle of energy where her fingertips touch me. “Your love will be passionate, strong, and forever. It will alter the histories, and—”

  I stop her by saying, “Thank you, but I’m not in the mood for a cookie-cutter fortune.”

  Aphrodite sighs. “It’s always the heroes who have the hardest time admitting the truth.” She winks at me, pulling her hands away from mine as she says louder, so that Dagon can hear her, “I know how much you hate clichés, honey, so don’t become one.” She lifts her right hand, snaps her fingers, and in a gust of shimmery glitter, the goddess of love disappears.

  I look at Mike, hoping that her powers sealed away Hades’s, that her Mark dwarfs his. Does love really conquer all? Seems a little naïve to me. Glancing at Dagon, I see him grab his crotch and adjust himself.

  He sharply looks up, aware that I saw him and the slightly disturbing action. “These trousers itch. They are very tight and vastly uncomfortable.”

  “Then switch out of them.” I fold my arms across my chest, smiling. “As much as I hate to admit it, though, you look high school hottie good.”

  His blue gaze narrows. “What is a high school hottie?” The way he speaks the phrase makes me laugh, in spite of it all. “I do not know what is so amusing, but let me assure you, it is not.”

  “It is,” I exclaim, more to the sky than to him. “Aphrodite, the goddess of love, just dressed you, the Devil’s son. What kind of alternate reality am I living in? Is this some kind of wicked strange dream? Because things are getting crazier and crazier by the minute!” My lungs rumble with laughter, and I run my hands through my hair.

  Could this day get any weirder?

  I sit in the driver’s seat of a beat-up Volkswagen, attempting to start the vehicle that in all honesty probably hasn’t been started since I saw it two Julys ago, when a kid of one of my dad’s golf buddies drove it through the town parade during the Independence Day celebration. The old, rusting car is painted in red, white and blue, and an overly large, fake party popper taped to the windshield. Luckily, they lived on the other side of Lakeview, the area that only got scorched by the bomb, instead of completely decimated.

  Mike lays, passed out, in the back seat. Every so often a golden poof puffs out from his chest, and I hope that means Aphrodite’s Mark is doing its job. The lumberjack FBI agent has kept a lot of things from me, but I can’t hold it against him. I never asked him to spill his whole life—except when I asked about his Mark, why Hades would bother with a middle-aged man. He didn’t really have a choice, if he truly thought Hades would bring his family back from whatever horrible death they had. From the look of Erin, my guess would be a car accident.

  Still…wouldn’t a younger, more athletic, cute boy have been better? Easier to get close to me, to overpower me and shank me with Hades’s dagger? Maybe Hades bet that Mike was unassuming. If he did, he’d be right. I fell into that like an insect into honey.

  I turn the key again, heaving a sigh of relief when the engine sputters to life. I poke my upper body out of the open window, shouting towards the house, “All aboard the Polar Express!” My best Tom Hanks impression.

  Within seconds, Dagon hurries from the house, arms full of food. He drops a bag of chips as he opens the passenger door, scooping them up before he closes it. His blue eyes meet my gaze. “The vehicle is named Polar Express?”

  Staring mostly at his food, which could feed a small army with the munchies—or a football team of teenage boys, at the very least—I say, “The Polar Express is a train that picks up children who believe in Santa and brings them to the North Pole.”

  He tears open the bag of chips. “Who is Santa?”

  “I…I honestly have no response to that.” I grab a handful of chips, shoving them in my mouth as I put the car in reverse. “What’s with the snacks? We going to have a slumber party?”

  For a moment, I think he’s going to ask me what a slumber party is, but he must shake it off, for he says, “I feel starved. The Underworld is draining, a place meant only for Hades and the dead.” As he munches on a chip, he rubs his chest, along the spot where the Seraph chains clung. “I am surprised you do not feel the same.”

  My peripherals see Mike sleeping in the back, and as I get the car onto the road and change gears, I shrug. “Who knows?” My hand grips the wheel, and I feel the strong, metal bracelet on my wrist. Athena’s boon. Maybe that’s why the Underworld didn’t affect me.

  I take the road west, hoping that David and the group haven’t gotten too far. We weren’t gone for that long.

  After a while—and a few cookies later—I break the silence, “How did Hades get those chains?”

  Dagon shakes his head. “I don’t know, but there are only a few Seraphs who can get their hands on them.”

  Despite myself, I recall Michael, how ugly his true form was, how it frightened me to my core, making me seize and throw up. Could he have given Hades the chains? Then my mind moves to Gabriel. Gabe, he told me to call him. Though he saved me from Hades, and he didn’t traumatize me with his true form, I knew the moment I met his warm, hypnotizing silver stare that I couldn’t trust him. It could be my link to Dagon talking, though. I might feel the same around any Angel.

  “If I ever want to chain you up, now I know how to do it so you won’t escape,” I say it before I think. I mean it as a joke, but it comes out wrong, half-hearted. I bite my lip as Dagon glowers. Awkwardly, I try to recover, “So…Greek gods. Who knew?” I smile, but it comes out more as a grimace.

  When he stops looking at me as if he wants to strangle me, Dagon whispers, opening a box of Twinkies, “If I were you, I cannot say I would have come to my rescue. It was foolish. I…suppose I should thank you.” His serious, somewhat clueless tone loses its gusto when I watch him shove an entire yellow mini-cake in his mouth.

  All I do is lift my shoulders once.

  “You have my—”

 
I interrupt his uneasy pleasantry by holding out a hand. “Enough with the sappy talk, Dagon. Give me one of those Twinkies.” My mouth always runs before I can think about what I’m saying. This time, it’s his name. I said his name. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is. From what little I can remember from my dreams, I’ve been recklessly flirting with him, trying to get him to tell me.

  He usually answered with ‘Do you think you deserve it?’

  Dagon says nothing, staring hard at me, roughly handing over an unopened cake. After a minute of anxious silence, he mutters, “I suppose you can have my name, since you did risk your life for me.” It visibly pains him to say it.

  “As long as it’s not your baby,” I quip, opening the wrapper as I drive. Before I can say anything else stupid, and get any more glares from Dagon, I hurriedly take a huge bite of the snack.

  There are just some things I need to learn.

  When Dagon opens his mouth to say something angry, Mike complains from the back, “Can you both shut the fuck up and let me sleep? I have a blistering migraine and your constant bickering isn’t helping.”

  Dagon and I exchange death glares. My hands tighten on the wheel.

  Why did I save his Fallen butt, again? Why did I save either man? They’re both annoying. They both drive me nuts.

  An hour ticks by.

  “Turn here,” Dagon whispers, his face on the window. Until now he was silently munching on his plethora of snacks.

  I make a harsh brake and turn right. A long, country road. Single lane, not as fast as the highway would’ve been. Trees are all I can see. No houses, no anything. Boring scenery. Amazing such a hick environment was outside of Lakeview’s outermost borders. The pine trees break a mile or so ahead of us, and I squint as something square comes into focus.

  An unassuming black SUV.

  I nearly pass the run-down gas station where they’re stopped, having to back up a bit before parking beside it. I’m out of the car in a split-second, running inside the station, finding that its old food is mostly picked over. I do snag a map sitting next to the counter before heading out the side door and wandering to the back, where a picnic area sits.

  And bless all that’s good, I see Josie using one of the gas station’s cheap toys to draw in the dirt. Eve sits near her, picking at her nails. David’s the first to see me, and before I can say hi, I’m engulfed by his arms.

  He mutters something in an old language—probably a swearword or two. “Lex, I was so worried. We all were. We had no clue where you…” He trails off, pulling away from me as Dagon appears, giving David a stern and dour expression. Mike is soon beside him, yawning and stretching, scratching his new, gold Mark. “…went.”

  A cool figure appears next to me. “I take it since you brought him with you, he is no longer a threat to us?” Cloud studies me, standing a bit too close for Dagon’s liking. Soon I’m in between a hot-and-cold macho man sandwich.

  When I start to feel a tad uncomfortable, I notice the pinkness of Cloud’s skin. Eyebrows creasing, I poke his arm and see a white imprint where I touched. Cloud recoils slightly, moving a few inches away from me. I never pictured a Vamp getting sunburnt before.

  Looks silly.

  Darren and Nat walk up next to him, both relieved to see me. Darren says, “Cloud here got a little excited about the sun. Didn’t quite realize that, since his skin hasn’t seen sunlight in centuries, it’s going to be a long time until he gets that base tan.” I laugh along with him, while David glowers, mirroring Dagon.

  Ah, so David hasn’t miraculously gotten over his Vampire hatred.

  Cloud bares his sharp teeth at Darren. “It will heal.”

  “Not fast,” Nat says, while Darren nods. “Animal blood slow us.”

  “Yeah,” Darren says. “Something you ain’t used to, yet.”

  As they talk amongst themselves, I feel Josie hug my waist. I struggle to pick her up. She’s not a baby anymore; I don’t know why I pick her up like she is one. “Stop leaving,” she says, sad, her arms clinging to my neck.

  I hold in a sigh. “I’ll try,” I whisper, “but I had to go save Mike and Dagon.”

  The six-year-old’s lips curl in a very hilarious way. Distaste in its cutest form. “Your boyfriend.”

  I laugh. “I told you,” I lower my voice so that no one else hears, “he’s not my boyfriend.” When she looks like she’s about to argue, I add, “If I ever get a boyfriend, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  Josie seems content with that, and I set her down, looking to David.

  “Where’s Deb?”

  “Bathroom,” he says quickly, “but first, explain to me what happened. That one—” David’s head motions to Mike, who has his shirt open to reveal the new, golden Mark. “—is saying Hades can’t control him anymore. How do we know that’s true?”

  I start to walk to the gas station’s dingy exterior door, answering simply, “That’s Aphrodite’s Mark.” I leave before it sinks in, before his dumbfounded expression takes hold and he has the chance to ask the dozen or so questions that are sure to follow.

  The inner lights flicker every few seconds, and as I make my way through the aisles, I happen to glance down one. A robed man stands, an intricate cross tattoo on his forehead. Beneath his greying beard, I see the burn on his neck, his exposed esophagus.

  The man from the crazy cult. The one I killed as he tried to purify me in his sick, twisted way. Deb’s uncle, if I remember correctly.

  Red blood oozes from his wound, and he gives me a slow smile, raising a hand and placing a finger over his mouth. The horror movie way of shushing. My heart speeds up, and I blink as the lights flicker…and suddenly he’s no longer there.

  I’m alone.

  I’m so freaked out by the sight, confused over what it means, that I don’t see Deb emerging from the unisex bathroom, holding something. I knock into her, much like when we first met on campus. And just like then, when I collided with her and knocked all her prophetic drawings from her hands, I knock whatever item she now holds to the floor.

  Still in shock over what I saw, what it could possibly mean, I ignore Debs stuttering and bend, picking it up and handing it over. It’s a little wet but seems intact.

  As she takes it, freckled cheeks flashing red, Deb swallows. “You might want to wash your hands,” she tells me softly.

  “What?” I ask, glancing down to my fingers, at the tiny hint of wetness. And then I notice just what that item is, what stick I handed back to her. My eyes widen, my stomach in a knot. I meet her hazel stare, seeing anxious worry there. “What are you doing with a pregnancy test?”

  A stupid question, really, because there’s only one answer.

  Deb strains a smile, but it’s useless, because I see the tears in her eyes. She tilts the test to me, and when I view the result, I want to will it away, will it into oblivion.

  Two lines, side by side.

  Chapter Three

  My hands feel sticky, and I try to ignore the nagging bird on my shoulder, mocking me because I just touched what is regrettably a pee stick. Deb’s pee stick. Because, big shocker here, she’s pregnant.

  Her cherub face watches me, worry in her hazel gaze, her freckles dotted with concern. Her fair skin is no longer a cherry red, but a flushed pink. I don’t think embarrassment cuts it. More like mortified, ashamed, scared. Throw those three things in a bowl, bake at ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit for twenty-some years, and Deb’s the result.

  I open my mouth to voice a question—how, when, why, who…okay, more like four questions—but she furiously shakes her head. With her free hand, she pulls me into the bathroom and locks the door behind us.

  Great. First I touched Deb’s pee stick, and now I’m stuck in a tiny bathroom that practically screams that a giant, un-killable, machete-wielding masked man is behind me. And it looks as if it hasn’t seen a mop in years. So gross.

  Once I get over the grossness of the restroom, I open my mouth again, but Deb talks quicker than I c
an formulate my one-word questions, “Please don’t freak out, Lexa.” She sets the pee stick on the sink, and as I stare at it with a similar expression that a kid would wear right after catching his or her parents getting down and dirty, I wonder if it’s even accurate. That thing could be years old. Don’t they expire?

  “Me?” I whisper while freaking out, “I’m not freaking out. I would never freak out. Me and freaking out are strangers. Freaking out is that distant, weird relative I only see at family gatherings twice a year and it tries to make small talk with me, and I say three words and walk away.” I chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t even think freaking out is in the dictionary of things I know—”

  Deb’s red brows rise, and I clamp my mouth shut.

  But only for a moment.

  “Tell me David didn’t do anything stupid while I wasn’t looking.” Though he’s my friend, I wouldn’t hesitate to give him a good punch in the gut. Best friend or not, there are limits, lines that shouldn’t be crossed…although we haven’t known her for that long. It can’t be David. “Then…” I think of the dead guy I just saw, the creepy, crazy cult Deb ran away from. “Your family-slash-cult?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Was it—”

  “No,” she says rapidly, shooting me down. “It wasn’t any of them. I didn’t…Father didn’t let anyone touch me. He thought I’d lose my visions. David’s been nothing but a gentleman to me. We have a good group. They’re all…really nice.”

  Really nice isn’t exactly how I would describe them, but okay.

  I blink. “I don’t understand.”

  Her warm gaze fills with tears.

  “You don’t know who the father is?”

  Deb shakes her head yet again. “Don’t you get it? There is no father.”

  I blink yet again, clueless. I should’ve brought along that bible, because I have a suspicion that this has something to do with the current situation of the world: four Horsemen, legitimate apocalypse and humanity’s downfall. Don’t worry, though. All the good ones were already saved by an Archangel who may or may not be working with Hades.