Revelations (22 page)

She watched as she left the burning house, taking a car that had a body stuffed in the trunk. Dylan. She had taken him to the mountaintop, where Lawrence and Schuyler were waiting. Taken him to Corcovado, where he would be a sacrifice. There, she had shaped him in his image.

She had brought him to his death.

It was Lawrence’s blade that struck, but it was she who had killed him.

As she had killed so many others. She heard the voices of everyone she had taken.

They were all there, inside her head, screaming, crying.
SILENCE!
Nan Cutler was part of it, she realized. Nan was the Warden who had checked for the Mark of Lucifer on her neck.

She’d been the one who had cleared Bliss of suspicion during the investigation. Bliss suddenly had an idea, and lifted her hair from her neck and touched her fingers to her skin.

She felt it at once. She turned to the mirror and saw it. A small star-shaped scar that branded her as the devil’s own.

But why?
the small, sad voice asked.

Is that the one who calls herself “Bliss.” Is she still there?

Yes,
said the same tiny voice. It was the voice of Bliss Llewellyn. The same voice of Maggie Stanford before her. It was always the same way. Every cycle. They never wanted to accept the truth of their heritage.

I
did not know.

I do not want this.

Your desires are immaterial. Now pick yourself up and walk toward your friends. Not everything went to plan. Some of us were killed. We must bide our time again.

I
know who you are now,
“Bliss” said.

You are Lucifer.

Lightbringer.

Morningstar.

The former Prince of Heaven.

Her true and immortal father.

Forty-five

Lawrence was dead. Schuyler felt as if her heart would shatter from the loss of her beloved grandfather. How was this allowed to happen? What had he been talking about? Her sister? Who? What?

The first rays of dawn lit the mountaintop. A figure walked up the steps.

“Someone’s coming,” Oliver warned.

“It’s just Bliss,” Schuyler said as their friend reached them. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“My sister is dead. My stepmother too. I don’t know where my father is,” Bliss said in a flat, strangled voice. “There was black smoke. The Conclave…they’ve been…What’s happened here?” she asked, seeing the prone bodies of Lawrence and Dylan on the ground.

“Is that? Oh my God!”

Schuyler grabbed Bliss by the waist and let her sob on her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Bliss removed herself from Schuyler’s embrace and knelt by the body of the boy she loved. She cradled him in her arms, and her tears fell on his cheeks. “Dylan…no,” she whispered. “No.”

“There was nothing we could do … it was a mistake,” Schuyler said, trying to explain.

“Lawrence…”

But Bliss wasn’t listening. She wiped away her tears on her sleeve. “I’ll take him down,” she said, putting her arms around him, lifting him up. He was so light, he was almost insubstantial. It was like holding air. There was nothing left of him. She made her way down the mountain alone, hiccupping sobs.

Schuyler watched them with tears falling from her own eyes. She had not been able to save Dylan. She had lost two friends today.

“It will be all right, you’ll see,” Oliver said, kneeling to cover the wound on her arm with a torn strip from his shirt.

Schuyler looked at him. Saw the sad, drawn expression on his handsome face, his dark caramel hair falling over his wounded forehead. Kind, gentle, wonderful Oliver. The enormity of her deception struck her. She had deceived them both in her words and actions.

Because she did love him. Had always loved him. Loved Oliver and Jack both. They were both part of her. She had denied her love forOliver in order to allow herself to love Jack. But now so much was clear.

“I love you,” she said.

“I know.” Oliver smiled and continued to bandage her arm.

Epilogue

Two Weeks Later

So this was their sordid little love nest. Mimi let herself into the dark apartment. She had found a key that she’d never seen before in Jack’s room. She had suspected where it led, and she knew he wouldn’t be long in coming.

The door opened silently, and Jack entered.

The look on her brother’s face told her all she needed to know. Mimi smiled to herself. So the little half-blood finally cut her ties.

“You’ve won,” Jack said softly. He looked at Mimi with such fiery hatred that she almost cowered at his words. But she was no weakling. She was Azrael, and Azrael did not cower, not even to Abbadon.

“I’ve won nothing,” Mimi replied coldly. “Please remember that almost all of the Elders are dead, that the Dark Prince is ascendant, and what is left of the Conclave is being led by a broken man who used to be the strongest of us all. And yet all you seem to care about, my darling, is that you no longer get to play with your little love toy.”

Instead of answering her, Jack flew across the room and slapped her hard across the face, sending her crashing to the floor. But before he could wield another blow, Mimi leaped up and slammed him against the window, knocking him completely out of breath.

“Is this what you want?” she hissed as she lifted him up by his shirt collar, his face turning a ghastly shade of red.

“Don’t let me destroy you,” he sneered.

“Just try, my sweet.”

Jack twisted out of her grasp and flipped her over, kicking her down the length of the room. She sprung up with her hands clenched, her nails sharp as claws, and fangs bared. They met halfway in the air, and Jack put a hand on her throat and began to squeeze. But she scratched at his eyes and wrenched her body so that she was rolling on top of him, her sword at his throat, with the upper hand.

SUBMIT.
Mimi sent.

NEVER.

You are mine.

You are wrong.

Mimi threw him across the room. Both of them were bruised and bloody. Mimi’s blouse was ripped in half, and Jack’s shirt was torn at the collar.

Jack attacked again—this time pinning Mimi to the ground. His breath was hot in her ear. She could feel his body tense, rigid, and pulsing on top of hers, could almost see the red aura of his rage.

“You want this,” she said slyly. “You want me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He twisted her arms behind her back, pinned his knees against her hips, then tightened his grip on her wrists so that they grew purple with bruises. For weeks, the shape of his fingers would be imprinted on her flesh.

For a moment she was truly terrified. This was Abbadon the Cruel. The Angel of Destruction. He could and would destroy her if he had to. If he felt like it. He had destroyed worlds before. He had decimated Paradise in the name of the Morningstar.

She trembled in his grasp.

All his gentleness, all his kindness, all the bright shining gorgeousness of his love, he had always given to someone else. He had adored Gabrielle, had worshipped her, had written her poems and sang her songs, and for Schuyler there were novels and love notes and sweet kisses and furtive tender meetings by a fireplace.

But for his twin, Azrael, he had shown nothing but his anger and violence. His strength and destruction.

He saved the best of himself for those who did not deserve it. Never showed his true face to those damnable Daughters of the Light.

For Azrael, there was only darkness and annihilation.

Rape and carnage.

War and pillage.

A tear escaped from her eye and glittered in the moonlight.

But just as Mimi thought he would destroy her forever, Jack began kissing her with such force that her lips and neck would be sore and swollen with his bites. In answer, she pulled him toward her, as hard as she could, by the roots of his hair.

Love. It’s so close to hate, it’s almost indistinguishable.

But this is how it was for the two of them.

Love and hate.

Life and death.

Joy and anguish.

Finally he lay still against her, drifting into a dreamless sleep. She smoothed his hair from his brow and called his name softly. Abbadon the Unlikely. Named so because his wistful nature masked a cold and fierce rage.

The Destroyer of Worlds, and the emperor of her own heart.

One day he would thank her for saving his life.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to everyone who helped make this book a reality, most of all my wonderful husband (and defacto editor/co-creator), Mike Johnston, who comes up with all the brilliant ideas; my superbly awesome editor, Jennifer Besser; and everyone at Hyperion, who have been huge champions of the series, especially Jennifer Corcoran, Angus Killick, Nellie Kurtzman, Colin Hosten, Dave Epstein, and Elizabeth Clark (thank you for the amazing covers!).

Thank you to Alicia Carmona, for all the awesome Brazil research. Much love to my insanely supportive family, the DLCs and Johnstons, especially Christina Green and Alberto de la Cruz, who are not just related to me but also keep the “Office of Melissa de la Cruz” in working order. Thank you to my agents, Richard Abate, Richie Kern, Melissa Myers, and everyone at Endeavor, for all your hard work on my behalf. Thank you also to Kate Lee and Larissa Silva at ICM, for all your support.

Most of all I’d like to thank my readers, who mean the world to me. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, dreams, and questions in e-mails or on the Web site. Thank you to the fabulous Amanda, who runs the awesome Blue Bloods message boards; and to everyone who has made a fan site, role-playing game, or online group devoted to the series. You all rock so hard it hurts.