Soul Surrender (13 page)

F
illing everyone in on what happened was certainly not an easy task. And I actually really liked Grayson. I didn't
want
him to get caught. Then again, I didn't want Drew killed, either.

Kayce's olive face drained of color. “Who's going to tell Adrienne?” she whispered. Silence hummed and all eyes darted around.

I squeezed my eyes shut, issuing a little prayer that someone else would step up. Of all the people to tell her, I am the last person she would want to talk to. Adrienne was human not too long ago. Not only human, but a witch who was Damien's partner and Drew's girlfriend. When she died saving me, she became Julian's angel mentee.

One by one they all landed on me. “Oh, c'mon,” I said with an exacerbated sigh. “Why not Jules? He's the mentor!”

Jules's crystal eyes tilted down, sad lines creasing around his mouth. “I will tell her. But I'm not sure she will believe it from me.”

“You're an angel! You can't lie! Besides, what makes you think she'll find me so trustworthy?”

Jules swallowed. “Because you saw him with your own eyes. And she'll see that you're not lying.”

“Fuck,” I hissed. “Adrienne is going to—”

“Adrienne's going to what?” The bells above the café door jingled together like a heavenly choir trumpeting the angel's arrival.

The group stilled into one collective statue garden. After what felt like a lifetime . . . but was actually closer to a few seconds, I hopped to my feet, shuffling behind the barista bar. “You want your usual? Chai latte?”

“Umm, sure.” Adrienne's gaze narrowed and she lowered herself into a seat. “I'm thinking I'll probably need it, based on everyone's faces.” With flared nostrils, her eyes flitted from one face to the next, landing finally on Jules's. All color drained from her normally overtanned cheeks. “Oh, no. Please no . . . it's Drew, isn't it? He's—he's . . .”

“No,” Jules cut in as though he could read her very thoughts. “He's not dead.”

I finished steaming the milk, sprinkled some nutmeg on top, and dropped a cinnamon stick in as a stirrer. The ceramic mug billowed steam out the top and warmed my clammy palms.

Adrienne took the mug from me and exhaled. Pinching a silver cross around her neck, she twisted the clasp. “Oh, thank goodness. Then what is it? Did you find him?”

All eyes once again turned to me. Well, here goes nothing. “We did find him—er, I found him. But Adrienne, he didn't escape from Hell. He was released.”

“Okay . . .” Her eyes were steadied on mine. As though if she stared at me hard enough, she could gain all the answers to the underworld. “Isn't that a good thing?”

I cleared my throat and continued. “Mostly. But in exchange for his freedom, Drew had to commit to twenty years of servitude to Hell. As a bounty hunter.”

Her head snapped to Kayce. “You!”

Kayce's hands flew up, surrender style. “I had nothing to do with this! Drew's become one of the most notorious bounty hunters. No one knows him by name—only as Contenitore. The Vessel.”

“He can absorb demons and bring them to Hell within his body . . . without killing or harming them.”

“No,” she whispered. “He's allowing himself to be possessed?”

I nodded. “I don't think he knew what he was getting himself into.”

“His soul would be better off if he just annihilated the demons!”

Jules's hand squeezed Adrienne's shoulder. “Let's not get carried away. Murder of any sort, even of our Hell-ridden counterparts, is not condonable.” His voice was understanding but still stern.

“How would you know?” she snapped. “And when did you start caring so much about the lives of demons?”

“Adrienne . . .” Jules hushed, rubbing her back in slow circles.

“Any chance of a loophole in his contract?” she asked, her platinum hair flipping off her shoulder as she looked at each of us.

Kayce shook her head. “Not a chance. Those things are air-tight.”

“Fine. His soul would have been better off if he'd just died then.” There was nothing behind her eyes. They were void of emotion as she stared into her chai latte.

“You don't mean that,” I offered gently.

She stood, setting the barely touched latte down. “I really do,” she said. “There's a lot I can overlook as an angel. But a man who allows himself to be possessed time after time by demons?” She shook her head and the sentence faded. “Drew is dead to me.”

“He didn't know any better,” I offered quietly. “I can't imagine Hell is a comfortable place for a demon—let alone a human. He would have died down there.”

“Yes, but then Saetan would have had to release him to Heaven. With how clean his soul was, not even the devil himself could have kept Drew immersed in flames.”

She was right—but I was certain Drew had no idea of that. And I couldn't help that queasy feeling in my stomach that if we had all revealed ourselves sooner, his soul could have been spared.

Kayce's eyes widened. “That's exactly why Saetan offered him the release. He knew Drew couldn't survive in the depths of Hell for long. And once he perished, he'd no longer have a hold on his soul.”

Damien's eyes narrowed. “So? What does Saetan care about keeping a random dude's soul?”

Kayce shrugged, clicking her long fingernails against her coffee cup. “I dunno. But it makes sense, doesn't it? Now with Drew released and working for him, there's a fifty-fifty chance that when Drew dies, his soul will go to Hell.”

“So the question is, what does Saetan want with Drew's soul . . .” I pressed two fingers to my temples, rubbing in circles.

“. . . and what the Hell does Lucien's disappearance have to do with any of it?” Kayce finished my thought.

Adrienne smoothed her linen blazer and matching pants before tilting her chin just a tad too high to be believable. “I don't know. And Lucien is certainly not our concern, Jules.” With one final, pointed glance at her angel mentor, she walked to the door. “You should have nothing to do with this case, Julian.” With that, she exited, letting the door slam shut behind her.

New Jersey, 1776

 

S
now crunched beneath my feet, and Jack's hand was frigid against mine. “How are your hands so impossibly warm in this bitter winter?”

His skin was chilled and rough as he raised my knuckles to his lips.

“I'm always steaming when in your presence, Jack,” I answered with a grin.

There was a primal purr beneath his breath. Using my hand, he tugged me closer to his side. “More of that talk, my pet, and we will both have chapped backsides from this snow right here.”

I had more powers than I'd ever had in my existence. I didn't know what to do with myself. I could appear in any form without so much as losing breath. It was glorious and empowering and yet was a constant reminder of the cheap trollop I was. Though Jack wasn't the strongest fix I'd ever received, he was the most constant. Lots of little meals will certainly keep one's belly full.

And I was helping the Patriots, Lucien reminded me. So each bit of his life was not taken in vain. They needed every bit of help I could offer.

Jack and I had been together now three more times. Each vision was stronger than before, and I wasn't sure I could trust my other sight. The visions of Jack—with young soldiers—children, really, who were merely fighting for a cause they believed in and killing them in cold blood, smiling as his bayonet pierced their tattered Patriot uniforms. Could my tender lover be such a cold-blooded killer? Lucien claimed that the visions don't lie . . . but he was one to talk. How many lives had the demon taken without so much as a second thought? He had no right judging Jack. Not yet. Hell, maybe not ever.

“Oh, Jack, I wish you would.” I eyed the snowdrift. “You could have me here. With the snowflakes dropping tiny kisses to my body.”

He chuckled, sliding his tongue along my ear and nipping the base. “You devilish little thing, you. And to think just a few days ago, you were an eye-batting virgin.” His palm ran the length of my torso until it finally found the heavy cup of my breast. He kneaded my swollen flesh through the layered fabric of my dress. Using two fingers, he rolled my firm nipple. With another glance around the area, he tugged me forward, his hand returning to mine. “Come,” he commanded. “My place is not far.”

We walked a bit more until we came to his home. He opened the door for me, and as soon as I was over the threshold, I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing my needy body against his firmed trousers. His lips ran the length of my neck.

“Father!” A young man's voice at the base of the staircase shouted.

“Bloody Hell,” Jack rasped, pushing away from me in haste. He straightened his clothing, and I did the same. “Tom, what are you doing home from school?”

I examined the boy from the top of his head to his toes, narrowing my eyes. It was the boy from my vision—I was certain of it. The boy I saw Jack stabbing, enjoying the kill.

He couldn't have been older than eighteen. And he wore a Patriot uniform. Jack sneered looking over the clothing choice as well, his eyes landing on the gun in Tom's hands. “Planning to steal my musket? After I pay for your education at Yale?” He advanced on his son, voice booming, eyes fiery. “After everything I have done for you—you betray me, nay, your King this way!”

Tom's eyes darted from his father to me and back again. “And this must be your latest betrayal to mother, yes?” He rolled his tongue around his mouth as if chewing something invisible. “Welcome to the family, whore.”

Jack was upon his son in seconds, fisting his jacket collar and slamming his head into the wall behind them. “It is a sin to disobey your father!”

A knock at the door caused everyone to freeze. Jack threw his son back to the wall, releasing his jacket, and stalked to the door, throwing it open wildly. I shrunk back into the corner. “What?” he growled.

It was one of the other Loyalists I had seen around the tavern. “Meeting at Bear's. Now.”

Jack grumbled to himself and, with closed eyes, scratched the back of his neck. “I'm coming.” Spinning, he faced his son and held up a finger to his face. “You are going back to school, boy. You will not be participating in this sorry excuse for a war.”

Tom's smirk was cold and barely lifted. “You can keep paying all you want, father. I will not be returning.”

Jack's jaw ground to the point I could hear his teeth scraping against each other. With a hiss, he turned to me, anger melting with the swivel. He cupped a hand around my jaw. “I'm sorry, my pet. Tomorrow?”

I nodded and managed a squeaky reply. “Tomorrow.”

His kiss was barely a brush of his lips across mine. He left, slamming the door behind him, and I peered out the window, watching him walk away.

I cleared my throat, stealing a quick look at the boy. “Does he do that often?”

Tom's chuckle was bitter. “Upon every visit home. I got what I came for.” He held the gun up, shaking it in my direction. “And I look forward to the day I use this exact gun on him.”

“Tom, no—that, that's a terrible sin. One that is difficult to atone for—”

His cackling laugh cut me off midsentence. “Really? The whore teaching me the ways of the Bible?”

I shivered despite the crackling warmth of the fire and rubbed my hands across my upper arms. “You're right.” I nodded. “You're right. I am a hypocrite. But that doesn't make me wrong.” I held his gaze; his eyes were the same honey color as his father's, but with fewer wrinkles framing the corners.

“And I suppose you're a Tory as well? Believing that this tax is nothing?”

I licked my lips. Could I tell him? Perhaps find a way to spare his life and have someone on the Patriot side to report my findings back to? “And what if I said I was not? What if I told you I was the same as you?”

He snorted. “I'd say you had a lot to prove. Firstly, just exactly why are you spending your evenings with my Tory father?”

Did it matter if I told him? He would die in a matter of weeks anyway at his father's hands. “I am gathering information. For the Patriots.”

After a moment, Tom shook his head, brushing past my shoulder. “What a load of sod.”

“It's true. I can bring you to meet my partner. We don't know exactly our role in this, but your father—he's an arrogant old sow. He's apt to have a slip of the tongue sometime.”

The butt of the musket clattered against the floor. Using it as a cane of sorts, Tom sauntered over to me, stopping just in front of my nose. “Arrogant?” A smile curved on his lips. “I think I like you.”

I returned his smile. “Just don't like me too much.” I narrowed my eyes, pulling him out of focus in an attempt to read his aura. I couldn't be sure—but I thought it was a robin's egg sort of blue. The color itself reminded me of Heaven.

“What?” He glanced down at his uniform, checking it for stains and missing buttons.

“I'll bring you to Lucien on one condition.”

His nostrils flared.

“You are not allowed to utilize the services of any of our women. Myself included.” I held out a hand, suspended, waiting for his answer.

His smirk returned, and he grabbed my hand in a firm shake. He raised an eyebrow. “Done. Unlike my father, I don't need to pay women for their time.”

Arrogant. Just like his father.