Soul Surrender (17 page)

New Jersey, 1776

 

“N
o. It's not true—Monica, tell me that's not true.”

Lucien had me locked in his quarters as he paced in front of the bed, wearing treads into the floorboards. “I don't understand what's so upsetting. He's a patriot. You're a patriot. And he's going to help us pull this off.”

“This? We don't even know what ‘this' is yet!” Lucien's cackle cracked in his throat, and he fisted a hand in front of his mouth. For all of a moment, I thought tears would spring from his eyes. Whether Lucien quickly got them under control or my eyes were playing tricks on me, it passed too quickly to know. “Christ, Monica. It's a marvel to me how much you don't understand yet.” He fell into a chair, seated in front of a small writing desk, and his head dropped into his hands.

“I don't know anything, because you insist on keeping me in the fucking dark. You are doing to me exactly what Jules did in my angel days. And it was the reason for my demise. If you want me to understand something, then tell me!”

He jumped to his feet, kicking the chair behind him. It splintered, sending bits of wood barreling through the room, and I lifted my arm as a shard sliced into the skin.

The blast of power slammed into me, and for the first time since beginning this life with Lucien, I saw—no, I felt—the kind of power he had in him. It sizzled around me and thickened the air to the point that I could barely breathe. Though not a finger was upon me, he might as well have had his hands around my throat.

A blinding tunnel of blackness creeped into the edges of my vision field. Flashes of stars winked around me. “Lucien—” I choked.

The air lifted, fizzling to normal, and my vision returned to find Lucien's lined face still scowling at me. “You are barely a succubus,” he rasped. “The lowest and newest in the ranks. I don't have to tell you a bloody thing—you just have to obey.
That
is your job.”

“And you wonder why we all despise you,” I whispered, cradling my arm where the wood sliced and splintered into my skin. I bit back the whimper and instead gingerly tugged at the protruding piece of wood.

Lucien was over me in seconds, and he snatched my wrist, holding my arm in front of my eyes. “This is not real!” he hissed. “When are you going to learn that? You are not real. Shift the splinter away.” He shook my own arm in my face as though it were a weapon that could be used against me. “Do it!”

I swallowed, closing my eyes, and my magic wafted over my body softer than a summer breeze. It tingled across my flesh like the tenderest of kisses. And when I opened my eyes, my arm was healed, though it still ached.

“There,” Lucien said softer, but the fire was still in his dark eyes. “Was that so hard?” He released my wrist.

I stared at the floor, not daring to look up at him just yet. I took note of the grain of the wood, a knot in the center plank, and I couldn't help but relate to that flawed part of the structure.

There was a creak, and the bed bounced beneath me. I stole a glance to the side, and Lucien now breathed heavily beside me. As an angel, Jules never raised his voice like that. He never once used force in that way to get a point across. Panic rose in my throat, and a sob quivered in my chest. I forced myself to swallow it down. “Lucien . . .” My voice trembled with the repressed tears.

He didn't answer, but I could feel his shoulders stiffen beside me.

“Believe me—I understand how below you in the ranks I am.” Bitterness cracked in my voice. “But just maybe if you talked to me like a person and I understood why Tom shouldn't have been a part of the plan, we could have avoided the situation in the first place.”

“The situation should have been avoided regardless. Because you should know your place.”

“Yes,” I snapped, tears all but forgotten. “We established that. But if you want to be a powerful ArchDemon, maybe you should learn you'll get further with your ladies by treating us with respect.”

“Very well.” He slapped his hands to his knees and stood. Pacing resumed in the room. “No humans knew of our plan. Only demon patriots. So—now, we have a human privy to our deception. And humans are unpredictable little arses.” He stopped, spinning to face me. “And—the one human you chose to tell is the son of our main Tory contact. How do you not see that as a conflict?”

“Because he hates his father. I've seen the boy's death—and it is at his father's hands.”

“And just how do you expect to convince the boy of that? Without revealing your true nature?” Lucien said. “We don't know where this boy's loyalties lie. Sure, he wants freedom from the crown—but typically when it comes down between your own bloodline and a fight for freedom, there's a chance he'll choose to save his father.”

“So, talk to him. You can read auras better than me.”

There was a crack from outside Lucien's quarters and his eyes rolled back with a deep sigh. “Wonderful. Just wonderful,” he murmured.

The door creaked open, and standing in the doorway was a tall, willowy woman with raven hair that fell in a dark curtain straight to her waist. Lucien turned pale, looking the exotic woman up and down.

Within seconds, he collected himself. “You're new.”

“Relatively.” Her voice was raspy, and she turned her attention to me. “But not as inexperienced as some.”

I folded my arms and rolled my eyes with a
tut
of my tongue.

“What's your name?” Lucien asked.

I inhaled and . . . oh, bloody Hell. I smelled arousal. Lucien's arousal. My stomach turned.

“Cheng.”

Lucien scanned her up and down. “Not sure if you're planning on hanging around town, but we don't get much diversity around here. Townies can barely stomach the thought of the Germans coming over. You might consider changing your—appearance.”

With a tight-lipped smile, she continued. “Thanks for the lesson. I don't plan on sticking around long, though. I'm here to take you down.” Her gaze shifted from Lucien to me.

“Down?” I choked out, and the turning of my stomach was suddenly for an entirely different reason.

Lucien's soft, lovesick gaze morphed back into his stern scowl. “She has business to attend to.” He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes widening. “You have that good boy soul waiting for your services downstairs, aye?”

“Ah—aye, yes.”

Cheng's eyebrow lifted along with the corner of her mouth. “You know as well as I that I cannot show up to Hell empty-handed.”

Lucien nodded. “I do know that. You can take me instead.”

“Lucien, no . . . I can go—”

His neck whipped around and his lips blanched, pressed so tightly together they bore no color whatsoever. “No,” he replied curtly. “You have business
here
. Or did you forget our little chat about obeying so quickly?”

I shook my head. “N-no. Of course not.”

With a nod, he swiveled back to Cheng. “Very well. Shall we?” His breath grew shallow as he stepped closer, and another smell altogether flooded the room. Pheromones—Cheng's.

Lucien chuckled, pressing his palm flat against hers. “Don't waste your perfume, neophyte.”

Their forms wobbled, as though suddenly made of water, and a black hole swirled below their feet. “Lucien!” The trance broke, and he pulled his hand from hers, looking to me with concerned eyes. “Will—will you be back?” I swallowed, trying not to sound as frightened as I felt.

He snorted. “Of course. Likely within the hour.” He motioned to the door. “Go on downstairs. I'll see you later.”

T
he rest of the gang had split up, gone upstairs, each taking a room.

“Well?” Jules glanced around the kitchen. Dishes were still in the sink, but it was otherwise clean.

“Well, what?” I snapped.

“Well, do you see anything out of the ordinary? You've been here before, right?”

I didn't answer. Despite our relationship, Lucien and I didn't necessarily have potluck dinners where we discussed our personal lives in detail. Sure, I'd been here before. But not enough to know if something was out of place.

Julian's gaze burned into my back, and I finally turned to face him. “Yes, of course. Nothing looks unusual to me.” In his sink was a martini glass with raspberry lipstick smeared on the rim, a shaker, and an empty pint glass. The martini glass was still full with almost the entire drink. “Jules—you know anything about martinis?”

“Not really. Why?”

Pinching the glass between two fingers, I lifted it from the sink and held it up to the light streaming in from the window. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and swigging the leftover martini.

Julian's face paled. “What in the world are you doing?” He passed me a towel. “That's disgusting.”

I swished the martini in my mouth before spitting it out in the sink and placing the glass back down. “Bruised. And I know of one particular martini snob who never drinks a bruised martini.”

Jules crouched, opening the cabinets. “You know who was here with Lucien last?”

“Mia. She has to be behind this. She was at the theatre that night.” I gestured to Jules with raised eyebrows.

“Well, yes . . .”

“And she has been meeting secretly about me with Claudette monthly.”

Jules scratched his scruff. “She's definitely suspicious.”

I rubbed my eyes, opening a few more cabinets. All empty. Barely even a plate. “Damn. Grayson was right. He lived in the shed. And at the club.” I froze, panic gripping my throat. “Speaking of, who has Grayson?”

“I do,” Kayce said, dragging him down the stairwell. “He's not leaving my side.”

“Lucky me,” he growled.

Jules leaned against the sink, looking at the dishes. “For all we know, Monica, these dishes could have been left from days before his disappearance.”

“Maybe. But I doubt it. A martini left out for a night or two is bad enough—but a week?” I shuddered. “It would be undrinkable.”

The door slammed and Damien entered the kitchen. “Nothing's in the basement.” He looked around the crowd and grunted. “Why am I always the last person to find out what's going on?”

“You're not,” I said, linking my arm in his and walking him over to the sink. “We just need you to do some elemental work. See who was here with Lucien and when?”

He placed his one hand on the counter and the other on the martini glass. The room vibrated, humming around us. After a moment, he blinked his eyes open. “There were three people here. Lucien and two others—that's all I got. The elements here didn't really give a shit about Lucien and his activities.”

“It had to be Mia,” I repeated.

“And Claudette,” Kayce added. “She and Mia have been spending a lot of time together, right?”

Grayson tossed a pebble into the air, then caught it with one hand. “I found a little something.” He tossed the rock at me. It was coarse, porous, an ashy gray carved into a blade. “It's a sunstone.”

“So?” I asked, flipping the rock around in my hands. It had a similar texture to coral but wasn't nearly as colorful.

Jules stepped back, lips tightening. “Lucien had a sunstone?”

“Legend has it,” Grayson continued, taking the stone from me and holding it into the light, “that the original four angels from the rebellion were thrown into the sun when they were cast out. They were left there to burn. They managed to survive, but as demons. Each of the four were embedded with these sunstones. Throughout the centuries, they've been dispersed, but the original four are the only ones who can distribute them. Supposedly, it is the only weapon in existence that can kill an angel. Granted, it can also kill any of us, too. He glanced around the room, making eye contact with everyone one by one. “Angel, demon, succubus—whatever. One stab”—Grayson jabbed nothing with a fake punch to the air—“and you're done for.”

“Oh, shit,” I whispered and scrambled for my pocket. I tugged the sharpened stone that I had found in Lucien's enchanted cabinet, holding it up for everyone. “It's the same sort of stone, right?”

Grayson took the blade from me with a low whistle. “Sure is,” he said. “This one could do some damage. He gave this to you?”

I explained to the group how I found it the day before. Julian nodded, stepping back once more—whether consciously or not, I wasn't sure. “He must have meant for you to have it,” Jules said. “Why didn't you tell me? I was there with you that whole time.”

I shrugged. “I don't know. I didn't really think it was all that important. It just looked like yet another one of Lucien's weapons he had stockpiled.”

“That's a dangerous little rock you got there,” Grayson murmured with a head tilt. “Question is . . . who gets to hold on to it?”

It didn't take long for us to agree on Julian.

Soon after we all left Lucien's house I grabbed Grayson, dragging him to the café.

“You gonna make me a latte?” he asked with raised eyebrow.

He held the door as I entered, and for all of a moment, I saw that Texas charm folks always talked about. “Nope. You're gonna make
me
one. If we're going to be roomies, you need to earn your keep. You ever held down a job before?”

“I worked on a ranch before . . . well, you know.” He rolled a growl at the back of his throat and bared his teeth with a wink. The threatening sound was softened by his playful smirk.

A ranch. I should have fucking guessed.

“Monica!” Genevieve's shriek pulled my focus back to my business. “Look who's back!”

Drew walked from the barista bar, flinging a towel over his left shoulder. “Hey, Mon. I like what you've done with the place.”

“Drew . . . you're back? As in
back
back?”

He sauntered over to us, flicking a glance at Grayson before drawing attention to me. “I was just explaining to Genevieve, I'll be in and out a lot. So I'll need you to retain managerial status. But, for the most part—yeah, I'm back.” A lazy grin slid across dimpled cheeks. With a nod, he lifted his chin to Grayson. “He getting the grand tour?”

“Drew—I want you to meet your newest employee.”

Grayson seemed pretty good at hiding his emotions most of the time and yet . . . his eyes darkened for that split second and he sucked his cheeks in, grinding the flesh between his sharp incisors. “You're telling me my new boss is this two-timing, little—”

“Grayson,” I cut in sharply. “That's no way to talk to your boss.”

He glared at me, gold shimmering across otherwise hazel eyes. “You did this on purpose.”

I shrugged. “I didn't know he was coming back to work.”

“Monica.” Genevieve skipped over, linking her arm around my elbow. “Can I talk to you a minute?” She glanced between the guys, then nudged her head toward the back. “Over here?”

“Sure. Drew—can you show Grayson around a bit?”

I liked that Drew was smiling again—but this particular smile was unsettling. “Absolutely.”

“What's up, Genn?” I said, keeping one eye still on the boys.

Her smile stretched the length of her face and then some. Holding my hands, she squeezed them with hers. “I don't know how—it doesn't make sense. But I'm pregnant!” she whispered, and then bounced onto her toes.

“Oh, my gosh! Genevieve, congratulations!” I crushed her in a hug.

She giggled, hugging me back, then held me at arm's length, bringing a finger to her lips. “Shh, I'm not supposed to tell anyone for a couple of months yet. But—but I just had to let you know. Especially after the other night.”

“Of course.” I lowered my voice. “And don't worry. I'm a great secret keeper.”

“It's so weird,” she continued. “You know . . . they say these things tend to happen when you stop trying, but—I mean, we
just
found out I couldn't, you know? We didn't even have time to process everything. But that night after we talked, I felt so energized.”

“Yeah . . .” I trailed off. “I, uh, can have that effect on people sometimes.” I remembered the small zap of power I felt with Genevieve that night. And typically after I steal power, humans feel a burst of energy. Sort of Hell's supernatural way of ensuring our conquests won't lose steam on us. But—it was different. I didn't see her death. I saw a baby.

I snapped myself out of my thoughts. “Well, whatever the reason, it's great. I'm so happy for you. And if you ever need a babysitter . . .”

“Oh, please. We'll be calling you weekly!” she said, tossing her purse over a shoulder. “Okay, I'm off. Good luck training the new guy.” Then, dropping her voice, she added. “He's a cute one, huh? Looks kind of lost, though. Like a stray.”

I snorted. “Oh, G. You have no idea.”

 

“Like this?” Grayson shouted over the espresso grinder. Several patrons squinted and covered their ears. Sure, the grinder can be loud, but it was as though Grayson's presence made the damn thing scream even louder.

“Yeah, but not so long.” I reached across and shut the machine off. “You only want to grind the beans you use in the one drink.”

“Well, that just sounds stupid to me. Grind the whole damn thang in the morning. Then you don't have to bother with this every time someone orders espresso.”

“Gray, you can't do that. The beans won't taste as fresh.”

“Would people really be able to tell the difference?” With meaty fists, he grabbed the tamp and jammed it into the filter.

“Grayson, stop! Gently tamp. Gently. It's supposed to be forty pounds of pressure.” I placed my hands on his, demonstrating. “And yes. People can tell the difference.”

He humphed at that. “Ain't you got any cows or chickens I could tend to instead? I'm better with livestock.” He finished tamping, then placed the filter into the espresso machine. His gaze drifted to my cleavage, then back to my eyes with a twitch of his lips. “And I'm awfully good with the chicks.”

“C'mon, Old McDonald. After this, I'll show you the register. Until you learn the drinks, I'll just let you handle cash.”

Over the next hour, I couldn't stop thinking about Genevieve and how strange it was that she got pregnant so quickly. Especially since it happened right after I stole some of her life.

I zoned out, staring at the granite counter. What events led up to the power I got from G? I stopped by the café after working at the strip club—and that was the night Buckley . . .

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered to no one. I shook my head and shut the register drawer.

“Don't talk ill of my mama.” Grayson flopped onto an elbow, leaning his body weight against the counter.

“No, no . . . not you.” I scrambled for my purse, which luckily I didn't bother to put away since Drew was now back and moving into his office. “Drew!” I shouted, darting for his door. I threw it open to find him looking through some files. “Drew—I-I have to go. Keep an eye on Grayson for me.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

“I dunno . . . show him how to make my favorite drink.”

Drew rose from behind his desk and sauntered toward me. Flutters deep in my belly caused a chill to shimmy along my spine, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Drew,” I said. “I really need to go.”

He paused in front of me, newly massive muscles towering over my slight frame. “Still take your caramel mocha with skim?” And he trailed gentle fingertips down my arm, circling my hand.

I cleared my throat. “Yep.” I stepped back, only my shoulder blades hit the wall behind me. A chunk of hair escaped my ponytail and flipped into my eyes.

He linked his fingers into mine and lifted my hand to his lips. One by one, he nipped each fingertip. With each grazing of teeth on skin, my breath became shorter, sharper, until I was full on hyperventilating. “Extra caramel drizzled on top?”

I opened my mouth to answer, only in place of a dignified “yes” a squeaky rasp was in its place. I yanked my hand from his and cleared my throat while straightening my T-shirt. “Actually . . . instead, teach him how to make a simple espresso. It's
Damien's
favorite.”

We stared at each other before I reached behind me for the knob and made a run to my car before Drew could stop me again.