Demon Kissed (Cursed Angel Collection) Page 14

  “What’s with that look?” Elizabeth asks. “Don’t tell me you agree with them?”

  “Of course not,” I tell her. “I think you look beautiful. But… we do have to be careful. We know how particular Ezekiel is about such matters.”

  “Yes, we do,” Maria says, and she studies Elizabeth with a glint of malice in her eyes. “So by all means, eat the bacon. Have a muffin, too! The more weight you put on, the less competition you’ll be for the rest of us.”

  “You don’t mean that,” the only remaining Red girl—Alicia—says.

  Maria raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Wanna bet?”

  Alicia bows her head and picks at the remains of her eggs.

  “Didn’t think so.” Maria scoffs.

  I glare at Maria and clench my hands under the table, anger rushing through my veins. I’ve never physically fought anyone in my life, but it would be immensely gratifying to punch that smug smile right off her face.

  Instead, I take a drink of water, trying to calm myself. Her malice must be out of greed—because of the curse.

  She can’t truly want Elizabeth dead.

  At least, I pray that’s the case.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  We spend the rest of the morning in our suites, getting dressed and ready for the parade. Now, our Gold guards lead us out of the Watchtower and onto the street, where a giant float awaits among the eager crowd.

  They cheer and clap as we walk out, screaming our names. Some of them even hold posters to get our attention. I spot one that says, “We love you, Adriana!” and give the group of young girls holding it a small smile. They squeal at the attention.

  Judging by the posters and screaming of our names, Maria, Alicia, and I have the most supporters out of the remaining six of us.

  We step onto the float in order of caste, which, of course, means I’m last. The float is bright and colorful—like our dresses—and it has a huge, smiling skull statue at the back of it. The symbol of the Day of the Dead.

  Unlike most religious holidays, Zeke didn’t abolish the Day of the Dead. He did, however, change its meaning. It used to be a holiday that celebrated the lives of loved ones who passed on. Now, it reminds us that we should be grateful to be in our castes—that we should be grateful not to be Blues.

  Because the Blues—trapped in their labor camps, slaving away to keep the city running—are considered as good as dead.

  Which is why I assume the smiling skull lady at the back of the float wears a bright blue dress.

  I will save you, I think, looking at her as I board the float, thinking of all the slaves toiling away on the outskirts of the continent. I will save you from your suffering.

  Once all six of us are on board, an announcer steps up onto a platform in front of the Watchtower. “And now, we welcome His Highness, King Ezekiel!” he says, and the crowd goes wild.

  Ezekiel steps out onto the second-floor balcony. He’s dressed in all black, and he strolls up to the rail, placing his hands upon it. The moment he does, the crowd cheers again. He says nothing as he stares down at them, a knowing smirk on his face as he glances over all the signs.

  “I see that your favorite girls align with mine,” he says, winking at the group of girls I smiled at earlier. “The citizens of my kingdom have good taste.”

  This elicits more cheering—and squealing—from the crowd. It takes a while for them to calm down.

  “We love Adriana!” the group from before screams in unison.

  “So do I,” Zeke says, sending them into even more of a frenzy.

  I freeze, my heart stopping in my chest. Surely he doesn’t mean it? But he’s watching me now, his eyes dark and intense as they bore into my soul, as if he wants me to believe him.

  Like he wants me to believe that he loves me.

  But he can’t love me. Beyond the obvious fact that we’ve barely seen each other since our date in the observatory, he’s a demon. He’s not capable of love.

  No matter what, I can’t let myself forget that.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  I barely have time to think before Zeke disappears into a burst of flames, reappearing instantly in the center of the float. He sends the flames into the sky, and they disappear into the clouds, raining ash onto the crowd. They take a collective breath inward, reaching up to catch it.

  But the entire time, I stand still, replaying Zeke’s words in my mind.

  I want them to be true.

  I want him to love me.

  But then, a few pieces of ash drift onto my cheeks like snowflakes, reminding me of the girls he murdered. These feelings I’m having—they’re the curse taking hold. They’re not real.

  I push the longing away, down deep into the recesses of my heart, burying it until I can finally think straight again.

  Once I do, I realize that Zeke has stepped in front of Elizabeth, his eyes full of disgust. “You were right.” He glances at Maria, and then he reaches forward, pinching Elizabeth’s arm. “This blubber wasn’t here a month ago.”

  “I told you so,” Maria says smugly. “The rest of us have been trying so hard to remain beautiful for you, while she indulges at every meal, stuffing her mouth with as much food as possible. It’s disgusting—and completely disrespectful to you. After all, we’re here to be beautiful—not to get fat.”

  Ezekiel glares down at Elizabeth and releases her arm, his eyes filling with inky blackness.

  I know that look.

  It’s the way he looks before he kills.

  “No!” I throw myself between him and Elizabeth and desperately reach for his hands, as if that might be enough to stop him. The crowd is silent, watching me. “Don’t hurt her,” I beg. “Please.”

  His eyes bore into mine—fully black now, empty and soulless.

  The reality of what I’ve done crashes down on me. This is exactly what Gloria warned me not to do. Concubines have been killed for far less.

  I stand frozen in place, my hands still in his, preparing to die.

  But he grips my hands tighter—so tightly I fear he’s going to shatter my bones. He grunts, his face twisting in agony, as if he’s fighting something stronger than himself. As if he’s fighting the darkness that’s filling his eyes.

  “I have to,” he finally says, although his voice is tight—strained.

  “You don’t.” I step closer to him, praying to get through to him. “You’re the king of this continent. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “No,” he growls. “You don’t understand. It’s too late to stop. All of this power—this darkness—it has to go somewhere.”

  “Up to the sky,” I beg. “Like you did with the flames.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” He drops my hands, pushing me into Elizabeth. “Someone—one of you—must die.”

  He turns to Alicia, and she bursts into flames.

  I stare at the empty space where Alicia had been standing, speechless.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Zeke snarls down at me. “For saving your friend?”

  I glare at him, saying nothing. My body shakes with hatred. I want to tell him that Alicia didn’t deserve to die, either.

  But what will that accomplish? She’s already dead. I can’t save her. If I say that, I’m only risking angering him to the point where he kills me, too. Or someone else.

  I glance over his shoulder at the smiling skull lady—a reminder of the people I’m here to save. I have to stay alive. They’re counting on me.

  With difficulty, I swallow and take a deep breath, forcing myself to get ahold of my emotions. “Thank you,” I say to him, although the words are hollow. “For saving Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth reaches for my hand and gives it a small squeeze. I don’t look at her—I’m afraid I’ll break down completely if I do—but I return the gesture.

  “The parade is cancelled,” Ezekiel says, and then he fixes his gaze on Elizabeth. “Get out of here. I don’t want you in the Watchtower anymore. I don’t wa
nt to see you ever again.”

  “What?” She pulls her hand out of mine and backs away, leaning against the edge of the float. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “Yes.” He smiles, although it’s full of threats. “I’m ‘kicking you out.’ So do yourself a favor and get out.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?” Her voice is soft, shaking.

  “I don’t give a shit where you go,” he says. “Just get out of my sight forever.”

  Elizabeth nods and runs off the float, her dress in her hands, her hair flying behind her.

  She turns a corner and doesn’t look back.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I play the violin as I stare out over my balcony, losing myself in the music as I watch the spectacle of colors as the sun sets over the horizon. Playing music is the only thing that can possibly relax me right now. I’ve changed into my most comfortable pajamas—yoga pants and a tank top—and washed my face clean of the makeup I wore today. Any other night, I would have taken Gloria’s advice and put on a fresh coat of makeup immediately. But now, I don’t see the point.

  After my display at the parade today, this sunset will surely be my last.

  At least Ezekiel let Elizabeth go free. As the song comes to a close, I puzzle over his actions for what feels like the millionth time since I’ve returned to my suite. He’s never sent a girl home—ever. He either killed them, or they made it through the year and became a Gold.

  What made Elizabeth so different? What made today so different?

  A knock on the door yanks me out of my thoughts.

  I place the violin down on my bed, hurry to the door, and look out the peephole. Carlos is the only person standing there. He’s facing the door, waiting for me to answer.

  I open it hesitantly. “Yes?” I ask.

  “I’ve just received word that Ezekiel wants to see you in his suite immediately,” he says, his expression grim.

  My hand rushes to my face, remembering that it’s bare. “Give me ten minutes?” I ask. “I can’t go to Ezekiel like this.”

  “My orders are to bring you now,” he says. “We both know Ezekiel isn’t a patient man.”

  I glance back into my room, gripping the doorknob. Should I get myself fixed up and risk angering Ezekiel by being late? Or should I go immediately and risk displeasing him with my looks?

  “You’re the most beautiful girl here—with or without makeup,” Carlos assures me, as if he can read my mind.

  My thoughts must have been written all over my face.

  “So it’s better for me to go like this instead of being late?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He nods. “It most definitely is.”

  I trust Carlos not to steer me wrong, so I close the door and follow him to Ezekiel’s suite. It feels silly to be led there—since the golden double-door entrance is so near my own—but I understand that we must follow protocol.

  Once we arrive, Carlos knocks on Ezekiel’s door.

  “Enter,” Ezekiel calls from inside.

  “That’s strange,” Carlos says. “Only Ezekiel’s fingerprint accesses his room…” He stares at the door and presses his thumb onto the lock button. Nothing happens. “Perhaps…” He looks at me in question. “You should try yours?”

  “Does Ezekiel normally give his concubines access to his suite?” I ask.

  “No,” Carlos says. “Never. But you, my dear, are far from normal.”

  I press my thumb to the lock button, and the door clicks open.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ezekiel is standing in the middle of his foyer, a glass of what appears to be tequila in his hand. “Adriana,” he says, no hints of emotion on his face. “I see you’ve discovered that I’ve given you access to my suite.”

  “Yes.” I bow my head, my chest surging with hope that he didn’t bring me here to kill me. Because if he wanted to kill me, why would he give me access to his suite? “Thank you, Ezekiel,” I say, since he prefers me to address him by his full name in front of others.

  “No need to thank me,” he says. “Carlos—leave us.”

  Carlos scurries out of the suite, leaving Ezekiel and me alone.

  “I would offer you some tequila, but I’ve noticed during our group meals that the champagne is always your favorite,” he says. “Come. I’ll open a bottle.”

  I follow him into the kitchen in a daze. He strolls to one of the paneled doors—if he notices my unease, he doesn’t show it. He just opens the door and reveals a room full of wine and champagne. He steps inside, his eyes scanning the rows, eventually stopping on one and pulling out a bottle.

  “This will do.” He rips off the aluminum, pops the cork, and takes a swig. He swishes it in his mouth—as if he’s analyzing all the flavors within it—and swallows. “Delicious,” he finally says, holding out the bottle. “Want a taste? Or do you only drink out of a glass?”

  He watches me in challenge, and I can’t help but feel like this is a test.

  Why did he bring me here? Surely not to just share a bottle of champagne?

  There must be more to it. And while I’m not sure what kind of game he’s playing, as long as he isn’t killing me, I’m going to play along. After all, this could be a chance for me to save my mission.

  I march over to him, grab the bottle, and take an even longer swig than his. It burns going down my throat—trying to compete with Ezekiel in drinking is stupid, and I know that—but instead of grimacing, I smile and hand the bottle back to him.

  “Perfect,” I say. “Although I must ask—since I’ve been curious all my life—can demons get drunk?”

  “Yes.” He laughs, and I’m surprised by how childlike he seems in that moment. How is it possible that this man is capable of heartless murder? “Our bodies are human in form—it’s the magic in our spirit that keeps the body immortal. So yes, we can get drunk, although it takes much more alcohol than it does for an average human.”

  “Like me,” I say, since I assume that must be what he’s thinking.

  “No.” He lowers the bottle to his side, his eyes full of intensity. “You, Adriana, are as far from average as anyone I’ve ever met.”

  My heart leaps into my throat, leaving me speechless. How am I supposed to respond to a comment like that? Especially because I shouldn’t feel so warm and happy from his compliment—I should feel revolted by this demon in front of me.

  It’s the curse, I remind myself, trying to get my head back on straight. These treasonous feelings must be because of the curse.

  He strolls into the kitchen and retrieves a glass, pouring the champagne into it. “For you.” He holds it out to me, and after I take it, he picks up both the bottle of champagne and his glass of tequila and heads out of the kitchen. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he says over his shoulder, glancing behind himself to make sure I’m following. “Because we have a lot to discuss.”

  He opens another door, and ushers me into his bedroom.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  I step tentatively inside, taking in the gigantic bed and the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. I can think of only one reason why he’s bringing me in here—he must want to take me to bed. Tonight.

  My nerves crackle with anxiety. I knew this was bound to happen, since it is the main reason he keeps concubines in the Watchtower. But I’m not ready.

  However, if I want to gain his trust, I must go along with it. Reminding myself who I am, I straighten. I’m Rebekah, a messenger angel of Heaven. Angels don’t worry about such human concerns. We do what we need to do to get a job done.

  So why does being around Zeke make me feel so human?

  “Don’t look so scared,” he teases. “I won’t bite.”

  “I’m not scared,” I say, although I tip my glass up and take a long gulp of my champagne, my actions contradicting my words.

  He walks toward me and takes the empty glass from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. Electricity rushes over my skin as it connects with his. Then he walks away, t
he lack of his touch leaving me cold, and refills my glass.

  “After today, I’m sure you have many questions for me,” he says, bringing the now-full glass back over to me.

  “You’re willing to answer them?” I ask.

  “When have I not been willing to answer to you?” He laughs, although it’s dark—hollow. “You got through to me even when the darkness had overtaken my soul.”

  “You mean when you were about to kill Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.” He walks toward the window, refusing to look at me.

  I join him, walking slowly so as not to startle him. “Were you truly going to kill her?” I ask. “Simply because she gained some weight?”

  “I was truly going to kill her,” he confirms. “But not for the reason you think.”

  “Then why?” I ask.

  “Because Maria was taunting me in front of the crowd,” he says. “She knew what she was doing—she was putting me in a position where I would look weak if I didn’t kill Elizabeth. The more she spoke, the more the darkness took over—until it consumed me, making me want to show everyone that I’m a force to be reckoned with. Once the darkness took over, Elizabeth was as good as dead.”

  “But you stopped yourself,” I say. “Why?”

  “Because of you.” He turns his head sharply, his eyes burning deep into my soul. “You took my hands and spoke to me, and you got past the darkness. In all my years as a demon—since I fell from Heaven—no one has ever been able to do that.”

  “But I couldn’t,” I say. “At least not completely. Otherwise, Alicia would still be alive.”

  “You were able to,” he insists. “You don’t understand. All of that darkness—it needed to go somewhere. And after you opposed me in front of the crowd, the darkness wanted you. It wanted me to kill you. But I fought it. Harder than I’ve ever fought it in my life. Because I could never forgive myself if you died at my hands.”