Demon Kissed (Cursed Angel Collection) Page 8

  “My father is my only living family member,” she says. “He’s also a teacher, and while he isn’t in debt, he spends all that he makes. He did what he could to help, but it barely made a dent. No Silver man will marry me, because no one wants to take such a large debt on themselves, and obviously no Gold will marry me because they don’t want to lose their rank and become a Silver. So… here I am.” She motions around us and smiles. “If I’m selected to be a concubine and I survive the year, I’ll become a Gold and will be given enough money that I’ll easily be able to pay off my late-husband’s debt. My children and I will be provided for forever.”

  “And… if you don’t survive the year?” I hate that I have to say it, because Elizabeth is being so kind to me and I don’t want to upset her, but the possibility needs to be addressed. “Your children just lost their father. They can’t lose you as well.”

  “I will survive the year.” Her eyes burn with determination—a fierceness I haven’t seen in her until now. “I have no other option.”

  “Yes, you do,” I say suddenly. “My family is well off—we have more money than we could ever need. I can take care of the debt for you. You can leave this place now and go back with your children. You don’t have to go through with this.”

  “No.” She shakes her head, her expression overcome with emotion. “That’s kind of you, truly. But I could never take your money. Then I would be forever in your debt.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be,” I tell her. “I want to do this for you. Let me, please.” I place my hands over hers, hoping she’ll take the gesture as permission to accept my offer.

  She glances down at her lap and pulls her hands away. “You’re just trying to eliminate your competition, aren’t you?” she asks, smiling to let me know she’s joking.

  “I suppose that would be a plus to my offer.” I try to return her lighthearted humor, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “Does that mean you’ll take it?”

  “No,” she says, and my heart drops, since I don’t know what else I can say to convince her. “I appreciate the offer, truly. But I want more than just money—I want to become a Gold. I want my children to become Golds. I can only do that by being a concubine for a year. I can do this. I will do this. After all, Silvers have historically always been the most likely to survive.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Why’s that?”

  “You barely know anything about all of this, do you?” She laughs. “It’s like you’ve been living on another continent entirely.”

  I still, panic flooding my veins. Did I say too much? Did I blow my cover?

  “I didn’t grow up in the city,” I remind her, trying to remain calm. “I grew up in Sector Six. We’re so far away from the city, I suppose it does feel like a different world at times.”

  “I’ve never been to the sectors,” she says. “But I’ve met other Golds who moved from them to the city. They obviously didn’t know everything about how things work around here, but they knew enough.”

  “My parents kept me very sheltered.” I make up the excuse on the spot. “It’s why I left the sector for the city right after turning eighteen. So, anyway,” I say, desperate to resume the previous conversation. “Why are Silvers more likely to survive?”

  “Because we’re far more prepared for a life of luxury than the Greens and Reds.” She’s about to say more, but a Gold guard—the tall man who escorted me inside the waiting room—opens the door on the other side of the room and calls for our attention.

  “It’s about to start!” She squeals softly. “I’m so glad we got to chat. I hope we’re both chosen—it’ll be wonderful to have a friend living in the Watchtower.”

  “Yes, it would be.” I smile, realizing that even though we’d only talked briefly, I already consider her a friend. Surely life in the Watchtower will be far more bearable with a friend by my side.

  But at the same time, I hope she isn’t chosen. Her children need her, and the risk of them losing another parent is far too dangerous.

  The only reason I can think that she’s risking her life for the chance to become a Gold is because of the curse. She seems to have a kind heart—but her decisions, like everyone else’s in this city, are tainted by the greed forced upon them.

  “You’ll line up in order of caste, and in alphabetical order within each caste,” the guard instructs, his voice booming through the room. “Lowest caste to highest. Your assigned guard will escort you to the top of the staircase of the ballroom, where you’ll be officially introduced. Once you’re all introduced, the first dance will begin, and Ezekiel will choose his first dance partner. As a reminder—you are not to ask Ezekiel to dance. If he wants to dance with you, he will ask you. If he doesn’t ask you to dance by the end of the night, you’re automatically eliminated from the audition. Now, take your spots. Ezekiel’s anxious to make your acquaintances.”

  It’s easy to find my spot, since I’m the only Gold—which means I’m last. There’s another Silver between Elizabeth and me, but I’m glad to see that we’re close to each other. And while I know that convincing her to not audition will be impossible, I promise myself that no matter what happens, I won’t let her children be responsible for their father’s debt.

  Then, as I wait for the other girls to arrange themselves in line, I realize that if I do what I’m here to do—kill Ezekiel—the debt won’t matter at all.

  Because he’ll be dead, and everyone living here will be released from his curse forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There are about seventy girls auditioning. We’re each assigned a Gold guard, and mine is the short one who met me at the valet. His name is Carlos, and he makes sure that he knows how to correctly pronounce my name for my entrance.

  “And your profession?” he asks me.

  I pause, unsure what to say. Like most Gold women, Adriana doesn’t work. She completed her final year of school in the spring and came to the city soon after. She would probably be offended if anyone thought she needed a job.

  If Adriana would be offended, then that’s exactly how I need to act.

  “Profession?” I balk, as if insulted by the question. “Does shopping count?”

  I want to cringe at how ditzy it sounds. But my job is to play this part, so I laugh, as if entertained by my own comment. It was very much something Sofia would do.

  “Right.” Carlos stumbles over the word. “I’m sorry. Of course you don’t have a profession. However, all the other girls do, which is why we’re told to ask.”

  “I’m not like the other girls,” I say, straightening my shoulders for extra emphasis. But I also hope I’m not laying it on too thick. After all, I don’t want everyone in the Watchtower to hate me. Making enemies won’t help me find the Flaming Sword. “Perhaps, instead of a profession, you can announce me as the daughter of Manuel and Silvia Medina?” I suggest.

  “Yes, I can do that.” He smiles, and I’m glad to have put him slightly at ease. “Better yet, I’ll include their status as the lord and lady of Sector Six. That way there’ll be no mistaking who you are.”

  “Thank you,” I say, relieved that he approves of my idea. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

  “That’s all,” he says, and then he continues to explain how the introduction will progress—where I need to walk, where I need to stand, and any other small details.

  Once he’s finished explaining the process, we wait in silence for my turn. The line is getting shorter—they’re nearly through the Greens. Eventually, it’s time for the Silvers. At Elizabeth’s turn, she glances behind herself and gives me a thumbs-up. I smile and return the gesture.

  “Good luck!” I call to her.

  “You too,” she says, and then she’s out the door. She’s followed by the Silver who stood between us. Once she leaves, Carlos and I are the only ones left in the room.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, extending his arm for me to take.

  “Yes.” I place my arm in his, hoping that by sayi
ng I’m ready, I’ll feel it.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asks. “You’re shaking.”

  “I am?” I squeak, doing my best to steady myself. “That’s strange. It must just be from how excited I am.”

  He nods, seeming to believe me, and leads me out of the waiting room. But inside, I’m terrified. I’m minutes away from meeting Ezekiel. What if he sees through my cover? What if he senses what I am? I have so many questions, and no answers.

  Why can’t I be fearless, like Uriel and the other archangels? This would be so much easier if I wasn’t so worried about everything that might go wrong.

  Although, someone once said that being fearless doesn’t mean one has no fears. Being fearless means having fears, but facing them anyway. And so, as we reach the elaborate double doors and Carlos leaves my side, I prepare myself to do just that.

  “Adriana Medina, a Gold, the daughter of Lord Manuel and Lady Silvia Medina of Sector Six.” Carlos’s voice echoes into the hall.

  As I step through the doors to the top of the staircase, I pull the tab on the side of the dress just like Flory instructed. The feathery bright red wings sprout from my back, and the crowd gasps, clapping in appreciation.

  Now that it’s done, I focus on the crowd. The moment I do, I see him. Matthew. He’s staring at me, and when his eyes meet mine, he flashes me the same smirk he did the night he saved me in the alley.

  My heart races at the memory of the short kiss we shared. My cheeks must be as red as my dress. I’m so happy to see a familiar face—and not just any familiar face, but one that instantly makes me feel safe.

  But he’s standing at the bottom of the staircase, in front of the packed crowd.

  That’s the place where Ezekiel’s supposed to be waiting. Carlos told me that Ezekiel would be at the bottom of the stairs, and that we are supposed to take his hand when we reach him so he can walk us to the line of girls.

  I look around the bottom of the staircase, but no one else is there. Only Matthew. His eyes are locked on mine, and he tilts his head slightly, as if waiting for me to join him.

  Horror washes over me as realization dawns. Because try as I might to come up for a reason for what I’m seeing, there’s no explanation other than Matthew not being who he said he was. He lied to me. In fact, Matthew was never his name at all.

  His name is Ezekiel.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Adriana?” Carlos says, softly enough so only I can hear. “You need to walk down to Ezekiel now.”

  There’s no more denying who he truly is. And so, I take one step, and then the next, lifting my skirt so I don’t trip. My feet feel like lead weights. It’s like I’m in a haze, and my thoughts swirl like an angry storm as I walk closer to him. Because the man who walked me back home after brunch and saved me from those Reds in the alley is Ezekiel. The demon I came here to kill.

  I felt safe with a demon. I trusted a demon. I kissed a demon.

  Disgust rises in my throat. But what makes it even worse is that when I look at Matthew—Ezekiel—I’m not disgusted. My heart races at the sight of him, as if it’s operating separately from my brain.

  How am I supposed to face him—what am I supposed to say to him?

  My judgment must be deranged. How could I not have known it was him the moment I saw him? Ezekiel’s the only one in this continent who isn’t enslaved. He’s the only one without—

  He’s the only one without tattoos around his wrists.

  Both times we met, I never saw his tattoos. I assumed his jacket was covering them. But the reason I hadn’t seen his tattoos wasn’t because they were hidden.

  It’s because he doesn’t have them at all.

  Suddenly, I’m in front of him, and he reaches out his hand. “Adriana,” he says, his silky voice so familiar as he speaks my name.

  I want to call him out for lying to me—for tricking me. For kissing me when he knew I didn’t know who he was.

  Why did he give me a fake name? What purpose did it serve?

  “You had no idea it would be me, did you?” he asks softly.

  Blinking away my fear, I snap into focus. I shouldn’t be surprised that Ezekiel lied and tricked me. That’s what demons do. They lie, they hurt, and they kill.

  Matthew never existed. He’s always been Ezekiel. Yes, it’s shocking, but the reason I’m here hasn’t changed. I need to gain his trust so I can kill him.

  So instead of lashing out at him with my anger and confusion, I use it as fuel.

  Because if he’s going to play me, then I can do the same back to him.

  “I didn’t know when I met you.” I smile and place my hand in his, calling upon everything within me not to shudder when our skin touches. “I only realized a few days ago.”

  “And now you’re here,” he murmurs, pulling me closer—so close that our faces are only inches apart.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed?” I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow playfully.

  “To see you?” He smirks. “Never.”

  We arrive where the others are standing, and I take my place in line, looking up at Ezekiel under my lashes. He’s still watching me, his gaze intense and conflicted as he steps back to examine the group.

  “All the hopefuls are here,” the announcer says from the top of the steps. “It’s time for Ezekiel to decide which of these lovely ladies will share the first dance with him.”

  Ezekiel makes a play of looking at each one of us. He winks at one of the girls—a Green in a clingy dress with a neckline so low that it drops nearly to her navel—and my stomach falls.

  Will he choose her? I hope not. I want him to choose me.

  Because if he chooses me, it means I’m one step closer to succeeding in my mission.

  Finally, his gaze lands on mine. I allow my lips to curve up into a small smile, and I tilt my head again, allowing my hair to fall softly over my cheek.

  Pick me, I think. I want you to pick me.

  “Adriana Medina,” he says, and it’s like there’s a line of magnetic energy between us as he speaks my name, connecting us together. “Would you like to join me for the first dance?”

  “I would love to,” I say with a smile.

  The crowd claps as I drop into a curtsy. Suddenly, Ezekiel is beside me, taking my hand and leading me to the center of the ballroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You’re trembling,” he observes, wrapping one arm around my waist and taking my hand with his other one.

  “From happiness.” I gaze up into his eyes, which are so familiar to me from the other two times we’ve met. Just like then, my instinct tells me to trust him.

  It must be because of the curse. I want him to be the person I thought he was—Matthew.

  But that person doesn’t exist, and I can’t let myself forget it.

  “And excitement, anticipation, and a million other amazing things,” I add.

  The music starts, and he leads me across the floor in a waltz. Adriana’s body knows how to dance, and I’m also prepared for this, since Teresa and Marco went over the steps with me this week. We glide around the floor in a way that I hope looks effortless.

  “You said you learned who I am a few days ago,” he says, his eyes glued on mine. “Were you not upset that I was dishonest with you? Were you not angry with me?”

  “At first, yes,” I admit. “But then I realized—a name doesn’t make someone who they are. Despite what you call yourself—Matthew, or Ezekiel—you’re the same person who walked me home that first night and saved my life the second. Those moments were real. They’re what matter. Not anything else.”

  “You don’t have to call me Ezekiel,” he says. “It sounds so formal.”

  “What should I call you, then?”

  “I prefer for those close to me to call me Zeke.”

  I nearly stumble with surprise, but catch myself just in time. “Would you consider me to be close to you?” I ask.

  “Did I not ask you to dance with me first?”
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  “You did,” I reply.

  “Then yes, Adriana,” he says. “Right now, you’re the closest person to me in this entire room.”

  I’m unsure if he means that metaphorically or physically, but I smile just the same. “We’ve only met three times,” I remind him. “I mean, I’m honored to hear it, but surely there are others you’re closer to than me?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” His eyes drift, and for the first time since we started dancing, I feel a distance between us. “But I’ve felt like I’ve known you from the moment I saw you.”

  As I remember it, he thought I was someone else—someone named Julia—but I know better than to bring that up. “I felt the same way, too,” I say instead. “After you said you would be at the ball tonight, and after…” I lower my eyes, my cheeks heating at the memory of our kiss.

  “After…” He watches me closer, clearly hungry for me to continue.

  I lean closer to him, lowering my voice. “After our kiss,” I say, the words for his ears only. I feel his breath slow, and I lean back, gazing into his eyes as we glide across the dance floor. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You told me you already had a date, but it didn’t change my feelings. It didn’t change how much I wanted to see you again. Which is why, after I learned who you are, I exchanged my other dress for this red one. I couldn’t have watched you from afar all night as you danced with the other girls. I wanted you to give me a chance. No—I needed you to give me a chance.” The words come out stronger than anticipated—as if they’re not a complete lie.

  Because deep down, I know they’re not. The feelings I’m sharing with him—as twisted and convoluted as they are—are real.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you at the top of those steps,” he says. “I heard talk that a Gold was auditioning, and while I wanted it to be you, I didn’t dare hope. If I did, none of the other girls would have lived up to my expectations, and next week, we would be right back where we are now.”