Tirade (Heven and Hell #3)(59)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He was no longer alone.

But he didn’t know it.

He was being ambushed from behind.

Most likely, it was a demon, but I couldn’t be sure because it was covered in a long, black trench coat and had an oversized hat on its head. The biggest indicator was its lack of aura. I tried to ignore the way the beast inside me seemed to take notice of its ‘friend.’ It was running low with its arms extended, ready to take him out from behind.

I made a sound in the back of my throat, but it was too late.

The demon was on him.

Riley wasn’t startled and he didn’t jerk in surprise. Almost as if it were a reflex, he kicked out behind himself and caught the demon at the waist. Then, seemingly not in a hurry, he turned to kick it in the face, this time sending it to the ground. Instead of just punching his hand through its chest, a dagger appeared in his hand, and in one swift motion he cut off its head. He tossed the body behind a nearby oversized tombstone and walked away through the pouring rain, the head dangling from his hand as he moved. He didn’t once look back. I stood, shaken, cold to the bone, as I watched morbidly as the rain washed the blood away.

Like it never even happened.

I even blinked, trying to decide if it had. Unfortunately, it must have because the beast inside me was awakened by the violence that I just witnessed. It felt like he charged at full speed but hit the wall of my body, causing him to crash backward, which made me stumble back. Sam was there to steady me, but unfortunately, the thing wasn’t done. It charged again, throwing me forward, and I fell to my knees. Gran was there, fretting, helping me up, and the priest was looking at me with pity.

“I’m sorry,” I managed as I got to my feet. “It’s very muddy and I’m not used to wearing heels.” It was a lame excuse, but I could do no better. Logan, who seemed very subdued during the entire funeral, reached out and took my arm to help me toward the car. I smiled at him and he lowered his eyes.

“We should go,” Gran said. “It’s cold and we have guests coming to the house.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling a searing pain across my stomach. I wanted to lurch forward, but I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself so I leaned into Sam for support.

What set it off? Sam asked as he led Gran and I away.

There was a demon across the cemetery. Riley killed it.

His mouth flattened into a thin line as his eyes searched the immediate area. I prayed there were no more. I climbed into the backseat of Gran’s Toyota, trying to ignore the pain in my stomach, not needing to look to know I would find a fresh set of marks.

On the way home I tried to remember some good times that my mother and I shared over the years. But it was hard. I kept hearing the words she said to me last. You’re evil; you’re not my daughter anymore. Visions of hell clouded behind my eyes and called out to me. I saw the charred, desolate landscape and the sunless, smoky sky.

Nothing terrible or too frightening yet, but the images shook me to my core.

Not because they were unsightly and depressing, but because they weren’t.

No, what was scariest of all was that these images of hell actually looked inviting.

*

I felt restless and edgy. I prowled the dimly lit room because I couldn’t sit down. I’d already changed out of my funeral clothes and threw them into the back of my closet where hopefully, I would never see them again. I didn’t understand this energy I was feeling. I was uncomfortable in my own skin and I wanted a distraction, anything to take my mind off how I was feeling. I glanced at the clock for the tenth time and sighed.

I missed Sam. He left about twenty minutes ago, kissing me gently and giving my hands a squeeze. I closed my eyes and tried to feel that touch now, but my hands were cold. His touch was never cold. I pictured his retreating back as he walked to his truck and turned back. His devastating golden beauty made it difficult to stand in the door. But then Gran had called to me and he drove away. I knew he would be back as soon as possible, just as I knew he had to actually leave so he could sneak back through my bedroom window.

Logan was still here, still in the guest room. It was most likely going to be his last night. Now that Sam was home, Logan was going to go back to Sam’s apartment and I was going to have to come up with some sort of lie about why Logan wasn’t going home to his parents. It would be hard to explain why those eight days Sam spent “visiting his parents” and working things out so Logan could go home weren’t successful. Sam wouldn’t be able to sleep here when Logan went home. He would need to stay with his brother at their apartment.

Sometimes I hated being seventeen. I was too young to live the way I wanted and governed by rules that were so unfair. I had already lived through more than most people could even dream of. Some days I felt so old.

I heard a sound behind me and I tensed, but before I could react, Sam’s arms were wrapping around me, drawing me back into the heat of his body. I sighed. Finally, I was where I wanted to be. You were gone too long.

He nuzzled the back of my neck and I forgot my words. I turned and laid my head on his chest, bringing my hands up between us and curling into him as much as I could. I fit so well against him. It was like he was made just for this. That I was made for this. When he hunched himself around me, some of the edginess I felt disappeared.

You did good today, he said.

Burying my mother isn’t something I want to be good at.

He rubbed slow circles over my back and I enjoyed hearing a long, slow breath fill his lungs.

I feel guilty because I’m just glad it’s over. I admitted.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting some of the pain to go away.

I wasn’t sure the pain of losing a parent ever went away. My dad died a few years ago and the pain wasn’t gone; it had just changed. It was more of a yearning, a deep feeling of loss for things that would never be and things that we could never share. Of unspoken words and questions that sometimes haunted me, like: What would he think of me now?

Even though I have talked to him (a blessing, I know), those feelings hadn’t left

Losing my mother was different, though. Our relationship was more complicated. In the end, I don’t think she even liked me. She definitely didn’t know me. I wondered if it would make mourning for her harder or easier. I couldn’t tell because I was so regretful about never getting to make things right with her.

That’s when I remembered the envelope.

The one that Gran found at the hospital. The one that had my name written across the front.