Melissa de la Cruz - Revelations

Someone else was inside her body.

The man in the white suit.

Yes.

I am you. You are me. We are one, my daughter.

They arrived at a hilltop mansion, and Bliss remembered hiding in the shadows until the time came. She had watched the killing unfold with an overwhelming sense of horror. The massacre she had inflicted with her own hands. She had been imprisoned in her own body, a helpless figure, trapped inside her head while the other took over. Inside she had raged and wept and screamed. But she was powerless, with absolutely no ability to stop herself.

Slowly, she began to remember what happened during her blackouts. Began to realize the truth.

She was the one who had attacked Dylan that first night at The Bank. She had wanted to drain him, but something—a vestigial attraction to him—had stopped her, so she had taken Aggie instead. She had attempted to take Schuyler twice. That was why Schuyler's bloodhound had barked at her—Beauty knew her true nature even if Schuyler did not. Then she had attacked Cordelia, had almost taken her, if Dylan had not stopped her.

Dylan had been a problem. He knew but did not know. That was why his memory was so screwed up all the time. He knew the truth even though she'd tried to wipe it from his consciousness.

That first time he had returned to warn her about the Silver Bloods had resulted in that bloody scene in the bathroom. She remembered his blood-soaked leather jacket, the scratches on her face and the bruise on her neck. But he had escaped, and she'd had to send others to track him down. But the Venators got to him first. Oliver was wrong. They were not Silver Bloods. They had let Dylan go when they discovered he was innocent.

He was free to return to her.

The stupid, stupid boy.

"I know who the Silver Blood is," Dylan had said that night he crashed through the window. "It's you."

And right then and there, she had changed his memory. Made him think it was Schuyler.

A small, sad voice inside her began to cry.

I loved him. I loved Dylan.

We love no one.

No one but ourselves.

Forsyth had known all along. That's why she could never bring herself to ask him about Dylan, because somewhere in her subconscious she knew the reason why her father was keeping things from her. Because part of her could not accept who she really was.

She watched as she left the burning house, taking a car that had a body stuffed in the trunk. Dylan. She had taken him to the mountaintop, where Lawrence and Schuyler were waiting. Taken him to Corcovado, where he would be a sacrifice. There, she had shaped him in his image.

She had brought him to his death.

It was Lawrence's blade that struck, but it was she who had killed him.

As she had killed so many others. She heard the voices of everyone she had taken. They were all there, inside her head, screaming, crying. SILENCE! Nan Cutler was part of it, she realized. Nan was the Warden who had checked for the Mark of Lucifer on her neck. She'd been the one who had cleared Bliss of suspicion during the investigation. Bliss suddenly had an idea, and lifted her hair from her neck and touched her fingers to her skin. She felt it at once. She turned to the mirror and saw it. A small star-shaped scar that branded her as the devil's own.

But why? the small, sad voice asked.

Is that the one who calls herself "Bliss." Is she still there?

Yes, said the same tiny voice. It was the voice of Bliss Llewellyn. The same voice of Maggie Stanford before her. It was always the same way. Every cycle. They never wanted to accept the truth of their heritage.

I did not know.

I do not want this.

Your desires are immaterial. Now pick yourself up and walk toward your friends. Not everything went to plan. Some of us were killed. We must bide our time again.

I know who you are now, "Bliss" said.

You are Lucifer.

Lightbringer.

Morningstar.

The former Prince of Heaven.

Her true and immortal father.

Lawrence was dead. Schuyler felt as if her heart would shatter from the loss of her beloved grandfather. How was this allowed to happen? What had he been talking about? Her sister? Who? What?

The first rays of dawn lit the mountaintop. A figure walked up the steps.

"Someone's coming," Oliver warned.

"It's just Bliss," Schuyler said as their friend reached them. "Thank God you're okay."

"My sister is dead. My stepmother too. I don't know where my father is," Bliss said in a flat, strangled voice. "There was black smoke. The Conclave…they've been…What's happened here?" she asked, seeing the prone bodies of Lawrence and Dylan on the ground.

"Is that? Oh my God!"

Schuyler grabbed Bliss by the waist and let her sob on her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."

Bliss removed herself from Schuyler's embrace and knelt by the body of the boy she loved. She cradled him in her arms, and her tears fell on his cheeks. "Dylan…no," she whispered. "No."

"There was nothing we could do … it was a mistake," Schuyler said, trying to explain. "Lawrence…"

But Bliss wasn't listening. She wiped away her tears on her sleeve. "I'll take him down," she said, putting her arms around him, lifting him up. He was so light, he was almost insubstantial. It was like holding air. There was nothing left of him. She made her way down the mountain alone, hiccupping sobs.

Schuyler watched them with tears falling from her own eyes. She had not been able to save Dylan. She had lost two friends today.

"It will be all right, you'll see," Oliver said, kneeling to cover the wound on her arm with a torn strip from his shirt.

Schuyler looked at him. Saw the sad, drawn expression on his handsome face, his dark caramel hair falling over his wounded forehead. Kind, gentle, wonderful Oliver. The enormity of her deception struck her. She had deceived them both in her words and actions. Because she did love him. Had always loved him. Loved Oliver and Jack both. They were both part of her. She had denied her love for Oliver in order to allow herself to love Jack. But now so much was clear.

"I love you," she said.

"I know." Oliver smiled and continued to bandage her arm.

Two Weeks Later

So this was their sordid little love nest. Mimi let herself into the dark apartment. She had found a key that she'd never seen before in Jack's room. She had suspected where it led, and she knew he wouldn't be long in coming.

The door opened silently, and Jack entered.

The look on her brother's face told her all she needed to know. Mimi smiled to herself. So the little half-blood finally cut her ties.

"You've won," Jack said softly. He looked at Mimi with such fiery hatred that she almost cowered at his words. But she was no weakling. She was Azrael, and Azrael did not cower, not even to Abbadon.

"I've won nothing," Mimi replied coldly. "Please remember that almost all of the Elders are dead, that the Dark Prince is ascendant, and what is left of the Conclave is being led by a broken man who used to be the strongest of us all. And yet all you seem to care about, my darling, is that you no longer get to play with your little love toy."

Instead of answering her, Jack flew across the room and slapped her hard across the face, sending her crashing to the floor. But before he could wield another blow, Mimi leaped up and slammed him against the window, knocking him completely out of breath.

"Is this what you want?" she hissed as she lifted him up by his shirt collar, his face turning a ghastly shade of red.

"Don't let me destroy you," he sneered.

"Just try, my sweet."