Bound in Black (21 page)

“Can I—” I stammered, my voice breaking, heart aching.

“Yes? Can I get you something? Does it hurt?”

I shook my head, reveling in the sound of his deep voice rumbling with concern for me.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, worry shining in his eyes.

“Can I…please…hold you?”

His smile faded, and I was sure he would push me away. Again. Instead, he opened his arms. On a heavy sigh, I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I simply stood there, lost in the warmth of his embrace, in the fluttering of his pulse where my cheek pressed to his neck, in the utter joy of being where I belonged most in the world. He said nothing and never pushed me away, just let me hold him with his hands placed at a respectful height on my back. I wanted more, so much more, but for now, this was enough.

Chapter Eighteen

I’d sent Mira to bring George back to the cottage. After our all too brief hug, Jude had become agitated. The night terror was proof that his memories were buoying to the surface, and the horror he’d experienced at the hands of Danté and his minions threatened to push him over the edge into rage-filled madness. It wasn’t something he could convey in words, but I sensed it all the same. Whether it was my Vessel Sense or women’s intuition, I knew this to be true.

Jude sat before the fire, tapping his foot on the ground, his knee bouncing twice per second.

“They’ll be here soon. I’m sure of it.”

“And these men, you say I know them?”

“Yes.”

He’d finally come to grips that there was a lifetime of memories he couldn’t remember. I wouldn’t even try to explain that his lifetime extended for centuries. It was too much to try to make him understand.

“They are Flamma of Light. Like me. Like you.”

If he didn’t stop frowning, he’d have a permanent dent right in the middle of his forehead.

A gentle knock on the door—three raps—then it opened. Jude shot to his feet, as did I. George entered the room first, Mira on his shoulder, with Uriel behind him, the cold air whooshing in. No one said a word, but I watched the exchange between Uriel and Jude as the angel stepped farther inside. Jude’s frown smoothed, his lips sliding apart in wonder and…recognition.

“I’ve met you before.”

“Of course you have, Jude Delacroix. I made you what you are.”

By now, Uriel stood directly in front of an awestruck Jude. He wasn’t surprised that a beautiful man with white-gold wings stepped into the cottage. He wasn’t alarmed by George’s presence either. There was a knowing of the soul that transpired beyond the mind’s memory. Again, for about the hundredth time, a dagger slid into my heart and cut out another piece, for he hadn’t yet remembered me. I put my own selfish thoughts away.

Mira flapped her wings and flew up to her coverlet nest on top of the kitchen cabinet. I twisted my hands together, anxiety riding me like a lightning bolt.

“I need you to remove your sweater and lie down for what I must do,” commanded Uriel.

“And what is it you plan to do?” asked Jude.

“Make you again. The fire I gave you once is all but a few dying embers. I must feed you the burn to purge away the darkness and bring you back to the Light as you were before.”

Jude gripped the bottom of his sweater and lifted it over his head, tossing it onto the dining room table. No matter that thin scars—fully healed in a remarkable few days—slashed his chest and back with white ribbons across the black ink, the sight of this shirtless man nearly brought me to my knees. I loved him so, wanted him every second of every day. His dark gaze flicked to mine. Did he feel the heat of my ogling? Embarrassed, I looked away and moved around behind the sofa.

Frown back in place, Jude lay back, probably realizing he was literally putting himself in a vulnerable position, which I’m sure didn’t sit well with his instincts. This took a great deal of trust. I smiled at him for reassurance. His chest and abdomen—flexed tight—relaxed as Uriel knelt on the floor beside him. I stood behind the sofa near his head, where he could see me if he needed.

Uriel splayed his large hands on Jude’s chest and abdomen. In a booming voice that shook the panes in their casements, Uriel said, “
Ignis caeli venite ad me.
”
The fire of heaven come to me.

“Ah!” I cried out and flinched back as a brilliant golden light flared to life, gold-orange flames licking up from Uriel’s hand and Jude’s chest, a fire that didn’t burn the flesh, perhaps only the soul.

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape in agony, Jude arched his back as if he were being lashed all over again. I stepped forward, wanting to reach out and touch him, take his hand.

“No.” George gripped my arm and watched the display as if it were perfectly normal to witness an angel set another man on fire. Who was I kidding? This
was
normal for them. My VS pumped a steady beacon from within, telling me to be calm, that all was well.

Reminding myself that these flames would burn away the evil smothering Jude’s soul, I gripped the edge of the sofa, heat pouring from the supernatural flames rising higher and higher, spreading down Jude’s legs, up his neck to his head. I bit my lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

“
Lux autem in tenebris. Libera eum.
”
Light up the dark. Set him free.

With the last word, Uriel lifted his hands, straightened his arms and clapped them together over his head. The flames snuffed out in a blink. One second, the room was filled with a hallowed fire purging Jude’s soul; the next, it was all gone, the air cool again. Only static electricity in the air marked the room as any different from before.

Jude was once again unconscious. “Is he okay?” I asked.

“Yes.” George wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“What?” I asked, fear taking hold. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, giving me a tight squeeze before circling the sofa to Uriel’s side. “All is well, actually. I believe Jude will be all right. When he awakens.”

Uriel had his hands on his thighs as he knelt on the floor, his head bowed, shoulders rising and falling with the deep breaths he sucked into his lungs. The arch of his wings drooped, the edges sagging.

“Uriel? Are you okay?”

I’d never seen the mighty angel appear so exhausted, so weak. Finally, he lifted his head. I hitched in a breath at the sight of the intense brilliance of his crystal-blue eyes, sparking with a fire all their own.

“Your eyes.”

“A side effect of using the fire of making,” said George.

Uriel lifted to his feet. Without a word, he planted his hand on Jude’s shoulder and sifted out with him.

“No! Where’d they go? Where’d he take him?” My pulse pounded in utter terror to have Jude taken from me again, even by someone I knew.

“In here,” said Uriel, walking out of the bedroom to rejoin us. “I wasn’t about to carry him after I spent all that energy.”

“He’s okay, then. How long will he be out?”

“Hard to say. That’ll be up to him, I’m afraid. Let him rest. Hopefully, when he wakes, he’ll have more of his memory. It still may come back in stages, but he didn’t fear us. He knew us right away, though he wasn’t quite sure how. His trust was a good sign.”

I walked them to the door. George gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Alert us when he wakes again.”

“I will. And George?”

“Yes?”

“How’s Dommiel doing?”

His brow bunched into a frown. “Quite well. He’ll recover.”

“Thank you. I know it’s not exactly protocol to help a demon, but I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

“And”—I bit my lip in hesitation—“how is Kat?”

When I’d left her at his flat, she was standing on the balcony, staring at the Thames with a look so distant and full of regret, I’d slipped away with a sad heart. There was nothing I could say to take away what Damas had done to her. And though it had happened long ago, the scars had never healed.

Grim-faced, George said, “She’s fine…now. But we will have to have a conversation about the repercussions of your interaction with Damas.”

To clarify, my mistake of accepting the power to sift from a demon might bring me to harm in some way we hadn’t yet determined. I’d been told long ago that only angels held and could share the power to sift. Of course, I kept forgetting that high demons were once angels—the fallen. If it wasn’t so grave a mistake, I’d laugh at my stupidity.

“Not now,” I said to George. “Please.” I could handle only so much anxiety in one day.

“Not now,” he said with a smile, giving my shoulder a squeeze before slipping out into the cold night.

The archangel stepped forward, weariness in his slumping shoulders and drooping head. He appeared so frail and brittle. Jude had once told me that angels rarely shared their power because it depleted their own strength. I wasn’t exactly sure what had transpired in this rekindling of the fire within Jude, but it held the essence of Uriel. The event had cost him on some level.

“Uriel?” I stopped him as he passed through the doorway. “Why do your eyes change color? I thought they were green the first time we met in Jackson Square. But they change to all manner of shades of blue too.”

He chuckled. “When my mood changes, so do my eyes.”

“Wow. Cool, but…unusual.”

“Windows to the soul, Vessel.” He looked out at the night, the moon smudged behind a wispy sweep of clouds. “Angels are more akin to the spiritual realm than the human. It shows in such ways.” He turned to face me, his smile slipping to a grave expression, all levity drained from him. “You’ve done a fine job. With Jude.”

“Have I? He still has no clue who I am.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my words, but it was impossible.

Uriel cupped my cheek. The tactile sensation of his hand on my skin sent my VS into orbit, energy pulsing from him to me at an alarming speed.

“Do not doubt his love for you, Genevieve.” His deep voice had dropped to a sonorous melody, the hypnotic tones of an angel. “He will remember. And he owes everything—his body, his heart, his soul—entirely to your courage and faith.”

“Not entirely,” I whispered. “I couldn’t restore his power as you did.”

“I could never have done so had you not gone into the pit of hell and dragged him out again. Never forget that, Vessel of Light. You braved the darkest reaches of the world with faith and hope that could buoy a legion of sinking ships. You could’ve certainly doomed yourself—and the precious one you carry—to bring him back again.” A tear slid down my cheek. Uriel brushed it away with his thumb, still holding his palm against my skin. “It is the kind of love that moves mountains. The kind that wages war against evil…and wins.”

As he slipped back into the night, crunching across the snow and crossing the wards to sift away with George, the heavy boulder I’d been carrying from the moment Lethe stole my love from me chipped away into dust, until finally I could breathe again. Hope. Faith. Yes, I’d clasped them and held on tight, never allowing despair to convince me Jude was lost for good. Once I was past the grief, I needed these two companions to keep me going. And they’d not let me down. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Nineteen

He didn’t wake the next morning, nor did he have any more nightmares. Silent. Still. Nothing. I left Mira at his bedside and sifted into Brodick to pick up dinner. I wanted food that I didn’t have to cook. Funny the little things you miss when secluded on an isolated island. A McDonald’s quarter pounder with cheese and salty fries would’ve been perfect right about now, but I refused to go anywhere too public, where I might be discovered.

I stepped into The Brodick Bar and Brasserie. Jude and I had dined here a few weeks ago, before my world had gone to shit. Their food was delicious. The sound of Christmas music greeted me. A string of lights lined the bar. In the corner of the room sat a short, fat Christmas tree, its multicolored lights blinking cheerily. The place was near empty but for a little old man hunched over the bar with his brown wool coat and flat cap still on. He was here the last time I’d been here, sitting on the same corner stool.

I scanned the chalkboard menu, finding what I wanted right away.

“Are you okay there?”

It was the rosy-cheeked waitress with strawberry-blonde hair who’d waited on us last time. She peered over my shoulder before settling a disappointed smile on me. She was looking for Jude. He’d made quite the impression on her last time, apparently. He’d done nothing more than smile and place our orders, but Jude had that effect on women. The kind of effect that sent their fantasies into overdrive.

“Table for one, or are you expecting someone else?” she asked.

“I’d like to order something to go, please.”

“Sure, then. What will you have?”

“The grilled sirloin steak with parsley butter and chips. Oh, and a piece of the chocolate torte, please.”

“How’d you like your steak?”

“Medium rare.”

I craved red meat and chocolate. My stomach growled just thinking about it.