Bound in Black (27 page)

He sat upright and edged the spaghetti straps off my shoulders. As he cupped one breast with a rough hand, his mouth found the other, licking and sucking my tight nub.

“Jude,” I whispered.

Somehow in that moment, I remembered when he was taken from me, when I was curled in a ball on the cottage floor, mourning the loss of him, feeling my heart splinter and break into such miniscule pieces I thought it would never be whole again. But now, my love was home, in my bed, in my arms, adoring me with his hands, his mouth, his body.

I moaned louder, feeling my climax build. So fast. Too fast. I couldn’t help it.

His thumb and forefinger gently rolled my nipple once more before his hand glided across my waist to my back and down to cup one cheek. Fingers curling tight around my ass, he guided me, flesh slapping. His tongue and mouth continued to work one breast—kissing, nipping, sucking. I came with a loud cry, head falling back. A starburst broke across my mind. Jude held me still as my inner walls convulsed with an orgasm that made me light-headed.

I slumped forward onto his chest, having no strength to keep my body upright. He brushed my back with his fingers, still rock-solid inside me. No way was I taking my pleasure and leaving him unsatisfied.

I lifted my head and slanted my mouth over his, stroking my tongue along his, before pulling apart. “Where do you want me?” I asked him. He wasn’t a man accustomed to relinquishing control. Yet, he’d allowed me to have it as long as I needed. Now I wanted him to take me in whatever way would bring him the pleasure he always gave me. He needed to wield his dominance for that to happen. I understood that.

“Lie on your side. Face the window.”

I did, seeing nothing but the night through the panes. He molded himself to my back, pushing my top leg into a crooked position. Grazing my neck with heated breath, he kissed a line up to my ear. One hand glided over my hip and down to the slick cleft between my legs.

“Jude,” I protested, that spot too sensitive now for touch. I rolled slightly away from him and closed my legs.

“No, my heart.” He nuzzled my ear, biting the lobe. “Open for me.”

Hesitantly, I crooked my knee up again, allowing him to slide two fingers up and down the sensitive line. I reached back and gripped his hip, clenching my other hand into the sheets. I was so wet as he stroked and stoked my desire anew. Before long, he had me rocking to the slow rhythm of his fingers. I picked up the pace, wanting him to press harder. On one backward rock, he thrust inside me from behind. I sank my fingernails into his hip, which he didn’t seem to mind, grinding a slow, steady beat. He gentled me toward another climax.

“That’s it, my love,” he whispered, nipping at my neck.

I wasn’t sure if he was being tender because now he knew of the child or if he just wanted to drive me mad with his insanely slow stroking of my most feminine places—inside and out. To feel the heat of his hard body against my back and all the way down, his thigh pinning my bottom leg to the mattress, the other lifted for him as he demanded.

He pressed his fingers harder on the nub of my sensitive flesh. “Come with me,” he said on a hoarse cry, pumping deeper.

“Ahh!” I cried out and clenched my fists, surely hurting him as my nails dug deeper. He bit my neck harder than usual and stilled, his shaft pulsing inside me.

Both of us lay there panting for several moments before he finally pulled out. I couldn’t move, my eyes sliding closed as I fell into utter bliss and exhaustion. I felt the covers drape over me and his arms wrap around to cradle me close. I drifted swiftly into sleep, but not before I heard his deep voice whisper words that mended my fractured heart once more.

“I love you,
mon coeur
. My wife.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sitting on the beach, my bum getting cold, I leaned back against a rock jutting out of the coarse gray sand and watched Jude holding Mira on his arm, saying something to her in a gentle whisper. Now
he
was flirting with her. Not sure what to do about those two. When she lifted off over the water and sifted away somewhere else, he walked back to me and sat on the rock. She did that from time to time, so I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t sure where she was going, but she always came back.

“I think my bird has traded me in for a handsome substitute.”

“Oh, I don’t think you have too much to fear,” he said, nudging me gently with his knee. “She’s your making, so of course she’s attracted to me. She can’t help it.”

I narrowed a look up at him to find him grinning like the Cheshire cat. Yes, that was the Jude I missed—the confident-as-hell guy with swagger enough to melt a stadium of girls into mush. He chuckled. Instant butterflies fluttered in my belly. I wondered if that feeling would ever go away. Somehow I doubted it.

His expression sobered. “We haven’t discussed the prophecy yet.”

“What’s there to discuss?”

“Genevieve.” A chastising tone. Not my favorite of his.

“We know the gathering will be held in three days, the night of the Blood Moon. Other than that, the prophecy was little to no help whatsoever. So happy you spent several weeks in hell for it.”

Yep, my snark was back with a vengeance.

“I believe you’re wrong about that. I didn’t have time to digest it before. But I read it again this morning.”

I’d seen him with his cell phone and that deep furrow in his brow and wondered why he was so pensive and broody. Now I knew.

“And what conclusions have you made?”

“Originally, we’d thought Bamal and Danté were the two demon princes mentioned in the prophecy.”

I’d memorized the prophecy. I knew every line by heart.
Two great sons of Morning Star; divided, until death will mar. One will woo the warrior maid, one will cut her to a shade.

I glanced up at Jude, his profile silhouetted against a gray twilight. “Who else would it be? They were the ones after me from the first.”

“True. But I think not now. ‘One will woo the warrior maid.’ That would be Damas, not Danté.”

I sat up straighter and turned so I could see him.

“I believe Danté was the one to cut you to a shade. I could never figure out the meaning behind that line. Not until this morning. I had a flash of memory of when I was in Danté’s dungeon. I saw you, standing nearby, that infernal whip made of some hellacious spawn wrapped around your waist while you pulled and faced your enemy—Danté. While your underlight burned bright, a ghostly halo of malice hovered all around you, seeking to find a way in. Danté had tainted your soul that night of the Masquerade. He’d cut a piece of your light away. You’d given in to wrath when you killed Nathaniel but somehow had rebuilt your coat of protection. In that deepest pit of hell, when all darkness sought to swallow you, it couldn’t penetrate the shield of light you’d created. He never did cut you to a shade, which is exactly what you would’ve been had you remained his slave in Erebus—a shade, a ghost of your former self.”

“So, what you’re saying is the prophecy is wrong?”

“Not wrong. Only that it’s a prophecy. By definition, that means it’s a prediction, a divination, a forecast of possible events.”

“Possible, not probable.”

“Probable but not definite is a more accurate interpretation.”

I picked up a stone and rolled it between my fingers. The sky was bleak and heavy, promising rain or snow or both.

“So Bamal was trying to kill me in the beginning to remove me from the whole equation until he got hold of the rest of the prophecy. The lost piece.”

“Yes. That appears to be so.”

“And, of course, he backed off when he realized the prophecy demanded both me and his Vessel must be there on the night of the eclipse. That’s when he just wanted to kidnap me until the time came.”

“I’m sure he planned to warp you as best he could under his
gentle
care. The essence you described that Gorham had used on those girls in his nightclub, the House of Hercules. That is similar to Bamal’s own gift. It’s like a narcotic to numb the senses and the will. I’m sure he planned to infect you with it, to make you ready to sacrifice yourself at the gathering and ensure he held dominion once and for all.”

I tossed my rock out toward the water, where it plunked in the shallows. The lapping waves washed ashore in a steady, even tempo. The sound was hypnotic in its soft, repetitive rhythm. A memory flashed to mind. My mother holding my hand as we walked along the beach of Gulf Shores, Alabama, when I was a child. I saw something bone-white sticking out of the sand by my toes. I’d scooped it up and brushed off the grains of sand to find a sand dollar with a quarter of it missing.

“Why are you sad?”
my mother had asked.

“Because it’s broken,”
I’d replied.

She had knelt down beside me and peered down at the fractured sand dollar in my palm.
“But look at the beautiful lines here. Nature made this lovely work of art for us to cherish. Be grateful for such beauty in the world.”
I remember peering into her crystal-blue eyes as she smiled sweetly, her sun-kissed golden hair blowing in the ocean breeze.
“Remember my sweet girl, even broken things can be beautiful.”

“Genevieve?”

I snapped out of my reverie.

“Are you okay?”

I stood up and brushed the cold sand from my jeans. “Yeah. Just a memory.”

“A sad one,” he said, wrapping his hand around my wrist and tugging me closer.

I let him pull me between his legs. I sat sideways on his knee and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He looked out at the sea, a content smile creasing his face, the lovely lines of his jaw, chin, nose and brow standing in silhouette against the gray beach and gray sky. Yes, my mother was right. Even broken things can be beautiful. He turned to me with a curious expression.

“What is it?”

I smiled so as not to alarm him with my intense ogling. “Nothing. Just that I love you.”

“That’s not nothing.” Sparks of gold lit up his eyes. He trailed the fingers of one hand along my jaw and combed them into my hair, wrapping my nape. “That’s everything.”

He pulled me down for a kiss. I went willingly, sinking into him with a sigh. A sweet kiss turned sensual in a heartbeat when he nudged my lips farther apart with his own, stroking in with his tongue. A soft moan hummed from my mouth into his. He gripped me tighter.

A snapping
whoosh
and the presence of electric energy sent us both jolting apart and upright into fighting stances. Sifting carried a very distinct sound and energy.

It was George and Uriel. I breathed a sigh of relief, then my heart clenched at the expressions of the commander and the maker of demon hunters as they gazed at Jude and clearly realized he was himself again.

George strode toward us, the breeze tousling his perfect chestnut hair. He didn’t seem to mind. Jude met him with a masculine embrace. They said nothing, but the keen affection was evident. Then Uriel stepped forward, his eyes the color of the sky today, his skin paler than usual, but his wings no less brilliant and beautiful. When they embraced, I heard Jude say, “Thank you.”

“None needed, my friend.”

Okay. So I hadn’t realized that Uriel was really his friend. His maker, yes. His sort of super-boss, yes. But friend wasn’t on my list of descriptors, till now.

“You didn’t have to bring me back,” said Jude.

Then I wanted to slap him. Why would he say such a thing?

“Yes. I did,” said Uriel. “It’s a small price to pay, believe me. I wouldn’t do it for just anyone, but you… Yes, it was worth it.”

George had told me the loss of power can be great for any Flamma when they share power. Using the power of making, especially on one as far gone as Jude, must’ve had a serious impact on Uriel. As I stepped closer, I observed how his face seemed drawn tight around the mouth from pain or distress. His eyes lacked the luster I was accustomed to finding there.

“Well, darling, you could’ve told us he was up and about,” said George as I edged next to him.

“I wanted him to myself for a while.”

“Yes, as we could see from the cliff top.”

“That’s a little creepy stalkerish, George, even for you.”

“We sifted in and knocked on the door. Finding no one home, we decided to walk along the cliff until you both returned. Naturally, we saw the lovely display below.”

“Naturally.”

Jude and Uriel turned back to us.

“Right,” said Uriel, his serious game face back on. “As much as I’d love to reminisce and stroll down memory lane, we need to discuss the night of the Blood Moon, which is in three days’ time.”

“Do we know where the gathering will be held?” asked Jude.

“Dartmoor.”

That seemed logical to me, as it was neutral ground for Flamma of Light and Dark gatherings of the past. It was where I’d laid eyes on Prince Bamal the first and last time. Seemed I’d be meeting him there again.

“The prophecy doesn’t specify a time,” said George. “But it appears an hour before the eclipse will bring us to—”