Forged in Fire (24 page)

I rolled my eyes. “Geez, you sound like someone else I know.”

Jude’s leg found mine under the table, sliding against my bare calf. I ignored him, shooing his leg away. Persistent though he was, George had my unwavering attention. He swirled his wineglass, watching the burgundy liquid as he prepared to tell his story.

“After I died in 303 AD, I—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I stopped him, leaning forward. “After you died? You seem far from dead to me.”

For that matter, his sparkling sea-blue eyes reminded me that he was different from Jude and Kat, lacking the telltale swirling of black in the irises. He might be their commander, but he wasn’t exactly one of them.

“Yes, well, when I was martyred by order of Emperor Diocletian, I was given the opportunity by a higher power,” he said, glancing upward, “to serve here on earth. Like you, Genevieve, the whole thing came as quite a shock to me that demons and angels were, in fact, fighting battles right here among mankind. So I thought, why the bloody hell not? Given back my body, ageless now as my dear friends here”—he gestured, sweeping the table with a large hand bearing a silver signet ring on his index finger—“I became the ‘master of the Master of Demons’ as you so eloquently stated.”

“I see,” I said, taking a sip and relishing the warm burn of potent pinot noir down my throat. “That legend of you slaying the dragon takes place in the medieval period. Was any of that accurate?”

“There is always truth in legend.” He smiled. “That was quite a beast, and he did favor the appearance of a dragon, I must say.”

“A demon then?” I asked, completely riveted.

“Demon spawn of Damas, actually. That bastard sets all kinds of abominations on humanity. Pardon my profanity.”

My eyes flickered to Kat, but she appeared completely engrossed in her salad, as if she hadn’t heard a word. I knew that she had.

“Demon spawn? Yes, Jude, you mentioned something about that once.”

Jude merely nodded, his expression grim. At that moment, platters of char-grilled oysters and plates of filet mignon with sides of marinated portabella mushrooms and baked potatoes were set neatly before us.

George leaned to Kat’s side of the table. “You do still prefer your steak medium rare, do you not, Katherine?”

She glared at him and commenced to eating the mushrooms. I’d never seen her so petulant. Once the waiter disappeared again, I continued the conversation.

“There are many kinds of Flamma, then. More than demon hunters and Vessels.”

“Oh yes,” agreed George. “Many.”

“Like?”

“In addition to demon hunters, there are angel hunters, guardian angels, guardian demons, sentinels—”

I put a hand in the air, closing my eyes for a second and setting my wine down.

“Okay, wait. Explain to me what an angel hunter is. And all the rest of what you just said.”

“Eat, Genevieve.” Jude nudged me. I realized then I was the only one not eating. I started cutting a piece of steak, my knife sliding into it like butter.

George continued. “While you are familiar with demon hunters, angel hunters are the counterpart—soldiers of the underworld seeking out angels to destroy. Of course, the only ones they are ever able to find here on earth would be the guardian angels, and they’re more cunning than most demons.”

“So, guardian angels actually exist?” I asked, forking a bite of juicy steak into my mouth.

“Yes, of course. They don’t fly around all day, granting wishes. But they hear the call of a human in need. The humans who still belong to the Light, that is.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, taking my refilled wineglass from Jude.

“People tend to take one path or another, correct?”

I nodded.

“Those who follow the Light have guardian angels watching over them, guiding them, sometimes even saving them. Let me ask you something, Genevieve, have you ever almost done something that could’ve been disastrous, but an inexplicable feeling made you make another decision?”

Instantly, I thought of my sophomore homecoming when Greg Myers wanted me to go with him to the after-party. He hadn’t been drinking or anything, but something made me refuse him at the last minute. I couldn’t figure out why; it was a bone-deep feeling that I mustn’t go. Greg Myers fell asleep coming home from the party, drove off the road and hit an oak tree, flattening the passenger side of his car into a pancake. He escaped with a broken nose and a concussion, but I would’ve been killed on impact had I been sitting next to him. I snapped from the memory, simply nodding to George.

“Just as there are guardians of light, there are guardians of darkness. These are lower demons, with which I believe you are familiar, guiding humans further into debauchery and sin.”

“They also fuse with some humans, as Jude told me.”

“Yes. And sentinels are actually humans who’ve either made a deal with the devil, or actually, one of the higher demons to be precise, or with an angel. They use their influence to sway humans for good or ill, depending on who they serve.”

“But, why would any human serve a demon?” I asked, folding my napkin and setting it on the plate.

“My dear, there are any number of reasons a man or woman would walk the path of darkness. Fame? Fortune? A lover they desire and cannot possess? The reasons are endless. Sentinels tend to be quite dangerous, for they are invisible to the radar of other Flamma, still being human.”

I sat back, my head swimming. I thought of something else.

“Then there are the Collectors, like Acheron,” I added.

Kat perked up at that. George’s eyebrows rose. “So, you know of the rivers? You’ve met Acherontis?”

“I, we”—I glanced at Jude whose expression revealed nothing—“bumped into him. So, are they Flamma of light or darkness?”

“Neither,” interjected Jude, breaking his long silence. “They serve no one but themselves and anyone who will barter with them. They want only one thing—to feed.”

“Yes,” agreed George, a frown creasing his high brow, “a rather dismal version of purgatory, I must say.”

“Except, of course, souls in purgatory actually get out,” added Kat in her snippy manner.

I sighed heavily, dumbstruck with all the images spinning through my head.

“Come, Genevieve,” said Jude, rising. “Let’s get some fresh air. We’ll meet you two on the riverfront.”

George nodded, fixing his brilliant blue eyes on Kat. Jude placed my hand into the crook of his arm. He took his jacket from the back of his chair and draped it over my bare shoulders. I glanced down before we walked away and saw a mixture of both resentment and longing swirling in Kat’s eyes, which had darkened to more black than green.

There was little light by the streetlamps along the riverfront, but I didn’t care. I felt no fear with Jude at my side. I actually felt somewhat empowered after today. What I’d learned of Kat had taught me to hope, to see beyond my internal wounds. Meeting George reminded me that there are many others out there fighting the same good fight against these ruthless demons. I was not alone.

The salty, musky smell of the river blew in gentle gusts. Water lapped in a steady rhythm against the levy. Warm with wine and safe alongside Jude, I stopped to take in the city lights glistening on the water. A gray pall obscured the moon, like a pasty smudge on a charcoal canvas.

Jude faced me with my back to the railing. His hands rested on my hips beneath the jacket as he drew close. A breeze caught his hair, lifting and obscuring one eye. I swiped the lock away so that I could see him clearly. Before I drew my hand back, he grabbed it, pulling my wrist toward him. He pressed a lingering kiss against the delicate skin where blue veins rose through pale skin.

“Did you have a good day?” he finally asked, pulling me gently against him.

I rested my palms against his chest, knowing exactly what that question truly meant.
Did Kat help you? Are you okay? Did you miss me?

“Yes,” I answered truthfully to all of the questions in my head.

“Good.”

His arms wrapped around me, pulling our bodies together as one, and his jacket fell away. His lips rested against my skin just below the ear. He didn’t move, caress or kiss. We stood still, feeling the nearness of each other. The sensation and warmth of intimate touch without aggression or fear stitched a few more seams in that wound.

“I hope this is okay,” he whispered into my ear. “I needed to touch you.”

“This is more than okay.”

My heart had started her erratic beat; the one she made when Jude wrapped around me like this. A hand pressed harder against the small of my back, clutching.

“Genevieve,” he whispered, a hoarse plea.

“I know.”

My body was already responding. I lifted my face up to his, needing him just as badly. A second later, his mouth found mine, prying my lips apart, moving in a sensual rhythm, his tongue sweeping in. Salt and wine and Jude invaded my senses. I let out a small breathy cry, unable to keep it in. Molding my mouth to his, I slipped my tongue in to taste all of him. A low moan from this splendid man, and my heart skittered away, mingling the emotions of fear and desire. Desire was winning. He spread long fingers into my hair along my temples, cradling me close, pressing me harder. Some internal warning made me pull away. He let me.

A flutter. A flapping. I glanced to the railing, thinking a pigeon or gull had landed nearby. Staring fixedly from lifeless eyes was a large sable raven.

Jude stiffened. A swirl of black shadow radiated around both of us; hot fury billowed. His guttural voice was deep and terrifying. “Dommiel.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Jude gripped my arm, thrusting me behind him, and unsheathed his broadsword in one swift movement. As Jude swung his sword in a deadly arc, the raven flapped once into the air before silver clipped its wing, sending the creature cawing and tumbling across the pavement. Ebony feathers spiraled into the air. Droplets of black blood spattered the walkway, spraying in wild profusion as the injured bird flip-flopped in panic, creating a morbid Jackson Pollock-like painting across the stone.

“Dommiel!
Aperio!
”

The power in Jude’s voice shook the air. A black shroud of menace enveloped him in a dark mantle, brushing against my skin, chilling me to the bone. I gasped. Malevolent whispers echoed in the mist, reaching out to me.
Kill…cut…maim…slice…devour…pain.

“Aperio, Daemonum.”

Jude’s grave command to “reveal” made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The injured creature choked out another caw, obeying him at once. Talons elongated and thickened. Feathers ruffled and vanished. Wings stretched, and the fat, round body grew into a man’s torso. Beak shortened, black eyes widened and bled into red. Within seconds, there lay the nude form of Dommiel, clutching at the stump of his arm, severed above the elbow and bleeding black. His dismembered limb lay closer to me, the silver skull ring decorating the lifeless hand.

It twitched. I jumped away.

Before Dommiel could even roll to his back, Jude was there, planting a boot into the man’s injured shoulder as he shoved his blade through the demon’s chest, piercing flesh to the pavement beneath with a definite clink of steel in stone. Staked to the ground, Dommiel writhed in agony, bleeding out from several wounds. But a high demon couldn’t die. Was Jude simply torturing him? His misty cape draped over him completely. There was no sign of his other aura of fire and flame. What was going on? My heart raced into panic mode.

“I warned you, Dommiel,” said Jude, death in his voice.

The creature gaped, sucking in air, still clutching his mangled arm.

“I didn’t come to hurt her! I promise,” he pleaded, sounding much less sinister than my last meeting with the lord of The Dungeon.

“I don’t care about your motives. My word is absolute.”

I hardly recognized Jude’s voice, leaking such menace that I stepped back and gripped the cold railing for support. He whipped out a razor-sharp stiletto, glinting in the streetlamp, and leaned closer to the helpless demon awaiting more punishment, wiggling like a worm to try to get away. Jude’s back was to me, but I knew darkness veiled even the whites of his eyes.

“No! Please, Master! Don’t! I have information,” he stammered, his feet scrabbling against the pavement helplessly. “I’ll give it to you. Please!”

George and Kat sifted onto the scene in a blink. George’s amiable expression had vanished behind a fierce mask, blue eyes glittering like exploding stars.

“Damn it, Jude!” shouted Kat. “I told you to take care of it!”

Seemingly unaware of either of them, Jude had gripped Dommiel by the throat, leaning forward to do something terrible, though I didn’t know what.

“He’s fallen into the Black. You take care of the demon,” ordered George, “and meet us back at Jude’s place. Come, Genevieve,” he said, holding out his hand to me.

Instantly, I obeyed. There was something in George’s voice that made me move, a promise of protection in those startling eyes. By the time I reached him, he had yanked Jude to his feet, and then we were sifting. Sifting fast. My stomach roiled as shapes streaked by in one long blur of gray. My high heels were yanked from my feet, flying into nothingness.

We came into a quiet grove of oaks. Dizzy and nauseated from the sift, I fell back against the sturdy trunk of a tree. I leaned behind it and lost the contents of my stomach. I shifted from one bare foot to the other on the cool ground.

George guided Jude to the center of the grove and thrust him to his knees. Jude didn’t protest. I could see his profile clearly. He stared down, hands at his sides, completely docile. Yet the misty shroud circled him still, whispering. George began to chant, not to Jude but out to the world itself, his arms spread wide. I couldn’t make out the words.

A gibbous moon peeked from behind the cover of clouds, filtering through the oaks strung with swaying moss, casting moving shadows around us. It felt as if the night itself were alive. Cicadas buzzed incessantly. An owl hooted nearby. Gray clouds swallowed up the humped moon once again.

Arms still raised, George’s body began to shimmer with brilliant light, then all was still and quiet. Not a sound. Not a shadow flickered. Even George’s whispered chant had died away. Gooseflesh prickled along my skin, for I’d felt this sensation before, this feeling that the world had frozen and I was being sucked into a soundless vacuum.

My eyes darted to every shadow, waiting for wraithlike Acheron to emerge from one of them. But he did not. The covetous clouds opened, allowing the moon to reveal herself again. One beam shone through the foliage directly in front of Jude. The moonbeam brightened and brightened. Thinking I was imagining things, I gripped the rough bark of the trunk for support. The beam shimmered, morphing into a transparent shape.

George backed away, his stony expression showing a brief glimpse of revulsion before fading into passivity. My breath quickened. An eerie pulse of dread emanated from the form appearing by slow degrees.

Gossamer limbs and silken hair solidified into a creature of fearsome beauty. Floating in a gown of translucent white, the pale silhouette of a voluptuous woman’s body touched the earth before Jude. Pearlescent arms and spidery-long fingers reached out to him. I gasped, but there was no sound. All was drowned, except for the voices hovering around Jude in the inky mist, growing louder.

Slit…slash…eviscerate…gut…devour…annihilate.

The air reeked of loathing—doubling, tripling, continuing up the scale until I crumpled to my knees. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block the painful swell of evil pouring from both Jude and the ghostly creature. My VS beat within my breast, pushing against the tide of hatred lapping against my body. The ghastly being, vaporous gown billowing in soft, slow curls, cradled Jude’s face in her hands, demanding that he look up at her. He remained silent, obeying her will. White orbs narrowed into slits. Pallid lips creased into a sinister smile. I wanted to remove her hands from him but was crippled by the heavy malevolence rippling in the air. I couldn’t move. I screamed for Jude but made no sound.

Jude raised his hands, palms out, like an invitation to the creature. She wove her long, slender fingers through his, gripping him hard, pulling him to his feet and against her translucent body. With a resounding crack, a powerful ripple hit the air. Her head snapped back. Her mouth gaped wide. The voices of vile souls inside her screamed. Images flashed in my mind—bloody death, twisted limbs, mangled bodies. The weight of primal hatred threatened to crush me down into the soil. The white woman inhaled the black aura surrounding Jude, sucking it into her mouth and nose like smoke through a flue. Within seconds, she had finished her grisly meal and vanished with a silent flash of blinding light. The screaming voices died with her sudden disappearance.

I could hear myself again, gasping for breath, the hangover of emotion overload so familiar to that of my encounter with Acheron. George was at my side, helping me to my feet.

“Just breathe, Genevieve. The feeling will pass shortly.”

I could care less about how I felt, peering past him to Jude. As I raced across the clearing, he stood and spun to face me. Sheer shock froze me to the spot.

“Jude. Your eyes.”

Amber gold, devoid of swimming pools of black, glinted with unnatural luster. A thin dark ring outlined the shining irises, but that was all. These were the eyes of the man in my vision, yet the hatred was gone.

“What, what happened? Who was she?”

“Her name is Stygos, also known as Styx.”

“A Collector,” I said, knowing she was one of Acheron’s sisters. Styx, the river of hate.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“But, what was—”

“It’s the Black. She feeds not only on souls but on the residue that accumulates in demon hunters.”

“Residue of what?” A chill tingled up my spine.

“Each demon I cast out leaves something behind. A piece of him clings to me, to my soul. It builds up over time until I must purge the bulk of it. I’m afraid it built up rather quickly this time.”

Golden eyes shimmered bright, even in this dark grove. I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” He cupped my face with one hand, caressing my cheek with his thumb. My heart broke a little, realizing the constant battle warring within him. The Black, the residue of evil, always growing and building, smothering his soul bit by bit. Those whispers of malevolence made me shudder. How could he possibly listen to those voices all the time?

“But why? Why does this happen?”

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “It’s part of my penance, Genevieve. I am Sisyphus,” he said with a wistful smile, “and this is my hell.”

What a terribly morbid joke. And yet, not a joke. I hadn’t felt the tear escape until his thumb brushed it away distractedly.

“Jude,” I whispered, wanting to say something, anything to comfort him. No words would come. How could he endure such pain all the time? For hundreds of years! The thought was unfathomable. I felt sick.

“No tears for me,” he said, so close I could feel warm breath against my face, amber eyes bright and mesmerizing. “I don’t mind bearing a small burden of hell, since it’s giving me another chance at heaven.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to my cheek where the tear had fallen. I placed my hand on his jaw, tiptoeing to brush a soft kiss on his lips. Not one of desire, but one filled with all the compassion spilling from my heart. Our lips came apart reluctantly, as if neither of us wanted to let go. The look shining in those unnatural eyes beckoned me closer. He touched his forehead to mine. I felt a rope tying me to this man, knotting us together and drawing tight. Being tethered to Jude made me feel stronger, as if I could weather any storm.

“Come, you two,” said George, startling me. I’d nearly forgotten he was there. “We’re too vulnerable here. I told Kat to meet us at your place.”

I noticed he’d used her nickname. Jude pulled away slightly, clasping George’s shoulder.

“Thank you, friend.”

The charming George reappeared, tension gone from moments before.

“Of course.” He smiled. “Wouldn’t want my senior man falling down on the job, now would I.”

George winked, then sifted out. Jude pulled me into his arms. I’m not sure what he saw in my eyes, but something made him stop abruptly. His expression softened. Could he see what I truly felt? Were eyes truly the windows to the soul?

“God, woman.” He pulled me tight. “You will most certainly be the death of me.”

His armor of protection shielded both of us as we sifted into his house. George and Kat were seated on the sofa together, talking heatedly. They broke up on our sudden appearance. Kat scooted away.

“Jude, you are the most stubborn man I have ever known. Didn’t I tell you to deal with the Black last night?”

Last night? It felt like eons since he’d destroyed Fabio into a crumpled carcass of burnt bones. Apparently, the Black had a way of taking over, guiding a demon hunter beyond the necessary means of destruction. I had wondered what caused Jude to lose control like that. I couldn’t imagine what he’d planned on doing to Dommiel before George pulled us out. I shivered.

Jude guided me to the overstuffed chair, which was, thankfully, no longer embedded in the window. He picked up a brown fleece draped over the back and wrapped it around my shoulders. I tucked my feet underneath me, burrowing into the blanket.

“Yes, Katherine,” Jude replied, mimicking George’s way of drawling out her name pleasantly. She glowered at him. “I should’ve listened to you, of course, but no harm done.”

“Tell Dommiel that,” she snapped.

Jude sobered.

“The demon got no more than he deserved. I’d already warned him to stay clear of Genevieve. It’s his own fault.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“What other payment might he have received for disobeying you had we not arrived in time? If you removed him, another less cooperative high demon may have taken his place.”

Unruffled, Jude crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall, next to three fist-size holes in the drywall. He’d tidied up the splintered wood and shattered glass from last night’s tirade, but there were still signs of his raging temper. No one remarked on that or the plywood-covered window or the bare hearth with exposed brick, but I saw George observing with a smile.

“Let him alone, Katherine.”

Back to her formal name. What was their story?

“Oh, you two always side with each other!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

“What
did
you do with Dommiel?” Jude asked pointedly.

Kat straightened with a superior air, flipping her ponytail and crossing her rather shapely legs. George’s eyes wandered down the length of them.

“I made a deal with him, which you were certainly in no mind to do.”

“What kind of deal?”

“His measly life, or rather a stay of expulsion back to hell, in exchange for very important information. Thanks to me, we now know which high demon wants Gen dead.”

She paused for dramatic effect. It was very effective. I leaned forward, breathless. Jude didn’t move, but the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened.

“Well?” I blurted. “Who is it?”

“Bamal, High Demon of New York. Dommiel’s orders were to do surveillance, not to kill.”

“Surveillance? Why the sudden change? Did he say?” asked George.

“That, he wasn’t privileged to know.”

“Wait,” I interjected, “isn’t New York your territory, Kat?”

She nodded. “Yes. But, I’ve never laid eyes on him. He stays cloistered in his lair, coming out only either in shape-shifting form or in possession of his Vessel.”