Forged in Fire (25 page)

I sank farther into my chair. I’d forgotten Kat had told me there was a Vessel in New York. Poor woman. My mind conjured up Danté, leering over me. Jude came to my side, resting on the edge of the chair, bracing one arm protectively behind my head.

“Who’s covering for you now, Katherine?” asked George.

“Dorian. He’s assured me nothing unusual has happened, not since I left anyway,” she answered in a much more professional, and less hostile, manner than she used with him before.

“Dorian’s covering his province as well as yours?”

George’s devil-may-care expression faded behind an austere one. I suddenly had no doubts about his capabilities as leader of the demon hunters.

“He has had no trouble,” she assured him. “I only left New York at Jude’s request because of, well, because of Genevieve and the odd circumstances surrounding her.”

I realized that while George was indeed their commander, he gave them leeway to make decisions on their own. There was trust in this hierarchy. I liked that.

“And what’s so odd about my circumstances? Besides being attacked by demons on a daily basis, I mean.”

Kat smiled. “That’s just it, Gen. Vessels aren’t usually attacked, as in, to be killed.” The clarification made me a little uneasy, but she went on to avoid that awkward pause. “They’re collected by high demons to harvest their power, to use as weapons for darkness.”

“So something unusual did happen before you left New York?” I asked.

“There have been a number of high demons, barons and dukes, coming and going to his penthouse residence. No princes, but lots of courtiers of the underworld.”

“Is this so odd?” I asked. “Wouldn’t demon princes always be surrounded by them?”

“No,” said Jude. “High demons are territorial and extremely paranoid of anyone usurping their power. If he’s gathering them to counsel, you can bet there’s a big reason.”

“I still don’t get it,” I said. “Why would he want to kill me? What do I have to do with anything?”

The three of them glanced at one another before Kat looked at me. “I believe it has to do with the prophecy. Bamal thinks you’re the one as well, the Vessel mentioned. Do you remember, the prophecy said, ‘Two great sons of Morning Star’? Bamal must see himself as one of these two sons in the prophecy, and Danté as his other rival. He has been trying to destroy you, while Danté has been seeking you for his Vessel.”

I tightened the fleece around me, ignoring the prickly sensation of fear tingling down my spine.

“Danté?” asked George. “Who the devil is that?”

“Ru’um,” clarified Jude. “He’s going by Danté these days.”

“What a pompous prick. So now he thinks he’s Danté Alighieri, creator of
The Divine Comedy
? That’s a laugh.”

“But why the sudden change?” I asked, repeating George’s question from earlier. “If Bamal thinks I’m this one in the prophecy, why would he tell Dommiel to just do surveillance? What is he watching me for? Waiting for? To kidnap me instead?”

“That would make sense, actually,” said Kat. “The prophecy mentions a face-to-face sort of showdown, Vessel to Vessel. At least the part we have does. No matter the reason, I need to start doing surveillance of my own when I head back, which needs to be soon.”

“I agree,” said George. “What we really need is a way to draw him out, or at least other minions he may have in play. Dommiel is a local high demon, and we’ve taken him out of the equation. Have we not, Katherine?”

“Yes. He’ll stay out of it now.”

George nodded. “Then if he’s serious, he’ll send some of his own demons.”

Jude leaned forward. “He has. There was one the night I met Genevieve. And another, Garzel, a lower demon who attacked her in a local bar. Of course, that was before this incident with Dommiel. It seems Bamal has changed tactics since then. You’re right, George. We need to set a trap. Someplace public that would also offer a way for his demons to stay hidden. They’ll know we’re watching Genevieve closely, so they’ll be cautious.”

I cleared my throat, shifting sideways so I could see Jude as I spoke.

“I know of a place,” I said, twisting the frays of the fleece absently. Three pairs of eyes turned to me. “Mindy and I are invited to the Crescent City Masquerade coming up. It’s exclusive but will be very crowded, and of course, it’s a masked ball. Anyone could stay hidden.”

“When were you planning on telling me about this ball?” asked Jude with more humor than anger in his tone.

“Just now,” I said with a straight face. “But like I said, it’s exclusive. I have no idea how you’d go about getting tickets.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” said Jude. “I’ll get in.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He either wanted to kiss me or spank me. A flash of heat shot through my body at the thought of both.

“That sounds perfect,” said George. “When is the ball?”

“Halloween night.”

“Perfect is right,” said Kat with a snort. “The freaks will be out in droves.”

“High-society freaks,” I added.

Kat rolled her eyes.

“And on that note, I’ll bid you gentlemen good night. It’s late. We can strategize for the ball tomorrow.”

“Okay, Scarlet O’Hara,” I said with a smile.

Kat frowned.

“You know, ‘tomorrow is another day’?”

“Ohhh.” She laughed, coming over, pulling me out of the chair and giving me a super-tight bear hug. “I had a blast today, Gen. You’re the bee’s knees. I’ll be your babysitter anytime.”

She winked at me and, with a fleeting glance at George, sifted out.

I stood there for a moment, smiling.

“We mustn’t overlook Danté,” added Jude quietly behind me. “He’s gained in power, George. The very reason I summoned you.”

“Right. Of course. Come, Genevieve, sit here,” he said, taking my hand gently.

I sat, folding my hands together in my lap. Jude settled into the chair I’d just vacated. George leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped in casual masculinity, exuding confidence. He gazed intently at me with those hypnotizing eyes, glassy-clear like the Mediterranean.

“Genevieve,” he said, voice dipping to a deep tenor, “Jude has made me aware of certain situations, about the blood cast and Ru’um’s predilection for soul-sifting. I can give you the power to prevent this, but it will come at a small price, if you’re willing.”

I nodded, mouth gone cotton dry, waiting for him to continue.

“A transfer of power requires that I lose a little of my own, which is not too great a price to pay for peace of mind that you’re safe,” he said, glancing at Jude.

Somehow, I knew he was minimizing the cost of his loss of power. I was beginning to see that the Flamma of Light were as covetous of their power as the Flamma of Darkness. I remembered what Jude had said about the power of sifting and wondered if an angel would ever share that power with me.

George continued. “However, you are a Vessel. I know that you are aware why these high demons covet you. Vessels are just that—vessels of power. The high demons want what you already have for their own, but your capacity to hold power is endless, be it power of dark or light. If I pass you my own power, we will be forever linked. Do you have the Sight?”

I nodded, quivering a little now. I refused to look at Jude, for the only visions I’d seen so far were painful visions of him.

“I thought so,” continued George. “I don’t know how we’ll be linked exactly, meaning I don’t know what visions you’ll see of mine—whether they’re from my own past or demons I’ve destroyed or even my own future. A Vessel’s Sight is boundless in every meaning of the word. I cannot promise that the visions you inherit will be pleasant. I cannot even predict when they may visit you. But,” he paused with a sly smile, “I can promise you that with this power, your soul will be sealed to you. No Flamma will be able to pull it from your body unbidden. Only you will have the power to release it, should you wish.”

“That sounds fair enough,” I said, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Though I was well aware visions could be painful to experience, it was a small price to pay to keep Danté from taking me again. “So what do I need to do?”

“Nothing, actually. Just keep still. This may seem a little strange to you, but transfer of power takes place through a kiss.”

I visibly jumped. Um, wait a minute, Saint George was going to kiss me? Like, on the lips? In front of Jude! My inner voice was running ninety miles a minute. Surprise and something like fear must have shown in my face. Jude nodded in reassurance, though his expression remained tight.

“Genevieve, don’t be afraid.” George gave me his charming laugh, complete with wide smile and adorable dimples, making me blush further. He covered both of my hands in my lap with one of his. “It’s not that kind of a kiss. All right?”

Rather than frighten me, his touch was comforting. He waited with eyebrows raised for my consent.

“Um, all right.”

“It will feel a little odd, but it won’t take long.”

Odd? As in my-boyfriend-watching-another-drop-dead-gorgeous-man-kiss-me-on-his-couch odd? My heart fluttered. Not in the same way Jude made my poor heart race, but she was definitely gearing up for warm-up laps.

I was stiff as a board. George gave my hands a reassuring squeeze to make me relax, but it didn’t work. As he shifted his upper body toward me, I closed my eyes, unable to watch him draw closer. A hand gently cupped my cheek, tilting me at a small angle. I could feel Jude’s gaze burning into me, no matter that he’d actually asked George to do this.

Soft, warm lips touched mine, slightly apart. He didn’t move in a sensuous motion. Thank God! But his hand drifted to the nape of my neck, lightly pressing us together. The pressure of his lips felt soothing. With a sudden shock, my VS jolted awake, flashing in a burst of stars. Our mouths tasted each other more urgently, his tongue sliding over mine, lost in a moment of sensation. His power replied with a burning waterfall, a cascade of energy pouring over me from the tip of my head to my toes. Talk about a kiss that makes you melt. Fiery power draped through my torso and limbs, penetrating through bone, muscle, and singeing along my skin—a symphony of energy meeting and connecting us to one another. Although the kiss wasn’t sexual, it was sensual and intimate, a bonding of another kind. My VS hummed, absorbing the power as my own. I’d forgotten that we were kissing in that extraordinary moment of light and power. Coming back to myself, I realized my hand had curled tightly, clutching his hand in my lap. Electric-hot, his mouth pulled from mine slowly with the slick, wet sound of lips parting.

“Genevieve.” He grinned devilishly. “Talk about seeing stars.”

I exhaled an unsteady breath, leaning away from him. My whole body thrummed with power.

“I’m not so sure you’re a saint anymore.”

He tossed his beautiful head back in a hearty laugh. Jude rose stiffly, pulling me to stand beside him. I could feel the strain in his body, tight like a rubber band. I hoped he wouldn’t pop.

“I’m sure it was a wonderful experience for the both of you,” Jude bit out with painful effort and a sardonic lift of the brow. “Much obliged, George, but she needs her rest.”

“A lovely creature, your Vessel,” he said, clapping a hand on Jude’s shoulder and giving me a wink. “Keep her close.”

“I intend to,” was the curt response.

Before George had even sifted out, Jude’s lips devoured mine in a heart-stopping, bone-melting fusion of tongue, heat and breath. I knew what he was doing. Marking me. Not like Danté. No. Jude spread his scent with mouth, hands and body—a primal need to imprint me as his own overpowering every other impulse. If I’d tried to resist, it would’ve been futile. As it was, I didn’t want to. I wanted even more than he gave. After kissing me senseless, he pulled back, piercing me with lion-gold eyes.

“
My
Genevieve.”

A throaty whisper against kiss-swollen lips. Knowing my knees would’ve certainly buckled had he not been holding me against his body with a steel grip, the hard lines of him promised protection. And pleasure. He started a slow descent down the upward edge of my jaw, nipping softly at the tender flesh of my neck. I couldn’t say the word as my body tipped into a pool of sensation, swallowed whole by Jude. But my response pulsed loud and clear in my mind.

Yours.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The sun. An orb of fire shrinking in dark water. Plunk, stipple, swipe. My mother brushed midnight blue into churning waves. Facing away from me in bare feet, jeans and paint-stained T-shirt, she painted a vast gray wall rising upward into nothing. The sunset shimmered, then faded and was gone. I was dreaming.

“Mother?”

She didn’t answer or seem to know I was even there, beginning a new painting on the slate-gray wall. Her brush widened of its own accord as she stroked four stark lines extending out of a black rectangle. She dipped her brush again, a smear of white and splatter of gold. Dropping the brush and palette to the stone floor with a clack, she reached up to two of the black lines, her fingers curling into the wall around the painted posts. With a hard jerk, she pulled out a three-dimensional bed, dragging it from the flat canvas.

A rhythmic pulse pounded in my head—my heartbeat—as I recognized the form. Decorative gold pillows sat atop a pile of white silk sheets.

“No.”

My whisper echoed and died. She stared at me with eyes of crimson, devoid of any emotion, any love or care. Her slender arm lifted, pointing a long finger to the bed. I shook my head.

“No.”

Without moving, I was under the covers, sliding under silk, brushing against naked skin. He was here in a sea of white, a shark in glossy waters. Folds of fabric wrapped me in place. I clawed in panic, drowning. He caught me, laughing in my ear, whispering with a satin-smooth lilt, “I knew you’d come back to me, my sweet. Now, we have eternity together.”

Smothering in snow-white silk and cold hands, I screamed.

“No!”

Sticky with sweat, I jerked awake in my own bed with Jude lying behind me.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It was a dream.”

Yes. Just a dream. Not soul-sifted. A dream.

A strong hand slid up my arm, squeezing gently, bringing me back to the here and now. My spirit settled back into safety. He spooned behind me outside of the covers, still in his jeans. I didn’t ask why the barrier. It was obvious. We’d been struggling to keep our hands off each other before the nightmare with Danté. Now that it was quite clear my life depended on keeping my body “untainted”, Jude seemed to be putting a few safety features in place. Like a bedcover chastity belt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” murmured a sleep-husky Jude.

What? The big elephant in the room called unfulfilled desire? Um, no.

“Did you dream of him?”

Oh. That.

“So, he can’t soul-sift me and can’t take me unless I’m tainted, right?”

“No, he can’t. Unless you’re planning on an escapade of murder that I don’t know about, then you’re completely safe.”

I sighed with relief, but that wasn’t the only thing on my mind.

“I dreamed about my mother.” Jude’s fingers stopped for a second, then continued on their trail back up my arm. “It’s the second time in recent weeks I’ve dreamed about her.”

“What is it that troubles you?”

I flipped over. My hand caressed bare skin in the dark, startling me for a second. He must’ve pulled his shirt off after I fell asleep.

“Everything troubles me about her. You said that, well, when we were in her gallery at my house, you said that she’d gone mad. How did you know?”

His hand had continued its journey around my back, making lazy circles between my shoulder blades. We were pressed quite close despite the goose-down chastity belt.

“I’ve been alive a long time, Genevieve. A very long time. I’ve witnessed a devastating amount of pestilence, plagues of all kinds. They come, they go, they mutate and come again. But the disease of madness is the same, never changing, a pattern from order falling into disorder, from constancy into chaos. Your mother’s paintings didn’t simply evolve. They illustrated her descent from lucidity to desperation to insanity. I don’t want to hurt you, but the evidence is quite clear.”

I knew he was right and couldn’t be angry at his open observation.

“She left us, you know. Dad and me.”

He didn’t respond, just continued to soothe me with his trailing fingers, waiting for me to continue.

“It must’ve been madness that made her do it, because I know she loved us. I know that. She loved me. But just…not enough.”

Jude’s roughened hand came up to brush the hair away from my cheek, where his fingers curled along the side of my neck, thumb resting in the crook between ear and jaw. He didn’t offer condolences I’d heard all my life, like “it’s not your fault”, “there’s nothing more you could’ve done” or other phrases I despised.

“How did she take her life?”

He knew for certain without me ever having to say it. I felt the rope binding us to each other tighten a bit more. My hand found its way to his bare chest. He tensed.

“The river,” I answered bluntly. “She didn’t leave a note, unless you want to call her version of ‘The Young Martyr’ a suicide note. The day she completed it, she drove out to the Mississippi River bridge and jumped off. There were witnesses. One of them had videoed it with his phone.”

Jude’s thumb stroked down the length of my neck, still soothing.

“Did you see the video?” he asked, knowing I was struggling to share this part of my life but needed to do it anyway.

“Yes. My dad had hidden it on a flash drive in her jewelry box that he’d stored in the attic. When I was thirteen, I went searching for things of hers, needing to remember, needing to touch her. I watched the video only once and never again. Once was enough.”

The video began where she was already leaning out from the bridge’s railing, holding on with one hand. Still in her everyday painting garb—bare feet, jeans and all. Her sun-gold hair had pulled from its knot, whipping wildly in yellow streams as if the wind wanted to take her with it. People shouted. In the distance, sirens wailed, trying to get to the scene before the desperate woman clinging between life and death made an irrevocable decision. Someone shouted,
“Lady, don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”
Her face snapped back to the speaker, somewhere near the guy with the phone. Haunted eyes of a ghost stared straight into the camera. A sorrowful smile spread across her face before she said her dying words.
“Yes, they are.”
Then she let go. Someone screamed, but she was already gone, disappearing beyond the lens into the muddy depths of the churning river. I never understood her last words, and apparently never would. For who was there to explain them?

Jude’s voice rumbled close to me in the dark. “Despite this tragedy, this loss, you have done more than survive, you have flourished. She would be proud of the woman you have become.”

When Jude called me a woman, something inside always stood straight up at attention, wanting to be everything he saw in me and more. I didn’t want to talk about my mother anymore. My hand was making its own journey across the hard planes of his chest. I trailed an index finger along the ridge down the middle, wishing I could see the beautiful swirls of ink. However, the darkness made me brave. I’d never touched him quite like this.

“Genevieve.”

A warning, low and deep. Oh God, that voice. My fingers splayed across the ridges of his abdomen, tight and tense at the moment.

“Genevieve, what are you doing?”

“Exploring.”

My hand flattened across a pectoral. Did he just growl?

“I don’t think that’s such a wise idea,” he said, voice gruff and harsh.

“It feels good,” I said.

A strangled laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked, smoothing a slow descent back down his middle. He hissed in a breath.

“Good for you, perhaps. For me, this is excruciating torture. I think I’d prefer the rack.”

He grabbed my wayward hand and nipped the fleshy part of my palm, teeth pinching.

“Ouch!”

He kissed where he’d bitten, trailing hot kisses along the inside of my wrist. I made a little moan.

“What do you mean torture?” I asked.

He rolled me onto my back and pressed his body into mine. Even with the goose-down between us, I could feel the hardness of his desire and the source of the aforementioned torture. Quite a sizeable torture device, I might add. My mouth went dry.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Oh.”

“Jude, do you think we, I mean, will we ever be rid of Danté?”

“Yes,” came the immediate, terse reply. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was hoping, wondering if, when—”

“Genevieve, relax and tell me what you’re thinking.”

I blew out a puff of exasperation, thankful the darkness hid the blush rising into my cheeks. It certainly did make me brave, because I said exactly what I was wondering and never would have done such a thing by the light of day.

“Will we ever get to make love?”

The man looming above me froze so still I’d have thought he wasn’t there were it not for the comforting weight of him on top of me. As usual, my heart hammered an erratic beat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Jude?” What was wrong? “You do want to, uh, to—”

His head fell forward with a choked half laugh, face nuzzling into my neck and hair.

“Woman, you undo me,” he whispered in a way that made goose bumps rise all over. “The things I want to do to your beautiful body would condemn me to the most everlasting, deepest pit in hell. Do I want to? Christ, you have no idea.”

Oh! He commenced to nibbling my neck slowly. I lifted my chin to give him better access, melting under his attentions.

“Yes, I want you,” he said, brushing his lips across mine in a brief caress, teasing me, not diving in. He lifted a bare inch. A glimmer of amber eyes pierced through the dark. “I want you in my arms. I want you in my bed. I want to bury myself deep inside you and feel you shatter beneath me, again and again. I want you daily, nightly, repeatedly, constantly, forever. And when I know it’s safe to take you, you’d best be ready. If you’re not, you’d better run and hide, because it will take a legion of angels and demons to keep me off of you. Even then, you won’t stand a chance.”

Holy shit! I think my heart just stopped. A silver streak of panic shot through me, but desire and anticipation quickly overpowered that shrinking emotion.

“Oh,” I finally managed to say in all my magnanimous eloquence.

“Yes.” He bit my bottom lip much less gingerly than usual. “Oh.” Then licked the entrance to my mouth before falling back to my side.

“Now, be a good girl and roll over before I lose control of myself.”

Yikes! Yes, sir. I rolled over. Even so, he spooned snugly up to me, making a grumbling sound. My mind raced away with very naughty thoughts, but I wasn’t stupid. I recognized the danger we were both in. If we gave in to temptation now, the consequence would be not only permanent separation from each other, but literally an eternity of hell for me. So, like a good girl, I changed the subject to get our minds off the present exquisitely painful predicament we were in.

“Why doesn’t Kat have a strong English accent? She was born and raised in England, right?”

I stared at the windows, two blocks of faint light streaming in from the streetlamps.

“Kat has tried to scrub out her life as a human, which included her life as one of the British nobility.”

“So, demon hunters aren’t human?”

“Not exactly, not anymore,” he replied. “Flamma operate in a different realm. You are like us now, even not fully awakened.”

I pondered that a moment, wondering when I’d be fully awakened and what that would entail. My thoughts wandered back to Kat.

“Well, why did she want to forget her human life? What happened?”

“I’m afraid those are her secrets to tell. As you meet others like us, you’ll find we keep certain things to ourselves.”

“No. You’re kidding.”

He pinched my upper arm as punishment.

“Ow!”

Then kissed it and burrowed closer behind me, one arm banding around my waist. “Suffice it to say, she had a cruel husband. Uncommonly cruel. But Kat’s a survivor. Like you.”

Like me. Yes. I was a survivor. I’d already survived a mother’s suicide and several demonic attacks, including the horrific assault on my soul by Danté. I would survive and continue on.

“So, what’s the story with her and George?”

His chest rumbled against my back as he let out a short laugh. “They have a history together.”

“Um, yeah. I gathered that. So, they dated or something? Can saints even date? That’s sort of weird.”

Jude laughed a little harder—a sweet, wonderful sound that made my heart flutter.

“Yes, they were together once, around the time she became one of us. I don’t know why they fell out, but it seems they both are reluctant to let go. And George isn’t exactly like Mother Teresa. He’s more a warrior than an angel of mercy.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I doubt Mother Teresa has kissed anybody like George kissed me.”

“Are you taunting me, woman?” he grumbled.

“Taunting you? Me? Of course not.” I paused, suppressing the giggle bubbling up my throat. “But I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”

He blew out a breath, sounding like a tire deflating, before flipping me promptly onto my back. I did giggle then, wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers combing into his hair.

“I knew it had to be done, but God help me, when I saw his mouth on yours, I thought I was going to have to kill one of my dearest friends.”

“It wasn’t
that
kind of a kiss,” I laughed. “Didn’t you hear him say that?”

“Yes, I know. Since it wasn’t a real kiss, then I’m sure it wasn’t any good,” he said as a statement not a question.

“Hmmm, well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“Wicked wench,” he muttered before fully possessing me with his mouth, smothering anything else I might say. My body arched for him, a soft moan escaping.

“Jude,” I murmured when he let me breathe, “you have nothing to worry about.” I pulled his head down, angling so that I could be the one to nibble at his jaw and the soft patch of skin by his ear. He drew in a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Genevieve…Genevieve, what are you doing to me?”