Forged in Fire (15 page)

“I feel so empty,” I whispered, a deep ache expanding in my core.

“I know. The feeling will subside. Relax.”

“What was that thing?”

Opening my eyes, I caught him staring at my lips. One thumb brushed across my partly open mouth. I shivered. His eyes met mine, unguarded, sparking with glittering shards of gold. The anger gone, another heated emotion swirled feverishly, touching the contours of his face with a melting quality. He wanted to kiss me. No mistake. My breath came quickly, shocked by the sudden intrusion of desire cutting through fear and unfathomable sorrow. His gaze held mine a moment more, his thumb stroking down the column of my throat. Then his face shuttered closed, his mask well in place. Even while one hand gripped my waist when I swayed and tightened to keep me upright, he broke the intimate closeness.

“I’ll explain everything, but we need to get out of here. Garzel may not have been working alone. I’m in no mood for any more tonight.”

Loaded words.

“No, wait!” I said, realizing what he was about to do. I pushed out of his grasp. “I can’t sift out! Malcolm. Damn. Poor Malcolm. I can’t just disappear.”

No longer touching me, Jude held a blank expression, void of the heat visible seconds before.

“Genevieve. Listen to me very carefully and do
exactly
as I say.”

Holy crap. Angry Jude was back.

“Listening,” I said with not a hint of snarkiness or humor. I might be brave, but I wasn’t stupid.

“Walk straight through the bar, tell the boy you’re not feeling well and you need to go home. You have exactly eight minutes. Go a second over, and I’ll sift into his fucking truck and take you without warning. I’ll be waiting for you in your bedroom. Eight minutes, Genevieve.”

A whoosh of wind rocked me on my heels. He was gone.

“Eight minutes!”

I dashed out of the bathroom, dusting off my jeans and smoothing my hair as I sped down the hall around the corner, where I slammed right into Malcolm holding a beer in each hand.

“Hey, you okay? I was starting to worry about you.”

“Um, yeah, well, I’m really not feeling well. So sorry, but can you take me home?”

Concern written all over his face, he set the beers on a stool, took my hand and guided me back through the bar. I didn’t even think about warning the muscle-bound dweebs their friend was unconscious in the ladies’ bathroom. I smiled to myself, imagining them making that interesting discovery. Big boy was going to wake up with a nasty headache, but somehow I didn’t feel that sorry for him. Jude had said demons can only possess those open to them, which meant in some small way, Jukebox-boy asked for it.

Malcolm opened the passenger side of his truck for me, hopped into the driver’s seat then headed out. Thankfully, the bar was near City Park, not far from my apartment.

“I hate that you’re feeling bad. Is it your stomach?”

I nodded, doing a damn fine job of using my anxiety as a disguise for a stomachache. Three minutes had passed. I watched the clock on the dash, tapping my foot at each red light.

“You okay?” he asked, noticing my fidgeting.

“I’ll be fine. Just need a little Pepto and bed.”

“You want me to stop and get you something?”

“
No!
” I yelled. He flinched. “Um, I mean, no thanks. It’s not that serious. Just probably overworked and all… Thanks.”

Malcolm nodded and by some miracle had me on my doorstep with one minute to spare. As Malcolm faced me at the door, I was very aware that Jude was waiting in my bedroom. In my bedroom! My stomach did a flip-flop at the thought, and I realized perhaps my stomachache wasn’t a total ruse.

Malcolm tucked me into a bearlike hug, planting a kiss on the top of my head. I have to admit it felt quite nice in his arms. He was such a gentle soul that I felt comforted by his close presence. Comforted but not safe. I glanced behind him, so sure a demon or that Collector thing would pop out and snatch us both.

“Sorry to end the night this way, but I should go in,” I mumbled, giving him a gentle squeeze and pulling back.

“I had a wonderful time tonight. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

I looked up and nodded, smiling. He leaned down for what I thought would be a peck goodnight. He gave me a soft closemouthed kiss, pulled back a second then leaned toward me again. This time, he pried my lips apart, slipping his tongue in tentatively. It was such a shock, I didn’t resist. I mean, I had given all the signs I’d enjoyed the night and would welcome a little affection. Still, I stood there, letting him kiss me. Doing nothing may have given him the wrong impression, for his lips pressed harder, coupled with a soft moan, as his tongue plunged in with sloppy earnest.

“Oh, Gen,” he whispered across my lips, diving back in for more full-on tongue thrusting.

His other hand slid down my neck, fumbled over my shirt, over my breast, stopping to cup and squeeze. What the hell! Didn’t I say I had a stomachache? Not that I really did, but come on. I eased away, breaking contact. The whole event lasted all of maybe twenty seconds but felt way longer.

“Good night, Malcolm.”

Before he could say or do anything else, I slipped through the door and locked it shut, leaning against it. Pressing the back of my hand to my lips, I took a deep breath. The apartment was ghostly quiet. Mindy had texted me while we were at the movies that she would be out late with Dave. Though the place was silent, I was not alone. I crept toward my room like one going to the hangman’s noose. I hoped Jude hadn’t seen or heard what just happened on the doorstep.

Walking closer to my bedroom, I sensed him there. My VS recognized the hard strength of his presence, wrapped in flame. My mind drifted through the different sensory signatures I’d discovered. Kat felt like warm waves on a sandy shore. Those lower demons felt like needles prickling along my spine. The Dungeon master, Dommiel, exuded a penetrating fear before intense pain, if that made any sense. Danté was the ice man with a capacitating gift to freeze with a burning touch.

But Jude… He was all heat and steel and rock-solid, bone-melting beauty. His presence felt like unquenchable fire and impenetrable armor all at once—smothering and burning me with an insatiable need to bask in the nearness of him. Amid his fiery aura, I felt protected, rocking gently within his ship of flame, sure to be taken to safe harbor. I stopped walking, inhaled deeply and blew it out in a shaky breath, willing myself to be calm before I stepped into the bedroom.

The lights were off. A dark form stood tall and still, his profile silhouetted by the faint light filtering through sheer curtains. A long, sharp line angled against the wall—his broadsword. He didn’t face me as I entered. When he spoke, his voice was steady, level, distant.

“Do you trust me, Genevieve?”

A simple question. Of course, I did. Everything I knew about Jude incited trust. Though the man himself was still a mystery, he’d done nothing to make me doubt his intentions. Having saved my life now several times and having never harmed me in any way, how could I not trust him? Yet, there was a heaviness in his voice, as if this short inquiry held the weight of something far greater than I could imagine.

My reply came out low but strong. “Yes.”

He continued to gaze toward the curtained window, his frame stiff and unyielding. I stepped farther into the room, standing at the edge of my bed.

“Do you believe I am thinking only of your safety when I tell you to do something?”

Uh-oh. I knew where this was going.

“Jude, listen, I know that—”

“Answer the question.” His sharp tone halted the pitiful excuses about to spill from my mouth.

He turned to me then. Though I couldn’t see anything but the black outline of his body, I felt the weight of his eyes. Could he see me in the dark? I wondered what other gifts a Dominus Daemonum might have in his arsenal.

“Yes.”

He walked toward me, stopping outside that personal zone he so often liked to fill up with all his manliness.

“Then tell me”—his voice monotone, but sharp as a razor—“why do you value your life so little to leave this apartment for what, a romp about town with your boyfriend? You don’t seem to comprehend your new reality very well.”

His voice was calm but edged with danger.

“I just thought, well, Kat said today… I mean—”

He went on, heedless of my stammering response. “Do you think I care if you go out with the boy?”

“Um, no. Well, yes. Maybe.”

“You’re free to do as you please, within reason. If you prefer to spend your time bar-hopping, that’s entirely your decision. But understand this, every time you step foot out the door, you’re risking your life, your very soul. Is it really worth it to sip beer and hold hands with the boy?”

My mouth went bone dry. He was so pissed.

“Why do you keep calling him a boy? He’s twenty-one years old. He’s a grown man.”

A derisive noise, almost a snort, came from the shadow before me. I felt the touch of shimmering flame he wore like a coat wherever he went.

“Mmm.” He inched into my space. I inched back, feeling like cornered prey. “And tell me, how do you know he’s a grown man?”

Words dripping with sarcasm. Malcolm was a good friend, possibly more than a good friend. Angry heat flushed my cheeks. “He’s, I mean…he just is!”

“‘He just is.’ Excellent definition. I’ll have to remember that.”

He mocked me. I was glad to have the darkness to hide the smug smile he surely wore and the humiliating flush crawling up my cheeks.

“Well, he’s a gentleman, that’s for damn sure!”

He inched closer. Though my eyes had adjusted, I could only see his outline in the dim light.

“Really? Gentlemen molest women on their doorsteps without invitation nowadays? Interesting. I hadn’t realized the definition had changed so much over the decades.”

“What! You saw! You watched me when he, I mean, when I… Damn you! That’s why I went out on my own tonight. I don’t want a babysitter all the time!”

Closer still. The backs of my knees bumped the edge of the bed.

“Babysitter? Honey, I’m not sure what mirror you’re looking in, but you are by no means a baby any more than that boy is a grown man.”

Honey? He’d never called me an endearment, and though I caught the condescending tone, the possessiveness in his voice struck me near dumb.

“Well, what’s your definition of a grown man, since you know so much?”

Already breathless, I hoped he couldn’t sense my nerves fracturing on multiple levels. The overwhelming sensation of his nearness in the dark was heady, intoxicating. I felt dizzy, wanting to grasp his shoulders for support, but I dared not touch him.

“A man,” he said, deep voice like velvet, warm breath caressing my cheek, “knows when to take action and when to be still, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, knows control when it is necessary and release when it is essential. And a man”—his voice had dropped deep, throaty, close to my ear—“knows when a woman wants him and how to please her.”

Two words popped into my head, and before I could possibly consider the consequences, the challenge shot from my mouth.

“Prove it.”

Jude crushed me onto the bed before I could blink, his glorious, hard body caging me in. A large hand hooked behind my knee, bending it as he fitted his pelvis to mine, his arousal pushing into the vee of my jeans. God! I gasped. Fingers spread into my hair, gently tugging so the column of my throat arched for him. I made a breathy sound as he scraped his stubbled jaw along the soft curve of my neck, trailing warm lips back over the rough abrasion. He tilted my head straight again, rocking against me in one slow movement.

“Ah.” A helpless pant escaped my lips.

If I could see his face, he would certainly be smiling. I was boneless beneath him. I bit my lip to keep any other embarrassing noises from escaping, as if that might help. His hand at my knee slid up along my thigh to my hip, massaging gently. Even through my jeans, his touch seared me to the skin.

“Let go, Genevieve.” I still held my bottom lip tightly between my teeth. “Open for me.”

God, the man’s voice rumbled so low, a rough whisper caressing me in a tangible way, forcing me to obey. I did as I was told. Those lips I’d caught myself staring at entirely too often showed me the difference between the boy on the doorstep and the man on top of me.

Slowly, slowly, his lips urged mine apart with gentle yet determined movements until I tasted the invading heat of his mouth. His tongue came in—exploring, demanding, claiming me as his own. I’d felt desire before, but not like this. An aching need wrenched at my core, tightening low and deep. His aura of fire singed me from the inside out, waking every sense, wrapping me in palpable longing. A burning tendril reached out, weaving around me, into me, pulling me toward him like the tide to the moon. How did I ever mistake Danté for Jude? I knew in that moment no man would ever come close to him, no matter how long I lived.

I threaded one hand into the hair at his nape, shocked at the silkiness. My other hand moved along his neck to the crook of his jaw, feeling the muscles work as he continued his deep invasion. I couldn’t keep the little whimpering noises from escaping my lips. He responded at once, pressing his erection harder, grinding against me, kissing more deeply, nipping at my lips with his teeth, then devouring me again with heavy intent. My back arched, a primitive response, pressing my breasts against his chest. The friction wound a knot in my abdomen. He moaned. Christ! The sound made me want to give him everything, give him all of me. My other leg bent of its own will, inviting and cradling him between my thighs.

The moment he settled perfectly between my legs, he froze, paused and pulled away. Almost too abruptly, as if he’d realized or forgotten something. Though his voice came out calm and steady, the rapid tattoo of his heart vibrated through his chest to mine. He lifted his body an inch, no longer touching but hovering in torturous intimacy. I almost cried out in anguish.

“Proven?”

What? Proven? What was he talking about? My mind had nearly melted away the conversation before this more than heated interlude. I could hardly form a coherent thought, much less speak, still panting and wanting more.