Forged in Fire (20 page)

“I’ll drive,” said Jude, taking my keys. I didn’t argue.

Mindy fell into silence on the ride home. So did I. Jude, laconic as always, said not a word. The plan had gone relatively well, considering I did demonstrate my use of Vessel power, though weakly. Still, none of us were remotely hurt, and I finally got those two thugs out of the picture. Of course, there was apparently an endless supply of weak-minded people who could be used for possession. But what disturbed me most of all was the undeniable presence of evil lurking around Jude after he killed Fabio. He didn’t want to talk about it, and now I wasn’t so sure I did either.

Jude pulled up the drive, parked, then tossed the keys to me. “I’ll get her for you.”

He lifted Mindy from the backseat and followed me to the door. Her blonde head rolled. She had to force it upright to see her carrier, slowly focusing on his face. “Well, hello, there.”

She looped her arms around Jude’s neck—a pretty, though highly intoxicated, doll in his arms.

“Hi.” He smirked at me as I passed in front of them. Mindy got that glassy-eyed gaze.

“Hey. Are you Batman?”

I giggled.

“Do I look like Batman?”

“You totally look like Batman.” Poor Mindy. Tequila and beer—not a good combo. “You’d look soooo hot in a mask and cape,” she slurred, staring dreamily up at him.

“Please ignore her drunken blathering,” I said as I jingled the key in the door.

Mindy waved a hand around her ears like she was shooing a fly.

“Don’t mind her,” she whispered outrageously loud. “Do you have a Bat Cave?”

“Of course I do,” he replied with such sincerity I had to choke back a laugh. “But I dare say, it may be a bit cold and dark for a sweet little thing like you.”

I led him into her bedroom and pulled back the pink rosebud coverlet.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, her head thudding against his chest. “I like bats.”

Jude placed her on the bed while I pulled off her boots and tucked her under the covers.

“Night, Gen,” she murmured, rolling over. “Night, Batman.”

I clicked the door shut behind us and walked back into the living room. When I turned around, he stood right behind me, gazing with those fathomless eyes.

“I’ve never seen your Bat Cave,” I teased.

He eased forward, sliding large hands along my waist. “I’ll be more than happy to show you,” he whispered, leaning closer.

“Aren’t you afraid it will be too cold and dark for me?”

“Genevieve.” His face lost all trace of humor, suddenly bracketed with harder lines. He pulled me into a tight embrace flush against him. “I will keep you close and warm, and you will be my light.”

How do you respond to a statement like that? Simple. You don’t.

I laid my head against the hollow of his neck, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing myself closer. His arms were bands of steel, molding my body to his. We stood there in silence, feeling the warmth of each other, languishing in a new, fragile intimacy. My mind closed off the world as my senses reached out to record everything—the expanse of his large hand against the small of my back; the heady, masculine smell of him; the steady beat of his heart within his breast. Unbidden, my mind opened a vision in the space of a heartbeat.

A line of torches flickered gold light on the faces of warriors smeared with blue Wode at the verge of a wood. Among them, Jude peered from the shadows, the fire dancing over his still features. Hatred lined the planes of his face. Menace sparked in the bright amber-gold of his eyes. This was no demon hunter, but a man—one filled with such focused loathing that it etched every hard angle of cheek, jaw, nose and brow. Face fixed on something in the distance, he waited like a statue. Long black hair with war braids at the temples framed the hardened face of a warrior with murder on his mind. A fierce-looking man to his left bearing a scar across nose and cheek muttered deep and low, “
Tá anseo cinniúint, mo dheartháir.
” Something lurked in the shadows behind them, swathed in night, wrapping them in cold and wind. Jude’s stony countenance gave an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes aflame with torchlight. His voice so deep and low, I almost didn’t hear his terse response: “Aye.”

I jumped, reeling back to the present. My pulse pounded wildly in my head. I had no idea what the man had said, but the words must have been some form of Gaelic. I had taken a celtic mythology class last year with a professor obsessed with linguistics. We’d read stories not only in partially translated Gaelic but also listened to them in the original tongue. The vivid vision struck cold against my heart.

Jude pulled me back, fixing a searching gaze on me. No amber, no light—only the darkness of night. His brows bunched together, though he hadn’t seemed to sense me having the vision as he did the time before.

“Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

I glanced down, my voice proving him right. “Just a little tired,” I said, pulling farther away.

He frowned. I forced a smile.

“I suppose I should tuck you into bed now.” His voice dropped to the tone that made my heart race.

“Um, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

My hands had moved to his chest of their own volition, fixed firmly on the strength of him. Even with the thread of desire stretching taut and threatening to snap, I was afraid of what I saw tonight—both the evil entity hovering around Jude’s body on the street and the murderous man I saw in the vision.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Without warning, a rough hand cupped my face, tilting it upward. He melted his lips over mine, licking in with gentle strokes, moving with such intense purpose my knees threatened to buckle. Jude encircled an arm around my waist, holding me up and pressing me close to feel every hard muscle straining against my soft curves. When I realized I’d changed my mind and was about to ask him to jump into bed with me, he drew back, letting my lower lip slide gently from between his teeth. A slow, slow smile touched the darkness of veiled eyes, reminding me with a shiver how many years this man had had to perfect the art of seduction.

“You’re very bad,” I breathed.

The corner of his mouth quirked up for a fleeting second. “I think you’ll find,” he whispered, nipping at my lower lip with gentle teeth, “that I’m very,” warm tongue tracing his bite, “good.”

I let out a jagged breath, unable to disguise what he did to me.

“
Very
bad,” I repeated.

A squeeze on the hip. Mischief shining in ebony eyes.

“Good night, Genevieve.”

Then he sifted and was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

Though I most definitely needed a cold shower, I scalded myself with steaming water for twenty minutes, running through the events of the night. My VS responded at will, except when Fabio had grabbed me. What had he meant by his Master giving him something extra? After the ensuing scene of Jude being held within a circle of flaming light and sinister darkness, then hauling my wasted best friend home, and finally ending with a toe-curling kiss, I’d forgotten all about Fabio’s final threat. Until now.

Utterly exhausted, I toweled off and slipped into sweatpants and a tank top. After blow-drying my hair and walking back into my bedroom, I realized how chilly the apartment was. Apparently, the cool front the meteorologists had been promising us had finally arrived. I padded down the hall and switched on the thermostat to the heater for the first time this season. Mindy was out cold. Blonde waves pooled on her pillow and lips pursed like an infant, making a soft wheezing sound as she always did in deep sleep. I unfolded the quilt at the foot of the bed, draped it over her, then quickly shuffled back to my room and crawled into my own bed.

“Brrrrr.”

The heater had kicked on, stirring the cool air. I tucked into my goose-down comforter up to the chin and rubbed my cold feet back and forth to get the circulation flowing. Again, I drifted through the night’s trials, landing on the man whose lips made me melt and arms made me feel safe as the edge of sleep took me to another place. Or so I thought.

At first, I thought I was in a dream. Shrouded in darkness, I stood in the middle of a lifeless wood. No insects chirping, no small rodents scrambling to nests, no night birds echoing calls. Leafless trees with craggy branches and trunks of gray encircled me. I stepped with bare feet to the nearest one, touching the tip of one finger to the trunk. The sooty form instantly crumbled, evaporating into an unseen wind, whisking away the ashes. The brush of wind felt like a whisper, an echo, not the strong gust I’ve felt before a storm.

A curling gray mist wreathed my ankles. A silken black nightgown with thin straps clung to my body and fell just above the knee. I watched in tranquilized fascination as tendrils of thick mist crawled upward along my skin. Cool fingers of vapor caressed the lean muscle of my calf, dipped behind bare knees, smoothed over my thighs, hips, waist, whispered over my rib cage, cupped my breasts, lingered there and finally curved over my shoulders. The intimate sensation made me gasp in surprised pleasure, despite a gnawing feeling that I shouldn’t be here, that I didn’t want to be here. The conflicting emotions frightened me.

Mist wrapped around my wrists, tugging me along a path out of the dead woodland. From the line of ghostly trees, my bare feet touched black sand. This was no dream. My soul had sifted to this place. Whereas my senses were slightly dulled without my physical body, my emotions were heightened, feeling everything pass through me, leaving a mark within.

Before I even saw the black fortress, I knew it was there. Danté had beckoned, and my soul had obeyed—my own blood betraying me through his will. The mist had vanished, but there was no need for a guide. I knew where to go.

A slow-burning dread whispered through me as I stepped to the gate, spikes of iron jutting sharply upward. I didn’t look up, knowing there was nothing but a murky void under which this castle stood. The guardian crouched in the cliff face near the gate—a skeletal creature with white-watching orbs and decayed flesh pocked with gaping wounds where red spiders crept to and fro. He motioned to the gate. I knew what to do. My mind struggled against the pull, yet the compulsion to move forward was too strong. I touched the cold black iron. It obeyed and swung open.

I walked across smooth black stones toward the Gothic arch framing the door. Yellow-eyed shapes watched from the battlements. Who were these creatures? I wondered for only an instant before some force pulled me onward. Crossing under the archway of stone demons carved in every niche and shadow, I placed my palm upon the gargantuan black door. It creaked open at my touch.

The familiar golden interior beamed before me. Crackling fire alight in a vast fireplace cast golden hues on the black velvet sofa and chaise lounge. Crystal chandeliers sparkled among the grand room, filling the chamber with a pleasant glow. A whisper in the air or in my head called me forward. My name echoed from deeper in the castle. The cold prince called me. A skitter of raw fear ran down my spine.

“Genevieve.”

I lifted a silver candlestick from a sable-wooded table and walked back into the foyer with a nonexistent ceiling. The black-stoned stairs spiraled up and up and up into nothingness. My name rode the wind again. I followed, unable to do anything else.

Winding up the staircase, I stopped on the second floor, which had only one door—a mirror of the arched Gothic entry of this place. With no door handle, I flattened my palm to the wood. It opened without hesitation.

Crossing the threshold felt akin to stepping into a lion’s den, where the predator lurks in shadows. Though hidden, I knew he was there. Watching. Stalking.

Beyond the deep foreboding, an irresistible lure drew me farther in. I marveled at the bedchamber with its four-poster, king-size bed covered in white silk sheets fitted against the far wall to the right. Gold satin pillows piled high against the black lacquer headboard. Luxurious softness welcomed me, making me want to edge closer.

A fireplace equally as large as the one downstairs in the great hall breathed warmth with popping, lively flames tipped an unnatural blue. A burgundy mantel framed the fireplace in an amorphous pattern, appearing to me like many-shaped eyes watching me. I stepped closer, feeling something tickle beneath my bare feet. A white fur carpet of some kind spread in front of the hearth. I set my candlestick on the mantel, realizing I must’ve been mistaken for the ornate design appeared only to be uniquely made in odd shapes. There were no eyes. Everything had a dreamlike quality, or rather like a nightmare, though I knew this was neither.

Standing in its own cozy niche, illuminated by varying-size candelabras, was a dining table. Fine white china, shining silverware and a pair of polished goblets were set for two in perfect alignment at the head of the long table. Lifting a silver goblet, I stared into the smooth surface seemingly too perfect to be real. My own reflection frowned back at me, a pale mirror of myself.

The ghostly vapor returned, wrapping me in a cold embrace. Misty coils materialized into bronzed, masculine arms wrapped around my waist. The solid form of a man pressed against me from behind. His head bent into my hair, his voice more concrete against my ear. Not an echo but so near as to make me start in surprise.

“Genevieve, you look so beautiful for me.”

My heart raced from fear, though my head tipped back, offering the vulnerable column of my throat. Why did I do this? I didn’t want this.

“Oh yes, my sweet.”

A mouth that scorched like frost burn sucked at the pulse in my neck. Cold fire lit me up inside. All the same, sensual pleasure doused the pain from second to second. One of his hands smoothed over the black silk, across my abdomen and pelvic bone, sliding down the side of my thigh, fingers inching up the fabric.

I tried to speak, to scream, but nothing happened. Thoughts of protest flitted from my mind, chased away by an icy wind. Why couldn’t I focus? I wanted him to stop.

“Skin like milk,” he whispered against my shoulder, sliding down the thin strap of my gown, planting another burning kiss.

Silky-smooth fingers found naked flesh under my hem, sliding across the curve of my upper thigh, sloping down. Something screamed inside.

“St-Stop!”

I whirled, panting heavily, skirting around the table to put something between us. A sharp pain stabbed me for that second of rebellion against his will. He was so beautiful—a golden god with rainstorm eyes. In a crisp white button-down and black tailored slacks, with tousled hair, he seemed like a rich playboy, not a demon prince. He smiled crookedly as I lifted the strap back onto my shoulder, sidling closer to one of the place settings.

“You’re right, of course. Dinner before dessert. Come,” he said, gesturing to the place setting before him. “Sit.”

I shook my head, trying to keep my feet from moving, willing them to stay in place. For a moment, they did. His cold gaze fixed on me.

“Come,” he commanded. I gasped, for my body moved without my consent toward the chair he’d drawn out for me. “Sit.” And so I did.

He seated himself at the head of the table to my left, smiling genially. “Now then. That’s better. Let us get better acquainted.”

He snapped open a white napkin and placed it on his lap. From a shadowed corner, a creature appeared I had not seen when I came into the room. I jumped in my seat.

“Don’t mind Claudius. He’s simply here to serve.”

Dressed in the livery of a Victorian footman, the gargantuan zombie-like creature poured red wine into silver goblets. I leaned away from him, feeling unexplainably terrified of the lumbering thing. His ashen skin caved in around the eyes and sagged in hollow grooves underneath the cheekbones. I shuddered when his eyes fixed on me—pale yellow and full of misery like a hopeless caged animal. He set the bottle on the table, then slunk from the room.

“There now. Drink.”

Danté lifted his glass, took a swallow and gestured for me to do the same. I still couldn’t find my voice, but I was able to shake my head. He angled his chin in a censorial way.

“What is it? Do you think I would poison you?”

“No,” I managed to say. “Possibly.”

He tossed back his golden head, glossy hair falling away from a lovely lined face, and gave a full throaty laugh.

“Do not fear, my darling. I am not trying to trick you like Persephone with the pomegranate. This is simply”—he gestured wide—“our first date.” He winked and sipped from his goblet.

“I would certainly never poison my crowning jewel. Besides, your soul cannot be poisoned. Not that way, anyway.” He gestured again and commanded, “Drink.”

This time, I found that I could not resist the compulsion. I lifted the silver cup and took a sip, the liquid burning sweetly down my throat. How could my soul sense things in a physical manner?

“I don’t understand,” I said, staring at the wine to avoid him. “I’m not really here. How am I tasting this?”

“Oh, you are really here, Genevieve. Your soul is your essence. You can feel sensations with just your soul. However, it is less, shall we say, intense than when the body and soul are one.” His voice dipped low and sinister. “All in good time, my sweet.”

I glanced at him, wishing I hadn’t. His gaze roved over my shoulders and farther down. I felt beyond vulnerable in nothing more than a negligee, sitting at Danté’s dining table, suffering under his burning gaze. A touch of anger flared within me.

“Stop calling me that. I am not yours.”

Stormy eyes met mine. “You will be, Genevieve. Make no mistake about that. And when you are, I’ll be more than happy to teach you what it means to be mine.”

The threat, laced with menace, made quite an impact. My hands trembled in my lap. I tried to understand how my soul reacted in physical ways without the body, but there was no time for that. Right now, I needed to find a way out of here. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself and reach my Vessel Sense. In a deep, dark tunnel, a pinpoint of light glimmered.

“I had hoped we’d have a pleasant dinner together.”

His voice jarred my eyes back open. A flash of crimson when he blinked. I flinched. He blinked again, his eyes returning to cloudy blue. The candlelight flickered, gilding his features to fine gold. The paradox of beauty hiding the beast made me shrink farther away.

“Be a good girl, Genevieve,” he warned, ice in his voice.

Claudius entered with a platter, serving slices of rare roast beef and herbed new potatoes onto our plates. This all felt so surreal.

“You eat roast beef and potatoes?” I asked, leaving my hands in my lap. The idea struck me as odd, even ridiculous.

He forked a piece of bloody meat into his mouth, wiping delicately with his napkin.

“I eat whatever I want. I can have whatever I want. And so will you, my dear. Whatever your heart desires will be yours. You need only ask.”

“Whatever my heart desires?” I asked, knowing full well my meaning hung heavy in the air. My heart’s desires leaned toward the protective steel of a dark demon hunter.

He straightened in his chair and picked up his glass of wine, swirling it in circles. “I know you’re infatuated with the hunter. It makes no difference to me. On the contrary, it may serve me quite well.”

“How is that?” I asked, feeling more emboldened than before.

Something stirred when I thought of Jude, something strong and fierce. But the glare I received in return cut my breath away. He set his napkin and goblet on the table, holding out his hand to me. A piano began to play a melancholy tune from somewhere beyond the room.

“Shall we dance?”

“No,” I said emphatically, shaking my head.

“Oh yes. I think so.”

With those words and a flash in his eyes, my body betrayed me again, rising from the seat and joining him in front of the fire. He pulled me close, holding my right hand out in his left and pressing his other to the small of my back, moving me in a waltzing dance. The perverted façade of civility was revolting. Everywhere his body brushed against mine felt blistering cold. I went rigid in his arms.

“How are you making me do things I don’t want to do?”

“Why, Genevieve. You wound me. Here I thought I was being the perfect gentleman. Isn’t this what young ladies desire? Dinner by candlelight? Dancing with a devoted suitor?”

I couldn’t even laugh at how ludicrous he sounded. “Most women prefer to be asked, not abducted from their beds.”

“I didn’t abduct you, my sweet. I simply called. And you came.”

“I would never come here of my own free will. It’s the blood, isn’t it? Is that how you control me?”

Unperturbed, he continued leading me in a slow waltz on the fur carpet. His expression remained stoic. Placid and amiable, as if we truly were in some Victorian mansion and I was his willing lady, content in his arms. The reality was disturbingly the opposite.