Forged in Fire (22 page)

“And what happened to you?” I asked.

“Me? Danté sold me into slavery to a Celtic war party not long after. I was twelve years old, on the cusp of manhood. Again, that probably seems young to you, I’m sure, but then I would’ve been nearly a man. I was big for my age, so I was summarily sold into fighting another man’s battles as another man’s property.”

His lips compressed. I knew this was all he would tell me for now. My heart ached—for him, for myself.

“Jude, I’m—”

His gaze locked on me—intense and burning. Nothing I wanted to say could possibly come out of my mouth.
Jude, I’m sorry. Sorry for you. Sorry for me. I’m broken. I’m furious that you couldn’t save me. I hate you for it. I need you to hold me. I want you in the worst kind of way, but I’m terrified to let another man touch me. I’m falling into a dark place, and I don’t want to go. Please, don’t let me go.

Jude reached out slowly, hands gripping my waist in a gentle hold, and pulled me across the floor to him. Barricaded between his legs and arms, he buried his head in my hair, resting his forehead against my shoulder, and I felt…safe. My heart quieted.

I’d been in Jude’s arms many times at this point, but I hadn’t felt the gentleness of his touch, not like this. His hands fisted in my hair and the back of the sweatshirt, clutching me to him. No words were needed. He knew my soul-deep anguish.

I wrapped an arm across one shoulder, cupping the back of his head to cradle him against me. We didn’t say anything but simply held each other for some time. When he pulled back, he wore an unreadable expression, everything hidden once again. He traced his thumb along my cheekbone before pulling both hands into his lap and looking at them. I held them palms down.

Dried blood caked in brown splotches and scratches on both hands. Rough abrasions with skin scraped clean off from the tip of his pinky fingers all along the outer edge of both hands to his wrists. Knuckle bones exposed white on the middle and forefingers. I flipped them. A gash ran along the fleshy part of his left palm.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” I said.

In the bathroom, he ran his hands under the water, still silent.

“Where’s your medical kit, that one you used for my stitches?”

“Bottom cabinet,” he said, scrubbing his hands clean.

I found it and opened it up, searching for gauze or bandages or something. Jude dried his hands on a towel, then slid the kit closer to him on the counter. I watched as he took the stitching needle and thread and, without anesthetic, closed up the gash on his palm with seven perfectly spaced stitches.

“That doesn’t hurt?” I asked as he snipped the ends expertly. I realized then he moved with the deft swiftness of an expert who’d done this countless times.

Having set aside the stitching tools in the kit, he fixed dark eyes on me, the whites now showing but no sparks of amber in the irises. The air was heavy with too many things said and too many unsaid.

“Genevieve, you do realize I would never jeopardize your safety. For any reason.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I replied honestly.

“He won’t be able to soul-sift you again,” he said, holding my gaze.

“Why not?”

“He may have some power over us with the blood casts, but I have connections of my own, more powerful than him. He’ll
never
—listen to me—
never
be able to soul-sift you again.”

“There’s a way to keep him from soul-sifting me.” My voice quivered with an accusation. He answered my question before I could ask it.

“Yes. I didn’t think it would be necessary to go to such extremes. My protection cast should’ve been enough. But I—” He caught my gaze in the mirror. Pain bracketed his eyes and mouth.

“But what, Jude?”

He leaned sideways against the counter. “Danté could never break through my cast of protection before. He was never strong enough to beat me.”

“But he is now,” I added, unable to hold my tongue. The truth was that his opponent had bested him. He’d underestimated Danté’s strength, and his error had cost me dearly. But while Danté had invaded my heart and soul with his malevolent essence, he hadn’t taken me in every way. My VS made sure of that.

Jude gripped the edge of the counter with one hand, white-knuckled. “Apparently. But there are others stronger than him.”

“Friends of yours?”

“A friend. Yes.” He sighed and crossed his arms, shoulders drawing tight. “He’ll help us.”

Us. Jude saw this as
our
problem, not mine. I should be grateful for that. He had made a mistake. A big one. I needed to accept that and move on. Allowing him to wallow in his misery only hurt us both. I blew out a breath and leaned with one hip against the counter.

“Jude, can I ask you something?”

A sharp nod.

“How did you know he’d soul-sifted me? I mean, how did you know to come for me?”

He paused. “Honestly, I’m not certain. I was lying in bed. I felt a tremor, a disturbance, and somehow I knew you needed me.”

I frowned, wondering how that could be possible. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but I can tell you this. No matter what, I’ll always come for you,” he said softly, tucking a lock of loose hair behind my ear, then pulling his hand away, fixing me with a look that made me breathless. “Always.”

I gulped hard, unable to speak.

“I’ll be damned,” he added, “more so than I already am, before I let him take you again.”

More so? I gazed up at his beautiful face hardened by grave determination, such depth of feeling etched in every line. I needed this man beyond reason, and I couldn’t explain why.

“Jude, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything, Genevieve. Anything,” he said with such emotion I thought my heart would break in two.

“Kiss me.”

I wanted Jude to erase the memory of the demon’s lips, so rough and cruel against mine. I wanted the sensation of touch from someone who cared about me. I wanted…I wanted Jude.

He stared as if memorizing my face. Obsidian eyes lingered over cheek, brow, nose, lips. He hesitated, then cupped my cheek, letting the tips of his fingers edge into my hair. Leaning down, he brushed his lips lightly against mine. As he coaxed a soft kiss from me, I met him with tenderness. He did not deepen it but only showed me with feather-lightness that I was still his.

“So strong, my Genevieve,” he whispered against my lips. “My warrior woman.”

I’m not sure if he knew what it did to me when he claimed me in such a way. I shivered from head to toe.

“Cold?” he asked, planting gentle kisses up my cheek, across closed eyelids.

“No.”

“Scared?”

“Yes.”

He paused. Words so soft. “I’d never hurt you. Never.”

He made his way across my brow and descended, giving me assurance of my safety and of his feelings for me. He angled his head and pressed in a little deeper, barely opening his mouth. After the slowest, most languorous kiss I’d ever experienced, he lifted away, pressing warm lips to my forehead.

My heart hammered against my ribs, partly from fear, partly from desire. I pressed my cheek against his chest, hearing his own heartbeat racing. A wave of relief swept through me. Fear hadn’t ruled me. One stitch closed a seam in the fracture caused by the demon prince.

I mumbled low, lower than a whisper, “Thank you.”

Chapter Twenty

The trickle of water calmed my nerves. I stared at the frozen figures of Eros and Psyche, wrapped in a passionate embrace. Psyche had fallen for Eros blindly, not knowing the man, the god, who made love to her every night in the dark. When she finally saw his true form, she lost him, forced to wander and seek him out across the heavens, earth and the underworld. I wondered at this as the slow, waking sounds of the city rose with the gray morning light.

Knees tucked under my chin, I listened to the world coming awake—a pleasant, comforting sound. Two larks flitted and chirped on the stone wall surrounding the courtyard. On Dauphine Street, a car door opened and shut, then the engine started and was gone. The distant murmur and shuffle of vendors opening booths at the French market rose over the wall. Someone laughed. It all seemed so strange, but soothing at the same time. My personal troubles didn’t keep the world from turning. Funny, but that actually made me feel better.

“Good morning.” Kat walked toward me, bright smile beaming.

“Morning,” I replied, but not so brightly.

In faded jeans and a gray peacoat with her platinum hair twisted in a messy bun, she appeared so much younger than she normally did in her kick-ass attire. She sat next to me and slid a white baker’s box across the stone bench. “I thought you’d want some breakfast.”

I tried to smile. She opened the box to a tempting assortment—chocolate éclairs, bear claws, cinnamon twists, chocolate-glazed donuts.

“Oh, come on. Chocolate always makes a girl feel better.” She picked up an éclair and took a bite, smiling encouragingly.

“He told you?”

She nodded, setting the pastry down, and sighed.

“He told me that Danté soul-sifted you last night and that he’d…possessed your soul before you could get away.”

Her eyes dropped, then met mine with a knowing look. More green than black, they held empathy. A horrible thought struck me.

“Danté’s taken you before?”

She shook her head. “Not him. Another.” She stared at the fountain. “He kept me for a long time and possessed me in every way possible.”

Something shifted inside. This bad-ass beautiful woman reeking of confidence and I-don’t-take-no-shit attitude had been through an ordeal even worse than mine—dominated and humiliated through pain and shame for the sick pleasure of another.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“Barely.”

She wiped her fingers on a napkin in the pastry box and stared at the bench a minute, stalling, it seemed.

“I’m sorry, Gen,” she said awkwardly. “I’m just glad Jude was able to get you out of there before he could do worse to you.”

“He didn’t. I got myself out.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Your Vessel power saved you? That’s awesome!”

I nodded again with a shrug.

“Holy hell!” She stood up, pacing in front of me. “Don’t you see? Don’t you get it?”

“No. What?”

“It’s a sign!” She sat down, taking one of my hands and squeezing. “You’re the one, Gen, the Vessel in the prophecy! I know it now! Like, I’m absolutely sure of it!”

“What do you mean? What does that prove?”

“Are you kidding me?” She stared, incredulous and wide-eyed. “You’re not even fully awakened, and you fought off a demon prince, older than earth, who controls your soul with your blood, and you fought him off in his realm where everything must obey him. As far as I know, it’s never been done. I mean, even I couldn’t get out on my own. I needed—well, never mind.” She shook off the persistent memory marring her face. “I’m certain. You are
the
Vessel.”

She was right. I suppose it was pretty incredible, knowing the power he wielded up until the moment I blasted him.

“Oh man, what I would’ve done to see his freaking face.”

I couldn’t help but smile, remembering Danté’s wicked eyes widening with confusion.

“It was pretty awesome,” I admitted.

“I bet it was.” She laughed.

“Kat.” I turned serious again. “When I was there, everything, I mean, it was just my soul, but it felt so… I don’t know how to explain it.”

She nodded, scooting closer on the bench. “Yes, I know what you mean. Our souls, even outside of our bodies, experience emotion and sensation the same as if body and soul were one. But,” she said with a grave gleam in her eye, “our bodies complete us, giving us the power of physical form. When we’re whole, we’re more than body or soul alone. It’s difficult to put into words, but just know”—she paused, giving my hand a squeeze—“it will fade. You will heal. And you’ll be stronger than before.”

I believed her, despite the ache sitting on my heart. After all, she knew from experience.

“Kat, can I ask you, well, did Jude save you when you were…taken?”

She shook her head. “No. It was someone else.” A frown creased her pretty brow, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “It took a very long time for him to get inside the lair of Damas. I’d lost all my strength. I’d thought that I’d lost all my Flamma power by the time I left that place.”

“Why did it take so long?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“He has a deep lair, well guarded.”

“So, this Damas, he was one of the princes?”

A curt nod.

“You said deep. Deep in where?”

She gave me a puzzled look. “In hell, of course.”

I flinched. How did I not realize I’d been in hell that whole time? Black fortress in a lifeless void, demonic creatures on watch, serving their lord and master. I laughed at my stupidity, but my heart opened to a wonderful realization.

“You mean I saved myself from the clutches of a demon prince in hell? On my own?”

“Yeah! That’s what I’m saying. You’re so awesome.” She gave me a gentle shove on the shoulder. “You’re my hero, Gen.”

We both laughed. Though the wound was still raw and fresh, Kat gave me hope. She’d been through worse and survived to be this vibrant and strong. So could I. Hammering broke up our girl-power celebration.

“What’s he doing?” Kat asked, peering up at the second-floor window where Jude nailed plywood over the broken window from the inside.

“Oh, he’s, um, cleaning up.”

“Cleaning up or remodeling?”

“Well, I imagine he’ll be doing a little of both.”

“Yikes,” she said, eyebrows raised. “I’m actually surprised his freaking house is still standing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Genevieve. Seriously?”

“What?”

She scoffed. “Listen, I’ve known Jude the better part of two centuries, and while he’s generally an intense guy, I’ve never seen him so smitten before. For anyone.”

“Smitten?”

“Smitten. Fixated. Obsessed. Bewitched. Whatever you want to call it, he’s got it bad.”

I felt a warm blush crawl up my cheeks. I glanced at my watch nervously.

“What’s up? You late for something?”

“Actually, I will be soon. I’ve skipped tons of classes since, well, since I met you guys. Mindy is even harassing me about ditching so much class, and she’s not exactly the studious type.”

Kat smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Take a little more time off. You deserve it.”

“What?” I asked a bit sarcastically. “Go home and lie in bed where I can be alone with my thoughts all day? I don’t think so.”

She nodded. “Touché, my friend. Well, you can’t go without a bodyguard.”

“Yeah, I know but—”

“Jude!” she yelled up toward the house.

The man being summoned popped into existence before us, sifting in a snap. Ripped jeans, stained T-shirt, flexed arms, and hammer in hand, he looked like a walking advertisement for Studs-R-Us.

“Down, boy,” protested Kat with her hands up. “I didn’t do it, whatever it is.”

The corner of one side of his mouth twitched. His eyes fell on me, totally unreadable. He seemed to be having difficulty dragging his gaze from me as Kat informed him she was taking me to class.

“I can take her,” he said, dark eyes still fixed.

“I’d rather Kat took me,” I said, adding quickly, “I need to go by the dojo after class, and it’ll be easier to introduce Kat to my dad rather than have to explain, well, you.”

I gestured my hand up and down the length of him. Again, his lips almost pulled into a smile but didn’t quite make it.

“Why would I be difficult to explain?”

“Well, I don’t bring boys, um, men, home or to work, and Dad’s really protective, so it would just be easier to bring my new friend Kat along so I won’t get the third degree.”

Kat looped her arm through mine, giving me a cheesy grin with her new title as friend. I wondered if she had many, or any, for that matter. Then I realized that she probably didn’t, besides other demon hunters, who were most probably all men. Men like this stubborn slab of steel in front of me. But Jude nodded, finally agreeing, proving me wrong for once.

“Your father has some sense. I like him,” he grumbled. I rolled my eyes. “But, Kat, I want check-ins every hour on the hour. And if you so much as think there is company in the vicinity—”

“I know, I know. Sift out ASAP. No problem. I got this.”

He gave a tight nod, moving forward as if to embrace me, then seemed to change his mind. He touched my cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles and withdrew.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” he said, then sifted back upstairs.

After driving to my apartment where Mindy was still passed out from the night before, I took a quick shower and changed into jeans and a New Orleans Saints sweatshirt. I took my time getting dressed, meandering around, fetching Advil for Mindy and putting it by her bedside with a glass of water. Procrastinating.

“So,” Kat said as we backed out of the drive in her car, “why don’t you want to go to your Lit class again? I thought you were all into that ancient literature and stuff.”

I watched the joggers doing laps through City Park as we drove by.

“I’m not ready to deal with Malcolm.”

“Malcolm? Was that the guy with you on the Riverfront that night?”

“Yeah. He’s a friend. Well, he was. I don’t know. We were friends, then I went on a date with him, and now I’ve changed my mind. Ugh. Just so awkward.”

Kat giggled.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’d forgotten about this kind of stuff, not that I ever actually dated in my youth. We more or less did the London Season, went to balls, and if you danced too many times with one gentleman, then I suppose that was construed as leading him on as you’ve done to poor Malcolm.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

“I’m here to help,” she said, giving me a huge grin as she swerved into a parking spot.

“You know, I can’t even imagine you in the Victorian era. You just seem to scream twenty-first century.”

“I’m very good at adapting.” She winked conspiratorially, locking the door with her keypad as we walked toward campus.

“I have no trouble believing that at all. Geez, the men must’ve been impressive at those balls. All dashing and dapper in their swallow-tailed evening dress?”

“Hmmph,” she grunted. Her eyes swirled darkly. “Some, yes. But, a gentleman of the gentry in evening dress is the perfect mask to hide the wolf beneath. They weren’t all dashing and dapper.”

We walked along the outer buildings.

“Did you ever marry one of these flirtatious Victorian men? One of the dashing, dapper types?”

I regretted the question as soon as it spilled out of my mouth. I could’ve kicked myself. Her expression turned wistful.

“Yeah. Sure did.” Her eyes grew distant and cold with no further explanation. “I’ll meet you right here afterwards.”

I nodded, ducking into the building. When I glanced back, she’d opened one of those romance novels with the cheesy covers. She was a conundrum, Kat.

I was a little nervous about Latin class after nearly a two-week hiatus. Fortunately, Professor Minga adored me, which made it all that more difficult to outright lie to her, saying I’d had some lingering bug that kept me bedridden. I easily jumped into the lesson, translating a passage of Cicero. Mary was seated at the desk next to me.

“Where have you been?” she whispered as I opened to the passage I was assigned. “Were you really sick?”

I shrugged. “A little,” I half lied, for I had gotten quite a few injuries recently. “I’ve had some personal stuff to deal with.”

Mary accepted that excuse with a nod, focusing back on her work. She wasn’t the nosy type.

I took a deep breath and read Cicero’s words. As I started to scribble the translation in the margin beneath the passage, my hands began to shake. How could I possibly have returned on this day to translate this specific passage? I couldn’t go beyond what was already translated, but just stared down at the words.

Professor Minga stopped by my desk, pushing her spectacles up on the bridge of her nose. Kind, pale blue eyes examined me.

“Is there a problem, Genevieve?”

“Um, no, ma’am. I was just pondering this passage. Is this correct?”

“Read it to me.”

So I did.

“
Be sure that it is not you that is mortal, but only your body. For that man whom your outward form reveals is not yourself. The spirit is the true self, not the physical figure.
”

“
Perfectus.
It seems time off hasn’t made you rusty at all. Why the frown?”

Professor Minga didn’t mince words. She said what she thought, and I liked that.

“I was wondering about the meaning of what Cicero is saying here. About the body and the soul.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, Cicero was a pagan like the rest of the Romans, but he also had high ideals and believed in an afterlife. He often professed that man’s deeds on earth determined the goodness or foulness of his soul and thus affected them in the eternal realm. Here, he is concerned with eternal death if the mortal man abuses his soul through his physical form.”

“Do you believe that, Professor? That the soul can be eternally damned if it is damaged?”

Her nose twitched as she pushed her glasses up another half inch. My heart was in my throat, waiting for her answer.

“In my mind, that would depend upon the person’s intent in doing the damage. Sometimes we are injured regardless of what we say or do. Am I right?”