Forged in Fire

by Juliette Cross

  We walked past the front desk in the lobby toward the restaurant entrance.

  “We have a table under Jude Delacroix,” I told the smiling hostess in a pencil skirt with a mousy face.

  “Oh yes. They are waiting for you.”

  Her nose scrunched up as she scanned us, then she swished toward the quiet din of clinking glass and murmuring voices. I shot Kat a look as we followed.

  “They? Who else would be with him?”

  Kat’s shoulders straightened and stiffened. Her green-black eyes narrowed into slits.

  “I’m going to kill Jude,” she muttered.

  “What? Why?”

  The hostess led us past the open-air kitchen, where fire licked through grill grates around thick steaks and oysters on the half shell. I could feel the heat radiating more from Kat than the kitchen as we zigzagged to the far back corner.

  “I knew it. Damn it,” she grumbled.

  Jude sat facing out with his back to the corner, definitely a defensive move. Next to him sat a breathtakingly handsome man he engaged in conversation. Chestnut hair glinted reddish-gold in the candlelight. He had a fine physique nearly matching the height and breadth of Jude’s, and a beguiling, dimpled smile. Both men stood as we approached. The stranger gazed at us from striking, aquamarine eyes, hinting at secrets untold. He wore a crisply starched shirt the same shade as his eyes, creating a dazzling effect. He seemed to know how to dress and hold himself to the best advantage. He appeared to be in his late thirties, but I knew better. My VS had amplified, pulsing brightly the moment we stepped into the restaurant. Appearances were often deceiving as of late. I forced through the Flamma barrier of protection, seeing the distinct hilt of a sword strapped to Jude’s back. Always prepared.

  The hostess nearly wilted as we drew nearer the two men. Jude, dressed all in black from head to toe, the top of his Celtic tattoo revealed in the open triangle of his shirt, didn’t seem to notice. His smoldering gaze passed above her head and straight to me. I felt my knees wobble as we finally made it to the table.

  “Good evening, ladies.” The stranger greeted us with the most charming British accent, very 007-ish with a mischievous grin.

  “What are you doing here?” Kat asked nastily.

  “My dear Katherine. So delightful to see you. And aren’t you absolutely stunning,” he crooned, pulling out a chair for her.

  She glared at him, getting ready to spit fire or something. A rather attractive shade of pink began crawling up her neck to her cheeks. Jude came around to pull my chair out, rested his hand under my elbow and leaned down to my ear.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I replied quietly.

  He leaned even closer, his fingers sliding up my arm to rest on my shoulder, his voice husky with emotion. “Genevieve Drake, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

  His lips brushed the shell of my ear. Intentionally or accidentally, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. Coupled with the sensation of his hands and lips brushing my bare skin, his words made my knees buckle. I was more than thankful to have the seat beneath me. I tried my best to smile demurely as if he didn’t affect me the way he did, but the smug sparkle in his eyes told the truth. He knew exactly what he did to me. Dangerous man.

  “Genevieve,” he addressed me louder, “may I introduce George Draconis.”

  I nodded.

  “You are Flamma,” I stated matter-of-factly. “A Dominus Daemonum.”

  “Yes and no, my dear lady,” he said with a wink.

  “George is our commander,” clarified Jude. “Our leader.”

  “Oh!” I was a suddenly surprised that Kat had been so rude to her own boss. Surely there was something I didn’t know. “So you’re the master of the Master of Demons.”

  “At your service.” He bowed as regally as possible over the dining table. “Clever girl, Jude.”

  “More than you know,” he added as the waiter arrived.

  Our waiter opened a bottle of pinot noir and poured us each a glass. Definitely not the wine connoisseur, I could still recognize this wasn’t the cheap stuff.

  “We took the liberty of ordering for you ladies,” offered George.

  “Of course you did,” Kat snapped.

  “I hope you don’t mind, dear Katherine.”

  She took a very unladylike gulp of wine. I quirked my eyebrows at Jude, wondering what I was missing, but he simply smiled boyishly over the rim of his wineglass.

  “So, is Draconis a Greek name? Is that where you’re from?” I asked.

  “Ah, well, not quite, Genevieve. I chose the name myself, as I was born without a surname.”

  Old like Jude, this one.

  “And when might that have been?”

  “Two hundred seventy anno domini.”

  I almost choked. Yes, Jude was born not that much longer after him, but the truth struck me like a slap in the face every time. These two men were both centuries older than me, making Kat a blooming daisy in spring with her two hundred years of time on earth. Hell, with that metaphor, I’d be a seed on the wind or pollen in the air, not even in soil yet.

  Our waiter served our salads, so I sipped my water, recovering while the young server offered fresh cracked pepper. We waited in silence till he was gone.

  “So, why Draconis?” I asked. “Do you have a thing for dragons?”

  George chuckled in a most charming way. Kat squirmed next to me, and Jude watched from the sidelines as if this were an entertaining tennis match.

  “Well, I don’t have a thing for them, so to speak, but I do want to bury each one of them in the darkest abyss imaginable.”

  “Oh. Of course,” I said, sipping my wine as I realized dragon was meant simply as a symbol for demons.

  “You’re actually already quite acquainted with George,” said Jude with one of his enigmatic smiles that made my insides puddle into goo.

  “Uh, no, I don’t think I am.”

  Jude’s eyes dropped to my neckline, where the medal my mother had given me normally hung around my neck. Instinctively, my fingers went there, but I hadn’t worn it tonight as it didn’t go with the dress. When my brain processed what he was implying, my jaw dropped open. Jude smiled wider.

  “Wait a minute. George Draconis, George the Dragon. You’re…don’t tell me you’re…you’re the George, as in—” My voice squeaked as I stammered like an idiot.

  “Well, George the Dragon Slayer was a bit of a mouthful, so I shortened it for convenience.”

  “You’re Saint George? You’re freaking Saint George!”

  I’m sure my eyes were as wide as saucers as I tried to internalize this rather startling news. Kat nonchalantly poured herself another glass of wine and started chugging. George laughed heartily at my fumbling realization.

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a saint. Not in the strictest definition, that is.”

  “You can say that again,” mumbled Kat next to me, tearing into a piece of bread. He ignored her little quips. Actually, he smiled broader each time Kat made a comment.

  “But, you are a saint. I’ve been praying for your intercession and protection for years.”

  “And you were heard,” he said, tipping his glass up to me in salute, his eyes sliding sideways to Jude so fast he probably thought I didn’t catch it. But I did.

  “Wow,” I said, falling against the back of my chair. I could hardly believe I was sitting in a Riverfront restaurant, drinking wine with a bona fide saint—the very saint my mother had sworn would protect me. I don’t know why I was so surprised after all I’d seen lately. He certainly didn’t appear like I imagined a saint would. More like a dashing movie star out on the prowl. My curiosity compelled me out of a starstruck stupor. “So, how did you become the leader of the demon hunters? And did you really kill a dragon then?”

  Jude chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying my childlike candor, smirking behind his glass of wine. I turned my attention back to George.

  “
Oh, my dear, dragons don’t actually exist.”

  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 ques
tion 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.