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?”
He sounded desperate, like a man on the brink. His hand clutched at my hip. Even through this damn comforter, I felt his warm hand squeezing that spot that made me tighten in low, wonderfully feminine places. The well of emotion in his voice threatened to ignite us both into flames. I was playing with fire, and hell if I didn’t want to get burned, but the consequences of giving in to the heat of Jude could result in Danté having possession of me. Never. I needed to take the reins. I was pushing Jude too far.
“You like to say my name,” I said, combing my fingers softly through the back of his hair. He said my name often, and sometimes his voice lilted like a reverent plea. I’d often wondered about this but never had the courage to ask. Until now. “Why is that?”
Breathing labored, he fell onto his back. I snuggled closer but not too close, wrapping one arm across his waist. He urged me up so that his left arm pillowed my head. When his chest finally rose and fell in a steady rhythm reflecting in-control Jude, he spoke.
“Did you know that Genevieve is the name of the patron saint of Paris?”
“No,” I murmured encouragingly. Jude rarely spoke of his past, especially his life in France. I understood this as a small gift.
“When Genevieve was seven years old, Saint Germanus, the bishop of Auxerre, prophesied her future greatness. She promised to become consecrated to God, and so she did on that very day and again when she was fifteen years old. In 451, when Attila the Hun threatened to overtake the city of Paris, promising to pillage and kill all those inside, young Genevieve implored the inhabitants not to abandon their homes but to pray and have faith that God would save them. I was there, in the crowd, and she seemed to understand something that no one else could.”
“And what was that?”
“That good will prevail if you maintain faith despite the odds. Paris was my city to protect at the time as a Dominus Daemonum, so I had no plans to leave regardless. But she, with unwavering faith shining in her eyes, put me to shame. Many people were furious at her outright blind faith, as they called it. Some wanted to stone her. Others fled in fear during the night.”
“I imagine you put a stop to the stoning,” I said, wrapping my arm more tightly around him.
“I did,” was his curt reply, but I heard the smile in his voice.
“And did Attila the Hun pillage the city?”
“No. She led a group out to the ramparts of the city before daybreak. I was there too, watching. In the face of the enemy, armed with spears and bloodlust, she led the faithful in prayer as the morning light swept over them. That night, Attila led his army south to Orleans, and the city was saved.”
“Was she, was she a Vessel?”
“No. She wasn’t Flamma of any kind. She was simply a woman.”
Why would he tell me this story?
“So, you like my name because it reminds you of the nun who saved Paris?”
The words sounded flippant, but I didn’t mean them to. A slow rumble of laughter vibrated beneath my cheek where it lay on his chest.
“I like your name for many reasons.” His hand played with strands of my hair that spilled down his arm pillowing my head. “Because it reminds me of a woman who had faith in the impossible when all signs threatened bloody death. Because it is French, a name that speaks to me in my native tongue. But most importantly,” he said, shifting and lifting my chin. Our eyes met. He hesitated but finally dove ahead and said what seemed perched on the tip of his tongue anyway. “Because it is your name, the name of the woman who shines a light in my darkness; the woman who will save me from my worst enemy, despair; the woman who currently holds my jaded heart in her very lovely hands.”
He went still. His pulse sped up, pounding
in his breast beneath my hands. He was afraid. Of me, and how I would respond to such an open declaration. Trusting me with this vulnerable part of him made something precious open inside. I propped myself on my elbow, weaving my fingers through his available hand, pulling our clasped hands to my lips, grazing a kiss on his knuckles.
“Well,” I whispered softly, “I promise to be very, very careful. I’ve always been known to have capable hands.”
“I bet you have,” he replied at the somewhat teasing statement, pulling me closer.
But the kiss that followed wasn’t filled with heated passion or bridled lust. Rather, it was one of adoration and blooming hope for the both of us, the bonds weaving in and around our hearts pulling a little bit tighter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“But I just don’t know! I mean, the Jimmy Choos make me taller and make my calves look amazing. But then I’ll be able to dance better if I wear these. Whaddya think? Stop reading that magazine and pay attention to me!”
Mindy was on what I call an out-on-the-town high. It starts at the break of dawn with her run to Starbucks for caramel macchiatos with extra shots of espresso for both of us. (She tries desperately to get me hopped up on caffeine so I’ll be as insane as she is about our night out.) The grooming stage occurs before lunchtime, though she refuses to actually eat lunch on these days because it’ll give her a “pooch” and ruin her attire for the event. In reality, she never has a pooch, but I get sick of arguing this point. Grooming consists of showering, shampooing and conditioning her hair using all kinds of high-end products, shaving pretty much everything, and finally painting nails and toes if she hadn’t already gotten a professional mani/pedi for the occasion. From this moment on, she flounces around the rest of the day in her robe, stressing about the details of her wardrobe. We were currently at the obsessing-over-accessories and yelling-at-Gen-to-pay-attention phase of the day.
“Oh, definitely not the Jimmy Choos,” I said with serious finesse. “What if you meet this super-hot guy and the shoes make you taller than him? Some men find that emasculating. Plus you won’t even be able to dance with him if he can get over the fact that you’re taller than him.”
Of course, Mindy was very petite, and even in those five-inch heels, she’d still be shorter than the average guy. But if I didn’t have some kind of input with a crafty explanation, she’d start fussing that I didn’t care and we’d go rounds about that.
“Gen, you’re so totally right. Why didn’t I think of that? Okay, awesome. I’m going to start my hair. Gen! Go get in the shower! I’ve gotta do your hair too, for goodness sake!”
Then she vanished in a whirl of blonde hair and terry cloth. The clock on the microwave read 4:00. She was right. I should start getting dressed if we were to be on time for the limousine picking us up at six. A freaking limousine. Leave it to Mindy’s mom to take us in style.
I plopped Mindy’s Vogue magazine on the coffee table and started for my bedroom when a knock sounded on the door. Instantly, my heart stuttered. Jude didn’t knock anymore, he just popped in, literally, unannounced whenever he damn well pleased. Mindy dashed back into the living room from the hallway. Her afternoon run to the Starbucks drive-through was kicking in.
“Who’s that?”
I shrugged, walking over and peeking through the peephole.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“Who is it?” Mindy whispered in her yelling whisper.
I mouthed Malcolm. Mindy gave me the uh-oh face and ducked back to her bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. To say that he looked unhappy was an understatement. There were shadows under those usually bright green eyes that were now the darker side of summer. He looked good in his usual all-American way, but there was a sag to the shoulders. He didn’t smile when he saw me, holding a folded paper in his hand. The chill of late afternoon had rolled in.
“Hi,” he said in a flat tone.
“Hi, Malcolm. What’s up?”
The look of defeat on his face made me cringe and wish I’d called him sooner.
“Well, I was kind of wondering the same thing.” He glanced around. “Can I come in a minute?”
For some reason, I hesitated. Jude wouldn’t approve, I knew that. But it wasn’t like I was dating or even thinking of dating Malcolm. And Jude had strengthened his cast around the apartment, revealing that he’d know the second Flamma entered. Not that I thought Malcolm was possessed or anything. Actually, he looked…oh, no. He looked heartbroken. I’m such an idiot.
“Sure,” I said, stepping aside to allow him through the door. “Come on in.”
He sat awkwardly on the sofa, shuffling the paper in his hands between his fingers. I sat in the chair next to the sofa, not knowing what to say.
“Gen,” he started, a sad edge to his voice. “What happened?”
What happened? Like, when? So much crap had happened I couldn’t begin to run down the list. When he realized I was stumped for a reply, he went on.
“I mean, I thought we had a nice date the other night. We had an awesome time. You seemed to enjoy the movie and drinks and laughs at the bar, a nice kiss good night…” Well. That was highly debatable. “Then all of a sudden, you fell off the face of the earth.”
Oh. Yeah, I suppose I did.
“I mean, Gen, I’ve been texting you for nearly two weeks with no response. You haven’t been back to class. If it weren’t for Mary, who told me she saw you at Starbucks, happy and healthy, I would’ve thought you died or something. You don’t have to avoid me, just tell me what’s going on.”
So, this highly awkward moment was why I should never have gone on a date with him. Even then, I knew it was a bad idea, but idiot that I am, I did it anyway. Rule number one, never go out with a guy who likes you twice as much as you like him. Rule number two is, of course, never go on a date with a guy when the sexiest man alive already has you in his sights.
“Malcolm, listen, I’m really sorry. I did have a nice time, but—”
“So, let’s give it a try,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry if I was pushy with the kiss. I know I was a little forward, but, Gen, I really care about you.”
A little forward? I hate to think what he considers a lot forward. He was making this way more difficult than I thought it’d be. To be fair, I just needed to hit him hard.
“Malcolm, you and I have been friends a long time.” He groaned at the dreaded word “friends”, but I barreled ahead. “You’ve always been kind to me, helping me out when I needed, but I’m afraid it’s just not going to work as anything more than that.”
“Why won’t you give it a shot? We’d be great together.”
I shook my head. “I did.”
He stared down at his hands, still clutching the folded paper. “What changed your mind?”
Um, well, Jude kissed me stupid in my bedroom about five minutes after you left. And he doesn’t like to share so that’s that.
“Malcolm, I’m sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath and forging ahead fast. Like taking off a Band-Aid; that was Mindy’s advice. “I’m interested in someone else, and I know I should’ve told you sooner. I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. But, I’m quite certain this isn’t going to end anytime soon.”
Never, actually, as far as I was concerned. Poor Malcolm’s face blanched white. His lips tightened into a line. His hands clenched the paper he held a little, making me wary. I reached out with my VS but received no paranormal warning of danger. This was just a rejected guy, pissed off at the world. And at me. Still, any sign of masculine aggression put me instantly on my guard, ready to leap into fight-or-flight mode on a dime.
“You’re already seeing someone else? That was quick.”
He could’ve slapped me in the face and I would’ve been equally as surprised by his sharp tone.
“If you must know, he was pursuing me the same time you were, but I didn’t see it at first. And now we’re, well, we’re pretty serious.”
“Let me guess. Does this dick h
appen to ride a black motorcycle and work for your dad?”
The bitterness in every word made chills run up my spine. I shot up out of my chair. “It’s none of your damn business, Malcolm. I think you better leave now.”
His eyes shifted to the floor, then back up at me. He bore a much more penitent expression than he did a moment ago. Or was he sorry he made me angry?
“I’m sorry, Gen, I didn’t mean it. I guess I’m the dick.”
I didn’t argue.
He let out a bitter laugh, standing from the sofa. “I actually would like us to still be friends,” he added quietly, hesitantly.
“Maybe,” I replied, still on guard.
A heavy, heavy sigh. “I’ve had it bad for you for a really long time. I actually thought that… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.” He ran his fingers through already tousled hair, then handed me a somewhat crumpled paper. “Here. Your midterm from Professor Bennett. I told him you were ill and that I’d give it to you.”
“Oh. Thank you,” I said, trying to let appreciation show in my voice because he was in no way getting a good-bye hug. I took the paper, my anger dissipating. This was the kind Malcolm I knew, covering for me at class. The jealous Malcolm was a total jerk. I moved to the door and opened it.
“Gen, I’m sorry,” he said again, stopping at the door.
He reached out to touch me, but I flinched back. Any man with menace or anger lurking about him made me cringe away. He dropped his hand and tried for a smile. I did my best to smile back.
“I am too, Malcolm.”
Once the door was shut and bolted, I searched my midterm for the grade.
“A C-! What the hell!”
Mindy raced out from down the hall, holding three different clutch purses in silver and black.
“What! What is it?”
“That freaking professor gave me a C- on my midterm,” I yelled, flipping the pages to his comments in the back.
Forged in Fire Page 27