Jude blanched white under the archangel’s premonition, seeing it for the truth it would become. He swallowed hard, cleft chin tipping up in defiance.
Uriel turned his gaze on me, on George. “What do you say? Do we let her go?”
A surge of fresh pain swelled within my breast. The gruff response rose from my throat: “Never.”
I snapped from the vision, gasping, chocking, tears streaming down my face. George shook me.
“Genevieve! Are you all right?”
Once more immersed in the dark, I tried to free myself of the heavy memory trembling through my body. “Yes,” I whispered. “It was a vision, a memory, yours, you were—”
“No need to say.” I quivered, half in George’s arms. “Remember, I told you when I shared my power with you that you might keep a little of me in the exchange?”
I nodded, rubbing my cheeks with the back of my hand. The suffering he’d felt in the memory still weighed heavy on my heart. I hadn’t watched a memory as I did when I saw a vision of Jude one time as a young warrior. I’d experienced every minute detail as if I were there. “George. You were hurting. You were—”
He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over. “Do not tell me. Best to keep it to yourself. I’m sorry you saw something painful. I’m afraid my past isn’t all merriment and joy.”
I wiped my eyes and glanced down at the handkerchief. “You really are an English gentleman through and through, aren’t you? Who keeps monogrammed handkerchiefs in their pockets anymore?”
“I do, darling. And always will, even if the world crumbles around me.” The swagger was back in his voice, lightening the burden I carried from his memory. I laughed as George helped me to my feet. “Well, you have the power to influence already. I’d say that’s something to smile about.” He playfully chucked my chin.
“The power to influence?”
“Calling the human, Simon, from its demon possessor.” He shook his head with a playful grin. “I’ve seen angels use their power of influence like that before, but never a Vessel.” His grin faltered.
“What? What is it?”
“I take that back. I have seen Vessels use their influence like that, but only for evil. In the hands of their demon possessor, Vessels can use their power to sway humans toward the dark.” He cupped my face with both hands, giving me a confident smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. This fate will never be yours.”
Jude sifted next to us with a crack. “Time to go.” He reached for me. I suppose George is the only man he’d let get away with comforting me in such a personal way. Jude swept me in his arms.
“Wait. I’m wiped out. Please, I need a minute. I can’t go through a long sift.” Just the thought made me nauseated.
He eyed me a moment, then turned to George. “Let’s debrief tonight’s events over breakfast.”
“Agreed. Good night, lovely girl.”
“Your handkerchief.” I held it out.
“You keep it. I have others.” He gave me a wink and sifted out.
“I’ll take you somewhere close,” said Jude, not even bothering to ask what that was all about. “The sift will be quick. Close your eyes.”
I did. He held me tight and sifted away from the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. Keeping his promise, we appeared a few seconds later on a grassy cliff. Bitter-cold, salty air seeped straight to my bones. Gem-like stars and the crescent moon beamed down from a clear sky, sparkling on a semi-calm sea. Waves lapped against a shore in the distance.
“Jude. Where are we?”
Still holding me in his arms, he nodded farther up the hill. I followed his gaze to a flattened space. There sat a white-washed cottage squatting square and clean in the night, no light emitting from the windows. Still, the place made me feel warm and safe at once.
“What is this place?” I whispered, catching his smile by moonlight.
“My home.”
Chapter Ten
His home?
Jude set me on my feet, wrapped his hand around mine and marched up the hill. He nudged the door open without a key, guiding me inside.
“You leave it unlocked?”
Teeth chattering, I rubbed my hands together for warmth. Pulling a kerosene lantern from a shelf, he whispered something under his breath. A flame lit the lantern.
I made a mental note to finally ask him how he managed to do that little trick. Once I stopped freezing to death. My southern American bones had never experienced cold like this.
He shone the lantern against the far wall where an old sofa stood. Grabbing a tartan blanket from its back, he wrapped it around my shoulders and pulled me near the hearth. I sat on the edge of a chair, too cold to touch anything. He stacked some kindling on the grate and whispered his incantation again, waving his hand and igniting a flame. The fire crackled to life, emitting a faint hiss as it licked up the dry kindling. He stacked two blocks on the growing flame.
“What’s that?”
Wiping his hands on his jeans, he walked to me. “We burn peat here, not wood.”
“And where might here be?”
He squatted before me, pressing my palms together between his as if in prayer and rubbed them vigorously. My fingers began to thaw from the delicious friction.
“We’re on the Isle of Arran. In Scotland.”
Breath still coming out in white puffs, I let my senses take in the surroundings. A large room, one door leading off. Stark furnishings. A black stove in one corner. Knickknacks I couldn’t see properly by firelight.
He filled a kettle in the sink and put it on the stove, lighting a fire within it before striding into the next room where I heard the same sounds of peat blocks being stacked on a grate. That must be the bedroom.
I stretched my hands toward the fire, trying to thaw the bone-numbing cold from my body. Before too long, the room warmed. So did I. The earthy smell of burning peat filled the air. Keeping the tartan with me—a plaid mix of green, blue and black now that I could see in the light—I stood and touched the smooth stone mantel. Two sheep figurines faced out, one black, one white. I giggled, imagining Jude picking out these two cuties to adorn his cottage.
How was this place his home? He said he was born in France and—
“Of course,” I whispered. “Danté.”
Danté had sold Jude into slavery to a Celtic clan. One that must’ve brought him to Scotland. He’d been uprooted and brought here.
I ran my finger along the surface of a small, square table near a shuttered window. No dust on the table. No draft seeping in. Though he didn’t live here all the time, he came often enough to maintain this home of his. My heart clenched, realizing he’d kept it hidden from me until now. I wondered if we hadn’t needed a close place to find safety, would he have shown me? Had this been a home he had with another lover long ago? A wife?
The kettle whirred a slow-building whistle. Jude returned and lifted it from the heat, pouring water into a cup. He pulled something from a tin canister, a tea bag, and dipped it in the water. Returning to my side, he passed the cup to me.
“Drink this. It’ll warm you up.”
I sat next to the fireplace again and sipped the spicy blend of hot tea. He pulled up a dining table chair next to me. He didn’t interrogate me about demons yet, giving me the break I needed from the night’s events. I struggled to keep my mind off George’s memory and the dark premonition of Uriel. I knew I was the woman Uriel spoke of, but I’d never allow Jude to sacrifice himself for me, no more than he already had. This premonition wouldn’t come true. I’d make sure of it. Jude’s baritone broke through my painful reverie.
“I cast a strong spell of illusion around this place. So strong that I can’t sift directly into the cottage.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. “No one knows of this cottage.”
I gulped another sip, the tea warming me from the inside out. “Not even George or Kat?”
He shook his head. Jealousy reared her nasty, hissy head again. I couldn’t help but ask.
“Has anyone ever shared, I mean, been here with you before? Like a long time ago?” I sipped from my teacup, glancing over the rim, my heart pounding, waiting for his answer.
His dark gaze, glittering with light by the flames, held me still. “No one. Ever. Only you.”
I wanted to ask him to explain, but I didn’t need to. He could see the questions in my eyes.
“You’re already aware I was sold to a Celtic clan.” I nodded. “What Danté hadn’t accounted for was the clan who bought me needed warriors, not servants. Their clan, the Campbells, had been wiped out by a Roman legion. They’d been determined to rebuild their clan, with foreign slaves if necessary, to defend their homeland and enact their revenge.”
Finally warm, I set my cup down and snuggled into the chair, folding my legs underneath me.
“Each family in the clan took foreign sons into their household to rear as their own, not as slaves. I became the son of Fingall and brother of Lauchlan.”
His face twisted in pain as he gazed into the fire. A flash of memory showed me the vision of a younger Jude wearing blue war paint, standing next to a man near his age in similar dress with paler hair. I knew that must’ve been his brother, this Lauchlan he remembered now. Jude went on.
“So I had a new family after my old was taken from me by Danté. Little did the bastard know, he’d sold me to those who would care for me as their own. Make me as strong as one of them.”
He cleared his throat, a tender memory surfacing.
“When they all passed on, and I’d become a Dominus Daemonum, I stayed in Scotland. Not here, but near Edinburgh. George had me working all over, moving often.” He still avoided telling me how he became a demon hunter. This wasn’t the time to ask. He picked up another peat block and tossed it into the fire, sparks popping. “I needed a place of solace. Where no one could reach me. No one could find me.”
“The cast of illusion must be very strong. For no one to know of this place after all this time.”
He made no response, lost in thought. His sharp profile was softened by the pale light, gilded in gold. He was still my Jude—strong and fierce—yet in this moment, he seemed more child than man, more pain than strength, made more vulnerable by the memories that scarred him deep. Memories he had yet to share with me in their entirety. I knew the tragedy of his mother, the first Vessel, who’d chosen to become a martyr for good rather than be a possession of evil for the demon prince, Danté. I knew of his father who’d helped her commit this sacrifice, killing his beloved right before he took his own life, leaving behind a twelve-year-old boy alone in a ruthless world.
I stood, letting the tartan fall into the chair, stepping between his legs. His expression—unguarded and sorrow-laden—showed me the man I longed to protect and to heal. The man I longed to save from a torturous past. I cradled his face in my hands.
“I will be your solace.” My voice cracked. “If I can.”
He pressed his cheek to my chest, wrapping his arms around my waist, clinging to me as if I were a raft on a raging sea. I laced my fingers into his black hair, holding him in a tender embrace.
“You are, mon coueur.” He pulled me into his lap, pressing a kiss to my temple. “More than you know.”
I nuzzled my head against his shoulder, watching the fire crackle and burn. For a long time, we said nothing, letting the world and bitter memories fade behind our wall of comfort and compassion. It was Jude who finally brought up tonight’s dramatic events.
“You did something few have the power to do.”
“What’s that?”
He chuckled.
“You killed a demon.”
“You kill them all the time. Every day.”
“No. I do not. I cast them back to hell. They may rot in a pit for centuries before they can crawl back out, but their soul still exists on some plane or another.”
I shifted to look up at him. I had no idea what I’d done or how I did it. My Vessel power grew more and more each day.
“Who else has done that before? Killed a demon, I mean.”
“I’ve only ever seen archangels cast that spell. One reserved for the highest Flamma. Not only did you destroy the demon, you set a fused host free.”
“You told me humans fused to demons can’t be set free.”
“That’s because they can’t. Not unless an archangel deems the human life worthy of saving. Hunters don’t have that power.”
Archangels spent the majority of their time doing, well hell, I have no idea what they were doing. I only knew they rarely ventured down here with us peasants. Demons used earth as their playground, while archangels steered clear for the most part. Probably standing around, sharpening spears, preparing for the Great War. Whatever.
“So what does it mean, do you think? That I’m able to kill demons.”
“It means you are indeed the Vessel in the prophecy.”
“The damn prophecy.” I huffed out a sigh. “If we could only find the lost half.”
“We will.”
The fire dimmed. My eyelids grew heavy. A shiver passed through me, remembering the weighty presence of so many demons. “Why were there so many at an abandoned abbey? It was like they were protecting something. Maybe the prophecy? Should we go back?”
Jude shook his head, expression dark. “They weren’t protecting anything. They were waiting.”
“For what?” One glance answered my question. “Oh. For us.”
“For you.” His muscles bunched, pulling me tighter against him. “The real question is, how did they know we’d be there?”
Jude lifted me and made his way into the bedroom, setting me down on a handmade quilt of greens and golds. I sank into layers of blankets.
While Jude moved around the room, I kicked off my shoes and socks before squirming under the covers.
“Holy cow. How many blankets do you need on a bed in Scotland to keep warm?”
He sat on the opposite side, shuffling off his boots, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “It’s not even full winter yet. It gets much colder.”
I shivered at the thought and slipped off my jeans under the covers. I tossed them on the floor, burrowing into the squishy pillows and under the heavy layer of blankets. This was automatic. I’d been sleeping in a T-shirt and panties in his bed for quite some time now. He rarely joined me before I’d fallen asleep, always on the hunt.
“I can’t imagine anything colder than this.” I burrowed deeper.
His boots fell with a thunk. I noted he kept his jeans on after he tossed his jacket and shirt onto a corner chair. He slid under the covers with me. I became distinctly aware of his body heat, his beautifully tattooed chest, his heady masculine scent. This was nothing new. We’d slept together many times before. Yes. Slept together. However, ever since the Crescent City Masquerade, Jude would come to bed late and rise early. Avoiding close contact. Now I knew why. Our warm, alert bodies pressed too close, temptation a tangible rope, tugging us even closer.
Distracting myself before my thoughts headed too far south, I continued with my interrogation.
“That Bellock dude wasn’t a demon. But he was definitely Flamma.”
Jude lay on his pillow facing me, the firelight skimming his jaw and cheekbone, making me want to touch.
“He’s an Angelus Retonsor.”
I puzzled out the Latin, frowning.
“Angel clipper. That doesn’t make sense.”
“George mentioned them to you already. They’re angel hunters.”
“Then why the name Angelus Retonsor?”
He made a snipping gesture with his fingers. “They clip their wings and use their dark power to smudge out their angel light. Actually, it’s more of a cutting than a clipping. Demon humor, I suppose.”
“How terrible.”
My heart skittered a few beats, thinking of Thomas and how I would feel if Bellock ever got hold of him.
“Wait a minute. Angels don’t have wings.”
Jude studied me for a minu
te before asking, “How would you know?”
“I mean, Uriel. I saw him that day in Jackson Square. He didn’t have wings.”
For a moment, Jude didn’t answer, watching me with great care. I waited, trying not to be transparent. I didn’t want to mention Thomas yet. Jude took my personal guardianship to an entirely different level. I wasn’t ready for the heated interrogation that would come with the confession that my guardian angel was making random and frequent appearances. Besides, this intimate moment, becoming more and more intimate by the second, would be shattered in an instant.
Jude smoothed a loose lock of hair off my cheek. “Uriel does have wings. You just can’t see them.”
“Illusion.”
Our eyes met. Growing still and focused, his gaze made my insides curl with want. My gaze dropped to his lips. I wet my own. An impulse. A dangerous one.
Face fixed in grave lines, Jude said, “Roll over.” I did. Smart man. Better not tempt fate too much.
He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me into the curve of his body. My stomach started doing a series of somersaults.
“Cold?” His voice was a rough caress near my ear.
“No,” I whispered. Hot, actually. And getting hotter.
He flattened his palm against my stomach. The sensation sent a wave of aching need straight between my legs. I wiggled back against him. He stiffened.
Ever since Danté had taken me to his lair, Jude had kept me at arm’s length. He permitted himself to the edge of desire, but never too far. I knew what he feared. Untainted heart, hands and body. This was the cardinal rule for a Vessel. In order to prevent soiling my soul and becoming a slave to a high demon, I must remain chaste in body and mind. Jude had been the model of a gentleman, keeping his hands off me to avoid tainting me. But when his hard frame curled around my soft one, I couldn’t think anymore, blinded by the glorious heat of him pressing against me. And damn if I didn’t want to be tainted.
Desire screamed through my body, begging me to ease the ache. I lay my hand on top of his, sliding it upward to cup my breast. A brazen move. I couldn’t help it. He squeezed. The tip of my breast hardened to a peak under his palm. I whimpered, wanting more.
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