“Jude?”
He looked up from his plate, chewing. Okay, he recognized his name. Good.
“Do you know who I am?”
His brow pinched together in concentration, then his gaze roved over my face, down my neck and over my body. As if he’d been caught doing or thinking something naughty, his gaze flicked back to his plate as he stabbed a giant hunk of scrambled eggs. Hearty appetite. Excellent sign.
I thought he wouldn’t answer, but he said, “You are the woman who takes care of me.”
“Yes,” I said with another laugh, unable to contain the glee lighting me up on the inside like a firefly. “I am the woman who takes care of you.” It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it was enough for now.
I didn’t care that he didn’t know me yet. At least, that was what I told myself. He was healing at a remarkable rate. His stitches were entirely dissolved. The redness of his wounds had lightened to those of someone who’d been healing for months. I wouldn’t doubt if Uriel hadn’t added some of his angel mojo to help him heal even faster than a Dominus Daemonum when he laid hands on him the other day.
Jude finished his plate, set it down and stood, arching his spine and stretching his back. I jumped to my feet, ready to help him if he toppled over. His body stiffened at my swift movement.
“Sorry. I-I just want to help you if you need it.”
He gestured behind me toward the bathroom. He wanted me to move so he could go to the bathroom on his own.
“Oh! Sure. Of course.”
I stepped aside. He walked into the bathroom, favoring his right leg more than the other. George hadn’t found any broken bones, but there must’ve been some injury we couldn’t determine without X-rays. George had refused to take him to a hospital. There would be no way of explaining how he’d become so severely injured without the staff calling the local police and asking questions we couldn’t answer. And he’d heal too fast for a normal human, drawing more questions.
I sat on the stool, my crossed leg bouncing, and waited for him to finish, when something dawned on me. He’d known where the bathroom was. The door had been closed, so he couldn’t see that it was a bathroom from where he was sitting. Did he assume it must be a bathroom? Or did he know it was there because a part of him remembered this place?
A burst of excited butterflies flitted around in my stomach. Instincts told me he remembered.
When he opened the door, he looked through the open doorway into the next room. “May I have some water?” Though still hoarse, his voice sounded smoother than before. No longer stilted or hesitant, he spoke like the man I knew.
“Yes.” I snapped to attention and hurried to the next room. “Of course.”
He followed me. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured water from one of the many jugs of filtered water I’d stocked. He took the glass, leaning on the dining table for support, his dark gaze keen and watching, then he tilted his head back and guzzled. When finished, he handed me the empty glass and asked, “More please.”
I poured another. He drank, and I poured another. I’d been forcing small sips down his throat these past few days as he lay in bed. Now that he was conscious and able, he finally quenched his thirst from the long days in hell, where surely he’d been given nothing to sustain him.
“Um. Are you still hungry?”
He shook his head, scanning the room and taking in his surroundings.
“Do you know this room? I mean, do you remember this room?”
After another shake of the head, he walked to the mantel and picked up a white sheep figurine I’d noticed my first time here. With a creased brow, he lifted the ceramic figurine and said, “It’s from Brodick.”
“Yes,” I said, delighted and trying not to frighten him with my enthusiastic reply. “At least, I think it probably is. You bought it. This is your cottage.”
He’s remembering.
With an expression of deep concentration, he said, “I didn’t buy this cottage.”
“No. You didn’t. You built it. Many years ago.”
He slid his hand across the mantel, his fingers smoothing over the detail of an oak-leaf design at the edge. “I don’t remember.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, “It’s okay. You will. Would you like to go outside today?”
He set the white sheep back in place next to the black one. With a nod, he turned back to me, studying me with such intensity, it reminded me of the first day I’d met him. Those eyes missed nothing. The gray mist was less than before but still there, swirling in a haze.
“Good,” I said. “Well, let’s get our coats on. I’d like to take you somewhere I think you’ll like.”
And hopefully remember.
Chapter Seventeen
We stepped onto the wooded trail where he’d first taken me during our honeymoon. The same heavy silence pressed down from tall, gnarled trees. Leafless, the branches webbed together, a dusting of snow on the boughs. The wind no longer howled across the island like a fierce beast, but breathed softly, whispering that all was well.
Jude paused at the entrance, a menacing scowl marking his face. I glanced back into the woods, darker than the open air, but sensed no danger. I reached out with my VS, scanning for Flamma with deep concentration. Nothing. What caused the alarm was likely the similarity in appearance to the naked trees in Lethe’s realm. But there, the air was bleak, weighed down by sorrow and regret. Here, the woods were clean, draped in a gentle beauty all their own.
“It’s all right,” I called back to him from several yards within the canopy.
An expression of wonder flickered over the hard planes of his face. His cheeks were still too thin, cutting a sharp angle to a square jaw.
My VS beamed bright white through the line of exposed skin between glove and jacket. “Oh.” My face must be glowing, which would explain this look of awe and fear skittering across his face. Rather than force my VS to behave and dim the illusory glow that appeared any time I used my power, I let it shine. “I’m a Flamma of Light,” I said. The fact that I had to explain something he’d once told me for the first time was ludicrous.
He stepped farther along the trail, closing the distance between us.
I pulled one glove off to show him my hand. “This is my underlight. It shines when I’m seeking danger or using my power in other ways.” Like destroying a demon prince for what he did to you.
Jude stopped in front of me, lifted his hand hesitantly and glanced at me from under heavy lashes before taking my shaking hand. My palm rested on his. He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, observing closely. My underlight brightened with his touch. My hand trembled more.
“You’re cold,” he said, white air puffing out as he spoke.
“A little,” I admitted.
“You’re shaking.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice as tremulous as my hand.
He started to pull his hand away, but I closed my fingers around his, aching to feel his touch a moment longer, unable to say a word as my breath came out in a white cloud between us and adrenaline shot through my body. Rather than flinch away, his fingers curled slowly, enveloping the back of my hand. I wanted to close my eyes and drown in this moment. Palpable energy sparked between us, sure and strong as it had ever been before Lethe had taken him and scraped away his memory of me.
Somewhere inside, he must know there was nothing to fear from me, that this was natural between us, that we belonged together. His chest rose and fell as quickly as mine, his gaze melting from wary to smoldering, his gaze dropping to my lips. I thought I’d fall down in a faint on the spot when he brushed his thumb once more before dropping my hand, his scowl back in place.
“Shall we walk on?” he asked.
Gathering my wits, which were strewn all over the forest floor, I inhaled a deep breath and turned up the path. “You know, if we’re quiet, we might see some wildlife.”
I heard him, felt him right on my heels, keeping close to me.
“There are
red deer in these woods,” he said with conviction.
An aching smile split my face. “Yes.” I glanced over my shoulder to find his gait stronger, his posture taller. “There are. We’ve seen them here before, you and I.”
He didn’t ask me why I used the term “we”, though I could see I’d puzzled him. I didn’t care. I planned to push him as far as I could till Jude surfaced all the way to the top and remembered me, remembered us.
We walked on in silence…comfortable silence, which made my heart swell with hope till I thought it would burst. Our arms brushed once, and he didn’t pull away, only glanced at me. I smiled. Though he didn’t smile in return, his expression had lost the look of fear and anxiety that so often marked his brow.
I wanted to take him to Glenashdale Falls or even to the standing stones on a moor not so far away, which he’d showed me on our honeymoon, but in order to do that, we’d have to sift. And I wasn’t sure how he’d react to that. Did he remember what sifting was? Or would he freak out and jerk loose from my hold while in the Void? Though he’d lost the thick ropes of muscle while in the underworld, he’d not lost all his strength. I couldn’t take the chance of losing him. Not again.
But there was no need. He didn’t appear bored with a walk through the woods. We never saw a deer, but we saw a red-eared squirrel zip from branch to branch above our heads. Mira joined us on our walk back, scaring the squirrels into hiding for good. Jude didn’t seem to mind that either, his dark gaze following her as she swooped to a branch, panned the tops of the trees, then swooped onto another.
By the time we made it back to the cottage, we were both exhausted. Jude lay on top of the quilts and fell asleep on his side, the way he always had before. I couldn’t help but crawl up next to him and drift off as well, content and warm.
An ear-splitting scream jarred me awake. Before I could shoot up into a sitting position, Jude rolled on top of me, straddling my waist, pinning me down with his bulk, his hands wrapped around my throat. Though his eyes were open, he didn’t see me, his face a mask of rage, blood vessels popping out along his temples and forehead, his lips drawn tight over gritted teeth.
“No,” I choked out before he closed my throat for good.
He didn’t hear me. Beating him was useless. His hands were brutal bands, squeezing off the airflow like cinching a sack. Rather than panic, I placed my hands on his cheeks and called my VS. An aura of white filled the darkened room. The sun had fallen while we slept. I pulled a ball of power into my chest and guided it through my arms and hands, sending him a jolt—not to harm, only to push away. The jolt pushed his torso back, lifting his weight from me and his hands from my throat. The Flamma power didn’t hurt him but served to punch him into consciousness. His eyes cleared at once, the misty vapor that had enveloped him draining away like water through a sieve.
The rage transformed to shock, then fear.
“I-I’m so sorry.” He jerked off me and leapt from the bed, pressing his back against the wall, chest heaving.
I coughed and turned on my side, sucking in air. One hand went immediately to my belly as I reached out with my VS to be sure my baby was all right. Reassured with the steady inner pulse that connected me to my child, I pushed into a sitting position.
“It’s okay.” I coughed again, then slid off the bed in front of him. “You were having a nightmare.”
“I hurt you.” He stared at my throat, which surely was ringed with red.
“I’m okay.” I touched my fingers to my neck, the skin already sore and puffy.
He rocked from one foot to another, like a frightened child. “You take care of me…and I hurt you. I could’ve killed you.”
“I wouldn’t have let you,” I said with a smile. “I’m stronger than you think.”
It was true my power was growing by the day. I felt it like a pot percolating to the perfect moment. My awakening drew closer, and I knew exactly when that moment would be. But there was time to worry about that later.
“I’m fine. Really.” I stepped closer.
Then something extraordinary happened. One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile. And my heart, my poor, miserable heart, just fell right off her shelf onto the floor. As I gazed into his smiling face, I thought I’d never break free long enough to pick it up and put it back where it belonged.
“Can I—” I stammered, my voice breaking, heart aching.
“Yes? Can I get you something? Does it hurt?”
I shook my head, reveling in the sound of his deep voice rumbling with concern for me.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, worry shining in his eyes.
“Can I…please…hold you?”
His smile faded, and I was sure he would push me away. Again. Instead, he opened his arms. On a heavy sigh, I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I simply stood there, lost in the warmth of his embrace, in the fluttering of his pulse where my cheek pressed to his neck, in the utter joy of being where I belonged most in the world. He said nothing and never pushed me away, just let me hold him with his hands placed at a respectful height on my back. I wanted more, so much more, but for now, this was enough.
Chapter Eighteen
I’d sent Mira to bring George back to the cottage. After our all too brief hug, Jude had become agitated. The night terror was proof that his memories were buoying to the surface, and the horror he’d experienced at the hands of Danté and his minions threatened to push him over the edge into rage-filled madness. It wasn’t something he could convey in words, but I sensed it all the same. Whether it was my Vessel Sense or women’s intuition, I knew this to be true.
Jude sat before the fire, tapping his foot on the ground, his knee bouncing twice per second.
“They’ll be here soon. I’m sure of it.”
“And these men, you say I know them?”
“Yes.”
He’d finally come to grips that there was a lifetime of memories he couldn’t remember. I wouldn’t even try to explain that his lifetime extended for centuries. It was too much to try to make him understand.
“They are Flamma of Light. Like me. Like you.”
If he didn’t stop frowning, he’d have a permanent dent right in the middle of his forehead.
A gentle knock on the door—three raps—then it opened. Jude shot to his feet, as did I. George entered the room first, Mira on his shoulder, with Uriel behind him, the cold air whooshing in. No one said a word, but I watched the exchange between Uriel and Jude as the angel stepped farther inside. Jude’s frown smoothed, his lips sliding apart in wonder and…recognition.
“I’ve met you before.”
“Of course you have, Jude Delacroix. I made you what you are.”
By now, Uriel stood directly in front of an awestruck Jude. He wasn’t surprised that a beautiful man with white-gold wings stepped into the cottage. He wasn’t alarmed by George’s presence either. There was a knowing of the soul that transpired beyond the mind’s memory. Again, for about the hundredth time, a dagger slid into my heart and cut out another piece, for he hadn’t yet remembered me. I put my own selfish thoughts away.
Mira flapped her wings and flew up to her coverlet nest on top of the kitchen cabinet. I twisted my hands together, anxiety riding me like a lightning bolt.
“I need you to remove your sweater and lie down for what I must do,” commanded Uriel.
“And what is it you plan to do?” asked Jude.
“Make you again. The fire I gave you once is all but a few dying embers. I must feed you the burn to purge away the darkness and bring you back to the Light as you were before.”
Jude gripped the bottom of his sweater and lifted it over his head, tossing it onto the dining room table. No matter that thin scars—fully healed in a remarkable few days—slashed his chest and back with white ribbons across the black ink, the sight of this shirtless man nearly brought me to my knees. I loved him so, wanted him every second of every day. His dark gaze flicked to mine. Did he feel the heat of my o
gling? Embarrassed, I looked away and moved around behind the sofa.
Frown back in place, Jude lay back, probably realizing he was literally putting himself in a vulnerable position, which I’m sure didn’t sit well with his instincts. This took a great deal of trust. I smiled at him for reassurance. His chest and abdomen—flexed tight—relaxed as Uriel knelt on the floor beside him. I stood behind the sofa near his head, where he could see me if he needed.
Uriel splayed his large hands on Jude’s chest and abdomen. In a booming voice that shook the panes in their casements, Uriel said, “Ignis caeli venite ad me.” The fire of heaven come to me.
“Ah!” I cried out and flinched back as a brilliant golden light flared to life, gold-orange flames licking up from Uriel’s hand and Jude’s chest, a fire that didn’t burn the flesh, perhaps only the soul.
Eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape in agony, Jude arched his back as if he were being lashed all over again. I stepped forward, wanting to reach out and touch him, take his hand.
“No.” George gripped my arm and watched the display as if it were perfectly normal to witness an angel set another man on fire. Who was I kidding? This was normal for them. My VS pumped a steady beacon from within, telling me to be calm, that all was well.
Reminding myself that these flames would burn away the evil smothering Jude’s soul, I gripped the edge of the sofa, heat pouring from the supernatural flames rising higher and higher, spreading down Jude’s legs, up his neck to his head. I bit my lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Lux autem in tenebris. Libera eum.” Light up the dark. Set him free.
With the last word, Uriel lifted his hands, straightened his arms and clapped them together over his head. The flames snuffed out in a blink. One second, the room was filled with a hallowed fire purging Jude’s soul; the next, it was all gone, the air cool again. Only static electricity in the air marked the room as any different from before.
Jude was once again unconscious. “Is he okay?” I asked.
“Yes.” George wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
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