Bound in Black

by Juliette Cross

  “I’m going to be a…a father?”

  “Yes,” I assured him, still gritting my teeth.

  “How could that be? How could…?”

  I glanced at the bedroom door. “Are you joking?”

  My temper flared. Leave it to Jude to raise my ire within a day of reuniting for real. If he didn’t want this baby, he’d just have to suck it up and deal with it.

  “You don’t want the baby?” I managed to ask somehow.

  He shook his head, still dumbfounded, and I thought I’d scream or beat him in short, quick order. Then he managed to pull himself together.

  “No, it’s not that. I just can’t believe this is possible.”

  Still miffed, I snapped, “Well, you certainly know how to make them. Why is it so surprising you actually did?”

  I slammed the glass down and stormed past the table. Before I could step out of his reach, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his lap. I went, reluctantly. He was laughing.

  “Slow down, my heart.” Whenever he used that pet name, I was putty in his hands, and he knew it. He cradled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I just didn’t know I was still capable. As a Dominus Daemonum, we are told the power to create life is forfeit.”

  “Well, I sure as hell haven’t been sleeping with anyone else, if that’s what you’re implying.” The heat of anger flushed my cheeks. I had no idea why I was being so irrational and angry. Definitely pregnancy hormones.

  “I know you haven’t. I know you wouldn’t.” He nuzzled into my hair and kissed my cheek, sliding a hand to my lower abdomen. “It must be that we are both Flamma of Light. I don’t know. I don’t know what this means.”

  “It means we’ve got a kid coming in about eight months.”

  “Four weeks? I’ve been gone four weeks?”

  “Nearly.”

  “Are you sure you’re pregnant? That’s not very far along.”

  “I’m sure. I took about ten pregnancy tests.”

  He smirked. “One wasn’t enough?”

  “No. I was in slight disbelief myself and needed convincing.”

  “Slight disbelief?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  His brow puckered into a frown. “What day is it?”

  “December 28th. Which makes me somewhere around five weeks, not far along at all, actually. The gestation period is forty weeks, which is really ten months. That whole nine month thing is total bullshit.”

  He chuckled. “How do you know this?”

  “How do you not know? How old are you again? Seventeen hundred years or something? You should know this stuff already.”

  “I never needed to.” He rubbed his heavy palm back and forth on my belly.

  “I guess that’s fair. I didn’t know till I needed to either. I’ve had some free time to Google lots of information. So ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

  “How could you have possibly allowed me to do what I did last night? Won’t that—”

  I finally laughed, the tension falling away. The expression on his face was a mixture of horror and fascination. “Jude. Sex won’t hurt a baby.”

  “I know that. But I was a little rough. Goddamn it, I’m so sorry. What if I—”

  “You’re being ridiculous. And don’t damn my baby. I won’t have it.”

  He smiled then, moving his hand from my belly to wrap my nape and draw me close. He pressed a tender kiss to my lips, slipping his tongue inside for a brief taste. “I love you, Genevieve. This is more than I could’ve ever dreamed possible. You fill my heart over and over again.”

  I brushed my fingers lightly over the wispy hair falling across his brow. “I was afraid you didn’t want her.”

  “Her? You know already?”

  “Well, no, not for sure. That would be impossible at this early stage. But I just feel like I’m having a girl. A strong one.”

  He shrugged, a smile quirking on one side. “Or a strapping son.”

  “Well, girl or boy, I don’t care. I’m just glad you want her. Or him.”

  His face registered shock, his brow creasing into a frown. “Why would you ever think that? That I wouldn’t want our child?”

  “I don’t know. You just seemed so shocked at first, I was afraid you—”

  “Don’t ever think that. There’s nothing I’d love more in this world than to be a father to our child. The one thing that terrifies me is the prophecy still looming. Tell me what you and George have planned, for I know you haven’t just been sitting idly by.”

  “Well, you know George. And Uriel has become much more active, like a proper archangel should, in my opinion.”

  He smiled. “Oh, is he living up to your expectations of an archangel now?”

  “Yes. Finally.” He had become greater in my eyes for all he’d done for Jude.

  “So fill me in. Tell me the plan, because I know George has a plan.”

  “Do you remember the prophecy? I mean, what it said.”

  His frown was back. “I only read it once before I was taken.”

  A heaviness settled between us. We hadn’t spoken of Lethe or the underworld yet, and now it seemed unavoidable, hanging in the air like a noose swinging in the breeze.

  “Genevieve, why were you there? In the Black Forest in hell. How had you even gotten there?”

  While I’d thought Thomas had taken me there, it was Damas, a demon prince. How had I not figured out that an angel couldn’t enter the underworld without a Flamma of Dark leading the way? Even after Uriel had told me he couldn’t help me on my journey to retrieve Jude, I still hadn’t connected the dots that Thomas couldn’t be an angel if he’d guided me there. All along, I’d been swept up and nearly seduced by a demon lord, and I never suspected that he was anything other than what he’d said. I was so stupid, I wanted to punch a fucking wall.

  I stood from Jude’s lap and took our bowls to the sink.

  “What are you avoiding telling me?”

  His commanding voice rolled deep, his question hitting me like a death knell. Time to get it all out in the open.

  “Let’s get dressed and go into Brodick. There’s more I need to tell you.”

  Jaw clenched, mouth set in a grim line, Jude looked as if he’d argue and force me to spill it. Instead he rose and headed to the bedroom. “Dress quickly,” he called over his shoulder.

  Ever since my discovery of Damas, I’d dreaded this moment. To tell Jude I’d put my trust in a demon lord. No, the demon lord considered the most dangerous of them all. And I’d accepted the power to sift from him. Through any transfer of power, there would be a connection of sorts. No telling what repercussions would come of that. And the worst was the knowledge that I hadn’t just taken the power in a kiss. I’d let that dark kiss morph into a passionate meeting, one that could’ve doomed me to become his plaything. Like Kat had been.

  When I remember Damas pinning me against the wall of the theatre, fingers stroking intimately under my panties, his mouth trailing from my mouth to my breast. Shit. Yes, his essence had been in my necklace pendant, twisting my mind and my body to a fever pitch of desire. But there was no doubt that in that moment, he’d sent shivers of pleasure through me—with or without the pendant. I knew now that what Kat had endured was the most ghastly of tortures. He’d made her want him, yearn for him, beg for him. And the whole time she’d hated herself for it.

  “Hurry, Genevieve,” Jude called from the next room.

  Deep breath in. Time to face my mistakes and accept the consequences.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was around nine o’clock when we sifted into Brodick. I’d sifted us into the alley close to The Brodick Bar and Brasserie. Just a few days ago, I’d come in for takeout and had that enlightening conversation with the old guy, Murdoch. He wasn’t sitting on his regular stool when we walked into the place. The Christmas lights were still strung up over the bar, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. Jude and I ambled in. The little tree still stood in the corner, blinking brightly in blue, green and g
old.

  Jude’s stiff posture—shoulders tight, hands in pockets—told me he was preparing for bad news. And I sure as hell had some.

  The pink-cheeked waitress popped up to the hostess area with a bright smile. “Come right this way. We have a table near the window.”

  “Near the back…please. Thank you,” said Jude, his Scottish burr sliding back into place, though his tone was a tad gruff.

  We followed her to the back corner. Only a few tables were taken.

  “Here you are,” she said cheerily, placing menus in front of us. “And would you like something to drink?”

  “I’ll have water with lemon, please.”

  “Whisky on ice,” said Jude.

  He pulled a chair out for me. I shrugged out of my coat and settled in. He took the seat with the back to the corner, where he could see the entire room, still vigilant in his defense.

  “Will Glenfiddich do?” she asked, trying to coax a smile from him. No dice.

  “Talisker, if you have it.”

  “I’ll have that right away for you.”

  She swished off, leaving me alone with a super-tense Jude, a heavy scowl marking his brow. I pulled on the cuff of my sweater, playing with a loose thread. The buildup had taken too long. My nerves rattled around like mad.

  “Tell me.” Jude had stretched out one arm on the table—his knuckles nicked white with scars—drumming his fingers once before prompting me again. “I know whatever it is, it’s bad. I know you well enough by now. That expression means guilt and regret. So you might as well just spill it. What happened while I was gone?”

  “It wasn’t anything that happened while you were gone.”

  The cheerful waitress bustled up to the table, setting down my glass of water and Jude’s tumbler of whisky. “Would you like to order now?”

  “This will be all for right now. Thank you,” I said, realizing Jude’s jaw was clenched so tight he couldn’t open it to grit out the courtesy.

  She ducked away, her pretty smile fading when Jude wasn’t as cordial as he’d been the last time we were here.

  No more stalling. It was time to cut the albatross from my neck, as long as it didn’t strangle me in the process. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter.

  “First, I should tell you that I was forced to make an oath with Dommiel in order to get me into the underworld. He was the only one I trusted well enough not to betray me.”

  “Dommiel, trustworthy? Really, Genevieve, I thought you’d learned by now none of them can be trusted.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I made a blood oath with him, and he hasn’t betrayed me.”

  “A blood oath? And George let this happen?”

  “He had no choice. There was no one else. Anyway, that was never the problem. Dommiel kept his end of the bargain. In exchange, I promised to defend and protect his place as demon lord in New Orleans. You always said he was manageable, obeying the rules for the most part, whereas other demon lords might prove more troublesome.”

  Jude gave me an agreeing nod. “Where is this leading? Somehow, I fear the worst is still to come.”

  Oh yes. It most definitely was.

  “You remember Thomas?”

  His forefinger stopped tapping. “How could I not? Though I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him face-to-face as I’d hoped.” His sardonic tone could’ve cut through marble.

  “Actually…you have met him.”

  As always with Jude, whenever his emotions heightened, so did the aura of flame around him, swelling out to lap into my personal space. I’d missed the sheer intensity of this man. And though I preferred to feel his fiery aura when wrapped in the passionate storm of his embrace, I didn’t dismiss the idea that it was fortunate I could feel this at all.

  “Go on.”

  “After I brought you back from…you know, you were unresponsive. A few nights ago, I felt the urgent tug of Dommiel through the blood bond. He was in danger.”

  “You did not go alone.” A sharp command not a question. “Tell me you didn’t.” Now more of a plea.

  “No. Kat came with me while Mira stayed here with you. What we found was Dommiel’s club piled with dead demons and a strong residue of sulfur.”

  Jude hadn’t yet moved, still as a statue, awaiting the grenade I was about to toss him. Nothing left but to pull the pin.

  “We found Dommiel staked to his office wall by none other than Thomas. Or so I’d thought he was Thomas. He wasn’t my guardian angel at all.”

  Kat’s fear-drenched expression popped to mind, paralyzing me all over again.

  “Who is he, Genevieve?” His words rumbled out slowly, precisely. As if he knew the answer already. Perhaps he did.

  Pulse pounding ninety miles an hour, I finally spit it out. “He’s Damas.”

  Jude made no move at all, though his irises bled into black. A minute ticked by. Then another. I squirmed in my seat. “Jude?”

  I was afraid he was going to slip back into oblivion. He knew that my “guardian angel” had saved me several times. He also knew I’d shared a kiss of power in order to sift. And he knew I’d let that kiss go too far.

  I licked my dry lips as he still said nothing, his expression a stone mask. “When I brought you back from the underworld, George and I found the opal pendant I’d lost clutched in your hand. You’d found it somewhere in the Void. We’re not sure how. But George sensed the essence of evil within it. He…he brought it to Uriel, who told us it was the spawn of Damas. That’s why I…why he was able to twist me so easily.”

  I stopped babbling, afraid of what else might spill from my mouth, like the fact that Damas had used his essence to lure me into his trust. So much so that I’d fallen into his seductive arms too easily. I wondered if our sharing the kiss of power was how I’d had a recent dream of us as lovers. Or was that my subconscious telling me he wasn’t Thomas at all? But the demon lord Damas who’d captured Kat and taken her into his realm. The truth had been staring me in the face all along. I wanted to slap myself. Too late. I couldn’t live with regret. I could only move forward and hope my strength was enough.

  “Jude? Say something…please.”

  His fingers curled around the tumbler of whisky. He knocked it back with one gulp, then stood beside the table, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a large bill on the table. I knew he’d kept a box with all kinds of currency in his top dresser drawer. I’d rummaged through it in the days I was so bored I thought I’d go mad. He must’ve remembered it was there. Apparently, George was wrong. He remembered everything as if he’d never left.

  He held out his hand to me. “Let’s go.”

  No anger rumbled in his tone. No. In fact, he sounded more like the Jude I’d first met—confident, strong, powerful, the epitome of masculinity.

  I stood and shouldered into my coat, then took his hand. He pulled me swiftly through the tables and the bar, then out into the blistering cold. “Put your gloves on.”

  I didn’t argue. Apparently, we weren’t going home yet. I pulled my leather gloves from my pocket and slipped them on as we walked around the corner to the out-of-eyesight place we sifted in. He pulled me into his arms, wrapping my waist, hands splayed across my back and pressing me close. Such an odd reaction. I’d expected fuming anger, a bunch of filthy words, maybe even his aura of flame to light up the night, the main reason I’d chosen to tell him in public. Perhaps cowardly, I avoided the wrath I’d thought would come of my confession.

  He stared down at me, still not speaking of the bomb I’d dropped on him. This time, he initiated the sift. A few swift seconds in the Void, and we were back on solid ground under a canopy of stars. He released me. We stood within the circle of standing stones where he’d taken me during that one glorious week of our honeymoon. He stepped away and leaned back against one, tucked his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the gibbous moon. The full moon drew closer.

  I eased to the stone nearest him and mirrored his stance. My VS tingled under my skin when I lea
ned against the ancient stone, some part of them recognizing one another. This place spoke to me, resonating with my Flamma power, telling of times past, battles won and lives lost within this primitive space.

  Jude’s gaze remained fixed on the night sky. The clouds had parted, revealing a dotted canvas of stars. This place was hallowed ground, majestic, beautiful. And yet all I could think about was the fear rotting in my gut that Jude’s disappointment in me had pulled him further away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said shakily, having nothing but a paltry apology to offer him.

  “Don’t.” One word—gentle, loving, kind. No fuming anger roiled off him at the thought of Damas’s lips on mine.

  I shivered from the cold and the heartbreak digging deeper. When I couldn’t stand it a second longer, he finally spoke.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been able to cross into the underworld?”

  Strange. But I hadn’t. “You rode Cocytus into Danté’s realm.”

  “No.” He shifted his attention away from the stars to me. “I used Cocytus to get into his castle. But I’ve always been able to go into the underworld. The first time he soul-sifted you there, remember?”

  Yes. He’d been waiting on the threshold on his knees, bloody fists pounding the door to get in. I could never forget that moment. “I remember. I’d assumed you had some sneaky demon hunter way to get in.”

  He didn’t laugh. “No Flamma of Light can cross into the underworld without the aid of the Flamma of Dark. No one except me.”

  “But you had help that last time to find the prophecy. You told me that you’d fed Styx to travel there, right before…”

  He shifted and leaned one shoulder against the stone so he could face me. “I used Styx to get within the sacred circle. Flamma of Dark use wards to keep us out just as we do to them. But I’d been hunting in the Black Forest for a while. When I couldn’t find the prophecy anywhere on earth, I knew it must be somewhere down below.”

  “But Jude…you are Flamma of Light. Aren’t you?” My heart hammered faster. He was about to confess something heavy, I could feel it.

  “I am the first of the Dominus Daemonum. But before my making by Uriel, I was a creature of Damas. I’d fallen to the dark, long before I ever hoped to live in the light.”