Forged in Fire

by Juliette Cross

“So who’s your master?” I asked the hulking demon in front of me, hoping, praying he was a lower man on the totem pole. “Danté?”

  His massive head tipped at an angle. This guy was way bigger than I’d realized. He blocked the door completely. There was no way to squeeze past him. I squared my feet, preparing for his attack.

  He noticed and grinned, unmoving. “Danté?”

  “Yes. Danté. You know, one of the princes of darkness. I’m sure you know him. You guys all hang in the same crowd.”

  I sounded much more confident than I felt, a trembling now weakening my knees. He took one step toward me. I pressed back against the wall.

  “My command comes from another master.”

  “Great,” I mumbled. Two high demons after me. Then I remembered something. I pulled down the high collar of my button-down to reveal the bruised bite at my neck.

  “Danté has marked me,” I said, hoping this would be enough to make him back off.

  Jude hadn’t explained everything the mark meant, but I knew at the very least it was a warning to other high demons that I was taken. Jukebox-boy’s red eyes glimmered over the mark, then met mine again as he prowled forward, unperturbed. Definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Danté will have to mourn your loss.”

  My heartbeat fled into hyperspeed. His formal words were disturbingly out of sync with the muscular exterior. I reminded myself that it was a demon inside who spoke, not the man whose huge frame was crowding me in.

  “What do you mean, loss?”

  I shifted left, closer to a stall door. His hand flicked an oblong shape out of his back pocket. An ice pick! What the hell! I wondered briefly if he’d snagged it from behind the bar, which led me to ponder when and how lower demons hopped into their hosts. I didn’t wonder long as he stalked closer, caging me into the corner. My left hand slid up the stall door, gripping the top.

  “True,” he sneered, glaring with so much menace I felt my pulse pounding in my throat, “it does seem a waste to dispose of so lovely a Vessel, but my master must have no challenger.”

  He lunged. The ice pick jabbed straight toward my heart. I arched my torso back just in time, grabbing his arm with my right hand, thrusting it forward and slamming the stall door as hard as I possibly could. He grunted but didn’t drop the pick. The surprise gave me a split second to bend and duck behind him, darting for the door. As I gripped the door handle, a sharp pain stung my scalp. Yanking me by my hair, he dragged me back across the floor.

  “No, no, my beauty. That won’t do,” he hissed.

  He jerked my head to the floor, stretching my body out. With his hand gripping my hair, there was no way I could wiggle free. I rolled into a ball and kicked him squarely across the jaw over my head. He yanked harder, knocking my skull against the floor, clattering my teeth together. He pressed a knee onto my stomach, immobilizing me. My hands automatically gripped the wrist of the hand entangled in my hair, clawing hopelessly.

  “Oh God, no,” I whispered, feeling tears prick, not sure if it was from the fear or the pain.

  The demon bent low, malevolent crimson eyes glaring at me.

  “He won’t hear you,” he whispered, raising the ice pick again.

  I froze, watching the swing of his arm, but it never hit its target. A sharp pull on my scalp, then I was free, his weight no longer on my chest. Jude had the hulk of a man pinned against the wall. He’d sifted in superfast, a murderous expression tightening his face into hard, taut lines. A flexed arm shoved the point of his broadsword into the hollow of the demon’s throat. I scrambled back to the wall near the door.

  “Give me your name, demon.”

  The throaty malice of Jude’s command made gooseflesh rise on my arms. Jukebox-boy laughed, but not for long. Jude threw the sword aside with a clang, snapping the demon’s head back, cracking it against the wall and clenching the demon by the hair with violent force. The creature cried out. I felt some small vindication for the swelling lump on the back of my head.

  Energy shifted in the room. A whirl of electricity crackled, emanating from Jude. The familiar aura of blazing flame licked around his shoulders, head and arms. An unnatural wind stirred the air.

  “Verum vel infinitas infinitio nex.”

  Jude bit out the words. Truth or endless death. I frowned in confusion. I couldn’t see Jude’s eyes but guessed the black had flooded them entirely. Angry scarlet eyes tried to resist Jude, but some force held him captive. My VS responded to whatever was taking place, flushing my body with a wave of starry light.

  “Garzel,” grumbled the demon, his mouth twisting abnormally.

  “Garzel,” commanded Jude, “give me your master’s name.”

  The demon beat its head from side to side, trying to break free. Jukebox-boy’s head flopped to one side, while the demon’s true form popped its horned head out from within the human shell. Actually, the left horn was broken, the right curved like a goat’s. Jude snatched the unbroken horn like the handle of a motorcycle, chanting low and literally yanking the creature violently from the human form. One hard tug and the nasty creature was out, held aloft in Jude’s tight grip. Jukebox-boy crumbled to the floor, completely unconscious.

  The creature was much bigger than the first one I saw in the alley on my birthday. Long, gray skeletal limbs dangled from a bony body. An oversize chest cavity and emaciated pelvis held together by papery, leather-like skin wrinkled over the bony frame as it twisted and writhed, beating against Jude. My demon hunter didn’t budge an inch. Still as stone. One of the beast’s arms contorted and shortened into a black bat wing, then elongated again into its regular, ghastly form with filth-encrusted claws.

  “You cannot shape-shift away, Garzel. Give me his name!”

  I flinched, never having heard such violence in Jude’s voice. Ripples of ethereal flame banked higher, reflecting in the demon’s serpentine eyes.

  “No,” rasped the creature between tight lips, dribbling spittle.

  The constant jerking of the demon had angled Jude so I could view his profile. He closed his eyes, not chanting but obviously doing something. My VS throbbed in response. I gasped. Then all was silent and unmoving. No, not silent. Deaf. I could hear nothing, absolutely nothing. A vacuum consumed all sound until only the faint thrum of my heart beat within my ears. The light deepened to darkest blue, touching everything with an eerie shade of twilight.

  Jude opened his eyes but never moved. The demon hung there midair, no longer flailing, just staring wide-eyed into the mirror along the wall. I followed his gaze and gasped at the sight. The glass reflected a creature straight from darkest nightmares, from mythical underworlds, from horror stories of the ferryman and the Grim Reaper. Shrouded in tattered gray cloth, corpselike remnants of the grave lifted in a wispy wind that wasn’t there. Long, black-boned limbs extended from the gray trappings of death. A skeletal head of black bone, oddly stretched and angular, held eyes of liquid red. The words I walk through the valley of the shadow of death came to mind. This being was the shadow of death personified, carrying with it the promise of eternal night.

  The being floated closer, then crossed through the glass, sliding out of the mirror, gliding into our space, filling it up with static darkness. My heart beat faster, throbbing in my ears.

  It spoke in a whispering breath. “Acherontis pabulum.”

  A cold shiver shot up my spine. Ominous words. Food for Acheron. Confused and terrified, I could do nothing but watch.

  “Garzel,” said Jude, his voice clipped and hollow. Sound resonated like something trapped in a jar. I shrank farther into the corner. “Give me your master’s name, or go to the Collector. Your choice.”

  Jude didn’t even glance at the hovering specter only a few feet from him, but the gangly beast did, closing his blood-red eyes in resignation. “The Collector’s kiss.”

  Jude still held the demon by one horn. “So be it.”

  Without pause, he released Garzel the same instant the black-boned wraith ope
ned its arms for an embrace. Sucked swiftly to the angel of death, its hideous head tilted, pressing a gaping, fleshless mouth to Garzel’s. At once, I heard and felt a piercing sorrow wash over me. Overlapping voices cried and wailed in soul-deep anguish. Hot tears streamed down my face though the pain was not mine. Pain that was sharp and intimate, as if the voices broke all barriers, piercing straight to my heart and shattering it into tiny pieces. Garzel’s sinister eyes glared at me, an unspoken warning, just as the Collector inhaled. The demon evaporated into a black stream of vapor, sucked into the mouth of the grim creature.

  Jude bowed his head to the Collector. It swept one black arm outward in a regal gesture of farewell, slipped back into the mirror, then vanished. Instantly, the blue-tinged room brightened, and I could once again hear the hazy sound of music and voices from the bar.

  Jude took two long strides and lifted me by my upper arms. His dark gaze shimmered with emotion—compassion, fear, frustration, anger. Definitely anger. He shook his head in slow motion from side to side, pulling me within a hairsbreadth of his chest. Black eyes scanned my entire face in a swift blink.

  “Oh, Genevieve, Genevieve.” My name slipped from his lips like a broken prayer. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Must something be done with me?” I choked out, tears still coming, though I didn’t know why.

  “Be calm.” His voice soothed. He brushed the tears from one cheek with his thumb. “Relax. The pain will disappear soon enough.” He brushed the other cheek, both hands cupping my face in warmth and safety. I closed my eyes.

  “I feel so empty,” I whispered, a deep ache expanding in my core.

  “I know. The feeling will subside. Relax.”

  “What was that thing?”

  Opening my eyes, I caught him staring at my lips. One thumb brushed across my partly open mouth. I shivered. His eyes met mine, unguarded, sparking with glittering shards of gold. The anger gone, another heated emotion swirled feverishly, touching the contours of his face with a melting quality. He wanted to kiss me. No mistake. My breath came quickly, shocked by the sudden intrusion of desire cutting through fear and unfathomable sorrow. His gaze held mine a moment more, his thumb stroking down the column of my throat. Then his face shuttered closed, his mask well in place. Even while one hand gripped my waist when I swayed and tightened to keep me upright, he broke the intimate closeness.

  “I’ll explain everything, but we need to get out of here. Garzel may not have been working alone. I’m in no mood for any more tonight.”

  Loaded words.

  “No, wait!” I said, realizing what he was about to do. I pushed out of his grasp. “I can’t sift out! Malcolm. Damn. Poor Malcolm. I can’t just disappear.”

  No longer touching me, Jude held a blank expression, void of the heat visible seconds before.

  “Genevieve. Listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I say.”

  Holy crap. Angry Jude was back.

  “Listening,” I said with not a hint of snarkiness or humor. I might be brave, but I wasn’t stupid.

  “Walk straight through the bar, tell the boy you’re not feeling well and you need to go home. You have exactly eight minutes. Go a second over, and I’ll sift into his fucking truck and take you without warning. I’ll be waiting for you in your bedroom. Eight minutes, Genevieve.”

  A whoosh of wind rocked me on my heels. He was gone.

  “Eight minutes!”

  I dashed out of the bathroom, dusting off my jeans and smoothing my hair as I sped down the hall around the corner, where I slammed right into Malcolm holding a beer in each hand.

  “Hey, you okay? I was starting to worry about you.”

  “Um, yeah, well, I’m really not feeling well. So sorry, but can you take me home?”

  Concern written all over his face, he set the beers on a stool, took my hand and guided me back through the bar. I didn’t even think about warning the muscle-bound dweebs their friend was unconscious in the ladies’ bathroom. I smiled to myself, imagining them making that interesting discovery. Big boy was going to wake up with a nasty headache, but somehow I didn’t feel that sorry for him. Jude had said demons can only possess those open to them, which meant in some small way, Jukebox-boy asked for it.

  Malcolm opened the passenger side of his truck for me, hopped into the driver’s seat then headed out. Thankfully, the bar was near City Park, not far from my apartment.

  “I hate that you’re feeling bad. Is it your stomach?”

  I nodded, doing a damn fine job of using my anxiety as a disguise for a stomachache. Three minutes had passed. I watched the clock on the dash, tapping my foot at each red light.

  “You okay?” he asked, noticing my fidgeting.

  “I’ll be fine. Just need a little Pepto and bed.”

  “You want me to stop and get you something?”

  “No!” I yelled. He flinched. “Um, I mean, no thanks. It’s not that serious. Just probably overworked and all… Thanks.”

  Malcolm nodded and by some miracle had me on my doorstep with one minute to spare. As Malcolm faced me at the door, I was very aware that Jude was waiting in my bedroom. In my bedroom! My stomach did a flip-flop at the thought, and I realized perhaps my stomachache wasn’t a total ruse.

  Malcolm tucked me into a bearlike hug, planting a kiss on the top of my head. I have to admit it felt quite nice in his arms. He was such a gentle soul that I felt comforted by his close presence. Comforted but not safe. I glanced behind him, so sure a demon or that Collector thing would pop out and snatch us both.

  “Sorry to end the night this way, but I should go in,” I mumbled, giving him a gentle squeeze and pulling back.

  “I had a wonderful time tonight. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

  I looked up and nodded, smiling. He leaned down for what I thought would be a peck goodnight. He gave me a soft closemouthed kiss, pulled back a second then leaned toward me again. This time, he pried my lips apart, slipping his tongue in tentatively. It was such a shock, I didn’t resist. I mean, I had given all the signs I’d enjoyed the night and would welcome a little affection. Still, I stood there, letting him kiss me. Doing nothing may have given him the wrong impression, for his lips pressed harder, coupled with a soft moan, as his tongue plunged in with sloppy earnest.

  “Oh, Gen,” he whispered across my lips, diving back in for more full-on tongue thrusting.

  His other hand slid down my neck, fumbled over my shirt, over my breast, stopping to cup and squeeze. What the hell! Didn’t I say I had a stomachache? Not that I really did, but come on. I eased away, breaking contact. The whole event lasted all of maybe twenty seconds but felt way longer.

  “Good night, Malcolm.”

  Before he could say or do anything else, I slipped through the door and locked it shut, leaning against it. Pressing the back of my hand to my lips, I took a deep breath. The apartment was ghostly quiet. Mindy had texted me while we were at the movies that she would be out late with Dave. Though the place was silent, I was not alone. I crept toward my room like one going to the hangman’s noose. I hoped Jude hadn’t seen or heard what just happened on the doorstep.

  Walking closer to my bedroom, I sensed him there. My VS recognized the hard strength of his presence, wrapped in flame. My mind drifted through the different sensory signatures I’d discovered. Kat felt like warm waves on a sandy shore. Those lower demons felt like needles prickling along my spine. The Dungeon master, Dommiel, exuded a penetrating fear before intense pain, if that made any sense. Danté was the ice man with a capacitating gift to freeze with a burning touch.

  But Jude… He was all heat and steel and rock-solid, bone-melting beauty. His presence felt like unquenchable fire and impenetrable armor all at once—smothering and burning me with an insatiable need to bask in the nearness of him. Amid his fiery aura, I felt protected, rocking gently within his ship of flame, sure to be taken to safe harbor. I stopped walking, inhaled deeply and blew it out in a shaky breath, willing myself
to be calm before I stepped into the bedroom.

  The lights were off. A dark form stood tall and still, his profile silhouetted by the faint light filtering through sheer curtains. A long, sharp line angled against the wall—his broadsword. He didn’t face me as I entered. When he spoke, his voice was steady, level, distant.

  “Do you trust me, Genevieve?”

  A simple question. Of course, I did. Everything I knew about Jude incited trust. Though the man himself was still a mystery, he’d done nothing to make me doubt his intentions. Having saved my life now several times and having never harmed me in any way, how could I not trust him? Yet, there was a heaviness in his voice, as if this short inquiry held the weight of something far greater than I could imagine.

  My reply came out low but strong. “Yes.”

  He continued to gaze toward the curtained window, his frame stiff and unyielding. I stepped farther into the room, standing at the edge of my bed.

  “Do you believe I am thinking only of your safety when I tell you to do something?”

  Uh-oh. I knew where this was going.

  “Jude, listen, I know that—”

  “Answer the question.” His sharp tone halted the pitiful excuses about to spill from my mouth.

  He turned to me then. Though I couldn’t see anything but the black outline of his body, I felt the weight of his eyes. Could he see me in the dark? I wondered what other gifts a Dominus Daemonum might have in his arsenal.

  “Yes.”

  He walked toward me, stopping outside that personal zone he so often liked to fill up with all his manliness.

  “Then tell me”—his voice monotone, but sharp as a razor—“why do you value your life so little to leave this apartment for what, a romp about town with your boyfriend? You don’t seem to comprehend your new reality very well.”

  His voice was calm but edged with danger.

  “I just thought, well, Kat said today… I mean—”

  He went on, heedless of my stammering response. “Do you think I care if you go out with the boy?”

  “Um, no. Well, yes. Maybe.”

  “You’re free to do as you please, within reason. If you prefer to spend your time bar-hopping, that’s entirely your decision. But understand this, every time you step foot out the door, you’re risking your life, your very soul. Is it really worth it to sip beer and hold hands with the boy?”