Forged in Fire

by Juliette Cross

  “Omigod, Gen! I thought it was a real emergency,” she said, flitting back to her bedroom.

  Scrawled in his ridiculously feminine handwriting at the bottom of the last page were these words: Ms. Drake, while your intellect is evidently superior, your reasoning as to why demons actually do exist and plague humans in the literal sense is preposterous. Were it not for your definitive remarks on the matter, your grade would have been much higher. As it is, I cannot reward faulty logic and reasoning, no matter how well-crafted it may be. In addition, attendance to class would not go amiss.

  “Pretentious ass,” I muttered, throwing the paper on the coffee table and stomping to my bedroom. “Well, I certainly do hope you’re never in need of a demon hunter, Mr. Bennett, because you can’t use mine! I’ll stand back and watch, debating with you whether the thing trying to crawl inside your body is actually real or not.”

  I turned on the scalding water, letting all the nasty comebacks I had for Mr. Bennett play out in my head. After a long steamy shower, I stepped out in a much lighter mood, realizing Mr. Bennett couldn’t help the fact that he was a grade-A moron. I almost felt sorry for him with all of his “faulty logic and reasoning”. Hmph. Wrapping a towel around me and tucking it under my arm, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Ack! Jude! Don’t ever scare me like that.”

  In charcoal slacks and a snug, light gray sweater that hugged every delicious part of his upper body, he leaned casually against the doorjamb of my walk-in closet directly across from the bathroom. With arms folded and one leg crossed as well, propped up at the ankle, he looked like a model on display. His eyes, molten gold ringed with obsidian, made a slow, slow progression down my body and back up. My hair snaked in wet trails across my bare shoulders and down my back. I shifted, self-conscious of my near-nudity. When his eyes made it back up to my lips and stopped for what seemed like a freaking eternity, I lost the ability to breathe. I cleared my throat.

  “What, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the ball.”

  Finally, his eyes lifted to mine, smoldering and dark and knee-bucklingly sexy. Yet, he didn’t move toward me. Not an inch.

  “I brought you a gift.”

  His voice was rough as bark, rubbing a sensuous promise against my skin. When Jude was steely and hard like this with slow, deliberately calculating eyes, my body turned to jelly. I had no idea how I was still standing under his heated gaze.

  “Oh?”

  I gathered my dripping hair over one shoulder and used another towel on my sink counter to squeeze it dry, trying not to notice that he watched me with predatory eyes.

  “I would love to do that for you,” he nearly whispered.

  I paused with my head at an angle, gazing up at him.

  “Then why don’t you?”

  A slow shake of the head. I’d never seen him bite his lip like that, but when he did, my whole body shivered in response, wishing he’d come closer. I took a step toward him.

  “Stay where you are, Genevieve.”

  A rough, sultry command, but a command nonetheless. He kept his stance casual, but all his muscles locked tight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing will go wrong as long as you keep your distance in that flimsy piece of fabric that’s supposed to be covering you.”

  “My towel? What’s wrong with my towel?”

  I glanced down. I was fully covered. Well, up to midthigh. Maybe a little higher. I had long legs.

  “Nothing at all, love.” That endearment made my stomach flip. “But the thought of what’s under it makes me want to misbehave.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing his resistance was as thin as the fabric barely covering my body.

  “Where’s my gift?” I asked with my attempt at a smile.

  He nodded toward the bedroom. I walked over, seeing a strappy thing lying across the bed. I picked it up. It was made of fine black leather with a single sheath for a beautifully made stiletto. The blade was razor sharp, thin, about eight inches in length. The thicker hilt, fitting perfectly in my palm as if it were made for me, bore a sinuous design of two lovers locked in rapture. The male lover bore wings. My heart pounded harder. I knew this design, knew it well.

  “Eros and Psyche. It’s lovely,” I murmured, wondering at my beautiful yet practical gift. “I don’t get how this straps on, though.”

  Jude had moved closer, hands in his pockets. He was honestly trying to keep from touching me. I found the thought rather humorous, wondering at the power I had over him in this moment. I lifted the soft leather straps, trying to figure out how they’d cross my chest.

  “It goes on your thigh, Genevieve.” My eyes jumped to his. “From the looks of things, it’ll fit just right.” His gaze lingered on my legs, or rather, the very tops of my legs, seeming to measure the straps with his imagination.

  “You think so?” I teased. “Should I try it on to be sure?”

  Otherworldly eyes flared fire-bright.

  “Don’t you dare.” His threat wasn’t menacing, but breathed all kinds of danger. The kind of danger I seriously wanted to get into. “I thought it best you have protection that was easily concealed. Remember, no casts of illusion tonight. We want the demons to find you.”

  “Do you think Bamal’s men will know how to find me?”

  “Oh yes. They’ll be there. Without the cast of illusion, you burn like a bonfire.”

  I was thinking the same of him. Illusion or not, Jude was a constant burning flame.

  “It’s kind of funny, but I’ll have to focus to not use my VS tonight. It seems to snap on without my even thinking about it.”

  “VS?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “Oh yeah. My VS. You know, Vessel Sense. Sort of like spidey sense.”

  “Ah.” A smirk lifted his beautiful lips almost into a full smile.

  “Why, what do you call it?”

  “I don’t,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

  I rolled my eyes. Of course, he didn’t. Men just plundered along, never thinking too much about stuff. Women liked to name things and overanalyze everything. Curse or gift, it was a definite difference between the sexes.

  “Do you want to see my dress so you can find me at the ball?”

  “Oh, I’ll find you,” he said, stepping closer, hands still in his pockets.

  I froze like a statue, the anticipation of his touch an exquisite torture all its own. But he didn’t touch me. He stopped an inch from my body, leaning down toward my neck, his breath skimming my skin. I waited for the kiss of lips. It didn’t come. His whisper caressed and tormented.

  “Vanilla and—what’s the floral scent?”

  “Cherry blossom.” I reddened at that, especially when I received a full smile for the response and all its implications—sweet, innocent and bursting with flavor.

  “Mmm. Perfect.”

  Jeezum crow. I was about to crumble, and the man hadn’t even touched me. Embarrassingly, goose bumps rose all over.

  “Are you cold, Genevieve?” I nodded, breath catching, refusing to admit it had anything to do with the temperature in the room. “I want nothing more than to warm you right now. But my hands on your body at the moment wouldn’t be prudent.” Then I felt a soft, warm caress of lips on the slope from neck to shoulder—so sweet and too quickly gone. I whimpered. “It will be worth the wait. Trust me, love.” He took a step back, removing the luxurious heat of him. A shimmer of amber in fiery eyes. “Oh. And the weapon wasn’t the gift.”

  He nodded toward the bedside table, winked at me, then sifted out with a snapping whoosh. A blue velvet box with silver-metallic ribbon sat on the table. I instantly tore off the ribbon and opened it, never having been prissy or patient with wrapping paper.

  “Oh my.”

  On a delicate silver chain in a thin but decorative silver setting was a perfectly round, unbelievably beautiful opal. I pulled the necklace from the box, holding the weight of the jewel in my hand. The
iridescent stone was colored with blue and lavender waves. There was a small square of cardstock on the inside of the jewelry box. I snatched it up, thinking it was a note from Jude. But it was the stamp of the maker with small print reading “Crystal Opal from Lightning Ridge in New South Wales, Australia”.

  “Wow,” I admired, gazing at the gem again. There was something so familiar about the transparent markings—crystal white opaqueness swimming with smudges of blue and purple. Then I realized what it resembled.

  “The moon! How lovely.”

  I went to put it on and saw something inscribed on the back. In delicate script were the Latin words: Mea luna in tenebris.

  “Oh, Jude.” I clasped the necklace securely around my neck, butterflies flitting around as it settled beneath the hollow between my collarbones. “Mea luna in tenebris,” I whispered to my reflection.

  My moon in the darkness.

  And he was my guiding star. If he only knew.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Holy smokes! A Roman empress and an Egyptian queen. Girl, we are so going to be the hottest chicks there.”

  Mindy never lacked for confidence, but I had to agree we looked pretty damn good. Mindy wore a silvery-white, flowing chiffon dress that draped perfectly on her petite body, scooping across her breasts and hugging slim but nicely curving hips. Blonde curls piled on her head with a silver-roped tiara coiling into her locks, she did indeed look like a Roman patrician. Her strappy matching sandals with mere two-inch heels were way better than the ginormous Jimmy Choos.

  My golden gown, sweetheart cut and strapless with corseted boning, hugged my waist and hips, then dropped straight to the floor. The burnished fabric shimmered with lighter flecks like gold dust. The effect was quite dramatic when I walked under the light. A gold cuff in the shape of a snake with a ruby-red eye coiled around my upper arm. Mindy had straightened my hair and braided gold thread into single thin braids, one on each side of my face. My hair brushed the middle of my back, much longer than portrayals of Egyptian queens. But coupled with Mindy’s expert makeup effect on my almond-shaped eyes, lined black and extending beyond, with indigo-blue hugging the dark liner, I did indeed look like I’d stepped out of a period movie like The Mummy. The only difference was my skin was creamy pale rather than bronze.

  “And now for the final touches,” said Mindy, passing me my mask.

  Her cat-eyed mask was satin white with silver swirls, embellished with wispy feathers on one side and only covering her eyes. Mine covered more cheek and nose in the Venetian style—gold under black lace studded with small white rhinestones. This one touch of silver enhanced the crystal opal hanging below my throat. I was thankful for Mindy’s high-maintenance shopping spree to find the more expensive masks that looped almost invisibly around the ears like glasses rather than a hand-held one. Much more convenient.

  “Oh! They’re here!” squealed Mindy, shoving her phone into her small white pouch-purse that hung from a silken rope around her wrist.

  We stepped out into the driveway, where a black stretch-Mercedes limo awaited. The chauffeur already had the door open. Mindy giggled, bright blue eyes twinkling, as we scooted in.

  “Good evening, ladies,” said a dapper gentleman stretched out with casual grace next to Mindy’s mom.

  “Oh, girls, don’t you look gorgeous!”

  “Thank you, Miss Donna,” I said, doing my best not to catch my heel on her burgundy dress.

  “Hi, Bill. Thank you so much for the invitation,” said Mindy, bouncing closer to her mother.

  “I’m delighted, Mindy. So, should I call your friend Cleopatra, or does she have another name?”

  “Genevieve Drake.” I smiled.

  This very cheesy introduction would ordinarily rub me wrong, but Bill seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. Attractive too. Jet-black hair with streaks of gray at the temples giving him sophistication. In a sharp, black tuxedo and with that indefinable blue-blood poise, he was a stunning older man. Miss Donna complemented him with her petite, fair features so similar to Mindy’s, slightly aged with laugh lines at the eyes and a lighter shade of blonde.

  “And you are Mister…?”

  I dragged out the Mister, hoping he would fill that in. Gentleman that he was, he did.

  “Mr. Bridges, Genevieve, but please call me Bill.”

  “Yes, Gen. He prefers Bill.”

  “I do believe I will be the envy of the ball with the three most beautiful ladies there.”

  Mindy and Miss Donna giggled in unison. I smiled at Mr. Bridges, I mean Bill, as he passed us each a flute of Cristal champagne. We toasted and sipped as the city faded behind us, embarking farther into bayou country toward La Blanche Plantation Home where the Crescent City Masquerade was held each year. On the final rural tract, the limo followed behind another one onto a long, paved drive. Passing under a canopy of centuries-old live oaks and through a line of torches lighting the path, I twisted around to see limousine after limousine filing behind us. Mindy squeezed my hand in girlish giddiness. My stomach flipped in fear and excitement for two different reasons—that I was bait for Bamal’s assassins and that my demon hunter would be here among the masked men. The idea sent a thrill of anticipation through me.

  The chauffer opened the door, and we followed Bill and Mindy’s mom up the outer steps into the throng of New Orleans’ finest. The gowns on these women were stunning. I leaned over to Mindy.

  “I’m glad I let you convince me to charge the more expensive gown now.”

  She nodded and winked behind her pretty mask. The antebellum home was a Greek revival, complete with two stories of wide verandas, and gardens that wound for acres beyond the home. When we walked into the main foyer, I thought we’d stepped back in time. Candelabra burned everywhere, bathing beautiful people in ethereal light. Servants in full tuxedos and black masks greeted the guests with a choice of champagne or wine. Mindy picked up two glasses of red wine and passed one to me.

  “Cheers,” she said, clinking her glass to mine.

  “Mindy, come here, dear,” called her mom, waving us over into the main ballroom.

  The room was mostly an open dance floor, the orchestra set up on the far end. On the outer rim of the stage and dance floor were alcoves draped with curtains of red velvet and gold trim, partitioning off private sitting areas. I scanned the room, searching for Jude, but didn’t see him. I’d know him with or without a mask. There was no mistaking that man.

  “Mindy and Genevieve, this is Mr. and Mrs. Clark and their son, Nathaniel.”

  The Clarks nodded graciously in greeting. Nathaniel, a tall, russet-haired guy about our age gave us one of those smiles that put me on edge, brushing a kiss on the top of my hand. Hooded hazel eyes assessed from behind a navy blue mask. His lips lingered longer on Mindy’s hand with a wider smile. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, this one. But the wolves here were camouflaged in designer Italian formal wear and plastic faces. I remembered what Kat had told me. “A gentleman of the gentry in evening dress is the perfect mask to hide the wolf beneath.” Too true, Kat.

  “Ladies, let me show you to our private area,” said Nathaniel.

  Apparently, Mindy’s mom and Mr. Bridges had already agreed to share a private space with the Clarks. Who was I to argue even if the guy gave me the creeps? He ambled slowly toward the middle of the room, gesturing toward an alcove where the curtain was drawn to the side. I saw that you could either keep the entrance open with a drawstring or close it for a more private party. We stepped into the small space furnished with three round tabletops spread with white linen and red roses as well as a sofa to the back.

  “Whoohoo! Look at this, Gen.”

  “Nice, isn’t it?” commented Nathaniel. “We can bring in bottles of wine from the bar to avoid trips back and forth.”

  “Sweet,” said Mindy. “This is my kind of party.”

  Nathaniel’s wolfish smile showed teeth as he watched her bend over the table to smell a vase of roses. I noticed hazel eyes dipping to take in
the revealing view when Mindy leaned over.

  “Well, take it easy, Mindy. We don’t want a repeat of our last night out,” I said, bumping her to stand upright.

  “Stop your frowning, Gen. We’ve got a fabulous designated driver tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t what I was worried about.

  “Don’t be concerned. I’ll take care of her,” said Nathaniel.

  Now, that was what I was worried about.

  “May I have the first dance, empress?” he asked, offering her his hand.

  “Of course.” She giggled.

  “I hope to have a dance with you as well, Genevieve.”

  I nodded tightly, trying to smile. I didn’t like him but couldn’t be rude either. He was the son of Mindy’s mother’s friends. We were their guests. And what was he doing that other guys didn’t do on a regular basis? Ogling pretty little Mindy was a regular pastime for most guys in her vicinity. It was the hunger in those hazel eyes that made me nervous. I might be oversensitive due to recent events in my own life, suspecting every man when it was unwarranted. But still.

  “Relax, Genevieve,” I whispered to myself, downing my wine in two gulps and strolling out to find another.

  An orchestra of strings played at the front of the ballroom along with a modern band onstage. In sleek black suits, two men played electric guitars in accompaniment with the classic instruments. The drummer wore black slacks and a white T-shirt, his hair a wild mess. A statuesque redhead in a floor-length green gown stepped up to the microphone. Her hair draped in shining waves over one shoulder. Were it not for the full-sleeved tattoo on one arm, I’d have thought she fit right into the mix. I liked this touch of incivility in the room. It made me more comfortable. As she began to sing a soft, melancholy melody, I drifted farther across the hall. The effect of violins and cellos in harmony with the electric guitars was haunting and lovely.

  I drew closer, seeing a server holding a tray of red wine. I knew I should refrain from drinking too much, but I needed a bit more liquid courage. My VS tingled with Flamma present. I knew Jude, Kat and George were here somewhere, but there were others as well.