I stopped in front of Jude, hiking my bag higher on my shoulder. His heavy gaze threatened to undo me, observing too closely as he always did. “Long flight.”
Not a question. The effects of a sleepless night and an anxiety-laden day were written all over my face. “Yes.”
He examined me closer, making me fear I might come completely unhinged before he released me from his keen observation. But then his free hand engulfed mine, gripping hard, and he led me through the door to the parking lot. He loaded my suitcase in the trunk of Kat’s black Audi, the one she loaned him whenever he needed more than his motorcycle to get around town. We hadn’t been in a car together since before I knew about sifting. Sifting. Shit! How was I going to tell him about my new power without him flipping out?
Zooming down Veterans Boulevard and back onto the interstate, I continued to stare out the window. The tension filling the small confines of the car stretched me to breaking. His voice actually made me jump.
“Nervous?”
“What?” I jerked around to face him.
Giving me a sidelong glance before careening between two eighteen-wheelers into the far lane like he was taking a leisurely Sunday stroll, he said, “If my meeting your father gives you this much anxiety, then I don’t have to. We can do it some other time.”
Oh, yeah. Not that it had completely slipped my mind, but it had become low on my priority list of things to worry about. At least I had a cover for my code-red stress levels. Dad had said we could put off our dinner arrangements if I had jet lag, but honestly, I needed time to build courage for the confession coming later. Enduring a casual dinner with jet lag between the two men in my life, so they could finally meet and so I could postpone imminent doom was fine by me.
“No. It’s fine. Just don’t be…” I glanced at him, realizing there was no way for him to tone down his bad-ass hunter vibe.
He slanted a smug expression in my direction. “Yes?”
“Nothing.” I faced forward, tucking my hands between my legs to keep them from trembling.
He made no remark, exiting and heading toward City Park. We were within a mile or two when I finally found the courage to ask, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
No answer. Watching the road, square jaw clenched, he replied as we turned onto my father’s street. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Not quite sure I’d make it through dinner and polite chitchat without throwing up, I blew out a quick breath and replied, “Okay.”
As we pulled into the drive, I half expected Erik, a family friend, to be parked and waiting to meet the boyfriend alongside my dad. He’d been a brother to me since shortly after my mother’s death and always seemed to be hanging around. Apparently, Dad wanted to fly solo on this mission.
Jude followed me through the wrought-iron gate to the back door. Standing in the kitchen, beer in hand, Dad gazed out into the yard at nothing in particular. He turned when he heard us walk in. I smiled and launched into his arms.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He chuckled, squeezing me into a one-arm hug. “Somebody missed me.”
He had no idea. Being in my father’s arms where I’d learned unconditional love time and time again helped me bury some of the rising fear of what was to come later tonight with the man behind me. Dad kissed me on the forehead and swiveled his gaze to Jude, his eyes narrowing instantly. He was assessing, sizing him up. Schooled into casual politeness, his expression could’ve meant approval or disapproval. I wouldn’t know until he told me later.
“Dad, this is Jude Delacroix.”
Jude extended his hand and shook my father’s. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dad replied, shaking his hand in a tight grip. At some point, the pissing contest subsided and they withdrew at the same time. “I wish I could say I’ve heard all about you, but it seems Gen has been keeping you a secret.”
Jude’s dark gaze flickered to me. “She does like to keep things to herself.”
On that true characterization, I spun toward the fridge, avoiding eye contact. “How about a beer?” Without waiting for an answer, I popped the caps on two Heinekens and handed Jude one.
“Thank you.” He took the longneck, shifting his body closer to mine against the counter, his heavy gaze flicking from me back to my father.
The cool, even tone of Jude’s voice wasn’t what had me on edge. The man held his own no matter who he stood up against, including an overprotective father who’d terrified every boy/dude/guy I’d ever deemed worthy to cross the threshold of this house. It was Jude’s unyielding, steady tone accompanying a similar steely gaze that made my insides flip-flop with queasiness. His manner screamed of a proprietary, possessive hold, and though my dad could never call him out as impolite in any possible way, the air in the room pressed closer.
Then it hit me. There was one dominant male in this room, and it wasn’t my father. A truth I would’ve known if I’d ever taken two seconds to consider the idea. I’d never had to. Dad ruled this world, the one of hearth and home, and Jude ruled the other, the one where demons sought to possess and kill me at every turn. In reality, Jude ruled both, every circle that I revolved in. I might be his moon in the dark, but he was my entire cosmos—stars, air and gravity all rolled into one—surrounding me with a shield of flickering flame, the air I needed to breathe, pulling me to the earth and grounding me wherever he stood. My breath hitched at the sudden realization. He held my gaze, taking a sip of his beer in a slow, measured movement, as if he knew what had just dawned on me. If he understood me this well, then he also realized my anxiety about tonight had more to do with what I needed to confess to him than him meeting my father.
“Shall we go outside?” Dad asked. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a platter of marinating, plastic-wrapped rib eyes.
Breaking away from Jude’s lock on me, I stepped out the French doors onto the deck. I tilted back my beer, taking three huge gulps, needing some liquid courage to make it through dinner.
Dad tossed the steaks on the preheated grill. Jude peered around the yard, taking in the sight of my childhood home. He’d been here before, that day he’d sifted into my mother’s art gallery and sent me into a fury. He’d also cast a protection spell, which I’m sure he did by cover of night. This was the first time he’d stood here with me and my dad as a welcome guest, and in some insane way, he fit in.
“So, Jude, tell me, what is it that you do for a living?”
Jude swiveled to engage my father. “I acquire, inspect and authenticate rare weapons for museums and private collectors.”
Wait. What? Did he really? I challenged him with a questioning look. He ignored my puzzlement with a smirk. He must’ve had this lie already planned. Right?
“Oh really? How interesting.” Dad gave him a once-over, considering him more closely. “That must be difficult to manage.”
“How so?”
“I mean that it can’t be very steady work. It must be difficult to balance your finances with a fluctuating income.”
Jesus, Dad. Why don’t you go for the jugular? I can’t believe he’d just used code for you don’t make enough money to date my daughter. Jude took it all in stride.
“I have contracts with local as well as international museums, including the Louvre in Paris. Private collectors pay a significant sum for acquiring and authenticating artifacts for their collections. I assure you, the circulation is enough to keep me afloat.”
His smile before he tipped back his beer said it all. It more than kept him afloat. How did I not know this about him? Yes, he owned rare swords and daggers of all kinds. And, as I recall, he had a PhD with a concentration in historical weapons, but still, it had never occurred to me that as a hunter, he’d have to earn a living. His house on Dauphines with its fine furnishings wouldn’t come cheap.
Dad flipped the steaks with a satisfying sizzle. “How do you like your rib eye, Jude?”
“Rare,” came the unequivocal response. Carnivore to the core.
“How did you know it was a fake?” asked Dad, leaning forward, hands clasped on the table.
“Because the real sword of Yamashita was sitting in the West Point Military Museum,” replied Jude with a wry grin. “I was the one to authenticate it.”
With a stifled yawn, I stood and took my glass to the sink, coming to terms with my worlds colliding, and, rather than explode into tiny pieces, they’d fit together rather nicely.
“Better call it a night,” said Dad. “I’m sure Gen is worn out from the trip.”
I didn’t argue. I was exhausted.
“I’ll get your jacket,” said Jude, stepping into the living room where I’d draped it over the sofa earlier.
“Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them.” Dad stood and met me halfway, pulling me into one of his bear hugs. In a lower tone, he said, “He seems a bit…mature. But I don’t dislike him.”
“Hmph. If I judged by the monopolization of the dinner conversation, I’d say you adored him. Do you want to date him?”
A hearty chuckle rumbled from his chest. Keeping one arm over my shoulder, he walked me toward the door where Jude shrugged into his own jacket.
“You’ve always been an old soul, sweetheart. With better judgment than me most of the time.” With a peck on my forehead, he whispered, “If he’s the one you want, I’ll support you.”
Yes, he was the one I wanted. But would he have me after I told him about Thomas?
We arrived at the door. Jude was transfixed by a photograph of my mother and me our last Halloween, when we lived in Atlanta. We’d both dressed as witches, complete with black wigs, green face paint and warty noses. Our blue eyes glittered in the camera’s flash, perfect mirrors of each other.
“That’s my mom. Right before we moved here.”
He smiled, avoiding eye contact. “I know.” After helping me into my jacket, he shook my father’s hand like they were old friends.
Dad opened the front door for us to walk out. “I hope you’ll help out at the dojo this week, sweetheart. Erik has been overloaded in your absence.”
“Of course, Dad. I’ll be back on schedule this week.” The truth was I’d been slacking more than a little in work and in school. College classes and teaching karate had become less important ever since the first demon had tried to kill me in a back alley.
Back in the car, we were off again. Alone. Once more, silence reigned for several minutes.
“I didn’t know you were an antique weapons dealer.”
“You never asked.”
True. I’d always been so absorbed in my own problems, in defending and protecting myself. Self-preservation had dominated most of my time these days. I wondered how well I truly knew Jude.
“Did you really authenticate the Japanese general’s sword at West Point?”
“Yes. What I didn’t divulge to your father was that had happened back in 1947 after General MacArthur donated the sword to the museum. That might’ve been more difficult to explain.”
“I’d say it would,” I agreed, forcing a smile.
Dinner had been nice. More than nice. Jude had been charming, as much as one can be with his pragmatic storytelling and blunt view of the world. I’d fallen into a state of calm after the initial meeting and greeting, enjoying a good meal, a few beers, and interesting, albeit unconventional, conversation. But now, alone again, the dangerous edge cut between us as before. He had something to say, and he knew I did too. His hands tightening on the steering wheel was the only warning I received.
“Genevieve. This guardian angel, Thomas, hasn’t reported to his superior in nearly a decade.”
I locked on Jude’s profile, intermittently coming into view as we passed under the streetlights.
“What does that mean?”
He pulled to a stop at a red light. “It means he’s no longer working for them.” He waved a hand heavenward, capturing my rapt attention with steel in his voice, belying his calm posture. “He’s made himself known to you for another reason”—eyes dropping to my lips—“and I know what that reason must be.”
Heart in my throat, I forced myself to speak. “What reason?” As if I didn’t know.
The light turned green, pulling his attention back to the road. But that didn’t fool me for a minute. He was attuned to my every breath.
“Tell me something. Has he made any requests, asked any favors of you?”
“No, yes, I mean, no favors, not really.”
We veered into the Quarter. He sped faster through the streets, nearly clipping a cab at the next turn.
“Clarify.”
“He hasn’t asked me any favors.” He only begged me to consider him as a lover.
Jude’s aura of flame flared with his temper.
“What’s really going on between you and this fucking guardian?” He laid on the horn, careening around a jaywalker. The guy leapt onto the curb before Jude ran him over. I squirmed in my seat.
“Nothing! Nothing is going on.” Not anymore. That one taste of sin and the resulting ton of guilt now weighing me down was enough to quell any budding infatuation.
“You’re lying.”
Shit! I couldn’t tell him. The very idea made acid burn in my gut. Time to switch the tables, though this topic was just as distasteful.
“He accused you of something terrible.”
“I’m sure he did.” Jude’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his hands white-knuckled, his arms flexed and tense. “Tell me.”
“He said that…that you were a murderer.”
Banking a hard left, Jude zipped down Dauphines, squeezed into a spot in front of his house and turned off the car. Rather than give me a scornful look and protest such an accusation, he leaned his head back against the headrest, staring straight ahead. All the fire seemed to die right out of him with one long exhalation of breath.
“What else did he say?” Resignation and weariness leaked into his voice.
“Nothing.” I angled my body to face him, wrapping my arms around myself. “He offered to give me the details, but I told him I’d rather hear it from you.” True, though actually, he’d offered to show me the details through a vision. “Is it true?” Jude felt far away, closing himself off to me with cold determination. “Please talk to me.”
The gas streetlamps on either side of the alcove leading into his home flickered with warmth like fireflies in a mason jar. A couple strolled arm in arm past the car. The woman tossed her head back and laughed. He scooped her into his arms and planted a heated kiss on her lips before setting her down. She twined her fingers through his, then they meandered down Dauphines toward Jackson Square. The happy couple and Jude’s punishing silence had my stomach twisted into a knot. Finally, he spoke, still gazing ahead as if the world before him didn’t exist at all.
“Did Kat ever tell you how Dominus Daemonum are made?”
I went very still, hardly believing he was offering up something I thought he’d never tell me. “No.”
“You actually guessed it once, though I doubt you ever realized it.” I didn’t speak a word, didn’t move, urging him to go on with silent encouragement. “To become a Master of Demons, you must have committed a heinous murder, an unforgiveable sin, and you must be mortally wounded on the verge of death.” He clutched the car keys in his fist, the other hand still on the wheel. “You must also have a split soul.”
“A split soul?” I whispered, not wanting to interrupt but also needi
ng to know what he meant.
“Half in the world of Light and half in the world of Darkness.” His upper body grew rigid, tightening with the memory haunting him now. “When you’re on death’s door, an agent of Flamma, one from each world, will show up to take you where you’re meant to go. But if your soul is split, riding the fence, agents from both worlds show up to give you an option.”
“An option. Like to go to heaven or hell?”
“Precisely.”
“And so…you committed a murder—”
“Murders,” he corrected with cold finality.
“And Uriel showed up. And another agent, a demon.”
“Damas,” he clarified. “Actually, he’d been there all along and I hadn’t even known it.” He snorted a bitter laugh. “But there’s a price to pay if you die with a mortal sin on your hands, one so dark that absolution is impossible, an unreachable fantasy. If your soul is too black, smothered by hatred and evil, then you simply go to hell and become a demon for the underworld. But if your soul is split as you’re dying with the sin of murder fresh on your hands, then you may get another chance. Damas offered me unlimited power and immortality as an angel hunter, to continue on my path of darkness and kill to my heart’s content. Uriel offered me life as a demon hunter, paying for my sin by expelling those doing evil against humanity. In my state”—he paused, deep grooves creasing his brow, the memory haunting him with cold brutality—“I nearly chose to go with Damas.”
I gasped, not believing he’d ever be brought so low as to do such a thing, or that he’d ever confess to me that he nearly became a creature of the Dark, like Bellock. “But something inside me wept for what I’d done. You see, I’d sought revenge against Danté for what he’d done to my mother, my father, what he’d taken from me. In yielding to blind hatred, I’d lost myself. I’d nearly lost my soul. So I died to my former self, let go of my humanity, and took up the sword against the Dark, willingly accepting their black sins to rub off and tarnish my soul and torture my mind with every demon I expelled back to hell.” Tearing himself from the distant past, he turned toward me, his face hooded in shadow. “I won’t lie to you, Genevieve. Ever. I deserve to pay my penance, hunting demonkind for all eternity for my sins. And I do it, gladly. But I can’t live in the past. Don’t ask me to go back there.”
Sealed in Sin Page 15
