Sealed in Sin

by Juliette Cross

  I didn’t rest much last night, wrestling with my sheets and trying to find escape in sleep from the living nightmare of Jude’s words echoing in my mind. Words. He said mine meant nothing. Well, his had torn a hole in my heart. And I could blame no one but myself. An idea had been forming for some time in my mind, a path I’d one day take. I hadn’t ever discussed it with Jude, never quite knowing what his intentions were for us. But it seemed now was the time. A new path for both of us. It’s what we do that matters, he’d said.

  “Gen? Are you okay?”

  I snapped back to find Erik gazing at me with a worried frown. “Fine. Listen, thanks for covering for me. You’re an angel.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.” I spun toward the lobby, feeling for the first time since the disaster last night that I actually would be fine. If Jude would agree to my plan.

  I jogged out of the dojo, smelling sand and seashore. Kat leaned against the building, waiting for me. Her brow quirked.

  “Well now. Someone is in good spirits.”

  I hadn’t realized I was grinning to myself. “I will be.”

  “Interesting. Well, they’re waiting for us. Shall we?”

  I reached out my hand, knowing we had a meeting with George and Jude. I’d received a short and not remotely sweet text from Jude this morning, informing me that Kat would pick me up at the dojo, meaning he hadn’t told them that I could sift there on my own. My stomach churned; he avoided the topic simply because it wasn’t just an exchange of power I’d accepted from Thomas. It was a betrayal.

  Kat snapped us off the street and into Jude’s courtyard. Jude stood with his back to us near the broken fountain. He stiffened. I didn’t notice George at first, bent on one knee observing something close to the ground. George swiped something with his finger and brought it to his nose.

  “I can’t be sure,” he said to Jude.

  We walked closer.

  “Sure about what?” asked Kat.

  “The maker of the fury,” said George, whose naturally jovial, charming demeanor had been replaced by this more austere, grave man, reminding me of the one standing on a wharf in 19th century London, engulfed by a chasm of grief.

  “Who do you think it could be?” asked Kat in a near-whisper.

  Holding her gaze with an intensity that made my heart trip a little faster, he said evenly, “Damas.”

  I couldn’t imagine her committing a murder so foul she must pay this penance of hunting and expelling demons, allowing their evil to rub off on her own soul. But Jude never lied to me.

  George finally broke his gaze from Kat, walking around the fountain to stand next to Jude. “But there are traces that remind me of Bamal and even of Calliban.”

  “Calliban? Who’s he?” I asked, stepping forward. Jude leaned away from me, and my heart shrank a little more. I tried to focus on George to get my mind off the conversation I needed to have with Jude, terrified of his reaction, of more rejection.

  “He is one of the seven princes, my dear.” A memory popped to mind, when I was in Danté’s lair for the last time. I’d dressed behind a screen with an intricate tapestry of seven dragons—three roaring, two sleeping, and two breathing fire. The seven princes of the underworld. I also remembered the room where Danté had cornered me. There were six doorways leading to his brothers’ lairs from that room. The memory made my pulse pick up speed.

  “I know of three.” I focused on George, feeling Jude’s eyes on me, but unable to face him. “Can you tell me about the others?”

  “Right,” said George, growing more pensive. “You know of Danté, Damas and Bamal, of course. They all go by multiple names, but let’s stick with their most popular to keep things simple. Calliban rules in the Middle East. He controls a vast territory with a Vessel at his side he’s possessed for nearly a millennium.”

  I swallowed hard, trying not to think of the poor woman in his power. I couldn’t imagine how many atrocities of genocide and hatred that had been committed using the Vessel’s power to influence others.

  “Then there’s Vadek, who rules in Russia. He’s more solitary, never even attempted to possess a Vessel, but he controls thousands of pesky demon minions. He’s done a bloody marvelous job in maintaining a miserable existence in his part of the world for I’d say, oh, forever. And the last two are Rook and Simian who keep no domains on earth, preferring the lovely atmosphere of their realms in hell.”

  I sat on the edge of the fountain, dropping my backpack at my feet. “So Rook and Simian don’t cause trouble up here?”

  Jude scoffed, finally joining the conversation. “Don’t count on it. They prefer not to leave their lairs, but they do enough damage commanding others from the underworld. Rook has created the most angel hunters of all the princes.”

  “Like Bellock?” I asked.

  “No,” replied Jude, grinding his teeth together. “That piece of shit was made by Damas.”

  I held Jude’s gaze, doing my damndest to keep my breathing calm. “So if Bellock was the one at the abbey that night, then Damas is the one targeting you?”

  “Targeting Jude? Wait, what the hell have I been left out of?” snapped Kat, propping a hand on one hip.

  “It seems Genevieve has come to the same conclusion you have,” said George, nudging Jude, who remained stoic and withdrawn. Not a shocker.

  “Last night,” I said, holding Kat’s attention, “the fury stood right in front of me, but it didn’t try to harm me at all. As a matter of fact, it made a point to skirt around me and go for Jude.”

  “Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” said Kat. “Furies tend to take out the biggest threat first.”

  “But that’s not all,” added George. “The night at the abbey. They knew we’d be there, and Bellock seemed to be waiting, going directly for Jude.”

  “What about the titan there that night?” I asked. “Could you pick up a signature on it? Do you know who made it?”

  “Well, I’d have to say Damas is the most likely culprit, with Bellock being his creature and having created dragon spawn before.” Kat and Jude nodded. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Yeah, everyone knew about dragon spawn. It might as well be on Wikipedia. “But there’s no telling who sent all of the lower demons who happened to be there.”

  “But there’s someone who might know.” All eyes swiveled to me.

  “Who?” asked Kat.

  “Dommiel. If he was the one who sent us to Bleed, then he should know something, don’t you think?”

  Jude shrugged with one shoulder. “Possibly. I can pay him a visit and see what he knows.”

  “Not necessary.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the paperback The Captain’s Captive, which I’d planned to finally finish between classes.

  “Fascinating reading,” piped in George. “Is that what they’re teaching these days in college?”

  “Oh! You read it?” Kat clapped her hands together. “Wasn’t it wonderful? I totally loved Captain Sparr.”

  “And what was his role?” George actually took the book from my hands. “Ah, the kidnapping pirate. Yes, certainly a gentleman.”

  “He didn’t kidnap her. He rescued her.”

  “That’s not what the back cover says.”

  “Guys!” I shouted, snatching my book back. “You can quibble about the pirate captain’s motives later. I have an easier way to reach Dommiel quickly and get our answers.”

  I opened the book to the middle, where a thin black plume was pressed between the pages. Before anyone could question me further, I blew on the feather. Three seconds later, Dommiel popped into the courtyard before us. He was shirtless in jeans, revealing a network of tattoos—skulls, weapons, tigers, dragons, a battle scene of some kind—twisting in all directions and covering his torso and arms. A silver hook shone in the midday sun on the end of his amputated arm.

  “Captain Hook, I presume?” queried George.

  Kat made an exasperated sound with her mouth and rolled her eyes.

/>   Dommiel’s eyes widened with fear, having the audience of Jude and George, not just me and Kat as before. He raised one palm and his hooked arm. “Look, I didn’t do anything.” His eyes were on Jude.

  “Calm down,” commanded Jude. “We just have a simple question.”

  Simple. There’s no such thing in our world.

  Dommiel eyed Jude skeptically. “Which is?”

  I stepped closer and stopped next to Jude, who didn’t move away from me this time. “Who is Bleed working for?”

  Dommiel’s brow scrunched into a frown. “What do you mean? He works for me.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “He has loyalty to someone else. Someone outside your domain.”

  Dommiel started to protest again, when Jude reached for the knife in his boot.

  “Okay! Okay! Just relax. No need to go into Batman mode on me.” I stifled a laugh, trying to imagine Dommiel hanging out at The Dungeon, watching episodes of The Dark Knight. “Bleed does favors for me, but he works for someone else. A prince.” His eyes darted from Jude’s face to his hands, making sure he didn’t reach for his weapon.

  “Which one?” Jude’s voice rolled deep, almost a growl.

  “Damas.” The high demon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about what Bleed does for him.”

  Jude considered him for a moment. Dommiel withered under Jude’s all-seeing gaze, the one I hated to have turned on me from time to time.

  “He’s telling the truth,” said Jude.

  Dommiel let out a breath of air. “Good. Can I go now? Am I dismissed?” Some of his snarky swagger leaked back into his up-tilted chin and casual stance.

  Jude waved his hand. The demon sifted out with a whiplike crack.

  “So, Damas is the one targeting you,” I said.

  “Possibly,” admitted Jude. “Our bad blood goes back”—his gaze drifted from me to George—“a hell of a long way.”

  “So then it must be him,” I said.

  “Or the princes are working together,” said George. “But if that’s the case, then we need to be concerned.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because,” said George, “if the demon princes are working together, then they know the Great War is definitely near. We may not know what the lost prophecy holds, but it has always been known that Flamma of Dark will unite against Flamma of Light for the Great War.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Kat. “We never could keep a hold of Gorham or Razor in New York to get intel from them. Should we try to apprehend them again?”

  George looked at Kat, and I saw his gaze soften for a fleeting second. “Don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger, Katherine. You and Dorian just watch them and let us know what you discover. I’ll alert the hunters on the west coast and abroad to do the same. I’ll meet with you again in a week’s time.”

  George held Katherine’s gaze, then sifted out in complete silence. Kat sifted away in a whirl of wind, leaving Jude and me alone in the quiet courtyard. Not even the soothing sound of trickling water to break the silence since the fountain had been smashed by the fury last night.

  I cleared my throat. “I guess Kat thought I’d be staying here tonight.”

  “I’ll take you back to your apartment,” he said, then shook his head with a bitter laugh. “I suppose you can sift yourself back to your apartment, can’t you?”

  “Jude, I need to talk to you.”

  He rubbed his scruffy jaw. He looked more unkempt than I’d ever seen him, dark circles beneath his eyes. I gritted my teeth against the guilt threatening to drown me, knowing I was responsible for his present miserable state.

  “I need a drink.” He walked past me and into the house.

  I followed him up the stairs, though he hadn’t invited me in. I heard him open a cabinet in the kitchen. By the time I got there, he was pouring a glass of Talisker Scottish whiskey. As soon as his eyes landed on me, he knocked back the tumbler with one gulp. I noticed another empty bottle of the stuff on the living room coffee table. Shit.

  “Um, I need to talk to you.”

  “So you said.” He poured a second glass. “Go ahead. Talk.” Then downed it and poured a third.

  “Jude, should you be drinking so much with that fury here last night?” The scathing look he shot me made me shiver. “I mean, what if it comes back?”

  “Worried about me? So kind of you. Or maybe you’re more worried about yourself. That I won’t be sober enough to do my job as your protector. Perhaps I’m not good enough for that anymore,” he snapped with bitterness. His accusation drew out in the silence, that I’d replaced him with Thomas. He deserved to be angry, so I bit my tongue and didn’t react to his spite. His face was shadowed by the afternoon light filtering through the kitchen window behind him. “Don’t worry,” he growled low. “I’ve cast extensive protection spells around the entire block.” He knocked back the third tumbler.

  “Okay, I’ll talk fast before you’re too drunk to even hear what I have to say.”

  He grunted a sort of laugh, shaking his head at me. “More pretty words for me? Terrific. Can’t wait to hear them.” He brushed past me with his glass in one hand and the bottle of whiskey in the other. Plopping down heavily onto his sofa, he poured another drink and wedged the now half-empty bottle of Scotch between his legs. He threw one arm along the sofa back and tipped his glass up to me. “Cheers. To”—he considered a moment, a wide smile creasing his face—“to dreams.”

  Ouch. I sat down gingerly in the chair next to him, his gaze steady despite the fifty-year-old whiskey swimming in his veins.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve heard this already. If that’s all, I’ll be in my training room.” He leaned forward to stand.

  “Just give me a fucking minute!” I stood and shoved his shoulders back so he sat again.

  “Ahh, there she is, my feisty girl.” He grinned. “I much prefer her to the quiet, docile one.”

  “Just shut up and stay seated for one damn minute.”

  He made a show of being cooperative, even offering me a bow, as well as he could in his seated, slouched position. “I’m at your service.”

  “All right. So I won’t apologize again. I know what I did was unforgiveable.” He remained silent, watching, waiting. “You said it’s what we do that proves who we are and what we really want.”

  “Something along those lines.” He took a sip but didn’t down it all at once this time.

  “So I know a way to prove that…that I love you.” I had his attention now. I clasped my hands tight in my lap, my mouth gone dry. “I’m not sure how one does this properly…”

  He offered me his glass of whiskey, which I found strangely charming. I took it and gulped. Liquid fire burned down my throat. I coughed violently.

  An icy smile cracked his face before melting back into a brooding frown. “It’s got a little kick.” He took the glass back.

  “That might not have helped,” I said, rubbing my throat, as if I could stop the burning. I inhaled a deep breath. “As I was saying, I’ve been thinking for a while of a way to prove how I feel, and honestly, there’s only one way.”

  He tilted the glass back again to finish it off. Having his heavy gaze off me for one second gave me the courage to finally just blurt it out. “Marry me.”

  Jude choked and spat the whiskey, spraying my arm in the process. He stared at me in shock. My heart drummed faster under his refusal to respond.

  “Are you serious?” he finally asked, incredulous.

  I nodded tightly. “Yes. I want you to, I mean, I was wondering, hoping you’d marry me.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous, thinking he’d jump at the chance. Maybe I’d fucked things up so royally that he didn’t want me anymore. Blood drained from my face, making me feel queasy at the thought. Was I too late? Did that look on his face mean disgust?

  He still didn’t move, frozen in place with his emp
ty glass in hand. Did I give him a stroke? What the hell?

  “Um, I can see that maybe I was a little crazy to think you’d want to.” A nervous laugh escaped me as I stood up. “I’ll just be leaving now, so—”

  Lightning swift, he was on his feet, dropping the glass to the rug and gripping both my arms in a vise before I could sift away. His jaw hard, brow furrowed, and mouth a tight, brutal line, he bore into me with a marrow-melting gaze. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” His tone grated against my skin.

  “Yes. Of course, I am,” I whispered, breathless at the rage vibrating from him.

  “You can’t just toss marriage around like it’s nothing,” he said with cutting disdain. “I understand that you come from an age where marriage is worth no more than the paper that it’s pledged upon, but it’s not an arbitrary binding to use to fix your problems. It isn’t temporary, not in my mind anyway. In my time, marriage meant forever.”

  “I know!” I wriggled, trying to break his grip, as if I could. He only tightened his hold. “I don’t think of marriage as nothing. I come from a home where it meant everything! Even as my mother became violent in her madness, pushing my father away, rejecting me, he still loved her. He still stood by her. Even now, he refuses to marry or even look at another woman, because she was his only love.” I was sobbing now, hot tears pouring with my heated words. “That’s what I want. The life I’d once envisioned for myself is over. The only future that makes any sense now, the only place I feel safe, the only thing I want in this whole goddamn world is you!”

  I choked on a sob, squeezing my eyes shut, unable to bear his burning gaze any longer, wishing I could disappear. But I wouldn’t sift. I wouldn’t run away. If he wanted to tell me to fuck off and that I’d ruined everything, then I’d stay and take it. It was the least I could do, allow him to unleash his biting wrath on me as I deserved.