I frowned, wondering what had George so anxious. It was nice to imagine the outside world didn’t exist, that there was no approaching war of demons and angels and darkness. But I’d never been one to hide from my problems. As much as I wanted to keep Jude to myself, now wasn’t the time to start a life of selfish indulgence. Others needed us.
Glancing out the window, I saw Jude standing on the edge of the cliff that dipped down toward the beach and the sea. Shrugging on my coat, gloves and boots, I trudged outside over the blustery layer of snow with his phone in hand.
Jude stood on the cliff’s edge. The bitter wind chilled me to the bone. Waves crashed on the rocky shore down below. A strip of sandbar wrapped around a jagged outcropping where a family of seals flopped and barked, gray-black coats glistening in the afternoon light.
No surprise that Jude’s aura lapped against my VS the second I was anywhere near him. If I were alone in a room of one thousand, I would know he was there. His presence reached out to me, as if fate had tied us together with an invisible string. Only, the string was made of heat and energy and fierce attraction.
As soon as I came within arm’s reach, he pulled me into an embrace.
“What are you doing out here in the cold?” I’d actually become accustomed to the biting cold on this island, but I still preferred the cozy, warm indoors. Specifically with my new husband wrapped around me.
He pointed down below to the family of seals. “Watching them.”
“Are they doing anything interesting?”
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple. “No. Not at all. This is the only place I ever see and hear them. I was thinking how many times I’ve stood on this cliff, stayed in this cottage…alone.” He pulled me tighter against him, and I relished the warmth as he whispered near my cheek, “But now I’m not alone.”
“No.” I turned my face up to him. “And you never will be again.”
His face transformed, shifting with a myriad of emotions flashing at once—adoration, disbelief, fear, possession, love. The last I recognized more easily than all the others, for he’d worn that intense expression every time he set me on fire with his body in bed. Or against the wall. Or the shower. His lips came down over mine, sweeping gently, brushing back and forth, but not sealing. I’d become familiar with his rough lovemaking, relishing every second he’d taken me with near-violent need. But when he touched me with painfully slow, sensual movements, barely caressing with his mouth or his hands as he’d done our first time, my blood revved to a raging river coursing through my body.
Still sweeping his sensuous lips against mine, coaxing me, I opened my mouth for him, but he didn’t come inside.
He smiled against my lips, still skimming. “Do you want something, Mrs. Delacroix?” His voice dropped to that deep, velvety place that made my knees buckle.
“Yes.” My breath came out in quick, white puffs in the frosty air.
“Tell me.” His hand wrapped my nape under my hair, holding me still so he could continue his erotic torture. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against my lips.
I closed my eyes. “You.” I tried to press my mouth against his. He backed away.
“Be more specific.”
“I want you to—” Oh hell. I couldn’t say it.
He moved away from my lips, skimming a hot line up my jaw to my ear, nipping lightly at that sensitive spot right below. “Go on.” A nibble on my earlobe. “I’m listening.”
Panting now, I reached between our bodies and cupped the giant bulge that had been pressing against my stomach. “I want this inside me.” I squeezed.
He groaned and finally opened his mouth over mine, hot and persistent, stroking his tongue deep. One of his hands slid up the back of my jacket and under my shirt, finding bare skin at the small of my back, pulling my body tighter against his. I whimpered and arched into him.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Jude withdrew his mouth from mine, frowning down at my pocket.
I made a frustrated sound in the back of my throat. “Damn. George has the worst timing.” I pulled the phone from my pocket and handed it over. “I came out to tell you he’s been calling. But I, uh, got distracted.”
Jude took the phone, keeping his hand at my back, holding me close. He swiped the phone on with his thumb, answering the call. “Yes.”
I leaned my head against Jude’s chest, able to hear George’s voice on the other end, probably because he was practically yelling.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve been preoccupied.” Hmph. I’ll say. “What’s happened?”
“It must be bloody important to keep you from the news.” Jude squeezed me tighter as if to answer George in the affirmative. George sounded on edge. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Tell me.”
“Is Genevieve with you? Kat hasn’t been able to reach her.”
“Yes. She’s with me.”
“Then both of you get to London. Immediately.”
Click.
Jude’s pensive expression was back in place, the one he wore ninety percent of the time. Except in private with me.
I brushed my lips over his strong, dimpled chin, his stubble scratching my lips. “Honeymoon’s over?”
His dark gaze met mine as he huffed out a regretful sigh. “Afraid so, mon coeur.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We sifted into an alley in London near George’s place. Jude had already told me that because of his thick wards circling the full perimeter of the block, no one but George could sift directly inside the building. We had to be careful because many demons knew where the leader of the Dominus Daemonum lived, and often waited for the chance to ambush him.
Holding my hand and casting an iron-clad shield of illusion around me, Jude led me out of the shadows onto a well-lit street. From the scrubbed-clean walk to the manicured shrubs to the tall white stone buildings, I knew we stood in the middle of money. I could practically smell crisp, green bills on the chilly breeze. Or, actually, multicolored pound notes.
“Whoa. Where does George live exactly?”
“Chelsea. Riverside.”
“Looks like the salary for sainthood pays well.”
“When you’ve lived as long as we have, you manage to collect valuable things.”
“I’ll say.”
We walked up a stoop of stairs into a pristine, white-marble foyer. I marveled at the glittering fixtures before stepping into the elevator.
“So this is where George lives? Somehow, I imagined a sprawling estate like Downton Abbey or something.”
Jude smirked. “He has one of those as well.”
“Daaamn.”
The elevator dinged on the top floor, the doors sliding open to a tall and wide foyer with a sharp-edged, modern chandelier beaming warm light from above. Jude approached and opened the only door in the reception area.
“He owns the whole floor?”
Jude nodded as if it were nothing and ushered me in before him.
“I want to be a saint,” I mumbled under my breath.
When we stepped into the spacious living room, or actually one of the living rooms in this seven-thousand-square-foot penthouse, as I would soon discover, I froze in sheer admiration. A smooth, fine wood floor shining like satin extended the entire room in a parquet zigzag pattern. One entire wall to the left was a wine rack from top to bottom, behind the black grand piano. The room dipped from there, stretching a wide expanse that could’ve swallowed my entire apartment. A fire crackled in an elevated fireplace, framed by the shiniest black stone I’d ever seen. I had no idea what it even was. Beyond the tufted gray carpet squaring off a set of three white sofas and more sleek furnishings stood a wall of glass. Beyond that, lights of high-rise buildings of London glittered on a wide river.
“Is that—” I pointed, unable to make my brain work for a second. I’d honestly never seen or stepped into something so extravagant in all my life.
Jude’s finger came under my chi
n and closed my mouth. I hadn’t realized I was literally gaping. “The Thames. Yes.”
I’d always wanted to visit London. I had no idea I’d be seeing the city with such a magnificent view.
“Do you like this kind of place?” Jude snapped me from my reverie. “I’ll buy you one if you want.”
I scoffed and snorted at the same time. Not very ladylike, but the shock of his offer made my body malfunction. Jude had this kind of money? Yet he lived much more modestly than George. Sure, the kind of home Jude owned in the French Quarter was pricey, but nothing like this. Apparently, Jude had the means to live in posh style, but he chose not to. Somehow that made my heart squeeze into a warm ball and love him more.
“You’d buy me a place like this?”
He lifted one shoulder in a modest shrug. “If you like.”
We hadn’t discussed our living arrangements now that we were husband and wife. Funny, but that conversation never even crossed our minds. I suppose we had been in such a hurry to tie the damn knot and jump into bed, the where and when of living together never ventured into our thoughts. We’d been practically doing so anyway, but I wanted to make it official and move in with him. Sadly, Mindy would feel like I abandoned her for a mere boyfriend, something she’d never do. And my dad, well, he wouldn’t be happy at all with cohabitation. Too old-fashioned. But telling them the truth, that we were legally husband and wife, would send them both into orbit. I couldn’t explain my reasons behind marrying Jude now as opposed to the traditional lengthy engagement, followed by a white wedding with all the pomp and circumstance.
“No,” I replied with a small smile. “Thank you. To be honest, I’d be afraid to touch anything.” I glanced down at my boots and behind me, fearful I’d left a dirty trail. Jude and I had been living like wild gypsies on the Island of Arran. I stepped closer to him. “I’d rather live in our cottage anyway.” Where no one could find us.
He cupped my cheek, fingers lightly combing into the edge of my hairline, thumb brushing my cheekbone. His gaze—deep, dark, and promising pleasure—trailed over my face, resting on my lips before lifting to my eyes again. “Me too.”
Voices from the next room, sharp and stilted, interrupted both our wayward thoughts.
“Come on,” said Jude, stepping ahead of me through an open archway into yet a smaller den area. And by smaller, I meant it was bigger than my dad’s dojo.
Yet another palatial room fit for a king, I skimmed the furnishings, taking more notice of Kat and George standing at the glass wall overlooking the Thames. Apparently, the glass wall extended the length of the entire flat on the riverside. George seemed to be arguing or bickering about something, gesturing with his hand in a frustrated stance. Kat’s body was ramrod straight, her arms crossed, her back a tight line. She faced the river in silence while George whispered angry words at her side.
Jude flicked me a look, then sighed. Whatever was going on between these two, they needed to fix it. Perhaps a night in bed together might do the trick. Jude cleared his throat to make our presence known. George and Kat both turned at once.
“There you are.” George stepped toward us into a semicircle of charcoal gray sofas made of a shiny material I was too afraid to dirty. Still, this place matched George. He’d always been dressed impeccably, exuding the air of highborn gentleman to the nth degree. Even now, he strode toward us in perfectly tailored black pants and a starched white shirt that fit his physique to a tantalizing T. “Where the bloody hell have you two been?”
Kat followed George, wearing her demon-hunting gear of black leather and tight-fitting top, platinum hair in a sleek tail. “Yeah. Gen, I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. What’s going on?”
Taken aback that we’d truly made them nervous, I almost felt guilty. Almost. I hadn’t noticed Kat’s missed calls and texts until right before we left. I’d buried my phone in my clothes in the top dresser drawer at the cottage, not wanting to know what was going on beyond the stone walls of our hideaway.
“Sorry,” I said, glancing warily at Jude. He hadn’t mentioned that we’d gotten married. I knew he hadn’t told them. “We were—”
“We were following some leads,” interrupted Jude. “Trying to find the prophecy abroad. Cell service can be unpredictable when sifting outside the US.”
I wondered why we he didn’t want to tell them, but kept my mouth shut anyway. A later conversation.
George eyed us both suspiciously. “Did you find anything?”
Jude gave a tight shake of his head. “Afraid not.”
“Wherever you were on this secretive prophecy hunt, you apparently missed international news.” He paused, observing us, apparently trying to riddle out what he was missing.
“Are you going to tell us?” snapped Jude. “Or just stare at us all night.”
“Sit,” said George. Kat swished by him and planted herself on a square, white leather chair. I had a feeling George’s nasty attitude had more to do with the tension between him and Kat than our disappearance.
I sat daintily on the edge of his sofa, which was remarkably more comfortable than it looked. Real money could buy svelte, stiff-looking furniture that felt like butter under your bum. Jude made a noise in his throat. I glanced sideways to find him smirking at me. He always seemed to know what I was thinking.
“Shut up,” I said before he could make any snarky remarks.
George picked up a remote and clicked on a truck-size, ultrathin plasma television, scrolled through several news recordings, then clicked the third one.
A British news anchor sat stiffly, grim-faced, speaking directly into the camera. “We do have firsthand footage from a tourist’s video camera found near the scene. Unfortunately, the owner and all those within a half-mile radius of the scene were unable to give us an eyewitness account of this tragedy. This footage contains scenes which some viewers may find disturbing.”
The amateur video bounced as the owner tried to hold it steady amongst a screaming crowd. The focus of the footage was a woman shrouded from head to foot in a black burka, only her eyes peering out. She stood in front of a large intricately designed iron base of some kind that looked vaguely familiar. “Wait. Is that the Eiffel Tower?”
“Yes. They’re standing beneath it,” said George. “Keep watching.”
The camera panned out from the woman, bringing into view several French policeman wearing their Robocop-looking SWAT team gear and shouting, “Arretez! Arretez!”
The woman raised both arms straight out from her body in a cross position. That was when I realized she held a device in her hand attached to a wire snaking down to what looked like a rolling ice chest. More vehement yelling from the French officers. I had no idea what they were saying, but they had handguns aimed and were inching closer, preparing to take her down if she didn’t release the detonator. People fled in a panic behind the woman.
“Mon Dieu…mon Dieu,” said the owner of the video, his voice scratchy as the footage jostled away from the scene, up, down, up, down, panning from the underside of the Tower, shooting straight upward, crossing the mall where tourists fled in all directions, including a man running with his curly haired toddler crying in his arms, then vibrant blue sky then back to the tower from farther away. Then…
Boom!
Orange flames, then white light; the camera spun from its owner, flipping end over end, then finally nothing.
“Oh my God.” I hadn’t realized I held my hand against my chest, gripping my shirt in a tight fist. “Do they know which group did it?”
“It wasn’t terrorists.” George clicked the remote, starting the clip back at the beginning where the video was zoomed in on the woman from chest up.
“What do you mean it wasn’t terrorists?” I asked, baffled. “It’s a suicide bomber, obviously from one of the fanatical groups. This poor woman must’ve been forced to do this heinous thing, though I’ve rarely heard of a female suicide bomber. They’re using risky tactics, but—”
“She w
asn’t a terrorist,” George said again, allowing the video to move in slow motion till he caught the image he wanted and paused.
“Demons.” Jude had gone completely stiff next to me. His aura of flame radiated in the air as so often happened when his demon-hunter senses heightened.
His jaw clenched, his muscular shoulders bunched and tight, he stared fiercely at the television screen. Tension swirled around him.
“She’s a Vessel,” said George, moving close to the screen and pointing at her crystal-blue eyes, the only thing visible through a rectangle cut in the black cloth.
Realization and disbelief swept over me. A Vessel. Someone like me, caught in the snare of a demon prince, doing this foul deed, killing innocent people. Yes, her eyes were blue, but the pupils were blood red, a chilling combination, dehumanizing her into a creature of the Dark.
“How do you know she’s a Vessel?” I asked, voice cracking, though I knew it to be true already.
“I’ve seen her before,” said Kat, finally speaking up. “She’s Bamal’s Vessel. I’ve never been able to get a proper photograph because he guards her so well. And he only comes out when he’s in possession of her. The red tint to her pupils shows he’s in there.”
“But he just killed her,” I protested, my hands shaking in my lap.
“No. He’d never do such a thing. A Vessel is a valuable commodity,” continued George. “He sifts out a millisecond before the explosion. I’ve watched it several times. It’s almost simultaneous. Chances are his Vessel may have received some injuries, but she’s gone before the full explosion hits.”
So this was why a Vessel was so important. A demon prince could sift anywhere while in possession of her and sift out safely, even if her body received collateral damage. He could target places on sacred ground and cause destruction there too, if he wanted. I wondered how many times this had happened before. Jude had once told me that when a demon prince twists a Vessel, makes her fall from grace, from Light to Dark—just as the princes had fallen once—this was when they could do serious damage. By themselves, demons can influence mankind, spreading greed, hatred, lust and all manners of evil to corrupt human souls to their cause. But a Vessel is born with innate powers—premonition and persuasion on a monumental scale when she has fully awakened. I was just starting to experience the power of influence, like when I called Simon’s soul from within his own body, buried so deep by the demon that the man had stopped existing anymore. But Jude had said I wasn’t fully awakened. When I was, my power would be immense.
Sealed in Sin Page 22
