Sealed in Sin

by Juliette Cross

  “You got that right,” he said, his voice calmer, losing the hard edge. He lowered his head and brushed a warm kiss against my lips. “You’re mine now.”

  “So stop worrying. George isn’t stupid. Besides, he said they both agreed with a blood vow. Though I don’t really know what that is, it sounds pretty effective in gaining a truce.”

  “It is. A blood vow is a cast using one’s own blood that if he or she breaks the vow, he will become prisoner and slave to the other.”

  “But Bamal hasn’t left his lair in centuries. How would they have made this vow together?”

  “You don’t have to be together. You can make the vow using your blood and another object and deliver the object as a message. George would’ve sent the blood vow object to Gorham or someone, and he passed it on.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.” I pressed my lips to the hollow of his neck right at eye level. His body tightened. “Since Bamal and George have no intentions of becoming each another’s prisoner, I’d say you could relax.”

  “I can’t relax.”

  I planted slow kisses on his neck, nipping my way up the corded column. “Why?”

  “Because your mouth is on my skin, and it’s impossible to relax when you’ve got me harder than a teenager at a wet T-shirt contest.”

  I laughed, continuing my attentions up to his jaw, which he lowered for me. His stubble tickled my lips as I kissed a slow line toward his lips. Before I got there, his hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head at a more accessible angle for him, the other hand squeezed my hip, and his mouth slanted hard over mine. With deep thrusts of his tongue, invading, then releasing in mind-spinning tandem, he made my body melt and ache for more. As always.

  When he pulled back enough for me to speak, I whispered against his lips, “Jude…I…” I never could convey exactly what he did to me, the desperate need that made my skin stretch so tight, only one thing could give me relief.

  He nipped my bottom lip. “I know, baby.” His strong hands slid down, gripped the back of my thighs and lifted, cradling me against his arousal. I whimpered and wrapped my legs around his back and clung to his shoulders.

  Carrying me back inside, our bodies humming for each other, he rasped low and deep, “I’m going to take care of you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The electric fireplace hissed with blue flame licking up into pale yellow tendrils. Nothing like the popping, smoky peat fire back on Arran. I longed to be there again, cuddled in bed with Jude, who now had deadly focus on our upcoming meeting. He stood looking out onto the Thames, his back a stiff line, the first pink rays of morning touching the horizon.

  Voices from the foyer brought my attention to George and the two men with him, the Dominus Daemonum of London. The one on his right could’ve been his brother—similar expression of mastered elegance, finely chiseled features, wearing a high-fashion suit, undoubtedly with an exclusive Italian label, and a smile that could charm the pants off most anyone. His devil-may-care locks were a shade lighter than George’s, shining more gold than auburn. The second man appeared as if he didn’t belong in the same room with the other two—clean-shaven head, rough, rugged features with a dent on the bridge of his nose, wearing dark combat clothes and a fatal stare, reminding me somewhat of a cobra.

  “Genevieve,” said George, “may I introduce Tarquin and Alexander.”

  Tarquin was the tough one. He gave me a stiff nod, then met Jude at the window, engaging him in low conversation. These two seemed to know each other well, reminding me how little I truly knew of Jude.

  Alexander strode forward, slow and lionlike, and enveloped my hand in both of his. He swept a bow and kiss over the top of my knuckles. “What a lovely creature you are.” His accent rolled like decadent chocolate melting on the tongue.

  “Um…thank you?”

  “No. Thank you.” He raked me from top to toe, a roguish smile lighting his features as if he knew a secret.

  “Watch that one,” said Kat, swishing in behind them. “He’ll swear he loves only you, then retract his devotion the moment another pretty face walks into the room.”

  In a skintight black leather cat-suit, a silver zipper cinching her from pelvis to chest, knee-high boots that said I’ll-kick-your-ass-into-tomorrow, her silken platinum hair swinging in tandem to her walk, she looked lethal and utterly stunning. I smiled. I wanted to be Kat when I grew up.

  Alexander clutched his hand over his heart. “I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

  “See what I mean?” Kat winked at me. “Quoting Shakespeare already, are we, Xander? That reeks of desperation, I’m afraid. And it’s no longer night, as you’ll see if you take a look out the window behind you.”

  “Why should I turn my eyes when the sun is standing before me?”

  “No more of the Bard, dear heart,” said Kat, her British accent growing stronger by the second. Something about Alexander, or Xander, seemed to propel her former self to the surface.

  To my even greater surprise, he closed the space between them and swept her into a tight embrace, swinging her in a half-circle. She tossed up a throaty laugh. They were either very good friends or former lovers. Perhaps both? George’s usual charm evaporated the moment the two began flirting, his expression reflecting a darker emotion. I’m afraid I’ve been in close acquaintance with that green-eyed monster lurking behind his eyes.

  “Where’s your sidekick, the plantation owner? The one you left me for?”

  “I didn’t leave you for him,” she replied, glancing at George and squirming out of Xander’s hold. “He’s downstairs, waiting.”

  “Good. Three’s a crowd.”

  “Enough,” snapped George. “We’re not going to a cocktail party.”

  Xander pulled at his cuffs, straightening his already-straightened appearance. “I’d say not. Katherine isn’t dressed for cocktail.” He gave her an appreciative once-over. “Though that tail might attract one or two co—”

  “Shut it.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Shameless.”

  “You know it, darling.”

  He smiled without apology. The others ignored the display as if this were par for the course. I’d definitely be getting this story later.

  “Now,” continued George in a stiff manner. “As you all know, Bamal and I have exchanged blood vows ensuring no attempts on either party will take place, specifically Genevieve.”

  All eyes swiveled to me. I lifted my chin, doing my damnedest to show no fear.

  “Still,” continued George, “it’s important that we have a show of force. Just to be on the safe side. Demons are never to be trusted.” His gaze lingered on Kat.

  “I’m curious,” she said. “What object did Bamal use for his blood vow?”

  George strode across the room to the glass shelves lining the wall behind her and lifted an object, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for us to see—a miniature bronzed Eiffel Tower.

  “What an ass,” said Xander.

  Jude stepped farther into the room, closer to me. “And what did you send him?”

  George headed for the door with his cool swagger, tossing over his shoulder, “A figurine of St. George defeating the dragon.”

  Tarquin let out a bark of laughter, following after him. The man moved like a hulking warrior. He strode forward like he’d just stepped off his Viking ship. All he needed was a battle ax and broadsword to complete his barbarian look.

  Jude nudged me toward the door. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” I gave him a smile, following the others.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be right beside you. I’ll sift you away if anyone threatens you.”

  I stepped into the elevator behind him. His gaze lingered on me for a second before sliding away, a grim line set to his mouth. He didn’t need to sift me away anymore. I could do that on my own. I wondered if the scowl deepening his brow was because he feared this meeting or because I didn’t need his protection as I once had.

  The moment we walked out,
Dorian shoved off the wall of the building. His usual demeanor of nonchalance was well hidden behind a hard mask. I glanced from one hunter to the next. All of them wore fierce expressions. This wasn’t a typical meeting between hunters and demons. This was Bamal, high prince of the underworld. And he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his brother, Danté. He was smarter, making him more dangerous.

  We formed a circle next to George. He held out his hands. I took Jude’s on one side and Kat’s on the other. The second we were all connected, we sifted away. George carried us through the Void to somewhere close, snapping us out with a violent whoosh. I swear, sifting with him was like riding a roller coaster—the kind that did upside-down loops. I swayed, inhaling a deep gulp of crisp, cold air to rid myself of the queasiness. Besides the sift making me shaky, my anxiety ratcheted up several notches, knowing I was about to meet the infamous Bamal.

  Morning mist drifted on a wide green moor rolling far into the distance. Rocky outcroppings jutted here and there, but the space was open and clear. A perfect meeting place with opponents you didn’t want sneaking up on you. Speaking of which, a V-line of demons stood a hundred yards away in the shadow of a massive boulder jutting out of the ground behind them.

  “Where are we?” I whispered to Jude, following George and the others.

  “Dartmoor. Southern England. A common meeting ground between the two hosts here on earth.”

  We fell into silence as the space between the line of Flamma of Light and Dark thinned. My VS spiked off the charts the closer we drew to them, zinging under my skin like fevered blood. I didn’t have to glance down to know my underlight glowed a vibrant white, a beacon in the early blue light. Though I didn’t want the attention drawn to me, it was impossible to avoid. Too many demons.

  Gorham and Razor flanked a man who radiated power—dangerous power. He stood well over six feet, like all the high demons I’d met so far. His appearance was somewhat disarming—a trick demons often used, wearing a beguiling façade to hide the beast within. Honey-brown hair styled loosely around a model-perfect face. Pale green eyes watched us draw closer. An expression of mild indifference shifted to vague interest when his eyes landed on me. Jude kept his body blocking Bamal’s line of sight. The pulse of power beating like a heartbeat grew stronger as we approached. We stopped five yards away.

  There were three other demons I didn’t know, and one more I did. Not a demon, actually. An angel hunter. Bellock. While the others dressed in casual or sporty elegance like billionaire playboys, the presence of the gray-skinned, black-eyed hunter in warrior’s raiment reminded me of the evil lurking beneath their pretty exteriors. He didn’t hide what he was. Even his aura of death and emptiness sucked at me like a black hole.

  “It’s been quite a long time, Bamal,” said George by way of greeting.

  “You’re looking well, George.” Bamal glanced toward Kat, a charming smile spreading wide. A flash of Danté came to mind. A shiver shot up my spine. “You’re looking very well, Katherine,” he said in a smooth, silky tone.

  She didn’t respond. Gorham grinned like the Cheshire cat himself. They all knew a secret I didn’t.

  “Where’s Damas?” asked George, his voice a cold rope lashing out at the lot of them.

  Kat stiffened at the mere mention of the demon who I’d yet to lay eyes on, but whose name popped up everywhere we went. Knowing Bamal and the rest of these bastards knew about her abduction by Damas and the lascivious things he must’ve done to her there, my admiration for Kat grew even more. She never let them get to her. She stood straight and strong, staring them down, like the proudest of warriors, not like a woman who’d been used and abused by one of their kind.

  George stepped toward them, nodding at Bellock. “That thing is one of his creatures.”

  Bamal’s attention swiveled back to our fearless leader.

  “Damas and I share our toys.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Another knowing smile toward Kat. “Some of them.”

  I prayed that he wasn’t admitting Damas had shared Kat with him. My stomach pitched with nausea for the second time in two minutes. Kat said not a word, standing like a cold, deadly sentinel. If she felt his insult, she certainly didn’t show it.

  “So why the public display in Paris?” asked George. “This isn’t your style. Terrorist tactics are more like your brother, Calliban.”

  “Hmm. True.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his finely tailored slacks, like an executive considering a decision. “But I wanted your attention, specifically.”

  “You have it.” George’s steely focus hadn’t left Bamal for an instant. “What do you want?”

  “Me?” asked Bamal innocently. “Only the world, dear George. And I intend to have it.”

  George chuckled darkly, a sound I’d never heard from him. “Isn’t that a bit much, even for one with an ego as bloated as yours?”

  A stinging pulse of power throbbed from Bamal. My knees buckled. I gripped Jude’s long sleeve for support, regaining my strength. The demon prince angled his head in my direction.

  “Let me see her.”

  “No,” said George.

  I found it strange Jude had not said a word. Actually no one had but the two leaders. I wondered if this was protocol at a showdown like this.

  George continued. “Tell me why you bombed the Eiffel Tower when you could’ve destroyed a more populated place, thus killing more innocents, which is usually to your liking.”

  Bamal laughed. “You’re clearly confusing me with my brothers Calliban and Vadek. I’m more of a people lover.” His white teeth flashed in the morning light. “Some might say a people collector. But still, I prefer them alive rather than dead. It’s better to keep your subjects walking and breathing, I always say.”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “Let me see her,” he said nodding in my direction, his smile slipping, revealing the cold demon beneath the veneer.

  George kept his gaze on Bamal and ice in his voice. “Come forward, Genevieve.”

  Still beaming like a lighthouse and unable to calm my VS into submission, I stepped around Jude and into the open. Before I could move too far, Jude gripped my waist with a proprietary hold, keeping me within reach. I stopped, then he dropped his hand.

  Bamal’s gaze intensified tenfold. I thought I was going to throw up. This was a demon prince. Danté was a child next to his big brother over here. In my heart of hearts, I feared for mankind. With this one in charge, the Flamma of Dark could easily rival the best of warriors on our side. Even Jude.

  Bamal’s observant gaze was neither lecherous nor suggestive, only…assessing.

  “Why Paris?” George asked.

  “It’s time for the world to take note. The time of man is drawing to a close.”

  “You speak with conviction.” A cold wind gusted George’s chestnut hair. He remained a statue.

  “I do,” replied Bamal, hands still in his pockets as he sauntered closer to me. The air drew tight as the hunters tensed for attack. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch. Just getting a closer look.”

  As he stood before me, his pulse a pounding hot beat against me, I knew he’d give me the information George seemed incapable of dragging from him. “You have the lost prophecy, don’t you?” I asked, sounding calm somehow.

  He smiled, and had I not known he wielded a world of death in the tip of one finger, I would’ve thought him breathtakingly handsome. “Why, yes, my Vessel. I do.”

  “She is not your Vessel,” rumbled Jude behind me.

  Bamal’s gaze lifted to the man over my shoulder. “And I suppose you believe she is yours.” He arched a brow in challenge.

  Jude said nothing. He wasn’t backing down, only seeming to try to maintain control in the prince’s presence. Rage vibrated from him in burning waves.

  “But I am his,” I said, lifting my chin.

  Bamal stepped closer. Jude gripped my waist, surely readying to sift out in a blink. Bamal
never removed his hands from his pockets. “The optimism and naiveté of youth. It’s almost inspiring.” He perused the contours of my face in a slow, sweeping motion, whispering softly, “You don’t look like her.”

  What? “Like who?” My heart stuttered. A blood-chilling premonition swept through me, my VS tapping on that place where memories and visions were kept. “Like who?” I repeated.

  Bamal angled his head to the side, continuing his keen observation.

  “Bamal,” growled Jude, his clutch tightening on my hip. A warning. “Back off.”

  The prince’s gaze slid to Jude, a secret smile cracking his too-pretty face. “Relax.”

  What the hell was going on?

  “Party’s over, George,” snapped Jude. “Move on.”

  Bamal sidled even closer, as if challenging Jude right then and there. Tension coiled in the air like a snake ready to strike.

  A sudden and strong gust of wind blew over us, nearly knocking me sideways. A blinding flash of light winked, then snuffed out, revealing Uriel standing a few yards to my left and storming closer. He was not the man I’d met in Jackson Square or the one in George’s vision wearing Victorian clothes. This was Uriel the archangel, the creator of the Dominus Daemonum, in all his full glory.

  Dressed in pale gray material that molded to his fine physique, his lean, powerful frame glowed with vibrant luster, very similar to my underlight, though his shone more gold than white. But that wasn’t what had my eyes glued to him. Spread to their full breadth were magnificent golden-tipped white wings. Jude had told me he cast illusion to hide his true form and walk among humans. I had had no idea what that form looked like. No illusion now. Breathless at the sheer power he emanated stalking closer with fire burning in cobalt-blue eyes, I understood the difference between a guardian, like Thomas, who held himself in the background, compared to this archangel who looked nothing short of a bad-ass warrior hunting demon blood. He snapped his huge, powerful wings to his back, having made his grand entrance, stopping two feet before me. When I’d met him before, the only signature I’d sensed was sheer, raw power. While I felt the same signature washing over me, there was something else beneath the layers, a hint of sunshine and fragrant fields. Mesmerized, I’d forgotten all about the demon prince who had all of us ready to fight a minute ago, but that’s who had Uriel’s attention now.