Sealed in Sin (24 page)

I turned to Kat. “And you’re sure this is Bamal.”

She gave a sharp nod, her ponytail sliding over one shoulder. “Yes. I knew at once. Those eyes are hard to forget. Besides, George found something else.”

George fast-forwarded to the point where the video panned out, focusing on the police officers. He froze the image.

“There. Off her left shoulder.”

Walking behind her as if taking a casual stroll through the park, looking directly into the camera, was a tall, well-built blond with a simpering smile on his face.

I huffed out a sigh. “Razor.”

“Yes,” said George. “And there’s other footage that caught Gorham on the scene among more of Bamal’s courtiers. It’s definitely him.”

“But I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would Bamal go to all the trouble of taking his Vessel’s form to be sort of incognito and then flaunt his demon followers to the cameras? Razor obviously knew he was caught on film.” I stood, gesturing toward the screen in frustration, planting one hand on my hip. “I mean, did you see the dumbass look on his face? He knew he’d been caught.”

“That was their intention,” said Jude, having been gravely silent this entire time. “They wanted us to see them.”

“But why?”

“It’s another sign that the Great War is drawing closer,” said Kat, her voice a sad tenor compared to her usual chipper self.

I faced her. “Explain. Without the lost prophecy, how do we know it’s a sign?”

Her voice softened, as if she sensed my mounting anger. “The angels and demons have always spoken of the time just before the war is to begin. The demons will raise hell to the surface of the earth before they unleash all manner of demons from their chains in the underworld. The demon princes have always boasted they would make public shows of force, of terror, when the time draws near. This was a message to us as much as it was to kill innocents.”

“I’d wager it had more to do with punching a fist in our face than the actual mass killings,” said George. “There were over one hundred killed and another five hundred injured. While this is certainly still a tragedy, they could’ve murdered many more with a different target. They chose the Eiffel Tower because it’s an icon, because it would draw the attention of the world. It’s a broadcast directly to the Flamma of Light.”

I shivered at the arbitrary violence the demons wielded, the danger of what they could do when this damn war finally began. “Wait.” I held up a hand, my chest constricting in anger. “Go back. The demons are planning on letting loose their spawn on the human population?”

“Yes. As well as other demons, lost souls held prisoner, corrupted into foul beings over centuries of captivity in hell,” replied George. “The unleashing of these creatures will begin slowly. But when the war is upon us, the floodgates will open.”

“None of you ever told me this.” They held silent as I envisioned my father, Mindy, my friend Mary, Erik, even Malcolm, and all those I cared about falling prey to the infernal demon spawn. “And we don’t know when the war will begin, only that it will start after some sort of confrontation between a Vessel of Light and the demon princes.”

George spoke more gently, realizing I was teetering on a fragile brink. “You are that Vessel, Genevieve. When and exactly what is to take place is all in—”

“The prophecy,” I said with bitterness. “Yes. I know. The one we don’t have and may never have. Until it’s too late.”

George turned back to the screen and skimmed through his most recent recordings, clicking on the first this time. The news began with still images of the Eiffel Tower leaning precariously on one side, two legs of the base warped and melted. A wonder of the modern world hobbled like a broken old man. Was this a premonition of what would happen to mankind?

The news station played another amateur video taken from a different angle on the opposite side of the Vessel, facing the policemen.

“Watch closely,” said George, slowing the footage.

I sat back down, this time next to Kat, having the best view directly in front of the television.

Razor crossed the screen, turning his head toward something in the other direction. Though we only saw the back of his head, I knew he wore that damned smile. I followed his line of sight to the other side of the tower. Through the wrought-iron swirls of lattice on the opposite side, a figure stormed forward with formidable speed. Though this was only second- or third-hand footage, my Vessel Sense prickled with a bone-deep knowing. He was an angel, and I’d seen him before. Once in Jackson Square, where I’d interrupted a meeting between him and Jude. And another in my vision of a heartbroken George, standing on a wharf in 19th century London.

“Uriel,” I whispered.

“He was unable to prevent this carnage,” said George. “But understand, Genevieve. There are others who will help us. You need not feel so hopeless.”

Hopeless. That was exactly how I felt. Standing before a yawning gulf of evil, waiting for it to be unleashed on humanity, unable to prevent such a devastating reality, how could I feel anything but hopelessness?

George clicked off the television.

“Are there other angels who will help?” I finally asked. “There are other archangels. St. Michael?”

George scoffed, tucking his hands in his pockets, looking like a casual playboy discussing his latest stock earnings rather than the end of the world. “Michael won’t lower himself to step on this earth until the war actually begins. He has an army to run, after all.”

“At least they’re preparing to fight when the time comes.” I felt marginally better knowing the Flamma of Light would eventually get their hands dirty when all hell broke loose. Literally.

Kat added, “Uriel is one of the very few archangels we see on earth. Because he is the maker of the Dominus Daemonum, he intervenes when he can.” Kat stood and walked over to a glass-topped bar set into the wall, backlit with warm lighting. She poured herself a shot of whiskey in a clear tumbler and tossed it back. “So what do we do now, oh fearless leader?”

George remained in his casual pose, undaunted by Kat’s baiting. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Bamal.”

“What?” Jude bellowed. He shot to his feet.

“Pass me a drink, will you, Katherine?” said George, ignoring Jude’s outburst.

She rolled her eyes but poured another drink in the same glass she’d used and passed it to him. He took a swig and faced Jude. “I’ve secured a meeting with Bamal without his Vessel, so he can’t hide behind his shield.” He paused as if letting this information sink in for some reason. “I need to see his own face, his own eyes. We need to get some information only he can give us.”

“But I haven’t seen Bamal face-to-face in over a hundred years,” argued Kat. “How the hell do you plan to get him to come out of hiding?”

“I’ve assured him with a blood vow that we will do no harm to him or his men.”

Kat snorted. “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why he’d care to talk to you at all. The threat of no harm wouldn’t drag his sorry ass out of his demon lair.”

“I’ve tempted him with something he’s been wanting for quite some time.”

George drained the rest of the glass, his gaze swiveling to me. “The chance to see and speak to the Vessel he’s failed to acquire.”

“No,” ground out Jude.

“It’s already been done. The arrangement is made.”

“No,” came the grating echo.

George angled his head toward Jude, seeming to puzzle out a riddle. Jude had done this sort of thing to me numerous times. “I realize your feelings for Genevieve warrant her protection. But you mustn’t let them blind you to what must be done. She’ll be fully protected, and I’ve acquired a blood vow from him as well so that he will not use this opportunity to attack, harm or try to abduct her. I care for her well-being as much as you do.”

Jude’s stiff form loosened a fraction when he’d been given assurance of this blood vow, whatever the hell that was. I’d ask Jude later.

George added, “Well, perhaps not quite as much as you.” His mouth lifted into one of those charming smiles that lit the place three shades brighter. “Now, Katherine, I’d like you to inform Dorian. We’ll want him there.”

“But they hate Dorian. Especially Gorham.”

“Precisely why I want him there. I don’t want them to be too comfortable. Meet us back here at 5:30. The meeting place is not far from here at dawn, in my time zone.” London time.

Kat stared at George a moment longer than necessary, and without saying another word, she sifted out.

“Just the five of us?” asked Jude, finally starting to mellow from the anger still simmering off him.

I’d wanted to comfort him the moment his rage began to swirl. Of course he’d be overprotective of his wife, but the fury that sparked the second George mentioned me in the presence of Bamal pricked me as an overreaction. Even for Jude. My VS hummed in the background, seeking solace from the fiery tension still hovering in the room.

“No. I’ve invited Alexander and Tarquin as well.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The hunters in charge of London. I’ll introduce you in the morning.” George sauntered past us toward the hall. “Genevieve, I have a room ready for you if you’d like to get a few hours’ sleep. There are a few things I need to go over with Jude while you’re here.”

As I was quite familiar with evasive language from Jude, it was obvious George had some covert planning to do without me. I sighed. “Sure. A little rest would be good.” Though I’d rather go back to our cottage, dawn wasn’t so far away.

“Right this way.”

George led us down a long hallway, opening a door and gesturing for me to enter. “Here you are, Genevieve.”

The bedroom was more lush than any I’d ever seen, including the one we stayed in at The Plaza in New York. I stepped past him and glanced at the king-size bed. Jude followed.

“You can use your regular room, Jude.”

Poor George. He really had no idea that Jude and I wouldn’t be separated for one night. Not now, not ever.

“Thanks, but this is good.”

Jude slanted a heavy glare to George, his hand coming down to entwine with mine. George followed the movement, his eyes growing wide. He’d seen the rings.

“You married her?” His note of dread sent a chill up my spine. “Jude, what in bloody hell are you thinking?”

My mouth hung open, shocked at his reaction. He wasn’t surprised or shocked or disappointed. He was horrified.

“Yes, I married her. And she is mine now.” Jude had always spoken of me with possession, protection and sometimes obsession, but this was an entirely different level. He was threatening George with the powerful stance of his body, standing slightly in front of me. His hand tightened on mine, his chest heaved with a menacing threat, as if George would dare to take me from him. It was the strangest reaction. I was definitely missing something.

George’s baleful glare held Jude’s, the moment stretching, the wall of tension building between the two men. “Step outside.” George turned on his heel and marched back to the living room.

Jude let go of my hand. When he looked back at me, the fury had vanished like vapor. He brushed a finger across my cheek. “Don’t worry, my heart. I expected this.”

“But why, Jude? Why would he—”

He planted a firm closed-mouth kiss to my lips, silencing me the best way he knew how. He was really good at that.

“I’ll be back soon.” He nodded to a balcony overlooking the river. “Looks like George prepared some refreshment for you.” A bottle of wine chilled in an ice bucket with a silver-covered platter of some kind. I wondered where the hell George hid his butler, for surely there was one shuffling about, maintaining this immaculate place. George didn’t seem to be the type to cook his own dinner, clean his pristine penthouse and starch his perfectly starched shirts. “Go relax. This won’t take long.”

He closed the door, leaving me with a million questions spinning through my head. Frowning as he left, I wanted answers. But Jude wasn’t the type to give information unwillingly. I might as well try to pry open a safe with a toothpick. Still, the incident with Thomas reminded me that passivity could be a dangerous thing. I had suspected Thomas had feelings for me, yet I’d let everything roll along anyway, thinking all would work out for the best, that my guardian angel had only my safety in mind as he pulled me closer into his trust and into his arms, when in reality he was thinking only of himself and what he wanted. Sucking in a deep breath, determined to be stronger and smarter from here on out, I stepped onto the balcony and glanced at the wine set out for me.

A bottle—or two—sounded pretty damn good right about now.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I was pouring my second glass of wine when Jude stepped onto the balcony and stared out at the flickering city lights on the water, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. He wasn’t angry. Just pensive, which was nothing new for Jude.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I offered.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Why was George so angry about us?”

He inhaled deeply and let it out. “He’s not angry. Just…concerned.”

“That didn’t look like concern. More like he was horrified at what we’d done.”

He turned to face me, propping himself against the balcony and crossing his arms casually. “More at what I’d done, not you.” His eyes glinted with gold sparks in the dark, reminding me he was not wholly human.

“He believes you took advantage of my youth or naivety,” I clarified.

“Something like that.”

Nope. Jude would not make this easy. “Are you going to give me any specifics, or do I have to ask questions all night till I hit the right one?”

He smiled. “Among other things, he’s concerned I’ll lose focus. And so will you.” Jude’s cryptic “among other things” was his way of speaking the truth while hiding some of it. I’d learned his evasive maneuvers early on. I’d also learned he’d never tell me the entire conversation between him and George unless he wanted to. I’d have to be happy with the morsels he gave.

“Lose focus on what, exactly?”

“On the job we’re meant to do.”

“Like casting out demons, defending against evil and such.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s silly. I won’t lose focus just because I’m married and—”

“You forget. We actually did lose focus while away on Arran.”

Yes. We had. And it was so glorious and painfully too short. “Well, that was our honeymoon. That doesn’t count.”

“True,” he said, grinning. “And now that it’s over, I’m sure you’ve had your fill of me.”

Heat crawled up my neck at the thought of
not
having my fill, not even close. I gulped a swallow of wine. We both knew how easily we could lose focus around each other. It was difficult before, but now that we’d become intimate, it was hard for me to be in the same room without mentally stripping him naked. Like now. “Point taken,” I said. I stood up and walked to him. Wrapping my arms around him, I lay my head on his chest. He opened his stance to enclose me in his embrace, resting his chin on my head. “So what if we get distracted sometimes.”

“Well”—he let out a deep breath—“at best, it could mean the injury of one of our own. At worst, it could mean the death of one of us…or the abduction of you by one of the Flamma of Dark.” His voice had dropped three octaves in the course of those two sentences. He squeezed me tighter in his arms.

“You’re worried about this meeting with Bamal.”

“I’m fucking furious.”

I laughed. “Yeah. I kind of thought that.”

He pulled back to gaze down at me. “This is no laughing matter, Genevieve. Bamal is a ruthless bastard.”

“I’m not laughing about that.”

“What do you find so humorous?”

“That you think anyone could take me out of your sight when we’re together. If I thought you were a tad protective before, I believe I’ll find you mercilessly possessive now.”

“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.”