Chapter 25

"But I just don't know! I mean, the Jimmy Choos make me taller and make my calves look amazing. But then I'll be able to dance better if I wear these. Whaddya think? Stop reading that magazine and pay attention to me!"

Mindy was on what I call an out-on-the-town high. It starts at the break of dawn with her run to Starbucks for caramel macchiatos with extra shots of espresso for both of us.

The grooming stage occurs before lunchtime, though she refuses to actually eat lunch on these days because it'll give her a "pooch" and ruin her attire for the event. In reality, she never has a pooch, but I get sick of arguing this point. Grooming consists of showering, shampooing, and conditioning her hair using all kinds of high-end products, shaving pretty much everything, and finally painting nails and toes if she hadn't already gotten a professional mani/pedi for the occasion.

From this moment on, she flounces around the rest of the day in her robe, stressing about the details of her wardrobe. We were currently at the obsessing-over-accessories and yelling-at-Gen-to-pay-attention phase of the day.

"Oh, definitely not the Jimmy Choos," I said with serious finesse. "What if you meet this super-hot guy and the shoes make you taller than him? Some men find that emasculating. Plus you won't even be able to dance with him if he can get over the fact that you're taller than him."

Of course, Mindy was very petite, and even in those five-inch heels, she'd still be shorter than the average guy. But if I didn't have some kind of input with a crafty explanation, she'd start fussing that I didn't care and we'd go rounds about that.

"You're so totally right. Why didn't I think of that? Okay, awesome. I'm going to start my hair. Gen! Go get in the shower! I've gotta do your hair too, for goodness sake!"

Then she vanished in a whirl of blonde hair and terry cloth. The clock on the microwave read 4:00. She was right. I should start getting dressed if we were to be on time for the limousine picking us up at six. A freaking limousine. Leave it to Mindy's mom to take us in style.

I wandered back to my room to take a shower, catching a glimpse of my midterm on my nightstand. Malcolm had brought it over earlier, and I'd had to give him the very unwelcome and difficult news that I wanted to just be friends.

After an awkward hug, he handed me my midterm he'd picked up for me since I hadn't been to class in two weeks.

Picking up the paper again, I frowned at Professor Bennett's scrawled handwriting beneath the C-: Ms. Drake, while your intellect is evidently superior, your reasoning as to why demons actually do exist and plague humans in the literal sense is preposterous. Were it not for your definitive remarks on the matter, your grade would have been much higher. As it is, I cannot reward faulty logic and reasoning, no matter how well-crafted it may be. In addition, attendance to class would not go amiss.

"Pretentious ass," I muttered, throwing the paper on the coffee table and stomping to my bedroom. "Well, I certainly do hope you're never in need of a demon hunter, Mr. Bennett, because you can't use mine. I'll stand back and watch, debating with you whether the thing trying to crawl inside your body is actually real or not."

I turned on the scalding water, letting my concerns about bad grades drift away, focusing on more pressing matters. Like fighting actual demons that did in fact exist.

After a long steamy shower, I stepped out in a much lighter mood, realizing Mr. Bennett couldn't help the fact that he was a grade-A moron. I almost felt sorry for him with all of his "faulty logic and reasoning."

Wrapping a towel around myself and tucking it under my arm, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Ack! Jude!" Pressing a hand to my chest, I hissed, "Don't ever scare me like that."

In charcoal slacks and a snug, light gray sweater that hugged every delicious part of his upper body, he leaned casually against the doorjamb of my walk-in closet directly across from the bathroom. With arms folded and one leg crossed as well, propped up at the ankle, he looked like a model on display.

His eyes, molten gold ringed with obsidian, made a slow, slow progression down my body and back up. My hair snaked in wet trails across my bare shoulders and down my back. I shifted, self-conscious of my near-nudity. When his eyes made it back up to my lips and stopped for what seemed like a fucking eternity, I lost the ability to breathe.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. "What, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the ball."

Finally, his eyes lifted to mine, smoldering and dark and knee-bucklingly sexy. Yet, he didn't move toward me. Not an inch.

"I brought you a gift."

His voice was rough as bark, rubbing a sensuous promise against my skin. When Jude was steely and hard like this with slow, deliberately calculating eyes, my body turned to jelly. I had no idea how I was still standing under his heated gaze.

"Oh?"

I gathered my dripping hair over one shoulder and used another towel on my counter to squeeze it dry, trying not to notice that he watched me with predatory eyes.

"I would love to do that for you," he nearly whispered.

I paused with my head at an angle, gazing up at him.

"Then why don't you?"

A slow shake of the head. I'd never seen him bite his lip like that, but when he did, my whole body shivered in response, wishing he'd come closer. I took a step toward him.

"Stay where you are, Genevieve."

A rough, sultry command, but a command nonetheless. He kept his stance casual, but all his muscles locked tight.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong as long as you keep your distance in that flimsy piece of fabric that's supposed to be covering you."

"Something wrong with my towel?" I teased.

The towel stopped higher than midthigh. I had long legs.

"Nothing at all, love." That endearment made my stomach flip. "But the thought of what's under it makes me want to misbehave."

I swallowed hard, knowing his resistance was as thin as the fabric barely covering my body.

"Where's my gift?" I asked with my attempt at a smile.

He nodded toward the bedroom. I walked over, seeing a strappy thing lying across the bed. I picked it up. It was made of fine black leather with a single sheath for a beautifully made dagger.

The blade was razor sharp, thin, about eight inches in length. The thicker hilt, fitting perfectly in my palm as if it were made for me, bore a sinuous design of two lovers locked in rapture. The male lover bore wings. My heart pounded harder. I knew this design, knew it well.

"Eros and Psyche. It's lovely," I murmured, wondering at my beautiful yet practical gift. "I don't get how this straps on, though."

Jude had moved closer, hands in his pockets. He truly was trying to keep from touching me. I lifted the soft leather straps, trying to figure out how they'd cross my chest.

"It goes on your thigh, Genevieve." My eyes jumped to his. "From the looks of things, it'll fit just right." His gaze lingered on my legs, or rather, the very tops of my legs, seeming to measure the straps with his imagination.

"You think so?" I teased. "Should I try it on to be sure?"

Otherworldly eyes flared fire-bright.

"Don't you dare." His threat wasn't menacing, but breathed all kinds of danger. The kind of danger I seriously wanted to get into. "I thought it best you have protection that was easily concealed. Remember, no casts of illusion tonight. We want the demons to find you."

"Do you think Bamal's men will know how to find me?"

"Oh, yes. They'll be there. Without the cast of illusion, you burn like a bonfire."

I was thinking the same of him. Illusion or not, Jude was a constant burning flame.

"It's kind of funny, but I'll have to focus to not use my VS tonight. It seems to snap on without my even thinking about it."

"VS?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"You know, Vessel Sense. Sort of like spidey sense."

"Ah." A smirk lifted his beautiful lips almost into a full smile.

"Why, what do you call it?"

"I don't," he replied, matter-of-factly.

I rolled my eyes. Of course not. He was too serious and practical about such things.

"Do you want to see my dress so you can find me at the ball?"

"I'll find you." A rough promise as he stepped closer, hands still in his pockets.

I froze like a statue, the anticipation of his touch an exquisite torture all its own. But he didn't touch me. He stopped an inch from my body, leaning down toward my neck, his breath skimming my skin. I waited for the kiss of lips. It didn't come. His whisper caressed and tormented.

"Vanilla and—what's the floral scent?"

"Cherry blossom." I reddened at that, especially when I received a full smile for the response and all its implications—sweet, innocent and bursting with flavor.

"Mmm. Perfect."

Jeezum crow. I was about to crumble, and the man hadn't even touched me. Embarrassingly, goose bumps rose all over.

"Are you cold, Genevieve?" I nodded, breath catching, refusing to admit it had anything to do with the temperature in the room. "I want nothing more than to warm you right now. But my hands on your body at the moment wouldn't be prudent."

Then I felt a soft, warm caress of lips on the slope from neck to shoulder—so sweet and too quickly gone. I whimpered.

"It will be worth the wait. Trust me, love." He took a step back, removing his luxurious heat. A shimmer of amber in fiery eyes. "Oh. And the weapon wasn't the gift."

He nodded toward the bedside table, winked at me, then sifted out with a snapping whoosh.

A blue velvet box with silver-metallic ribbon sat on the table. I instantly tore off the ribbon and opened it, never having been prissy or patient with wrapping paper.

"Oh, my."

On a delicate silver chain in a thin but decorative silver setting was a perfectly round, unbelievably beautiful opal. I pulled the necklace from the box, holding the weight of the jewel in my hand.

The iridescent stone was colored with blue and lavender waves. There was a small square of cardstock on the inside of the jewelry box. I snatched it up, thinking it was a note from Jude. But it was the stamp of the maker with small print reading "Crystal Opal from Lightning Ridge in New South Wales, Australia."

"Wow," I admired, gazing at the gem again. There was something so familiar about the transparent markings—crystal white opaqueness swimming with smudges of blue and purple. Then I realized what it resembled.

"The moon! How lovely."

I went to put it on and saw something inscribed on the back. In delicate script were the Latin words: Mea luna in tenebris.

"Oh, Jude." I clasped the necklace securely around my neck, butterflies flitting around as it settled beneath the hollow between my collarbones. "Mea luna in tenebris," I whispered to my reflection.

My moon in the darkness.

And he was my guiding star. If he only knew.