Chapter 27
What had I done?
The sparkle of triumph in ice-gray eyes taught me a new definition of fear. I couldn't move, paralyzed in shock, as he drew closer with slow, deliberate steps, sliding through the mist like a serpent.
"Wrath is an awfully deadly sin, my sweet."
"What do you"—my breath was coming out in quick white puffs, the temperature having plummeted in minutes—"mean by that?"
I knew the answer, but still, I thought, hoped that maybe I was in a nightmare, that this wasn't real. When you talk to the monsters in your dreams, they sometimes go away. The beautiful monster crouched right in front of me, his golden hair glinting silver under the moonlight.
"But I-I was defending myself, my friend," I protested, trying to justify what I'd done.
Danté shook his head back and forth as if to chastise a naughty child.
"Tsk, tsk, Genevieve. You cannot lie to a supreme liar. I felt it," he cooed, eyes shining darkly, "I can still feel it now. Pure unbridled loathing pumping through your lovely veins. You didn't want him to simply stop. You wanted him dead for what he would do to you and to her. So the savage beast called Revenge seduced you to do her bidding. And, oh, my sweet, you did it so well."
Untainted heart, hands, and body.Oh God. I could feel the malevolent sin of hatred and murder wrapping around my heart, clouding my Vessel power to a dim glow.
This was what it meant to be tainted, to let the darkness in. It crawled into the very corners of my being, whispering. The trembling in my hands spread to the rest of my body.
"Thanks, friend. Much obliged." Danté spoke to the corpse off to my right.
I refused to look at those sightless, accusing eyes. Something in the prince's voice spread a chill straight through me.
"You knew him," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.
"Oh, yes. Nathaniel and I made a little deal, and I must say he kept up his end of the bargain."
"What bargain?" My voice came out in a hushed whisper, the truth dawning slowly in a cold, sickening wave. I'd been tricked, trapped.
"Nathaniel, being the lusty fellow that he is"—he paused, laughing—"was—had a predilection for petite women. I promised him a most succulent peach and that he'd never go to prison for it. In return, he only had to be sure you would find them together. He didn't mind voyeurism, rascal that Nathaniel was and so you see, he kept his end of the bargain, and so have I. He's certainly not going to prison."
I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought I was going to vomit. Then I heard Danté's voice much closer.
"You are the most stunning creature, Genevieve." My eyes snapped open. He had edged much closer, lifting the braid along the left side of my face, and smoothed it along his smiling lips. After a second of gazing, he dropped it lightly. "So unbelievably beautiful with fresh sin painted thick on your hands."
I gazed down at them, quivering in my lap, covered in Nathaniel's blood. Danté picked up my wrist delicately. Truly, I was in shock, for I could do nothing but watch as he elevated my hand and drew my bloodiest finger into his mouth, sucking it clean in one long motion and staring into my soul.
"Your sin tastes so good, my sweet. Like a decadent dessert." His mouth quirked into a wicked smile. "Or perhaps an aphrodisiac."
That got me moving. I fell back, scrambling on my backside closer to Mindy.
What was I thinking? I couldn't get away. Before I could even think what to do next, Danté lunged forward, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me hard. The friction with the ground hiked my gown up as he pulled me toward him.
Frantically, I clawed at the grass and pushed my dress down at the same time, cold blades of fear spiking through my veins. He had both ankles now, hauling me back bodily, then pressed his full weight on top, pinning me facedown to the cold earth. He grabbed my forearms, keeping them still, and laughed in my ear.
"Hmm, this seems pleasantly familiar." He ground his hips against me and nuzzled my neck. I struggled to no avail, nearly choking on my own fear.
"You're right, my sweet. This is no place for an amorous encounter. We don't want Nathaniel over there watching. Let us go where we can have some privacy."
Then we were sifting. Clutched tightly from behind around the waist, I felt the suction and weightlessness of the Void. The roiling nausea gripped me at once as we descended. Gray shapes blurred around us. I closed my eyes to quell the nausea, but nothing would help. It wasn't the Void that had my body revolting; it was being once again in the arms of sadistic Danté. I murmured a prayer the second before I felt my feet on solid ground.
Spinning away from him, I backed against a wall. I didn't recognize this room but knew from the heavy air and slate-gray walls that I was in Danté's castle.
The room was carpeted in plush burgundy. The furnishings were sparse—a four-poster bed covered in red silk sheets, an ornate vanity with brushes and hair combs displayed, and a standing wardrobe near a changing screen.
I stared wide-eyed at the bed, my heart sinking at the metal chains and cuffs linked to each post, heart pounding painfully. I skimmed over the wardrobe, trying not to see the abundance of sheer nightgowns in varying lengths. A fire crackled in a black-manteled fireplace. I shuddered at the sight of the white fur rug, identical to the one in his bedroom. I swallowed hard.
"Here we are, darling. This is your suite. Shall we get you into something more comfortable?"
He snapped his fingers. A wraithlike woman in a maid's uniform appeared from nowhere, holding a slip of a black nightgown, the exact same one I wore the last time Danté had soul-sifted me. The night he'd possessed my soul and had nearly—
Calm down, Genevieve. Think. Think.
Danté propped one arm on the mantel, the other hand casually in his pocket as he watched me. I needed to leash this fear and think of a plan to get out of here. He hadn't seen the weapon strapped around my thigh, or he would've taken it. I forced my expression into a blank slate, covering the inner turmoil bubbling in my gut.
"Come on, darling. While I do so like the Egyptian-goddess charade, it's time we made this official."
Danté leaned casually against the fireplace, but the hard look of lust in his gaze warned me he was at the breaking point. I gulped, staring at the zombielike creature with haunted yellow eyes like his slave Claudius, who I noticed was guarding the door. The zombie maid moved closer with the silky garment outstretched in her hands.
"I'm not changing in front of you."
I was surprised, impressed how confident I sounded, the trembling gone from my voice. Danté managed a half smile.
"The blushing bride. Of course."
He gestured to a changing screen in the corner near the bed. I took the nightgown and vanished behind the screen, which bore a tapestry of seven dragons, some roaring, some sleeping, some breathing fire. The seven princes.
I slipped out of my ball gown, removed the snake cuff on my arm and touched my fingers to the opal. I lifted and kissed the back of it where Jude reminded me who I was—the moon in the darkness, his moon in the darkness. The blood cast between him and Danté would keep Jude from saving me. I had to save myself.
I closed my eyes, clenching the opal, cool in my palm, a comforting talisman giving me the strength to do what must be done.
"Hurry, my sweet. I grow impatient."
Bastard.I've got something for you all right. I slipped the black gown over my head, the silky clinginess more abrasive than when I was soul-sifted here. I reminded myself that I was here, body and soul, more powerful than before.
Readjusting my strap and sheath to be sure it was hidden but in perfect position for my reach, I stepped out from behind the screen.
Danté stood in the middle of the room, bare-chested, wearing only black silk pajama pants. Man, did he have an obsession with silk.
"Ah, Genevieve." His gaze brightened with open hunger, meandering over my body, making my stomach churn. "Like mother's milk." I quelled the sickness with the thought of my dagger buried in his heart.
He disgusted me. I smiled. The golden demon sauntered closer. My heart skittered in a panic, but my mask stayed in place. I even managed an alluring light in my eyes. How? I don't know. Something still and quiet guided me now. The horror and fear muffled by purpose—the fervent need to punish this beast and to avenge myself and everyone who came before me.
"I don't want an audience," I said with dark sensuality, glancing at the maid and Claudius.
"Your wish is my command."
Without saying a word, the two vanished into the walls. Literally.
The door to my bedroom remained open. As he drew closer, I knew that I'd have to kiss him. I couldn't let him put his mouth near my neck. He might bite, drain my blood, and weaken me. I needed my wits and strength. I needed to be in control.
"There now," he whispered as if trying to quiet a frightened animal, slipping his arms around my waist to my back. "Isn't this more pleasant than last time?"
I managed a small smile, anxious because his arms blocked me from getting to the dagger. He must've sensed it.
"Shhhhhh. It's all right. We can go slow, my sweet. I can be gentle when you're a good girl."
His finger tipped my chin up. I marveled at how absolutely beautiful he was in perfect hard lines. The paradox was staggering, knowing what this mask of perfection concealed. I forced myself to be absolutely still as he leaned down to me. Cold breath, cold lips pressed hard, prying mine open. My body wanted to reject—kick, bash, slap. I kept steady, my mind calm.
"Oh, my sweet. I can't wait to crawl under your skin again."
Terror gripped me hard. He meant full possession, a violation of body and soul, one that would surely send me over the edge into madness. His slow affection transformed into something raw, rough.
This was the Danté I remembered. His right hand pulled up the hem of the gown, squeezing my thigh opposite the dagger. I still couldn't reach my weapon.
Take control, Genevieve.
As his hand drifted higher, I grabbed his wrist, pulling back to pierce him with sultry eyes.
"The bed," I ordered.
"I thought you'd never ask."
He grabbed my hand as if I still might try to get away. A liar knew a liar. He might not have fully believed me just yet, but the one fatal flaw of so many men was ego. Vanity was an awfully deadly sin.
He tried to ease me back onto the bed. I shook my head, pushing him onto his back instead. His eyes sparked brightly, like lightning in a winter sky. Evidently, he was pleased with my idea. He spread himself out across the red silk, one arm propped casually behind his head, arrogant smile wide and confident. I crawled on all fours, up along his body till my knees straddled his pelvis. Running my hands slowly along his abdomen up across his chest, I did my best to lull him into a stupor. I leaned my upper body over his, moving closer as if to kiss him. But I didn't. He'd gotten all the kisses he was going to get out of me.
His eyes closed. I continued to pet, rubbing my hands back over his chest and down his torso. As I braced myself with one hand on his abdomen, my right hand unsheathed the dagger, raised it high, and plunged it violently into the left side of his chest.
My body flew with a supernatural push, knocked clear of the bed onto the floor. A gurgling shriek of rage had me scrambling to my feet, still clutching my dagger. Danté stood at the edge of the bed, staring at the wound seeping black blood. I'd hit him exactly where I'd hit Nathaniel, yet there was no real reaction. No fatal reaction.
Liquid crimson eyes pierced a chill straight through me. He laughed. I stood, legs apart, ready for him.
"I have no heart, Genevieve, so there's no need to go for the vitals. It will do you no good."
I watched as the wound slowly closed, healing instantly, though black fluid streaked across his chest where his fingers had touched. He circled toward me as I inched toward the door. He held out a hand, curling his fingers as one might summon a child.
"Come to me now. No more games."
When I didn't obey, he vanished, sifted directly behind me. I elbowed him hard enough to crack something and spun, swiping out with the dagger.
"Flamma intus!" I screamed, beckoning my VS that had felt dormant since I'd killed Nathaniel.
A dim flicker of inner power hummed down my arm and through the razor-edged steel as I sliced across his face, from ear to lip. He howled. I ran.
Disoriented, for I'd never seen this hall, I sprinted, bare feet slapping hard on the slate floor, not knowing how to get out. There were doors randomly placed along the hallway. I ran toward one, throwing it wide, and halted.
Creatures that might have once been human were chained to the wall by different limbs. Eyes yellow, hollow, seemingly lifeless glanced disinterestedly at me. They were in various stages of starvation. One small creature was no more than skeletal bones with a thin layer of papery gray skin. What was this? A torture chamber? No. It was cold punishment. A place to punish disobedient slaves who could not die. This was hell, one small room in one realm of it.
I ran again, knowing Danté was close behind. The hall seemed an endless path into gloom. I saw another door and thrust it open, screaming as one foot fell into endless air. The shock made me drop the dagger, which clattered to the stone floor of the hallway as my body swung over the abyss. I gripped the doorknob with both hands and clung to the edge of the entrance with one foot.
I hung over impenetrable darkness falling away beneath me. The cold emptiness of a deep gulf stretched wide and far. Using leverage and my foot still crooked on the edge of the door, I managed to pull myself back into the hallway, slamming the door shut.
"Genevieve." An echoing, singsong whisper. "I do so love a chase, but I'm in no mood anymore."
I grabbed my dagger and kept running, now in a frantic state to find the stairs or some other way out. Sweaty strands of hair clung to my temples and neck.
A large door stood at the very end of the hall, the walls narrowing toward the iron-studded entrance. A special room. A way out?
Opening more cautiously this time, I entered a vacant space, gray stone on every side, with six tall, rectangular windows—three on the left, three on the right. Wait. No. They weren't windows exactly. I walked up to the first on the right, peering inside.
Through the glass, I saw a cathedral-ceilinged room, walls and floors of white marble. A long red carpet led to a throne of shining silver with clawed feet and arms. There was a second smaller one molded from sparkling gold. There was no one sitting on either throne, but two muscular, blackened demons with ghastly yellow eyes stood on either side, staring straight ahead, oblivious to me.
The glass separating the room I was in from the other moved, shimmered. I lightly touched one finger to the surface and drew back. Ripples blurred the image for a few seconds, then righted itself. My finger felt wet but wasn't.
I moved to the next one. The room was pitched in darkness, and though I could see nothing, I sensed something there. I shuddered and moved on to the third. Another vast room with Gothic ceilings and ribbed vaulting canopied a throne. This one had no carpet at all centered down the hall, and there was only one throne—tall and wide, carved of deep mahogany wood with a pointed arch at the head. Black velvet draped behind the dais where the throne stood. This was definitely for royalty.
"Throne rooms."
My head swiveled to each doorway. Six of them. Six princes, brothers of Danté. The seventh throne room would be in this castle somewhere.
"Yes, my sweet," said a bitter, cold voice behind me.
I spun to see Danté in the doorway. Smeared with black blood on his chest and a dripping gash on his face, he darkened the door like the demon prince he was. The wound on his face festered in a red welt and didn't seem to be healing. My VS power. While my power had been mostly blocked by my foul murder, smothering what light she normally gave me, she'd still come forward when I summoned.
My pulse staggered a beat as Danté moved into the room. I glanced at the entrance to the throne room right next to me. Danté chuckled.
"If you think to find mercy or sanctuary with one of my brothers, you're sadly mistaken. I will show you far more mercy than they ever would. When I'm done. Step through one of those doors and find out for yourself if you don't believe me."
Don't panic. Stand your ground.
"No more games."
His voice was an ice blade cutting the air. He wound black wire around his fists, pulling the wire taut and snapping it in a loud crack. I jumped. He smiled a monstrous smile—all serrated teeth, promising pain.
"Do not fear, Genevieve. I have no plans to strangle you. But, oh, darling, I will bind you." He sauntered casually into the room, making his way carefully closer, red eyes piercing the dark. "I will teach you to behave, my sweet. It may take a few days, weeks, months, perhaps, but you will learn obedience. Willful fillies must be broken by their master's hand. It will only hurt a little. Now come to me."
"I will never give in to you. Never!"
"We'll see about that."
I was against the wall, shaking from terror and rage. My hand holding the dagger trembled, but I held it aloft. He was out of his fucking mind if he thought I'd let him bind me willingly. He came closer, not even trying to hide the menace in his eyes.
A ghastly, high-pitched shriek pierced the castle walls in an explosion of anguish and agonizing woe. My dagger clattered to the floor as I pressed my hands over my ears, sound sucking from the room. Danté swiveled.
"Cocytus. What's that bitch doing here?"
That was the last I heard as a string of curses spilled from Danté's mouth. Evaporation of all sound but the shriek of cold-blooded despair screamed through the halls, coming closer. Something close to fear skittered across my captor's immaculate face. No longer immaculate with the angry gash searing one side.
Cocytus. The River of Lamentation. Soul-eater of woe. She came closer still. I could hardly stand it, a deep sorrow creeping into my bones. Danté threw down the black wire he carried and started for the door when she swept into the room, floating above him.
Banshee-like in a tattered gray cloak, wisps of cloth billowing, framing a grisly white face with wicked, black eyes, she screamed again, spreading skeleton arms wide. I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down my face from the painful pressure of despair.
Danté approached, drawing his arm back. I have no idea what he was about to do, because she cried out again. Her jaw yawned grotesquely, until I saw fire burning in the cavernous gulf. Her mouth gaped unnaturally wide. Something crawled over her tongue.
In a millisecond, a man spilled out and landed on his feet. An aura of flame burned him into an entire being of fire. Flames arched behind him, forming a blaze of huge wings as he drew a massive claymore from the scabbard strapped to his back.
"Jude."
Danté took a giant step back and stared. Jude circled, his muscles rigid and taut. Cocytus floated, undulating in the corner like a spider spinning a web, but there was no web. She stopped shrieking, watching with ink-black eyes—a spindly predator awaiting her meal.
Flames of light simmered and rippled around Jude as he circled his prey, who'd straightened himself in an arrogant stance, gesturing wildly. Jude's back was to me, but as he moved, his head swiveled in my direction.
I gasped. In Jude's dark gaze, I saw only death. It was all for him, for Danté. An all-consuming fury intent on its prize.
Danté said something to Jude. The vacuum of sound eased. I heard sporadic words—luscious…inevitable…like her…so sweet.
Jude's aura of fire licked brightly as he clasped the claymore with both hands, his knuckles stretched white, centering the blade upright. He spoke to Danté. Though I couldn't hear the words, I read them on lips I knew so well, now tight with promise.
For Genevieve.
The massive sword swung around in a wide arc, cutting the air in a long sweep, cleanly slicing off Danté's head, which bounced twice and rolled across the floor, hitting the wall.
Cold gray eyes widened in shock. The head's mouth opened and closed like a guppy, gasping for air. Danté's body fell to its knees, black blood dripping down chest and back. But Jude wasn't through.
Rage blazed fiercely in a flaming halo of red, orange and gold, framing his lithe body, taut with strain on the edge of triumph. He plunged the claymore straight through the decapitated body. Rather than pull the sword straight back out, Jude ripped upward through chest and neck, his mouth open in a soundless scream.
The fiery blaze dimmed with his victorious stroke. Jude walked to the wall, picked up Danté's head by the hair and tossed it in the air toward Cocytus as if he were simply lobbing a ball.
She opened her mouth and gulped the head like a bird swallowing a worm. I should've been sickened, but I wasn't. I felt something entirely different as Cocytus leaned over the rest of her gruesome meal and Jude sheathed his sword, stalking in long strides toward me, something desperate in his eyes. I leaped into his arms.
He gripped me with such vicious need, I lost my breath and nearly fainted. I nuzzled my face into his neck, breathing in the safety and smell of Jude. His steel armor of protection clamped on to me. I didn't even need that. Being in his arms was enough.
He held me and held me and held me, his lips pressed to the crown of my head, his arms a vise of possession.
Cocytus shrieked softly, sated, floating out of the room and away to wherever soul-collectors went. Sound came back to the room. I could hear my own breathing coming fast. Jude's too.
"Are you okay? Did he…?" he breathed into my hair.
I pulled back.
"No," I said, knowing what he was asking. "I'm okay. I'm all right."
He stared down with such intensity, I thought he meant to melt me on the spot.
"Oh, Jude. Your eyes."
A cloud of obsidian, barely sparking with flinty gold, gazed down on me.
"A small price to save you."
I ached, thinking of what it must've been like in the belly of Cocytus, what despairing souls must've rubbed their dark essence onto him.
He grabbed my hand with an iron grip. "Come. I can't sift within these walls. Let's get out of here."
"I thought you'd never ask."
As soon as we were in the hall, Jude lifted me into his arms. I could easily walk but wasn't arguing with him. A man on a mission—protection of his woman foremost in his mind—he found the stairs easily, walking straight down, glancing warily in case one of Danté's slaves attempted to stop us. I'd love to see them try.
Once outside the castle and beyond the gates, I clasped my hands behind his neck, feeling the elation of safety in Jude's arms. My eyes slid shut, reveling in the warmth spreading inside. A few more steps and we sifted. The Void didn't bother me this time. Nothing bothered me at this point.
When I opened my eyes, we were in Jude's living room. He sat on his overstuffed armchair with me securely on his lap. He positioned me upright then pulled off his shirt.
"Lift up your arms."
I did. He pulled the black nightgown over my hips and up over my head. Jude then slipped his shirt over my head. As I put my arms into the sleeves, he hauled his arm back to throw the gown.
"Wait!"
I used the gown to wipe the black blood spatter along his neck and cheek, then handed it back to him. He threw the balled-up gown across the room into his mantel-less fireplace, where it immediately ignited into flames. I reminded myself to ask about his power to start fires later. Right now, I really didn't give a shit.
He pulled me close. I braced one hand on the top of the Celtic cross that stood strong up to the hollow of his throat. That hard edge of anxiety and fury was fading now that he knew I was truly safe. Still, he didn't seem ready to let me go.
His eyes were so fixed on mine, I couldn't breathe. An emotion deeper than anything I'd ever felt washed through me, bone-deep. When he spoke, the words struck me dumb.
"I was in the midst of battling Bamal's men when I felt a tremor of danger. Something foul pierced my soul. I thought Bamal or some other evil had shown up on the scene. Then I knew…it was you. I felt you. My heart felt you. My heart felt yours." His warm hand cupped my cheek. "I'm so sorry. By the time I sifted, you were gone."
"Hush. You weren't too late." Our lips met. A soft, tender kiss. "I'm here." Another kiss. "I'm safe."
"Mon coeur," he whispered against my lips, stroking. Gentle caresses. Soft. Comforting.
He'd never spoken to me in his native tongue. He had kept his childhood in France locked away from me. But now, he was opening that door of secrets. Slowly.
"Mon coeur," he breathed again, eyes imploring, wanting, needing.
I nodded, kissed him more deeply, whispering, "Yes."
And my heart was his.