Chapter 28

It had been ten years since my last confession. I'd given up on the idea of forgiveness when my mother abandoned me through suicide. But today, I'd needed it.

Jude had refused to let me turn myself in or try to explain to the police that Nathaniel's death was self-defense.

Rather than argue with that steel-willed man, I ignored the fact that George surreptitiously made Nathaniel's body fall into the bayou. Not very saintly behavior if you ask me.

While Kat propped Mindy up near the patio, George had given Mindy a persuasion cast, which conveniently made her think she drank too much and split her dress falling down the garden steps.

The only thing I could think to do to rid myself of the guilt was go to confession. For the most part, it had. Even now, as I walked away from the confessional, I could feel the cloud wrapped around my VS start to dissipate, letting the moon-brightness shine through. I touched my fingers to the opal at my neck as I stepped up to the candle votives at the entrance.

I dropped a dollar in the offertory and lit a candle on the row of soft-burning candles beneath Mary's statue. I knelt and remembered my mother, feeling more tender than ever toward the woman who loved me and left me.

Kat had returned to New York, needing to do some serious surveillance on Bamal. While I missed her, I knew she was only a sift away and would be back frequently for training sessions. George returned to wherever he lived too.

I discovered that negotiations with Bamal's demons revealed little. The three high demons were supposed to deliver me alive to the demon prince of New York. Great.

We get rid of Danté, and now this one. But Bamal wasn't Danté. He had other motives. Kat thought it had something to do with the prophecy. Of course, Kat thought everything had something to do with the prophecy.

I crossed myself and walked out of St. Louis Cathedral into Jackson Square. Jude's tall figure faced away from me on the other side of the wrought-iron fence in the garden. I ambled past the art vendors spread out on the pavement and stepped through the gate. Jude was talking to someone.

The man he spoke to was tall with blondish-brown hair, wearing casual gray slacks and a crisp white shirt. Good looking but average in appearance except for an indefinable glow. No one seemed to notice, but my VS went crazy as I sidled closer, pumping out a beacon of recognition. Though I didn't know him, my VS recognized him.

"But, is this…" Jude stammered.

Jude never stammered.

"Is she—"

"My dear friend," said the glowing man, "I do believe you already know the answer to that question."

With a beaming smile that was both compassionate and enigmatic, he nodded and walked past Jude. The man stopped right in front of me, peering down with impossibly green eyes. Okay, let me amend my former statement, better than average in appearance. Way better.

By now, I'd become accustomed to my VS picking up on a signature in supernaturals I encountered. The man standing before me exuded a suffused power so great I felt that if I could breathe it in, my chest would burst.

"Good day, Genevieve," he said with a nod in a deep, melodious voice. "Do take care of yourself, won't you?"

I blinked rapidly. All I could do was nod in agreement as he exited the garden and disappeared into the crowds of Jackson Square. My ability to breathe slowly coming back to me as he slipped farther away.

Jude stepped up beside me.

"He was an angel, wasn't he?" I said more than asked.

"Archangel. His name is Uriel, the creator of our kind."

"What?" I looked up at Jude as he linked his fingers with mine. "I thought that was George."

"No. George was commissioned, shall we say, to serve as our leader, our trainer. But Uriel, he's the one who makes us what we are."

There was a bittersweet tone in his voice, mixed with fervent gratitude. He blinked, and the spell was broken. He peered down at me with a classic, mischievous Jude grin, planting a quick kiss on my hand. "I'm hungry."

"Me too. Where shall we go?"

I glanced around the square, thinking of the dozens of famous restaurants within walking distance.

"My place."

"Jude, you can't cook," I said, watching his lips curl. "Can you?"

"Genevieve, do not attempt to penetrate the mystery that is me. You will never know all my secrets."

I loved playful Jude.

"Well, I'll definitely discover whether you're a good or a bad cook."

"Mmm," he mused. "Do you like strawberries and whipped cream?" he asked, pulling me along the side street toward Dauphine.

"That's dessert, not lunch."

"So it is. I like dessert."

His eyes skimmed from my eyes to my lips then farther south. He kept me close as we walked along. Even in broad daylight, he watched the shadows. The shadows of Danté's lair still lingered in my mind, but I no longer had nightmares.

Jude had once told me he'd gladly go to hell for me. He went twice. He even traveled into the bowels of a Collector, mingling with condemned souls and staining his own in order to save me.

And save me, he did. In so many ways.

No matter the darkness in his eyes. No matter the secret sins in his heart. No matter the stains on his soul. I vowed one day I would save him too.

Thankyou so much for reading the beginning of Jude and Genevieve's story! Grab book two, SEALED IN SIN, where a new player jumps into the game!

SEALED IN SIN,EXCERPT:

The moment he entered the room, all my senses rose to full alert. The man packed enough heat and power in his aura to melt a girl into jelly. A mere glance from his dark eyes or slight touch from rough hands, and I was lost.

I focused on flipping the pancakes on the stove, still trying to figure out how to tell him about our trip to the House of Hades, the near-miss with Gorham, and the brief and strange meeting with my guardian angel.

Kat preferred asking forgiveness rather than permission, or just omitting the admission of any sins altogether. But I had trouble lying, though I seemed to do it often as of late. I especially had trouble lying to Jude.

"Want some brinner?" I asked, plopping another dollop of butter in the pan.

"Brinner? What might that be?" He leaned with his back against the counter next to the stove, splaying one huge hand on the countertop, watching me pour the batter into the pan. How did this man make watching me cook a sexy thing?

"You've never heard of brinner?" I glanced at the door to make sure Mindy was out of earshot. "For someone who's been alive nearly two thousand years, you don't know a whole lot."

He slid a finger down my forearm. I nearly dropped the spatula. He leaned closer, his chest brushing my shoulder, voice dropping several decibels. "Educate me."

And just like that, my heart slammed into my ribcage, my thoughts scattering to the wind. I stared at him, knowing my eyes were no longer hungry for pancakes. He pressed warm lips, a feather-soft kiss, to the slope between my neck and shoulder. "Genevieve?" Another press of lips higher up my neck, melting me into goo.

"Hm?" Eyes closed, I welcomed a third kiss just under my jaw, relishing the heat pooling in lower places.

"Your brinner is burning."

"Oh, dammit!"

I snapped open my eyes, grabbed the smoking pan, and thrust it under the water faucet in the sink. A hissing crackle spit up more smoke.

"There goes brinner."

"You've made more than enough already."

He motioned to the ten-high stack with a smirk. I couldn't even think about eating now. Not after that kiss. And not with this guilt weighing me down.

Something registered in his gaze. He reached out his hand. "Come here."

From his expression, I wasn't sure if he planned to give me a hug or a spanking. I wouldn't mind either. Taking his hand, I let him pull me into his arms.

The familiar molten-steel illusion that Jude cast when we touched immediately locked on to me.

Flamma cast illusion to trick their enemies' eyes and demonic senses. There were no enemies in the kitchen of my apartment, but Jude couldn't help himself. Whenever he touched me, his armor coated me in a snap. As if he couldn't control protecting me at all times.

He circled one hand around my waist to the small of my back, hooking a thumb in the elastic of my pajama shorts.

I stared at his collarbone, admiring the visible part of his full-torso tattoo poking out of his black T-shirt. The top of his intricate Celtic cross entwined by thorny vines became extremely interesting all of a sudden. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his dark gaze.

I didn't say a word, though I'm sure my conscience screamed loud and clear.

"Tell me."