“Yep. Never had a filter. Seems to work for her.”
“Must be nice,” he said, draining the rest of his beer and setting it on the coffee table.
“How’s work in the Wetlands?”
“Work.” Always the introvert.
My VS thrummed a steady stream through my body. It wasn’t triggering a warning of any kind, but every time that line to my power was revving higher than normal, it put me on alert.
Erik leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Are you okay, Genevieve? You don’t quite seem yourself these days.”
Something about his observant gaze sent my adrenaline higher. A familiar awareness shivered through me. He didn’t give off the pulse of power of an angel, but there was just something niggling at the back of my mind.
“Erik. Are you…”
I had no idea what I was going to ask him. Are you an otherworldly host of Flamma? The question in my mind sounded ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly ask it aloud.
“Am I what, Genevieve?” he asked. Just when I thought he’d answer my question in the affirmative and put my sudden suspicions to rest, he said, “Am I hungry? Yes. I’m starving.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Dad, stepping into the living room and wiping his hands on a towel. “The rice is done. Let’s eat.”
“Awesome,” said Erik, taking his empty beer bottle and disappearing into the kitchen.
My pulse slowed, the shot of adrenaline dissipated, my VS humming steady. Was I crazy? Paranoid? I was seeing sentinels, angels and demons wherever I went these days. The next thing I knew, I’d be accusing my dad of being a saint. And while he was an earthly saint to me, I doubted he could hide that kind of secret from me.
I needed to get back to Arran. That was the one place I could meditate and build my strength, focus my power. I needed to see Mira. My connection with the snow-white hawk grounded me in a way that defied explanation.
I pasted on a smile so I could get through dinner, then get the hell out of New Orleans.
Chapter Five
I stepped lightly down the dark, stone corridor, drawing closer to the pool of light up ahead and the feminine sounds of pleasure. The eerily familiar moan of the woman drew me faster to the open archway. Within the chamber lay a dark-haired woman in bed beneath a fair-skinned, black-haired man. She clawed the man’s back as he lay between her legs, thrusting hard. Her ankles wrapped the back of his thighs, encouraging him.
I stepped closer, for they hadn’t seen me, hadn’t heard me. The man whispered down at the woman pinned beneath him as she writhed in ecstasy.
“Am I your master?” He rolled his back like a snake, slamming inside her with brutal force. She cried out.
“Yes,” the woman whimpered.
He fisted her hair and pulled, arching her neck.
“Say it again.”
“Yes.”
Cool wind and the bite of winter wafted over me, sucking the breath out of my lungs. I recognized the two lovers coupled in sweat and lust and violent submission.
“You don’t need him. Only me. I am your master,” he repeated in a silky whisper, pumping harder, faster.
“Yes. You are my…”
“No!” I shrieked.
They stopped and peered toward the doorway where I stood. I stared back at the smoldering face of Thomas as well as my own, then snapped awake.
I sat up, panting. “Never,” I choked out on a hoarse sob before looking out the cottage window, where a gray dawn rose. I rubbed my palms over my face, glad I’d sifted back here to Arran after dinner with Dad and Mindy last night. But I also sensed the immediate loneliness that accompanied living here without Jude.
I’d had dreams of Thomas before. The sultry, seductive kind that heaped a boulder of guilt on my back. This was different, a horrifying nightmare of my submission to darker temptations. This was my subconscious torturing me with my fears as the time to enter the underworld drew closer. Still…the dream put me on edge.
I threw off the layers of quilts and trudged into the bathroom of the cottage Jude and I had shared for a blissful week-long honeymoon. Hard to believe that was a mere three weeks ago.
After cleaning up, I slipped on a pair of thick wool socks and wrapped the blue, black and green tartan around my shoulders. I shuffled into the kitchen and lit the stove with the lighter I’d had to buy for the cabin. We hadn’t needed it before. Jude could conjure fire at will. He’d never told me how he’d gotten that handy ability. Actually, I’d never asked. One of those many questions still on my “ask Jude” list.
My stomach rumbled, and a subtle wave of nausea squeezed my gut into a knot. I patted my still-flat abdomen.
“I hear you. I’m coming.”
Morning sickness had settled in this past week. But as long as I ate as soon as I awoke, the nausea faded. I filled the kettle under the faucet, staring out at the bleak gray sky. Clouds pressed low and heavy.
A white dot in the distance drew closer. Mira winged out of the clouds, soaring directly for the cottage. As was her way, she sifted straight through the stone wall facing the sea, flapping her snowy wings and settling on the wooden table. She dropped a mussel from her beak and fluttered her feathers. Setting the kettle on the stove, I walked over and calmed her with soothing caresses.
“It must be cold out there.”
She blinked her gold-bright eyes slowly as I smoothed my palm from her head down her back, giving me a greeting chirp. Over the past weeks, I’d learned to interpret meaning behind her sounds. She chirped again with a soft blink of her eyes, a happy sound she often made—such as when I’d offered her raw oysters for dinner or when I’d given her the warm nest of loose yarn and torn quilts for her to sleep on in the cottage. Her clicks and chirps meant nothing to the average person, but to me, it was like interpreting a toddler’s grunts and coos. The thought made me pause and brush my palm over my abdomen, wondering what our child would look like. I hoped she looked like her father.
“I see you brought your breakfast inside.” Mira blinked heavy lids, letting them fall closed. Her cold feathers warmed under my touch. “Let me see if I can get this place a little warmer.”
Picking up the fire poker, I stirred the black embers, finding a few reddish coals still glowing in the ash heap. I stepped outside for some kindling in the pile next to the door. A blast of frigid air and a few snowy flakes whooshed in through the open door.
“Brrrrr!”
I set to piling the kindling and blowing on the embers. Smoke billowed a corkscrew plume up into the chimney. Within a minute, a flame lit. I fanned it higher, then piled on a peat log.
Clack, clack, clack.
Mira tapped her beak on the mussel, digging out her breakfast from the broken shell. I shivered and looked away, not wanting to watch her swallow the slimy creature. Whereas I could usually eat a dozen raw oysters and relish the slippery delicacy, pregnancy had made me queasy about such things.
When the kettle whistled, I poured myself a steaming cup of water and dunked a bag of Earl Grey inside. After adding a touch of cream, I curled into a ball in the seat closest to the window and lifted Jude’s gray wool sweater hanging over the back. Hugging the sweater to my chest, I nuzzled my nose into the soft threads and inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes and sipped my tea in the morning silence.
Deepening my concentration, I reached out to him in my mind, in my heart. From almost the moment we’d met, he’d been able to tell when I was in trouble, able to sift to me at will. While I couldn’t sense danger now, I knew he was alive. The thread that bound us was unbroken. Stretched thin and frayed in the middle, but still strong. Still there.
“Good morning, Jude,” I whispered, starting my morning ritual. “Mira is eating her disgusting breakfast on your table again. But I don’t think you’d mind. You’ll love her when you finally get to meet.” I sipped my tea, the warm liquid sliding down my throat, heating me from the inside out. “There’s something else I need to tell you, but it’ll have to wait until we’re face-to-face.” I opened my eyes and stared out at the gray pall pressing down on the world. My underlight glowed as always when I sought Jude across our frail connection. “Hold on, my love. I’m coming soon.”
I set my tea on the table and brushed his wool sweater over my cheek, needing the touch and scent of him as I needed breath in my lungs. There was never any reply or any inkling given that Jude might sense me across our supernatural bond. Yet…I felt him all the same, never wanting to leave this state of fusion across dimensions. But I allowed myself only this time in the mornings with him. Otherwise, I’d curl into a fetal position on the floor and never return, like I almost had the moment he’d been taken. This wasn’t an option. Our child needed me to be strong. And so did Jude.
My cell phone dinged, signaling a text. I wiped away the tears from my cheeks and the grief settling hard on my heart. Finding my leather jacket on the sofa, I dug out my cell to find a text from Kat.
Kat:
Where are you? Not at your apartment or Jude’s. I checked. At your little hideaway again, wherever that is?
Jude had kept this cottage on Arran hidden from everyone for centuries. I was the only one he’d brought here. I’d summoned George three days after Jude had disappeared with Lethe, but I’d made him promise to keep this place secret. Apparently, he had. It had nothing to do with trust. Jude just wanted a place of his own where no one could find him. After being alive for almost two millennia, I could imagine he had a few privacy issues. I figured he’d forgive me for the one transgression whenever I brought him back home.
Me:
Yeah. You want to meet up?
Kat:
Sure. But not here. Gorham and Razor are being profound assholes these days, and they’re up to something. I’ll meet you at Jude’s
.
Gorham was duke of the underworld who served Bamal in New York. Razor was Gorham’s right-hand man. If those two were up to something, it wasn’t good. Last time they were misbehaving, Gorham had used his essence, a form of spawn, to enslave young girls in some sort of prostitution ring. Demons were permitted to use their influence on humans to do their bidding, but never with mind-controlling essence. That was when hunters could step in and punish the wayward offenders.
Me:
Meet me in an hour?
Kat:
No. I need to rendezvous with Dorian first. How about dinner tomorrow night?
I hadn’t considered the time difference. While it was early morning here, it would be middle of the night in the States. We agreed to meet in New Orleans at six o’clock.
I set my phone back in my pocket and curled back in my window seat. Mira perched on the edge of the table, her talons digging into the wood. She chirped for attention. I petted her with slow, even strokes. But she wouldn’t settle, angling her head at me with wide eyes.
“No. I won’t leave you here this time.”
She made a cooing sort of purr.
“I know. You’re tired of being left behind. Well, if there’s any place I can get away with having a white hawk for dinner company, it would be in New Orleans.”
El Gato Negro
was rather empty tonight. Tucked away on the farthest end of Decatur, it attracted more locals than tourists. I was fine with having a small audience, having waltzed in here with a wild bird on my shoulder. Kat waved to me from a table tucked in the corner. She grinned like a fiend when she saw I’d brought company.
“Mira!” she said as soon as we sat. “She actually brought you out of hiding?”
“Hi, Kat. Good to see you, too.” I scooted my chair up to the table.
She laughed, her platinum-blonde ponytail sliding forward as she picked up a tortilla chip from the basket and held it out for Mira. She chirped in my ear and snapped at the chip, crumbling most of it on the table as opposed to eating any of it.
“I think she’s just being nice.” I tried to get a look at her, but it was too hard from this angle. “She doesn’t actually eat corn chips.”
“Looks to me like she does,” said Kat with a smirk cracking her pretty face.
“Drinks, ladies?” asked a petite brunette with fuchsia bangs and neon nail polish.
“We’ll have two margaritas on the rocks,” replied Kat.
“Um, actually, just a Sprite for me.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Kat.
Though I wasn’t a heavy drinker, I’d always shared at least one with Kat on our ventures out. I shrugged. “Just a little upset stomach.”
Kat nodded. In all honesty, I’d become closer to Kat than Mindy the past few months, since my eyes had been opened to the world of angels and demons living amongst us. But this was one secret I couldn’t tell her, for the same reason I loved her so much. She’d do anything to protect me and my baby. Sending us into hell with nothing but some angel elixir for protection wouldn’t satisfy her own sisterly instincts to protect me—us.
Besides, I’d been informed that no demon hunters could go where I was going. When demon hunters expelled one of the damned, a piece of the darkness was left behind, tainting them. Residue, we called it. This was the reason for the inky black swirling the irises of demon hunters. They carried the smudge of sin from demons they expelled, the darkness leaking into their blood, even their eyes. Every so often, they called the soul eater, Styx, who ate the residue, releasing the hunter from the weight of sin for a while. But it was never enough. The chance of hunters making it out of hell was much lower than it was for me. Expelling demons for me was more like a cleansing, as I wasn’t paying a penance as they were. And anyway, this was a mission of stealth, not guns blazing and swords swinging. I’d have Mira, and that would have to be enough.