“It’s always been my understanding that women rarely know what they truly want. Their betters, specifically their lords and masters, must gently show them the way, sometimes with a firmer hand. Only then are they content to follow their true destiny.”
“My destiny is not tied to you,” I said with a shaky breath.
His expression hardened to sharp planes. “There has never been a Vessel without a demon lord, and I will most certainly be yours. Be sure of it.”
I shuddered. A masculine whisper, a familiar chant, shivered through the hollow halls, then faded quickly away. Danté smiled as if he hadn’t heard the whisper or as if it were perfectly normal to hear hostile voices echoing in this vast, bleak fortress.
“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he whispered into my hair, “you’ll become accustomed to my touch. We have eternity to discover each other in every way.”
“Never,” I bit out through clenched teeth.
A throaty chuckle as he bit the lobe of my ear. I cried out, unable to pull away.
“So fiery. I like that. It will make things more…interesting. The end will be the same nevertheless.”
“You are so sure of yourself,” I challenged, doing my damnedest to put a few inches between us. His compulsion to have me against him was so strong the effort to resist caused spine-numbing pain.
“Yes. Once a Vessel has succumbed to me, there is no going back.”
“But I will never succumb to you,” I said, trying to thrust out of my mind the fact that he’d had Vessels before. What happened to them? “And Jude will never let that happen.”
“Ah, but see, that’s where you’re wrong.” His chilling gaze froze me in place. He stopped swaying to the music, coiling me tightly in his arms, his touch like a cold-blooded serpent constricting its prey. “Your hunter will deliver you to me on a silver platter. He can’t help himself. So tempting, vixen that you are.”
His face was a hairsbreadth away, smiling at some secret of his own. A loud banging reverberated throughout the castle. Danté’s eyes slid sideways to the hallway, a sinister smile spreading wide.
“I hear you knocking, but you can’t come in,” he said in a singsong way that raised gooseflesh along my skin. “Oh, my sweet, you’re cold. I apologize. Perhaps I should get you under the covers.”
He started for the bed with a viselike grip around my wrist.
“No!”
The very thought sent me into hysterical panic. I struggled, despite the compulsion threatening to break me in half as I tried to bend away. Furious pounding echoed from the outer door, growing more incessant. Danté laughed, whether at my vain struggle or at the one who I could guess was banging for entrance to this macabre place, I wasn’t sure.
I punched toward his throat while trying to wriggle out of his grip. He slid sideways in a fluid, sinuous motion, tackling me to the white fur rug. His strength far surpassed his demon minions. Spreading his body atop me, he pinned my wrists above my head, leering from blood-red eyes. He smiled, all sharpened teeth and elongated canines. My heartbeat sped in terrified alarm, the rabbit once again caught so easily by the cat. His cold aura scraped against my skin.
“You think I care about the hunter’s fixation on you? It’s so perfect, it’s almost poetic. I’m amused just thinking of it,” he said, laughing between serrated teeth. “I know you want him. There’s no doubt he wants you. The fallen are forever looking heavenward. It’s so obscene.” He paused to run his tongue along my neck. I bucked to push him away. That wicked laugh again before he pierced me with a bloody gaze. “Please, with my permission, take him to bed. Go for a nice long ride. Then you’ll be perfectly ripe for the taking. I don’t mind sharing, just that one time. One time is all it will take,” he gloated, “and you’ll be mine forever.”
He bent to kiss me. I twisted away violently, disturbed at his body pressing intimately against mine. No, not my body. Just my soul. Just my soul? I struggled insanely to get free. The pounding ensued downstairs, growing louder and louder. Danté nuzzled my neck in a grotesque action of playfulness. I realized I was crying, petrified and panicked. Then something tingled inside.
I shut my eyes, searching in the dark. There it was, a glimmer of white, sparkling silver deep within. I called to it, praying the words of protection in my mind. A swish of silky blonde hair brushed my cheek in memory. Swathed in my mother’s embrace, she cooed soft words from long ago. Shining, beating brighter, a moonbeam pulsed out and out. The enraged pounding downstairs grew more relentless, rebounding through the castle. Sharp pain in my wrists as Danté repositioned and bound them both in one hand. I battled to regain a hold on my VS, but he was too strong, overriding my thoughts with his dominant will and piercing pain.
He gripped my jaw, snapping my face toward him. “Open your eyes, Genevieve!”
The compulsion to obey him tore a streak of pain through me when I refused, a whip licking bare skin. My VS was building, growing from that inner place. He pressed his lips against mine, grinding to try to open my mouth. My scream muffled between our lips, I wrenched my face away. His free hand roved and squeezed as he hissed in my ear.
“I’m not done with you yet. Open your eyes and look at your master.”
I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I’d never get away if I did. Burning pain seared down my spine, the penalty for fighting his will.
“Ahh!”
“It hurts, doesn’t it, baby?” His voice had lost every ounce of civility, now only the grating of a monster. “I can make it worse. Much, much worse.”
An agonizing sharp stab bowed my back. I screamed. He chuckled.
“Open your eyes.” A sultry command, like the voice of a lover.
I did, peering into the blood-red gaze of a true monster. Tears streaked hot from my eyes, slipping into my hairline.
“There now. Relax.”
I stopped struggling. The pain ebbed when I obeyed his will.
“That’s my girl.” He pecked a light kiss on my cheek, pressing his body harder against mine. I stiffened. “No need to fear. We’ll wait for our first coupling when your body and soul are one.” His grin cut a sinister line across his beautiful face. “Now, as for your soul, I believe I will take a taste.”
His lips pressed to mine and pried them open. When his tongue swept in, my mind folded inward. The sensation of being flipped inside out melted over me. I tried to suck in a breath, but no air came, as if I were paralyzed, as if I’d lost all control of myself. Then…
Darkness. Nothing but infinite darkness. I could breathe again. So cold here. But I wasn’t alone. He followed me. No. He brought me here. His presence—a web of tangible evil wrapped me in his net. If I moved, he sensed the motion, following with stealth. His cold breath brushed the back of my neck. His voice was a hollow echo in this place.
“Mmm… You’re even lovelier on the inside.” Panic gripped me hard. He was inside me, his ghastly essence strangling my soul, taking hold of me from within. His voice, a sibilant whisper, breathed close to my ear, “So many delectable memory scars.”
A flickering of light, then I stood in my mother’s studio. I was nine years old, braids in my hair, eyes wide and staring at the horrifying canvas before me, the paint still wet. In a vast ocean of blue, nude bodies of dead women and children floated on the waves, bloated in death, hungry shadows lurking beneath them. In the sky, a bright golden sun shone in mockery of the floating dead. My mother stepped from her washroom, drying her hands.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t hear you come in.” She stepped behind me, resting one hand on my shoulder as we both gazed at the horror in oils. She brushed a hand down my back, a soothing gesture of hers. I trembled before her artwork. “Remember, death is always waiting for the innocents. Waiting to reach up and pull us down to the world below.”
“Lily! What are you doing?”
I spun, finding my father in the doorway, his expression dark, his posture tight.
“Just showing our daughter my latest work.”
He stormed across the studio. “You are never to show her this so-called art of yours.”
“Why keep her from the truth? Evil lurks. I want her to be aware.”
“Are you crazy!”
I pressed my hands to my ears as the arguing escalated to shouts. I backed to the doorway till I was outside and running from their raging voices.
Darkness again. Coldness seeped through me.
“No,” I whispered, still shrouded in night, constricted by ropes of Danté’s making.
“There are so many to choose from,” he hissed. “How about this one?”
Another fluttering of light, and I stood in the hallway of my middle school, opening my locker. Brenda Blakely hovered a few feet away with a gaggle of girls. I’d beaten Brenda for the last spot on the girls’ soccer team the week before. One of her friends whispered something inaudible.
“I don’t know,” replied Brenda. “Her mom jumped off the Mississippi Bridge. Who could she possibly bring to the Mother/Daughter Tea? She’s probably crazy too. Like mother, like daughter.”
They giggled. I slammed the locker door and walked away, refusing to let the burning tears fall.
I never did go to the Tea. Never even mentioned it to my dad. One of many events I’d forego because she chose to step off that bridge.
The black enveloped me for a split second before I was once more standing inside a painful memory. “No,” I said the second I realized where I was—the cemetery where we’d memorialized my mother with a stone marker. The swirling eddies of the Mississippi had never borne her body up. We were left engraving her name in marble and visiting this empty plot next to where my father would one day lie.
I was sixteen and had come home a day early from a beach vacation with Mindy, knowing how depressed Dad could get near their anniversary. I’d found empty beer bottles and old photograph albums open on the kitchen table. But no Dad. I’d waited for hours, but he’d never come home. I’d called his friends. No luck. Seeing the evidence strewn about the house, I’d finally found him here, stretched out in front of her headstone.
“Dad.”
He jerked up, eyes rimmed with red. He burst into tears. Never had he shown such emotion in front of me. Never had I seen my strong father reduced to such despair. I knelt down and hugged him. His shoulders shook with sobs.
“Why wasn’t I enough for her?” he cried, heartbreaking anguish in his voice.
“Dad, no. She loved you. She did.” Hot tears welled in my eyes.
“But not enough,” was the desolate reply.
My soul screamed and ran from the memory, remembering that I’d also felt I was never enough. She chose death over us.
“No more,” I whispered into the pitch black. Malevolence skated along my skin, petting me. “Please. No more.”
Invisible arms wrapped me in an embrace. I held still, unable to fight or struggle, wanting only the peace of mindless oblivion.
The sensation of folding inward again and falling fast through an even darker hole made me nauseous. I gagged as if someone were choking me, the stranglehold of Danté releasing my soul then…candlelight.
I lay beneath him as before. He still had my wrists pinned with one hand, laughing down with undisguised mirth. “Your fear is a powerful aphrodisiac.” His other hand roamed down my rib cage. “Just imagine when you are good and mine, the pleasure we’ll share.” The painting of the floating dead flashed to mind, and I realized what it would mean to be a Vessel for a demon prince. Not only would I be forced to commit his atrocities, I’d be corrupted into relishing the evil deeds.
“No,” I said, jerking my arms, testing his hold.
“No?” He stilled, his fangs elongating. “I grow rather weary of that word.” Hard lust glinted in his eyes. His hand clasped the top of my gown and ripped, tearing it down the middle.
“No!” I screamed, wrenching one hand free and grappling to push him away. He was too strong.
A flash of sharp fangs. His teeth sank into the tender hollow of my neck below my jaw, penetrating me with frost-numbing pain. He groaned with sick pleasure, sucking at my neck viciously. A strangled scream reverberated against the walls. My own.
The pounding on the outer door snapped me away from the brink of insanity. Danté had violated my mind, my soul. He’d take no more.
Amid the cesspool of potent fear and pain I was drowning in, a flicker of light, a tattered thought, buoyed its way to the surface, up to the moon-brightness. He would not take all of me. He would
not
take all of me. Righteous fury flared into a building burn as my lips said the words.
“
Flamma intus.
”
With a blinding flash, my VS exploded in a burst of silver white. Danté flew off me and crashed half across the dining table. China shattered, silver scattered, and a candelabrum knocked to the floor, snuffing out the candles. He stared with wide, gray eyes, half-dazed, bewilderment plastered on his face. His fierce expression, hard and dangerous, jarred me into action.
I leapt to my feet and sprinted out the door, not caring that the torn gown fell half off my body and flew behind me in torn strips. Practically stumbling down the steps, I scraped bare feet and toes on the cold stone. I followed the hammering echoes—down, down, down. It was only one flight of stairs, but a chill wind brushed my back. No! Leaping the last few steps in one bound, I made it to the giant black door, which swung backward at my touch.
There on bended knees was Jude. Fists tightly clenched and so, so bloody. His head snapped up, black gaze tormented with despair and helpless rage. Bursting onto his feet, he took in my state of undress as I teetered on the threshold of the door, dazed and terror-stricken. He grabbed me by the shoulders, gaze flicking behind me, and yanked me roughly into his arms. A gust of cool wind slammed the massive black door with a resounding boom, but not before I heard the distinct, smug sound of lilting laughter.
Chapter Nineteen
Sifting through space, Jude crushed me in his arms, no chance of letting go and losing me in the Void. Iron-clad armor covered me like a blanket of steel. In a state of shock, I held on and kept my eyes closed, oblivious to any motion sickness that normally twisted my stomach when sifting. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to erase the images of Danté. Impossible.
I don’t know how long we sifted, but when the sensation of falling had stopped, I opened my eyes to see my body, still as death, tucked safely in bed, one arm hanging over the edge. Jude quickly laid my spirit literally on top of my still, solid form. Darkness behind closed lids for a split second before I opened them and sucked in a lungful of air. Whole again.
That elusive feeling of transparency had vanished. Back in my skin in my own room with Jude standing above me, I sat up and burst into tears. Abruptly, he had me on my feet in his arms. Panicked, I pushed away. He pulled me close and sifted out again.
What? Where is he taking me?
I beat and shoved, trying to break free of his tight grasp. My hair whipped wildly. The dark Void sucked at me when I put distance between myself and Jude, drawing me toward windy oblivion. I almost wanted to go. He manacled my wrists, yanking me toward him.
“No!” My scream echoed in the abyss.
Gray shapes blurred past, some drawing closer, as if curious, whispering. I kicked and punched, managing to free one hand. Jude spun me by the other wrist, pinning me against him, my back to his chest.
The vacuum released me, and we were standing in Jude’s living room.
“Let me go!”
He did. Still, I spun with force and cuffed him under the jaw with the heel of my hand. He didn’t resist or restrain me as I rained blows on him, one very hard across the cheek. I don’t know why I hit him. My mind knew it wasn’t his fault, but my body didn’t care. The fierce hatred boiling to the surface needed release. And he was there, standing and taking it when I needed something to beat.
I finally took several steps away from him, my chest heaving in gasping breaths, hot tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Why did you bring me here? I want—”
“Genevieve, it’s safer here.”
Jude’s voice was thick with emotion I’d never heard before—his words tight and hard. I didn’t give a shit. My body started shaking, teeth chattering with grief and anger thrumming through my veins.
“Safe?” I choked on a laugh, my sardonic tone biting the air. “Safe? I’m not safe! Not here, not with you! Not anywhere!”
His eyes, devoid of all color but the darkest pitch, glared with seething anger. Tangible rage beat off of him in a misty, black aura. This only incited me more.
“How, Jude? How did he get to me? You promised,” I sobbed, “you promised he couldn’t soul-sift me again.”
He stepped toward me. I took a giant step back, bumping against the fireplace, where something poked my shoulder. I jumped at the carven image of the writhing dragon that wrapped the wooden mantel. My mind shifted, seeing another one, deep red with amorphous eyes…feeling the white fur carpet against my bare back…the bronzed creature looming over me with a sinister grin. Disgust and horror permeated every fiber, though I felt no bruising on my wrists or neck, no memory of Danté’s dark invasion. I sighed a shaky breath, trying desperately to forget the visceral image and feel of him invading my mind and soul.
“He’s grown in power,” Jude began, his own breathing labored. “My cast of protection should’ve kept him at bay. But somehow, he circumvented it. I’m—” He paused. His gaze dropped from me to the floor as if he couldn’t stand to look at me, his bloody fists clenched. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t even begin to touch how I feel.” Voice trembling, I turned away. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What?” His shoulders squared to rigid stone. His gaze was the same.
I ignored his question, unable to keep Danté’s hateful threats from spewing from my mouth. “You know, he talked about you.”
Jude moved closer. There was nowhere for me to go. I tipped my chin up defiantly.
“What”—his voice grating like steel on stone—“did he say?”
“He told me you would be the one to deliver me to him—body and soul. ‘On a silver platter’ were his exact words.”
If black could burn, there would’ve been fire in his eyes. The darker shadow hovering around Jude swelled outward. “And how would I go about doing that?”
He edged closer, now only a foot away. My pulse raced.
“He said you’d seduce me because you couldn’t help yourself. He even encouraged me to do it, to, how did he put it? ‘Take a nice long ride.’” Bitterness leaked from every word, but I couldn’t stop. “Of course, he’d only let you fuck me the one time, because that’s all it would take to ‘taint’ me before I’d become his play toy forever.”
Jude gripped my arms, squeezing long fingers into bare flesh. “Do you think I would do that?” he asked, voice vibrating with fury.
I shrugged. His fingers clenched tighter.
“Fuck you and leave you for him? Is that what you think I’d do?” A vein pulsed at his throat that I’d never noticed before, but of course, I’d never seen this Jude—completely, absolutely consumed with burning hatred. It might have even matched mine.
My heart pounded furiously against my rib cage. I wanted to scream, but my instincts pulled me into a morbidly calm place. “Let go of me, Jude,” I enunciated softly. My eerily gentle tone spun him into madness.
“I couldn’t get you out!” He released me with a jerk. “I couldn’t fucking stop him!”
His fists came down in a thunderous crash on the mantel behind me. A resounding crack split the dragon down the middle, his jaw stretching in a grotesque yawn.
The silent aftermath made my quiet words even more cruel.
“No. You couldn’t,” I said, watching him try to regain control with his palms splayed on the wall above the mantel, his head bowed between broad shoulders. “And neither could I. Not until he held me down and possessed me, forcing me to relive my most painful past, showing me how easily he could take me and do what he wanted.”
Jude flinched, jerking upright, frozen in place. Horror bent his features into fearsome, hard lines. Whatever stormed inside of him was nowhere near what raged inside of me. But the truth cut deep, and I knew we would both bleed from this wound for a long, long time.
I walked away, went into his bedroom and slammed the door behind me, locking it. Though he could sift in any time he wanted, I knew he’d get the message.
I stood in front of a mirror on the wall, staring at my reflection, hardly recognizing myself. Red-rimmed eyes traveled directly to the spot at my neck and shoulder where Danté had savagely bitten, seeming to suck the life right out of me. Nothing. No blood, no gaping wound, no puncture marks of any kind. My fingers traced over the unmarred skin. I gazed as if hypnotized by my unblemished reflection, to my wrists where he’d bound me. How could I bear no trace of what he’d done?
But, of course, I did bear marks. You just couldn’t see them. I felt scraped and scarred on the inside where he’d poked tender, precious memories. He stirred old heartbreak and laughed at my pain. He toyed with me. He would do worse if he ever had me truly in his grasp. The only way to stop the staggering pain he’d whipped through my body was to succumb, give him what he wanted. I knew now why other Vessels surrendered to their demon hosts. My confident hope that no demon could ever possess me crumbled under the memory of Danté chaining my body and mind. I feared whether I could hold out if he caught me again. Would I then become his possession, a Vessel of darkness?
I jumped at the furious, bellowing yell and the sound of splintering wood, crashing glass and toppling furniture outside the bedroom door. I crept to the corner behind the bed, sank down, curled into a ball and wept for something precious that was irrevocably lost.
I awoke in semidarkness, jolting upright with a gasp, not knowing where I was. Nestled into the clean softness of Jude’s bed, under the covers, I was surprised he’d come in after all and tucked me into bed. The house was ghostly quiet. Had he left me here alone? Panic washed over me, sweat beading along my hairline.
He’d left his closet light on. I pushed out of bed and walked to it, wanting something more over my tank. I thumbed through his closet—leather and denim jackets galore, black slacks, a long trench. I mumbled to myself, “Someone’s afraid of color.”
Everything in monotones of black, gray and brown. Wait. Except in the back. My hands brushed the delicate garment of soft yellow, my pulse quickening, for I knew what it was before I took it from the rack. My pretty blouse, the day Danté had disguised himself as Jude and forced himself on me the first time. I’d tossed the bloodstained top in Jude’s trash, not wanting a reminder of that painful bite. But Jude had washed it clean of any mark of him, no blood at all, then kept the delicate blouse tucked neatly with his clothes. He’d even found and sewn the buttons ripped away by Danté. Fresh tears slipped down my cheeks, but I swiped them away. Could Jude wash me clean? A darkness hovered inside where Danté had smothered me with his evil spirit, mocking memories I’d hidden from everyone. Even myself. Hands trembling, I put the blouse back, a fresh wave of loss burning inside.
I found a navy blue hoodie and slipped it on, completely unable to imagine Jude wearing such a thing. Perhaps the great Master of Demons must travel in disguise sometimes. The hoodie dwarfed me, which was exactly what I wanted.
When I opened the door, I stood staring in shock. I’d forgotten about the violent crashes and noise I’d heard before I fell into a weary sleep. The mantel had been ripped from the wall, now in a heap of splintered fragments of wood. An ugly patch of unpainted, exposed brick framed the fireplace. Both lamps were shattered into tiny pieces on the floor. His overstuffed chair was embedded halfway through the large window overlooking the courtyard.
A slight breeze squeezed through the shattered glass, making a soft whooshing sound. Other than that, everything was still and quiet. I peeked down the hall. The door to his room of weapons and antiques was ajar, but no light emanated through the crevice. I stepped in quietly, not seeing him. Still, I sensed him here. Treading on light feet, I found him sitting underneath the painting, “Le Jeune Martyre”. Back against the wall, slumped forward, knees drawn up and one bloody hand gripping the wrist of the other. His head bent, he didn’t seem to notice me.
As I passed the writing desk, I turned on the Venetian lamp. The click snapped Jude’s head up. He regarded me for a second, then glanced back at the floor. I sat silently in front of him, crossing my legs Indian style. The rage now subdued, I needed some answers.
“Why couldn’t you get inside that place?” I asked.
He didn’t reply at first, and I thought perhaps he’d fallen into some sort of trance, but finally he looked up at me.
“He used a blood cast to keep me out.”
“A blood cast? He used my blood to keep you out?”
The idea struck me cold, knowing it was my fault I’d let Danté get close enough to bite me. Of course, I thought he was Jude at the time.
“Not yours, Genevieve. Mine.”
What?
“Your blood? How did he—”
He shook his head and exhaled in an exasperated way, seeming to rouse from a deep reverie. His head fell back against the wall.
“I can’t believe a mistake I made so long ago would come back to haunt me now. Now when—”—he stopped and gazed at me, his features shadowed in the semidarkness—“I have so much to lose. The irony is laughable.”
But he didn’t laugh. Simply gazed at me as if he couldn’t believe I was still sitting there before him.
“What do you mean irony?”
A brief pause.
“At the time, I cared about absolutely nothing. Not my blood. Not my body. Not my soul. And now, I—” He stopped. I’d never heard Jude so much at a loss for words. He whispered so softly to himself, it could’ve been the voice of a child. “So this is the price of a devil’s bargain.”
He lapsed into silence again, but I needed to know.
“Jude, why did you let him take your blood? Did you know he could use it for a blood cast?”
His eyes closed in a sign of resignation, looking almost ashamed.
“Actually, no. I knew blood casts could bind people to demons, but I never knew it could block someone out of a demon’s domain. It was such a long time ago.” He paused, shaking his head with a snort of sad laughter. “I gave my blood willingly as a trade to save her.” He nodded upward. “He’d said it would save her. Fool that I was, I believed him. He used my blood to summon me on occasion, to torture me and manipulate her.”
More pain creased that noble brow. I wanted to trace my fingers along those frowning lines and wipe them away. But I didn’t.
“So you sacrificed yourself for her, though he lied.”
“I never thought of it as a sacrifice.”
No. He wouldn’t.
“You loved her very much, didn’t you?”
He lifted his head. “Of course, I did. She was my mother.”
“Your mother?” I’d assumed the woman was his wife or lover, not his mother. “But, she was so young. You said you were responsible for her. How could you be?”
A heavy sigh. He tilted his head against the wall behind him. “She married my father when she was thirteen years old. I know. Seems young to you, but at that time, it was commonplace. I was born the same year. As a Vessel, she expelled demons for several years, until she was twenty-four. That’s when Danté found her.” His voice dipped dangerously low. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, she refused to become his”—he glanced at me meaningfully—“his slave. She begged my father to kill her before Danté could take her away. He’d already threatened to kill me and my father if she didn’t bend to his will. So my father did as my mother wished. He bound her hands, drowned her in a pond near our home, and then hanged himself from the nearest tree.”
I gasped, glancing up to the painting above his head. The man in shadows wasn’t simply her executioner. He was her beloved, Jude’s father. Tears pricked my eyes, realizing the extent of Jude’s grief. Jude and I shared the same feeling of abandonment, though his outweighed my own.