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  Dommiel shook his head slowly back and forth as he bit his lip again, the metal stud clinking against his teeth. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”

  “This isn’t a temporary deal, Dommiel. I’m offering you a permanent truce. More than that. I’m offering…friendship.”

  “You and me? Friends?” He snorted. “The irony is laughable.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But I’m not laughing. I’m dead serious.”

  “I see that. And why would I want to be friends with the Vessel of Light who proclaims to be the one who will turn the tide of the coming war against my own kind? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a demon.”

  Everyone knew the Great War between heaven and hell was coming, the one to be waged on earth for dominion over this world and all its inhabitants.

  “It never escaped my attention. But since you bring up the coming war, let me say this. The war won’t be decided in a day, a week, or even a month. We all know that this war will last many years, even with my power on the side of Light. And there will be many casualties. I’m willing to offer you protection. Both from Flamma of Light—hunters, sentinels and even angels—as well as the high demons on your side who will fight you for dominion over New Orleans.”

  Dommiel’s lips tightened into a line. The silver stud in his bottom lip stood straight out.

  “Do you know how attractive this city will become to the high demons looking for new territory when all hell breaks loose?” I asked with a laugh. “Literally?”

  “So what? I’ve got plenty of men here to protect my domain.”

  “If you believe that, Dommiel, then you’re a fool. Bamal will wipe your ass off the map. He’ll cut off your other hand just for fun, to teach you a lesson, and make you one of his minions. He’s always coveted New Orleans. How do I know? Because Jude told me. You won’t stand a chance with him, and you know it.”

  “And you’re offering protection.”

  “I’m offering more, if you’re actually listening to me. I’ll count you as one of my friends.”

  “Why would you do that? I’m a demon lord. You’re a Vessel.”

  “I’ll do anything to get Jude back.”

  He froze at my words, at the stark vulnerability leaking from my voice. I gave him honesty in a way I thought no one ever had. My heart was breaking every second that Jude was in that pit of hell where I couldn’t reach him.

  “I’d befriend a demon. I’d pledge my devotion to defending you, even against other Flamma of Light, if you would extend me the same consideration.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, measuring me. “A friendship?” He said the word as if it were foreign to him. I suppose it was.

  “I wouldn’t betray you, Dommiel. Can you say the same about your demon brethren?”

  He walked closer to me and took the black plume from my hand, twirling it slowly by the tip. “If we’re to do this, then I’ll need a possession of yours.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  I reached around the back of my neck and unclasped the chain of my St. George medal, the one my mother had given me years before she died. When I’d lost the opal necklace Jude had given me and after I’d discovered my mother had been a Vessel too, I’d put my medal back on and not taken it off since. At first, the discovery about my mother had broken my heart. But then I realized her suicide was a sacrifice for me and Dad. Like every Vessel before her who’d been targeted by demon lords and had not yet been taken as a slave, she chose the only other way out to protect her family. Death.

  I held out the medal cupped in my palm. Dommiel placed the feather on his desk, then lifted the medal by the chain, letting it dangle.

  “This is precious to you?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Very.”

  “If I do this, we still must keep this…friendship a secret.”

  “Believe me. I won’t be bragging to all the hunters that my new bestie is the demon lord of New Orleans. They have trust issues just as much as your minions.”

  His silver-studded brows bunched together in a frown. “They’re not minions. They’re my soldiers.”

  “Whatever. Do you want to argue about semantics, or do you want to do this thing?”

  He closed his eyes. The sensation of pins pricking under my skin intensified as he seemed to be summoning his demonic power. All Flamma gave off a specific signature, an aura I sensed by smell or touch. High demons typically had unique signatures, but Dommiel’s was just a jacked-up version of what all lower demons emitted. This confirmed for me that his power didn’t resonate on a superior level, like that of Bamal. Without my help, Dommiel would soon become slave to someone higher up the food chain.

  Reacting to the demonic charge revving in the room, my underlight glowed moon bright. He’d closed his eyes for only a few seconds, but the electricity sparking in the air was palpable. When he opened them, his irises were pools of liquid red. He lifted his hand and opened his mouth, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth, including two canines extending beyond the others. Clamping down on the fleshy part of his palm, he pierced the skin and held out his hand, now leaking black blood from two punctures. The medal was still cupped there.

  “You’ll have to assist, I’m afraid.” Wagging his hook in the air, he quirked an eyebrow at me.

  I took the medal and wiped it along the oozing punctures. After smearing the medal on both sides, I placed it on top of the feather on the desk. Dommiel walked around to the other side.

  “Stand across from me.”

  I moved closer, facing him from the opposite side.

  “Place your hand on top.”

  I did, covering the two objects, except for the tip of the feather sticking out. He leaned forward and covered my hand with his palm. His blood oozed a trail, slipping over my hand to the objects beneath.

  “Do you know the words?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said with a tight nod, my pulse pumping faster.

  “Then let’s do it,” he replied with the wickedest Cheshire cat grin—his fanged smile both menacing and playful.

  We spoke the words together in Latin, the common tongue of heavenly and demonic hosts.

  “Vincia sanguine puro et vero, per dicta vel facta non nocere…” Bound by blood pure and true, to do no harm through words or deeds…

  As the words poured from our mouths in unison, his crimson gaze burned brighter. My underlight did the same, reacting to the sealing of our blood oath.

  “Spondeo hac vita vinculo.” I pledge my life upon this bond.

  Upon the final word, a resounding crack snapped in the air above our coupled hands. A swirl of red smoke curled up from under our palms, mine pressed into the objects, Dommiel’s pressed into the back of my hand. The tendril wove a figure eight between our wrists, skimming a cold caress along my skin. No, not a figure eight.

  “Infinity,” I whispered as the mystical vapor trailed the underside of my wrist, sending a shiver through my body.

  “Yes,” said Dommiel. His fangs had retracted. His eyes had faded to their normal dark hue. “It worked. My first eternal blood oath.”

  He lifted his hand and opened his desk drawer, then pulled a handkerchief from inside to wipe his palm. I tucked the feather inside my jacket pocket. The objects were merely token reminders of our blood oath, the vow now sealed in our skin and flesh. The compulsion to keep one another from harm would override all else if either of us was in danger.

  “Well, then. When did you want to leave? I have a few things I need to wrap up here… Well, one voluptuous thing, actually,” he said with a smirk. He scooped my chain into another drawer of his desk and locked it with a key in his pocket. “But I could meet you for this little tumble down the rabbit hole later tonight.”

  I straightened the belt holding my katana and shook my head. “Not yet. I need to see a few people before we go.”

  “Oh. I thought you were anxious to get there…to find your man and all that.” Sardonic Dommiel resurfaced.

  “I
’m more anxious than you know, but I’m not going in blind either. I need to speak with someone.”

  “Ahhh. You have a few tricks up those leather sleeves?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then I’ll escort you to the door.”

  “No need. I’ll leave from here, if you don’t mind. Your wards are weak, Dommiel. You should amplify them if you don’t want the unwanted sifting in and out.”

  He arched the brow pierced with two studs and three gold hoops. “You can sift?”

  I saw no need to keep the truth from him. Word would get around if it already hadn’t. Apparently, demons were just as bad gossipmongers as humans. “Yeah. I can sift.”

  “Well, well, well.” He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms, his silver hook jutting out on one side. “Getting friendly with an angel, are you?”

  “Not so friendly anymore.” I planned to kill him as soon as I found him.

  Dommiel chuckled. “Do tell.”

  “Not on your fucking life.”

  His grin softened to an expression of pity, as if that brief bit of conversation explained everything. Thomas. The green-eyed angel who’d professed to be my guardian and who’d betrayed me worst of all by setting Jude up to take my fall—he was the cause of all this. And while he’d been in hiding ever since that day, sooner or later I’d find him. Our meeting wouldn’t be pretty. I’d trusted him. He’d given me the power to sift, a vital ability allowing me to move between time and space. He’d claimed to love me. Was it my rejection of him that made him betray me and take away the one I loved most in the world?

  Of course, Dommiel couldn’t know all those things, but he was much more intelligent and perceptive than others believed him to be. This was why I knew he’d accept the blood vow, why he’d agree to take me into the deepest realm of hell even though it could cost him his life. He was smart, and he was a risk-taker. He’d be a valuable asset on my side.

  Dommiel crossed one foot over the other at the ankle, shaking his head. “You know, the more you learn about our world, Genevieve, the more you’ll come to understand that everyone—Light or Dark—has their own agenda foremost in mind.”

  He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But his words made me smile.

  “Does something amuse you?”

  “You used my name.”

  “I did?” He frowned in surprise. “I did.”

  “I’ll be in touch…friend,” I teased.

  “Now, let’s not go crazy, woman.”

  I winked before sifting away into the Void. The black abyss pulled me through nothingness, gray blurs whirring by me as I passed Flamma sifting to their destinations. I pinpointed mine, zapping onto solid ground in Jude’s courtyard, where two gas lanterns still burned bright from when I’d lit them earlier.

  The sounds of the French Quarter at night wrapped around me, even in this enclosure—a squeal of laughter, the upbeat rhythm of trumpets and piano from the jazz band at the outdoor café one street over, the honking of horns along Decatur. Here, the world was right—bustling along at an exhilarating pace. In my heart, the world had stopped the moment Jude was taken by Lethe.

  I walked to the pile of stone rubble against the wall where Jude had swept these remnants of his battle with a demon spawn, a Fury who’d broken through Jude’s wards into this courtyard over a month ago. He’d intended to finish cleaning up the mess, but then…

  After he was gone, I couldn’t make myself do it, needing every reminder of his presence I could possibly latch on to. Like any person who has lost a loved one so dear, I hadn’t touched a thing. I wanted it frozen in place.

  I bent to the shattered remains of Eros and Psyche. The lovers were no longer clinging to one another in a sensual embrace. I picked up the larger piece of Eros, still mostly whole but cracked down the center of his face. His beauty was unmarred, though the fracture sent a terrifying chill up my spine. A premonition of what I might find when I did finally make my way to Jude.

  Hold on, my love.

  I placed the beautiful broken god back into the pile of rubble and stood, rubbing my hand over my lower abdomen. My body hadn’t yet shown any change, at least on the outside. There was no visible sign of the life I carried within me. But I could feel her essence growing brighter, connected to me along with my VS. I don’t know why, but I knew I carried a daughter. Jude’s daughter. A twinge of love filled my whole being as I patted my belly.

  “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll bring him home. I promise.”

  Chapter Three

  Evanescence blared through Jude’s studio as I performed the kata I’d learned from my father when I was five. Deepening my concentration, I moved with swift, fluid steps as Amy Lee crooned about wounds that wouldn’t heal and pain that was just too real—melodious words that resonated through my blood to my bones. I unsheathed my katana leaning against the wall and worked through a routine of my own creation, including both defensive and offensive moves. For the past three weeks, while I waited for George to locate the archangel Uriel and arrange a meeting, I’d done nothing but train for my upcoming journey. My body was honed to a sharpened weapon.

  Funny, I was pregnant, and I was in the best shape of my life. I’d always imagined that when I was expecting, I’d sit on the sofa and eat bonbons all day, watching reruns of The Office and getting fat. Of course, I never imagined I’d be pregnant at twenty and that the father of my child would be suffering in the bowels of hell. Sitting my lazy ass on the sofa was no longer an option. Besides, I was only five or six weeks along. No one could tell I was with child. And I planned to keep it that way until I could bring Jude back home.

  I twisted and swiveled on my back foot, slicing the blade through the air with a zing at an imaginary enemy. As I spun toward the door, my heart leapt out of my chest.

  “Shit! George, don’t do that.”

  George stood in the open doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, arms crossed. “Pardon me, but I tried your cell. You were obviously preoccupied.” Though his charming English accent revealed no anxiety, the taut line of his shoulders and pinched brow told me otherwise.

  I sheathed my katana and set it on the table, pressing Stop on the iPhone hooked up to the docking station. Sure enough, two missed calls and a few texts waiting. I’d put incoming calls on silent. After clearing the missed calls, I smiled at the profile pic I’d used for George in my contacts—the roaring dragon, Smaug, from The Hobbit movie.

  When I’d first learned that he was the one and only legendary St. George the dragon slayer, I thought history had gotten this legend all wrong. First of all, I had to come to grips with the reality that dragons did indeed exist. They were titans, the largest of the spawn created by the most powerful high demons. And second, I had to rearrange my preconception of saints. The debonair man staring at me through aquamarine eyes with well-groomed chestnut hair and who spoke like James Bond was not what I’d imagined a saint would be like. Besides the fact that I’d never planned on meeting one.

  “Please tell me you have news, George. You’ve spoken to Uriel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we meet? And soon. I’m losing my freaking mind the longer we wait.”

  “Go change, Genevieve. He’s waiting for us.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Not here.” George shoved off the door frame and headed up the hallway with me trailing behind. “But close by. And he doesn’t like waiting, so hurry.”

  “He doesn’t like waiting. I’ve been waiting for him for weeks!” I stormed past George in the living room and into Jude’s bedroom, where I’d moved most of my clothes into his closet.

  “He is an archangel.”

  “I don’t give a damn!” I yelled, slamming the door.

  Within three minutes, I’d retied my hair into a tight ponytail, slipped on a pair of jeans and a red ribbed top. Taking thirty more seconds to retrieve my katan
a, I strapped the harness on my back, shrugged into my leather jacket and met George at the door.

  “Let’s go.”

  I held out my hand for him to sift me to Uriel’s location. He shook his head. “No. He’s nearby. Let’s walk.”

  Refusing to make another snarky remark about the habits of angels, I pushed his arm to move around him, when a blast of Flamma power pulsed through my body. I fell into a memory of George’s past with frightening speed.

  I walked down a darkened hallway, adrenaline pumping quickly through my veins. I reminded myself that I was seeing through George’s eyes, sensing everything as he did in this moment. The stone corridor was from an old building, a fortress or castle of some kind. Torches lit sconces along the wall, flickering long shadows across the stone.

  A sound came from an open doorway up ahead. I stopped, my heart beating faster. I knew that sound. A soft moan grew louder and longer in a steady rhythm. A woman in the midst of pleasure. Profound pleasure.

  I stepped forward, tightening my grip on the heavy sword in my hand. A chill of apprehension sucked the air from my lungs. I dreaded what I would find.

  The moans of ecstasy grew louder. A masculine voice whispered. A husky feminine one replied, “Yes.”

  A dim glow of light spilled from the open door as I stepped through the archway, freezing at the sight. Heartbreaking pain nearly knocked me to my knees.

  Within a palatial bedroom, including a four-poster bed with a luxurious green coverlet, a fire blazing in the hearth, and a wrought-iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling, were two people, straight ahead against the far wall of the bedroom. Wrists shackled by two chains on the wall, the object of my heart’s desire had her arms spread in a V, her legs wrapped around the waist of a nude man, her ankles locked at his back. The dark-haired man thrust his powerful frame, the muscular line of his back rippling as he pumped inside her. Though bound in place, the chains jangling, she tilted her head back against the wall, her mouth open, groaning in pleasure, not in pain. Her expression was not that of a prisoner or a woman being violated against her will. The man lifted her thighs higher and whispered something else close to her ear. Her sweat-drenched, white-blonde hair spilled over her shoulder.