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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.
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.
