CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A figure sidled up to Jules, holding a tray of champagne. He cleared his throat.
‘We’re good,’ Jules said, annoyed, without looking away from Selene.
‘Wait.’ Selene reached for a fresh flute. ‘Thank you.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Jules saw a flash of bright red hair and his heart leapt. Kian …
Then it fell.
Not Kian. Never Kian again.
‘Hey! You there!’ A figure hared across the dance floor. She skidded, barely avoiding a waiter with a tray of empty glasses—unfortunately she stumbled right into the path of a second waiter carrying glasses full to the brim.
Lucia Scavo . As bubbly liquid splashed to the floor with a crash, the sister of medicine seemed to point directly at Jules. Shit .
No, past Jules.
The waiter lingering nearby whipped off his mask. ‘Hello, Jules!’ Kian grinned, his copper hair caught the light of a dozen lanterns and Jules could only stare. ‘Oh yeah, not dead. Surprise!’ He handed off the tray of flutes he’d been holding.
Jules blinked, sure he was losing it.
‘Kian …’ he whispered, a tear carving its way down his cheek.
The floor seemed to tip, but it wasn’t the champagne.
‘How?’
‘I’ll explain later!’
‘Wait, Kian …’ Jules said, the words barely audible as he reached out an unsteady hand.
Selene’s hand tightened on his bicep. ‘Uh … Jules …’
‘ Fermatevi! ’ He recognized that voice. Caterina. He predicted her words before they came. ‘I’ll make you red mist!’
‘Gotta go!’ Kian tugged his forelock, nodding to Selene. ‘You look beautiful. If you want a real man instead—’
‘STOP! Vatican.’
‘—come find me. I’ll probably be in the Vatican cells. Or dead.’
The tinkling of two dozen glasses hitting marble heralded Caterina and Lucia’s approach.
Kian ran.
Jules took half a step after him, but Caterina blocked his path.
‘Do you know that red-headed corpse, kitten?’
‘Uh … no?’ Jules tried to dodge around her.
Dieu. Kian was alive. But for how long? That was the question.
‘Altamura, you’re making a scene,’ Selene said, her voice dangerous.
Lucia sashayed up, clutching two glasses of champagne—both very much for her.
‘Hello! Oh my, don’t you look dashing, D’Alessandro ?’ She gave an exaggerated wink.
Selene waved after Kian. ‘I forbid you from killing anyone at the masquerade.’
Jules’s pulse seemed to thunder in his ears. ‘What do you mean, corpse ?’
‘He’s meant to be dead. All the records say so. And Caterina basically promised to kill him the first time he ran, so either way it’s true. Fun!’
‘ First time?’ Selene echoed faintly.
Caterina scanned the crowd. ‘This has happened before.’
Lucia leaned closer. ‘More than once,’ she confided in a stage whisper. She missed Caterina’s narrow-eyed look as she knocked back a flute, her little bone-saw earrings dangling merrily.
Jules wasn’t totally surprised to hear it. Absconding from trouble was his and Kian’s shared legacy. However, Caterina and Lucia were formidable. He gazed after Kian. If he left to find Kian himself, Caterina and Lucia would tail him for sure. Jules circled Selene’s waist with an arm, hissing by her ear. ‘Hey, sweet cheeks, tell them if they kill my best friend , I’ll—’
‘I’m on it, amore mio ,’ she said through her teeth.
Many eyes were on them now.
He slid his hands to her hips. ‘I’m serious.’ He emphasized the words by pulling her so tightly to him that her champagne sloshed.
‘So. Am. I.’ Selene punctuated the final word by stomping on his toe with her stiletto.
Pain—like nothing he’d ever known—assured him she’d won this round.
‘Altamura.’ Selene smiled, extricated herself from Jules, and went nose to nose with her subordinate. ‘ Caterina . If you kill his friend, I kill you. Then everyone you’ve ever loved—’
Caterina snorted, unimpressed. But Selene wasn’t finished.
‘—and all the ones you don’t, too. I’ll kill anyone you’ve ever tolerated .’
The nun pressed a hand to her throat. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Watch me.’
Lucia popped an olive in her mouth. ‘So you’d kill me?’
Selene didn’t look her way, holding Caterina’s gaze. ‘I’d be forced to, Lucia. It would be a shame. You’re an adequate subordinate.’
The blonde shrugged an easy shoulder. ‘ C’est la vie. ’
There was a flash of red on one of the upper balconies.
‘There he is!’ someone cried.
Caterina and Lucia took off running. People watched on, ratting Kian out every time he made a move. Romans still liked their games in this Colosseum. Eyes settled on Jules and Selene. There were cries from the empress’s personal guard.
Selene’s hand was pale in his grip.
A table with a pyramid of champagne coupes caught his eye. He could make a love declaration—bratty Roman elite style—as a distraction. Even before he’d formed his plan, he knew Selene was going to kill him.
‘You’d do it for me, boyo,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘What?’ Selene murmured distractedly.
Jules climbed atop the table and kicked crystal glasses out of his way. A waterfall of champagne splashed to the floor, fizzing at the feet of the Roman elite. ‘Attention, everyone!’
Selene stared as though he’d grown horns.
Hundreds of eyes pinned him. His heart stuttered. It was working … maybe a little too well. Every second, more people decided Jules was better entertainment than an escaped fugitive. He snagged the last intact coupe from where it teetered at the edge of the table, angling it at Selene. ‘My lovely fiancée. The most beautiful girl in the room. Any room—sorry, ladies.’ He forced a grin. A titter of laughter. For her part, Selene only looked about half as murderous as he expected. Some of the guests cast sidelong glances toward the shadowy throne. Damn . Jules hadn’t anticipated insulting an empress today.
‘So much wasted champagne tonight,’ someone whispered.
He was losing his audience.
‘I, er, I want to raise a toast to Selene, my fiancée, did I say that part already? To Selene. Beautiful in the way only the deadliest things are. Marry me, won’t you?’
A flash went off, momentarily blinding him.
‘When can we expect a wedding?’ Aurelio Sabatino’s voice contained all the verve of a journalist chasing a hot lead.
Jules blinked against the spots in his vision as he searched for Selene in the crowd and found her. Still unimpressed.
‘Er, tonight? Or tomorrow? Very soon, in any case.’
Sabatino looked thrilled at this. ‘Now that’s what I call romance !’ he said, pivoting in place to get a photo of Selene, who stood with one hand beneath her chin and the other propping up her elbow, watching Jules inscrutably.
The crowd in the room seemed to agree, warming up to the show.
Jules leapt off the table to applause and approached Selene, tossing back his champagne for strength and handing the coupe to someone in the crowd before extending his hand. Softly he said, ‘Selene, can’t I have just one more dance tonight?’
Eyes guarded, Selene hesitated, then she set her hand in his.
He pulled her close, hand sliding around her waist.
Selene was silent, her cheek on his shoulder.
‘Are they still watching?’ he asked.
She looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh yeah.’
‘So I guess it’d look bad if I went running after two nuns and a redhead?’ He leaned back enough to see her face.
Her lips tipped into a reluctant smile. ‘Might ruin the romance of you declaring your intention to marry me tonight.’
‘Or tomorrow.’
‘How could I forget?’
Jules’s smile faded. Unsuprisingly, she hadn’t yet forgiven him. And even though he was loath to make things worse, he had to tell her: ‘Baliel was here.’
Baliel, Duke of Briars. His grandfather . The Prince of Thorns. And who knew how many other names he had been given over the centuries?
Her eyes seemed to clear. ‘I know. I saw him.’
‘Why are you so relaxed about this?’
‘If I could do anything about it, I would … but he’s in a new body. He’s got his magic bound so tight, even I can’t feel him. The only way I find him now is if he wants me to.’
Jules nodded slowly, remembering how Baliel had simply melted into the crowd of glittering dresses and handsome evening suits so effectively he couldn’t feel even a hint of stray power. ‘You’re telling me I should have kept him talking?’
‘Maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘But if he planned to do something at the ball, I imagine he would’ve done it by now.’
He should really know not to underestimate her sharp intelligence.
I am a demon. And so is your god.
Jules twirled her away, holding her tighter on the return.
The final strains of music faded, leaving them pressed together, chests heaving as they stared into each other’s eyes. Selene pulled back an inch, as though suddenly desperate to escape the clinging crowd and watching eyes.
She pushed past masked guests and waiters whisking heaped trays of candied figs, Sicilian olives, wrapped prosciutto and Roman artichokes. He could barely keep up and the distance between them widened. Selene was hurting, and he could only make it worse the way he was. The grandson of her sworn enemy, and one of the demons that monstered her world. Who knew when their accord would crumble and they’d be thrust onto opposing sides of this by whatever Baliel was planning? She was nearly out of reach.
He lunged after her, catching her hand, his knuckles white in his desperation. Selene whirled on him, her beautiful lips curled over her teeth in a slight snarl.
‘Please …’ he whispered, consciously gentling his grip.
Around them guests gorged themselves, wheeling in frenetic dance and screaming with laughter at the performers who twirled overhead. But here, between them, it was utterly still.
She raised a hand and tucked dark hair behind her ear. A ruby droplet of blood slid down her thumb and he caught her wrist, pressing a handkerchief to it before it could drip onto her dress and be swallowed in the black. Again he caught the faint scent of iron and twisted magic.
Softly, he said, ‘You have the blood of demons in your veins, don’t you?’
Her eyes widened in surprise.
A secret, then. One nobody should know.
They weren’t so different. They both had demon blood in their veins. What he would never say was that his was natural, hers an abomination. An aberration . Something loathed by nature.
Even though a distant part of him was pleased at surprising her, he instantly regretted his question. He shouldn’t know this— humans couldn’t smell blood. The fragments of the last hours still felt jagged-edged and didn’t fit comfortably together, but it was too late now, the words had been spoken aloud.
‘Answer me,’ he urged more quietly still.
She nodded.
‘Maybe,’ she said finally, tugging at his glove to expose his inner wrist. She lightly touched his skin, as though to test it wasn’t hot or cold to the touch. All his visible scars were silvery again, the veins their normal blue. The luminous gold was so impossible to imagine, it might’ve been a dream. ‘But this isn’t about me. This is about you. And about Baliel. What did he want?’
With his free hand, Jules rubbed the crumpled line between his brows. If only it wasn’t so complicated. He needed his head clear so he could think. If his world had already been turned upside down in the Vatican’s Cor Cordium , then the conversation with Baliel had tipped it even further off its axis.
An unfamiliar expression twisted her lips.
Selene took his hand. ‘Fine, tell me later. But rest assured, Lacroix, you will tell me.’
The world drew in around him. All he could see was her slender back, all he could feel were her warm pianist’s fingers drawing him in her wake to a brass-appointed lift. She pressed a button and the pointer flicked past four levels.
When they stepped out, it was into blessed solitude at the top of the Colosseum.
The bitter night breeze whipped Selene’s hair against his cheeks, and through the dark strands he could see Rome spread out beneath them. Jules pushed a strand of windswept dark hair behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry for the things I said.’ She shivered and he chafed the backs of his fingers against her bicep. ‘For hurting you with my words and—’
‘Jules, stop.’
He quieted.
‘I was hurt, but I also know it wasn’t really you. In the necropolis, you were like a cornered fox. You were bleeding. You witnessed our God in all His terrible beauty. You looked upon His face. You were … tormented. I still don’t know by what. By war? By … by God ? And I hurt you, too.’ She drew his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his thumb. He caressed her lower lip, tugging it slightly to reveal a flash of white teeth. Her eyes were impossibly dark as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘And even though you are strong enough, you were never once rough with me. I saw it written all over your face, the fear that you’d damaged me. But I’m stronger than I look and you’re much, much gentler.’
‘You promise?’ he breathed.
‘I promise.’
Jules searched her face, but he couldn’t read her beyond the filigree mask. Her usual mask was gone and here she was wearing a literal one instead.
Selene reached up to touch his cheek. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of putting his mask back on. Not once he knew who he looked like when he wore it.
Untying Selene’s mask, Jules let it fall in a flurry of ribbons to the stone and touched the side of her face, thumb smoothing beneath her eye. Rome at night was more beautiful than the sky, but both paled to insignificance when her mask was removed. ‘I missed your face.’
‘Liar,’ she breathed.
‘Yes.’ She tipped an unimpressed brow and he grinned. ‘But not about this. Never about this.’
He couldn’t leave her, but he had to. Baliel’s blood was a curse. Pain ached through his ribs, as though he’d finally met the wrong end of a knife. Her eyes were the amber gold of Rome’s lit domes and so intense it hurt. Unable to hold them, he looked away. He wanted her and he was tired of pretending he didn’t. But telling her would be a watershed moment, and he wasn’t sure how she’d react.
Across Rome, bells began to chime ten o’clock. When the final bell faded to nothing, he shook himself. ‘Selene, I can’t pretend—’
She silenced him with a kiss so searing he thought he might die.
Holding her waist, he forced her onto the tips of her toes and deepened the kiss. When she pulled back, gasping, he whispered her name against her mouth. On their second kiss, he drowned in her, coaxing her lips apart so he could get a taste. To die drunk on Selene would be to die a blessed death.
When she carded her fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth more firmly against hers, he gave a soft growl that came right from his belly. Dieu , the way she lit a flame inside him. No longer a smouldering spark but a wildfire.
He smoothed a thumb along her jaw and tipped her face to his, granting himself greater access. Then Selene broke the kiss, one hand firm against his chest. Her hair fell over her face, shadowing her expression.
His breathing ragged, Jules leaned back to give her space even though he ached to touch her. For a delicious moment Selene had pressed her body against him, curving lithely against his chest and abdomen. He knew she’d felt the same fervent want he did.
But now she was pulling away.
And even though he’d removed her gilded mask, her expression was unreadable. She wore her armour and no honesty at all. His heart thundered, crashing painfully against his ribs. At least he’d tried, though it didn’t make the agony of failure any easier.
Selene released a shaky breath. Gazing out over Rome, her brows tugged together as she took half a step toward the dark drop. Wind whipped her hair against her cheeks and indecision crossed her face.
Always so hard to read, Selene .
But she wasn’t alone. They stood together on the precipice.
When she smiled, he breathed again.
‘Let’s go somewhere. This party’s the worst.’