Page 17

E liot’s ancestral blades slid across the floor as the train tipped on two wheels in a partial derailment. Thrown completely off balance, Selene landed heavily—rump first—in Jules’s lap.

Dio .

Large hands grasped her hips, attempting to steady her.

Thud-thud-thud . The squeal of brakes was accompanied by the rumble of falling luggage.

‘What the hell was that?’ she demanded.

They were too close. Far too close. Her cheeks flamed and she squirmed to climb out of his lap.

His scorching fingers tightened. ‘Stop moving. I’m begging —’

‘Let go of me, Lacroix!’ She twisted, shoving at him.

They pushed each other away. Jules sprawled on his back, whacking his head on the floorboards as she scrambled to put distance between him and her rear.

Casting him a dirty look, she slapped her hands against the door. It resisted, opening only an inch before slamming closed again, followed by the sound of more baggage falling.

Red liquid leaked beneath the door, spreading over the shiny floorboards. She backed away.

‘A tragedy,’ Jules murmured. She looked at him, alarmed. He laughed. ‘Wine.’

‘Wine?’

‘Bordeaux red, if I’m not mistaken.’

She snatched a blanket from the ornate cupboard beside the fold-out beds, using it to soak up the liquid and prevent further encroachment.

With a final lurch, the train came to a halt.

The windows unlatched easily, opening wide enough for Jules to lean halfway out. ‘We’ve stopped,’ he reported back.

Selene made a sound with her nose that she very much hoped he would understand to mean no shit.

‘Looks like a small avalanche on the tracks,’ he said.

This was what she got for getting on the first train out of Saint-Jeannet, rather than going through the proper channels. They never would’ve been diverted via Milan if she’d requisitioned the entire train. Too late now. This way, she reminded herself, she’d be able to explain her unexpected arrival back in Rome to Cesare personally . Better to have that conversation face to face.

In the steady flurry of falling snow outside, a gaggle of conductors paced alongside the train, holding lanterns aloft as they inspected the damage. One stopped beside their window, the golden light illuminating his features. ‘We’ll get moving in no time at all. Please make yourselves comfortable until then.’

Selene squeezed in beside Jules at the window. ‘We’re trapped ,’ she told the conductor.

‘Only for a little while,’ he assured her. He raised the lantern higher, and the pool of light widened. A few feet behind him the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff. Along the track, snow mounded around the train engine, half burying it. ‘The snow will be cleared very soon.’

The merest hint of jagged mountains blocked out the stars along the horizon, their edges etched out of the darkness by snow. The altitude made the sky look terribly large, but it was beautiful in its vastness.

‘No. We’re —’ Selene indicated between herself and Jules. ‘ Trapped . In here. Together .’

He looked confused. ‘Are you not one party?’

Selene narrowed her eyes and tried to slam the window shut in answer. She didn’t engage the latch and it bounced open again so a large clump of wet snow dropped onto the open pane.

Jules smirked as she shoved it off with her bare hands.

She was shivering by the time it was closed. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘You seemed to have it under control.’

She yanked the curtains closed. The room was freezing now and Selene battled teeth that wanted to chatter. By the time she turned around, Jules had his head tipped back against the seat cushion, eyes almost shut.

‘Fine.’ She tried not to sound as resigned—as utterly, inescapably done —as she felt.

‘Hm?’ He smothered a smile, but not well enough.

‘I’m going to sleep.’

His expression briefly flashed with something very like triumph. With more clattering and stomping than strictly necessary, she pulled down the bed on the far wall and shrugged off her coat. Designed to be converted from day to night journeys, it wasn’t the height of comfort. But the mattress had a cushion top so it would do.

She shed her boots, climbed the ladder, and shuffled under the covers. The sound of silk ropes snapping was her only warning before the bunk collapsed, dumping her out.

Jules lunged, dropping the coat he’d been folding, and caught her before she could hit the floor. And for the second time in ten minutes she was pressed up against his large, warm body.

She shoved him, trying to get her feet on the ground. ‘Get off.’

‘Can you please stop throwing yourself at me?’

Heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘I can assure you, if it happens again, it’ll be dagger first.’

He grinned and set her back on her feet.

Stalking away from him, she shot a betrayed look at the bunk. Her breath puffed in the cold air and, depleted as she was by the magic that had coursed through her body, she felt the chill more keenly than she usually would.

Jules tested the integrity of the lower bunk with a hand, bouncing it a few times. ‘Here.’ He sounded softly amused. ‘Take this one.’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Selene tried to ignore the tone in his voice. First she’d thrown herself at him—a train derailment didn’t make that any less mortifying—and now this.

She shook herself. Get it together .

Jules carded his fingers through his hair. ‘Consider this me deferring to my superior officer.’ Eyes sparking with humour, he added, ‘Besides, I don’t mind sharing. We can keep each other warm.’

Why, that little—

She plopped down on the bed and fluffed up the pillow, determinedly ignoring the fact that she could still feel the heat of his large hands, the raised scars beneath her fingers.

‘Goodnight, Lacroix.’

When Selene woke—alone—the train was underway once more. A gentle tone signalled their final approach into Rome. Sitting, she muffled a groan in her hands. The punishment she’d put her body through over the last few days was catching up with her. Her muscles were kinked and her temples ached horribly.

Dio . She regretted everything . Most especially she regretted telling Jules Lacroix so very much. And touching him with her entire body.

Jules was sleeping peacefully on the opposite seat. He didn’t appear to be actively suffering, so she nudged him with her boot. ‘We’ll be in Rome in an hour.’

‘So?’ he mumbled.

She looked down at him, again questioning the sanity of their plan. If looks were all, that would be one thing. Seven years was a long time and their classmates probably hadn’t thought about Eliot since his sudden departure. But looks weren’t the end of it. Eliot was noble-born. Jules was … something else.

Dangerous , her mind supplied unbidden. With the air of a man who might not always start the fight but who’d certainly finish it.

More importantly, how did he look so damn comfortable?

‘So?’ she echoed with a hiss. ‘You’re not dressed .’ Her head throbbed. Goddamn it . That pillow was a crime against humanity—worse, against her specifically. She ought to bring charges.

A soft snore was her only answer.

His hand curled over his pillow, Jules’s fingers were scarred with dozens of kill marks. She took a small step back and drew his gloves from underneath her pillow, setting them beside his head. Despite herself, she felt like she understood him a little better now. Could she really hold desertion against him when he’d killed more in his short life than most would ever, could ever? Most would never survive that long.

Impressive . And a little disturbing.

Selene rubbed her shoulder, grimacing as a twinge went through her new skin and muscle. The ligaments and tendons and nerves that Lucia had rebuilt. She couldn’t remember a thing after her arm was burned.

The final moments of her fight with Baliel were distant, as though they were taking place on the other side of a frosted window. Utterly frustrated, her gaze returned to his sleeping face.

‘Who are you, Jules Lacroix?’

The rich aroma of coffee filled the cafe car. Selene breathed into her steaming cup, pressing her cold fingers to the porcelain. As the train crawled the last few miles into the city, she considered the wisdom of bringing Jules to Rome.

Jules and Baliel were on parallel paths: Nice, Saint-Jeannet, the Genealogical Library. Perhaps it was a risk, but leaving Baliel unchecked was a bigger one. And whoever Jules turned out to be, he was the only thread she had that connected to Baliel.

A chill infused her skin and bones, and even the heat of her coffee didn’t warm her. Baliel, Duke of Briars. She never thought she’d live to see a demon duke in the flesh.

And even in her most ruthless and ambitious moment, she had never wanted to.

Selene set her cup down, leaving a small stack of notes on the table. But by the time she returned to the cabin—feeling only fractionally more human for the double-shot latte—Jules was gone. Battling panic, she reasoned it out. The train hadn’t stopped anywhere. What was he going to do, fling himself from a window? Snatching up her bag, she ran down the hall, poking her head into unlocked compartments until the train let out a hiss. Selene navigated the suddenly packed corridor, past passengers carrying ornate travel trunks and embossed leather cases, and forced her way to the front. Skipping down the steps, she turned on the platform in case Jules slipped out another door. She was the first onto the platform and she couldn’t see him anywhere.

But something else drew her eye. A Vatican delegation. Six in all. She recognized two golden heads among them. Florentina and her superior, Gabriel Notaro. Selene wound her way through passengers toward them. Florentina’s eyelids were heavy with boredom and when she saw Selene she sighed. Ignoring her rival completely, Selene stopped in front of Gabriel. ‘Hello, Gabriel. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Selene. The Imperium Bellum requested we meet you.’

How Cesare had learned of her early return, she wasn’t sure, but this was a message. She reminded herself not to underestimate her uncle. They didn’t call him the Shadow of God because he was incompetent .

‘I don’t need a babysitter.’

‘Escort only, I assure you.’

‘Quite unnecessary. I’m sure I can find my way to St Peter’s.’

Besides the indignity of being marched back, she didn’t want any of them to see Jules. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

More importantly, neither was he.

Gabriel sighed. ‘We won’t be going there, I’m afraid. We’ve a funeral to attend.’

She raised a brow.

‘Three killed in Ostrava. Their bodies arrived on your train.’ He nodded along the platform and Selene turned. Three coffins, draped with the tassel-edged flag of the Exorcist Primus, were being carefully unloaded.

‘They came via Milan, I suppose?’

He smiled. ‘Quite. Good of you to escort them home.’ She nodded mutely, turning her back to the sombre affair.

Gabriel reached to tip her chin up. ‘Don’t be like that. Come, how about we ride together?’ His eyes shifted from her face, settling on something over her shoulder.

Selene pulled away from Gabriel’s touch, following his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Florentina.

Selene recalled Jules’s cocky expression from yesterday. His irrepressible grin. The smirk that played on his lips before he shoved an entire baguette into his face. Even now, hours later, irritation still blossomed in her at the memory. But Jules had changed—no, transformed —and she could hardly believe her eyes.

Jules Lacroix stood at the top of the train’s three steps, pushing his hands through his damp dark hair, slicking it back so that only a few stray strands fell across his forehead. Tied at his hip, he carried the twin blades of the D’Alessandro family with careless ease, as though he’d been born to them. The military-style Vatican uniform suited him. The jacket stretched taut across his broad shoulders, but she was the only one who’d notice. She’d have another tailored for him soon. Tall black boots stopped before his knee, accentuating his long, lean legs. Gold epaulettes engraved with the Deathless God’s crucifix and spear were sculpted over his shoulders and even though she’d seen this uniform every day of her life, it looked remarkably different on him.

Jules rubbed his freshly shaved chin, sleeve brushing the engraved gold plate at his throat.

‘Is that … Eliot D’Alessandro ?’ someone asked quietly.

‘Eliot?’ Florentina drifted forward. ‘Eliot D’Alessandro? Is it really you? It’s been years, darling! Years.’

Selene bit her lip. Dio … She hadn’t anticipated seeing anyone from their class so soon. Their ridiculous study session from the night before hadn’t taught him nearly enough to survive this encounter. Half the exorcists in this cohort had been at the Academy with Eliot.

Before Selene could interject, Jules plastered a smile on his face and flung open his arms.

Florentina squealed in delight and leapt at him. Jules spun her around as he hopped off the last step onto the platform, holding her in his embrace. ‘Tell me absolutely everything I’ve missed,’ he said conspiratorially in Italian, somehow crushing all but the slightest hint of his Nicois accent. Even before the Vatican Empire had mandated that Italian should be the administrative language of government in Provence, Nice had been a playing piece on the Italian chessboard.

And yet she couldn’t help but notice Jules was incorrigibly French.

Florentina launched into a report of the last several years of dirty little secrets and scandals. Eyes shining as she gazed up at him, she added, ‘You look divine. France has been good to you.’

‘I think you mean puberty,’ Jules replied with a wink. Florentina laughed, hanging off his arm.

Selene tried to ignore the way she pressed her breasts against his bicep.

‘I didn’t know Eliot’s banishment had ended,’ Gabriel murmured, surprise flickering across his face. The crease between his brows deepened. ‘Is your fiancé back for good?’

Selene felt more than saw Jules’s full attention zero in on their conversation.

This had to be punishment for past sins.

She shot Jules a narrow-eyed glance, alarmed at the hint of amusement in his expression. Fiancé? said the smirk that played at the corner of his lips as he gently shook Florentina off.

‘I am indeed.’ Circling her waist with one arm, Jules tugged Selene back against his chest. ‘Didn’t you tell anyone I was coming?’ He looked down at Selene, holding her gaze. ‘Did you want to keep me all to yourself? How selfish of you, mon petit lapinou. ’

My little love bunny.

He pressed a kiss to her temple.

Little other than an iron will forged in the Vatican’s Military Academy prevented her from inflicting grievous bodily harm in that moment. Smiling a smile that felt like it showed too many teeth, she pinched his chin between her fingers. ‘Who can blame me for wanting to keep you all to myself? After last night, I thought your conversation skills could use a bit of practice.’

‘My conversation skills are just fine.’

She raised one shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘Maybe for Nice. But in Rome we pride ourselves on being a city of great conversationalists. There’s room for improvement, that’s all I’m saying.’

Jules bit back a smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me.’

‘I can assure you, it was.’ She yawned.

A flicker of amusement lit his eyes and he dropped his lashes, acknowledging defeat. He loosened his arm but kept his hand against the small of her back.

Something Gabriel said slithered back to her. ‘What do you know about Eliot’s exile, Gabriel? I wasn’t aware you had any insight.’

While Gabriel gave no visible sign he’d even heard her question, Jules’s expression shuttered.

Her lips twisted in annoyance. She hated being the last to know something.

‘Didn’t Eliot tell you? He was banished by Imperium’s decree and I was there to ensure it was done. Your uncle …’ Gabriel trailed off, seeing her face. ‘Your uncle asked me to see him to the train.’

Jules squeezed her hip in warning.

‘He personally approved Eliot’s return,’ she lied tightly. ‘So obviously that’s changed. I’ll have to make sure word gets round so you don’t get thrown in the Vatican dungeons.’

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. ‘You seem different, Eliot.’

‘It’s been seven years, Gabriel. Give him a chance to find his feet.’

Gabriel ignored her. ‘What was the last thing you did in Rome? Just curious.’ He tried to stare Jules down but couldn’t. Jules had inches on him, and it gave her a vicious surge of delight that Gabriel couldn’t intimidate Jules in his usual boring way.

Sensing danger, her fingers bunched in the back of his jacket.

Jules ignored her death grip. ‘I visited the Trevi Fountain and tossed three coins over my shoulder.’

How did Jules know about the Trevi Fountain legend? By ensnaring three promises with three coins, you ensured your ticket back to Rome, love, and a wedding day near at hand.

‘Though I only really needed two.’ Looking down at Selene, Jules held her eyes. ‘Because one … one was already spoken for.’

His breath was a low purr that stirred the loose hairs at her temple. None of it was Eliot. The delivery was all Jules, and it made her heart stumble. He lied so smoothly even she almost believed him.

‘Of course,’ Gabriel said quietly. ‘I forgot.’

Selene felt as though she’d been knocked over. Nothing made sense right now. ‘How did you know?’ she asked Gabriel in a low voice.

He blanched. ‘I was there. I took him there as a last request before escorting him to Roma Centrale. I … I ensured his exile was complete.’ He wouldn’t look at her and betrayal slid between her ribs like a knife.

Gabriel had been their upperclassman, and he had been the one to force Eliot to leave. He had been the knife at his back.

And he’d never told her.

As Florentina dragged Jules toward the idling town cars, Selene fell into step beside Gabriel.

How many times had Gabriel lied to avoid telling her the truth?

And how many times had Cesare?