Page 19

B ack in her rooms, Selene let the uncomfortable silence stretch between them. Let him sweat . The only sound in the echoing silence was the click , click , click as she opened her gun’s chamber to count and recount her bullets. Enough to kill him many times over. Jules adjusted the button at his collar, his eyes on her fingers.

Tearing his gaze away, he deliberately circled the rooms, peering into the small library before pushing open the double doors to her bedroom. His eyes widened at the sight of the bed.

It was rather large. Especially compared to the narrow bunks on the train. No , she corrected herself, especially compared to the trenches.

Sometime during the funeral, their luggage had been delivered. Selene checked on the portfolio containing Jules’s file and found it untouched, still tucked inside her winter coat. Jules’s smaller suitcase—borrowed from Eliot, detailed with his initials on a brass plaque—sat beside hers. She took the handles and carried both after Jules, making a point of not noticing him. Even though he was standing in the middle of her space. Seeming particularly tall and broad-shouldered. Which was a problem.

Eliot had no rooms at the Vatican.

He’d left when they were both at the Academy and sleeping in the dorms. She could requisition some, but Vatican administrative processes were notoriously slow when it came to non-demon-related paperwork.

A problem for tomorrow.

Cesare’s earlier words came back to her. She had disappointed him again. And he had disappointed her by dismissing her concerns, as she knew he would. When she told him that she suspected Baliel was coming to Rome, he’d laughed. She felt it to her bones and he’d laughed . Worse, he had admonished her for using too much power. Against a demon duke.

And this was why he couldn’t know about Jules. When she’d brought it up—hesitantly, feeling disloyal for even voicing the thought—Eliot had agreed. It was best not to bother Cesare with this. Eliot had chosen his words carefully, and she would too. Cesare was busy with his own role and picking up the slack from the Exorcist Primus’ infirmity. She would continue her investigations until she had something meaningful to share. Something beyond her gut instinct. Something he couldn’t laugh off.

Jules poked his head into the main bathroom, whistling between his teeth, before moving to relieve her of the luggage. He set Eliot’s small case on one of the window seats. The stained glass at the top of the window coloured the planes of his face as he snapped open the buckles. He drew out a fresh white shirt to replace the wet one. She tried to ignore the way every fold of saturated fabric emphasized a different muscle, from sculpted biceps to the hard lines of his chest and stomach.

‘How did you know about the Trevi Fountain?’ she asked.

He raised a brow in question.

‘Earlier,’ she clarified. ‘You told Gabriel quite a story. I thought you were making it up as you went. But … his reaction.’

‘Eliot told me. He didn’t tell me his wishes were about you .’ He picked up a photograph of her parents, his thumb smoothing over the glass.

She tried to assemble her features into something more Selene but failed. She could tell he’d caught her stricken look.

He set the picture down. ‘Why do you think he didn’t tell me?’

‘I don’t know.’ She spread her hands. ‘We were children when it was all decided, and the last time I saw him he was my best friend and nothing more. I haven’t thought about it for years. It’s probably the same for him.’

He smirked. ‘Sure it is. And Gabriel? What is he to you?’

She narrowed her eyes.

‘Isn’t this something I might need to know?’

He was right, damn him. ‘He was our upperclassman. We knew him growing up. And he was my superior when I first left the Academy.’

‘That’s all?’

‘Absolutely.’ She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it over the velvet chaise.

‘Well, I think he likes you.’

She chose not to dignify that with a response. Turning her full attention to the bar cart in the corner, she sifted through the bottles until she found what she was looking for. Jules continued to circle the space, fingertips trailing over the walls as he looked around with open wonder. He paused in the doorway to her bedroom, his broad shoulders briefly eclipsing the sunlight streaming through.

How dare he take up so much room ?

She poured herself a Scotch.

Selene’s rooms were much like her. Utterly beautiful. He smothered a grimace at the resurfaced memory. Bellezza , he’d called her. Beauty . Because she was. Terrifying, yes. But also beautiful. And then she’d promptly cut him down to size with that razor tongue of hers.

He slid a glance her way. Her gun was back at her thigh, its many bullets chambered once more and ready to kill a man. Probably him. She had taken the time to count each one with deadly patience—something he had never expected from her, and hoped never to see again.

He glanced around the lounge. Where the walls were lustrous and ornate, the doors and architraves were pure white. The large sitting room was wallpapered with painted midnight silk, details picked out in beadwork. It was as though the Vatican gardens had been captured and brought inside. Pressed into the walls. All their palms and flowers and birds. Fat pomegranates and raspberries fought for their place among large ruffled peonies, plum blossoms, white lilies, and fronded plants. Cranes in flight stood out against the deep blue background.

Jules brushed his fingers over the beading of a luminous bird. Tiny gold beads created the impression of a bright, alert eye. He stroked his fingers over the thousand more that defined its wing feathers in pretty waves, the tiny discs sewn directly to the fabric.

The bed was vast and postered, draped with gauzy curtains beaded with seed pearls. There were miles of plush bedding, and pillows piled high enough to swallow a man. Selene, by contrast, appeared severe in this heart of opulence. Her dark uniform, tights, and fine leather boots that ended above her knee; the delicate pauldron sculpted to her off-shoulder, its overlapping gold scales forged to look like feathers. And all of her still rather damp.

He tipped his head, re-evaluating her.

Seeing her private space did nothing to lessen his regard. Quite the opposite. Selene had all the comfort she could ever want, and still he’d seen her throw herself into the fight with all the ferocity of a starving wolf.

Water dripped off the hem of her short black dress, puddling on the floor. He stepped up behind her, looking down at her delicate hands as she stirred a drink. Her shoulders stiffened, but that was her only reaction. Still furious.

But that only made winning a smile a challenge worth attempting.

Jules stepped up behind her, his presence warm at her back. His heat seemed to soak through the damp wool layers of her uniform and into her skin. She smoothed her mask, not showing any of her thoughts on her face.

He eyed the glass in her hand. ‘You know what I’m thinking?’

‘No.’

‘I’m thinking—’

‘I mean no to whatever you’re thinking. Emphatically.’

He reached over her, snagging the glass from her hand, and raised it to his lips. He watched her over the rim, taking a sip. She shifted, warmth coiling in her belly at the memory of those lips on hers.

Damn him.

‘I’m thinking we play the question game again. But make it interesting.’

‘The question game? I thought it was a study session ?’

He grinned. ‘It was.’

‘And now you want a drinking game? No.’

‘Well, that’s not fair. How else am I supposed to figure out this place if I don’t make it into a drinking game?’

She turned. There was no space between them. Barely a breath of air. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘What I need to know to survive,’ he amended with a sigh, handing her back the glass.

She took a sip, not taking her eyes off him.

‘Selene, please.’ Her name sounded different now though she couldn’t place how.

Returning the glass to Jules, Selene poured herself another. She raised her Scotch. ‘To surviving all of—’ She angled her wrist, glancing at her watch. ‘Six hours in Rome without being discovered.’

His lips curled into a slow smile as he touched their glasses. ‘It’s gonna be a long week.’

Jules looked good like this. Relaxed. Damp clothes hugging every line of his body. All but his shirt, which was only partially buttoned. She yanked her eyes back up. No .

Focus .

There was no way on earth she could let herself be distracted by the most irritating man she’d ever met just because he knew how to kiss—and Dio , he knew how to kiss.

Perhaps a little distraction wasn’t all bad. But … not this man. Not with his kill marks and an unknowable connection to Baliel. That was a dangerous game. Not that she was unused to dangerous games, but it was one thing in the streets, entirely another between the—

No .

She let out a long breath. ‘It would take all night to tell you everything , but I’ll tell you what I can.’

‘But no drinking game?’

‘My liver wouldn’t survive it.’

He grinned, eyes bright. ‘But it would be fun.’

And God help her, that smile would get him everywhere.

It had been a long time since she’d had more than a finger of Scotch, and she suspected Jules had never had access to quality hard liquor. The first half-hour was spent reciting the names of her classmates and their ranking. And then Jules had decided he was no longer interested in learning. He was bored to death and losing his patience.

And his clothes.

‘No, Florentina ranked second, Fiorentina was seventh,’ Selene corrected. Her brain was foggy and the world spun pleasantly around her.

‘I don’t even know her.’ Jules was trying and failing to untie the D’Alessandro swords from his hip. ‘Where did Caterina rank? Higher than you?’

‘Nope.’ She knew she sounded smug. ‘I was top ranked. Besides, Caterina and Lucia were ahead of me by two years.’

‘Huh.’ He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. ‘But you’re their boss?’

‘The empire runs on—’

‘ Nepotism .’

‘Meritocratic principles— what ?’

‘Nothing.’ He stole her glass, downing it to avoid her eyes, and brought her another.

‘At least I can untie a knot,’ she muttered into her drink.

‘Let’s ask the question game again.’

‘Play the asking game?’

‘That’s what I said.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Umm.’

Jules tossed his hands up, finally giving up on the sword tie. ‘ Fine , I’ll take the whole belt off.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt.

She laughed, pressing the crystal glass to her cheek to try to cool it down. ‘Oh, I know. If … if you could do anything , what would you do?’

‘Fly,’ he said, falling hard. He sat on the floor, forgetting his shirt buttons and fighting with the swords once more.

‘No—no, no . Like a job.’

‘Oh.’ He stilled, apparently thinking very hard, his eyes unfocused.

She stomped over. ‘Answer!’

He laughed. ‘Or what?’

She snorted, trying not to laugh. He was much funnier than usual tonight. ‘Maybe something. Maybe nothing.’

‘Well, okay then.’ He whistled through his teeth, once again thinking hard. ‘Maybe what you do?’

She scoffed. ‘Exorcist?’

‘Yeah. Why?’ He stood, grasping for her shoulders to keep his balance. ‘You think I couldn’t do it?’

‘An exorcist who doesn’t even know how to un—unbluck—’

‘Un- bluckle ,’ he said confidently.

‘Yes, that. You need to do that if you want to be a good exorcist. Good exorcists can’t just wear their swords forever, you know.’

He looked dejected. ‘Makes sense.’

She reached for him, fiddling with his buckle with clumsy fingers until the whole belt fell to the floor with a heavy clunk. ‘There. Fixed it.’

He beamed. ‘All right, all right … a question.’ He strolled a few steps away then turned. ‘If you could kill anyone without any consequences, who would it be?’

Her brows furrowed. ‘But I can already do that?’

‘Oh.’ He thought about that for a moment. ‘Then I get another one.’

‘That’s against the rules.’

‘Subsection Three says—’

‘ Fine .’

‘Ha!’ He grinned as he resumed his attempts to undo his shirt buttons. She watched his large, scarred hands struggle, his brows pulled together, as he scowled darkly. Finally he yanked the shirt up over his head and dropped it to the floor. His skin looked remarkably tanned and smooth in this light and she wondered if it felt as hot as he looked.

She took a step closer. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Going to sleep.’ He slumped onto the bed, leaning against the headboard carved like palm fronds. ‘You always look so sad when your family comes up. Where are they?’

She bristled, the question something of a cold splash of water, though her edges still felt fuzzy. ‘I did not look sad.’

‘You did.’

‘Gone.’ Her back was to him. ‘Some dead. Some just gone.’ The crumpled white shirt looked a hell of a lot more comfortable than the still damp clothes she was wearing. She picked it up. It was still warm. ‘If you won’t wear it, I will.’

‘Be my guest,’ he slurred, somewhat muffled by the bedding.

Toeing off her boots, she pulled her shirt off and slipped Jules’s on. Her fingers were clumsy as she tried to do up the top button. In the bathroom she kicked off her tights, finally shedding the last of her damp clothes. She returned with a glass of water and knelt on the bed beside him.

At her urging, Jules obediently wrapped his fingers over hers and guided the glass to his lips. ‘Have you ever stolen something?’ he asked.

Selene bit her lip, trying not to smile. ‘ This ,’ she said, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

‘Mm-hmm.’ He smirked and seemed about to say something more. Heavy-lidded eyes trailed down her body. Then he flopped unconscious into her pile of feather pillows.

She shuffled back to the armchair. She shifted around, hanging her feet over the edge. Nothing she did made it more comfortable. Sighing, she wriggled her bottom to squish deeper into the seat.

The sound of Jules breathing barely reached her over here, just enough to remind her he was there … in her bed. In her Egyptian cotton sheets. He sounded deeply asleep. And very drunk.

She dragged her gaze away and shifted around, curling up like a cat. Nothing worked. She groaned loudly and flounced to her feet.

He didn’t stir. Not a twitch.

Tiptoeing over to him on quiet feet, she hesitated by the bed, bare legs chilly. Her bed looked awfully inviting and it was the only thing that wasn’t spinning.

Jules was a heavy sleeper. She’d witnessed that on the train. And this time he had more liquor than blood in his system. Surely he was too drunk to notice her slip under the covers and back out again before he woke up? She carefully shuffled in. The cold sheets felt sublime against her skin.

Jules rolled over, his hand perilously close to touching her. Still and silent, she waited until his breathing evened out again and then wriggled deeper under the covers.

She sighed. Bliss .

And Jules’s soft snores didn’t bother her at all.