Page 67 of Divine Temptations

I’d done it before—with cult leaders, grifters, fake psychics. Use the chemistry, get them to open up. Unholy Orders episode 36 was literally titled “I Made Out With a Medium (And He Still Didn’t See It Coming).”

So yeah. Jude Brooks wouldn’t be the first man I’d gotten horizontal with in the name of journalism.

But he might be the most dangerous.

Chapter Eight

Jude

The fire was dying, but I didn’t move to feed it. Some things are meant to burn down to embers.

Around me, the circle disbanded like a dream losing shape in the morning light. Blankets were folded, cushions stacked, jars of salt sealed and stowed. Someone was humming off-key as they packed away their crystals. Another murmured a goodbye that floated into the trees like a breeze.

I nodded, smiled, touched shoulders, returned hugs. A few wanted one last word, a blessing, a confirmation that the energy was good. I gave what I could, but my focus kept sliding sideways.

Back to him.

Julian hadn’t said a word since Doug placed the herbs in the fire. But he hadn’t left either.

He stayed.

Leaning back on his hands like he wasn’t trying to look invested. Like he wasn’t watching me out of the corner of his eye while pretending to study the sky. But I felt him watching. Felt it like heat on the back of my neck.

He made me nervous in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. Like standing too close to a high ledge. Beautiful view, beautiful thrill. Just don’t lean too far.

Everyone else eventually vanished down the winding trail, headlights winking through the trees one by one. Someone shouted, “Namaste, bitches!” and I smiled to myself.

And then it was just us.

The fire crackled softly. A single pop. The smell of rosemary lingered.

Julian shifted in his seat, drawing one knee up and wrapping an arm around it. His hair had fallen a little onto his face. He didn’t push it back. He looked younger in the firelight. Not less jaded, just… more human.

“Do you always throw parties like that, or was this just for me?” he asked.

His voice was low. Not sarcastic, exactly.

I looked at him for a long moment. “If I threw it for you, would that make you feel special or suspicious?”

He tilted his head. “Both.”

That made me laugh. I wasn’t used to that kind of humor around here—dry and sharp-edged, like a wine you’re not sure if you like or if you’re just impressed by.

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” I admitted. “Not tonight.”

He lifted a brow. “Why not?”

“You seem like someone who likes to watch from a safe distance.”

“Maybe I got bored.”

“Or maybe,” I said, letting the pause stretch just a little, “something pulled you in.”

His mouth did this thing. Almost a smile. Almost. But his eyes never left mine.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he said. “I came for the story.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t believe him. Not fully.