Possession

by J. R. Ward

  That her sketchbook wasn't in there.

  Where the hell had she left it?

  A quick trip downstairs proved that it wasn't in the kitchen, and she even went out into her car and checked under the seats.

  On one level, it shouldn't have been a big deal. There hadn't been anything in it other than rough sketches, outlines, doodles, and notes on current projects, but the content wasn't the issue. Something of hers was out in the world on its little lonesome, unprotected--she felt as though she'd left her SUV unlocked downtown after dark.

  Heading back to her bedroom, she shook her head. Maybe she needed to get a dog to reprioritize things properly.

  Or ... a child.

  Her steps faltered and she stopped halfway to the second floor. She couldn't possibly have just thought that. Nope. She wasn't having children--that had never been part of her goals. Ever.

  And okay, if she had had that passing brain spasm? It was clearly the result of the hormone overload she'd been enjoying for the last forty-eight hours.

  She was not the maternal type. That had been something true as a bedrock ever since she'd had a mature thought about anything.

  In fact, that resolution had been part of the reason Thom's call so many months ago had hit her so hard: He had always agreed with her. No kids--it made life simpler and less expensive. Nicer and more tidy. They were going to be two professionals living in a home with white carpets and lots of glass.

  The spic-and-span version of a picket fence.

  Cait restarted her ascent, her mind churning. Having sex on boat cushions in a semi-private place was not "nice," and neither was what she'd done the night before at that club on the floor. And making out by her parked car in the cold because she didn't want to leave the man she'd just made love with was definitely not "tidy."

  And yet here she was, counting down the hours until she could become undone all over again.

  Maybe the last six months at the gym and the various other self-improvements had been a case of laying a new kind of groundwork for her life. And if you went by the truism that timing was everything ... a Duke, not a Thom, was what she needed.

  It was entirely possible that nice-and-tidy wasn't what she was after anymore.

  Her phone started to ring just as she was resettling against her pillows. With a lunge, she all but cleared her bedside table to get at the thing, a smile breaking out not just over her face, but deep within her chest. "Hello?"

  Talk about perfect timing...

  "Hey, Cait."

  She sat upright in a rush. "G.B. Oh, hi."

  "Were you expecting someone else?"

  Yes. "No. Not really."

  Crap.

  "Sorry to call so late. But I've left you two messages, and when you didn't get back to me, I got worried--you know, after what happened to you in the parking garage."

  "Oh, yeah, no. I mean, I'm fine." She pushed her hair back and pulled the lapels of her pj top closer. "I just didn't get your voice mails."

  It hadn't even dawned on her to check her phone.

  "Hot date or something?" As Cait struggled to answer that one, he cursed softly. "I'm sorry. It's been a horrifically long day, and I'm probably over-reacting. I'm just glad you're okay."

  "I'm fine. Home safe, as a matter of fact." She frowned. "What went wrong today?"

  "Everything, but I didn't call to bitch to you, honest. I really was concerned."

  "That's kind of you--except now I'm the one who's worried."

  There was a pause. "It's good to hear your voice, how about that?"

  "Did rehearsals not go well?"

  "The director was being a dick, 'scuse my French. And there was some weird stuff with other staff people. The good news is, tomorrow is a new day, and--"

  A beep cut in. Someone else was calling.

  "Hey, G.B., give me a sec--hold on." She hit hold call and answer. "Hello?"

  "Tell me you made it home all right."

  Cait closed her eyes at the sound of that deep, husky voice. "I did."

  "What are you wearing?"

  "Cotton PJs."

  "Are you going to make me beg for you to take them off?"

  Cait bit her lip, eyes closing as her head fell back. "No..."

  Her body was instantly ready again, needing that connection it had found with this man on her phone--

  "Shit--I mean, crap. Hold on, Duke?"

  "Yeah."

  She clicked over to G.B. and felt like throwing up. "Hey, I've got to take this."

  "Okay ... but are you sure you're all right? You sound funny."

  "No, I'm fine. Honest."

  "You want to do lunch again at the theater tomorrow? That was a great break in my day, and I have a feeling I'm going to need the company."

  "Yes, sure. That sounds good--I'll see you at one?"

  "Noon's better, if that's okay with you? Or do you have class."

  "No, that works fine."

  "Great. It's a date. See you then."

  As he ended the call on his side, she stared across the room and wondered if she'd done the right thing. She couldn't keep stringing him along if she wasn't really interested. But ... she didn't know where things were going with Duke, did she? And if the two of them didn't work out, maybe something could develop with G.B. over time. She just didn't know.

  One thing was clear. If she clicked back over to Duke, she knew exactly what was going to happen.

  Pushing the complicated mix of emotions to the side, she reopened the connection, thinking, Shoot, she just couldn't say no.

  "Duke?" she breathed. "You still there?"

  "You think I'd go anywhere?" His voice dropped even lower. "Now be a good girl ... and get naked for me."

  Oh, God, she loved it when he talked like that.

  Cait put the phone aside and swept everything off. As her PJs fell to the floor, she pushed herself down under the covers, the warmth and weight a pitiful substitute for his body.

  The second she picked up her cell again, he said, "Touch yourself. Pretend it's my hand, my mouth ..." A groan replaced the words--which told her exactly what he was doing on his end. "I need more..."

  She did what he asked, and as she undulated, the soft cotton sheets were rough against her tight nipples.

  "... want to be in you..."

  Cait could barely hear what he was saying as she jacked further into the pillows and her body contorted, the orgasm rolling through her, heightened by the memories of where they had gone before ... and the anticipation that there was more to come.

  Literally.

  As Duke growled, she could picture him with his teeth clenched, his head also kicking back, that incredible, hard body surging as he came into his own fist.

  "More," he said, almost as soon as he'd finished orgasming. "I want more of you..."

  Insatiable had never been so satisfying.

  And it was the perfect ending to a perfect evening.

  After God only knew how many more rounds, he said, "I might be done tonight, but I'm still not finished with you."

  "Is that a promise?" she drawled.

  "Hand over my heart, ready to die."

  As she got ready for the inevitable good-bye, she was stunned to find she wanted to say, "I love you"--not because she'd thought about it, but because it seemed so natural.

  And wasn't that a cold dose of reality.

  "Good night, Duke," she whispered instead.

  "Sleep well. Or not. And if it's the latter, dream of me."

  "Always."

  Hanging up and turning out her light, she feared that was true. If she had thought Thom had done a number on her? What Duke could do was much worse...

  Or better, God willing.

  Chapter

  Thirty-eight

  Jim went back to Earth in a daze. Maybe it was from blood loss--but more likely it was the fact that whatever you believed about God, however you worshipped, ignored, or otherwise approached Him or Her, nobody was prepared to meet the Creator face-to-face.


  The impact of that persona had been an orgasm on top of death throes draped in a free fall punctuated by a bone-shattering, hot asphalt, buck-stops-here slam.

  Even Colin had felt it, and that had been the only thing that could have made the archangel stop--well, short of Jim bleeding out entirely.

  And as for a description of the Maker? No words, no syllables, not even memory that was still short-term could bring it forth. The only thing Jim kept coming back to was that the Bible was right in one respect--the Divine was so much greater than man, Mount Everest to a molehill, the Atlantic to a fishbowl, the cold of space compared to that of an ice cube. And even those comparisons failed.

  Then there was what had happened afterward ... and Jim still didn't know what to make of that.

  Back at the house, standing at the base of the stairs, he didn't know how in the hell he was going to make it up to the second floor, much less over to the bathroom to clean his sorry ass up--

  The grandfather clock started to chime, that gonging stabbing right into his skull.

  But at least the annoyance at the goddamn thing got him going. He refused to keep count, however--although when he finally got on its level, he shot it a glare and a half.

  As he arrived up at the foyer, he stared down the hall toward Sissy's room. He wanted to go in there, lift her covers, slide in next to her and hold her. It seemed right to reconnect--for fuck's sake, he felt like he'd been gone forever.

  Then again, nearly being dead again would do that to a guy.

  Maybe that sense of an eternity passing was what Hell had been like for her? A blip on Earth, but forever in the mind and the soul.

  With any luck, she'd be sleeping, so he decided it was better to leave her alone. Inside the bathroom, he cranked the hot water on, and was barely undressed when steam started to boil up out of the curtain.

  Frowning, he reached inside. "Shit!"

  Hot, very hot. As if the water heater had suddenly decided to start working properly for the first time since they'd moved in.

  Miracles, miracles.

  Readjusting the mix of H and C faucets, he got under the spray and cursed again--nothing like being reminded that he had two or three fairly major stab wounds that were still open. Sluicing the water back into his hair, he tilted his head and let the warmth run down his shoulders and torso. His body was beaten to shit, sore in every place that counted, but the good news, if there was any, was that in his previous life it would have taken him weeks in the hospital and months of rehab to get back on track.

  Now a matter of hours would do it.

  But he could be killed. Colin's attack proved it. So did Nigel's demise.

  Man, out of all the deaths he thought he'd have on his conscience, that archangel's was not one. And there was no doubting that Nigel may have put the dagger in his own chest, but Jim's hand had been on the grip, too.

  Out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel. Heading for his room with his bloodied clothes hanging from his arms like they were his internal organs.

  Before shutting himself into the darkness, he stared in the direction of Sissy's room again. God, he just wanted to go there, knock on the door, have her tell him to come in. And then, without a lot of talk, he could lie next to her and hold her body for a little while.

  They would both sleep.

  That was all he wanted, just rest, peace, a time to recharge. Because the message from the Maker had been clear: The war was going to continue regardless of the loss.

  "Fucking hell."

  He'd never liked Nigel. He'd been frustrated with the guy's need to follow the rules, and incensed by that superior English manner. But he hadn't wanted the archangel dead--and oh, crap, Colin? File that under Fucking Batshit Pissed. Plus, there was no way of knowing where the other two archangels had been, and if they were half as angry as Nigel's buddy? Jim might as well turn himself over to Devina now, before they ripped him limb from limb.

  He passed through into his room and ditched the clothes right by the door. He'd burn them tomorrow--and yes, he was going to tell Adrian what was going on. He was also going to get an update from the guy as to where they stood with the soul.

  Time to move on.

  One of the lessons he had learned long ago was that you couldn't go back. History was the only immutable thing anyone, mortals and immortals alike, had--and even that changed depending on what you knew of actual events at any given time. He couldn't go back and fix what Nigel had decided to do. He could only go forward.

  Man, he needed--

  "Jim?"

  The sound of Sissy's voice stopped his body, but sped up his heart. "Sissy...?"

  "I thought I would wait up for you. I fell asleep."

  He could just imagine what she looked like lying against his pillows, sitting up a little, eyes drowsy, hair slightly tangled.

  "Can I join you?" he asked hoarsely.

  "What happened? What's wrong?"

  When there was a rustling and something hit the floor, he said, "No, don't bother turning on the light."

  He didn't want her to see what kind of shape he was in. Maybe by morning ... yeah, by morning, he would look back to normal.

  More important, he would be back to normal: All roads led to Devina. Sissy and her family's suffering. Nigel's. Colin's. Adrian's. Those various dominoes had each fallen, thanks to one flick of the demon's manicured finger.

  She had to lose the war--stipulated. But that was not enough. She needed the kind of agony she forced others to feel--and that was only going to happen if he took away the one thing that mattered to her.

  Her precious collection of crap.

  One way or the other, before the end of the war, he was going to find the shit and torch it. Then she would know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the pain she dished out.

  Eye for an eye. And after that? He was going to beat her at this game and wish her one final fuck-off before she was dusted.

  "So can I?" he said.

  "You don't sound right--I mean, yes, please."

  If he'd been a gentleman, he would have put some clothes on...

  And what do you know, even as exhausted as he was, he went over and drew on some sweats and a muscle shirt before he got anywhere near the bed.

  Stretching out took some effort, but then Sissy curled in against him.

  Warm and soft, smelling like flowers from the shampoo and soap Adrian had gotten her. Heavenly woman...

  "What did you say?" she whispered.

  Shit. "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you came in here."

  "Me, too."

  As her arm sneaked around his waist, it was with the gentlest of movements, as if she knew he was hurting. Or maybe that was her way.

  It was so strange, he thought, but lying next to her, he felt like he was home. And after having been transient and unconnected for so long, the powerful peace was a shock and a weakness, but in this quiet darkness, it was also right--

  Sissy moved even closer, and as she repositioned herself, her breast brushed up against his side, its soft cushion making him draw in a swift breath.

  "Jim?" she said, her voice right next to his ear. "Are you okay?"

  He moved his lower body further back. "Yeah."

  "You sound like you're in pain."

  When he didn't reply, she inhaled deeply, as if frustrated--and that breast moved again, stroking him, whatever thin shirt she was wearing no barrier at all.

  He was very sure she did not have a bra on.

  "Jim, you know what I've learned? Talking helps."

  Oh, God, she might as well be stretching him on a rack: His sex was waking up down below, in spite of the condition he was in, and the arousal felt like a torturous betrayal of her. Unfortunately, it wasn't like he could stop the powerful urge to roll on top of her and take her beautiful face carefully in his rough, scarred hands, and--

  "My boss died today."

  As Sissy stiffened, he thought, yup, the image of Nigel lying in a pool of silver blood
wiped out his erection completely. And he hated that he was using the suicide to cure this kind of problem, but that wasn't the only reason he'd brought up the nightmare. He did want to talk about it. With her.

  "I don't want to freak you out," he muttered. "And you know, someday I'm going to have good news to tell you. Promise."

  Sissy sat up. "What happened?"

  "I don't know. I went up there to meet with him and ... yeah, the place was shut up tight, no one was around, and when I went looking, I found him. Dead."

  "Jesus ... Christ."

  "That was my reaction, too." No reason to go into his feeling responsible for it. Sissy was tied up inextricably in all that, and God knew he was carrying around enough guilt for the both of them. "I'm a strategic thinker--and I never saw anything like that coming."

  "What about Colin...?"

  Something niggled in the back of his brain. But then he shook off the sensation.

  He also had no intention of going into the attack. "Not doing well. At all."

  Sissy eased back down beside him, somehow ending up mostly on his chest. And though it made his stab wounds ache, he was not going to ask her to move.

  Instead, as her straight hair fell onto him, tickling his upper arm, he sneaked a stroke of it ... and one was not enough. In fact, as he played with the silky, blunt-cut ends, he found himself wanting to do it for the rest of his unnatural life.

  "And I was right about Dog," he murmured.

  "In what way?"

  He shook his head, a wave of exhaustion coming over him, sapping his strength completely. "I'm really glad you were here when I walked in."

  Sissy put herself into the crook of his arm, and it was so goddamn right, the pair of them alone in a darkness that was not threatening, comforting each other.

  Talk about virgins ... "I've never done this before," he heard himself say.

  "Done what?"

  "Lay like this with a woman."

  "What do you usually do--" She stopped short. "Never mind, don't answer that."

  "It's different with you."

  As Sissy stiffened again, he thought, Okay, time to shut up now. "Sorry."

  It was a long while before she shook her head against his biceps. "No, it's okay. And I'm sorry about your boss."

  "Me, too. And thanks."

  "Death is never expected, is it. Even when you know it's coming ... it's always a surprise."

  "Especially like that."

  "What do you mean?"

  Jim closed his eyes against the darkness. "He killed himself."