Immortal

by J. R. Ward

  "He'll take care of it." Adrian fell back on his butt. "He could have fixed all of this had he wanted to. Ain't that right, Nigel."

  Sissy shook her head. "But why would he--"

  The archangel sat up and took the gag out of his mouth with a hand that trembled. He was as pale as a cloud, and as a shimmer fell down the front of his robing, she realized that something like diamonds were cascading to the floor.

  No, they actually were diamonds. As if his tears had hardened into the precious stones.

  "You good?" Jim demanded gruffly. "Anything else you need?"

  "You h-h-h-have p-p-provided a s-s-sufficiency."

  "I'll be right back," Sissy said, bolting for the door.

  Rushing through the foyer and going into the kitchen, she headed for the cabinets. Popping them open, she found empty shelf after empty shelf. She was looking for some bourbon or gin or something that could warm the guy up and calm him down--

  She found the remnants of a liquor stash on the lower level next to the sink. Pulling the bottles out, she had to wipe off the labels of a couple to read them. Most appeared to have been long opened, though, so God only knew what was going on with the insides of them.

  One of them still had a seal, however, and when she looked at the label, she muttered, "Gotcha."

  On the way out, she grabbed one squat glass from the counter--then thought, What the hell, everyone needed a drink.

  When she reentered the parlor, she hesitated, the extent of the damage dawning on her. The place was a bomb zone, but in the words of her father, they had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

  Going over to the Englishman, she sat down cross-legged, arranged the glasses, cracked the paper seal, and poured out a healthy serving of the sherry.

  She handed the first one to the guy who'd had his arms and legs worked on. Seemed only fair.

  As Nigel's strange-colored eyes swung in her direction, he gave her a tired smile. "You are a saint, my dear."

  She had to help him keep hold of the glass. "Isn't that your job?"

  "Alas, I am no saint." He raised the sherry to her and bowed his head before drinking it all down.

  Sissy was ready with the bottle, refilling him before pouring out glasses for herself, Jim, and Ad. And what do you know, the men murmured thanks and accepted the offering in spite of the fact that they probably considered it a little girlie.

  Better than hundred-year-old gin, she'd imagine.

  The four of them finished the whole damn bottle--Sissy included, even though she'd never been a big drinker even in college. And she had to admit the stuff worked. By the time the sherry was gone, there was color in Nigel's face and his hands had stopped shaking, and he wasn't the only one relaxing a little.

  It was like having a Bunsen burner in your stomach, she thought as she put her glass down.

  Jim tossed back the last of his and stared at Nigel. "I'm going to assume you're fully returned. As in, I'm going to stay down here and keep doing what I'm doing."

  "That is my intention."

  "Intention?"

  "The Creator is going to be displeased in all likelihood. But I shall take full responsibility. If there is to be a punishment, I shall accept it in your stead."

  "Devina says she's going to tell Him it was her idea."

  "And you trust her?"

  "Good point."

  Nigel looked up at the ceiling. "I shall be off then."

  "I'm not going to ask you who the next soul is."

  "Indeed? After your good deed, I am in the mood to grant you a favor."

  "No." Jim's expression grew hard. "I'm going to win this the right way. The way He set it up. I'll find the soul, and she's not getting them this time."

  "Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind." Nigel glanced at Adrian and gave him a nod. Then he looked over at Sissy. "My gratitude for the restorative."

  And on that note, the archangel up and disappeared, leaving nothing behind. Just like Colin had.

  Sissy reached out and picked up one of the flashing white stones that had fallen to the floor. "Is this really what I think it is?"

  "Yeah," Ad said. "The tears of archangels are pretty damn fancy, huh." The guy grunted and stood up. "I'm fucking starved. Between the drama and no lunch, I'm ready to eat the doorknobs." He glanced around. "Lucky for me, 'cause that's about all that's left in here. I'm gonna hit the Seven Eleven and then make a McDonald's run--no reason for the likes of us to eat healthy. Whaddaya want."

  Sissy put in an order for two cheeseburgers, a large fries, a high-test Coke, and a chocolate sundae. Jim wanted four Quarter Pounders with cheese and three Cokes.

  "Hold down the fort," Ad said as he limped off. "And try to do something about the windows. I think we're supposed to get rain tonight."

  Left alone with Jim, Sissy sat and played with the little diamond she'd picked up, moving it around the center of her palm. A minute later, the sound of the Explorer backing down the driveway was louder than it usually was on account of the lack of glass.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  "That's honest." She looked up. "I'm glad . . . you came back."

  Jim rubbed his jaw, and for some reason that made her focus on his lips. Which made her wonder--what they would feel like . . . against her mouth, her throat, her breasts.

  "I've got to find the next soul. I've got to--shit, who the hell is it gonna be? And where are they . . ."

  She had a feeling he was talking to himself, and that was okay. The rambling gave her an excuse to look at him some more, measure his broad shoulders, his veined forearms, his--

  "You're bleeding," she said, pointing to his shoulder.

  He glanced at himself. "Who stabbed me? And why?"

  "Colin. They were worried your body would . . . God, are we really talking like this?" She scrubbed her eyes. "Sometimes this is just too much. It really is."

  "I'm sorry."

  Sissy glanced over at the blown-out windows. The darkness outdoors was because of the sun having set, not that demon, but it was hard to feel safe with all the open frames. Then again, why did she think a couple of panes of glass were going to help.

  "Are we okay here?" she said.

  "I'll put the spell back up. I guess it failed or Devina wouldn't have gotten in here."

  "Yes."

  There was a long, awkward silence. Probably because his head was tied up in war, and hers was somewhere else entirely.

  "What were you going to say to me?" she blurted.

  "Huh? Sorry, I got game brain."

  As he glanced over at her, she felt foolish. "Oh, it's okay. It's nothing, really. Well, actually--what can I do to help? You know, with what you're doing about Devina."

  He opened his mouth. Then clapped it shut. "I'd really prefer you stay out of this. Not because I think you're weak, but because I am."

  "You're weak?" She laughed harshly and eyed the way his biceps stretched the sleeves of his T-shirt. "Don't think so."

  A strange look came into his eyes. "When it comes to you, I am."

  Sissy's heart stopped. "Really?"

  "Yeah." He cracked his knuckles one by one. "Listen, I don't want things to get weird, okay."

  "Oh, yeah, no, weird is bad."

  "But just so you and I are clear, I really fucking want to kiss you right now."

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  What the hell, Jim thought. He might as well lay it all out there.

  And as Sissy didn't run for one of the very, very open windows, he took it as a good sign. Or . . . actually, a really bad one.

  "So kiss me," she said.

  Jim actually recoiled. Which proved that the right woman could turn any full-grown man back into a fourteen-year-old with the right combination of words. Although that quick-fire regression was only the first part of his response. The second half?

  Pure. Sex.

  Fuck the kissing. He wanted to shove her back onto the hardwood floor, yank her
pants down, and get inside of her. In spite of the fact that she was hardly that kind of girl and Adrian would be coming back with twelve thousand calories of fast food at any given minute.

  "Or are you going to make me do it?" she asked.

  "Do what," he blurted. Christ, like he had amnesia?

  "Kiss you."

  God love her, she didn't wait for a response. She leaned in, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him to her.

  "Oh, fuck," he groaned as he tilted his head. "Fuck me . . ."

  Please, oh, shit, fuck me, he thought as their lips met in the middle.

  She was soft. She was sweet. She tasted like sherry.

  And he took over from there.

  Dragging her into his lap, he kissed her hard and held her harder. He'd wanted this for too long and for all the wrong reasons, and in the back of his head, he told himself that was why he was instant hot-'n'-heavy. Then again, maybe it was because she was just so good, so right.

  He pushed himself back from her. "Shit."

  "What?" she mumbled, leaning into his arms. "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know how far you want this to go." Damn it, the way she was pushing her breasts up to him, her body seemed as ready as his was. "You don't have to do this--"

  "What makes you think I want to stop."

  She put her mouth to his again, and oh, man, wrong call, but sooooo fucking right. And this time he let his tongue do what it wanted to, licking its way in, taking her. That was when she moaned his name.

  He almost came in his dusty pants.

  Abruptly, she pushed against him, nailing his bad shoulder with her palm. With a hiss, he broke the contact.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, wincing. "I didn't mean to--"

  "No, no, it's cool. I'm going too fast--"

  She settled that score by reaching down for the bottom of her shirt and whipping the whole thing over her head.

  Jim's exhale was part curse, part prayer of thanks. Until he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

  "Sweet Mary," he breathed as he looked at her pink-tipped breasts. "You're going to kill me."

  "I'm done wasting time," she said, staring into his eyes. "And I'm done wondering what it's like. And I'm totally finished with fighting the fact that I want you."

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  His heart was beating so hard, he had to give his sternum props for keeping the muscle inside of his immortal body.

  Staring at her breasts, Jim dipped his head and led with tongue, at the same time he lifted her up to his mouth. As he latched onto her nipple, her head fell all the way back, and she said his name in a rough voice that was sexier than anything he'd ever heard in his life. Worshiping her with his lips, he let his hands start roaming. She was so much smaller than he was, but she seemed just as strong, jacking up against his hold, trying to get closer.

  Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of him was ready to take her right here, right now. But the decimal point of decency forced him to be reasonable.

  She was, after all, a virgin. And although there were a lot of rules that were off, given the fucked-up kind of existence they both had, she deserved better than a wham-bam for her first time.

  Besides, it was entirely possible that she was going to come to her senses and regret this.

  He slowed himself down, forced his hands to stay on the outside of her hips, told his cock to pipe-down-big-guy.

  She sensed the change in him immediately. "Don't stop."

  "Sissy--"

  "Don't you fucking dare." She pegged him right in the eye. "Don't."

  Well, considering the way she was looking at him? He was incapable of not giving her whatever she wanted: car, house, orgasm after orgasm after--

  "How 'bout we compromise," he drawled, dropping back down to her mouth and running his tongue across her lower lip. As she shuddered in his arms, he had to smile. "Yeah, how 'bout we just focus on you."

  "Jim, I want--"

  "I know what you want. And I'm going to give it to you."

  There was nothing like this in the world.

  That was the only thing Sissy could think of as she lay in Jim's arms, half-naked and fully turned on. The rest of it was all instinct and heat, a need for something that she'd previously been lukewarm on, a drive to get closer to him than her own skin.

  As she arched against him, he didn't leave her hanging, coming back to her mouth and kissing her more. She had the clear sense he was holding everything back on his side, and that just plain sucked. If only she could--

  That big hand of his, the one on her hip, shifted down to her thigh . . . and moved inside, inching its way up to the source of her heat.

  Everything went heavy and sluggish--in the best way. Moving her leg up and to the side, she gave him all the access he needed as she hung onto the bulk of his shoulders and waited for him to get where she wanted him to be. He went slowly, oh, so slowly, but that was good too, because it meant she could feel everything--from the way his tongue penetrated her mouth, to the hard contours of his arms, to the straining at the tips of her bare breasts and the coiling urgency inside of her.

  When he cupped her sex, she cried out and dug her nails into his shoulders--except he just stayed there and kissed her, as if he were giving her a moment to adjust. After a time, though, he began rubbing at her, the pressure and rasp of her panties and the sweatpants exactly what she needed. He wasn't rough, but she wanted him to be. He wasn't fast, but she wanted him to be.

  He got the job done, and she wanted him to.

  The urgency got raw quick, and Jim didn't tease her. As if he knew this was the first orgasm she was going to have, he took her up steadily and let her body do the rest: That coil deep inside wound tighter and tighter and tighter--and when it snapped free, she felt like her blood had turned into gold, and her bones into fireworks.

  His thumb continued to circle as he helped her ride the pulses out, and when it was over, she went completely limp. All she could do was stare up at him through heavy lids.

  Well, now she knew why romance novels sold so well. Holy crap.

  "Onv gokd tbaj okdrwa."

  Sissy frowned and mumbled, "What did you say?"

  He repeated whatever it was twice before she heard him right: "We've got to get you dressed."

  Jim stretched an arm out, snagged her shirt, and pulled it back over her head. And then he arranged her in his lap, holding her close in his strong arms. The peace between them was as powerful as all the pleasure had been, especially as he stroked her hair back from her face. It was a surprise that a man like him could be so gentle--she felt precious, important, invaluable as he stared down at her like he didn't want to ever leave her.

  "What were you going to say to me," she whispered, reaching up and running her fingertips down his hard cheek. The stubble that had grown in was rough, but the skin underneath was warm.

  "It was--"

  A set of headlights washed across the devastated front of the parlor, and Jim cursed. "Goddamn fast food. He should have gone somewhere fancier."

  Sissy had to smile. "I agree."

  "Hold on," he grunted, shifting her and then gritting his teeth.

  As he rearranged what was no doubt an erection and a half, she went right back to where they had just been, hot and hungry. Except now she wanted to pay him back.

  Not that she had a clue how to do that. But given his talents? She was willing to bet he could show her.

  "We're not finished." She turned his face to hers. "You and me . . . we're not finished."

  There was the distant sound of a door slamming and then Ad called out from the back, "Hi, honey, I'm home."

  It was painful to watch the warmth leave Jim's face, especially as he set her apart from him and put his clothes back in order.

  "Jim," she said. "We are not done."

  When all he did was rub his face, she told herself it was sexual frustration and a battle with the good side of his nature. But she wasn't sure--

  "I'll come to you," he said
in a dark voice. "Tonight."

  His eyes slid over to her and they burned like bonfires. "And this time I won't stop."

  Sissy's lips parted so she could breathe properly. And the suffocation kept up even as Adrian came in with five stuffed Mickey D bags and started passing around the goods.

  All she could think of was how fast they could eat the stuff . . . and get to bed.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  Devina's hands were bleeding.

  As she sat on the foot of her bed, she noticed the blood when she went to pull down the ripped sleeve of her leather pantsuit.

  There was also something in her eye. Wiping her fingers off on the bedspread, she discovered that one of her false lashes had come unglued and was hanging off the corner of her lid. She pulled the fuzzy caterpillar-thing free and let it drop to the floor.

  It landed in a pile of flesh-colored powder . . . next to a shattered Estee Lauder compact, the mirror of which was cracked down the middle.

  Taking a deep breath, her nose tingled at the choking scent in the basement: part Ysatis by Givenchy, Paris by YSL, and Chanel's Coco and Chance Eau Tendre. She wondered idly how long the HVAC system was going to take to air everything out.

  Long time.

  Especially given that those were not the only perfume bottles she had shattered. The battered remnants of her makeup table were surrounded by broken glass and mangled spray mechanisms. She must have destroyed fifteen different scent containers.

  It was nothing compared to what she'd done to her collection.

  Looking past the immediate carnage of makeup, handbags, shoes, and clothes, she could not believe what she had done. In the aftermath of her explosion, she was in awe of herself.

  Not a new experience, except this was not something to be proud of.

  She had laid ruination to that which was most precious to her--when what she should have been fucking up was Jim's arrogant ass. Worse? She couldn't even remember what it had been like to let it all out. Her rage had been white-hot and blinding--and it wasn't until she'd sat down here and realized that her hands were cut up that what she'd done dawned on her.

  At least the Creator had bought her story about the portal, and let that part of things go. Hell, their confrontation after she'd left Jim's had been kind of a letdown--almost as if He had expected it all.

  And then she'd come here and . . .

  God, how was she going to clean all this up? There were a hundred dressers and bureaus with their drawers pulled out, their contents spilling onto the concrete floor like intestines seeping from a gut wound. Her complex cataloging system, with its internal logic that made sense only to her, was a distant memory as her precious objects intermingled, time periods and geographic locations fucked to high heaven.