by J. R. Ward
Matthias lifted his head and looked down his body. Then measured the other’s.
Ironically, the pair of them had landed in exactly the same position, one hand up, the opposite down, one leg stretched out, the other curled up.
They were precise mirrors of each other.
Matthias reached out to touch the roommate—
He blinked. Blinked again. Jerked off the floor.
Holding his hand in front of his face, he moved it forward and back, the distance changing.
With a shout, he surged for the counter and yanked himself up toward his reflection over the sink.
What he saw was impossible.
His cloudy eye, the one that had been ruined by his actions two years ago, was the same blue as the other.
Jumping to his feet, he leaned all the way into the glass, going nose-to-nose with himself—as if that would tell him the truth or something…and he supposed it did, just not in a way he would ever have thought possible: Proximity simply proved that the scars on his temple had, in fact, faded.
To the point where if he hadn’t been looking for them, he wouldn’t have noticed them.
Matthias stepped back and stared down at his body. Same height. Same weight. But the aches were gone, and so were the numbness and the random sharp shooters that had been racking his bones with such consistency that he noticed them now only in their absence.
He lifted up his pant leg. Scars lingered in the skin of his calf, but like the ones on his face, they were nothing as they had been. And a deep knee bend that should have left him gasping for breath didn’t faze him.
He looked at the man on the floor. “What the fuck have you done to me?”
Adrian grunted as he sat up, and then struggled to haul his way off the tile. When he finally straightened, a wince buried his eyes in low brows. “Nothing.”
“Then what the hell was that?”
The other guy turned away. “I’m going to check on Jim.”
Matthias reached out and snagged the man’s arm, a spike of fear hitting home. “What did you do to me?”
Except he knew. Even before Adrian looked over that thick shoulder, he knew.
He had been healed. By some miracle, Adrian, the roommate, whoever the hell he was, had done what two years of doctors, surgeries, drugs, and rehab had not.
His body was whole…once again.
Because Adrian had taken on all the damage.
Staring into the man’s now milky eye, Matthias didn’t dwell on the metaphysical stuff, the holy shits, the amens, or even the thank-you’s.
All he could think of was, How the hell was he going to explain this to Mels?
Chapter Forty-one
“Hi, Mom, how are you?”
As the reply came over the connection, Mels put another French fry in her mouth. “I’m still at work, yeah. But I wanted to call to let you know I’m okay.”
Man, those simple words had connotations above and beyond the hour of the day and the reference to “work.”
Closing her eyes, she forced her voice to be level. “Oh, you know how the CCJ is. There’s always something going on….Hey, how did bridge go?”
For once, instead of feeling weighed down by the mundane, everyday conversation, she embraced it. Normal was good. Normal was safe. Normal was totally far from cold water and an invisible hold and the specter of death.
She was alive. So was her mother.
This was…really good.
And it was interesting how much the response mattered. As well as the follow-up she asked—about how Ruth, their next-door neighbor, had played. And also the laugh about the trump that hadn’t gone well. She truly listened, actually cared, and that gave her a sense of how much she had been going through the motions lately.
Guess the shock of that chilly water had further woken her up.
Opening her lids, she focused on Jim Heron, lying so still under the covers.
What had really happened down at that boathouse?
“Mels? You there?”
She gripped her phone a little tighter, even though she was in no danger of dropping the thing. “Yeah, Mom, I am.”
How would tonight have been if things had ended differently?
A wave of fear burrowed into her bones, replacing her marrow with Freon, and a sudden shivering made her feet tap under her seat, and her fingers drum on the desk next to her nearly empty plate of food.
She looked to the bathroom and wondered what Matthias was doing in there. For a little bit, there had been some kind of dull noise, like the shower was running, but now there was just silence.
“Mels? You’re awful quiet—are you okay?”
I almost died tonight….
Okay, apparently the composure she’d been sporting since she pulled herself out of the Hudson River had been on account of shock: A crying jag was suddenly threatening.
Except she wasn’t going to fall to pieces on the phone with her mother. “I’m really sorry—I’m just…glad to hear your voice.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
Other things were said, more nice and normal things, and then Mels heard herself explain that she wouldn’t be home until late.
“But I’m just downtown at the Marriott—I have my phone on and it’s never far.”
“I’m really glad you called.”
Mels looked up into the mirror that was over the desk. Tears were rolling down her face. “I love you, Mom.”
There was a stretch of silence. And then the three words came back at her, in a surprised tone that sped up the waterworks on her end.
Two times in one day. When had that happened last?
As her mother hung up, it was a miracle Mels could find the end button on her cell. Next move was to take the napkin out of her lap, drape it across both palms, and lean down into the soft cloth, pressing it to her face.
The sobs racked her, throwing her shoulders out of whack, making the chair squeak. There was no stopping the explosion, no thought, not even any images.
And the emotional snap was not just about the river or Matthias; it went further than the present, stretching all the way back to her father’s death.
She cried because she missed him and because he’d died young. She cried for her mother and herself.
She cried because she’d almost died today…and because Matthias’s leaving was like knowing that the man she loved was dying sometime very soon—
The warm weight of a hand on her shoulder brought her head up. In the mirror, she saw that Jim Heron was behind her—
“You’re glowing,” she said with a frown. “You’re—”
Wings.
The man had wings over both his shoulders, beautiful gossamer wings that rose up into the air, making him appear to be just like an—
Wrenching around, Mels looked up to confront the man, but he wasn’t anywhere near her. He remained in the bed under the covers, a still, silent mountain.
Turning back, she saw only herself in the glass.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened.
Matthias stepped out slowly, one hand gripping the doorjamb to steady himself.
The instant she saw him, she knew something was different. “Matthias?”
He came to her with careful, cautious steps, as if he’d been on a boat and his legs still thought he was on the open seas.
Then the door to the hallway opened and shut, Jim’s colleague leaving the room.
“Matthias?”
When he got in front of her, he lowered himself to his knees. As his eyes lifted to hers, she gasped….
* * *
Over on the bed, Jim picked that moment to get his act together. Anger, more than time, cleared his mind and gave him the strength to motivate. His body was still polluted as shit, but he was done lying around, waiting to feel normal again.
Throwing off the covers, he groaned as he went upright.
Naked was not good news.
Oh, man, neither was his stomach.
�
��Can I borrow some clothes?” he asked, knowing Matthias and Mels were over by the desk.
Someone cleared a throat. Matthias. “Ah, yeah—that bag by your feet.”
Bending forward, he picked it up. The thing was from the gift shop down in the lobby, and as he opened the neck, he told his gut to hang tight with any bright ideas. Inside, there were a couple of pairs of black sweats and some T-shirts with Caldwell’s city logo on them.
“Are you sure you’re good to go?” Matthias asked.
“Yeah—where’s Ad?”
“He just left.”
Jim sent out his instincts—his wingman was right in the hall by the door. Good.
The buck-ass-naked problem was rectified sitting down, so he didn’t flash the lady his ass. Shirt was a little tight and the sweats were high-waters, but like he was worried about his wardrobe?
As he got to his feet, he weaved and put a hand on the wall.
“You sure you don’t need to lie down some more?” Matthias asked.
“Yeah.”
“Your cigarettes, phone, and wallet are by the TV.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Because man, the instant he saw that red pack and his black lighter, he was able to take a deep breath. Snagging the vitals, he shoved them into the sweats and headed for the door. He didn’t look back—couldn’t.
He was too pissed off for conversation right now.
“Call me if you need me—Ad knows the number,” he muttered as he hit the exit.
Out in the corridor, he looked around. “Adrian,” he barked.
The other angel became visi across the way, his powerful body propped up against a little phone/table/bouquet arrangement, his eyes on the floor, his brows down like he had a headache.
“I got a meeting to go to,” Jim said. “I’ll be back.”
The guy gave a little wave and a nod. “Take your time.”
“Roger that.”
Jim didn’t bother with hoofing it out of the hotel—good job, as he’d left his boots and socks in Matthias’s room.
Angel Airlines took him where he wanted to go.
Back to the boathouse.
Night had since fallen, and the exterior lights on the place were strong enough to create a glow inside, uneven shadows being thrown everywhere, the birds in the eaves watching him from their nests with suspicious little eyes.
Walking to the empty slip Mels had “fallen” into, he was ready to kill his enemy.
So much for that bitch turning over a new leaf. She might have gotten shanked by the Maker with Matthias’s redo, but clearly shit wasn’t sticking.
No surprise.
Closing his eyes, he sent out a summons to the demon, demanding that she come to him.
And as he waited, his body regained its full strength, like his fury was a car battery and her imminent arrival a set of jumper cables.
Naturally, Devina took her own sweet damn time to show, and as he walked up and down the dock with his bare feet chilled by the cold planks and his hands cranked into fists, all he could think of was what Matthias had said about Sissy in the Well of Souls…and how those two dead women had been made out to be like his girl—
Not that she was his.
God, he could just picture Sissy’s mother picking up the newspaper and seeing the coverage on the front page of the CCJ. Like losing her daughter in the most horrific way possible wasn’t bad enough? She had to read about a copycat killer?
“You rang,” the demon said, her voice nasty and sharp.
Jim pivoted around, and the first thing he noticed was what she was wearing: His enemy had jacked her spectacular fake body into a blue dress he’d seen before.
Well, wasn’t this a Hallmark moment. It was the one she’d had on the night they’d first met in that club across town—and he remembered her in it, standing under that overhead light, a stunningly beautiful lie that was pure evil.
In terms of the calendar, that intersection of previously divergent paths had taken place mere weeks ago. In terms of experience, it was many, many lifetimes in the past.
Hatred made him hard down below, the arousal not tied to anything he found attractive, but rather everything he didn’t.
He wanted to rip her apart and hear her scream. He want her to know what it was like to be powerless and at the mercy of someone who didn’t give a fuck.
He wanted her to beg—
As if she sensed exactly where he was at, the demon smiled like she’d been given a birthday present. “Looking for something in particular, Jim?”
Chapter Forty-two
Mels heard the door shut behind Jim Heron, but she paid no attention to the man or his departure. Her eyes were locked on Matthias’s face. By some…miracle, he had been transformed—utterly transformed: His coloring was warm for the first time since she’d met him, the skin no longer gray from pain. His scars had faded. And his eyes…
His eyes.
The one that had always been cloudy was now clear, sure as if a faulty contact lens had been the problem and he’d just taken the thing out.
Except there hadn’t been some kind of Bausch + Lomb malfunction, had there.
“What…” That was as far as she got, her voice fading from confusion.
“I don’t know.” Matthias shook his head. “I…have no idea….”
She reached up and touched the barely distinguishable scars. “You’re healed.”
How was this possible—
With an abrupt shift, Mels’s eyes shot to the mirror, the image of Jim Heron standing behind her returning with every detail.
And then she heard Matthias’s voice…. I believe in Hell…because I’ve been there….
Oh, God…literally.
“There’s more to all of this, isn’t there,” she said in a stilted voice. “And it’s got to do with Heron.”
Matthias turned his lips against her palm and planted a kiss. That was all the reply she got.
In the silence that followed, she thought about something she’d said to her father years and years ago. She’d been a typical teenager at the time, disagreeing with everything and everybody: She’d announced, as they’d driven home from church, that she didn’t believe in God, or Heaven, or Hell—so why did she have to have every single Sunday morning ruined.
Her father had looked into the rearview mirror and replied, “Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
Staring into the face of the man she loved, she didn’t believe the transformation—and yet she could run her fingertips down his now-unmarred skin.
And as she thought more, she found that there was little understanding any of this: Not the way things had started outside that graveyard…not the two men who surrounded Matthias…not what had happened to her under that water…and not this, either.
But as her father had said, that didn’t mean it wasn’t real.
“I want to kiss you.” Matthias focused on her mouth. “That’s all I know.”
She so got that. In this swirling confusion and post-shock emotion, the only thing that made sense to her—the only thing that seemed tangible—was that she wanted to be with him in whatever way she could.
Mels lowered her lips to within half an inch of his, and whispered, “I think the bed’s empty now.”
Matthias closed the distance, brushing at her mouth. Then he rose to his feet and scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other beneath her arms.
“Oh, wait, I’m too—”
She didn’t get to the heavy. He lifted her from out of the chair and held her up strongly from the floor, carrying her over to the bed without a limp.
“What happened in that bathroom?” she said again.
Instead of an answer, he laid her out on the duvet and then straddled her legs, looming large above her. “I don’t know—and that’s the truth. I went in and…Adrian…Look, let’s not talk right now. Let’s…do other things—putting words to it is not going to make it any more understandable.”
She ha
d the sense that he was right. Nothing made any sense, except for the need to be with him—and that was especially true as he took a fingertip and ran it down the side of her throat to the juncture of what she was wearing.
“Where did you get this dress?”
“It’s a raincoat. Collapsible—I always keep it in my bag.”
“So no zipper?”
“No.” He smiled a little, but then grew serious—like he was remembering why she’d needed a change of clothes. “Don’t think about the boathouse,” she told him. “Not right now.”
After all, two could play at the shut-it game.
“How can I not,” he said darkly. And yet he leaned down and kissed her, hovering above her body, his hands going to the tie that kept the two halves of the coat together—
“You’re naked under this?” he breathed.
“As a jaybird.”
He eased back a little. “I can’t decide whether that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard…”
“Or?”
“Or if I want to kill any other man who saw you in this.”
“I’m not showing anything.”
“Not the point.”
The possessiveness in that deep voice had her smiling—especially as he parted the coat and ran his big hands down her body. His mouth followed next, his lips soft, his teeth sharp as they nipped gently, lingering on each one of her breasts until her nipples were tight and peaked.
She stopped him before he got too far. “I’d love a shower—want to join me?”
From under heavy lids, his eyes glowed. “I think we’re doing just fine.”
“Come with me.”
As she sat up, he rolled to the side. “How about I watch?”
“If that’s what you want.”
The growl that came at her was a big, fat yes, ma’am if she’d ever heard one—and far be it from her not to start the show early: As she got off the bed naked, she deliberately stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, her breasts heavy and taut.
Especially as she cupped them both, and thumbed the tips.
“God…damn,” he groaned.
