by J. R. Ward
Chapter 24
Downtown, in the marble lobby of the bank Jim had broken into, Adrian was losing blood and getting light-headed, but he refused to pass out.
Wasn't going to happen.
Over in a shaft of light that beamed in from outside, Jim put Eddie down gently on the hard, polished floor. The angel was still tucked into that tight ball, his huge body in a fetal position on his side, his dark braid snaking out like a rope.
"Can we get you on your back, buddy? See what's going on?" Jim said. Not questions - more like a warning to Eddie that more movement was coming up. And as the guy was eased over, the cursing was good to hear. It meant the big bastard was still breathing.
Except he stayed curled up around his belly. And his face was . . . not right. His normally darker-hued skin had faded to the color of snow, and his eyes were squeezed shut so tight that his features were distorted.
There was blood on his mouth, staining his lips red.
Blood . . . was coming out of his mouth.
Adrian started to pant, his fists curling in, sweat breaking out all over his body. "You're gonna be okay, Eddie. It's gonna be - "
"Ease yourself for me," Jim said. "I know it hurts like a bitch, but we've got to see. "
" - okay. It's gonna be okay - "
"Oh, shit," Jim whispered.
Oh . . . shit . . . was right. The blood didn't just stain or leak from underneath where Eddie was holding his gut . . . it streamed out in pulses.
Jim ripped off his wet leather coat, wadded the thing up, and pushed Eddie's slippery, glossy red hands out of the way. Then he just froze.
Somehow that harpy's knife had penetrated Eddie's intestinal tract and then streaked to the side, slicing a hole long enough and deep enough that the loopy anatomy was exposed. But that wasn't the worst part: given the amount of blood coming from the injury, clearly one of the larger veins or arteries had been severed.
And that was what was going to kill him.
Jim shook himself and put the knot of jacket right on the wound. "Can you hold this for me, buddy?"
Eddie made an attempt to bring up his hands, but they moved only an inch or two.
Jim looked over. "Can he die?"
Adrian shook his head as his legs went numb. "I don't know. "
Bullshit. He knew the answer. He just couldn't say it.
"Fucking hell. " Jim leaned in toward Eddie's face. "Buddy, is there anything you can tell me?"
Adrian didn't so much get down as fall to his knees. Taking his best friend's hand, he was horrified at how cold it was. Cold and wet from the blood and the rain.
"Eddie . . . Eddie, look at me," Jim was saying.
This wasn't right. This heroic fighter, this warrior of the ages, couldn't be done in by a half-assed harpy with a knife. Eddie was blaze-of-glory material, a take-out-an-army-of-minions-on-his-way-to-the-exit kind of guy. Not this quiet leaching - and not tonight. . . .
Eddie let out a gasp, his big body jerking, his palm squeezing Adrian's.
"I'm here. . . . " Ad said r en as he scrubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand. "I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone . . . "
Holy motherfucking shit. They were losing him.
And this was the inexplicable at work. As angels, they were and were not alive; they at once existed and were not bound by the flesh; they were immortal, but very capable of losing the slice of life they had been granted.
"Eddie, fucking hell . . . don't go. . . . You can fight this - " He looked up at Jim. "Do something!"
Jim cursed and glanced around, but come on - they were in a bank lobby, not a hospital. Besides, it wasn't as if the savior could grab a needle and thread and start suturing, could he?
Except then Jim closed his eyes and settled back on the floor, crossing his legs Indian style and going utterly calm. Just as Ad was ready to scream that now was not the time for a fucking meditation, the guy started to glow: from head to foot, a pure white light began to emanate from his head, body and hands.
A moment later, the savior reached forward . . . and placed his palms on the big, barreled chest of -
Eddie's torso bucked hard, as if he'd been hit with those cardiac paddles humans used, and then he sucked in a breath. Instantly, his red eyes blinked open . . . and focused on Adrian.
Feeling like a pussy for crying, Ad did another sweep of the eyes. "Hey. " He had to clear his throat. "You gotta hang on and fight this. Heal yourself. Just use what Jim's giving you - "
Eddie shook his head a little and opened his mouth. All that came out was a groan.
" - hang on. Come on, man, just - "
"Listen . . . to me . . . " Ad went absolutely still; Eddie's voice was so weak, it didn't carry far. "You need . . . to stay . . . with Jim . . . "
"No. No fucking way. You are not leaving - "
"Stay . . . with Jim . . . do not - " He struggled for another breath. "Stay with Jim. "
"It's not supposed to end like this! I'm the one who's supposed to go first - "
Eddie dragged his arm up and put his forefinger on Ad's lips, silencing him. "You be . . . smart . . . for once . . . okay? Promise me. "
Adrian started to rock back and forth, his eyes flooding to the point where his vision blurred.
"Promise . . . on your honor . . . "
"No. I won't. Fuck you! You're not leaving me!"
The angel's lids slowly started shutting. "Eddie! Fucking Eddie! Don't you fucking die on me! Fuck you!"
As the echoes of the outburst faded, Eddie's breathing got more labored, his mouth stretching wide as if his jaw hoped that would help. And in the terrifying, silent moments that followed, Ad's heart hammered faster and faster, sure as if his boy's were slowing down.
Edward Lucifer Blackhawk died two breaths later.
It wasn't the abrupt lack of movement in the ribs or the way the body went lax or the fact that the hand in his lost what little grip it had had.
It was the scent of spring blooms that wafted up into the still air of the bank.
drian locked a grip on the front of Jim's shirt. "You can bring him back. Bring him back - for fuck's sake - put your . . . hands . . . back on him - "
For some reason, he couldn't speak anymore after that.
And then he couldn't see.
Momentarily confused, he looked around, thinking a choking, stinging fog had rolled in.
Oh, wait.
He was sobbing like a little bitch.
Not even pretending to give a shit, he grabbed Eddie around the chest and hauled him up, cradling to his heart the fallen angel who had been with him every step of the way on earth and in purgatory for centuries. And as he held him, the weight grew lighter in his arms, even as the vacated body's inches and feet stayed the same.
The essence of Eddie had moved on.
Adrian burrowed his face into that thick neck and rocked them back and forth, back and forth . . . back and forth. . . .
"Don't leave me . . . don't . . . oh, God, Eddie . . . " Adrian wasn't sure how many minutes or hours passed, except even in his distraught state, he became aware that something had changed.
Glancing up over Eddie's head, he saw the savior . . . and had to blink a couple of times to make sure the picture made sense.
Jim Heron was in a crouch, teeth bared, huge body straining. His eyes were locked on Adrian and Eddie, and an unholy black glow emanated out of them, the buffering waves of evil pulsating through the bouqueted air.
It was vengeance and wrath and rage upright and walking. It was the promise of hell on earth. It was everything that Devina was . . . in the form and feature of the savior.
Adrian was strangely soothed by the show. Calmed. Centered.
He was not alone in feeling violated and stolen from.
He was not by himself as he went forward.
The path he would wear out in getting that demon for this would have
two sets of footprints, not one -
At that moment, Jim opened his mouth and let out a roar that was louder than an airplane taking off, and the ripping sound was followed by a great explosion:
The glass windows of the bank lobby, all hundred feet of them, blew out at once, showering the street in front with a glittering snowfall of glass shards.
