by J. R. Ward
"I'm sorry. I cannot allow you passage therein."
He pivoted toward Nigel. The guy was like a painting properly restored, nothing dusty or too pale about him now, his limbs apparently having healed up fast and without lingering issues--at least going by the easy way the guy walked over the cropped grass. He was wearing one of his natty 1920s-style suits, the cream of the fine linen glowing like a night-light in the strange, ambient illumination of the place.
"I need you to be honest with me," Jim said.
"Of course. As if I could be anything but."
"I need to know if it's true that a soul that's been released from Hell can't get in there." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "That there's some kind of contamination problem. Or whatever."
Shit. Just . . . shit.
And great. Nigel's face grew sad as he murmured, "This is about Sissy."
"No, the fucking Easter bunny."
"Ah, yes, the mythical rabbit with the basket of pastel eggs. You are correct--that fuzzy little gob, as some would call it, would not be welcomed up here. And unfortunately, you are also right. Any soul who has been down below is not permitted entrance behind the walls or even access to the grounds."
"Discrimination."
"No, you said the word. Contamination."
"She was innocent, Nigel. She didn't ask for any of this."
"And you have my sympathy. Both of you."
"Fucking hell." Abruptly, he pictured what they'd had to do to Vin diPietro in the first round. "What if she was cleansed. What if we . . . took anything that was evil out of her."
Shit, he couldn't imagine doing that violent, deadly procedure on Sissy.
"Do you truly wish to attempt that on her?"
No. "I'm going to fucking kill that demon."
Nigel grabbed his arm in a strong hold. "Please remember this. If you remember . . . only one thing out of it all . . . you must keep this with you." Those incredible eyes bored into Jim's, their odd color imprinting on his mind to such a degree, he felt as though Nigel had implanted a tangible object in his brain. "The kind of anger you feel now is what Devina nurtures. If you give in to it, you give yourself unto her. It is the root of all evil, the balance to the purity of love. This is the expression of her very nature. Whatever you do, do not ride this wave, especially if it takes you to her, and even if you believe it gives you the focus and strength to beat her. Ultimately, it shall be that which undoes you."
Jim looked out over the lush landscape. This was too much, he decided. The whole damn thing was too much, but it wasn't like he could get off this ride. Not until it was over, one way or the other.
"Colin come around yet?" he blurted out.
"I do not know that to which it is you refer."
There was a long silence. And then Jim said, "I need to ask you for a favor."
"And I am prepared to grant it to you."
"You don't know what I'm going to ask for."
"Yes, savior. I do."
Sissy woke up to broad, warm hands traveling over her stomach, her waist, her hip. As they rolled her over gently, she knew who it was. Recognized the scent of him and the way he touched her and arched against her and got in close.
Her eyes opened, but it was too dark to see anything, the sun having set. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A while."
"I didn't even know I was that tired."
"Let me in," Jim said with a kind of desperation she didn't associate with him. "Please let me in."
His lips found hers and it was the most natural thing in the world to split her legs so he could find his place between her thighs. She had taken a shower and gotten between the sheets naked--exactly for this.
She had hoped he would come to her.
His kiss was a drug and she fed off of it, stretching out underneath his great weight as his erection brushed right against her core. She was instantly ready for him, and he seemed to want to check that as one of his hands went between them. He groaned as he felt her heat, and then he repositioned himself.
He joined them with a thrust of his pelvis, that fullness returning to her. And he was careful--up to a point. As his thrusts gained momentum, the bed started to rock, the creaking loud in the dark room. She didn't care if Adrian heard them. Maybe she should have, but it felt so good.
The closer he got to his own orgasm, the harder he pumped, the tighter his hips became. Her release sent her soaring first, her sex contracting around him, gripping his shaft--
"Oh, fuck," he gritted out as he tucked his head and jerked against her.
Their bodies took over, working together, amplifying everything. And when they finally went still, she felt closer to him than she'd ever been to anyone in her life.
He propped his upper body up on his elbows and stared down at her. In the dimness, with the only source of light the little line around the door he'd come through, she could tell he was grim.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I've got to go out and take care of something."
"Okay. Can I help?"
"Yes. By staying here with Adrian until I get back."
"Where are you going?"
"It's nothing to worry about."
Cold seeped in through her skin. "You're going to see her, aren't you." Sissy pushed him off her and pulled the sheets up to her chin. "Aren't you."
"Not for sex."
"So you say." Flashbacks of her conversation with the demon replayed in her mind. "And I'm supposed to just sit around here until you get back?"
"Sissy, I'm telling you. It's not like that."
"You had sex with her forty-eight hours ago."
"And that's never happening again. Why would it?"
Sissy put her hands to her face and rubbed up and down. Maybe this was a dream?
The bed moved as he shifted around, pulling his sweats back into place. And then there was a blue glow. "I want to show something to you."
She looked over at his phone. Then frowned and took the thing from him. The screen was filled with a picture of a picture of her--the one that sat with all the other family photos in the bookcase in her parents' living room.
"I took it today when I was trying to find you. I was scared to fucking death."
God, she'd looked so different back then, Sissy thought as she stared at herself.
"Give me your hand," he said.
Absently, she put her palm out--and found her arm getting stretched up to his neck by him. "Feel this?"
It was a charm. On the end of a necklace.
She frowned. "That's mine."
"I know. Your mother gave it to me."
"When?" she breathed.
"I went to see her after I had to leave you down there. It was before I figured out a way to get you back. I knew how badly she must have been suffering, so I went to your house and found her sitting in that armchair in the living room. She was staying up for you."
As the glowing picture started to get wavy, she brushed at the tears in her eyes. The reality of her mother waiting by the door, not because Sissy was out after curfew . . . but because something terrible had happened . . . was more than she could take.
"I promised your mother I would bring you back," Jim said gruffly. "She gave me this, and I was going to give it to you, but I'd like to keep it. That way you know you're with me. Wherever I go, whatever I do. You're right there with me."
"It barely fits you," she murmured, tracing the way the thin chain had to stretch around his thick neck.
"I'm not going to fuck you over, Sissy. Not going to happen." He leaned in for a kiss and she let him have one. "And you want to know what I want to do?"
"What."
"After this is all over, I want to take you out on a date. A dumb-ass dinner date. Or, shit, I don't know. Walk on a beach--not that there are any around here. I just . . . if I win this war, on the other side of it all, I want you on the back of my bike. Maybe it's only going for a ride. I don't care. Just you and me, nothing else. Promise?"
"That's what you were going to ask," she said.
"I'm sorry?"
"Down in the parlor, right after you came back while we were having dinner. You were going to ask Adrian to take a picture of us, weren't you."
"Yeah."
"Can angels be photographed?"
"You wanna see?"
He took the phone from her and realigned the shooter so that the fuzzy dark shadows that were the two of them came into vague focus.
"Brace yourself for the flash," he said. "Three, two, one . . ."
The bright light blinded her and made her blink, but when her eyesight returned and she looked onto the little screen, there they were, their heads close together, him looking at her, not the camera's eye, her gaze focused myopically straight ahead.
And there, around both of their heads, like some kind of benediction, were the halos.
"You can trust me, Sissy. I'm at war with the bitch, not in love with her."
She thought back to when he'd been down in Hell, tortured by those demons, violated by the masses. How could anybody love or be attracted to someone who could do that to them? Jim was a lot of things, but he didn't strike her as a masochist on that kind of scale.
God, she didn't know who to believe.
But she did like the picture of the two of them together. She really . . . liked the way they looked. If it weren't for those damn halos, she could almost believe they were just a normal couple.
"Can I keep this?"
"Yeah, you can have my phone."
Cradling it to her heart, she scootched down and put her head on the pillow. "When will you be back."
"After I put that cunt in her place."
Well, at least he showed no signs of looking forward to seeing the demon; that was for sure. And the sex the pair of them had just had? Nothing to sneeze at.
"Be safe," she said.
"Always."
She heard him walk for the door--but then he turned and came right back, capturing her face in his hands.
"I'm going to take care of you." His voice had the strangest tone to it. "I swear on my mother's soul. I'm going to make things right."
And then he kissed her and left, closing the door behind himself quietly before striding down the hall. It was a while before she figured out what had been behind that odd inflection, and she shivered.
It was fear.
Jim Heron was terrified, for some reason.
Chapter
Twenty-seven
"May I help you."
Not a question. And the attitude was more along the lines of, What are you doing here?
As Jim stopped on the shiny marble floor of the Freidmont Hotel's lobby, he looked across at Mr. Officious, who was manning the front desk. The guy was wearing a discreet black suit with a gold name tag, a bright white shirt, and a black tie--like he was the maitre d' of a funeral home.
"The service entrance is around the back," was the tack on.
Annnnnd this was why it was better to be invisi.
"I'm here to see a guest," Jim muttered, and went to head for the elevators.
"Excuse me," the man said as he busybodied his way out from behind the counter.
Jim put his palm out and whammied the little prick into silence. Then with a quick spin and a metaphysical shove, he sent the suit back to his station.
Jim took the elevators, not the stairs.
For one, it was because a set of those ornate doors opened on cue like the damn thing knew he needed a lift. Har-har. And two, the closer he got to the demon, the more worked up he was becoming, and that limited his powers to the likes of the parlor trick he'd pulled on the front-desk guy.
Stepping in, he hit the button marked PH and looked up at the line of numbers over the doors. With a series of discreet dings, the progress up the middle of the old building was slow and steady.
His temper rose as well.
There were mirrors all over the inside of the elevator, and he avoided looking at himself. He didn't want to think about anything other than giving Devina a very clear message--and the sight of his face with the stubble and the exhaustion was too much a reminder of how close to the bone he was.
Shifting his eyes even higher, so he was looking at the ornate wood carvings on the ceiling, he muttered, "Nigel, you'd better come through for me."
With one final ding, things bumped to a halt and the doors opened soundlessly. The hallway beyond was done in the same somber gold-and-maroon stuff as the lobby, the carpet all swirls, the walls striped, the fixtures crystal.
He could give a shit.
Down at the far end, he curled up a fist and banged on the door loudly.
With a click, the thing unlocked and opened on its own. The room beyond with its sleek furniture, built-in bar and view over the river was lit by candles that flickered. R & B bumped through hidden speakers and some kind of sultry, just-out-of-the-bath scent was thick in the air.
And there she was.
The demon was sitting in a chair completely naked, her legs pulling a Sharon Stone as she lounged back and felt up her own breasts.
"Miss me," she drawled.
He kicked the door shut. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to come over here and give me a proper hello. Preferably with some penetration." One of her hands drifted down between her legs. "I'm waiting."
"You need to back the fuck off from Sissy."
The demon exhaled a curse. "Her again. Look, Jim, there's no reason to pretend. It's not like Adrian's here. Or that little idiot girl."
He stalked over to the evil, but didn't get too close. "You don't want to push me on this. Sissy is off-limits."
Devina closed her knees. Then crossed her legs. "Is she. Since when do you set the rules."
"You want to come at me, fine. But leave her alone."
The demon burst up to her feet and paraded over to the bar, her sky-high red pumps clipping across the marble, going silent on the area rugs.
"You are a real asshole, Jim." She made work out of pouring clear liquid from a silver shaker into a martini glass. The olive she tossed in was army green. "You think I'm evil? What do you call a man who's unfaithful right in front of his lover's face, huh?"
He laughed with a hard edge. "Like you and I are fucking dating."
"We are in a relationship."
"You're insane. I mean, like, really--you are frickin' crazy."
Devina went quiet and wasted some time taking a long sip off the knife-edge-sharp rim of the glass. Her glittering black eyes stayed on him the whole time.
"I had other plans for us tonight," she murmured, "but I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way."
"If you're talking about sex, that ain't happening."
"You've said that before." Her tone was bored as she put her glass down and came around the bar. "I just want you to know that this is all your fault."
"Excuse me? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"This is all on you." Over at the silk-covered sofa, she bent down and started rifling through a big-ass black handbag. "Ah, yes, here it is."
When she turned around to him, she was holding up . . . a Mercedes hood ornament and a kitchen knife.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded.
"You don't recognize this?" She put the circle with its three-part division forward. "It's from my car."
"So go give it to your mechanic. Why do I care?"
"You are seriously underwhelming right now, you know that." She went back over to the bar and put the thing into an ashtray. "Don't you remember the other night?"
"Sorry. I've been busy trying to forget every second I've spent in your presence."
She closed
her eyes as if her chest hurt. But then she seemed to refocus. "You and I had one of our tiffs and I got a little aggressive with my car."
"You tried to mow me over."
"Yes, I did. And as it so happens, you were kind enough to leave me a little souvenir."
Warning bells started ringing in his head as he put two and two together and came up with a whole lot of fuck-him.
But it was too late.
"And this has proved to be really handy already."
Before he could react in any kind of proactive way, she poured some alcohol on top of the silver metal piece and spit a ball of flame at it.
Instantly, he was on fire. Even as his skin remained intact, he felt the burning down to his bones, the pain incapacitating him and sending him down onto the fake Oriental.
"You see, Jim, I'm not the one who made Sissy a part of this. The Creator did. So it's not my fault and it's nothing you can change."
Writhing into a tight ball, he found no relief and so he straightened out, trying to ease the agony. In the end, all he could do was grit his teeth and try not to scream, especially as she came over, those two blood-colored stillies stopping right next to his face.
Kneeling down, she brushed some of her long hair back and put the ashtray on the floor next to him.
If he could only reach--
"Oh, no," she said, pulling the fire out of range. "No, this is my toy. Just as you are."
Like the sick bitch she was, she started to finger herself as she watched him suffer, going so far as to lie out beside him, her perfect breasts heaving, her body undulating as she masturbated on the rug while he grunted and cursed in pain. And then just before she orgasmed, she grabbed for his dick, stroking at him like that was going to turn him on or some shit. Weakened by the agony, dizzy from the pain, he couldn't make his arms and legs coordinated enough to get her off him.
As she came, she said his name at the top of her lungs--almost like she was pissing on a post and hoping Sissy would magically hear her.
And then there was a moment of her just easing on back and staring at him like he was dessert. Whatever, he was about to pass out as she put her arm over her face like she couldn't believe how fucking good that had been.
Shit, it was his only chance, and he jerked in the direction of the ashtray.
"Not for you," she said with a smile. "No, no, that's mine."