Immortal (Page 34)

Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(34)
Author: J.R. Ward

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 Estée 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.

There were things that had gotten crushed underfoot, too.

Glasses trampled. Watches smashed. Brass buttons and metal clasps bent out of shape.

Devina flexed her hands and assessed the injuries on her palms. Evidently she’d done a lot of the carnage herself as opposed to working magic.

Getting to her feet, she went to take a step forward and fell to the side, throwing out one of her sliced-up hands to catch herself on a now-empty six-foot-tall shoe rack that was twisted out of shape.

Ah, yes, there was a problem with the shoes she had on. Her right one had lost its sky-high heel, so there was nothing to support her weight on that side.

She went to take both of them off … but there was going to be no finding any matched pairs in the mess she’d made. So she snapped the other heel from its base and made a pair of flats out of them.

Purse. She was looking for her purse, the saddlebag Dior she’d worn with the outfit before Jim had gotten lost over in Purgatory, she’d gotten him back, and he’d made some big show out of being reunited with that fucking virgin.

The fact that the bag was metallic silver was going to help with the locating. Should help.

Might help.

For God’s sake, she had way too much of the animal-print shit, she thought as she began to wade through the wreckage. Zebra. Tiger. Cheetah. Funny, when all of her handbags had been organized in color lots, she hadn’t really seen the rut she’d gotten in.

More lizard, she decided. Croc skin. Maybe some old-school patent leather, and Hermès …

“Like Grace Kelly.”

God, her voice sounded forlorn even to her own ears.

But damn it, someone like Grace Kelly wouldn’t have had her lover get wrapped up in some pencil-stick bitch.

She could dye her hair blond. Yeah, that might work.

“Why, why…”

Pushing a sky-blue Birkin out of the way, she kicked an older LV Manhattan onto a pile of Chanel quilted stuff.

It was not going to be enough to just win this round and get Sissy back. She was going to have to …

Devina looked around at her things.

… do this to that fucking virgin.

“Pony” by Ginuwine started playing softly and she wheeled around. Following the sound, she pawed her way through about fifteen thousand dollars of Prada before she found what she was looking for—although by the time she dug out her phone, whoever it was had gone into voice mail.

At least they helped her locate what she’d been looking for.

Wiping her still-oozing hand off on the ass of her trashed leather pantsuit, she called up her therapist’s contact info from the address book and hit send.

One ring. Two rings. And then came, in the woman’s irritatingly calm and sensible voice, “Hello, you’ve reached the offices of…”

Blah, blah, blah. Beep! “This is Devina.” She had to switch hands and rewipe. “I’ve had…” As she choked up, she thought about ending the call and starting over, but what the hell. The chick was used to hearing people who’d lost their shit. “I’ve had a setback. A serious setback. I’m not going to be able to wait until…” When was their next appointment? She couldn’t remember. “I need to come see you as soon as possible. Please … call me.”