Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(54)
Author: J.R. Ward

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.”

Puckering her lips, she leaned down to the flames … and blew them out on a oner.

The relief was instantaneous, the burning draining out of his body the second there was nothing but a tendril of smoke over the Mercedes emblem. Except damage had been done. Even though his skin wasn’t hanging in ribbons off of him, he was burn-victim out of it, his limbs jerking spastically, his vision going in and out of focus.

“Oh, Jim, I love you.”

The tone in her delusional fucking voice was as if he’d just given her a set of pearls and a mink coat—as opposed to having gone third-degree as she YouPorn’d herself.