Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(73)
Author: J.R. Ward

Then there had been that catcher on the girls’ softball team who’d been hit by a ball. The kid on the hockey team who’d ended in the goal. One drunk guy at a house party who had decided he could fly and learned the hard way he could not.

Each one of them had gone to a medical center.

“Can’t we just call nine-one-one?” she heard herself ask.

Jim had been admitted into a hospital in the last round, not that it had helped him much—and that had been when she’d learned that she could step into the skin of people. If she could do that now? With him? She’d put herself in his position in a heartbeat. He was needed and important. She was not.

Especially with one more round to go.

“It’s better to wait here,” Ad ground out.

“Is he still breathing?”

“Yeah. He is—”

There was a flash of light, as if someone had turned a lamp on and off real quick. And then suddenly there were three more people in the bathroom: Eddie and the archangels, Colin and Nigel, had materialized out of thin air. But they didn’t have little doctor bags with them. Or a stretcher. Hadn’t come in an ambulance, either.

Hard to decide whether the arrivals were good news or not.

Both of the archangels narrowed their eyes on her.

“Good,” Nigel said. “This is well-done.”

“Not if he’s dead, it isn’t,” she muttered, getting out of the way so they could do whatever it was they had to.

When Nigel gestured forward, Colin gave the other archangel a nasty look—then he stepped over and crouched down next to Jim. Leaning this way and that, he checked out the angle of the head, and the pool of silver blood that was getting larger.

And then he ignored Jim. Rising up, he inspected the corner of the sink, making the mm-hmm noises she’d assume would be associated with—hello—the assessment of the nonresponsive semi-corpse on the floor.

Just as she was about to say something, Ad took her elbow and whispered, “The way humans get treated for injuries like this is different from how we need to deal with Jim.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“It’s an accident. So there’s no will attached—he didn’t have it done to him by someone else, and he didn’t choose it for himself and that’s what makes the difference. Without malice or will involved, Colin can try to erase the impact—but it gets done where he hit his head, not on his body.”

Without making any contact, Colin cupped his hands around the silver smudge that had been left behind on the sink, then moved his palms upward and around in a slow, deliberate motion. At first she didn’t think anything was happening, but then there was a subtle sound that rose up—

Cracking. The porcelain was cracking as if being subjected to some kind of pressure or heat even though there was nothing that she could see between those hands and the surface. And the spiderweb pattern grew more intense and spread wider as Colin kept up whatever it was he was doing.

“Oh, my God,” she hissed as she looked at Jim. “It’s working.”

Like magic, the blood on the marble floor was retracting, that puddle growing smaller and smaller … until it disappeared under his hair.

Meanwhile, Colin began to shake, a gritted string of curses coming out of his mouth, the muscles in his forearms standing out in sharp relief like he was pulling at a rope. And Jim shook, too, his arms and legs twitching, his head going back and forth in a series of jerks.

Then the strangest thing happened. A warping emanated from Colin’s hands and suddenly, the sounds of someone falling, hitting his head, and slumping to the ground were played in reverse: shambling fall of arms and legs under the sink; sharp, nasty impact; and then whoosh! as if somebody had flown through the air in front of her.

Abruptly, Colin slumped to the side as if the effort had taken all his strength—and Nigel was the one who caught him before he hit the ground, the other archangel rolling Colin over onto his back and then easing him carefully onto the marble.

“Is it done?” she asked as Nigel moved away.

But she knew the answer to that as she rushed over to Jim: His lids flipped open and he took a deep breath, his mouth gaping, his eyes popping wide. And then he all but jumped up off the floor, focusing on the tub—

“Sissy!” he screamed.

“I’m right here, hey—I’m right here. Jim?”

Jim turned his head so fast, it was a wonder it didn’t snap off his neck. And then he froze—like he couldn’t figure out if he were seeing things right.

“Jim, I’m okay. I’m all right.”

He grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her. Then he patted her down. “Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely. “Fucking hell, tell me you’re—”

She pulled up her sweatshirt and flashed her smooth, unmarked belly.

Jim sagged with such relief, she actually reached out to make sure he didn’t land on his face. And in response, he wrapped her up tight and held her against him.

“It’s over,” she said. “It’s over and we’re all okay…”

As he trembled against her, she offered up a prayer of thanks, and took a deep breath of relief. She had no idea how long this precious slice of peace was going to last, but she sure as hell was going to enjoy it.

Especially because she was, once again, alone in her own skin.

Chapter Forty

As Nigel sat on the hard marble floor across from Colin, he kept stock-still. Although ordinarily he was not one for long periods of inaction, it had felt like an eternity since he had been allowed an unimpeded view of the male, and he was going to damn well take advantage of the good fortune—especially as the others departed and the two of them were left alone.

It was a long while before Colin stirred from exhaustion, and as those lids slowly opened, Nigel jumped into the silence, seizing what was no doubt going to be his only opportunity to say his piece.

“I am so very sorry, Colin. I should never have left you as I did. I should have spoken unto you my fears, and come to a solution with you. My thinking…” He motioned toward his head. “…was faulty. I blame none but myself, and do not expect you to forgive. The explanation, however, is necessary.”

Colin grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled his torso upright. Then he rubbed his face. Took a deep breath. Scrubbed his short, dark hair.

“And yes,” Nigel said, “it is unfair of me to accost you here when you are not at your best. But how else am I going to say this.”