Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(85)
Author: J.R. Ward

Her entire body reacted to the connection, her stomach rolling, a cold sweat breaking out all over her skin, her head pounding.

“Let’s go,” she snapped. “I already can’t wait to put this down.”

It was Devina’s worst nightmare made manifest: Every time she entered one of her protected places, her fear was always that something was gone, missing, out of place—and what did she find now? Someone—probably that cocksucker Jim—had ripped drawers out of bureaus and thrown her shit on the floor.

And to top it off? She had to deal with the sight of that now non-virgin and those two fallen angel motherfuckers standing like the fucking tools they were in the middle of her goddamn, motherfucking shit.

It was enough to make her say to hell with everything and kill all four of them.

Jim deserved nothing less for lying to her.

Again.

Tears flooded her eyes as everyone but her lover started running away, going deeper into her basement. Her first instinct was to call her minions and send the crew after them, but she held off. This was the kind of thing she wanted to settle on her own. Besides, that trio weren’t the ones who mattered; Jim was. And after this all played out? She was going to own Sissy, Adrian, and Eddie—along with everyone else on the planet—so they were more than welcome to try to hide where there was nowhere to hide.

Besides, she wanted Jim alone without distractions.

Brushing at her cheeks, she wiped her hands on the seat of her leather pants. She’d changed out of her negligee to go see the Creator, but had kept on her beautiful, sparkling Loubous.

Man, she’d been so damned pleased with the audience she’d been granted and happy that He had been willing to see them both. So cocksucking excited about the turn of events.

Except as soon as she’d gotten back, she hadn’t made it farther than a makeup check at the hotel’s penthouse.

She’d known the instant her space had been violated.

The instant her trust had been violated.

She had to wipe her eyes again—which was a bitch, because she didn’t want to smudge her makeup. “Jim … goddamn it. Am I never going to learn with you.”

The bastard kept looking over his shoulder, checking to see if his precious Sissy and his douchebag besties had gotten away.

It was enough to make her violent. But she needed—

As he refocused on her, the hatred on his face was so deep, so pervasive, so overwhelming, it twisted his features out of place.

Which was kind of touching, really. Also a sign that the infection in him had reached an all-new level.

“You got something to say to me,” she drawled, looking forward to the fight they were about to have.

Except all he did was take a step back. And another.

And then tear off at a dead run.

It took a split second for her brain to do the math. And then she screamed—and went airborne.

Her mirror!

Fuck! They were going after her mirror—

Traveling in a scramble of molecules, she gunned for the back corner of the basement—and didn’t make it. Somehow Jim was able to pluck her right out of midflight, and the instant the contact was made, she reformed against her will, her body becoming solid and corporeal. And he took advantage of that. With a powerful yank, he pulled her down to the hard, cold floor, and rolled around with her as his hands locked on her shoulders, then her neck.

Her instinct was to fight back—but then she thought, no … this was the perfect setup for his endgame, the chance for him to make the decision to “kill” her and follow through on the impulse—his crossroads made manifest, his choice resulting in her winning the game.

Except, fuck, she couldn’t lose that mirror.

On a tremendous shove, she flashed out from under him, and things were too urgent for her to try to dematerialize, so she ran in her high heels, streaking toward her wardrobe and her bed—

Jim pulled some kind of flying tackle, taking her down again, knocking her over into her shoe collection, the racks falling down, high heels, pumps, boots going everywhere. But fuck that. Throwing his heavy weight off of her, she sprang up once more, losing her footing and then finding it again even in the stillies, her eyes seeking out that far corner of darkness—

Jim was on her again.

It was as if he had endless reserves of energy—and this time he wasn’t going to let her go. His vicious hands tightened around her throat and he shoved her body into the vanity and then her regular mirror, glass shattering all around them as they fought each other, him to take her down, her to get free.

And suddenly, there was a glint of crystal over his head.

He’d unsheathed his dagger.

Now was the time.

Even though it went against the terror of losing her portal to Hell, she forced herself to go lax. The angels and that little bitch weren’t incented to destroy the thing, she reminded herself. If they did, they’d just kill themselves in the process.

Let him stab you, she told herself as she focused on his crazed, hate-filled blue eyes. Then they’re all yours and you can save the mirror that way.

“Do it,” she said, bracing herself.

Unlike the mere kitchen knife she’d been prepared to have Sissy use against her, this was going to hurt like a nightmare.

Ultimately, though … it was going to get her everything she had ever wanted.

Chapter Forty-nine

Jim was going to fucking do it. With the dagger over his head and hatred screaming in his soul, he was going to fucking stab Devina—and not just once. He was going to Hannibal Lecter her into pieces, hack at her until there was nothing left but a pool of her evil blood and shit that looked like the inside of a fucking sausage.

With her locked in his grip, everything came back to him, and it was a slide show of gruesome and sad—starting with his mother on that farmhouse kitchen floor and ending with him and Adrian and Eddie fighting to rip something out of Sissy’s pure body. And everything, all of it, could be traced back to this evil of this demon, all the bloodshed and the suffering, even some of his own—

From out of nowhere, the image of Sissy’s face appeared and blocked out everything else. He saw her walking over to him from that elevator, getting up in his grille, yelling back at him.

There hadn’t been anger in her eyes.

It had been terror.

Jim shook his head like that would clear it and tried to get back to business. But that mind’s eye picture of her wouldn’t fade, almost as if it had been placed there by some other source.

And oh, God, her lips were moving. She was talking to him, telling him things that made no fucking sense, that went against everything he knew about the way the war worked and what his job was.