Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(83)
Author: J.R. Ward

Out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel. Heading for his room with his bloodied clothes hanging from his arms like they were his internal organs.

Before shutting himself into the darkness, he stared in the direction of Sissy’s room again. God, he just wanted to go there, knock on the door, have her tell him to come in. And then, without a lot of talk, he could lie next to her and hold her body for a little while.

They would both sleep.

That was all he wanted, just rest, peace, a time to recharge. Because the message from the Maker had been clear: The war was going to continue regardless of the loss.

“Fucking hell.”

He’d never liked Nigel. He’d been frustrated with the guy’s need to follow the rules, and incensed by that superior English manner. But he hadn’t wanted the archangel dead—and oh, crap, Colin? File that under Fucking Batshit Pissed. Plus, there was no way of knowing where the other two archangels had been, and if they were half as angry as Nigel’s buddy? Jim might as well turn himself over to Devina now, before they ripped him limb from limb.

He passed through into his room and ditched the clothes right by the door. He’d burn them tomorrow—and yes, he was going to tell Adrian what was going on. He was also going to get an update from the guy as to where they stood with the soul.

Time to move on.

One of the lessons he had learned long ago was that you couldn’t go back. History was the only immutable thing anyone, mortals and immortals alike, had—and even that changed depending on what you knew of actual events at any given time. He couldn’t go back and fix what Nigel had decided to do. He could only go forward.

Man, he needed—

“Jim?”

The sound of Sissy’s voice stopped his body, but sped up his heart. “Sissy…?”

“I thought I would wait up for you. I fell asleep.”

He could just imagine what she looked like lying against his pillows, sitting up a little, eyes drowsy, hair slightly tangled.

“Can I join you?” he asked hoarsely.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

When there was a rustling and something hit the floor, he said, “No, don’t bother turning on the light.”

He didn’t want her to see what kind of shape he was in. Maybe by morning … yeah, by morning, he would look back to normal.

More important, he would be back to normal: All roads led to Devina. Sissy and her family’s suffering. Nigel’s. Colin’s. Adrian’s. Those various dominoes had each fallen, thanks to one flick of the demon’s manicured finger.

She had to lose the war—stipulated. But that was not enough. She needed the kind of agony she forced others to feel—and that was only going to happen if he took away the one thing that mattered to her.

Her precious collection of crap.

One way or the other, before the end of the war, he was going to find the shit and torch it. Then she would know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the pain she dished out.

Eye for an eye. And after that? He was going to beat her at this game and wish her one final f**k-off before she was dusted.

“So can I?” he said.

“You don’t sound right—I mean, yes, please.”

If he’d been a gentleman, he would have put some clothes on…

And what do you know, even as exhausted as he was, he went over and drew on some sweats and a muscle shirt before he got anywhere near the bed.

Stretching out took some effort, but then Sissy curled in against him.

Warm and soft, smelling like flowers from the shampoo and soap Adrian had gotten her. Heavenly woman…

“What did you say?” she whispered.

Shit. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you came in here.”

“Me, too.”

As her arm sneaked around his waist, it was with the gentlest of movements, as if she knew he was hurting. Or maybe that was her way.

It was so strange, he thought, but lying next to her, he felt like he was home. And after having been transient and unconnected for so long, the powerful peace was a shock and a weakness, but in this quiet darkness, it was also right—

Sissy moved even closer, and as she repositioned herself, her breast brushed up against his side, its soft cushion making him draw in a swift breath.

“Jim?” she said, her voice right next to his ear. “Are you okay?”

He moved his lower body further back. “Yeah.”

“You sound like you’re in pain.”

When he didn’t reply, she inhaled deeply, as if frustrated—and that breast moved again, stroking him, whatever thin shirt she was wearing no barrier at all.

He was very sure she did not have a bra on.

“Jim, you know what I’ve learned? Talking helps.”

Oh, God, she might as well be stretching him on a rack: His sex was waking up down below, in spite of the condition he was in, and the arousal felt like a torturous betrayal of her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like he could stop the powerful urge to roll on top of her and take her beautiful face carefully in his rough, scarred hands, and—

“My boss died today.”

As Sissy stiffened, he thought, yup, the image of Nigel lying in a pool of silver blood wiped out his erection completely. And he hated that he was using the suicide to cure this kind of problem, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d brought up the nightmare. He did want to talk about it. With her.

“I don’t want to freak you out,” he muttered. “And you know, someday I’m going to have good news to tell you. Promise.”

Sissy sat up. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I went up there to meet with him and … yeah, the place was shut up tight, no one was around, and when I went looking, I found him. Dead.”

“Jesus … Christ.”

“That was my reaction, too.” No reason to go into his feeling responsible for it. Sissy was tied up inextricably in all that, and God knew he was carrying around enough guilt for the both of them. “I’m a strategic thinker—and I never saw anything like that coming.”

“What about Colin…?”

Something niggled in the back of his brain. But then he shook off the sensation.

He also had no intention of going into the attack. “Not doing well. At all.”

Sissy eased back down beside him, somehow ending up mostly on his chest. And though it made his stab wounds ache, he was not going to ask her to move.

Instead, as her straight hair fell onto him, tickling his upper arm, he sneaked a stroke of it … and one was not enough. In fact, as he played with the silky, blunt-cut ends, he found himself wanting to do it for the rest of his unnatural life.