Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(110)
Author: J.R. Ward

Which he would do. Heron was one of the best. Always had been.

He was going to take care of business, him and that deadly roommate.

And Mels had heard the truth, even if she couldn’t believe it.

In the brief, rushing weightlessness as Matthias returned to earth, his eyes went to the sky above. He was going back into the pit of Hell, so he figured he might as well enjoy the view of Heaven one last time—

God, that moon, that beautiful, shining moon with its pure white light that bathed all parts of this drama—

The gravel drive jumped up and grabbed him. As he landed, his vision grew preternaturally clear so that he saw what he had known would happen: Jim palming his forty, waiting one breath, then two…and when the shooter popped his head out to check the carnage, Heron pulled the trigger and picked the other man off, nailing him in the cranium, blowing him back flat.

It was a crack shot that could only have been made by an expert.

And it meant that Mels was safe.

Lying flat on his back on the ground, Matthias turned his head to his woman. She was fighting against some kind of hold on her, her arms stretched out as if she were trying to reach him.

The second Jim yelled, “Clear!” she broke free of whatever had been keeping her stuck and scrambled over.

Matthias felt her take his hand, and as he looked up into her face, she was more beautiful than the moon.

He smiled at her, and then saw that she was crying. “No,” he groaned. “No, you’re fine—”

“Get an ambulance,” she shouted.

It was too late, but he appreciated the thought.

Funny, shouldn’t he feel pain? He was dying; he knew that by the way his breathing was getting difficult. But there was no agony, not even discomfort. Instead, he felt giddy, his brain buzzing.

On the verge of death, he was totally alive.

He squeezed her hand. “I love you….”

“Don’t even think about it,” she barked.

“It’s how…I feel….”

“No, the dying thing. You are not dying on me.” She jerked her head up. “Call nine-one-one!”

“Mels—Mels, look at me.” When she did, he smiled in spite of the knowledge of where he was going to end up. “Just—let me see you….You’re so beautiful….”

“Damn you, Matthias—”

“Yes, I am.” Damned, that was. “Listen to me—no, just listen. I want you to wear your seat belt…wear it…promise me—”

“Screw you, stay with me and make me.”

“Wear…it….”

“Don’t leave me,” she moaned. “Not now, not when…I’m so confused…”

“Wear it.”

Turned out those were his two last words, and she was the final thing he saw: An abrupt suffocation took over, his cells starving for what they weren’t going to get, the chaos jamming his brain, stealing from him the last moments he had with her.

And then it was done.

Vision gone, body still, senses of taste and smell finished.

He still had his hearing, though.

Mels’s voice wrapped around him. “Stay with me….”

God, he wanted to; he truly did.

That was not, however, going to be his destiny.

As the operative dropped to the forest floor like a side of beef, Jim lowered his gun, ready to kick his own ass. He and Adrian had been so wrapped up in the drama in front of them, neither one had paid any attention to the assassin creeping in through the forest.

Then again, if they had intervened…Shit, who could have ever guessed Matthias would take a bullet for someone?

“Adrian, get out there,” Jim hissed.

Ad nodded and disappeared. Seconds later, the angel sounded an all-clear from the periphery.

“Call nine-one-one!” Mels said from where she was crouched, holding Matthias’s hand.

This was the real crossroads, Jim thought. And Matthias had passed.

They had won—

Mels jerked up and glared at him. “We need an ambulance—”

From up above, a shaft of light pierced the sky, shining a hundred times brighter than the moon’s illumination: It was Matthias’s reclamation, the rays pouring down from the heavens like a waterfall, eclipsing his body where it lay.

For a moment, Jim just watched the process, the shimmering echo of Matthias’s body pulled up in the centrifuge, drawn from the flesh, headed for the Manse of Souls.

He had done it.

The motherfucker had done it.

That moment when Matthias had chosen someone else’s life over his own, when he had thrown himself into the path of that bullet—even though Jim wouldn’t have been affected—was the crossroads and the free will…and the victory.

“He’s dying!” The sound of Mels’s voice ripped him back into focus. “He’s—”

“Dead,” Jim said grimly, lifting his hand in goodbye to his old…friend, he supposed.

“No, he is not!”

Refocusing, Jim went over and got down on his haunches. “I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”

The woman snapped out a hand and grabbed Jim’s shirt, her face that of a tiger, teeth bared, eyes gleaming. “He is not dead.”

She dropped her hold and went for her own phone—

Jim snagged the thing out of her hands. “He’s gone—I’m so sorry, but he’s not with us anymore. And you need to get out of here—”

“What the hell are you talking about! Give me my goddamn phone!”

“Mels—”

She launched herself at him, and he let her go, let her get her energy and anger out as she struck him with her fists. Eventually, he stilled her by turning her around and holding her back against him, just so she didn’t rip one of his eyes out.

When she finally quieted, she was breathing hard, and sobbing.

“He’s gone,” Jim said roughly. “And I’m really sorry. I’m so damned sorry for you. But you’ve got to listen to me. You have to leave—you do not want to be a part of this. He told me what he gave you—so I know you get it when I say it’s not safe for you to be involved in what’s going to happen next. Go home and get cracking on the information—that’s how you’ll be safe. As soon as you blow the cover and the story’s out in the open, the organization will crumble. But until then, it’s business as usual, and that means you’re exposed. Go home. Do your work—and do it fast.”

The woman sagged against his forearms and just hung there, loose in his hold, her head tilted in the direction of Matthias’s body.