Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(32)
Author: J.R. Ward

“What are you remembering?” Mels asked remotely.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the rush of namesfacesplaces was a deluge he couldn’t get out from under, the onslaught clogging his neurons, rendering him nearly unconscious. And as he sagged, he felt himself get eased back against the pillows, no longer the dominant one.

Bringing his hands up to his head, he cursed.

“I’m calling the doctor—”

Matthias snapped out a hold, catching her wrist. “No. I’m okay—”

“The hell you are.”

“Just give me a minute.”

He breathed shallowly and decided to try giving up the fight. This was the right answer; instead of slamming into him, the memories passed through, the process of the revelations easing. At least…until the end. The final recollection was of him with a…monster of some sort? Must be a nightmare he’d had…but, oh, God, she was hideous, and she was taking him as a way to own him in a dungeon at the base of a long, black well—

Panic acted like jumper cables, hitting Matthias so hard he jerked from the chest, his torso contracting tight. But he kept a hold on Mels’s wrist, making sure she stayed with him instead of hitting the phone.

“Please,” he heard her say.

“No…doctor…it’s fading now…”

Eventually, he released her, ditched the sunglasses, and rubbed his eyes. “You’d think when things came back, it would be slow and easy.”

“Can I please get you some medical attention?” She brought up a binder and put it in front of his face. “See? Hotel services has a Doc-in-a-box on call.”

“No, honest, I’m all right. It was just overwhelming. I think we take for granted how much we store up in here.” He tapped his skull. “Lot of information.”

“What kind are we talking about.”

He glanced away. “Well, I’m definitely not a virgin. And let’s leave it there.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward stretch of quiet. And then Mels cleared her throat.

“You know what, I think I should go.”

“Yeah.”

She got off the bed. Picked up her coat. Put it on. “Before I leave…” She came over and wrote something on the little pad on the bedside table. “Here’s my cell again—”

A ringing sound came out of her pocket.

“Speak of the devil,” he murmured, watching her finish the seven digits before she answered the call.

“Hello?” Her voice was brisk and professional, and he liked that shift of gears, that she could pull it together so fast.

Then again, he liked a lot about the woman.

Mels frowned. “Where? Do we have a ‘who’ on her? How did she die…Really. Yeah, I’m coming right now. I have Tony’s car still—yup.” She ended the call and grabbed her bag. “I have to go.”

“Something’s on the record?”

“And my boss must be having a change of heart. He’s actually sending me to a crime scene.”

“He doesn’t recognize your skills?”

“Not the kind I want him to notice, no.” She paused at the door. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Have you always been a saint,” he murmured.

“Not until I met you.”

Just as she ducked out, he said, “Mels.”

She turned her head over her shoulder, the light from above the door falling on her face. As their eyes met, he would have traded every one of those hookups he’d just seen for a single night with her.

I’m not coming out of this alive, he thought.

So if he ever got a chance to kiss her again, he wasn’t going to stop. And who knew, maybe the second try would be the charm.

Assuming there wasn’t another volume on his greatest-hits-that DVD.

“Wear your seat belt,” he ordered in a low tone.

“Call a damn doctor,” she tossed back with a little smile.

As the door shut behind her, he cursed at it. And then thought about how it had felt to kiss her.

Glancing down at his hips, he found himself wishing he was a whole man once again.

18

The bar in the lobby of the Marriott was named after the original hotel owner, Something-something Sasseman. At least, that’s what the waitress told Adrian in a husky, come-hither voice while she took his and Jim’s beer orders. She also found an excuse to drop her pen and bend over, and then walked off like her pelvis had recently been to Jiffy Lube and gotten over-oiled.

Then again, the rest of the clientele in here were leering businessmen likely on the varsity Viagra team, and she was a POA in her midtwenties.

Back in the Eddie days, he would have gone for her in a heartbeat.

Now? File the whole thing under “Meh.”

The booth he and Jim were in was covered in red pleather and made sounds that were juuuuust this side of a whoopee cushion anytime one of them shifted positions. The thing was perfect for their purpose, however: It faced out through the fat aperture of the bar at the lobby. No one came or went without their seeing.

Although, given Jim’s radar, they could have kept track of Matthias and that woman even if they’d been parked in the back lot: The angel had been sure to touch both of them, and even Ad could feel the tracer spells through the levels of the hotel. The pair were six floors up, close together.

Made you wonder exactly what they were doing.

Probably Parcheesi.

Yeah. Right.

As minutes ticked by and turned into a full hour, the background talk from the drinkers around them was the only thing that filled the silence. The beers they had turned into dinner. The time was…endless.

Man, immortality could be a real f**king drag when you didn’t give a shit about anything. All you had was time. Great, yawning maws of hours that perpetually chewed on you with dull teeth, eating you alive even as you remained unconsumed.

Well, wasn’t he a f**king party tonight.

And his mood didn’t get any better as he looked down at his hands. The black stain he’d seen in the shower hadn’t reappeared, but he couldn’t help checking every second and a half to see if it had come back. So far, so good, except for the whole feeling-like-death thing.

It was literally as if his body had been hollowed out, nothing but the space inside his skeletal ribs remaining—

“She’s coming down,” Jim said, finishing up the warm inch of beer he’d been nursing. “The woman’s left his room.”

Ad didn’t bother with the dregs of his draft. He hadn’t liked it to begin with.