Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(78)
Author: J.R. Ward

Ripping her head to the side, she checked to see if it wasn’t a second attacker. There was no way he could have moved that fast—

Those eyes. Those black eyes.

What would you say if I told you I believe in Hell…because I’d been there….

Mels staggered backward, until one heel hit a wet spot and slipped. Or maybe…the man with the obsidian stare had pushed her without touching her—

Free fall.

As she went loose into thin air, she threw her arms out and found nothing that could help her regain her balance….

Splash!

Hitting the water was a shock. Cold and grasping, the river seemed to dig into her, sucking her in and holding her down. Opening her mouth, she was flooded with a nasty taste as she tried to claw her way back to the surface.

She got nowhere, sure as if a Hawaii-style riptide had set up shop in the Hudson.

Closing her lips so she didn’t take any more water in, she felt the burn in her chest quickly become a screaming heat, and panic gave her a burst of energy. Thrashing against the black void, she fought with that newfound power—putting everything she had into saving her own life.

She got nowhere.

Arms and legs slowed down.

Heart rate sped up.

The fire in her lungs became volcanic.

After an eternity, the dull roar in her ears receded, and so did the cold of the Hudson, and the pain in her chest. Or maybe it was more that all that was still going on—she was just starting to lose consciousness.

How was this happening?

How the hell was this happening?

Dimly, she readied herself for the whole life-before-the-eyes thing, getting good and braced for a list of regrets, for the faces of the people she would miss most—of which Matthias’s would definitely be one…

Instead, she just felt more suffocation and a sense that, aw, crap, this was how it ended?

As a last thought, it was pretty uninspiring….

Following the tracking spell he’d put on that reporter, Jim showed up at what appeared to be some kind of boat club facility down at the Hudson River’s edge. Overhead, the sky was so choked with clouds that it could have been after midnight instead of afternoon, but that wasn’t the doom-and-gloom he was worried about.

The instant he got within range, Devina’s presence was a scream that ran up the nape of his neck—

And then the reporter’s signal disappeared.

Bursting in through the open door, he stopped dead as he saw Devina standing by herself, stilettos planted on the planks of the docking platforms.

“Surprise, surprise,” she said, kicking up her chin and moving her hair over her shoulder.

For a split second, he nearly launched himself at the demon. He just wanted his hands around her throat, squeezing as she fought against him, squeezing until he snapped her head clean off her goddamn spine.

But the reporter was the reason he’d come.

Searching the place, he found…nothing. No one. Just waves clapping under the cribs, the restless water chatting all around.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Where is who?”

In the water, he thought.

Jim jumped forward and shoved the demon out of the way, hoping she landed on her bony ass as he started looking in all the empty slips. Man, the river was murky, the lack of light making it seem opaque.

“What are you looking for,” he heard Devina say.

Stalking around, he got nothing but churning current—and wasn’t fooled. The demon had come here for a purpose…and was staying for one, too. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“It’s a free world.”

“Only if you lose.”

Devina laughed. “Not the way I see it—”

He shot over to his enemy and got nose-to-nose with her. “Leave. Or I’ll destroy you right here and now.”

A nasty glint came into her eye. “You can’t talk to me like that—”

Before he knew it, one of his hands locked on her throat, his little fantasy coming true as he began to channel energy into the hold—

From out of nowhere, a light source entered the boathouse—no, wait, it was him. He was glowing.

Fine, whatever. He was so angry he could have gone disco-ball, for all he cared—especially as his other palm joined the party. And for a moment, Devina just laughed at him again, except then something changed. She started to struggle to breathe, her fingernails coming up to try to peel his grip from her neck at first with anger; then with something close to fear.

As that glow he was giving off spread throughout his body, it grew stronger, until it started to throw shadows—and he kept squeezing, pushing her back until she was trapped against the rowboats that had been stacked up on risers, shoving his body against hers to hold her in place. He was shaking with power from head to foot, and somehow he knew he was turning her on—which was not the case with his arousal. Yeah, he was hard, but what part of him wasn’t? Every muscle was clenched, from his jaw to his thighs, his shoulders to his ass.

He was going to f**king do it.

Right here, right now. Fuck Nigel and those English pricks who were in charge of him. Fuck the game, the war, the conflict—whatever you wanted to call it. Fuck it all—

Something exploded behind him, displaced water hitting his legs.

And then there was a great, dragging gasp for air, followed by hacking coughs.

Jim broke his concentration for a split second to see what it was—and that was all Devina needed. The demon ethered out of his hold, coalescing into a black scatter of molecules with a screech, and then firing herself at him.

The impact was like ten thousand bee stings across every inch of skin he had, and he yelled, not out of pain but frustration, as he went down in a heap.

Devina didn’t counterattack but moved on, casting herself into the sky she’d darkened, becoming one with the evil clouds above.

Gone, gone, gone…for now.

From his vantage point of cheek-on-plank, he watched her go with a curse through his gaping mouth…and then focused on the reporter saving herself.

Over at the closest slip, a pair of arms shot up out of the water, pale hands latching onto the decking, nails penetrating the wood. And then with a great heave, the woman drew her wet, cold self out of the river’s depth.

She ended up flopped next to him, the pair of them not moving as they recovered.

“We…have…to…” she coughed, “stop meeting…like this.”

38

Off in the distance, someone was talking. Jim’s roommate.

Matthias couldn’t focus on the sounds, however, his neuropathways jammed with all those profiles, Internet addresses and codes—all the way back to his first e–mail addy and the sequence of the bicycle lock he’d used in grade school…and Jim Heron’s dossier.