Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(88)
Author: J.R. Ward

Not that she was his.

God, he could just picture Sissy’s mother picking up the newspaper and seeing the coverage on the front page of the CCJ. Like losing her daughter in the most horrific way possible wasn’t bad enough? She had to read about a copycat killer?

“You rang,” the demon said, her voice nasty and sharp.

Jim pivoted around, and the first thing he noticed was what she was wearing: His enemy had jacked her spectacular fake body into a blue dress he’d seen before.

Well, wasn’t this a Hallmark moment. It was the one she’d had on the night they’d first met in that club across town—and he remembered her in it, standing under that overhead light, a stunningly beautiful lie that was pure evil.

In terms of the calendar, that intersection of previously divergent paths had taken place mere weeks ago. In terms of experience, it was many, many lifetimes in the past.

Hatred made him hard down below, the arousal not tied to anything he found attractive, but rather everything he didn’t.

He wanted to rip her apart and hear her scream. He want her to know what it was like to be powerless and at the mercy of someone who didn’t give a f**k.

He wanted her to beg—

As if she sensed exactly where he was at, the demon smiled like she’d been given a birthday present. “Looking for something in particular, Jim?”

42

Mels heard the door shut behind Jim Heron, but she paid no attention to the man or his departure. Her eyes were locked on Matthias’s face. By some…miracle, he had been transformed—utterly transformed: His coloring was warm for the first time since she’d met him, the skin no longer gray from pain. His scars had faded. And his eyes…

His eyes.

The one that had always been cloudy was now clear, sure as if a faulty contact lens had been the problem and he’d just taken the thing out.

Except there hadn’t been some kind of Bausch + Lomb malfunction, had there.

“What…” That was as far as she got, her voice fading from confusion.

“I don’t know.” Matthias shook his head. “I…have no idea….”

She reached up and touched the barely distinguishable scars. “You’re healed.”

How was this possible—

With an abrupt shift, Mels’s eyes shot to the mirror, the image of Jim Heron standing behind her returning with every detail.

And then she heard Matthias’s voice…. I believe in Hell…because I’ve been there….

Oh, God…literally.

“There’s more to all of this, isn’t there,” she said in a stilted voice. “And it’s got to do with Heron.”

Matthias turned his lips against her palm and planted a kiss. That was all the reply she got.

In the silence that followed, she thought about something she’d said to her father years and years ago. She’d been a typical teenager at the time, disagreeing with everything and everybody: She’d announced, as they’d driven home from church, that she didn’t believe in God, or Heaven, or Hell—so why did she have to have every single Sunday morning ruined.

Her father had looked into the rearview mirror and replied, “Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Staring into the face of the man she loved, she didn’t believe the transformation—and yet she could run her fingertips down his now-unmarred skin.

And as she thought more, she found that there was little understanding any of this: Not the way things had started outside that graveyard…not the two men who surrounded Matthias…not what had happened to her under that water…and not this, either.

But as her father had said, that didn’t mean it wasn’t real.

“I want to kiss you.” Matthias focused on her mouth. “That’s all I know.”

She so got that. In this swirling confusion and post-shock emotion, the only thing that made sense to her—the only thing that seemed tangible—was that she wanted to be with him in whatever way she could.

Mels lowered her lips to within half an inch of his, and whispered, “I think the bed’s empty now.”

Matthias closed the distance, brushing at her mouth. Then he rose to his feet and scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other beneath her arms.

“Oh, wait, I’m too—”

She didn’t get to the heavy. He lifted her from out of the chair and held her up strongly from the floor, carrying her over to the bed without a limp.

“What happened in that bathroom?” she said again.

Instead of an answer, he laid her out on the duvet and then straddled her legs, looming large above her. “I don’t know—and that’s the truth. I went in and…Adrian…Look, let’s not talk right now. Let’s…do other things—putting words to it is not going to make it any more understandable.”

She had the sense that he was right. Nothing made any sense, except for the need to be with him—and that was especially true as he took a fingertip and ran it down the side of her throat to the juncture of what she was wearing.

“Where did you get this dress?”

“It’s a raincoat. Collapsible—I always keep it in my bag.”

“So no zipper?”

“No.” He smiled a little, but then grew serious—like he was remembering why she’d needed a change of clothes. “Don’t think about the boathouse,” she told him. “Not right now.”

After all, two could play at the shut-it game.

“How can I not,” he said darkly. And yet he leaned down and kissed her, hovering above her body, his hands going to the tie that kept the two halves of the coat together—

“You’re naked under this?” he breathed.

“As a jaybird.”

He eased back a little. “I can’t decide whether that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard…”

“Or?”

“Or if I want to kill any other man who saw you in this.”

“I’m not showing anything.”

“Not the point.”

The possessiveness in that deep voice had her smiling—especially as he parted the coat and ran his big hands down her body. His mouth followed next, his lips soft, his teeth sharp as they nipped gently, lingering on each one of her br**sts until her ni**les were tight and peaked.

She stopped him before he got too far. “I’d love a shower—want to join me?”

From under heavy lids, his eyes glowed. “I think we’re doing just fine.”