Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(27)
Author: J.R. Ward

Up on the ceiling, like some great housefly, Devina was yelling. As her brunette hair ripped around, it flashed images of her red lips, parted, bright white teeth gleaming as she tried to communicate. But it wasn’t Ad who responded. It was Colin. With obvious effort, he dug himself out of his archangel imprint in the wall—and headed for Jim’s remains. When he outed a crystal dagger, Sissy wondered what in the hell he was going to do.

Raising his arm high over his shoulder, he buried that brilliant dagger right into the meat of Jim’s shoulder—and then he wasted no time going back to what little shelter he had.

Of course, Sissy thought. If Jim’s body were lost in there, he’d have nothing to come back to.

“Adrian! Watch out!” In spite of the fact that he probably couldn’t hear her, she pointed wildly at the coffee table. “Ad!”

Whether he heard her or had eyes in the back of his skull, she didn’t know—but the angel ducked out of the path of the marble-topped table as it flipped end over end and then went airborne, the gaping maw of that energy sucking it in with another blast of red light. Then it was the green velvet sofa’s turn.

Meanwhile, Adrian stayed braced against the suck zone, trying to open something.

Old books vibrated in the shelves and then broke free of their orderly rows, flying through the air like crows, their covers flapping, their pale pages beating against one another until they were consumed. And Ad had to duck and cover again, especially as the heavy candlesticks hit the road for the center of the room.

The angel yelled something back at Devina.

It was a water bottle. That was what was in his hand. And as he freed the cap, the little disk flipped out of his hand.

Jim’s silver blood took flight just like the books, but its path was not the same at all. Instead of a quick, messy trip, it congealed, becoming a kind of mercury, and its progression was in slow-mo, whereas everything else was on fast-forward: The distinct silver droplets tripped lazily over one another as they fell into a line and headed for the maelstrom, kept aloft by the energy in the room, attracted to the mouth of the energy swirl.

Adrian didn’t wait to watch what happened when the blood reached the destination. He wrenched his poor broken body around and tried to make it back to where he’d been. Just as she’d feared, though, the current had caught hold of him—his shirt being pulled so tightly across his chest that it began to rip in half, his loose pants flapping like sails in a bad wind.

He wasn’t going to make it, she thought with panic.

Throwing the book down, she reached through the force field, straining to stay inside at the same time she tried to cover as much distance as she could. Adrian reached out as well, the skin on his face getting pulled taut over his sharp features as he fought against the draw.

“Adrian!” She stretched out as far as she could, some instinct warning her that if she went too far, she was going to fall into the vacuum along with him. “Adrian!”

She knew he was going to trip right before it happened—that bad leg of his could not possibly support the work being demanded of it, and the knee buckled right out from under him.

Fuck it, she thought as she threw herself against the metaphysical links.

Sissy snapped free of the safe haven and was nearly knocked unconscious by the roaring noise. And that wasn’t the only thing. The air pressure was so low, her eardrums popped with such violence she was convinced she’d lost all her hearing.

“Adrian…!”

She hit the floor herself, thinking a lower profile would give the vacuum less to get hold of. And as she grabbed onto the angel’s hand, he glared at her like he was pissed she’d left the spell—but what the hell? Like losing him was an option? She was not going to get stuck here alone with Devina.

The suction on her body was so great, she was surprised her skin didn’t peel free—and there was no question: She knew she was going into the vortex, too.

They both were.

This was how it was going to end.

Chapter Twelve

Nigel lost the fight in the most unceremonious of ways. Instead of some great death throe followed by a wheezy Shakespearean monologue, he simply took one last step … and landed on his knees.

He had every intention of getting back up. Of keeping going. Of finding something, anything to sustain him in this wasteland.

But there was no where-one-has-a-will-one-has-a-way thing here. Alas, as much as he commanded, demanded, cajoled his body to return upright, it didn’t resist so much as ignore his every entreaty.

The cold, which had been ramping up for quite some time, now took over, and to keep some warmth within his flesh he drew his knees up to his chest and tucked his lower face into the folds of his robe. Perhaps just a second of rest. Yes, that was it. And then he would resume …

An image of Colin appeared in his mind’s eye. It was a memory from a precious moment of privacy, the archangel standing beside his camping ground up in Heaven. Ah, yes, that dinky campground—no luxurious tent for Colin. God forbid he make any concession to comfort and ease. That hard-headed fighter had naught but a tarp supported at four corners off the ground, and yet whenever Nigel had gone there to find the archangel, the modest quarters had seemed like a mansion by virtue of Colin’s presence: The male’s bracing body had created walls of precious marble out of thin air, and floors of priceless mosaic from the sand and grass. His resounding intelligence had been the sturdy roof overhead, and his piercing eyes the magnificent front entrance.

In this memory, one that had been common to his moments of repose up in Heaven, Colin had just emerged from a bath in the river, droplets of water running down his pectorals. Except … had Colin had a towel around his waist? Or had Nigel given one to him as he’d approached…?

With sudden panic, Nigel couldn’t recall exactly the series of events that took place next or the words and gestures that had been shared, the nuances of connection growing murky for the first time.

Indeed, his memories were being stolen from him, diminished by the physical discomforts of being chilled to the bone and choked by the infernal gray sand. In desperation, he tried to reach past the suffering and connect with the very best part of his past. But he could not … no, he could not find enough details to reassure himself that yes, he had been there with that angel. He had known love and shared it with someone who mattered. He had … lived in a way humans took for granted if they were very lucky and immortals rarely got anywhere close to.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he shivered and tried to breathe.