Immortal by J. R. Ward
Across the table, the change in Jim was instantaneous. Even as he stayed right where he was, his big body dwarfing that chair, the smoldering cigarette held in between the fore-and middle fingers of his right hand . . . he was completely different.
And Sissy guessed that was proof enough. But she wanted more. She wanted . . . everything.
"Sissy, I don't think it's a good idea to--"
She shook her head. "It's the only thing I can independently verify. There is so much here . . . that I can't know, and I've got to have something to stand on."
There was a long, tense silence . . . and then he shoved his chair back with such force it landed on the floor with a clatter. He didn't even bother coming around the table. He reached across with his long, powerful arms and grabbed her by the head, yanking her out of her own chair, bringing her mouth to his. The kiss was hard and raw, his lips grinding against hers, his tongue penetrating her like he wanted to be doing that kind of thing with totally different body parts.
When he finally shoved her back, they were both breathing hard. And his eyes . . . his eyes burned through her.
"Happy," he said grimly.
Jesus, and to think she'd assumed he was passionate before.
"You're not going to break me."
"Don't be so sure about that." With his mood clearly in the crapper, he broke away from her, jerked his chair back up and sat in it. Then he shifted with a curse and rearranged something.
He tapped his ash again. Took another drag. Drummed his free fingers.
And then a quick, rhythmic tapping started up under the table.
It was his foot going upanddownandupanddown.
With slow, deliberate movements, she rose to her feet and came around to him. His shoulders were bunched up under his T-shirt, his biceps hard and tight--and as she stood beside him, the twitching started. In his face. His wrist. His jaw.
When he refused to look at her, she almost lost her nerve.
She put her hand on his arm. "Jim."
He shook his head. "Don't ask me, please, don't ask me--I'm not keeping it together here."
"I just want to know--"
She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence.
All at once he was up and at her, taking her body and driving it backward until she landed against the wall. Pinning her with his pelvis, he ripped the tie out of her hair and shoved his free hand into the stuff--but not to smooth it.
He grabbed hold and forced her head to one side. "You want this?" he growled. "You sure you want this?"
"Yes." As he tightened his hold a little harder, she was forced to curve further into his strength, until he was the only reason she wasn't on the floor. "You're not going to scare me."
In fact, he seemed like the one getting rattled as she pushed her hands up under his shirt and onto his smooth back--but the double take didn't last. Lowering his head, he went for her neck, biting his way down to her collarbone.
And then the world spun.
It took her a moment to figure out what he'd done, but as she heard another clatter, she realized he'd picked her up and sat her on the edge of the counter.
"Is this what you want," he growled as he pushed her legs wide.
"Yes," she breathed, pulling him back to her mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Aw, fuck." He kissed her deeply and worked himself against her core. "Jesus, are we going to do this here . . ."
The sound of a hammer going strong in the other half of the house meant they had time--but not a lot of it.
"Yes, we are." She went for the waistband of his sweats and yanked them down, releasing his . . . "Oh . . . wow."
"Yeah. Oh," he said dryly. Like he'd proved his point.
Except before he could disengage, she gripped his arousal with both hands. Against her palms, he was hot. Hard. Big.
Jim's head fell back, the corded muscles that ran up his neck straining as he cursed. "Sissy--"
"I want to feel you come in my hands."
The groan he let out vibrated through his body--and there was another right on its heels as she started to stroke him, down the shaft, up to the head. Down again. Back up. She had no clue what she was doing, but she knew she was onto something--especially as his hips began to work with her, increasing the friction.
She watched the whole thing, his hips rolling and then pumping, his lower abdominals curling and releasing. It was dizzying, this feeling of power, the sense that she and she alone was doing this to him, bringing him closer and closer to the brink. He was a man, a strong, aggressive man . . . who was at her mercy.
And that was hot.
"Gimme your mouth," he growled as he forced her chin up.
He took without apology, unleashing himself as his lower body rocked faster against her hold. He tasted like fresh tobacco and wildness, and as much as she wanted to stay hyper-aware about everything that was happening, it wasn't long before she was swept up, too.
And then he orgasmed, barking her name as he bit into her lower lip.
Nothing slow and easy this time. Rough and raw, his arousal jabbing into her hold, hot jets coming out of him.
And she loved it.
When he finally fell still, he dropped his head on her shoulder as if he couldn't hold it up. He was breathing like a freight train, his body as hot as his erection still was. And yet he didn't seem finished.
More like this was the appetizer to the meal he wanted.
As Jim lifted his head, his eyes still burned. Especially as he straightened, took hold of the bottom of his shirt, and lifted it up and off of his magnificent chest. Switching his still-lit cigarette to his opposite hand, he pressed the soft cotton into her hands, cleaning things up.
The way he stared at her . . . she felt like prey.
In a good way.
She was not supposed to be like that, Jim thought as he ground his Marlboro out in the ashtray on the kitchen table.
Sissy was supposed to have run out of the room when he pushed things just a little, all come-to-her-senses thanks to him. Instead, she'd had him coming all over her hands. And now, even after that was over, she was sitting back against the cupboards, her hair tangled from his hands, lips red and parted, legs . . . spread.
For him.
He wanted to tell her later. He wanted to tell her no.
He didn't. He tossed his now-dirty shirt on the floor, and went back to her, running his hands up her thighs, going for her core with his thumbs. He wanted to go down on her. Right here in the kitchen. Just get rid of those jeans and put his knees to the floor and let his tongue do whatever it wanted.
But he didn't need Ad finishing shit up and coming back here for a drink.
His next option was to go the true penetration route--God knew he was still hard and raring to go. Again, though, that involved her going pants-off, and the idea of any man seeing her undressed and in mid-orgasm during sex made him want to get a nuclear weapon.
The last option was the conservative one. But it was so much better than stopping--and a big-ass improvement over getting caught red-handed.
"You know what I'm picturing right now," he said into her ear.
"What . . ." So hoarse, her voice was so hoarse and he loved the sound of it.
"You're naked." He started rubbing at her faster. "You're on your back . . ."
She moaned and pushed herself against him, like she was seeking exactly what he intended her to have.
"You're naked and you're on your back and I'm between your legs." He kissed her lips and lingered there. "But I'm doing this"--he circled the top of her sex--"with my mouth."
He thrust his tongue into her as she orgasmed, her nails biting into his back, her breasts arching up. He helped her ride the release out until she went loose in her own skin, her body so pliant and relaxed, he wondered if he could just slip inside of her and . . .
No more hammering, though. So Ad had either taken a breather or was about to.
Easing back, Jim brushed the hair out of h
"Do you believe me now?" he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
"Yes . . ."
"Good."
When she yawned so hard her jaw cracked, he scooped her up into his arms. As he turned around, he recoiled at the mess he'd made: chairs all over the place, crap that had been on the counter now on the floor, his pack of cigarettes spilled across the table.
"We gotta stop trashing this house," he muttered as he walked out.
Chapter
Twenty-five
As Ad came into the kitchen, it didn't take a genius to figure out what had fucked things up--and this time, it wasn't something metaphysical.
Although he was willing to bet there had been some mind blowing going on.
Ad put the ancient book down on the table and arranged the chairs back where they belonged. Then he took a load off and waited. Up on the second floor, he could hear all kinds of movement going on, people walking around, doors closing. After a while, a single pair of heavy footfalls clomped down the stairs.
"I'm in here," he called out.
When Jim sauntered into the kitchen, the savior was all about the no-big-deal and the nothing-special. "You ready for dinner yet?"
"We need to talk," Ad countered.
Jim went over and popped the refrigerator. "About what."
"Your girl."
Three, two one . . . except nope, the guy didn't bother with any kind of denial about that possessive pronoun.
"What about her." Jim closed the ice box door and went to work on the cupboards. "We got any food?"
"Sea salt-and-vinegar potato chips, fresh bag, at your eleven o'clock."
"Fucking perfect."
Ad waited until the guy had sat down across the way and cracked the seal on the chips. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way--"
"So don't say it."
"--but we can't ignore the fact that Sissy might be possessed."
Down went the bag to the table and that heavy jaw stopped chewing. "What."
Ad rubbed the center of his own chest--because even raising the issue was enough to give him the heebs. "I think Sissy brought something out of Hell with her. I think it's inside of her, and the longer it's in there, the more it's going to take root and grow."
Jim shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. She was an innocent when she went in and--"
"There's a reason people like her aren't allowed up in Heaven."
"Excuse me."
"They're contaminated."
Jim got up, his chair squeaking across the bare floorboards. "I'm not hearing--"
"Then explain to me how she can read this." Ad opened the ancient book up to a random page. "This isn't Latin, Jim. It's Devina's language, and I think Sissy can read it because--"
"No!" The savior crushed the bag in his fist. "You're fucking out of your mind."
"It's what her rages are about."
"She's not angry."
Ad got to his feet, and jacked his torso forward. "She nearly burned the fucking house down, Jim. Quit thinking with your dick and get real."
Jim pointed a finger across the table, his hand shaking. "I'm going to forget that you said any of this."
"Then you're going to lose everything. Including her. Devina is a parasite--she gets into people through an injury to the soul, and once she enters, she divides and conquers. It's Vin diPietro all over again--"
"No, no, fuck that. There's nothing wrong with her--I'd sense it like I sense Devina--"
"You didn't sense shit in the last round, did you. Or any of the others when Devina was at work. And that's another reason why I think Sissy's the soul."
Jim stared at him hard. "I don't get it--I thought you were cool with her."
Ad rubbed his tired, aching head. "Goddamn it, Jim--"
"I'm serious. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He'd been afraid of this. He'd been totally fucking afraid of this. "You need to get real here, Jim. Not fight with me, okay? Of course I'm cool with Sissy, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of my being logical--and you sure as shit can't let that happen." He kept his voice as level and even as he could. "I'll say it again. I think Sissy is the soul in play, and you need to get very clearly here, or we are gonna be in a world of hurt. Especially her."
As Jim stared across at his remaining wingman, he was having a hard time hearing anything over the pounding rush of blood in his ears. Except . . . no, this was wrong, all wrong.
He shook his head back and forth. "No. She's not involved in this. Sissy's not a part of this. I got her out and she's okay and now we move on to the next soul."
"Go talk to Nigel if you don't believe me. Go up there and ask him if she's allowed behind the castle walls. Why the hell do you think she's down here with us? It's because she doesn't belong anywhere anymore." Ad cursed and sat back down. "I'm not saying any of this is her fault--shit happens, and she just got dealt a really fucking lousy hand. But let's not have your emotions get in the way here, k?"
In response, all Jim could do was pace around the kitchen, shaking his head some more and trying to find holes in Ad's dumb-ass, misconstrued, cocksucking idea.
"She can't be the soul," was all he came up with. "She just can't."
Ad took a deep breath, like he was about to re-explain particle physics to a lay person. "Don't be naive, Jim. Every round has had an internal logic to it, a way that you found the soul, a progression from one to another. Sissy's been there from the start--and your reaction to finding her dead way back in the beginning . . . shit, that's like the first clue. It's as if she's been precisely made to trigger shit for you, and you've followed the whole thing through--from meeting her down in Hell, to finding her body, to getting her out. And now she's here with you and you're falling big-time for her--it's all adding up."
"No."
That was all he had. Just . . . no.
"The stakes are getting higher, Jim. Not just for the war and all of us, but for you. That's why it has to be her. This is a big test for you."
His hands shook so badly that when he tried to get his half-empty pack of Reds out of his pocket, he dropped them on the floor.
And like they were trying to point him in the same direction, too, they landed right next to all the shit he'd swept off the counter when he'd started working Sissy out.
So good. She was so fucking good--the way she touched him, the way she felt, everything from her taste to her smooth skin to the way she came for him.
It was the opposite of Devina. Everything about Sissy was the opposite of that devil.
"It's just not possible," he mumbled as he struggled to light up.
"The Creator engineers everything."
"She's not evil."
But . . . she had lied to him. About why she'd looked him up. Although, shit, maybe not. Maybe that was just paranoia talking on his part. Hell, it was entirely possible that she'd left to come home just because . . . and she had looked him up just because. . . .
Stop thinking with your dick.
With a sense of utter dread, he went over to the table and looked down at that horrible fucking book. Ad had opened it in the middle, and as Jim forced his eyes to focus . . . he tried to find Latin in what was written. Tried desperately to see something he recognized.
Except God only knew what the wording was. It seemed like some combination of symbols and the Russian alphabet.
But it was not . . . Latin.
"Let me tell you what the endgame looks like," Ad said grimly. "Sissy's infection gets worse . . . and that's how Devina infects you. It's going to be through Sissy that this fucks you up."
The logic of it all started to scare him. "But I'm not one of the souls. And Sissy can't be. She's already dead."
"I didn't see an exemption in the rules for that, did you?"
Well, no. He hadn't. But . . .
&nb
"I'm not gonna lose Sissy to that bitch again," Jim said numbly.
"I know, and I can't decide whether that works in our favor--or against us. And speaking of the devil, Devina came by just now." Ad said the second half carefully, like the guy knew Jim was two inches from a very steep cliff. "She told me you were looking for her."
Jim ran through the math again, step by step. And he hated the conclusion he came to. There was nothing in the rules that stated someone like Sissy couldn't be the soul . . . and Ad did have a point. The internal logic to the war was undeniable, but only the kind of thing he could recognize in hindsight.
Shit, he thought. He hoped Ad was wrong, he really did.
"Stay here." He put out his cig. "And watch Sissy for me, okay. I'll be back."
"Don't do anything stupid."
"You just worry about her. I'll take care of everything else."
As he strode out of the kitchen, he could hear Ad cursing, but he wasn't going to worry about that crap. He needed to take care of business--and that meant taking a little trip upstairs.
And not to the second floor of this house.
Chapter
Twenty-six
When Jim arrived up in Heaven, he found the place was still lush as Central Park in the summer, the ground green, the sky blue, the castle walls the color of coffee with three creams in it. But the fact that there were only two flags flying up on the parapet was a painful sight.
Jim thought back to the first time he'd woken up with his back flat on the perma-lawn, the sizzle of the electrical shock that had toasted him still coasting through every nerve ending in his body. At least now, he'd made the trip here enough times so that he landed on his feet.
Before he went off looking for the archangels, he turned to the Manse of Souls . . . and imagined his mother in there. Safe. No longer in pain. Nothing to weigh her down or worry her. He hadn't seen her since the day she'd died, and, man, he sure could have used a ten-minute TO in there with her. Even if neither one of them said a thing, it would be good to see her one last time in the event he lost this fucking war--