the mind and the soul.
With any luck, she’d be sleeping, so he decided it was better to leave her alone. Inside the bathroom, he cranked the hot water on, and was barely undressed when steam started to boil up out of the curtain.
Frowning, he reached inside. “Shit!”
Hot, very hot. As if the water heater had suddenly decided to start working properly for the first time since they’d moved in.
Miracles, miracles.
Readjusting the mix of H and C faucets, he got under the spray and cursed again—nothing like being reminded that he had two or three fairly major stab wounds that were still open. Sluicing the water back into his hair, he tilted his head and let the warmth run down his shoulders and torso. His body was beaten to shit, sore in every place that counted, but the good news, if there was any, was that in his previous life it would have taken him weeks in the hospital and months of rehab to get back on track.
Now a matter of hours would do it.
But he could be killed. Colin’s attack proved it. So did Nigel’s demise.
Man, out of all the deaths he thought he’d have on his conscience, that archangel’s was not one. And there was no doubting that Nigel may have put the dagger in his own chest, but Jim’s hand had been on the grip, too.
Out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel. Heading for his room with his bloodied clothes hanging from his arms like they were his internal organs.
Before shutting himself into the darkness, he stared in the direction of Sissy’s room again. God, he just wanted to go there, knock on the door, have her tell him to come in. And then, without a lot of talk, he could lie next to her and hold her body for a little while.
They would both sleep.
That was all he wanted, just rest, peace, a time to recharge. Because the message from the Maker had been clear: The war was going to continue regardless of the loss.
“Fucking hell.”
He’d never liked Nigel. He’d been frustrated with the guy’s need to follow the rules, and incensed by that superior English manner. But he hadn’t wanted the archangel dead—and oh, crap, Colin? File that under Fucking Batshit Pissed. Plus, there was no way of knowing where the other two archangels had been, and if they were half as angry as Nigel’s buddy? Jim might as well turn himself over to Devina now, before they ripped him limb from limb.
He passed through into his room and ditched the clothes right by the door. He’d burn them tomorrow—and yes, he was going to tell Adrian what was going on. He was also going to get an update from the guy as to where they stood with the soul.
Time to move on.
One of the lessons he had learned long ago was that you couldn’t go back. History was the only immutable thing anyone, mortals and immortals alike, had—and even that changed depending on what you knew of actual events at any given time. He couldn’t go back and fix what Nigel had decided to do. He could only go forward.
Man, he needed—
“Jim?”
The sound of Sissy’s voice stopped his body, but sped up his heart. “Sissy…?”
“I thought I would wait up for you. I fell asleep.”
He could just imagine what she looked like lying against his pillows, sitting up a little, eyes drowsy, hair slightly tangled.
“Can I join you?” he asked hoarsely.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
When there was a rustling and something hit the floor, he said, “No, don’t bother turning on the light.”
He didn’t want her to see what kind of shape he was in. Maybe by morning … yeah, by morning, he would look back to normal.
More important, he would
She had to lose the war—stipulated. But that was not enough. She needed the kind of agony she forced others to feel—and that was only going to happen if he took away the one thing that mattered to her.
Her precious collection of crap.
One way or the other, before the end of the war, he was going to find the shit and torch it. Then she would know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the pain she dished out.
Eye for an eye. And after that? He was going to beat her at this game and wish her one final fuck-off before she was dusted.
“So can I?” he said.
“You don’t sound right—I mean, yes, please.”
If he’d been a gentleman, he would have put some clothes on…
And what do you know, even as exhausted as he was, he went over and drew on some sweats and a muscle shirt before he got anywhere near the bed.
Stretching out took some effort, but then Sissy curled in against him.
Warm and soft, smelling like flowers from the shampoo and soap Adrian had gotten her. Heavenly woman…
“What did you say?” she whispered.
Shit. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you came in here.”
“Me, too.”
As her arm sneaked around his waist, it was with the gentlest of movements, as if she knew he was hurting. Or maybe that was her way.
It was so strange, he thought, but lying next to her, he felt like he was home. And after having been transient and unconnected for so long, the powerful peace was a shock and a weakness, but in this quiet darkness, it was also right—
Sissy moved even closer, and as she repositioned herself, her breast brushed up against his side, its soft cushion making him draw in a swift breath.
“Jim?” she said, her voice right next to his ear. “Are you okay?”
He moved his lower body further back. “Yeah.”
“You sound like you’re in pain.”
When he didn’t reply, she inhaled deeply, as if frustrated—and that breast moved again, stroking him, whatever thin shirt she was wearing no barrier at all.
He was very sure she did not have a bra on.
“Jim, you know what I’ve learned? Talking helps.”
Oh, God, she might as well be stretching him on a rack: His sex was waking up down below, in spite of the condition he was in, and the arousal felt like a torturous betrayal of her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like he could stop the powerful urge to roll on top of her and take her beautiful face carefully in his rough, scarred hands, and—
“My boss died today.”
As Sissy stiffened, he thought, yup, the image of Nigel lying in a pool of silver blood wiped out his erection completely. And he hated that he was using the suicide to cure this kind of problem, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d brought up the nightmare. He did want to talk about it. With her.
“I don’t want to freak you out,” he muttered. “And you know, someday I’m going to have good news to tell you. Promise.”
Sissy sat up. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I went up there to meet with him and … yeah, the place was shut up tight, no one was around, and when I went looking, I found him. Dead.”
“Jesus … Christ.”
“That was my reaction, too.” No reason to go into his feeling responsible for it. Sissy was tied up inextricably in all that, and God knew he was carrying around enough guilt for the both of them. “I’m a strategic thinker—and I
