Envy by J.R. Ward

Author:J.R. Ward [Ward, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2011-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

Up in heaven, Nigel bolted out of his bed of satins and silks. He hadn’t been at rest—he couldn’t seem to close his eyes without Colin beside him—but waking or slumbering, the vision that came to him would have shocked him into alert no matter the circumstance.

With shaking hands, he drew his robe on over his nakedness. Edward—oh, dearest, stoic Edward.

He had been lost. Just now and down below.

Oh, this was a terrible turn of events. An awful destabilization.

How could this have happened?

Indeed, the conception that one of those two warriors could take a fall was something he had not contemplated in any of his planning: He’d sent the fallen angels to help Jim because they were hard and resilient and so very proficient at defending the good that they so often downplayed in themselves. And out of the two of them, Eddie was supposed to survive: he was the prudent and smart one, who balanced his electric, eclectic, out-of-control comrade.

But destiny had corkscrewed on all of them.

“Damn it, damn it . . . damn it . . .”

And there was no bringing Edward back—at least not in any fashion that Nigel could affect: Resurrection was up to the Creator, and the last time an angel had been returned had been . . . never.

Nigel patted his face with a linen handkerchief. He had wagered both Edward and Adrian, thrown them like dice—and now Adrian, the volatile one, was shipwrecked without his compass, his anchor, his captain. And Jim, who already had a distraction, was worse than on his own. He was going to have to look after the other angel.

This was ruinous.

And a fine maneuver on the demon’s part—and yet how had it happened? Edward was always aware. What could have distracted him from his instincts?

Going over to his tea bar, Nigel set about warming the kettle. His hands were shaking as he thought about what he had wrought. Edward had been safely living in the nonsequestered part of this place that Nigel o’ersaw—he’d been waiting to be used, true, and thrilled to have been finally forgiven for breaking the rules and saving Adrian all those years ago. But still.

A fine male. Now he was gone.

It was not to have been thus.

You are not so powerful as you think, Nigel.

Bracing his hands on the marble-topped bombé chest, he could hardly bear the weight on his heart. If he had not sprung them both from their respective purgatories, this would not have happened.

And he had been so arrogantly certain of his choice.

What had he done . . .?

Standing there, with no one behind him and no one in front of him, alone with his bad thoughts and the burden of his deeds lying heavily within his ribs, he thought of Adrian. Alone. In pain. In the war.

As Nigel struggled for breath he did not need, there was only one entity to turn to in this god-awful solitude. And the fact that Colin was not here, and sadder, that Nigel could not go to the other archangel, made him mourn the state Adrian was in.

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