She was a woman.

And this was a problem.

Damn it, he’d had such good intentions. Ever since he’d found her bled out in that bathroom, his only goal had been to get her safe—and he’d checked that off his bucket list by making that potentially devastating bargain with Devina. Except what exactly had it gotten Sissy? Out of the demon’s wall, sure. But now, all she had was a job combing through an impossible book, looking for a way to get him to and from Purgatory.

Meanwhile, he was upstairs with an issue that, all things considered, he was going to have to cure with his left hand.

“Goddamn it,” he breathed.

Shifting his eyes over to the messy bed, he remembered Devina lying on it, clothing herself in Sissy’s flesh, hitting him up for sex. That had been his fault. He should have put up multiple protection spells back when they’d moved in.

Then again, if the demon had been able to make it through one, maybe the whole more-is-better thing wouldn’t have worked, either.

Shit, how had she pulled that infiltration off? he wondered.

Sliding down until his ass met the floor, Jim propped his elbows on his knees and thought about the many and varied ways a guy could get himself into trouble when he thought with his little head instead of his big one.

And what do you know, the stretch of the sweatpants across his hard-on made him roll his hips—and not because the shit hurt.

I guess I don’t expect you to enjoy it, how ’bout that. Or are you going to tell me men can get it up even though they’re disgusted by someone? Didn’t think the anatomy worked like that—then again, I’m a virgin, right. So what do I know.

“Fuck me…”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it. Sissy was right: Men couldn’t get it up if they weren’t into the sex. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t necessarily have to like what was happening to get aroused—it was kind of like stabbing your enemy. You were juiced going into the deed, and satisfied when it was over. But that wasn’t the same as “enjoying” something.

Somehow, he doubted these subtleties were the kind of thing Sissy needed to hear about. And he was equally certain that his cock didn’t give two shits about them.

It knew what it wanted.

He shifted around again, that rasp across his dumb-handle making him grit his teeth and hiss. And for a split second, he couldn’t help but go back to that moment when Sissy had been begging him to kiss her—

All it took to reel shit back in was remembering that it hadn’t actually been her.

Annnnd all it took to crank things up again was remembering how she had looked at him down on that front porch.

Another hip roll to relieve pressure just ramped him even more. And before he knew it, instead of heading downstairs and seeing what he could do to help with that forty-pound book, his palm was in fact getting into the swing of things.

Or the stroke, as it were.

What the hell else could he do? The damn erection showed no interest in deflating—and even if he did a tuck-up, he had Jon Hamm proportions, so it wasn’t like that was a good enough camo job.

He deliberately kept any thoughts of Sissy out of it. Instead, he concentrated on his tight grip going up and down, and the squeeze on the head, and the twist going around the shaft. He had to drop his knees to get room to work, and as the waistband cut into his ass, he ripped off the damn pants. Pretty quickly, a savage edge took over. Biting down on his lower lip until he drew blood, he let his anger out along with his lust, his hatred of Devina driving him higher, hotter.

It was a sick thing to dwell on, but safer and more gentlemanly than what he felt for Sissy.

The orgasm hit like a lightning strike, stopping his heart, freezing his hand, jerking his legs. Then came the thunder—rolling though his mind, his body, his soul … and all he saw was Sissy, turning in slow motion to face him, her eyes staring up at him with a woman’s speculation.

As the release kicked out of his body, he milked it only because he wanted the sex out of him … so he could concentrate, get back to work, do the right thing.

In the wake of the orgasm, exhaustion dogged him, pulling at the corners of his eyes, drooping his shoulders. It had been so long since he had slept well.

Nearly three decades, as a matter of fact.

Not since his momma had died.

And as he snagged hold of those sweatpants and used them to wipe up, he thought any true rest was going to be a long, long time coming.

For now, though, maybe he’d just shut his eyes and let the post-climax floats recharge his batteries a little. He didn’t have tons of time at his disposal, but then again, he never crashed for long, either.

The last thing he thought of as he drifted off while still propped against the door wasn’t a thing at all.

It was the woman downstairs who was searching through that book. He wasn’t sure whether he hoped she found anything … or not.

Maybe Ad was right and he shouldn’t tempt the Fates by giving Purgatory a try.

But as always, he was in between a rock and a hard place.

The shadows were growing long out on the lawn when Sissy got to the last page of the book from Hell. Putting her hands on the small of her back, she stretched for the one hundredth time and looked over at Adrian. The angel had shifted positions around three in the afternoon and now he was lying length-wise on the sofa, one of the velvet accent pillows stuffed under his head. He hadn’t moved since then, except for crossing and uncrossing his feet. She knew he wasn’t sleeping, though.

Where was Jim? she wondered.

“Upstairs,” Ad answered like she’d spoken out loud. “You want me to get him for you?”

She closed the book and stared down at the pitted, stained cover. “I don’t know.”

A split second later, she heard footfalls coming down the stairs, hitting the front foyer, zeroing in on the parlor.

“Is that your doing?” she asked softly.

“Walkie-talkies are so damn cumbersome. Fuckers require batteries, too.”

“Nice trick,” she said, straightening her shirt, pushing her hair back.

Right before Jim came into the room, she wondered what she looked like, and wished she had a hairbrush, a mirror … maybe some toothpaste.

Dumb, dumb, dumb, she thought. One, there was no competing with the likes of that demon. And two, like she wanted Devina’s leftovers?

Jim entered the parlor in blue jeans and a white T-shirt that pulled across his pecs and stretched around the heft of his biceps. His face was remote, and his eyes did not meet hers, but his sheer presence sure got through to her. He was, as always, magnetic, the kind of man anybody would look over at. Was it the height? That build? The perma-frown? That beautiful, shimmering halo around his dark blond head …

Okay, fine. Maybe she did want to compete with the damn demon.

Even though that made no sense, and was self-destructive in the extreme.

“I didn’t find anything,” she announced. “Not one thing.”

Unbelievable, really. Considering the tome had how many words in it? Two trillion?

Jim frowned even more deeply. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” She wasn’t sure what she had read, actually. The writing had a funny way of going in one eye and out the other. But she was very clear that there had been nothing about Purgatory.

“Are you sure you’re reading it right?”

Sissy turned the book around and pushed it across the coffee table to him. “Give it a try yourself.”

“I don’t know Latin.”

“Guess you’re out of luck.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? It’s not in there. I mean, the place exists, because you two tell me it does—so maybe, I don’t know, is it possible there’s another name for it? Or is there another source of information we can use? Like, have you got an Internet for the afterlife?”

They both looked at Adrian, who was sitting up and rubbing at his dark hair until the stuff stood up like he’d licked a light socket. “Not that I know of.” The angel shook his head. “You know, maybe this is something we need to back off from. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, Jim. If by some miracle you manage to get yourself over there, I’m really not sure we can get you back in one piece—even without Nigel. And before you ask, no, I don’t think the Creator’s gonna be all about helping your ass, especially ’cause you’re doing this to get around one of His rules.”

Jim cursed. “No, we’re going to find a way. I’m not giving up—”

The attack came out of nowhere. One second Jim was standing just inside the room, looking pissed off. The next, a bare-chested man was rushing at him from behind, flashing through the doorway soundlessly, some kind of glinting weapon over his head.

Sissy screamed and pointed—and that was what got Jim ripping around just before he got stabbed in the back. His response was instantaneous, his body bracing against the onslaught, his hands latching onto that raised arm and twisting the blade out of range. But he couldn’t throw off the aggressor, the other man as powerful as he was.

It was Colin, the guy from Jim’s hospital visit, she realized. The dark-haired one—

Bang! They slammed into the mantel. Crash! They knocked over a side table and shattered a lamp. Screech! Their combined, thrashing weight pushed one of the sofas off the rug and onto the bare floor. And as the two of them twirled in a deadly waltz, Adrian jumped up, drawing a knife she hadn’t been aware of being on him.

But the angel didn’t get far.

With a quick surge, the attacker extended his free hand and sent a blast of white light at Ad, blowing him off his feet with such force, the couch he landed on shot across the room and splintered into the wall.

With the angel slumping down to the floor, Jim and the aggressor ping-ponged around the parlor, ricocheting off the walls as they fought for control of that crystal weapon—and Sissy was not about to sit around and wait to see who got tired first. Lunging out of their way, she looked around for something, anything, to help fight Colin off.

She grabbed the first thing she came to, a brass candlestick that weighed as much as a crowbar. The beeswax wick stick went airborne as she picked the thing up, lifted it over her head, and ran across—

Talk about tap dancing. The two men were spinning around with such force, she had to track them, waiting for the one without the shirt to come into range—and not move out of the way before she could nail him. If she guessed wrong? She was going to knock Jim out.

Bingo. Just as Colin came around, she planted her feet, and with every ounce of strength she had, she brought the metal mass across the back of his dark head.

Light exploded everywhere, blinding her and throwing her back just like Adrian—except her trajectory was going to take her right into one of the double-hung windows. With a messy trip-and-fall, she managed to redirect herself off that course—but even as she was cushioned by a swath of heavy velvet draping, the impact stopped her heart and drove the breath out of her lungs.

She didn’t lose consciousness, though—so as she went into her own slump, she got to watch the man with the crystal knife lose his footing and go into a stumble of his own, the injury to his head knocking him waaaaay off his game. It was all Jim needed. With a vicious yank, he tore the dagger out of the other man’s hand and kicked that hard torso, separating the two with force.

Later, Sissy would endlessly replay the sequence of what happened next, running the reel backward and forward as if there were some other outcome lurking in between the nanoseconds, some other path that could be chosen if only she could find the way to make a splice and insert new film.

But of course, that was a no-go.

As Colin hit the floor, the man looked up at Jim with pure hatred in his red-rimmed eyes. “You killed him!”

“What the fuck—”

“Your hand was on that dagger!”

“—is wrong with you!”

The two of them went back and forth at a scream, their male voices thundering throughout the house, Jim’s accent American, the other man’s British.

“I lost him because of you!”

“I know!” Jim yelled.

That shut Colin up. And the man stayed quiet as Jim continued to roar, “And I’m going to get him back!”

A nasty laugh cracked like a whip. “Oh, you are, mate? Precisely how do you intend to do that.”

Jim looked across at her. Glanced at Adrian. “You’re going to have to help me out. Somehow—”

Ad threw out his arms as if trying to stop a car crash. “Jim! No, don’t—”

Jim stared back at Sissy. Opened his mouth like he was going to say something … but instead of speaking, he turned the crystal dagger on himself, pointing the sharp tip at his stomach and extending his arms as far away from himself as they could get.

“No!” Sissy screamed as she jumped up.

At the last second, he changed his mind. But not to stop. Instead, he changed angles, dropping his left arm, bringing up the right …

… and with a vicious slash, sliced his own throat open.

“Noooooooooo!” Sissy lunged across the carpet as the knife fell in slow motion from his lax hand.

Jim fell, too, as blood poured out of his neck—at least, she assumed it was blood, as it was silver, not red.

Oh, God, it had to be blood soaking the front of that plain white T-shirt he wore.

The sound of his knees hitting the floor was like a clap of thunder, and she reached him just as he sat back on his heels. His mouth was open, gaping, clicking as he tried to breathe through the geyser.

“Jim! Jim!” She reached up to press her hands to the self-created wound, but what a waste of time. Even if she’d had yards and yards of surgical gauze, there was no stemming this.