The last thing I remember before falling asleep is the way the sun moved over the living room as it set, cloaking the house in darkness, the fire in the hearth crackling.

Lucas sat on the end of my couch while I curled against the opposite end, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Empty plates rested on the kitchen counter, the silence in the room a lullaby urging my eyes to close.

I fought it, but in the end, weariness won out over wariness.

The angel watching me couldn’t be any worse than the archdemon haunting me.

On the heels of another nightmare, debilitating nausea wakes me, and I find myself in my bed, my bare feet tangled in sheets I’ve apparently been fighting. My room is dark, the window to the side of my queen-sized four poster bed revealing a snowy ground under a star-dotted sky.

My breath comes fast, and I swallow the rising bile in my throat.

The nausea worsens.

Kicking myself free of the sheets, I tumble out of my bed, my knees hitting the floor hard before I drag myself toward the bathroom adjoining the bedroom.

I gag.

Hands lift me, and I struggle.

“Shh,” Lucas’s voice soothes. “It’s me.”

The bathroom light clicks on, casting a glow over soft yellow walls and ivory-tiled floors. Sunshine and sunflowers.

My stomach cramps, and I fight the angel holding me. “Please.”

He sets me down in front of the toilet just as the vomiting begins. It comes so hard and so fast, I can’t breathe through the heaving. Worse yet, blood gushes from my mouth. Straight blood, the metallic taste of it making the nausea sweep me in increasing waves.

My hands grip the porcelain, desperate for the coolness.

Lucas sits behind me, his long legs swallowing me, his thighs embracing me. Pulling my hair back, he fists it in one of his hands.

“I’m dying,” I manage to gasp.

“No,” he assures me, “but you’re going to feel like you are.”

The cramps subside, and I sag against his chest, too afraid and spent to be embarrassed. Lucas leans away from me and reaches into a cabinet under the sink. A pile of folded washcloths sits on a shelf. Taking one, he squeezes it in his fist. When he places it against my face, it’s wet. The cool moisture feels so good against my heated flesh; I don’t even care how he dampened the material.

“Have you been going through my house?” I ask weakly, accepting the cloth.

He drops his arm and slides it around my waist. “Preparation.”

Silence.

The embarrassment finally washes over me, thick and uncomfortable. “Oh, God.”

Lucas’s arm tightens. “It’s only going to get worse. The stronger he becomes—the more energy he pulls—the weaker and sicker you’re going to be. I can’t stop him until he’s here. I can’t go where he is.”

A solitary tear slips down my cheek. It’s all I care to give the being tormenting me. One tear packed full of fear and resentment.

“I bet this makes me the first girl you’ve ever watched vomit blood,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. It comes off too soft to be funny.

Lucas combs my hair with his fingers. “You’re the first girl who’s ever channeled a demon with a vendetta against me. You shouldn’t have been drawn into this. If I was able to enter where he is, you wouldn’t be his way of getting to me. You also wouldn’t be my way of reaching him.”

Something in his voice catches me off guard. “Do I hear regret?”

“Don’t push it,” he mumbles.

I can’t help it; I laugh.

Nausea slams into me again, out of nowhere, and the laughter ends on choking sobs.

Lucas rushes to help. I heave over and over until there’s nothing left. Until I’m a crumpled mess of weakness. As limp as the washcloth.

Blood and anguish.

A burning pain replaces the nausea in my gut, and I cry out.

Growling, Lucas stands, dragging me up with him. “Damn you, Levi.”

Without bothering to ask, he tugs my shirt up and off. Drained, my head hangs, my gaze falling on fresh claw marks on my skin, deeper than the ones that had been there before. Blood drips from the wound, the liquid soaking into the band of my jeans.

Lucas unbuttons my pants.

“What are you doing?” I try struggling, but spots dance before my eyes.

“Remember earlier when I suggested we have sex?” he asks while dragging my jeans down over my thighs. “Maybe you ought to have taken me up on the offer. Into the shower with you.” He leaves my bra and underwear on, but everything else goes.

Near the bathroom’s entrance is a small stand-up shower. Lucas slides the beveled glass door open and steps inside, bringing me with him. The stall is barely big enough for one person, much less two, but this doesn’t deter him.

“Hold on for me, Harper.” Resting my hand on the bar inside, he releases me, and with a swiftness that doesn’t help my lightheadedness, he sheds his clothes, chucks them outside, and slides the door shut.

“What—?” He turns on the shower, and the initial blast of cold water tears a yelp out of me that drowns out any protests.

Pulling me against him, all of him, Lucas slides his hands over my wound. “I can’t stop the nausea, but this I can fix.”

Cool heat flares where he touches me. Blood mingles with water at our feet.

The world spins away from me, making all of this seem surreal: his hands against my skin, the warming water pounding us, the blood, and the sensations pouring through me.

Lucas slips his fingers into the sides of my panties, and when I don’t fight him, he slides them down before unsnapping my bra.

His arms circle me, steam rising around us.

I’m ashamed to admit my brain is too foggy and my body too weak to remember much about the shower. He washes me, gently stroking my skin while silently cursing the demon under his breath. He also makes promises to me. Promises to avenge everything Levi has done.

Afterward, he enfolds me in a terry cloth towel, helps me brush my teeth, and carries me to the bed. I’m a limp doll with a sodden heart.

The mattress dips when he sets me on it, and I clutch his bare arms. “Stay . . . please.”

His blue eyes darken.

Unlike me, he’s not wearing a towel. He’s comfortable in his nudity, comfortable with himself in a way most people can only hope to be, and I draw strength from that.

He climbs into the bed in front of me, and I curl into his chest. His arm slides over my waist, my towel the only thing separating us.

He’s warm, and even though he couldn’t stop my vomiting, he feels safe.

Sudden tears leak down my cheeks, the ferocity of them frightening. Shaking me. These tears have nothing to do with the demon and everything to do with me. These tears are deeper. Personal.

For the first time since I was a child, I let someone hold me. And he’s not only someone, he’s a stranger. A Stranger.

Ever since my father left Havenwood Falls and I accidentally caused the death of the man in town, I have pushed people away. Even Aunt Eloise. For years, I stepped out of her hugs because anything longer than a brief touch was too much.

“Let someone help you,” she had begged.

I was scared of hurting people and of getting hurt.

Sobs wrack my body. I cry for Eloise. I cry for my mother. I cry for my father. I cry for myself. Years of tears.

Tipping my face up gently, Lucas studies my tear-stained eyes, and then kisses me, his lips closing over mine, his warm mouth catching my teardrops.

Tender. Soothing. Fleeting.

Gone as quick as it began.

“Quit thinking,” he whispers. “Pain can be so deep that it’s hard to bring the people you’re too close to into that hurt. Sometimes it takes giving it to a stranger before you can open up to someone else.”

“How—”

“Just trust I know.”

I stare at him through eyes swollen from tears and madness. “Do you have anyone you’re close to?”

“A few.”

“Someone you love?”

“Friends.”

I let the word sink in, and then, “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” The answer comes too fast.

“You’re a high-ranking fallen angel, and you’re telling me after all of the years you’ve existed—”

“An eternity.”

I glare, but fatigue takes all of the bite out of it. “You could have kept the eternity part to yourself because now that just makes this,” I point from him to me, “weird.”

He chuckles. “No, it makes me experienced.”

“Not helping. Now I’m self-conscious.” My lips curl into a smile. “And you’re changing the subject. You can’t tell me that in an eternity you haven’t fallen in love at least once.”

With his finger, Lucas traces a line from my forehead to my nose. “Three times,” he admits carefully. “Once before my fall. Two after. A mortal in the middle ages, a demon, and a witch.”

“What happened?” I ask.

His finger drops to my lips. “The mortal died. The witch and the demon fell in love with each other.”

I stare, unable to speak.

“And you, my little psychic?”

My head shakes.

“No one?”

Taking his finger, I remove it from my lips. “It’s hard to do relationships when you have to limit yourself so much. No cell phones, no texting each other, no movie theaters, or restaurants with fancy-scripted menus.” Reaching out, I caress his face, surprising myself with my boldness. He leans into my touch, the gesture boosting my confidence. “I had crushes. I even tried the whole boyfriend thing, but,” my fingers run through the stubble on his face, fascinated with the roughness, “it didn’t work out.”

“What about when you were in school?”

I shrug, one bare shoulder rising. “I was kept separated. There are two high schools in Havenwood Falls: Havenwood Falls High and the Sun and Moon Academy. The latter is a private school for supernatural students who don’t or can’t fit into the public school system. Guess where I went?” My lips curl. “They tried teaching me to read and write. I learned, but not without consequences. It took everything the Court’s witches had to keep the evil things I kept channeling contained. So, they developed a new way to teach me. I listened to audio textbooks and took verbal tests. Each of the Court members worked with me. Alone. I owe them so much.”

Tears prick my eyes again. “This town . . . it’s everything to so many people. To me.” I inhale. “Saundra Beaumont and her granddaughter, Addie, helped teach me science by doing experiments with me. Addie’s a year older than me, and it helped that I wasn’t the only child. The shifters would let me join them in the woods, tracking and learning. What I couldn’t learn outside the classroom, they found other creative ways to teach me. There’s a coffee shop in town, Coffee Haven, owned by a fae, Willow Fairchild. She displays art from local artists in the shop, and she’d bring pieces to show me outside. All kinds. Oil. Water color. Photography. I fell in love with the photography. Then . . .” My words trailing off, I cover my eyes. “You need to tell me to shut up.”

His hand cups my hip, and even through the towel, the touch burns. “Talk, Harper. Talk as much and as long and as big as you need to.”

I drop my hands, my incredulous gaze finding his face. “Where did you come from?” He just doesn’t seem real.

“From Hell,” he answers soberly. “From Hell and Heaven and everything in between. From myth and legend. From gods and goddesses. From the beginning of time until the end.”

“Why does that sound sad?” I ask.

“Because eternity is a very long time.”

Now I know why this feels so good and hurts so much. We are both lonely strangers. To each other, and maybe even to ourselves.

This time, I kiss him, my hands framing his face, my lips tentative. He opens for me, and our tongues slide together, the sensation sending a pool of heat to my core.

His hand tightens on my hip, his fingers digging into the towel.

My fingers slip into his hair, and suddenly I don’t care if I don’t know him. I don’t care if he isn’t human.

He runs his hand up my side, his fingers brushing the edge of my breast, and I arch against him.

“Harper,” he whispers.

“Please,” I whisper back.

He undoes the towel I’m wearing and replaces it with his skin. His mouth leaves mine, his lips leaving a trail of fire down my jaw, my neck, and my breasts.

I close my eyes because the feel of him is so much better than anything I could have imagined. He doesn’t demand anything. He simply gives, and I wonder if it’s because I’m not experienced.

What is happening with my life?

This isn’t the way I saw any of my firsts.

I certainly don’t hear any Van Morrison music.

Instead, I feel everything. The hard length of him against my thigh. His hands sliding over parts of me I’ve never shared with anyone else. His mouth creating heat in places that make my face burn.

Waves of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

When his mouth returns to mine and he presses into me, I meet his thrust with my hips, my body tense because I expect pain.

There isn’t any.

Startled, I meet his gaze.

Holding himself above me, his arms caging me in, he says, “Relax. This much I can do, too. You’ve endured enough pain.”

The tension leaves my body, and he thrusts deeper, my body taking all of him.

My legs wrap around his waist, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Oh, God,” I breathe.

Chuckling, he kisses the side of my neck, and then whispers, “Now let me show you what heaven feels like.”