Amaya tore out of the house and ran hard through the wet field. She passed the barn and kept going, into the dark. There was no moon to guide her way and even with her superior eyesight, the field resembled spilled ink. Sounds of a struggle reached her and she changed direction. The dull glint of silver caught her attention followed by a high-pitched scream that couldn’t have come from Bane.

“Stop,” she cried out, though she knew she was too late. She tripped over the first body, splayed like fallen timber, and landed on top of the second.

Amaya scrambled away and bumped into a leg. She glanced up to find Bane with a blade poised over her head. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, prepared to defend herself. “Bane?”

She had his attention, but he didn’t seem to see her. His lips moved, yet he had no words. Then she caught the strained whisper, “What have I done?” The blades dropped from his hands. He backed up, wobbled.

Amaya reached for him.

Bane jumped back and shouted, “Don’t.” Shadows gathered. They frothed, competing for supremacy.

She had to tell him. “Bane. I—”

In a giant wave, the shadows swarmed him. He was gone and she was alone with two bodies. No, make that three bodies. She spotted the third, a few feet behind where Bane had stood.

Amaya knelt amongst the slaughter. She wasn’t a crier, yet tears lined her cheeks after she pulled the first wallet out of a back pocket. Mitchell Chaimani, age thirty-five, with a picture of him and two little boys; Manuel Stevens age twenty-six, also had a college ID; and Diana Proctor, age thirty, with a picture of an older couple. The female doubled for an older version of Diana. Humans, innocent humans, as far as she knew. How would their loved ones go on, year after year, not knowing what happened, wondering if they’re alive, fearing that they’re dead?

She sobbed and trudged back to the barn for a shovel. By the time she returned, Bane was there. He took the shovel and dug a single grave deep enough and wide enough for three bodies. He buried the dead and went back into the shadows.

Back in the house, she dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace. It took a while to get the fire going. Once it blazed, she tossed their driver’s licenses, credit cards, and all the other pieces of information that humans collected, into the flames and choked on the burning plastic. While it was still dark, she got in her car and drove the side streets and roads circling her property until she was certain the trio hadn’t arrived by car. Two had come from Chicago. One had a site seeing map of Las Vegas. One, the college student, his driver’s license was issued in Florida, which probably meant he relocated to the area, but still. Why were Darklings from other states here, in Danville, Michigan?

The sun was up by the time she parked in her rutted driveway. She walked into the house, passed the dining table with their congealed food still waiting to be finished and the smoldering fireplace. She didn’t stop until she was inside her bedroom where she stripped her filthy clothes and stepped into the shower. The spray was as hot and as hard as she could stand, and she didn’t leave the stall until the water rivaled an artic stream.

Amaya dressed in her last set of clean clothes, a pair of sweats and wife beater, got back into her car, and drove to her hotel. She packed her things and checked out. Back to the farm, she returned to clean up the leftover food, close all the blinds and curtains. She sealed out the light, and sealed herself inside. In effect, she turned her home into a prison.

Her next stop, the basement. No surprise he wasn’t there in the spartan room with only a king-sized bed. There wasn’t even a chair to sit on. She left a note. Her body begged for sleep and Amaya couldn’t fight it any longer. She passed out on the living room sofa in front of the fireplace.

“Why can’t you train me anymore?” Clutching Braile’s myst robes, she cried into the material.

“Destiny calls, Amaya. My duties take me in other directions.” Braile stroked her hair.

“But you said I’m your duty. And what direction? You’re an angel. You can be anywhere at any time. I don’t understand,” she sobbed. A ten-year-old didn’t understand a lot of things.

“And you won’t understand. Not for a very long time,” he murmured. “You cannot fight what is meant to be. Our paths diverge. This is the last time we will meet, Amaya. I do not want tears to be how we part.”

She cried harder. “W-why? Who is going to teach me? You said I have more to learn.”

“Michael oversees your training now.”

Viciously, she shook her head. “He doesn’t like me. He hates me.”

“Angels don’t hate.”

“He does! He hates me. I know it.”

“Amaya! Enough. This is unbecoming of what I raised you to be.” Braile dropped to his knees and cupped her face. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his gold orbs. “One day, all of this will make sense. Power equals sacrifice—”

She knocked his hands away. “Then I don’t want power. If I have to sacrifice you, then I don’t want it.”

He took a measured breath and took her hands. “The gift I’ve given you is not returnable.”

She rubbed at her eyes and dragged her arm under her snotty nose. “I don’t care. Take it back. I want you. I don’t want the power.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood. She clung to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist, head buried in his chest. “Don’t go, please. I’ll do anything you want. Train harder. Won’t argue with you. I’ll even get good grades. Just don’t go. Don’t leave me, please, Father.”

With a flex of his power, her arms dropped to her sides and Braile stepped away. He wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs and lifted her chin so she could meet his cold gold eyes. “You do me great honor, however, I am not your father. I am sorry, Amaya.”

Braile opened his white, red-tipped wings and took to the skies, leaving her watching long after he’d gone.

Her most hated memory came at her weakest moments and always left her bereft. Her mouth was beyond dry and her stomach had a hole the size of the Grand Canyon. A bottle of water was on the coffee table, but her attention was on the UnHallowed holding it. “What time is it?” She shifted into a seated position across from him.

“Almost noon,” he murmured.

She glanced at the closed curtain and remembered the shutters were in place. No light seeped into the room.

She guzzled the water and then noticed the sandwich on a plate. Her stomach rumbled but there were more important things than food. “We need to talk.”

“Yes. I searched for Michael to confess my crime. He didn’t answer. I must inform him of what has happened. He will likely replace me. I think Daghony would be best. He is the most reasonable out of the UnHallowed.”

That wasn’t what she wanted. “He’s not going to replace you.”

“I want him to.”

That caused her to perch on the edge of the sofa in front of him. “This wasn’t your faul—”

“I killed three humans, an act forbidden by all of Heaven.”

“You didn’t know—”

“I should have known. I’ve been hunting Darklings for millennia—”

“Bane, there was no way you could have known. That’s what I’m trying to explain.”

His hands fisted and he stared at some distant point over her shoulder. “I killed humans and for that I must be punished.”

“Damn it!” She grabbed his hands. “You didn’t know, Bane. I did know and I should have told you.”

His gaze drilled into Amaya, red bleeding from the pupil to the aquamarine irises. “What?”

“I saw this happen to a man two days ago. A Darkling inhabited him. Then he went home, had breakfast, and screwed his girlfriend. He was completely normal. I thought I was crazy, but I did see it,” she said in a rush.

The corner of his lip curled in a silent snarl. “You had this information and kept it to yourself?” His words were monotone and precise.

A warning went off in her head. “Yes, I—”

He stood and paced in front of the cold fireplace. “And you kept it to yourself.” He stopped pacing and braced against the mantle, his back to her. “Why?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Bane. I-I...” She sighed. “The truth is…I didn’t trust you. I’ve been waiting for Michael to return—”

The mantle crumbled beneath his hands.

She stood and backed away. “Bane—”

“I am an UnHallowed trying to regain my place in the Celestial Army so I don’t end up stuck on this filthy planet for the rest of my immortality, and you have condemned me to an eternity of Hell on earth,” he growled.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should’ve trusted you. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” She went to him, laid her hands on his broad back. “I’ll explain to Michael that it was my fault. He can’t keep you out of Heaven because of something that was my fault!”

He turned slowly and looked down at her. Red encompassed his pupils. She reached to cup his face in her hands, but he caught both of her hands in one of his. With his other hand, he took her chin. “I swung the blade that killed them. I ended all they could have been. Not you. If you had, you could’ve begged for forgiveness and it would have been granted. I. Am. UnHallowed. I used my allotment of forgiveness when I was paroled from Hell. There will be no more coming my way.” He released her and moved aside.

Amaya blocked him and waited for him to look at her. When he didn’t, she took his face in her hands, stroked her fingers along his jaw. He grabbed her wrists. Before he pushed her away, she said, “I forgive you. Please, forgive me. Bane. Forgive me.”

Finally, his gaze met hers. His eyes were clear, devoid of any red. Sadness instead of anger radiated from him. This wasn’t about what he failed to gain. This was about the lives he’d ended. He mourned as she mourned, with regret so bitter she’d never stop tasting it.

Amaya stepped into the curve of his body and wrapped her arms around his neck. She held him while he stood there with his hands at his sides. A block of ice held more warmth and she didn’t care. She held on and willed her heat to thaw him.

Eventually, his arms crept up her body and wrapped around her waist, and his head dropped into the curve of her neck. “I’m so sorry, Bane.” She caressed the back of his neck and slid her fingers into his hair. His cool lips pressed into her skin and he seemed to breathe her in. A moan slid out of her mouth and her head dropped back, giving him complete access. His arms tightened, then one hand went to the back of her head, the other settled low on her hip and squeezed.

He kissed her collarbone, then dragged his tongue up the column of her throat to her jaw. He pulled the clip out of her messy bun, allowing her hair to unravel, then buried his face in the strands and groaned. “You always smell like sunshine.”

Her nipples pebbled and her core melted at his husky words. She angled her head and met his lips. He conquered her mouth with a thrust of his tongue that sent her thoughts scattering. Lust gripped her hard and she grabbed his head and returned his kiss with equal dominance. They fought a battle of tongue and teeth, neither winning, neither losing. His hand crept from her hip to stroke the underside of her breast. Through the thin material of her tee, he teased her by cupping and kneading her breast when she craved skin on skin.

He broke their kiss and set her away from him.

Amaya wouldn’t be denied, not this time. She gripped the neck of his shirt and ripped it, not in half like she wanted to. It hung off his shoulders in tatters, exposing the defined muscles of his shoulders and pecs.

Both panting, they stared at each other. Red-rimmed Bane’s blue-green eyes. Destroyed shirt, heaving chest. A bulge tented his black jeans. All of it was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

Amaya finished the job and ripped the rest of his shirt away. Corded muscles, covered by pale, smooth skin. Ripped abs, heavily padded pecs with tight nipples, and a faint passion trail vanishing beneath the waist of his pants. In a blink, she took it all in and reached out for him. He captured her wrist in a gentle embrace. Amaya wouldn’t be stopped. With her free hand, she gripped the back of his neck and snatched Bane to her. She kissed him again, slowly, sweetly, and ran her free hand down his abs.

To her utter delight, he moaned, a low throaty sound that made her walls clench. Then she was in his arms again, kissing him, and touching everywhere her hands could reach. It wasn’t enough. She reached behind and tugged at her shirt. He got the idea and helped her out by ripping it down the front.

She stumbled back. Modesty had her covering her bare breasts. Then she caught the lust transforming his features and dropped her hands. Feeling brave, she went further and shoved her sweatpants and panties down her legs and kicked them away. Never more vulnerable, she stood there and waited for him to say something, do something. Anything.

His gaze swept from her head to her feet. “You are beyond beautiful.” He came to her with a predatory gait. She wasn’t afraid because she was a predator too, and met him midway. He swept her off her feet and carried her to the sofa.

He tossed her onto the cushions. One bounce and she was pinned by his weight. Lost in sensation, she gave herself up to the sublime feel of him. He slid down her body to pull her nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked, nipped, worshipped one, wringing breathless cries from her, before moving on to the other. A rough palm parted her thighs, rubbed back and forth, caressing her swollen lips, but he didn’t dip into her wet core where she needed him most.

He hovered over her, his lips and tongue on her flesh, his hand providing friction, just not the right kind. She writhed on the cushions of the sofa, so desperate.

A long tug on her nipple, then he dragged his tongue down the center of her body, swirled it around her navel and continued to the sliver of hair shielding her sex. “Wider,” he rasped.

She obeyed and braced for that first lick, not certain her sanity would be intact after the contact. He parted her folds and licked from her core to her clit. She stifled her half moan, half scream in the pillows of the sofa.

“No cheating. I want to hear you scream,” he said between flicks of his tongue.

“Then don’t stop,” she demanded, and let out a rough cry when his tongue snaked over her clitoris and sucked. “More!”

Bane teased her entrance with a finger, entering a fraction and withdrawing, rimming her while sucking on her clit until she slapped his shoulder and dug her fingers into his flesh. He chuckled, a devilish sound that thrilled her to no end and sent a vibration through her core.

“Tight.” He delved inside her and brought his thumb around to play at the top of her sex.

Amaya’s hips tipped and rocked, riding his finger and his mouth. She cupped her breasts and played with her hard nipples. He rose over her to take one into his mouth and she grabbed his chin.

“I need you naked, now,” she grunted as her inner muscles clenched his finger and a mini-orgasm pulsed through her.

Bane opened his mouth and the last thing she wanted to hear was something logical, reasonable as to why they couldn’t do this. She reached between them and gripped his erection. His eyes rolled back in his head and he shifted, giving her access to shove her hand into his jeans. Still, she couldn’t get the grip she needed to satisfy her curiosity. She snapped the tab and lowered the zipper. He sprang free.

Amaya gasped at the hard flesh filling her palm. She closed her hand around him and stroked, up and down, set a rhythm that had his hips jerking and him grunting.

“Birth control?” he groaned.

“I’m on the pill. Got any diseases?”

“UnHallowed can’t catch or give anything.”

“Good to know.”

Two more strokes and, to both their shock, he exploded, coating her abdomen with semen.

Disappointment stabbed her until she realized he was still hard enough to pound nails.

“It’s been a while.” Bane grabbed her ass and dragged her to him. He placed her legs on his shoulders and positioned himself at her entrance. His blunt head rubbed against her, primed her body for his invasion.

“How long is awhile?” she said breathless, the passion taking over again.

“A century or two.”

She inhaled a panicked breath and stiffened. “You haven’t had sex in a century? Or two?”

He leaned over her, opening her body up to him, and at the same time pinning her to the sofa. She was completely vulnerable to anything he wanted to do to her.

“Why?” she groaned as the broad head breached her. She stretched around him, her passage welcoming his unyielding length inside her heat. She wanted to move, to rock, to feel him driving into her body. This slow pace was killing her.

“No one worth fucking.”

He thrust forward and her walls contracted. A flash of pain had her pushing back into the sofa. She’d never been this full. Then he rolled his hips and pleasure flooded her senses. She moaned, “Now. Right now. Fuck me.”

Gnashing his teeth, an animalistic groan escaped him. “I’ve waited centuries for this. Not gonna rush.” He flexed his hips and pumped into her body once, went balls deep, and ground against her clit.

She bucked. “Bane! Again.”

He grabbed her hips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Instead you kill me by not moving.” She dug her fingernails into his shoulders until he hissed and plunged into her, over and over. Bliss poured into her system, but she wanted more. She grabbed his face and gave him a raw, honest kiss. Everything she felt, the lust, the loneliness, the need to be a part of something, someone who wouldn’t die on her, or worse, leave, all of it, Amaya poured it into their connection.

He released her hips and let her legs slide off his shoulders. She locked them around his waist and thrust up to meet every down stroke. He palmed her breasts, captured her nipples between his fingers. Just the right amount of friction had her panting, straining. He pulled out, pushed her legs apart, and sunk between her thighs. His first lick had them both moaning. His tongue was rough yet soft, insistent yet gentle, teasing her with the promise of an orgasm, yet demanding she give him one.

Another flick of his tongue on her clit and—

He shifted and was buried deep inside her again. Merciless, he pounded into her. “Yes,” she hissed and met each of his down strokes. The triple X sounds their bodies created filled the room, filled her, fueled her. She reached for him and licked down the column of his throat to his nipple and bit him.

“Amaya.” His head dropped forward, his eyes full red. She should be afraid. Terror should be coursing through her veins, not unquenchable lust. Bent over, he caged her with his body, his thrusts powerful, nothing held back, with a frantic edge that infected her.

She raked her fingernails across his back, front, sides, fucked him like he fucked her. He growled something in a language she didn’t understand, yet answered anyway with, “Don’t stop!”

He bore down over her, locked his lips to hers as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap.

She bounced on his cock, riding him with an abandon she’d never experienced with anyone else. He ripped his lips from hers and went to her breasts. She arched her back to give him access. Each pull of his mouth around her nipple, each thrust of his cock pushed her to the brink. “I wanna come. Make me come!”

He clutched her hips in a bruising grip and didn’t stop driving into her until she cried out and convulsed around his shaft. It had never been this good, not with anyone. He kept going, driving into her, tossing her into another blinding orgasm. She throbbed around his cock as bliss fried her nervous system.

He shouted something incoherent, buried himself within her and came with deep shudders rolling through his body.

Quivering, she collapsed on his chest. He wasn’t in much better condition, but he rebounded quickly. He swung her into his arms and carried her upstairs. He stopped a foot away from her bedroom door.

She roused enough to look over her shoulder at the light spilling over the threshold. “Give me a sec and I’ll close the blinds.” She kissed him slowly, sucked on his bottom lip until he moaned, then slid down his body.

On wobbly legs, she entered her bedroom and closed the blinds and the curtains. She couldn’t eliminate all the sunlight. Now, the room was dim and shadows lurked in the corners. A towel around the tiny bathroom window left a rim of sunlight around the edges of the window. Enough illumination for her to see her wrecked hair, swollen lips, and still engorged nipples.

And the Cheshire grin splitting her face. Good didn’t come close to describing how she felt. It was as if a switch had been flicked on her sexual engine, taking it from idling at a stop sign to racing around the Daytona speedway. She hoped Bane had enough stamina because this race had just begun.

“Okay, it’s safe to enter.” She strolled back to the hallway…and found it empty.

“Bane?”