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it. “It’ll be gone soon.”
    The elevator opened, and he stepped into the apartment. He set her down on his bed.
    “You’re b-beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes glassy.
    “Sleep.” He waved his hand over her face, and her eyes drifted closed.
    She was shivering, going into shock. He placed his palm over her shoulder, her warm blood slick on his skin. Pain seared his shoulder, hot and intense. He jammed the corner of the blanket between his teeth. She jerked, grimacing as the pain tore away from her. Then she relaxed as the last of it left her and now cut through him. He breathed through it, biting down hard on the blanket. How had she endured it? She was brave, fighting like a warrior. Finally, the pain left him, too, and he sagged with relief.
    He had healed before, usually in dire circumstances when either Crescent or Mundane were in such pain or fear that the sight of an angel didn’t seem so terribly unusual. Even one whose wings weren’t pristine white. He then went off to deal with the pain he’d taken, alone.
    He wasn’t alone now. He caressed her shoulder, unmarred now but covered with thickening blood. He went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm water and a towel. She was still asleep. He knew Dragons tried to shed their clothes before they transformed. She hadn’t had time to disrobe. A long time ago, he’d fought a Dragon. Now he’d fought alongside one.
    He knelt on the bed beside her and ran the cloth over her skin, washing away the blood. There was no need for modesty because he had no sexual drive. Another side effect of the human–angel union was to suffer pain at feeling desire, others’ and their own. All Caidos had to shut down that part of themselves for self-preservation. So it meant nothing to run the cloth over her breasts, her flat stomach, and hip bones that jutted out slightly. To wash her yellow Dragon tattoo that slept as she did.
    That he was taking his time had nothing to do with his drinking in her curves. Yet his fingers itched to touch her, as he had at the club. His body stirred as it had not in many years. How long since blood had rushed into that particular organ? He was hoping it had atrophied, and this was why.
    He dropped the cloth into the bowl and set it on the nightstand, then pulled up a sheet to cover her. He had never been drawn to a woman. Desired one, yes, but never pulled like this, right from his soul. He’d seen the danger of that in Grayson’s haunted eyes and his rage, his experience a warning to all Caidos.
    Not that this woman would torture him on purpose. She was torturing him, though.
    He ran the back of his fingers against her cheek, so soft and flawless. He would allow himself only this touch. Nowhere intimate that would violate her sanctity. It would be the last time he’d touch her.
    You’re weak from the healing. Stop. Don’t give in.
    He knew his conscience was right. Where angels feared to tread, that place was here with this woman on his bed. Still, he couldn’t pull his hand away, her warmth seeping into all the cold places inside him. Being in full wing usually numbed the pain he felt from emotions. But amazingly, he could feel it like a low-voltage hum through his being. He indulged in a need he didn’t know he had.
    “Beautiful,” he whispered to her, having never uttered those words about anyone before.
    With a gasp, she grabbed his hand and shot to a sitting position. “Where am I?” She took him in with wide eyes, and he could see the pieces clicking in her mind. “What were you doing?”
    “Cleaning the blood off you.”
    The sheet had fallen away, pooling around her waist. She snatched it up again, covering her breasts. She searched herself, her shoulder. “I was cut, badly. I remember the pain. God, it hurt so much.” Her hand groped all along her skin.
    “You’re fine now, though in need of some clothing.” He got up and opened the drawer where he kept things for his short stay. He located a button-down