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her. Just slip between her thighs, spread those full, pink pussy lips and slide inside.
    “Ah, God…”
    Was that him crying out? Was it her?
    Pleasure stabbing into him as he drove into her, drove into his palm. Heat and need arrowing deep into his belly. And it was her face, twisted in exquisite agony, her lovely body he was fucking, fucking…
    “Angel!”
    He came, his body clenching, bucking. He shivered, pleasure a pure, driving force, taking him over, blinding him to everything but her face.
    Angel.
    His angel.
    He woke, sat straight up. His hand, his stomach, were sticky with his seed.
    “Fuck.”
    Breathless still, he rolled onto his side and pulled some Kleenex from the box there, wiped himself off impatiently.
    This was wrong. Wrong.
    But she was so beautiful. His heart was already beating in anticipation of seeing her again. Even if all he could ever have of her was in his dreams.
    Must be losing my goddamn mind.
    Maybe he was. But he wasn’t going to stay away from her. Not a chance.
    * * *
    W HERE HAD HE GONE ? S HE still couldn’t open her eyes, but she knew he wasn’t there. She sensed it. And Asmodeus had abandoned her, too. She was alone, in some strange place. Not the falling darkness where she met with her demon lover. Not back at the compound, in her bed in The Grandmother’s house, with its familiar, earthy scents. Here everything smelled…white.
    The pain was tolerable. If only she could move, see where she was, then maybe she would know what was going to happen to her. She had no idea if she would exist in the shadow places with Asmodeus, or in some new place, on some new plane. Perhaps in that place of piercing light? But that was where he was, her stranger.
    If only he would come back to her, the man whose face she’d seen. He would care for her. He did care for her. She’d seen it in his clear blue eyes, even in that one brief glimpse.
    She heard the muffled sound of footsteps, but it wasn’t him. His were sharper. She felt hands on her, gentle female hands, doing…something. It hurt, but she knew it wasn’t made to hurt on purpose. She wanted to force her eyes to open. She wanted to ask questions. But her body wouldn’t cooperate with her brain. The feet shuffled away, leaving her in silence once more.
    Please come to me…
    She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t do that, either. Not that she ever cried anymore. She’d stopped crying years ago. What had been the point?
    She didn’t feel sorry for herself, either, no matter how difficult her tasks. The Grandmother had taught her that self-pity was worthless. That everyone had to accept their lot in life, to do their duty. That it was hard for everyone. That those who were among the chosen had the hardest lives of all, but the greatest rewards, if they succeeded on their paths.
    She had not succeeded.
    A sharp surge of pain in her chest at the thought.
    “No!”
    “Hey…you’re awake. Are you trying to talk?”
    His voice was deep and smooth. Rich. Like honey and gravel. Was it him?
    She struggled to open her eyes once more, and it was as though every muscle in her body worked to make it happen, every ounce of her strength.
    “Angel?”
    His hand on her face, warm and lending her courage. She took a breath, tried again. And felt the whispering flutter of her lashes against her cheeks for a moment before she was able to raise them.
    His eyes were that startling blue, bluer than the sky. They were the deep, nearly purple-blue of the iris that grew in The Grandmother’s garden.
    She smiled. “It’s you,” she managed to whisper. Her throat burned as though she’d swallowed fire.
    “Jesus Christ. You are awake.”
    “Awake? Is that where I am?”
    “I can’t believe it.”
    He was gone in an instant, and there was too much noise as someone else appeared over her: a woman’s face. Then she was gone and a moment later there were more people. Pain again as they touched her, moved things around. It reminded her of the