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than one hundred years ago.
    Their gazes locked across the small space that separated them, and it was as if words passed between them. Volumes of unspoken syllables that he’d never had the chance to murmur in Juliana’s ear; hundreds of excuses that she hoped to offer him as to why she’d taken her own life the day after seeing what he truly was. The harsh truth of his immortal nature, black wings and all.
    “Stay back.” He pointed an accusatory finger. “I don’t have anything to say to you. The only reason I’m here is so you’ll leave me alone.”
    Juliana seemed unaware of his anger, his bitterness. She practically sailed toward him, a lovely smile filling her face, one that hinted at intelligence and amusement . . . and absolute joy at seeing him again after so many decades. That expression was one he’d seen many times before, one that couldn’t have been imitated by an imposter. The reality of it broke down every argument he’d been trying to wield against her.
    Juliana was smiling at him; Juliana was moving closer; Juliana had found him through an intricate maze of death and time.
    “What are you doing here, Jules?” he whispered, throat so tight he could barely speak.
    She seemed briefly taken aback, standing slightly taller. “This is my home. Need I explain my presence in it, Aristos?”
    Ari’s patience boiled over. “Woman, this isn’t your home. It hasn’t been for a long damned time.” Then he remembered Cecilia’s explanation that Juliana didn’t fully understand her current predicament—that she knew some facts but was oblivious to others. “I mean, you don’t belong here now,” he added a tad more gently.
    She frowned back at him, eyebrows drawing into a tight line. “Well, sir, one fact has not changed since I last spent time in your presence,” she announced indignantly, a hand fluttering against her breastbone. “You remain sinfully handsome, dangerously so, and you still lack the fine manners of my own age.” She glanced about her in sudden surprise. “What year is it, incidentally?”

Chapter 4
    A ri kept wide eyes on Juliana, torn between wanting to get as far away from her as possible—and rushing to hold her again. Whether it made him the worst kind of lovesick fool or not, the latter reaction was winning like a backroom card sharp.
    She smiled up at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, a reaction he’d observed numerous times during their courtship. Juliana had been unexpectedly shy with him on occasion, despite her conversational charm and poise. She’d often flushed at what he considered to be innocent compliments, or the briefest touch of his fingertips against her hand. She might have maintained an elevated position in Savannah society, but that formality had dissolved in his arms. The first time he’d kissed her? Oh, she’d blazed like an inferno, her face turning as red as the hair atop her head. That uncensored reaction, so naive, had charmed him completely.
    It might have even caused him to fall in love.
    The familiar russet heat infused her face now; for a moment, the physical limitations of eternity and death melted away. Emma was no longer their bridge, and Juliana was truly alive again, near enough that he could hold her, stroke her hair, murmur in her ear, because she was real, vital. She stood in front of him, obviously expecting him to say something , when he could only gape like the ill- mannered idiot he’d always been in her presence.
    Except she wasn’t real; she wasn’t even physical, he reminded himself. The only reason she was here like this was because she’d overrun Emma’s resistance.
    “Juliana,” he ventured carefully. “You’ve taken over my friend’s body. You can’t do that. Not without asking permission.” Was that even how a channeling relationship worked? Was it like borrowing someone’s car or shoes—like when he pinched Nikos’s Harley without quite getting the okay?
    She peered up into his face. “But I