Opening her mouth to scream, she . . . stopped herself.

He had wings.

Great wings that lifted above his shoulders and shimmered like moonlight over water, hypnotizing her eyes.

He was an angel, she thought. And as an odd, disassociated peacefulness eased over her, she decided this had to be a dream. Right? Had to be . . .

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice sounding far, far away.

As he took a step forward, his face emerged from shadow and she was struck by how hard he looked. No cherubim sweetness. No airy-fairy, beneficent-messenger expression. No robes, either—he was dressed in a tight black shirt and . . . blue jeans?

This was a warrior.

And he reminded her of Isaac.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, unsure whether she’d just thought the words the first time.

Looking straight into her eyes, he pointed to the door that led out into the hall.

Isaac, she thought—or perhaps heard in her mind.

Grier shot out of bed and ran for the stairwell, urgency driving her feet deep into the carpet, her hand barely catching the banister as she skidded around and tore down the stairs.

At the door to the guest room, there were the sounds of some kind of struggle. Oh, God . . .

Bursting in, she couldn’t see much in the darkness and called out, “Isaac? Are you okay—”

It happened so fast she couldn’t track the movement. One second she was just inside the doorjambs; the next she was wrenched around, shoved onto the ground, and totally incapacitated, her arms pulled behind her back and held there hard.

A cold piece of metal pushed into her temple as a heavy weight sat on her hips.

Fear choked the air right out of her lungs, even as she was sure it was Isaac, because he smelled like her soap. “P-p-please . . .” She dragged in a breath. “It’s me . . . Grier.”

He didn’t move. Just started to pant like he was struggling.

Tears slicked over her eyes. “Is . . . aac . . .”

“Oh, fuck.” In a flash, he was off her and the gun disappeared.

As she tried to catch her breath, he bent down to her and croaked, “I’m so sorry—”

She jerked away and leaped to her feet, moving back until she slammed into the wall. Putting shaking hands to her face, she tried to inhale nice and slow, but her lungs were jamming up against her ribs, and her throat was so tight she felt like she was being choked.

Isaac gave her plenty of space and didn’t say another word. He just stood where he was, in the slice of light that cut in from the hall fixture. As the roar between her ears dimmed, she realized he was naked, that sweatshirt of his held over his privates, his pecs and his stomach muscles standing out in stark relief.

No doubt he’d traded the gun for modesty.