There was silence for a long second, and Gabriel stopped pacing. He wished he knew how to reassure her, comfort her, keep her safe until he could get to her.

“Gabriel, I’m scared.”

He could hear it in her voice. She was frightened of what she knew was real—death—and what she didn’t understand— how he, Raphael, and Marguerite were all connected. “It’s going to be okay. I’m on my way.”

Hand in his hair, he paused on his way to the door. “And Sara?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” Maybe that was too much, too soon, but he needed to say what he knew to be true. He had never spoken those words to a woman, had never understood the true joy of loving another person, but he did with Sara. It was a beautiful and amazing thing to feel at complete peace in another’s presence, to look at someone and know you were better for being with them.

She didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect her to. She was too overwhelmed to offer him the same commitment at that moment, under the circumstances, but he had fallen in love with her, and he would give his life for her, and he needed her to know.

After a quick good-bye he hung up the phone and tossed it back to Raphael, who was following Gabriel out the door.

“How are you going to Florida?” Raphael asked. “I thought you were bound to New Orleans.”

“I am.” Gabriel strode down the hallway and took the steps two at a time.

“If you defy your binding, you’ll never gain your freedom . . . you’ll be stuck here forever.”

“I know,” he said grimly. It wasn’t an attractive future, but he had no other choice. He wasn’t going to sit there and let Sara be killed just to save his own worthless ass.

“I can go to Naples. I can bring Sara back here.”

“No, I’ll do it.” There was no way he could wait, not knowing if Sara was safe.

Raphael’s footsteps pounded behind him as they jogged across the front room, back through the office, and out the back door of the kitchen. “I’m going with you anyway, you know. Marguerite . . . she’s my problem.”

“She’s a demon child. She’s both of our problem.” Gabriel crashed through the brush on the side of the house, jumping over the bricks, letting his demon legs make use of their full immortal speed.

“It’s me, you know. She’s doing it because of me. Marguerite’s wanted me to marry her since, well, the beginning . . . but I had no idea, I swear, I had no clue she was doing this. I never thought she was capable of something so horrible.”