“I know.” How could he explain the difference? It was like the world around him had dimmed, his limbs had gotten heavier, the visual chaos had cleared, the sound of humanity quiet, less deafening. And at the same time, without all the sensory overload, his mind felt clearer, stronger, acute, and he was conscious suddenly of ticking time and the finiteness of life and love and talent. He had a focus he didn’t remember ever really having before.

She put her hands up to her face. “Are you sure?” There was a tremble in her voice.

“Yes. I’m positive.” He leaned over, brushed his lips over her forehead, wanting to linger, to savor the feeling, her, but knowing they couldn’t. “We have to leave now.”

She just nodded as he walked over to Anne’s tomb and pulled the gate shut. Then he picked up the bag of ashes and secured it under his arm.

“Gabriel, look at the angel,” Sara said, her voice low and in awe.

Turning, he followed her gaze, looking up and over his shoulder. The weeping angel statue on top of Anne’s tomb had two red streaks trailing down her cheeks. Blood tears. It should have looked gruesome, but he didn’t sense that was its intent.

“In Him we have redemption, through His blood, the forgiveness of sins,” he murmured, as he felt the weight of guilt lift, the light of forgiveness wash over him.

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-five

Sara stood in Gabriel’s living room as he closed the door behind them. He said he was mortal. How was that possible? How was it possible that he had ever been anything but? She felt the tightness of tears in her eyes, not of sadness or of happiness, but of emotional confusion, of uncertainty.

Where did they go from here?

But then he set Anne’s ashes down on the piano and turned to her.

The look on his face made her forget any questions she had, any fears or worries she had been about to voice. He was staring at her, intensely, but with a peace, a calm, a relief, that she had never seen from him.

She stood still as he walked up to her, sensing that he was going to touch her.

He did.

His hands touched her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her hair back, before he slid up her neck, to her jaw, her chin, then cupped her cheeks in both of his hands. Sara closed her eyes, sighing at the pleasure of his warmth so close to her, his long fingers and masculine hands holding her so gently, as if she were precious.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her. “As a man.”