It is as if the world has tilted beneath my feet, the sunrise taking me into its embrace. Hot, blinding, healing, overwhelming.

I can feel it in my bones, this instant rush of desire and it terrifies me.

No. I am simply lonely. Tired. Afraid. Needy. And this stranger, who has risen almost miraculously from his sick bed is not a redeemer, but a danger.

I must remember that, despite my hope.

“Your wound is healing.” I also check the place on his forehead where it looks like he fell. A bruise, a hint of swelling. My fingers touch his skin, and he draws in a breath.

“Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head and I draw my hand away, my heart in my throat.

“What is your name?” His voice is soft.

“Angelica,” I whisper, my voice betraying me.

“Angel.” His golden-eye gaze holds mine.

I am rooted, although inside, I want to flee.

“Signora?”

The young voice shatters the moment and I turn, the taste of horror in my throat to see young Bertie in the entrance of the cave. Five years old, barefoot, dressed in work clothes, he must have come with his father to dress the vines. His blue eyes are wide, curious.

“Bertie!” I head toward him, wanting to shush him, to send him back to Arturo where his father can dissuade him from asking about the man in the shadows. But I don’t want Arturo to know. So, I crouch in front of him. “Would you like breakfast. I’ve made you porridge in the kitchen.”

Those blue eyes alight, he nods, then turns and scampers off.

I turn, afraid of what he’s seen.

Fred is gone, vanished into the darkness of the grotto.

Returning to the cask, I retrieve the tray of empty porridge. The bread is gone, as is the flask of juice.

But from the darkness I feel his eyes on me, watching. Pulling me into something I can’t voice.

So, I run. Because he is not a savior.

He will cost us everything.

RJ woke with her hand on the book, having fallen asleep, her dreams playing out the scene between Fred and Angel.

She knew exactly how it felt to have someone walk into your life, to shake your world, to cling to him like a savior.

Except York hadn’t cost her everything. Truth was, she’d been the force of destruction in his life, bringing him over to America where his past could hunt him down.

And now, he had vanished again.

Shoot.

How did this get so far out of control?

She pushed out of bed, and stood at the window, her gaze going to the hillside grotto. A giant wooden door was open to the darkness inside, and she could too easily imagine Angel standing in the entrance, holding breakfast.

A thought to which her stomach responded with a growl.