This new revelation makes me shake again, and I swig down more wine, only just avoiding a major coughing fit. My eyes water a bit, but when they clear, Patrick’s by my side, stroking my back.

“Better?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Do sit down. I’m all right.” Tension makes me tetchy. I don’t want to know, but I have to have an answer. “When do you have to go?”

Patrick pulls up a chair at my side of the table and sits in it, facing me. Our knees touch and just the slight contact of it makes me weak with lust. It seems my libido isn’t subject to the slings and arrows of stress and angst and bizarre revelations. It just goes on and on wanting and wanting.

“I should be gone now. I’ve already overstayed my allotted time for this visit.” He reaches for his glass but doesn’t drink. Instead, he pushes it around, sloshing the wine in precarious circles. “But I don’t want to go.”

Because of me, he’s stayed because of me? I don’t dare ask. I start to fidget with my wine glass too.

“We’re allowed a bit of latitude, but not as much as I’ve been wont to take. And this time I’ve stayed even longer than usual.”

“I see.” My heart’s thudding and my brain’s starting to tick, tick, tick, balancing and measuring ramifications. I’m trying to stay in control, even though there’s a banshee inside me ready to scream her loss.

I’ve only known Patrick a couple of days, but I cannot bear to say goodbye. I love him already, and even for someone with a risky habit of falling in love quickly, this is a record.

Does he love me?

He said so in my dream, but that might just have been my wishful thinking speaking. That sensual flight we shared was purest fantasy. Or was it? All this talk of states beyond comprehension makes me wonder.

Fear of the pain of loss forces me to practicalities.

“When will you come back?” I take a quick sip of wine, more carefully this time. “I mean, can you come back? Here, I mean, to this, um, vicinity?”

He closes his eyes, and his face is suddenly a taut mask. I see an intimation of the banshee, the formless shrieking anguish hidden beneath the handsome human features, and I know that the answer isn’t going to be a good one.

“Yes, I can come back.” He’s hesitant, as if the words are hard.

“Ah, but there’s a but, isn’t there?” From the expression on his face, I suspect it’s a big one.

“Where I come from time doesn’t pass the way it does here. I might come back in a week, but it could just as easily be a decade. Or a century. Or a millennium. There’s no way to know in advance.”

The shrieking anguish starts to stir and roil and get a real grip on me.

“But surely, you can be sent to specific times, like to comfort Mr. Grey?”

Patrick heaves a great sigh. “But I can’t be sent back for my own purposes.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “And I can’t be sent for yours either” He moves his thumb again, the action sweet and seductive and soothing as it skims the pulse point at my wrist. “The mind of my Boss is unknowable. It’s not for the likes of us to understand or question his choices.”

Anger surges inside of me, but Patrick’s grip on my hand tightens. “Don’t. It won’t help. It can’t.”

Concepts way beyond me whirl in my head, dancing and circling with more human emotions like loss, anguish…and love.

“So that’s it then.” I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to rage and, yes, to blaspheme. “It’s been nice, but now it’s over.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm and fix on Patrick’s face. He’s here now, perhaps for a few hours yet. There’s time, time to be with him in the deepest, closest way. I imagine that perfect body poised over mine, that beautiful cock pushing into me.

He gives me a wry, poignant, painful, beautiful smile.

“In a way, that might be the answer.”

I know he’s read my mind, but I can’t read his. “What do you mean?”

“As an angel, I am, by definition, celibate, beyond sex.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it softly. “But if I fuck you while I’m in human form, well, that might mean I’ll be cast out.” He turns his face, rubs it against the skin of my palm. “The trouble is though, I’m not quite sure to where.”

No, surely not? Does that place exist too? I think of evil and the Devil and Lucifer, another angel who was cast out of Heaven.

“Oh God, you can’t take that risk for me.”

I think about what I’ve just said, the actual words, and suddenly hysterical and inappropriate mirth bubbles up in me. It’s Patrick who’d be taking the risk, not his Boss.

As Patrick’s head pops up, I seem the same emotions in him, and first his lips twitch, then he starts smirking too, and within moments we’re both laughing uncontrollably. He wraps his arms around me as we rock and gasp and chortle, and in a way it’s almost as intimate an experience as if we really were fucking each other.

Eventually the gales of hilarity subside, and the knifepoint anguish of our dilemma reasserts itself. Patrick pours us both more wine and we sip it, swathed for the moment in thoughtful silence.

“But won’t he damn you forever just for wanting to fuck me? Even thinking about it, aren’t you putting yourself, and me, before his wishes?”

Patrick’s always seemed as if he knows so much more than me, but right now, his confusion and his doubt echoes mine, clear in his eyes.

“It doesn’t work like that. Unknowable, remember? He’s beyond comprehension, even by members of His heavenly host.” He laughs again, but more ironically now. “I don’t know why I’m calling Him a He… He’s beyond that too.”

I shrug. “Well, for want of a non-gender pronoun, I guess.”

What a mess we’re in. And we’re wasting what little time he might have left.

“When you’re up there…” I glance skywards, knowing that doesn’t really make sense either “…do you actually remember what happens when you’re here? I mean, don’t worry about me. I’ll get over all this. I’ll miss you, but I’ll move on. I’ve done it before.”

“Oh, I’ll remember you. I’ll be aware of everything. All my past, everyone I’ve met and known.” He stares at me, his eyes so serious and so blue. “This is why I know that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve been fond of all the humanity I’ve interacted with, but I’ve never loved in the way I love you now.”

I start to tremble. Fear, a great weight of it, overwhelms me. Am I responsible for this? Patrick is a heavenly being, and yet he’s prepared to abandon divinity, just for me.

“You’re not responsible for me, Miranda. You’re not obligated. If I choose what I choose, it’s because I want to live my life in a world where you are, that’s all. If another man comes along who makes you happier I’ll be content knowing you’re happy with him instead.”

Staring at him, a thought occurs, and I voice it even though I’m now 100 percent positive he can read my thoughts.

“But when-if-you’re human, like the rest of us, you’ll have foibles and you might not be quite so high-minded. What then?”

“I’ll never hurt you, Miranda. Never cause harm to you in any way, or even think about it.” I believe him as he takes my hand again. “And I’m prepared to gamble that you will still care for me and give me a chance if I choose humanity.”

I still feel fear, but not for myself, just for him. Can I risk the fact that he might end up damned? How can I face that outcome? The burden of cause and possible effect still weighs me down, and I feel infinitely weary.

“I’d rather take my chances, a thousand times over,” he murmurs, his fingers working their magic against my skin. “A hundred thousand times.”

My thoughts swirl. Exhaustion turns my limbs to lead. I’ve never felt more tired in my life. And of course, Patrick knows this. No matter how much I want to stay awake to savor what are probably our last hours together, he and I realize I’ve got to sleep.

“Come along, my love,” he says quietly, urging me to my feet. “You need to sleep, and I’ll sleep beside you. I’ll hold you close.”

Suddenly, just the thought of resting next to him seems infinitely sweet. I shut out all the tortuous fears and ramifications of mortality and hold on to that simple human pleasure. My hand in his, I follow him upstairs.


Fifteen minutes later, we’re lying in bed together. I’m in my usual nightdress and Patrick has stripped to his white T-shirt and his mid-gray jersey boxer shorts. My wayward libido stirs, of course, at the sight and feel of his sublime body so lightly covered, and it keeps simmering away quietly in the background. But somehow, it seems far more important just to be here, close and warm in each others’ space, rather than to fret for the intimacy of fucking when we just can’t have it.

A sense of peace settles over us. It hardly seems possible with Patrick’s choice ahead, but for now I feel calm. I’m in the best possible place and with the best possible man. He might be an angel, but I can’t imagine anyone more human and easy to love.

As I slide into sleep, I send up a prayer to his Boss to allow his servant a little latitude.

Chapter Four

In the middle of the night, I snap awake. The bed is empty beside me. Dreading the worst, I feel hollow, instantly bereft, as emotionally widowed as years ago when Gerald died.

But Patrick’s still here. As I roll onto my side, I see him by the window. He’s naked and kneeling in the moonlight.

It seems a funny way to have a meeting with his Boss.

As I watch, Patrick nods and smiles, his face suddenly radiant. Then he turns to me and bestows the same glowing expression on me.

“Are you all right?” I sit up in bed, peering at him. He looks strange, resigned yet happy, more peaceful and more truly angelic than I’ve ever seen him. Rising gracefully, he walks to the bed, lifts away the covers and slips onto the mattress beside me.

“Can you be content with a man?” He touches my face, his fingers warmer than human fingers should be. I know he has powers and whatever it is they do is sinking into me. His touch his exquisite. “Can you be content with just a man?” he repeats.

What a strange question. Has he made his choice? Is he safe? Can he live? I open my mouth to ask questions of my own, but what comes out is something altogether different.

“Yes. Of course I can. I’ve been happy with men up until now.”

It’s true. I have been, for all my ups and downs. And even with Patrick, it’s his humanity I love, not his otherness.

“Good,” he says simply, then leans in to kiss me.

The taste of his mouth and the stroke of his tongue against the margins of my lips is gorgeous. But even so, the questions roil and surge. I try to pull away, but Patrick gently holds onto me, and I feel as much as hear him say, “Relax” against my mouth.

I try to. And suddenly I can. As we kiss, a new illumination comes to me. Why fight? What will happen, will happen. Patrick’s made his choice, and whatever it is, I know he’s made it with my welfare in his mind and his heart. All I have to do is believe that and trust him. It’s so simple.