Rhage exhaled slowly, air easing out of his nose. As he sank into his skin, he reveled in the perfection of peace. The heavenly silence. The great roaring absence.

And speaking of on board, she'd moved into John's room properly. In his closet, her leathers and her muscles shirts were hanging next to his, and their shitkickers were lined up together, and all her knives and her guns and her little toys were now locked up in his fire proof cabinet. Their ammo was even stacked together. How frickin' romantic.

The Brother's eyes narrowed. "But here's something to keep in mind. You ever hurt him on purpose and I will consider you my enemy.

United by their clasped hands, they became again the two halves, the light and the dark. The Destroyer and the Savior. A whole.

This was the gift of recovery, he thought. The ability to be here in this moment with the female he loved and be fully aware, fully awake, fully present. Undiluted.

Souls were the same. They, too, had useless baggage that impeded their proper performance, these annoying, holier-than-thou bits dangling like an appendix waiting for infection. Faith and hope and love...prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude...all this useless clutter just packed too much damn morality into the heart, getting in the way of the soul's innate desire for malignancy.

As she stood down below him on the street,it seemed impossible that she'd connected with him as she had,but then,the phone was virtual relating,one step up from being online.Both people were in their own environments,invisible to each other,only their voices mixing.It was false intimacy.