Elena wondered if Michaela was waiting to be served. Snorting inwardly at the idea, she poured her own coffee—and, because she was feeling generous, and okay, maybe because she wanted to irritate Michaela—Raphael’s as well. Then she put down the carafe.

Oh my God! I'm crushing an angel. Let me up!

Be gentle with him, Mercy. He's got a heart as big as Texas— he'll die for you without blinking. But he doesn't expect anyone to do the same for him.

He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’ll be the death of me, Elena.” She smiled. “You need a little excitement in that boring old life of yours.

All right." Shimmering droplets on her eyelashes, stars caught in transition. "But will you replace it with something for me?" "Anything." His body was hers. Brushing her fingers over his lips, she said, "You gave me an eagle. I want to give you one, too." A tender kiss pressed to the scar. "I want us to fly together.

Illium grinned, unrepentant. “Want to try again? I’ll move extra slow — you are both so much older, after all.” The last words were a conspiratorial whisper. Galen glanced at Raphael. “How has he survived this long?” “No one can catch him.

Some wounds should be healed, no matter how much time has passed or how much time is left.