The worry and disappointment weighed so heavily upon him, it took a monumental effort just to drag his body from beneath the bedcovers. But it was nearly midday. He had lain in idle distress long enough.
Dressing in whatever clothes were strewn about the chamber, he retraced the path he had paced for hours, every day he waited. He stopped at the window, parting the curtains to peer out at the lane below.
There was, of course, no sign of her.
His initial disappointment had given way to concern and eventually fear. They always prioritized their short encounters, for they were only able to enjoy them once every few months. It was the most they could risk sneaking away from their respective duties without drawing attention to themselves.
He missed her desperately when they were apart, and he knew she felt the same. That knowledge was the only thing that got him through the months of separation.
She had never missed a meeting before.
With each day that passed, the ache of worry knotted itself deeper in his chest until it hurt to breathe. His inability to act felt like a noose around his neck.
What could he do? Being what he was, there was no one he could go to to inquire of her whereabouts. He could only continue to reassure himself that she would come at any moment with a logical explanation as to why she’d been detained, and he would chastise himself for assuming the worst.
Yet today, on the seventh and final day, those assurances no longer appeased him.
They were supposed to be enemies. Meeting as they did was dangerous for both of them—for her most of all. Their worlds had no place for each other.
But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t search for her.
He turned from the window and began gathering his things, finally accepting that she wasn’t coming. He vowed he would not rest until he found her. He needed to know she was safe, that no harm had befallen her.
If anyone had dared to hurt her, the most precious thing in all the worlds to him, he would rain worse than hell upon them. The vengeance he wrought would make Lucifer’s wrath look tame in comparison.
A knock upon the door drew his thoughts from bloodlust, and his heart quickened with hope.
It would be just as he’d expected—she had been held up, and now she would offer an explanation as to where she’d been, and all would be right in his world once more.
When he flung open the door, however, it was not the face of his love that met his gaze.
It was a man—an angel. There was no mistaking what he was. He stared at Raum, eyes burning with loathing and…triumph?
“Where is Shamsiel?” he demanded.
Raum’s heart turned to stone and yet continued to beat at a frantic pace.
They had been discovered. It had finally happened.
But how? They’d been so careful. They had taken every precaution, ironing out every wrinkle in their plans over the decades they’d been arranging their secret trysts.
Was this why Shamsiel hadn’t come? Was she being interrogated at this very moment?
They had discussed this eventuality long ago, had decided the best course of action in the event their forbidden affair was discovered. But even if they hadn’t, Raum already knew…
He would die before he betrayed her.
Looking the angel in the eye, he adopted a bored expression and said, “Where is who?”
* * *
Raum suddenly snapped to wakefulness,eyes popping open as if his consciousness was a switch flipped on. A beam of sunlight streamed across the white ceiling. It took a moment of staring at it for him to realize where he was and how he’d gotten there.
What the fuck was that dream?
Weren’t vivid dreams supposed to have meaning? Because there was no reason why his subconscious would fabricate something so fucked up. Sex dreams were one thing, but this… This wasn’t even like a dream.
It was more like a memory.
