Clara stared at the strong hand before her. It looked so inviting and warm. As an empath, she craved touch. And it’d been so long since someone had held her. Well, aside from Balthazar. He’d tried to comfort her after everything that had happened, but she’d not wanted him or anyone else to touch her then.

But Gabriel was different.

He was her angel.

The one who’d saved her.

The male who had demanded they help her.

And now he wanted to take her to his apartment in New York City. It seemed a bit sudden, just like his appearance in her cell. Yet she found herself wanting to go with him. An odd inclination, considering she was half-naked and couldn’t read his emotions.

But she felt safe with him. Perhaps because he’d saved her before. Or maybe it was the peppermint spice taunting her senses from the soft towel he’d given her. It lulled her into a strange sense of comfort, one that seduced her into pressing her palm to his.

The touch sent a jolt down her spine, the electricity humming between them and setting her blood on fire just as the world shifted into a blur.

Her stomach clenched at the foreign movement, her lips parting on a gasp.

Oh!

She wasn’t sure she liked this at all. It was different from Jacque’s usual teleportation. This felt… wrong. Like she was intruding on an ethereal network of power that she shouldn’t have access to.

Her grip on Gabriel’s hand tightened, and she pulled him closer to wrap her free arm around him to hold on, afraid he might lose her in this network of strange weblike sensation. His palm remained steady in hers, but he followed her lead and returned her embrace, his strong arm encircling her waist as they misted together as one.

She sighed against him, immediately at peace despite the turmoil rolling through her insides. Because this was what she craved. Just to be held. And his lack of emotions helped, too. She couldn’t sense anything from him, granting her a peace unlike any she’d ever experienced.

It took her a moment to realize they’d arrived. However, she didn’t let go, her body and mind needing just a few more minutes of this serenity.

He didn’t speak or push her away, just kept his arm around her, providing her with a protective hold that shielded her from everyone and everything else.

This was her savior. Her guardian angel. The man who had initiated her freedom from the persuasive chains that had held her prisoner for far too long.

Thank you, she wanted to tell him. Thank you for seeing the truth when no one else did.

But Clara didn’t like words. She preferred action. Perhaps because of her innate empathy. She so often saw through the statements of others and to the underlying emotion beneath. So much manipulation, and false comments, existed in this world. But actions provided proof in a myriad of ways.

Which was why she went to her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It served as a note of affection coupled with her gratitude. Only, his warm skin seduced her into lingering a little. He just smelled so good. And his masculine heat, oh, she wanted to wrap herself up in it and never let go.

All of her lovers were mortal because she required them for sustenance. While Aidan had often invited her into his nest, she rarely indulged him. It just didn’t feel right because she could always sense the presence of his love for another.

Issac and Amelia’s mother.

He never spoke of her, not around Anya or Nadia, but Clara had always known of his preference for the woman he’d lost three centuries ago. That wasn’t to say he didn’t love the women he’d turned into Ichorians—he did—but he mourned his loss, too. And that always left Clara feeling a bit uncomfortable when joining her maker and his harem in the bedroom.

So she indulged her need for touch in temporary ways with human males, using them primarily for blood and also for sex.

Gabriel was… different.

A Seraphim.

An immortal who could potentially dominate her and not the other way around.

Clara lived in a constant state of having to coach her lovers on how to please her, the majority of her mortals too inexperienced or gentle to really give her what she needed.

That wouldn’t be a problem with Gabriel.

Her thighs clenched with the possibility.

Then her mind caught up and reminded her that he’d brought her here to talk, not to indulge in sensation and touch.

Except he hadn’t let her go.

Actually, he held her rather tightly, if a bit stiffly. Was he even breathing?

Her lips were still against his cheek. She could feel his flexed jaw, his tension palpable. But was it the good kind or the bad kind? She couldn’t read his emotions to be able to tell, so she flattened her feet on the wood beneath her soles and shifted back just enough to read his light green eyes instead. Only, they were masked with indifference.

She swallowed at the sight, uncomfortable by his clear disinterest. “I… I just wanted to thank you.” Her words came out breathy.

“For?” he prompted, his eyebrow inching upward, only to straighten half a beat later. An odd reaction, almost like he’d tried to stop himself mid-movement.

“Saving me,” she whispered.

“I didn’t save you. I’m borrowing you. Once we’re done talking, I’ll return you to your cell.” His arm flexed along her lower back with the statement, the action contradicting his term. It felt as though he didn’t want to return her at all, but continue to hold her.

How interesting.

From what Aidan and Luc had said, Seraphim didn’t feel. They were stoic beings who preferred reason over emotion. Gabriel appeared to be struggling with that concept. Was that why he needed to talk to her about empathy? Did he need to understand how to feel?

She could teach him that.

So long as he agreed to continue holding her like this. Because, sigh, he felt amazing. Like home. Incredibly warm. Masculine. Strong. Safe.

Clara gave in to the urge to nuzzle his chest, which stirred a choked sound from him. His arm turned to granite against her lower back, his hand squeezing hers. Not painfully. But… possessively.

She looked at him again, this time catching the flare of his nostrils. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Indulging in touch.”

“Why?”

“Because I prefer it over words.”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Words lie. Actions don’t.”

He stared at her. “Actions can contain lies. I once led Stas to an exam at the CRF that I knew would hurt her, just to maintain my cover. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to bring her to harm. However, I did know she’d survive it since she’s a Seraphim.”

It was the most he’d said to her thus far, and she found herself fascinated by the deep tenor of his voice. Clara was also intrigued by the hint of regret in his gaze. She wondered if he even realized he’d just spoken that statement like he was confessing a sin he wanted to get off his chest.

“You can more easily detect untruths within an action,” she replied slowly. “You can always tell which ones lack heart.” She suspected the event he just described would have in some way displayed his discomfort with the act.

Or perhaps he’d hidden it well beneath his cloud of stoicism.

But his decision to continue holding her now suggested he didn’t have as much control over his emotions as he thought he did. He hadn’t tried to push her away or release her but merely held on as though he didn’t want to let her go.

She didn’t mind.

He felt good against her.

“Lacking heart relates to emotions,” he said after a beat of silence. “However, Seraphim do not feel. Everything they do is practical. Yet lately, I suspect many of their actions are founded in lies.”

“Is that a confession or an observation?” she wondered out loud.

“I think it might be both.” His lips curled down. “You’re bewitching me again.”

“Bewitching you?”

“Yes.” He studied her for a long moment, his light green eyes giving nothing away. “I’ve been experiencing side effects from your empathy.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“When I imbibed your blood, I borrowed your ability. It was only meant to be temporary to test my emotional levels before meeting with the High Council of Seraph. However, it’s left behind a few imperfections that I would like fixed.”

Clara blinked at him. He’d mentioned needing a sample of her blood that day, but no one had told her why. They’d all been too consumed by the revelation of her innocence. Even she’d forgotten to ask. Part of her hadn’t really cared because the result of his actions had freed her.

But now he’d provided her with a reason.

“What’s the High Council of Seraph?” she asked. “And why did you need to test your emotional levels?”

His arms remained strong around her, yet his face continued to give nothing away. “The High Council of Seraph is the Seraphim governing body. To stand before them with any sign of emotion could result in a rehabilitation sentence, something I would prefer to avoid.”

“Oh.” She mouthed the sound, her mind processing the information. Tristan had told her about Gabriel’s true nature, but she hadn’t actually met him, or any other Seraphim, before. They could apparently go invisible and teleport. And borrow abilities by drinking blood.

That wasn’t terrifying at all.

“Unfortunately, your empathy has left a lasting imprint,” he continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “Which brings me back to the reason I misted into your cell—I need your help to remove the sensations lingering in my system.”

“Um, maybe you should talk to B?” she suggested. “He can manipulate emotions. I just feel them.” Although, she felt nothing from Gabriel now. Other than his hard body, of course. But emotionally, he was a blank page. Something she found rather soothing. It could be exhausting having everyone else’s emotions mingling with her own.

“Balthazar’s busy delivering Lizzie’s baby,” Gabriel replied. “I—”

“She’s gone into labor?” Clara interjected. “Already?” Lizzie was only a few months pregnant. Maybe four at most. “Is she okay?”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Gabriel’s tone held a touch of impatience. “However, I’m not. So I need you to help me.”

She considered him for a moment, noting the strain around his eyes. It hadn’t been there a few seconds ago, but it appeared now, displaying a hint of desperation that she suspected this male didn’t typically experience.

“What exactly are you feeling?” Maybe it wasn’t related to her emotions at all, but something else entirely.

“I…” He clenched his jaw, his frustration palpable. “Everything.” His brow crinkled as he glanced down at her, then lower to their embrace. “We’re hugging.” His arms turned brittle around her. “I don’t hug.”

He released her as though she burned him, and began pacing. “You’ve enchanted me,” he accused. “This can’t continue. You need to fix it.” He stopped and spun to face her. “Tell me how to fix it.”

She felt cold without his heat, the towel around her doing little to replace the natural warmth of his body. However, he wasn’t here to comfort her. Instead, he needed her help. And as he’d saved her, she more or less owed him a favor in return. So it was a fair request.

Only, she had no idea where to start.

“Can you tell me what emotions you’re experiencing?” she asked. “Perhaps we can start there and work backward so you can… remove the emotion?” This was probably one of those moments where she shouldn’t voice her thoughts out loud, but rather consider them first. Because that one came out sounding utterly ridiculous.

How does one remove an emotion? Yeah, well done, Clara, she chastised herself.

Except Gabriel seemed to be considering her idea. “You’re saying I need to identify the emotion to block it,” he said slowly.

“Uh, well, yes, but—”

“Which means I need to better understand the feelings to know what they mean,” he continued, not hearing her. Or perhaps just ignoring her.

“Um, that could help,” she started, uncertain of how to finish the statement.

“Because then I would know what the sensations are tied to and be able to cut it off at the source.” He nodded, his pacing resuming. “Yes. This could work. But I would need to know more about what I’m feeling in order to identify them.”

“I can’t sense anything from you,” she said softly. “So I don’t know how to help with that part.”

“Your empathy will work on me if I drink from you again,” he replied, stopping before her once more. “I need more of your blood. Then you can help me understand what I’m feeling, which will allow me to destroy the source.” A blade seemed to materialize in his hand, causing her to jump backward.

“Whoa. Hold on.”

“I’m just going to slice your forearm like I did last time.” He advanced on her.

She skipped to the side and threw up a palm to stop him. “Gabriel. Stop.”

He halted midstep, his brow coming down. “I don’t understand. This was your idea. Did I misinterpret it?”

Her idea? She’d asked him to describe his feelings, not cut her arm. He was the one who came to this conclusion. Sure, the plan had merit, but… “I need a minute to process the, uh, knife.” And pretty much everything else, she added to herself.

It was a lot for her to accept. All she’d wanted to do was take a shower to wash away the grime of the cell, and then he’d appeared like some angel of the night, only to whisk her away to New York City. Now she stood before him in a towel, and he wanted to cut her.

She eyed the knife and swallowed.

“That’s such a cold way to drink blood,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

“It’s practical.”

“Is it?” She shivered at the thought of his steel edge against her skin. “You only took a few drops last time.”

“That’s all I need.”

“So more won’t give you a strong dose of my power?” She wasn’t sure how the Seraphim imbibing system worked, but she knew a deeper feed from a human sustained her Ichorian need for blood longer.

He studied her again, his contemplative silence intimidating yet welcome. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken her so seriously. Everyone always saw her as soft and sweet but never regarded her as an intellectual. Mostly because she kept her thoughts to herself. Balthazar often overheard them; however, she didn’t see him often, and when she did, he kept her confidence.

She’d always preferred that.

But with Gabriel, she rather liked that he paid attention to her and listened.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “Perhaps I should take more. Should I cut your wrist?”

Her eyes widened. “What? No!” That was absolutely not what she expected him to say. “Why can’t you just bite me like, well, like an Ichorian would?”

“Biting is intimate.”

“I’m an empath,” she retorted. “Everything about me is intimate.”

More silence.

More studying.

She swallowed, his intensity stirring goose bumps down her spine. His features were striking and outlined by the low light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows beside them.

Gabriel was exactly what an angel should look like, with his windswept blond strands—one of which kept falling into his eye—his defined cheekbones, and his chiseled jawline.

Everything about his face was symmetrical and flawless, almost eerily so. Yet it also made him breathtakingly handsome, marking him as the kind of male who would warrant second looks upon entry into a bar.

Just like B and Luc.

Except Gabriel lacked their sexual prowess. Instead, he exuded indifference. Which probably caused a lot of girls to chase him, just to try to break through his impenetrable walls.

“Okay,” he murmured, sliding the blade back into the pocket of his jeans. “Where do you want me to bite you?”

She gaped at him. “Seriously?”

“I don’t joke,” he replied flatly. “So yes. Seriously. I’ve never bitten anyone. But as it’s your preference to the blade, I’ll allow it. I need you to help me, so I’m expecting this to make you agreeable.”

Such practical words.

But she caught the flare of his nostrils when he said he’d never bitten anyone. He was intrigued by the prospect of her being his first. Was it normal for a supposedly stoic Seraphim to feel curious?

She cleared her throat. “I, uh, I would prefer my neck.” It would allow her to feel his body against hers again and borrow a little more of that strength. She’d gone too long without touch, leaving her bereft and cold.

That was the downside to her ability—she spent so much time surrounded by emotion that she didn’t know how to handle it when it all disappeared. She also constantly craved the warmth of another, longing just to be held and surrounded by love.

Gabriel wouldn’t provide her with that, but he could at least be warm for her.

“The artery there will give me what I need,” he said. “I accept that location.”

His serious tone almost made her smile, only he was already advancing on her again. He grabbed her hip this time to stop her from moving away, his opposite hand going to her hair as he threaded his fingers through her wet strands.

Such an intimate hold.

His clean scent overwhelmed her nostrils, delighting her senses.

Then he bent his head toward her neck. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he said, the words gruff against her skin. He sank his teeth into her vein, sending a jolt of pain down her spine, only to be followed by an ecstasy unlike any she’d ever experienced.

Fuck. This man was different from anyone she’d ever met.

No foreplay.

No warning.

Just action.

She dug her nails into his shirt, holding on as her knees threatened to buckle beneath the pleasure his embrace evoked from within her.

Pure.

Hot.

Bliss.

Oh God, she thought, shaking against him. He’s going to make me come from his mouth alone, and we’re not even doing anything.

Her thighs clenched, the heat blossoming inside her beginning to spiral out of control. She considered telling him to stop, but his hand left her hip as his arm encircled her back, pulling her closer.

Into his responding interest.

Shit. She could sense him now, his emotions whirling into an intense tornado that threatened to destroy them both if not tamed.

Only, his whirlwind of emotions heightened her own, driving her headfirst into the eye of his incoming storm, where together they exploded into an array of feelings that stole her breath.

Could he sense it? The lust pouring over them? Heating their blood? Dampening her thighs? Thickening his shaft?

She trembled, his name falling from her lips, her mind lost to the sensations of their mounting arousal.

I should end this, she thought. I should… I should run. I… I don’t know how. Oh, oh, sweet… She groaned as his hardness met her lower belly, his body providing the relief she’d gone without for too long.

“Gabriel…”

He shook against her, his teeth leaving her skin. “What is this?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “How have you bewitched me now?”

“Attraction,” she managed to say, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Mutual… attraction.”

No. That wasn’t good enough. She’d felt mutual attraction before. This… this went well beyond that. This existed on an entirely new plane of existence. He’d inherited her power, thereby playing it back at her and ramping the emotions up between them to a dangerous crescendo of need.

Her knees gave out then, but his arm around her waist kept her upright, his grip in her hair tightening. “I’ve fucked before.” His tone held an accusation. “But I’ve never experienced this.”

She wasn’t sure what exactly he meant but nodded anyway. Because she hadn’t experienced this either.

“What are you doing to me?” he demanded, pressing his cock against her, seeking friction.

She moaned in response, the towel too abrasive against her skin.

He pulled away to look down at her, his pupils blown wide with fury and desire and a horde of other emotions that just caused their tornado to spin faster. “Little witch,” he accused, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “I… Tell me how to stop it.”

She shook her head, unable to comply. Because she didn’t know. She just wanted. “Kiss me,” she begged. “Do something. Anything.” She hadn’t come from his bite but had been so, so close. She yearned for more, anything he would be willing to give. “Please, Gabriel. Please.”

He glared at her, and for one split second, she sensed her impending death—his resolve palpable.

Only, it was gone in the next breath as his mouth captured hers, turning the spiral between them into an inferno. All it took was his tongue, and she lost herself to him entirely.

He owned her.

Utterly and completely.

So long as he never stopped touching her.