“I’m sorry, Sara. I truly, truly am.”
Sara looked up at him, her brain still processing everything, lingering sorrow from Gabriel’s memories hanging over her. There was so much to ask, so much she needed and wanted to understand. “What happened to you, Gabriel? You were drinking before Anne . . . why?”
How could he explain who he was, what he’d been, how he had fallen so hard, so fast? He didn’t understand it himself, and some days he found it hard to comprehend what exactly he had been thinking all those years ago. “Do you believe me when I tell you I’m immortal, that I was an angel once, now a demon?” he asked.
Her eyes were so wise, such a deep blue, so full of the knowledge of life that came from hard living, immense joy and agonizing pain. She nodded. “I believe you’re something more than what I thought or can truly comprehend.”
“I was sent to watch humans, to guide and protect them. But I wasn’t prepared for the suffering, the sadness, the devastation of emotion that radiates from mortals. It was so hard to watch, so difficult not to be able to ease their pain, and it was overwhelming. When I drank, it was easier to handle. I could simply ignore all of it.” That was his shame, but he wanted to face it, admit it, forgive himself for it, and move forward.
“I understand that. I do. I couldn’t sleep you know, like I can’t sleep now, and I would lie there and my mind would race with guilt and grief and fear and I just wanted it all to go away. I wanted oblivion. That’s what the sleeping pills gave me.”
“And now you still can’t sleep.” He touched her cheek, brushing his thumb across the deep bruises under her eyes, the stain of months and months of inadequate sleep.
“Yeah, but it’s better this way. Better to not sleep and be in control. To face my grief, to deal with it.” She turned her head, rubbing her lips over the inside of his wrist, her eyes drifting closed. “And do you notice,” she whispered, “that I can sleep when I’m with you?”
“I’m glad that you sleep better with me.” He wanted to repeat his earlier words, to tell her that he loved her, but it wasn’t time yet. She needed more answers, and when he spoke his feelings, he wanted her ready to give him the same in return.
“And you know what is so very strange? You’re telling me the most fantastical things . . . things I shouldn’t believe. I should assume you’re a lunatic and walk away, but I believe you. It’s like I knew, in my gut, that coming to you would give me answers. And here they are. They’re odd, and overwhelming, but for the first time in a year, I don’t feel afraid. That fear isn’t pressing on me. I feel sick that Marguerite would do this, and I’m worried that she’ll do it again, but at the same time, I just feel relief. The bogeyman has a face, you know?”
“I understand. And I promise you that Raphael and I won’t let Marguerite harm anyone else. Raphael bound her to him.”
“What does that mean?”
Gabriel sighed. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. A lot. Let’s wake Jocelyn up and go somewhere and talk.”
An hour later they had dropped Jocelyn at a hotel after securing her apartment door shut with plywood and feeding her a ridiculous story about rambunctious teenagers running wild through the apartment complex after too many beers. She seemed baffled that she had somehow missed it, but Sara had convinced her she’d had way more wine than she actually had. Now Gabriel and Sara were standing on the deck outside an ice cream shop overlooking the beach and the ocean and he was telling her about his punishment.
Sara leaned on the wooden railing and blinked at him, a strawberry smoothie in her hand that she wasn’t drinking. “You’re saying women become addicted to you? Like they crave you and have to have you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It happens when I touch women.”
“Like Rochelle?”
“Yes.”
Sara shivered. “Oh, God, that’s awful.”
“That’s why I can’t . . . why I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you.” He frowned, realizing that he may have tried, but he hadn’t completely succeeded. “I haven’t done a great job of that.”
“But you touch me. I’m assuming way more than you ever touched Rochelle, and I’m fine.”
“That’s true. I only touched Rochelle on the arm once. But it just means you’re stronger—a lot stronger—than her. She has a weaker will. But eventually you’ll succumb if I were to touch you as a lover.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe me.” He was absolutely sure of it. “Don’t you remember the letters from Jane Gallier? The court records of the women fighting? Think of Rochelle, her tears, that blood running down her wrists. I don’t want you to end up like any of them.” He wanted her to understand exactly what he was saying. “That would be my biggest regret, if I was what finally broke you. After all you’ve survived, if it was me that finally stripped away your strength, I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t.”
“I don’t want to be without—”
Gabriel cut her off. He didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. He couldn’t hear it. Sara was ten times a greater temptation than alcohol had ever been and he needed to clamp down, hold together his emotions, build up his control until it was an impenetrable wall with barbed wire on top. He was going to do that, because he wanted to be with Sara, wasn’t willing to give her up.
“I don’t want to be without either. You know, in some ways it would be easier to walk away from you. But I’ve been doing the easy thing my entire existence.” He was sorry for that. Wanted to stand firm and stop passively letting everything slide over and past him. He wanted to control his own destiny and stop hiding from it. “I want to be with you, spend time with you, love you. And while I can’t touch you, I can share my life with you. I want to share my every day with you, do you understand?” It was a hell of a lot to ask, and he shouldn’t, but he had to. He had to know that he had tried, offered her what he could.
Sara gripped the railing tighter, her hair blowing over her shoulders, the smoothie tipping so far over in her clenched hand he was expecting the lid to pop off. “Be together, but no touching?”
“No touching.”
She didn’t say anything, so Gabriel sighed, his heart aching for what he couldn’t have as he looked across the beach. It was a quiet view, the heat of Florida different than New Orleans. There was humidity in the air, but somehow it wasn’t as lush, as damp and smothering as southern Louisiana. The foliage on and around the deck was manicured, the houses in all directions new and crisply white and ivory, the retail buildings all soldiered along the main roads. It was very beautiful, he had to admit that. But it didn’t touch his soul.