Chapter 1

The world was colorless in the rain, the buildings gray and soggy like discarded boxes leaning against each other precariously. The streets were empty, the water flooding down their black lengths awash with oily rainbows. A truck idled beside a curb, the windows fogged over. The rain was cold, numbing, and the dry cab of the truck promised heat.

With one arm around his friend’s shoulders, Gabe crouched as they ran through the rain, heading for the truck. Standing against the wet metal, he rapped on the passenger side window, the sound of his knuckles on glass dull to his ears. It had been so long since he’d been down here, among mortals. Even the sounds hurt.

He heard the pop of the lock and he opened the door, pushing Luce inside. He didn’t look at the blood on his hands, or the chopped stalks protruding from his friend’s shoulder blades. Clambering up into the cab beside Luce, he pulled the door shut and turned to the driver, a short, stocky man who stared at them with wide eyes behind bottle glasses. “You’re not my wife!” the man cried, voice high and shrill.

No shit, Gabe thought, but he couldn’t remember the words in this man’s language. Beside him Luce sat hunched over in pain, and Gabe spread one large, protective wing over his friend’s back. Almost immediately Gabe’s thick feathers, usually a brilliant white but now gray with water, turned a bright crimson, stained with Luce’s blood. “My friend is hurt,” Gabe said, his speech halting, unsure. “Is there someone who can help?”

The driver looked down at Luce and saw the blood. A thin squeal escaped his lips as he nodded. “A hospital,” he whispered. “Not far from here. I can take you.”

Gabe nodded wearily. “Please.”

The driver put the truck into gear and they pitched forward as the truck leapt from the curb. Gabe hugged Luce close. “Almost there,” he whispered into his friend’s ear. He didn’t know if Luce heard him or not, but the words were soothing and comforting to Gabe. “Almost there,” he repeated, rocking slightly.

The bloody stumps that used to be Luce’s wings cut into Gabe’s chest, but Gabe ignored them.

* * * *

Luce had come to him that morning, tears streaking his alabaster face. “What’s wrong, love?” Gabe asked, rushing to embrace his friend.

Luce covered his face with his hands and let Gabe pull him close.

“What?” Gabe asked, concerned. “What is it?”

In his arms, Luce cried. “I’m to leave at once,” he said, voice thick with tears.

Fear curled in Gabe’s stomach. “Leave?” he asked, not sure he understood. “You mean you’ve been sent on a mission?”

Luce shook his head, his long straight hair brushing against Gabe’s chin. “I mean I’ve got to fall.”

The words echoed in Gabe’s head. “No,” he whispered, running his hands up Luce’s back until he held the shafts of Luce’s wings in his hands. Those proud, beautiful, ebony wings, so black they looked blue in the sun. He recalled the way his own ivory wings entwined with Luce’s when they made love, soaring high above the world until they touched the stars—Luce couldn’t fall. He couldn’t.“Why?” Gabe asked, choking back a sob. “Why?”

Luce shook his head again. “You know why.”

“But I’m to blame!” Gabe cried.

And it was true. It had been he who fell in love first, when he met Luce so long ago. It had been he who seduced the younger angel, invited him to his bed and held him so close that first night, the two of them trembling with fear of discovery. As time passed and no one questioned their friendship, Gabe let himself believe no one noticed. Or no one cared.

But he should have known—angels were not meant to love. “It’s all my fault,” he said, resolution strengthening his voice. “I’ll tell Him it was my fault. You don’t have to fall for me.”

He hugged Luce tight and rocked him gently. Gabe pushed back his fear and hoped his position would grant him an audience immediately. He couldn’t let Luce fall because of his own lust.

* * * *

The rain made driving difficult, but the heater was at full blast, and the driver concentrated on keeping them on the road. Gabe was simply grateful they were moving. Luce would be all right. As long as they got to a doctor soon, got the stumps removed, the wounds cleaned and stitched. “You’re going to be okay,” Gabe whispered.

Luce groaned and rolled against him, his head resting on Gabe’s bare thigh. Luce’s forehead was hot against Gabe’s skin, his lank hair brushing the hem of Gabe’s tight shorts, the only piece of clothing the angel wore. Luce’s shorts were red with his own blood, the fabric streaked and torn, and the ends of his hair were bloody as well. “Gabe,” Luce moaned into his leg, his breath feverish. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Gabe lied. He had never heard of an angel who lived through the fall, but Luce hadn’t fallen alone. “You’re going to be fine. Just hold on a little bit longer.” To the driver, he barked, “Can’t you drive any faster?”

“What, and kill us all?” the driver snarled, hunched over the steering wheel.