Abbie Mills never saw herself as an overtly sexual person. She liked to think of herself as a capable woman, someone who got things done. Certain people wore sex on their sleeves like a badge, brazenly proclaiming their power to the world. She never considered herself that way. Occasionally, she was dimly aware of the effect that she had on men, like an aura that she carried around with her. Most of the time, she managed to ignore it as if it were a birthmark.

When she first started doing it, it was a distraction, like booze or drugs. Now that she was older, sex was a release valve, a way to blow off some steam after a long, frustrating day. Since she broke up with Luke, her love life had been an empty space, her body's urges satisfied by solitary bouts of masturbation. It was just enough to stave off the tension and stress that built up inside her.

Afterwards, when she lay alone in her bed – temporarily sated while sleep hovered just out of reach – loneliness pierced her like a shard of glass. Her life had undergone a catastrophic shift in recent months, making everything feel fractured and out of place. The death of Corbin was followed swiftly by Crane's arrival and the unveiling of her destiny as warrior against the agents of the Apocalypse. Scarcely a day went by when she didn't feel frightened in some way.

There were those in her life that made her feel less alone – Jenny, latterly Sheriff Reyes, and of course, Crane. He was a constant companion and sometime annoyance. Everything she did of late – from the profound to the mundane – seemed to revolve around him in some weird way. It was once a source of amusement and some irritation.

In the last few weeks, something fundamental had switched between them. Ever since her recent encounter with a demoness who fed on vital energies, she had begun to look at him with new eyes. There was a new element to their relationship – something primal and raw.

An impulse had been triggered within her, making her hyper-aware of her body at the most inconvenient of times. When she walked around the cabin, she felt the sweep of her hair, the sway of her hips. When she sat crouched in the archives, she sensed the smooth curve of her waist, the softness of her breasts.

When she was around him, she had to force herself not to stare at his mouth, at the contours of his shoulders and chest, at the way he moved his fingers almost unconsciously whenever he was annoyed, frustrated or passionate about something.

For the first time in her life she desired another person, deeply and without restraint. It was not just about wanting sex; she wanted to drink him in, to drag her fingers through his hair and lie naked in his bed for hours, talking about secret things.

She found herself distracted as they sat in their usual haunt, doing some paperwork while Crane translated an ancient Egyptian manuscript. As hard as she tried to concentrate on the mundanity of her routine, she could not stop thinking of the distance that lay between them, the way the air hung thick with possibility. She pictured herself reaching across and pulling his face to hers; feeling a heady clash of lips and teeth and tongues.

Instead, she stretched her arms over her head, arching her back to relieve tension. Almost at once, she felt Crane's eyes on her.

He scrambled to his feet. 'Lieutenant, can you please refrain from…?'

'Hmm? What's wrong?'

Arms still extended, she looked down at herself to see what offended him. In the space of the last year, they had grown more comfortable with each other. Far from getting flustered over seeing her in yoga pants or tank tops, it was almost as if he barely noticed what she wore these days.

She was fairly conservatively dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top, which was why she was surprised at his discomfort. Only a sliver of skin was visible where her top rode up from her jeans. Could that be it?

Experimentally, she leaned further back in her chair, revealing more of her stomach.

'Miss Mills, I must insist…'

Abbie saw the flustered look on his face and felt a jolt of electricity through her body.

He feels it too.

'What's wrong, Crane?' she said softly. 'Am I making you nervous?'

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

This was the first time that the curious tension between them had been raised aloud. In the six months since Katrina's departure, their relationship had gone through distinct phases. At first, Abbie had been a shoulder to cry on, someone to unravel the tangle of emotions he felt about his absent wife.

As time went on, things began to return to normal, but there was an unknown element to their partnership that only became clear after their encounter with the demoness. Crane had long been the focus of unnamed feelings, now unhindered by Katrina's presence.

The realisation that he felt something similar was terrifying.

Slowly and irresistibly, she stretched forward and touched the edge of his heavy woollen coat. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, feeling the cloth that had touched him. She saw him regarding her as a leopard watched its prey – his pupils wide, nostrils flared. She could tell that he was aroused, and that knowledge heightened everything she was feeling.

'Miss Mills…' he whispered.

'Don't,' she replied, unable to break eye contact. 'Call me Abbie.'

'Abbie… If you do not stop…' His voice was hoarse.

'Then what?' Her fingers trailed upward, inside his coat. Crane's breath caught in his throat.

'Then I shall not.'

Abbie tilted back in her chair, pulling him closer. She had a vague notion that this was not real, that this was all a dream. In her fantasies, she was always a little bolder; life was always a bit finer. How else could she explain the fact that Crane was hovering mere inches away from her, his breath warm on her lips?

'Is this truly happening?' he said softly, echoing her thoughts.

'If you want it to.'

Without any further hesitation, he closed the distance between them.

Somehow they found themselves on the floor of the archives, wrapped only in Crane's coat. Crane's hands were buried in her hair, framing her face as his lips traced its contours.

Abbie's body felt alive like never before. Something vital inside of her hummed; it felt dangerous, potentially catastrophic, but she could not resist it any more than she could stop herself from breathing.

He moved down her body, tasting her skin and touching her in ways she had only dreamed of. In her wildest fantasies, she never imagined that a man from the 18th century would be so devoted to her pleasure.

She was tempted to cry as he sucked and licked at her breasts. The emotions were so overwhelming that she began to feel detached from everything that was happening.

'Crane?' she whispered, her voice small.

He looked at her with concern. 'What is the matter?'

'Can you just slow down a little? It's all a bit much right now.'

She was afraid of hurting him, of spoiling the delicious bubble of desire around them. When she looked at him, she saw nothing but tenderness in his eyes. She reached forward and stroked his beard, amazed at how mesmerising his eyes were; his gaze so pure and adoring.

It struck her forcibly that he was nervous too. It was as if she could read his thoughts; she could tell that he was as afraid of things changing as she was.

Abbie leaned into him and kissed him softly, a sense of warmth spreading through her. She curled her legs around his, locking them together. She revelled in his body, her fingertips flitting over the hairs on his chest. There was a sudden tug at her heart as she felt the sharp curve of his ribs. He seemed so vulnerable lying there in her arms. For a moment all she wanted to do was take care of him.

Then she sensed him, hard and firm against her leg. She felt a myriad of emotions – amusement, then faint irritation, then finally a powerful desire. She reached between them and stroked him, feeling a shudder run through him.

'Abbie,' he groaned. 'Good God.'

The sensation was strange to her. It was never something she took an immense amount of pleasure in; there was something so alien and removed about it. The desire of another person was a strange and disturbing thing.

But with Crane, the truth was she had never felt so intimately connected to another person. She longed to become him, to crawl inside his skin and let him inhabit her. She wanted to lose herself, but at the same time to discover what it was to be Abbie Mills, the mysterious, sensual woman she secretly imagined she'd be.

His eyes were closed and his head tilted back in surrender. Abbie wanted to laugh with unexpected joy. She burrowed into his neck, dipping her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat.

His hand slammed into the floor beside her head. She jolted with shock, feeling the tension in his arms. There was a look of frenzy in his eyes. Firmly but gently, he grasped her cheek and kissed her.

She felt herself infected by his passion. She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him off of her. He looked at her with surprise until he realised her intent. He allowed himself to be rolled over onto his back.

She sat astride him and fucked him with gusto. For once in her life, she was unburdened with fear about the future or guilt about the past. She rode him quickly, strongly, feeling him inside her and all around her. She felt herself become stronger with him, but also apart from him, soaring like a bird, powerful, undefeated.

A goddess of desire.