If one month ago someone had told Raffe that he would be playing guard dog for some Daughter of Man while she slept in another room, Raffe would have probably thanked them. Raffe from a month ago hadn't heard anything that funny in a long while.

The Raffe of this moment, currently sitting on the hard wooden floor with his back to the wall and so exhausted he couldn't keep his eyes open, found this situation less hilarious.

The absurdity of the situation, and the series of disasters that resulted in his tired ass on this uncomfortable floor, was almost enough to make him believe in a divine power. After all, this seemed like exactly the type of thing He would think of in the stories Raffe's heard. Tell a person to do one thing and then dump them into a situation that makes it impossible.

A divine lesson on temptation, another thing he had privately suspected to bullshit. Old Raffe considered temptation to be another word for weakness. It was term for people who didn't have control over themselves, so they put the blame on some other thing and gave it the power that they wished they had over themselves.

Temptation had been the bogeyman for angels for as long as he could remember. Don't be tempted to veer off the righteous path, his brethren warned. Resist the temptation to follow the path of Lucifer. Resist the temptation of world pleasures. And above all, resist the temptation of the abominations that are Daughters of Men.

All bullshit. People make their own choices. Temptation was a myth made up by angels. To stoke their own fragile egos by pretending that their weakness was something else.

Or so he believed. Until his own lesson in temptation came in the form of a sweet melodious voice, big midnight eyes, and a vicious roundhouse kick.

If he was truly strong, he would probably leave right now. Penryn had her sister. Raffe had his wings. Their bargain had been fulfilled twice over. He could slip out right now and he'd been out of her life forever.

Better. Smarter. Easier.

Absolutely cowardly. And throwing away the chance to spend a few more minutes, hours, days at her side before they never see each other again. Before she forgets him and he pretends to forget her and they go their separate ways.

Screw that.

Instead, he continued to sit there, listening to Penryn's deep, slow breathes from inside the bedroom. He wondered how it'd feel to crawl into bed and lay with her. Not in the biblical sense, although his thoughts have strayed that direction far too often. He just wanted to know what it'd be like fall asleep to the pattern of her breathing, to only have to reach out his hand to reassure himself of her presence, to know that she'll be there when he woke up.

Was that so much to ask?

"What are you doing?" Despite her concern, Penryn's voice had a husky, relaxed note to it thanks to her nap. It was like milk added to honey.

"I was too tired to walk to the settee." Not technically a lie. But she saw through him right away.

"You're keeping watch. I would have taken my turn if you'd told me. Who are we worried about?"

Raffe snorted. If she wanted a complete list, they'd both be here all week.

"I mean, any specific enemy at the moment?"

Oh, no one in particular. Only your cannibalistic baby sister with razor teeth and a platoon of pet locusts. Somehow, he didn't think she'd take that well.

"She won't hurt me."

Raffe nearly snorted again. Coming from the girl who literally threw herself into hostile angel territory to track down her sister, that meant nothing. He wouldn't be surprised if Penryn served her own neck to her sister on a silver platter if her sister asked nicely.

"That's what Beliel thought."

"Beliel is not her big sister, and he didn't raise her either."

An image of Beliel, practically shredded to bits, popped into his mind. Another picture quickly replaced it, of Penryn broken and bloody with her beloved sister standing over her.

Your loyalty is going to get you killed.

"Call me a sentimentalist, but I like the idea of you in one piece. Besides, she's not the only one who might be interested in your tasty flesh."

"Who told you I was tasty?"

A dozen inappropriate responses lept to his tongue. The first of which was let's go into the bedroom and I can find out for myself. He choked them all down.

"Haven't you heard that old saying. Tasty as a fool?"

"You made that up."

"Huh. Must be an angelic saying. It's to warn the foolish about things that go bump in the night."

"It's daytime.'

"Ah. So you don't deny that you're foolish." He opened his eyes to catch her scowl at her mistake. He then got an eyeful of what she was wearing and his mouth dropped.

For one second, his brain went completely blank. In the next second, however, it quickly went back to work with dozens of fantasies cropping up seemingly all at once. All of them involved her getting out of those clothes. One even had peanut butter in it.

"What are you wearing?"

It was a stupid question really. The answer was nothing, or at least as close to it without being obscene. The shirt and shorts left most of her bare, most noticeably her midriff and legs. Even what was covered left little to his imagination, although frankly it was already working double-time.

Was this her trying to seduce him?

If it is, it's working.

"This coming from a guy who runs around shirtless all the time?"

Apparently not. He tried and failed not to feel disappointed.

"It's hard to wear a shirt when you've got wings. Besides, I haven't heard any complaints." And received quite a few appreciative glances from her when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Don't let it get to your head, Raffe. You haven't heard compliments either."

They had their usual back and forth but quite frankly he wasn't all there for it. He'd seen her in revealing clothes before, but always with pressing distractions, like going into enemy territory or battle hypothermia. And never this much bared to him.

He had to fight back the urge to pull her down onto the floor and underneath him. He wanted to run his hands over her soft, bare skin. Trace the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, the curve of her waist with his fingertips. Glide his palms over the dips and rises of her body, from her ankle to hip to shoulder and back again. Brush over the lines of her ribs and slip under her shirt to stroke her breasts until she was a quivering mess…

"What would you do if you had to make a run for it?" He heard himself ask.

"I'd grab my shoes and run."

"Dressed like this? In front of lawless men?" It was all he could do not to pounce on her himself. His eyes drifted up from the thread of her shorts that he was playing with, to her smooth, bare midriff. His fingers twitched.

"If you're worried about pervs breaking into the house, it's not going to make a difference whether I'm in this outfit or baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they're decent human beings or they're not. Their actions are on them."

The Pit would freeze over before he ever let anything like that happen under his watch.

"It'll be tough for them to take any action while I'm pummeling their faces. Disrespect will not be tolerated."

"Because you're all about respect."

He sighed. "Lately, I seem to be all about you."

"What makes you say that?" There was a twinge of hope in her voice. He wished he wasn't still glad to hear it.

"I'm sitting on the hard floor outside your door while you take a cozy little nap, aren't I?"

She slides down to join him on the floor, just close enough that he could sense the warmth from her skin. They sat without speaking, letting the silence settle between them as seconds, minutes slunk by. It was almost startling how easy it was just to be with her beside him. No danger, no duties, no restrictions trying to snatch his focus and peace of mind. No compulsion to get up and do something to distract himself from feeling alone in his own head.

Just...peace.

He wondered once more what it'd be like to fall asleep by her side, to carry that peace into his slumber and finally, truly, get some rest.

She tries to get him to go to sleep and he refuses, deflects. Once again, he tells her that there's nothing between them because despite all his musings on temptation he has some sense left in him. Not enough sense to truly act like he doesn't give a damn, but even he has limitations. It's hard to act like he doesn't care when every time he closes his eyes, he pictures her lifeless body in his arms.

He convinces her to the return to the bedroom and get some sleep. He flusters her when he lays down next to her, but he doesn't really care. The door had been limiting anyway. What if something had tried to attack through the windows?

Anything that tried to get to her would have to go through him first.

And just once, just this once, he would allow himself this indulgence.

Raffe was standing in water, so clear that it reflected the sky and clouds above with perfect clarity. The slightest step sent ripples down every direction of a seemingless endless sea.

Wait. No. He was in the middle of a grassy field, with stalks of green up to his chest waving languidly in the breeze. Off to the distance, he heard the soft rush of a river. He followed the sound, pushing past the grass on foot rather than taking to the sky.

He found a stream. It was small, hardly as wide as he was tall. But the water looked as clear and pure as it could ever be. He stooped down to drink it from his hands.

Before he could even dip his hands in, a hand caught his wrist and pulled him back.

"Don't drink from here," Penryn whispered. Her breath tickled the back of his neck. With one hand still wrapped around his wrist and her body pressing against his back, she dipped her free hand into the river. "It's poison."

She withdrew her fingers from the clear water and held them up to the sun for him to see. They were coated in black liquid, rancid and so acid he could literally see the bile eating away her fingertips.

"Penryn!" He tried to grab her hand, but she was gone. He fell onto his back without her weight to lean onto. He scrambled up to his feet. He looked around widely but there was no sight of her.

He took off running. No matter which direction he went, no matter how fast his feet carried him, he couldn't find her. All he could could find was a unchanging ocean of deep green, swaying hypnotically as his own panic mounted and mounted.

Gone. She was gone and he was lost and he would never see her again and he couldn't bear it and...and…

...And there she was. On a bed of crushed green grass and dirt, she was curled up on her side, as was her habit when she slept. She was wearing the same scarlet dress from the night they first snuck into the Aerie as well as the fake fairy wings from the night they found each other again.

He was there, on the grass, curled on his side next to her. He didn't remember ever laying down, but it seemed like he had been there for hours.

"You shouldn't disappear like that," he told her. He touched her hand, running his thumb over her fingertips. They were healed now, but scarred.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I'll have to go away eventually."

"Not yet. I need you."

"Some things never change." She rolled her eyes and half-smiled.

"Don't let it go to your head. I just need someone to carry around my sword for me."

"And constantly rescue you from danger."

"You're joking, right?"

"It's okay, Raffe. Archangels can be damsels in distresses, too."

"Some archangels. Not me."

"Come on, it'll be great. We can find you a nice tower and a dragon to guard your virtue-" He covered her mouth with his hand.

"First, the tower would be useless since I could just fly away. With wings. You know, the things that angels have?" Penryn tried to nip his finger but he was too quick for her. "Second, I've slain dragons so I don't need one protecting me. And finally…" He leaned in closer so he could whisper. "...I have no virtue left to guard."

He traced her amused smile with his thumb.

"Besides," he said. "No one would come for me anyway."

"I would."

Without a doubt.

"I hate you."

She didn't even blink.

"Why?"

"Because you're a monster."

"Damn, I thought I had you fooled. I left my talons and fangs at home."

"I wish you had talons and fans. It would be make things easier."

"It's really that important?"

"It's the way things have to be."

"The way things have to be," she repeated. She turned to lay on her back, with her eyes looking up rather than at him. "Because everyone told you to stay away from Daughters of Men."

"Yes.

"Because you're an archangel. Your place is with other angels, waging war and laying waste to worlds."

"Yes,"

"Because when your Watchers were thrown into the Pit, their mistake had to mean something. They needed to do something to deserve their fate."

Raffe didn't answer. Penryn continued.

"If I'm not a monster, then it's all meaningless. You can't trust what you were always taught to believe. Your Watchers, your friends, are rotting in Hell for no reason. There'd be nothing left except all the horrible things you had let happen. What would that make you?"

She turned to her side once more, with her back to him, as if she didn't want to hear his answer.

"Everything is easier if I'm the monster," she said. "And there's no time for doubt. Your people need you."

"But I need you," he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him, crushing her close to his body.

She was so warm and soft and she was here. Everything else in the world seemed to blur except them, pressed together, with Raffe acutely aware of where his hand was resting on her ribcage.

And then his hand was on her breast, and he can't stop touching her. His lips are her neck and then they are where they belong, pressed against her own. Her mouth readily parts for him and he's more than happy to accept entrance, his tongue teasing hers.

He pushes her onto back and presses the full length of his body against hers. Her arms immediately go around his back and her hips instinctively shift, seeking friction that they both crave. He feels rather than hears the moans, with one hand cupping the base of her neck and half buried in her soft hair while the other is caressing her nipple under her shirt…

...No, that was wrong. She had been wearing a dress.

He pulled back, completely breaking out of the dream as if he coming up for air.

Earth. Bed. Him. Here. And Penryn.

Not dream Penryn, but real Penryn. Real Penryn with swollen red lips, mussed up hair, a shirt rucked up to her collarbone, and huge dark eyes filled with desire looking up at him.

It was all he could do to stay still and not throw himself back into her all-too-willing arms. He tried to slow down his panting to deep breathes, to calm himself so he could bring himself to move completely off of he and think properly.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should've known better. This was a line he promised himself he would never cross again. It was wrong, it went everything he was ever taught and...his mind lost his train of thought when looked at her lips again.

He forced his eyes downward to her neck. He was grateful that she was giving him a moment, to let him think as clearly as he could despite everything in the situation working against him.

He would climb off her and the bed, he would leave, he would give them some space, and then he would come back and they would pretend it never happened. Just like the first time…

Just as he was about to put his extremely pragmatic plan to action, a small dot on Penryn's neck next caught his eye. He brushed her hair slightly aside.

It was a small, perfectly circular scar. Almost undetectable to the human eye.

The locust. The sting. The memory of what he had thought been Penryn's dying moments came back in an instant. The agony that had wracked her body. Her small, futile attempt to comfort him.

Her seemingly lifeless body in his arms, eyes staring up at nothing.

He closed his eyes, but more memories just came rushing in.

Let go.

Like hell he would. They're in the air and she's in his arms as they make their desperate escape across the Bay. She's weighing him and she knows it. He doesn't care. She's alive by some miracle, and he doesn't know how that's even possible. He doesn't care about that either. The only thing that matters is that she stays that way.

He has me.

Stupid, stubborn fool. She was a compass that still pointed north even when the ship was already buried at sea. His wings had been stolen from him and he had demon wings stitched to his back. His entire existence had been destroyed. Now the last person in all the worlds who gave a damn about him was going to get herself killed with those three words. Stupid, stubborn, brave, loyal fool.

Sometimes, as we're stumbling along in the the dark, we find something good.

He takes the food she offers, and ignores the twinge of guilt. Even without the baggy clothes, she looked she couldn't afford to skip many meals. He tells himself that it doesn't matter. Her little quest to rescue her sister will probably get her killed. One more dead human in a world already filled to the brim with them. He couldn't afford to care.

Somewhere along the way, she had found a way to seep into his very marrow. He tried for so long to ignore it, but he was sick of it. He was so tired of this cowardly charade.

"Raffe?" He felt her put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Underneath him, even as she was still breathing hard from their kiss, she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw. He saw her eyes bracing for disappointment. She looked like she was preparing herself to take a punch.

"I lied," he said.

"About what?" she whispered.

"You are my Daughter of Man."

He didn't even give her a chance to gasp, ducking down to capture her lips once more. For a moment, she is frozen from shock. Then she comes alive underneath him, surging up and cupping his neck and throwing herself into the kiss. She captures his bottom lip and sucks lightly on it. His hands roam her body. One second they're buried in her hair and in the next they're groping her ass.

He pinches her bottom. She nips his bottom lip.

"Jerk," she mutters, but she's smiling.

"I'm only getting started." He hitches up her knees up to her waist-despite the danger surrounding their first flight together over the Bay, he still vividly recalled the feeling of her slim legs wrapped around his waist-and grinds his pelvis against hers. She shudders as she feels how hard he is for her.

He kisses down the line of her jaw and neck. He sucks the base of her throat. It's shameless and possessive but he wants to leave his mark on her.

As eager as she is, she's more tentative in her explorations. Her hands are slow, gliding over his arms and shoulders. Her nails lightly scrape over the hard lines of his back as their bodies grind and rock against each others. She's careful to avoid the tender area over his wing joints. He places a gentle kiss over her heart.

He takes the bottom of her shirt and tugs at it impatiently. Her cheeks turn pink, but she untangles herself from him and sits up. She takes a deep breath and pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it aside.

She looks impossibly sexy, almost naked and on her knees next to him. It crosses his mind that he doesn't deserve this. But he's no stranger to the seven deadly sins, and greed is one of his favorites.

He's completely hard for her now. He grabs her by the waist, pulling her flush against his body to show her. She gasps. She wraps one arm around his torso, placing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He inhales sharply when her hand snakes down to touch his cock over his pants. Hesitant but determined, she grasps and strokes him over the cloth while he tips his head back in pleasure, giving her lips more access to his throat.

His hands slide down. His thumbs brush against the bones at her hips and then slip into the elastic of her shorts.

He looks to her in silent question. She nods. He pushes her onto her back on the bed, hooks his fingers over her shorts and underwear, and drags them down her legs.

And now she's naked, and it's glorious. He's sitting between her parted legs, hands on her knees, and he just can't stop looking at her. He wants to drink in every little detail with his eyes to remember it forever, and then learn it all over again with his hands.

"You're staring," she whispers. A beat of silence passes and a crease forms between her eyebrows.

He tries to speak but the words are stuck in his throat.

You're perfect.

You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I want to worship you.

He finally manages to come out with something.

"I was just checking. You know, for the witches' mark?"

Christ, I'm a moron. But he can't help crack a smile at the look on her face.

She hits his head with a pillow.

"I hate you," she said, punching his chest, but he can hear the laughter in her voice.

"I think I can change your mind," he says, pushing back her hand, which was coming around for another indignant swing.

His free hand goes down to the junction between her legs and finds her clit. He strokes it with his thumb lightly.

Her eyes widen immediately and her pupils dilate even more. Her fist in his hand shifts so their fingers intertwine.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" he asked huskily. He keeps his thumb on her clit and trails a finger down her slit. She's already so wet and swollen for him.

"Y-yes." Her breath catches as he pushes a single finger into her, slow and careful. Her free hand grabs his arm and squeezes. Her eyes flutter as he gently slides his finger in and out of her warmth. "But I...ah...I never…"

"Never what? Came?"

She nods and moans as he presses on, slipping a second finger into her. Her hips jerk, rising slightly to meet his hand while she pants beneath him. He's moving faster now, a bit rougher and bit deeper as the intensity of her moans increase. He keeps his eyes locked on her, watching as she is slowly unraveled underneath his fingertips. Her back arches when he curls his fingers slightly inside her and he swears he felt his cock twitch at the sight.

Her fingernails bite into his arm and her head tips back, eyes closing.

"Yes," she whispers. She's close, he knows she is. "Yes, yes, yes…Raffe…"

His name comes out in a blissful sigh from her lips as her orgasm gently unfurls. It's not earth-shattering, but he watches, breath bated, as pleasure overtakes her slowly and dreamily.

Her eyes open and she gives him a soft, satisfied smile. She reaches for his arms and tugs him down for a kiss. He tries to be gentle, but it quickly becomes hungry and desperate and deep. He's never wanted anything so badly, never so completely craved it, that it drained every other thought out of his mind except the sound of Penryn sighing his name as she came undone.

His cock is throbbing against her soft thigh. He pulls back and leans his forehead against hers.

"Penryn."

She cups his cheek and pulls him back so she can look into his eyes.

"You're not allowed to regret this," she said. Her voice wavered slightly, but her eyes were fierce. "If we do this, it can't be because you got carried away. You can't...I don't want you to regret this. Me."

Her voice cracked with that last word.

"Never." He says it as if it were an oath.

She nods. He climbs off the bed and takes off the rest of his clothes. He returns to her in bed, guides himself to her entrance. His fingers dig into the flesh of her hips as he pushes into her. She clasps his shoulders and breathes slowly and deeply as he makes slow, careful progress. It feels like an eternity passes, caught between the sheer bliss of finally being inside her and the fear of hurting her, before he's finally completely joined with her.

He pressed his lips to her temple.

"Am I hurting you?" he murmured.

"No." She takes a deep breath. "Maybe. A little bit. Just...weird."

He tenses, about to pull out right then. Her little hand goes to his back, rubbing soothing circles.

"It's ok. I'm ok." She tips her head up and kisses him. "You can go on."

He hesitates, and then begins to move, keeping his thrusts slow and shallow.

He bit back a groan. Even as careful and restrained he was trying to be, it still felt so good. Holy hell, it felt amazing.

Penryn watches him with hooded eyes. The intimacy of her gaze left him feeling raw and exposed, but the fascinated desire in her eyes caused the pit of his belly to coil with pleasure.

She begins to move with him and meet his motions. Feeling brave, he braces one hand against the bed and deepens his thrusts gradually. He waits for her to catch up, in the way that she moves and breathes, before pressing forward. It's almost maddeningly slow, this dance between them, but the building heat feels so good.

She's soon moaning and panting beneath him. Her legs come around his waist. Her hips buck against his, threatening to break his rhythm, but he only relishes the challenge, if only to appreciate how engulfed she is in the pleasure he's giving her.

He shifts, leaning back enough so he can brace one hand against the wall over her and fondle her breasts with the other. They both groan at the new angle.

"Right there, right there, please please please Raffe, right there." She's begging, once again coming near the edge. He picks up his pace, faster and deeper and just little rough and fuck if he isn't going to come before her because this is too much, it feels too good…

"Ra-Ra-" she tries to call out his name, but it becomes too much for her. Her nails dig into his shoulders and her back arches as her orgasm hits. The way she fell apart underneath him, with her lips swollen red and eyes glazed and body writhing, while her pussy clenched desperately around his cock-it pushed him over as well. With a sudden, miraculous burst of clarity, he managed to remember to pull out, spilling over stomach and thighs instead of inside her.

Raffe managed to collapse to her side rather than on top of her. For a while, they laid there in silence while Penryn caught her breath and he tried to restart his heart.

"Fuck."

He turns to her and raises his eyebrow. She's staring at the ceiling. It's the first he's heard her curse.

"I've corrupted you."

She lets out a puff of air that might be a laugh.

"That's on the list of things you're not supposed to say after sex, Raffe."

"This coming from the person in the bed who has not been having sex for eons?"

She tries to hit his shoulder but he only laughs and catches her hand to tug her close.

"I'm a mess right now," she warned as he drew an arm around her. She rested her cheek on his chest.

"It's mostly my mess. We'll take a shower." He played idly with her hair. "Once my legs start working again."

"That'll probably be next year for me," she said. She peered up at him. "Is...are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" He felt her hand turn into a fist against his torso. "Didn't this break the angelic rules? Like all of them?"

"Maybe. I don't care."

"You don't care right now, but what about in an hour? In a day?"

"No, because in an hour, I'll be in the shower with my head between your legs." Interesting. He had never seen her turn that red that quickly. "And in a day, you'll still be with me. So, no, it won't matter then or the day after that."

She furrowed her brow. "What changed?"

He shrugged. "Everything change a long time ago. It just took me until now to catch up."

"That's not really an answer."

"Bottom line: do you trust me?"

"Yes." Her answer was so quick he almost smiled.

"Then keep trusting me." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Alright?"

She stared into his eyes, as if searching for something. Whatever she found seemed to placate her. She leaned up and kissed him.

"Okay."

Sorry, I've been on hiatus for a while. School and life in general have been kicking my ass. I'm working on the next chapter for Bonds in Blood now. Iseebutterfly, it isn't perfect, but I hope you like it.