Her hair was styled in a sleek bob around her piquant face, and her trim, curvy body was stunningly framed by those awesome wings. They were massive and certainly heavy, but she moved them with ease. They weren’t white like the pictures and drawings of angels he’d seen all his life.

They were multihued and reminded him of the dawn—pale pink feathers darkening to blues and purples with a touch of gold filaments. They were such feminine wings, both playful and seductive.

With a sigh, Trevor settled deeper into the miasma he floated in, feeling warm and at peace. He’d gone from hel to heaven . . . because of her.

She’d saved him. She’d kil ed the things that had tortured him for so long, taking their repulsive lives with gruesome deaths. He’d listened to their screams with a near maniacal joy, and when he had seen the copious amounts of blood splattered on his guardian angel’s clothes and her beautiful face, he’d loved her all the more.

Then she’d ordered that hel hole burned to the ground. She had stood there with him and watched it go up in flames, making certain he knew that his ordeal was well and truly over. He’d been avenged.

His gratitude and adoration for her was so intense it swamped him. It crashed over him like the gentle waves he laid upon, overflowing his eyes with tears.

“Trevor. ”

He sighed at the sound of his name spoken in her melodious voice. There was a rhythm to her words that moved him, lured him. He thought he might fol ow that voice anywhere. Even out of blessed, comfortable unconsciousness.

“Trevor, wake up now.”

Opening his eyes, he looked up to find his angel leaning over him, and his breath caught at her incandescent beauty. She had such pale, creamy skin and it was beautiful y framed by her inky hair. Her lips were plush and berry ripe, so soft-looking he wished he could touch them with his fingertips. She was the first and only thing he’d yet seen after endless days in pitch dark. If she was also the last thing he saw, he’d die a happy man.

“Thank you.” He was startled by the strength and ful ness of his voice. She seemed startled by it, too, blinking a moment before the faintest hint of a frown marred the space between her brows.

Swal owing, he realized his throat was no longer parched and aching. And then he understood. She hadn’t saved his life; she’d come to col ect him after his death.

“Damn it,” he growled. “I died in that hel pit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m dead, right?” He looked around, finding heaven to be . . . not what he’d expected. They were in a smal , windowless room. He lay on a couch. There was a coffee table and an entertainment center with the standard equipment. A door set off to the side appeared to lead into a bathroom, while another led . . . somewhere else.

“No, you’re not.” Her mouth curved into something like a smile, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “How are you feeling?”

Trevor did a quick mental inventory, amazed to find that he felt pretty good. Awesome, actual y. “I feel great.”

“I did a hack job on your hair,” she said with a regretful wince. “Sorry about that, but it was in bad shape.”

He sat up, all owing the blankets tucked around his shoulders to fal into his lap. He shoved his hands through his hair, assessing its length. Lowering his arms, he looked for evidence of the bites he’d endured and found none. Then he stared at her, wondering if he’d final y gone insane and this encounter was merely a figment of his warped imagination.

“Where are your wings?”

“Tucked away.”

“I can’t see them.” Shit. What did it mean that he couldn’t see them?

“Would you like to?”

“Yes. Yes, I would. Please.”

She stood and backed up to an open space.

He watched, riveted, as sinuous tendrils of smoke appeared above her shoulders and gradual y took on the shape and substance of wings.

The same gorgeous-as-the-dawn wings he remembered. Unable to help himself, he pushed off the blankets and stood. He moved toward her with his hand outstretched, wanting to touch.

“Trevor.”

God, he loved her voice. Even now, when it sounded choked. “Yeah?”

Her wings disappeared an instant before he touched them. “You’re naked.”

“I am, yes.” He glanced down the length of his body and cringed inwardly. He was way, way too thin. And pale as a ghost.

“I brought you some clothes.” She gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes on the coffee table. “They’re probably going to be a little big, but you’l grow into them. You should put them on.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is nudity a bad thing around here?”

Her lips twitched; then an actual smile broke free, dazzling him. “You’re really, truly not dead. We’re presently in Ontario, California. And, yes, in Southern California nudity can still get you arrested.”

“I’m alive.” He tried to let that information sink in, but it continued to hover in the realm of implausibility.

“You are. You should sit down. You’ve suddenly grown very pale.”

Taking her advice, he sat. “I’m still alive, and you’re an angel.”

“That’s right.” She resumed her seat by the couch, looking like a wicked pixie with her diminutive size, black T-shirt and boots, and urban camouflage pants. “Two nights ago, my crew and I raided a vampire nest just outside of Seattle. We found you there, in the basement. You were kept captive for almost a year.”

“Vampire nest.” Hunched over, he gripped his head. “This has to be some sort of madness-induced hal ucination.”

“You can go with that if you like. Whatever makes it easier for you to process.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Are you hungry?”

His stomach was gnawing with the need for food, but he said, “I don’t know that I can keep solid food down. I’ve only been fed intravenously since I was taken.”

By vampires. Taken by vampires. A harsh bark of laughter burst from his throat.

She studied him with a contemplative tilt of her head, as if she was trying to gauge whether he’d gone off the deep end or not. “Physically, you’re completely fit. You’ve lost muscle tone, of course, but you’l build that back quickly. What would you like? A Big Mac? A steak? Seafood?”

The whole conversation was too surreal. “Do you have a name?”

“Siobhán.”

“Shiv-awn,” he murmured, absorbing the sound of it. “That’s beautiful. It suits you.”

“Oh, well . . . thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, feeling very awkward and out of his depth, an extremely unusual state for him when talking with a stunningly gorgeous woman. “I’m not thinking well on my feet. My brain seems to have atrophied along with my muscles.”

“You’re doing very well , Trevor,” she praised. “I’m amazed at you. There are very few mortals strong enough to come out of such an ordeal with their mind intact.”

“It doesn’t feel intact,” he muttered. “It feels scattered to hel and back.”

“Time Will make it better, I promise.” She stood and set her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I’l just step into the hal way while you change. Come out when you’re ready, and We’ll talk more about what you want to eat and I can answer any questions you might have. I’m sure you have a lot of them.”