Only . . . Sam looked like he hadn’t heard a thing. The guy was just staring at him. Pity was in his eyes again.
Tanner shoved the Fallen out of his way and pushed through that broken window. “She’s calling me!” Maybe no one else had heard it, but they didn’t have the ears of a shifter. He knew that she was out there. Not in heaven. Not watching over him, but out there, on earth, needing him.
He’d find her.
Hope began to fill that hole in his chest.
“I’m guessing you just heard her scream. Huh, that happened fast,” Sam muttered. “When we fall, the fire always makes us scream. A thousand times hotter than anything here on earth, no angel can stand that pain.” Sam’s words iced his blood.
A shard of glass cut into Tanner’s arm as he looked over at the Fallen.
Sam shrugged. “I guess she does love you that much.”
She was in pain because she was burning for him?
Sam’s hand closed over his arm. “You should know . . . after the fall, things will be different.”
He didn’t care about different. Marna was falling. Her scream echoed in his ears, and he needed to find her.
“Most angels don’t remember who they are right after they fall.” Sam’s voice was bleak.
“I didn’t remember for months,” Seline said as she came to the bottom of the stairs.
Sam stared straight at him. He was getting damn tired of the pity in the guy’s eyes. “When you find her, you’ll be a stranger to her. That’s just the way the fall works.”
Stranger or not, that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to her. Making sure that she was safe. That she wasn’t alone.
He didn’t want her to open her eyes and have no memory of her life—of him—and to be afraid.
Tanner shook off Sam’s hold and rushed back into the night.
He would find her.
“Follow the scent of ash,” Sam yelled after him. “You’re already a lucky bastard, you heard her scream! You know she’s close.”
Tanner kept running.
“I didn’t know.” Sam’s voice was lower now, fading in the distance. “I had to hunt for my angel.”
And Tanner would hunt for his. Hunt until he found her and had her back in his arms.
Then he’d never let her go again.
He found her at dawn, just as the darkness was fading away. She was walking along a dirt road, near the edge of a swamp. She was naked, and long, angry burn marks crossed her back. Marna moved slowly, her head down, one foot in front of the other.
“Marna!” He yelled her name and rushed toward her. Most of his hunting had been done in panther form, but when he’d finally caught her scent—ash and innocence—he’d shifted back to the body of a man. He’d stolen some clothes, and raced after her.
He hadn’t wanted her to see him as a beast. Not this first time. She’d be scared enough as it was.
Marna turned toward him. And just stared blankly. Not with fear or love. With no recognition.
Then she turned away and kept walking.
No. No. Tanner ran after her, grabbed her in his arms, and held her tight. “You aren’t alone.” She’d never be alone again.
Marna began to struggle in his arms. He held her tighter, being careful not to touch the wounds on her back. “It’s me.”
She kicked against him. Clawed with her small nails.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She broke his heart.
“I can fix this,” he promised her. She had to be hurting. Those wounds on her back . . . he’d heal them. Heal her.
Heal her.
That was it. Sam had said that the angels needed time to heal after their fall. He could heal Marna right now. She wouldn’t need any time. He could take away all of her pain.
He would take it away.
His fingers hovered over her wounds. The power began to bleed through his skin and pulse through his body. He pushed that power at her, and Marna stopped struggling.
She gasped and her eyes—so blue—widened.
“My name’s Tanner Chance.” His voice was ragged as the healing energy drained from him and slid into her body. “And I’d die for you.”
Her eyes held his.
“I love you,” he told her as he gave her all the power he had, “and by some freaking miracle, you love me, too.” Enough to fall.
Her breathing had steadied. The paleness in her cheeks wasn’t so stark. He kept pushing his magic and energy into her. “Remember me.”
She shook her head.
“Remember.” And he pressed his lips against hers. His hands were on her back now, hovering over the slashes there. Carefully, he put his fingertips on her. As he touched her, the skin scarred over, the blisters and burns fading, as her flesh healed—as much as it could, anyway.