of creation.
The source of all existence.
In humanity, it was the most fabulous and wonderful of creations. A very piece of the Lord God Himself imbued in each and every one of these special life-forms.
The soul was always a source of amazement for him, but until this moment, he had been certain that only on members of the human race had this amazing gift been bestowed.
Until this moment.
The healer had never seen anything quite like this.
An angel’s life essence was like a ball of fire, consistently feeding upon and being fed by the life energies of the universe, whereas the soul was a thing of absolute beauty, an intricate mechanism of branches and roots connected not only to the source of all life, but to the Almighty Himself.
What Assiel saw before him now was a thing of awesomeness. It was all that made Remy angel, blended with what looked to be the beginnings of a human soul.
It was something vibrant and alive. It was what all angels had craved since the creation of humanity.
Only the Lord God could have created such a thing as this.
But as Assiel drew closer to the pulsing energy that was shaped like a mighty tree, he found something that tweaked his curiosity. Rootlike tendrils extended from the base of the tree, flowing down into the earthen substance of Remiel’s psychic landscape. The tendrils seemed to be discolored, growing darker as they entered the earth.
Assiel knelt down and began to dig at the dirtlike substance. The blackening roots seemed to merge together, becoming entangled as they continued downward. Sensing that something wasn’t right, the healer dug deeper into the gritty matter as he followed the braided root.
The ground beneath his knees suddenly gave way, exposing a swirling void of indescribable origin. Assiel managed to grab hold of the root at its thickest point and haul himself back up to firmer ground, even as he felt the maelstrom of nothingness beneath him attempting to pull him down.
But now he knew what was happening to Remy.
The angel’s special life energies were being drained, drawn through the darkened root, down into the swirling abyss, to . . .
“Can you hear me?”
• • •
The dark-skinned man sitting beside Remy gasped and spun around to face Ashley.
“I’m sorry,” Ashley said, quickly stepping back, nearly tripping over Marlowe.
The man’s eyes were wide and dark, and he seemed confused, as if awakened from a very real dream.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Ashley.”
“Another of the Seraphim’s lovers?”
“Lovers?” Ashley repeated, horrified at the thought. “No way, I’m his friend.”
The man made a face that could only have meant whatever and turned his attentions back to Remy.
“How is he doing? Is he going to be all right?” Ashley asked as she crept closer to the bed.
The man was examining her friend, and for the first time she noticed that Remy was completely naked, but she didn’t care; there wasn’t room for modesty or embarrassment now.
“I had just managed to infiltrate your lover’s psyche—”
“He’s not my lover,” Ashley interrupted.
“And had discovered the source of his unconsciousness,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “but your touch drew me back.” The man focused his cold, dark eyes directly on Ashley.
“I’m sorry, I . . . ,” Ashley stammered, suddenly terrified that she could have somehow made Remy worse.
“I had no choice,” the man said, again ignoring her words. “I couldn’t fight the pull of your want.”
“My want? I don’t understand. . . .”
“The concern for your lover,” the man explained. “You wanted—needed—to know if he would be all right, and I was the source of that information.”
“I guess,” Ashley said slowly, not even bothering to correct the man this time. “So, will he be all right?”
The man returned his intense gaze to Remy. “If things continue as they are, he will leave us.”
Ashley felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Is everything okay, Ash?”
Ashley turned to see Linda and Steven Mulvehill in the doorway to Remy’s room. “Yeah,” she answered on reflex, but then changed her mind. “No, nothing’s okay,” she said, fighting back her emotions.
“Unless . . . ,” the dark-skinned man suddenly said.
“Excuse me?” Mulvehill asked.
“If things are allowed to continue as is, Remiel will leave us—unless . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Unless what, Assiel?” Linda asked.
Assiel turned from the bed and approached them. “The strength of your affections for him,” he said, reaching out to lay his hand atop Ashley’s head, then Linda’s.
Mulvehill tried to move away as Assiel reached for him, but the angel