"Twice in one day?"

 "It happens."

 "Where now?"

 "Lynn wood."

 "This guy gets around."

 But I was speaking to empty air; Carter had disappeared. Sighing, I turned back to the movie, feeling a little more at ease after the angel's last explanation. The nephilim was in Lynnwood, trying to be a nuisance to Jerome and Carter. Commuting time was rapidly approaching, and Lynnwood was no small jump away. No nephilim would beat the angel back. As Carter had pointed out, I was safe for the time being. I had no need to panic.

 Yet, I nearly jumped out of my skin anyway when I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Nervously, I picked up the receiver, imagining a nephilim blasting out of it.

 "Hello?"

 "Hey. It's me again."

 "Seth. Hi."

 "Hope I'm not bothering you. I just wanted to see how you are..."

 "Better," I told him sincerely. "I liked your e-mail."

 "Did you? Cool."

 Our normal silence fell. "So... did you get a lot of writing done today?"

 "I did actually. About ten pages. That never sounds like a lot, but—"

 A knock sounded at the door, and a chill ran down my spine. "Can-can you hang on?"

 "Sure."

 Hesitantly, I prowled toward the door like a cat burglar, as though slow and drawn-out movements would actually do something against an insanely powerful supernatural being. Reaching the door, I carefully peered out the peephole.

 Roman.

 Exhaling with relief, I opened the door, resisting the urge to throw my arms around him. "Hi."

 "Are you talking to me?" asked Seth through the phone.

 "Hi," Roman told me, looking just as uncertain as I felt. "Can... I come in?"

 " Er, no I'm not, I mean, yes you can, and yes I am talking to you now." I stepped aside so Roman could enter. "Look Seth, can I, um, call you back? Or maybe... I'll just see you tomorrow, okay?"

 "Uh, yeah. I guess. Everything okay?"

 "It's fine. Thanks for calling."

 We hung up, and I gave Roman my full attention.

 "Seth Mortensen, famous author?"

 "I've been sick today," I explained, using the same excuse I'd given Seth. "He just wanted to check on me."

 "Terribly considerate of him." Roman put his hands in his pockets and paced.

 "We're just friends."

 "Of course you are. Because you don't date, right?"

 "Roman—" I cut off the onslaught that wanted to rush out, switching to safer territory. "Can I get you anything? Soda? Coffee?"

 "I can't stay. I was passing through and got your message. I just thought I'd... I don't know what I was thinking. It was stupid."

 He turned as if to leave, and I frantically reached out, grabbing his arm. "Wait. Don't. Please."

 He turned to face me, looking down from his lofty height, the normally good-humored face grave today. Fighting my natural reaction at such proximity, I felt surprised when his expression softened, and he noted, mildly astonished, "You really aren't feeling well."

 "W-what makes you say that?" I had shape-shifted my bruises away as Jerome had suggested and whatever smarting pain I felt was no longer visible.

 Gingerly, he reached out and stroked my cheek, fingers becoming bolder. "I don't know... you're just... kind of pale, I guess."

 I started to point out I wasn't wearing makeup and then realized I wanted to appear sick. "Probably a cold."

 He let his hand drop. "Is there anything I can do for you? I don't like... seeing you like this..."

 Lord, how bad did I look? "I'm fine. I just need rest. Look, about the other night—"

 "I'm sorry," he interrupted. "I shouldn't have pushed you—"

 I stared, amazed. "You didn't do anything. It was me. I was the nutjob. I'm the one who couldn't handle things."

 "No, it was my fault. I knew how you felt about getting serious, and I still kissed you."

 "I did as much kissing as you. That wasn't the problem. Me freaking out was the problem. I was drunk and stupid. I shouldn't have done that to you."

 "It's no problem. Really. I'm just glad you're okay." A faint smile glimmered on his handsome features, and I remembered Seth saying I was easy to forgive. "Look, since we both feel we're at fault, maybe we can make it up to each other. Go out sometime this week and—"

 "No." The calm certainty in my voice startled both of us.

 "Georgina—"

 "No. Roman, we aren't going out anymore... and I don't think we can really pull off friends either." I swallowed. "It'd be better if we just make a clean break—"

 "Georgina," he exclaimed, eyes widening. "You can't be serious. You and I—"

 "I know. I know. But I can't do this. Not now."

 "You're breaking up with me."

 "Well, we weren't ever really going out..."

 "What happened to you?" he demanded. "What happened to you at some point in your life that made you so terrified of getting close to another person? What makes you run like this? Who hurt you?"

 "Look, it's complicated. And it doesn't matter. That past is gone, remember? I just can't do this with you now, okay?"

 "Is there someone else? Doug? Or Seth?"

 "No! There's no one. I just can't be with you."

 We went around and around, rephrasing the same points in different ways, our emotions growing and growing. It felt like forever, but really only a few minutes passed as he pressed and I refused. He never turned angry or pushy, but his dismay was clearly apparent, and I felt certain I'd cry as soon as he left.

 Finally, glancing at the time, he ran a hand ruefully through his dark hair, turquoise eyes luminous with regret. "I have to go. I want to talk to you more—"

 "No. I don't think we should. It's better. I've really liked being with you..."

 He laughed harshly, walking toward the door. "Don't say that. Don't sugar coat things."

 "Roman..." I felt horrible. Anger and grief were written all over his face. "Please understand—"

 "See you around, Georgina. Or maybe not."

 He had barely slammed the door when tears spilled down my cheeks. Going to my bedroom, I lay down on my bed, ready for a good cry that never came. No more tears issued forth, in spite of my mixed feelings of despair and relief. Part of me wanted to call Roman back right now, make him return to me; the other part coolly warned I now had clear reason to cut Seth off as soon as possible before things escalated.

 Good Lord, why did it seem I was always hurting people I cared about? What was it about me that made me repeat this cycle over and over? Roman's devastated face still hovered in my mind, but I took comfort in the fact that he hadn't been traumatized as much as Kyriakos. Not nearly as much.

 The discovery of my affair with Ariston had led to condemnation from both our families and an impending divorce coupled with the loss of my dowry. I think I might have been able to handle that scorn, even the hateful looks. What I could not handle was the way Kyriakos had been stripped of all life and caring. I almost wished he would turn angry and lash out at me, but there was nothing like that within him. Nothing at all. I had destroyed him.

 After several days of separation, I found him sitting on one of the rocky outcroppings overlooking the water. I tried to engage him in conversation a number of times, but he wasn't responding to any of it. He would only stare out at that expanse of blue, face dead and expressionless.

 I stood by him, my own emotions writhing inside me. I had reveled in being a forbidden object of desire with Ariston, but I also wanted to be one of love with Kyriakos. I couldn't have it both ways apparently.

 I reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks, and he slapped my hand away. It was the closest he had ever come to hitting me.

 "Don't," he warned, leaping up. "Don't ever touch me again. You sicken me."

 I felt my own tears now, even if his anger meant he was still alive. "Please... it was a mistake. I don't know what happened."