"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," Tom replied, bouncing on his toes like a young boy with a big secret-or a small bladder.

"Care to be a bit more specific?"

"We were busy getting rid of the evidence," John replied, elbowing his brother in the belly.

Evidence. My mind replayed the scene of my dream; the crumpled car, the savaged bodies, the guns . . . .

"The gun! It's got Ice's fingerprints all over it!"

"Not to worry, Tyler," Tom replied. "We took care of that too."

"How?"

The two men looked at one another.

"Just tell me, guys. Please?"

"Tell her."

Three sets of eyes widened and I turned to see my lover, very much awake and looking back at me.

"Ice?"

She smiled slightly, though her lips were dry and cracked and I could tell the effort pained her. "Hey." She reached up with her free arm and gently brushed the bangs from my head. "You don't look so good," she observed, her voice hoarse from disuse and the most beautiful sound that I believe I've ever heard, bar none.

Taking her hand gently, I kissed her knuckles, then cupped it against my cheek. "Maybe not, but I feel wonderful. Now. How about you, sweetheart?"

Her eyes closed for a moment as she appeared to take inventory. Then they reopened, warming me with the love in her gaze. "Not bad."

"Said the road pizza to the eighteen-wheeler," Bull joked, glass of water in hand.

No one in the room was more surprised than I when Ice allowed me to help her up to a half seated position against some pillows Tom shoved against the backboard. Of course, helping her to drink was out of the question. Accepting the water, she gingerly sipped through bruised and swollen lips until the glass was empty. "Thanks."

Handing back the glass, she then reclaimed my hand and urged me to sit beside her, resting up against the headboard. I complied with alacrity, grinning so broadly I was sure my face would fracture.

After I was settled comfortably, she turned her stare back to Tom and John, one eyebrow raised.

Both looked decidedly uncomfortable, but finally Tom stepped figuratively forward. "We . . .um . . .were wondering how to go about getting rid of the evidence. At first we figured we'd just stuff the bodies back in the car and set fire to the whole thing, but Pop said that we might just wind up setting the whole damn forest on fire and drawing more attention than we wanted to the whole thing."

Beside me, I could feel Ice nod her approval.

"So," John picked up the tale, "we just went with what we had and decided to make it look like a car accident/murder/suicide."

Ice snorted.

"Wanna explain that one?" I asked, perplexed.

"Well, all the pieces were there. The car accident was obvious. As was the scene of the fight. So, all we had to do is take the gun Ice had, wipe her fingerprints, put it in the guy's hand who had that shot to the temple and presto! Car slams into a tree, guy gets out of the car, beats the crap outta the other guys, shoots em in the head, then ends his own life with a bullet to the temple."

"We even wiped Morgan's trail away," Tom added, grinning proudly. I swore to myself that if the man had been born with a tail, it would have been briskly wagging. "Even Pop was impressed, and you know how hard that is to do."

"That makes two of us," Ice said, her voice warm, though still a bit hoarse. "Good job. Thank you both very much," she added.

Twin blushes brightened the faces of our friends as both shuffled their feet on the hardwood flooring, neither apparently sure of what to say to such a compliment.

Fortunately for them, they didn't need to come up with a response, because Ice fell back to sleep, slumping against me as she did so. I had a brief moment of panic, but the calmness in Bull's eyes relaxed me and together, we helped get her back into a more comfortable position on the bed.

That task completed, I looked back at Tom and John. "Is there something else?"

"Um, yeah," Tom said finally. "Rumor has it that those guys were in town for a couple days before they came calling. Seems that our good friend Millicent put em up for the weekend. Pop thinks that she even gave 'em directions to the cabin."

I vaulted off the bed so fast, my head spun from the abrupt change in position. "What did you say?" I demanded, grabbing Tom's huge arm. "You mean that bitch is behind this whole thing? Is that what you're telling me??"

"Calm down, Angel," Tom said, gently prying my fingers off his arm. "Right now it's nothing more than a rumor. No one knows for sure yet one way or the other."

"And how did this 'rumor' start?" I asked, fists clenched.

"Mary was fixing something over at the Silver Pine and she heard Millicent talking to some on the phone about the six charming men she put up for the weekend."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Angel . . . ."

"What!?" I demanded, whirling around before I realized just who I was yelling at. "Ice? Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"s alright," she said softly. "C'mere."

"But . . . ."

"C'mon," she beckoned, holding her arm out.

Unable to resist, I went to her, climbing back onto the bed and sliding into her tender embrace, taking care not to jostle her healing wounds. Giving me a little smile, she kissed my cheek, then settled me close before turning her head to look at Tom. "What does Pop say about all this?"

"He thinks she did it, but he doesn't think she knew exactly what she was doing. Or who the men were."

"That's no excuse!" I said. "She had no right to give complete strangers directions to our home! None at all!"

"It was stupid, I'll agree," Tom replied. "But being stupid isn't the same thing as deliberately setting someone up to be kidnapped and murdered, Tyler."

"This is Millicent we're talking about!" I countered. "The one who got someone to beat the crap out of Pop? The one who paid someone to firebomb his station? Am I the only one who sees this woman for who she really is?"

"Alright, Angel, that's enough," Ice said softly from beside me.

"Ice, it's not . . . ."

"Enough, Angel. This isn't getting us anywhere."

I sighed, not willing to give up the fight, but realizing that there really wasn't any point in continuing. "When will somebody finally stand up to her?" I asked after a long moment. "Every time she's done something wrong, we've just turned the other cheek. And every time, she's just gone ahead and done something worse. What about next time, Ice? What if next time, it's . . . ."

I stopped there, but I knew she could read my thoughts on the matter. My biggest fear was that one night, our sleep would be shattered by the arrival of the police. That scenario was never far from my thoughts, and continued to haunt my dreams.

As if sensing our conversation's deeper meanings, Tom cleared his throat, nudged his brother and together they grabbed an oblivious Bull and left the room. "We'll...um...be outside for awhile," Tom said as they descended the stairs and moved quickly away.

When we were alone, I turned back to Ice and laid a hand on her bruised cheek. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I hate feeling helpless."

The soft skin of her face crinkled beneath my palm as one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. "s alright. I know this has been hard on you."

I gazed back at her, my expression serious. "Not on me, Ice. On us. You and me." Pulling away slightly, I surveyed her from head to toe, tears filling my eyes. "Look at you, love. You've been beaten up, shot, almost sliced apart. You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't, Angel," she said simply. "I'm here and I'm alive."

"But for how long?"

A sob caught in my throat and I felt myself crumpling. Strong arms enfolded me, holding me close as a soft voice and tender hands soothed me. "Shhh. Don't cry, Angel. Please don't cry. Everything's gonna be alright. I promise. Everything's gonna be alright. Shhh."

I accepted her comfort, her love, for a long, much needed moment before attempting to pull away. When she wouldn't let me, I lifted my head. "I'm supposed to be comforting you. You're the one who went through hell and back. Not me."

She laughed softly. "Something tells me you went through a little bit of hell yourself, Angel." Reaching up, she tenderly cupped my chin, running her thumb over my lips. Though she was looking right at me, her eyes appeared far away. After several moments, she spoke. "After it was over, after I'd killed Carmine and his friends, the only thing that kept me from collapsing in that field was you, my Angel. Your smile. Your laugh. The sound of your voice when we make love. I needed to get back to you, needed to get back to the one good thing in this world that I know. Your light. Your warmth. Your love." Her hand trailed down over my face and neck to nestle against my breast, beneath which my heart beat strongly. "You."

Her eyes regained their focus and drilled into mine. "You say you're supposed to be comforting me. Don't you know you do that every day?"

I looked at her blankly for a moment, unable to fully process her words and their meaning.

Her face softened into a smile. "You do, Angel. Every day, without even thinking about it, just by being the person you are." Her voice became husky. "The woman I love."

Slipping her hand around the curve of the base of my skull, she used her implacable strength to easily draw us together, claiming my lips in a kiss filled with fire and passion and promise. I responded instantly, urgently, needing desperately to show her what she meant to me, this woman of fire and fury and boundless love.

Lost in the sensations of dizzying passion, my hands moved of their own accord, not even feeling the bandages which covered her many wounds. A soft grunt brought me back to reality quickly and I jerked my hand away from her belly as if scalded. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't . . . ."

"Shhh," she replied, pulling me close once again. "It's alright. I'm alright."

"You're hurt."

She captured me effortlessly in the power of her burning gaze. "I need you."

For those words, I would willingly sell my soul and damn the devil himself.

Grasping my hand, she brought it to her breast, laying it over her warm, firm flesh. "Touch me," she whispered.

I could hear myself moan as I closed my eyes against the exquisite sweetness of the feel of her beneath my trembling palm. When her body responded unmistakably to my hesitant touch, surging against my hand, I felt drawn up in a tide of overwhelming emotion that I was hard-pressed to contain.

"Let it go, sweet Angel," she whispered, using her free hand to draw our lips together again, tangling her long fingers in the short locks of my hair. "Just let it go."

Like a siren's sweet song, I allowed the sound of her voice, the movement of her body, to wash away the shame and the grief, the anger and the fear. Our lips met again, incendiary almost, and I just . . .let go.

I ran my fingers over her breasts, lightly at first, then with more urgency as the passion and the need for her flamed within me; a furnace with love and desire as its all-consuming, never-ending fuel.

I could feel her breathing deepen as I tasted her moan on my tongue. My hands moved with more surety, imprinting the silken feel of her flesh in my whirling mind with indelible imagery. Even the bandages which swaddled her ceased to be an impediment. Rather than hiding her wounds from sight, they became instead badges of her immense courage, her unbreakable will, each fiercely guarding the reminders of a battle hard fought and a war well won.

I laid gentle kisses to them all, imbuing myself with the strength of this wonderful, wondrous woman beneath me. The scent of her filled my senses; her taste, my sacramental wine. The sound of her voice more beautiful to me than the music of a thousand choirs on a thousand worlds.

When I lifted my head from my benediction and my eyes were seared by passion-dark indigo, I felt the immovable, unbreakable strength of our elemental bond, its roots sinking ever deeper into my very soul.

And when my hand slipped down between legs which opened to me and beckoned me to come nearer, to come inside, tears of joy ran anew down my cheeks as my fingers were welcomed sweetly home by the silken wet heat of her body.

"I love you, Morgan," I whispered, thrusting my fingers to match the tempo her own body had set. A curious combination of pain and ecstasy displayed itself on her beautiful features, but her eyes . . . .

If love is a tangible thing, capable of being seen as well as felt, it is the look in her eyes when we make love A look that says that I am the most precious and beloved thing the universe has ever created. That says that I am more wanted and more loved than I ever have even the hope of comprehending. That says that within me, the dream of the woman I love with all my heart, mind, body and soul, resides.

My fear tried to come back then; tried to remind me that I was far from being worthy of the gift she was giving me.

She saw it though, as she always did, with senses too foreign for me to comprehend. Surging upward even against the agony of her wounds, she pulled me to her, devouring my lips with her own, once again conquering my shame with the power of her love.

As my fingers continued to dance within her, hers trailed fire down my body and slipped past the insignificant barrier of my clothing, bathing themselves in essence newly sprung, painting me and arousing me with the evidence of my own desire before sliding deep within and filling me full.

Bodies merged by mouths and hands, we gave and took, advanced and retreated, gathering energy between us only to return it doubled and redoubled, our hearts beating loud, our breathing labored. Our souls twinned and separated, only to come together once again with the sounds of panting grunts and primal moans as each touch, each stroke, drove us higher and higher until, at last, the abyss was reached and we stepped off the peak as we'd climbed it.

Together.

And then we slumped together, bodies sliding against passion's sweat, riding out the last currents of incalculable bliss, shuddering with each small movement, until, at last, we became earthbound once more.

When enough strength returned for me to lift my head, I saw a single tear trail a path down her cheek. Her blinding smile told me all I needed to know, and, kissing the tear away, I laid her tenderly back down upon the bed we shared, returning the smile as I felt her face flushed and hot against the flesh of my neck, knowing the very second she slipped into the healing calm of sleep, her lips a gentle brand on my skin.

And, wrapped securely in a blanket of love and trust so strong and deep, I followed her into the shadows where nightmares didn't dare follow.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I tried to focus on the face hanging over me. "Corinne?"

"I'm trying for 'Louella, the tattooed Librarian' today," she responded, grinning. "Is it the right look for me?"

Looking at her closely, I saw for the first time the myriad of colorful bruises that lined the right side of her face and jaw. I felt a flush rising, ashamed that I hadn't noticed them before now. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty much as one would expect to several days after being pistol-whipped, I suppose," she said, her eyes twinkling.

I winced. "I'm sorry, Corinne."

She laughed. "For what? That was the most fun I've had since the demons of hell saw fit to release me from their little den of iniquity!"

"Our definitions of 'fun' seem to differ a little."