Carlos wanders off, muttering unhappily to himself.

Meanwhile, Sam eyes the ground. "Do you think there are spiders out here?" he asks.

I turn to look at him. "So, even demons are afraid of spiders, huh?"

"Are you kidding me? Everything's afraid of spiders." He gives an exaggerated shudder, then shrugs. "Well, I don't see any, and this moss is soft enough."

He turns to me, holds out his hands for me to take, and then draws me down, lying back on the ground.

"What do you want?" I ask, covering his body with mine.

He raises his arms above his head and arches against me. "Do what you like," he says, running the tip of is tongue along his bottom lip. "I'll take it."

"Sam..."

Something in his expression clouds, and he looks away, turning his head to the side. "Whatever you want to give me, Ian," he says after a few beats. "Anything's fine."

"Hey," I prop myself up on one arm and gently turn his face back towards me. Two tears leak from the corners of his eyes and slide down the sides of his face. I catch them with my thumbs, cupping his face in my hands. "What's this? What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer for a second, and then the words spill from him in a rush.

"Ian...I think I'm in love with you," he says, breath catching, and I feel his chest pressed against mine as it swells with air and then empties on a shuddering laugh. "Sorry."

I swallow against the sudden tightness stinging my throat. "Sam..."

"It's okay," he says quickly, and smiles, though the corners of his mouth twitch against a hidden frown. "I know you don't feel the same. It's okay."

"No, that's not what I mean. I—"

"Ian, it's okay," he assures me, reaching up to touch the sides of my face. "I know it's complicated. I know you're not ready. I know I'm probably not the one for you. Just...if I have you here, now—that's enough."

There's something inexpressibly sad behind his eyes, and it tears at my heart, but I can't find the words to tell him how I really feel.

Maybe I can show him, though.

So far, he's been the aggressor every time, the one to initiate contact, the one to ask, the one to show.

Now, here, in the open, with Carlos lurking nearby, two Shifters somewhere not far off, and a strange forcefeild only a few meters away, I'll be the one to show him.

I slide my hand down to his hip and along his thigh, hooking my fingers around the back of his knee and drawing it up next to my side. Then I lean down and kiss him, gentle and deep, soft and slow. I try to put my heart into every touch, every point of contact between us, to show him the truth. I'd give him everything if he asks. Suddenly, even as I taste his unnamed sorrow on my tongue, I find the words.

"I love you, Sam," I say, my lips moving against his between a kiss. "I'm in love with you too. Just like this—just as you are."

He goes still, and I draw back, worried that I've said the wrong thing after all. His eyes are wide and dark, exposing the painful rawness of his hope.

"You are?" he breathes.

I nod.

"You don't want Sofia's boobs?"

A laugh escapes me. "You noticed those too, huh?"

"How could I not?" he frowns. "If they were any more noticeable they'd have flashing lights and sirens attached."

I shake my head, feeling my own tears stinging behind my grin. "They're nice, no denying it, but I don't want 'em. I want..."

My smile fades as I recognize the truth in my own words.

"I want you."

His breath hitches and fresh tears sparkle in his eyes. "Well...you're in luck," he says, "'cause you've got me."

Then I kiss him like I mean it, and he kisses me back, and we meet somewhere in the middle. I'm lost in it, I know he's using his demonic influence on me—whether he means to or not—but I don't care.

I love it.

I love him.

And in that moment, I'm happy.

When at last we break apart and I look down at him again, he smiles up at me with sharp teeth, his eyes are red as blood, and his skin is gold.

I push myself back, sitting up on my knees.

"Okay?" I ask, my eyes flicking between each of his.

He raises himself on his elbows. In this form, he fills out his clothes to the point of bursting. I can see his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt, and as my eyes travel his body, I almost start to drool.

"I'm good," he says, his voice deeper and rougher than it was. "You?" He smirks, eyes dropping to a point lower than my belt.

"I'll be fine," I say. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Why," he asks, getting to his feet and standing over me.

I look up at him, a mortal kneeling before an angel of darkness. All I can do is stare—enraptured, entrapped, entangled in the beauty before me.

I've seen his demon form before. This is different. Now he's something not merely demonic. Now he's something heavenly.

Now he's got wings.

And it's fucking beautiful.