His immobile face, as immobile as any sculpture, softened and he looked sheepish. “I live in your dreams. Until I’m—“ he flung his arms out, as if searching for the right word, “reinstated, so to speak, I am confined to your dreams.”

I frowned. “But I rarely dream. Or I rarely remember my dreams.”

“That’s my fault. I—steal them, for lack of a better word. They sustain me in this world.”

I pulled my legs up, unconsciously mirroring his position. “You’re not only in my dreams, you steal them? But, why?”

He let out a long, breathy sigh, as if he were tired of dealing with me. “To survive. For now, I exist only in your dreams, in that shadowy space between reality and fantasy. When I’m where I belong—” he looked toward the ceiling, “My purpose is to watch over you.”

A light bulb went off over my head. “You’re my guardian angel?”

“Yes.” He clasped his hands together, long fingers weaving in and out of each other in a way that made me shiver. “My purpose is to protect you from danger. But now we are both in danger because I can’t survive unless you sleep and dream and you can’t survive if I don’t keep watch over you.”

“That’s a conundrum.”

“You still think you’re dreaming,” he said, anger lacing his voice the way his fingers were laced over one bronzed knee.

“Oh no, this conversation makes complete sense,” I said, breezily. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely and conjured up my guardian angel to take care of my needs. Though, I must say, talking isn’t one of my needs. So, if you could just get to it—”

He surged toward me with a predatory snarl. I pressed my back to the headboard reflexively, but my body was responding to the dangerous, untamed look in his dark eyes. I was becoming aroused. That thought was even more shocking than the idea there was an angel in my bedroom.

“I know you,” he said, crowding me against the headboard. Long slender fingers closed around my wrists as he pinned my hands above my head. “I have walked through your dreams, I have tasted your very soul.”

He licked my bottom lip for emphasis, his tongue warm and wet. I caught my breath, time standing still as he nipped my lip between his teeth. I winced in pain, tasted the metallic tang of blood. My blood.

“Yes,” I breathed against his cheek.

“But something isn’t right,” he sighed, releasing my wrists. I felt a sharp pang of disappointment. “Something is missing.”

The ache between my thighs told me what was missing, but I couldn’t voice it. Instead, I watched him watching me.

“What do you want, Michelle?” His voice still held a note of predatory threat, as if I should be careful what I asked for, because I just might get it. “You are lonely. I see it in your dreams. But you are also needy in a way that goes beyond loneliness.”

“Needy. Thanks,” I muttered, though I didn’t deny it.

He grabbed my wrists again, but instead of pinning them over my head, he put them against his muscular chest. He felt warm and real. Solid.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said, a hint of desperation in his growly voice. “If we don’t resolve this problem, I will die. Or at least cease to exist in the way that you understand life. And if I die—”

Something in his expression made me swallow hard. “What?” I whispered, my voice as raspy as parchment.