When I see her sway and begin to faint, I rush to catch her before she hits the floor. It feels so good to touch her that it hurts.

My angel. My beautiful girl.

"Juliette." My voice cracks as I hug her close. She smells the same, like flowers and sunshine. Like everything that's pure and holy. Her hair? It's like spun silk. I could spend the rest of the afternoon burying my face in her hair. My heart's pounding so forcefully that I'm starting to sweat. It's hard to believe I've been away from her this long. From this moment on, I'll never let her go. I'll do anything she wants, keep every promise, sacrifice all of my needs and wants just to have her in my life.

I slip my arm under her knees and scoop her up. She's light as a feather. Jesus, she's lost a lot of weight.

Because of me, most likely. The thought makes my gut tighten.

I carry her into the bedroom, through the curtains, and set her gently on the bed atop the white duvet. Kicking off my shoes, I kneel on the bed next to her.

Other than her thinner body — I spy a hint of muscle on her arms, like she's been working out — she's the same, amazing Juliette. Beautiful and ethereal and mine.

All mine.

Her hair is spread out on the pillow and I'm mesmerized by how pretty she is.

"I'm back. I'm here to take care of you. I'm here for you," I whisper.

I stroke her soft cheek, brush a lock of her hair out of her eyes. Her hair's even longer, glossy and near-black. She's wearing a pretty pink and green sundress that looks like a garden and her nails are polished the color of cotton candy. The bright midday sun is streaming into the room and she looks like she's been sent from another dimension.

I bend over and press a light kiss to her forehead. Allowing my eyes to close while my lips are on her skin, I'm able to sneak another inhale of her feminine scent.

Finally, I'm home.

It takes everything I have not to squeeze her. She looked so scared when I walked in. Now that she's lying here, she seems fragile and young. For the first time, I notice dark circles under her eyes, as if she hasn't slept.

How much damage has been done these past four months? Something tells me it's a lot, and my stomach twists at the thought.

Dammit, maybe this was a bad idea, bringing her to this hotel suite. But what other option did I have?

Show up on her doorstep with flowers? I didn't want to deal with Victoria.

Call her? She'd never believe it was me.

I had to bring her here.

She stirs and lets out an adorable little groan. I smile, because the sound is so fucking sweet and typical Juliette. Like a kitten that's just woken from a nap. I want to kiss every inch of her.

Her lids blink open, and she focuses on me. Her green eyes get bigger. And bigger. I lean back to give her some space. This is stressful enough, and I don't want to intimidate or hover.

She pushes herself up, her sexy lips parted in surprise. I'm grinning like crazy, and I wonder if I appear much different, because she's not saying anything. She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. Shakes her head a little, as if she can't trust what she's seeing.

Now she's on her knees facing me, coming closer. In about three seconds she'll be in my arms. It's going to feel incredible, and my chest fills with emotion. Yeah, today I might cry, for the first time in forever.

She should kiss me first, touch me first, but only when she's comfortable. This is a lot for her to deal with. Even though I want to reach for her, wrap my arms around her and never let go.

She leans a little closer and when she stares into my eyes, my heart speeds up from pure joy. Her fingers brush my cheek hesitantly, stroking my skin. Her touch spreads warmth through my body, and I turn my head to kiss her palm. She withdraws her hand slowly, still staring.

Probably in disbelief.

That's when she slaps me across the face.

The sound of my palm hitting Griffin's cheek is the most satisfying crack, like something's breaking. It matches how I feel.

Seeing him unleashes a fury like I've never known. If he's here, sitting on this bed with a stupid grin on his face, that means he's alive. I'm definitely losing my shit but I'm not crazy enough to hallucinate what's happening in front of me.

He's been alive for nearly four months. While I've been mad with grief.

With a banshee yell, I lunge at him. My hands almost make it around his throat. He grabs my wrists and pulls me roughly into his chest.

I struggle and grunt, wriggle and scream. I wrench and twist my wrists from his hands and try to smack him. I get in a good punch to his chest, but it doesn't seem to hurt him. He's too quick, too overpowering.

I'm fighting with all of my might until he's holding onto me so tight that I can barely breathe. The familiar heat and smell of his body seeps into me, and I still for a second. He's a little out of breath, too, and that's when I realize that he's not as muscular as he once was.

He's sinewy and thin. The arms that used to hold me were once so muscular. I can feel his collarbone. His whole body is lithe and wiry and not big and pumped up.

Although he's still stronger than me. I struggle a little more, and his grip tightens, so my face is near his shoulder.

I inhale, and his ginger-spicy-leathery smell lights up my brain.

And then, the tears fall.

I cry.

I wail.

I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his now-lanky frame. My anger dissolves into giant, sloppy tears, and he's holding me and rocking me. His face is in my hair and for some reason, this makes me hysterical.

Griffin is alive.

I cry for a solid five minutes. Maybe ten. Time has stopped. He doesn't let go, but when I allow my muscles to go slack, he releases his grip a little. I'm melting into him, stroking the back of his head and his caramel colored hair with my hand.

Slowly, I pull away so I can look at him. We stare at each other and I realize his eyes are lighter, more of an amber color, and they hold a sadness and pain that wasn't there all those months ago. There are lines between his dark eyebrows, as if he's been frowning a lot.

He looks older than twenty-five.

What happened to him?

I'm dying to ask, but I can't form words or sentences right now. Neither of us have spoken, and I'm not sure there is anything to be said at this moment.

Later, perhaps.

His eyes are glassy and moist, as if he's about to cry. I don't bother wiping the tears off my cheeks because I know there will be more, lots more, probably for hours.

He licks his lips and frowns slightly, as if he's worried about what I think of him. He does look like he's been through hell, and even so, he's the most beautiful human being I've ever seen.

My favorite person is alive.

A fresh tear rolls down my cheek and I lean in and put my mouth to his. We kiss, softly, but the tenderness, the love in this one simple kiss, makes every possible pleasure neuron in my brain crackle and explode.

I pause, my mouth hovering near his, to shudder in a sloppy breath.

Still crying — Jesus, I can't stop — I kiss him more. While I do this, I unbutton his shirt, desperate to see his skin. Eager to feel him, to make sure he's real. I pull the shirt tails out of his pants and strip the blue button down off. My God, he's still muscular, but sinewy and thin. His skin, which was once bronze, has a pale yellow tinge.

It looks like he hasn't been in the sun. What the hell happened?

I count one...two...three fresh scars on his torso. They're pink and wide. I lower my gaze to inspect them. Hesitant, I touch the scar on his abdomen that looks like it's the least raw. His stomach muscles contract and I look up, into his face.

I'm not sure I really want to find out how he got those scars. Not now.

Right now I want him.

He cradles my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping the tears away. He pulls me toward him and this time, the kiss isn't soft or sweet.

It's a hot, needy kiss, his tongue insistently exploring and claiming my mouth. The dominant way he's holding my face, combined with the softness of his touch on my face makes my whole body go liquid.

There's a lot I don't know about Griffin. He'd kept so many parts of his life hidden from me. But I do know his body. His kisses. His touch. I know him well enough to recognize that he's hungry and needy and he wants me as much as I want him.

We're both panting in between kisses, which are turning dirty and raw. Teeth scrape against lips, and when I tilt my head to moan, his mouth is on my neck, devouring as if he's starving. My hair is twisted around his fingers and he's pulling so he can feast on my neck, my shoulder, my jaw.

Unceremoniously, hastily, I pull my sundress over my head, not wanting slow seduction.

He leans back and sucks in a breath, his eyes making a quick journey down my body. Today I'm wearing lacy, light pink underwear, and my breasts feel heavy under his gaze.

When he touches the skin of my bare stomach, a whimper escapes my lips. I can't take any more. I need to feel my skin on his. So I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, flinging it off me.

His eyes darken and he fiercely presses me back on the bed while kissing me. The full weight of his body's atop me, and I start crying again when I feel his hot skin next to mine.

We both reach for his belt buckle and then he sits up. I sniffle as I watch him push his pants down, as a lock of his hair falls across his forehead.

He's naked now, and I notice two things: his hipbones and his hardness. I don't think I've ever seen him so aroused.

I strip off my panties because I want him inside me right this second, and spread my legs. His deep moan sounds so dirty, so perfect, that it makes my clit throb. I want him to touch me there, I want him inside of me, I want everything right now.

But it's evident from the intense look in his eyes that I'm not in charge. He settles between my legs and roughly holds my thighs open wide. I'm getting wetter and wetter as he nibbles my inner thigh softly, and I let out a strangled cry when he stops.

He digs his fingers into my legs harder, and flutters slow kisses up the other thigh. I'm crazy with need, and it's the first time I've been tense and eager for him to go down on me. Before, I'd always secretly worried how I smelled. How I tasted. How I looked.

Now I don't care one bit, and when he moves up my body and presses his forehead to my stomach, hugging my hips, I let out a whisper of a sigh. Everything about him is familiar, erotic and tenderly perfect.

My favorite person is alive. His only desire is to please me. To love me.

And I'll do the same for him.

When he flutters soft kisses around my bellybutton, I tremble and whimper. His hair is still soft — and long enough for me to pull and tug. I close my eyes, ready to savor each second of his tongue. Of his love. Of sheer bliss.

But all of a sudden, Sebastian's face invades my thoughts. And I hate myself for it...

____