The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

perfectly carved chest.
    Smoke thinned, then swirled to nothing, and warmth — healing, not burning - poured through me. The mass of aches and pains in my body lessened, my knee straightened itself out and stopped throbbing, and the pressure on my ears eased. I could hear my own jerking breaths as I found myself looking into the liquid emerald eyes of John Doe.
    Silver light outlined his dark curls, and the feathery arc of his wings rose above his well-defined shoulders.
    Wings.
    He really did have wings.
    They were flapping slowly, almost gently, clearing River-view’s hallway of the smoke and stink from . . . from whatever that fire-thing had been.
    A shocked, almost dumbfounded expression had claimed John Doe’s beyond-handsome face.
    “You defeated a Raah,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, but without the terrible, mountainous resonance I had heard before we fought the monster.
    Raah.
    That word stirred something in my memory, but I couldn’t quite grasp the definition, or any image beyond the fiery beast that had invaded Riverview. I reached for my full awareness, the complete measure of my intelligence as a physician, philosopher, and devout practitioner of Sayokan - and the response I came up with was, “I defeated a what?”
    From somewhere in the distance came the eerie moan of sirens, and I thought I heard voices and footsteps getting closer. Probably rushing towards us from upstairs, and from the front street entrance of the hospital.
    John Doe held me tighter against him as he started walking, so close I could feel his heart beating with mine. That strange power I thought I had imagined earlier hummed between his skin and mine, everywhere we made contact. It made me tingle in ways I couldn’t begin to describe. He carried me out of the back door into the alley behind Riverview, but I didn’t feel the bite of the cold air, or even the wet kiss of the night’s light snow. I also didn’t feel threatened, or that I should try to escape his firm but tender grip. The terror I had felt when I met him had been replaced by a feverish blend of curiosity and wonder.
    Did this man, this being, hold the key to that door I had locked on my past?
    Do I want to open it?
    Nothing ever changed. Nothing. No way.
    Because I won’t let it? Because change scares me so badly I can’t even stand to consider it?
    John Doe was staring at me so intently I wondered if he could see the blood pumping faster and faster through my veins.
    He spread his wings.
    I knew I should have been terrified, but there was no fear in me at all. At that moment, I felt safer than I’d ever felt in my life - and I couldn’t stop looking at him.
    After a moment, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck.
    He took off, not in a brutal rush of speed, but in a quiet, weightless whisper.
    My heart gave a flip, like when I rode roller coasters or tried to spar blindfolded in the gym. When I caught my breath, it seemed easy, almost natural to be lifted so high, to be above ground and flying.
    We floated together towards the winter stars as moonlight blended with his faint silver glow. All the while, he kept his eyes on mine, like he was searching every inch of my soul. That strange power he had, something almost magical, warmed me so much I knew my cheeks had to be flushed. I wished I could see into his essence, the depths of his being, so I could understand him, and maybe understand myself.
    As we drifted over the snow-capped roof of the hospital and the skyline of New York City spread beneath us, we spoke at the same time, and we asked the same question.
    “What are you?”
Four
    “I’m just Dutch Brennan.” Lame answer, but the truth, which seemed like my only option, given that I was high above New York City, in the arms of a winged man who helped me fight some kind of ravening fire-monster. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. I only killed that thing because I work out.”
    John Doe’s jaw flexed. I wasn’t certain, but he looked like he might be impressed. “With . . . weapons.”
    “Sayokan.” I leaned into him, enjoying his warmth, his body, his unusual smell. “Martial arts, Turkish-style.”
    Another jaw flex.
    His silence drove me to keep talking. “My father taught me, then found me other masters after he moved us to New York City. I live in SoHo now.”
    I rattled off the address, and John Doe made a slight course correction.
    “Now it’s your turn,” I said as he descended slowly towards what I recognized as