on Friday. A stab of panic made her bolt upright in bed and reach for the phone on the nightstand, praying this wasn’t an emergency call from her parents. The caller ID read NYSA, allowing her to release a sigh of relief. “Hello?” “Lana Kinley?” inquired a male caller. “Speaking.” “This is Mouric from angel headquarters. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we need your services right away.” Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she replied, “Angel hurt?” “Yes. Julien. Looks like a second degree burn on the wing.” Her heart gave an anxious skip at the sound of his name. She hadn’t seen him since the gala almost two weeks ago. Since his parting comment had sent her senses spinning and had her wondering if he was playing with her. But she’d decided that Julien wasn’t the sort who played games.
