"Two loves I have, of comfort and despair," I quoted.
"Am I the fairer angel or the demon?" Darcy asked, amused. "Of course, I can imagine myself sitting on the throne of flames," he chortled.
"You're the angel, Luke. You're my love of comfort. I wanted to reach you. I went through months of pretending to be someone I am not to get to you." The fiery green eyes felt like molten lava. My face burned, my jaw hurt from the grin that split my face in half.
"You're a smooth talker, Vincent," he commented, not unkindly. "Are you saying that poor little Anthony, here, has been just a distraction?"
"Nope." I shook my head from side to side. "He's my bad angel... and he's going to fire my good one out!" I faked a gasp before letting the hysterical string of laughter escape my lips.
Suddenly, the thought flashed through me. Like lightening, it struck me.
I was Cienna.
This was what had happened to her.
