Amaya followed Scarla to the sideboard in the living room. Scarla opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of rum and two glasses. She cracked the seal and poured as if she owned the bottle, glass, and the whole damned house. Well, since she knew the location of everything, maybe she did.

“Have you moved in and no one decided to tell me?” Amaya took the offered glass.

Scarla snorted. “No. And I don’t plan to. I’m glad to have my establishment back. Now, I can open all the windows and air the testosterone out of the place.” She shrugged.

Establishment? Did she mean the bar or some other place? Either way, Amaya didn’t believe it. Scarla’s nonchalant shrug failed to convince. She loved those idiots. That’s why she made it her business to find her way to the farm house and in some small, obvious way, make it her own. Mark her territory. Amaya got it and didn’t have time for the cat fight.

Amaya drained her glass and refilled it.

“Just so you know, I brought a trunk full of groceries yesterday while you were still out of it. They don’t need to eat, but Chay loves queso and chips, Kush has a thing for cold french fries, and Daghony has a cookie fetish. Oatmeal raisin is his favorite.” She made a face. “I tried to get him hooked on Oreos, he hated them. Whatevs.”

And that’s exactly what she stocked the refrigerator with, everything for her pals and nothing else. Who eats cookies without milk? Daghony apparently. Scarla cleared her throat and her gaze skipped around the room as she blinked rapidly. “He almost died, you know,” she rasped.

Amaya’s throat tightened. “I know.”

“He shouldn’t have been out that close to dawn, flying!” she hissed. “If he’d died…” She dashed away the tears leaking out of her eyes as if she were angry they’d dare appear.

There wasn’t anything Amaya could say. She felt guilty enough watching Scarla’s tears.

Scarla cleared her throat and planted a fist on her hip. “Sooo, the Cruor is gone, missing, because of you, and now you’re going to rescue it. Interesting.”

Hold up a damn minute! “I didn’t lose anyth—”

Scarla got up in Amaya’s face. “Yeah. You did. Because Bane chose to save your sorry ass and not do what he’d wanted to for the last thousand years. Be the hero and save the world.” Her voice had lowered to a hostile whisper.

A memory tickled Amaya’s brain. She shut it down and ignored the cold wedge settling in her chest. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in Braile’s memories when the present demanded her attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t. You see, you’ve just arrived on the scene, while I’ve been starring in this soap opera for the last twenty-two years,” Scarla growled out.

Interesting. Two Halflings, both the same age. Though I don’t qualify as a Halfling anymore. Couldn’t be a coincidence. Shit! She suspected nothing in her—any of their lives—was a coincidence. From the way Scarla spoke, she didn’t have a clue. The Halfling was too caught up in her everyday human existence. Unlike Amaya, she ignored her supernatural side, unless it suited her. Like when she fought in the ring. No human female, or male, could beat her. That’s how she chose to spend her energy, strutting her stuff for the adulation of paying customers, and wearing designer fashions. How small-minded of her, but maybe that was her role in this drama. Someone had to be the pretty, vapid distraction. Usually it was the love interest. This time it was the daughter.

“Did I steal your spotlight?” Amaya asked in the same matter-of-fact tone one would have if a seat was taken.

Scarla snorted. “Wings and all, you still don’t have what it takes to steal my spotlight.”

Amaya folded her arms, cranked her head to the side, and level a bland stare on Scarla. “Just so you know, I skipped high school and didn’t do the whole teenage angst, cool cliques, keep your hands off my boyfriend, bullshit. Sooo, whatever you’re feeling, spit it out. I don’t have time for this.”

Scarla’s perfect left eyebrow arched, nearly touching her hairline. “All right. I will spit it out. Those multiple millennia old juveniles in your basement, who call themselves UnHallowed, are my family. Mine.” She pounded her chest. “I would die for every one of them. Even the ones I can’t stand. Anything happens to them, anything at all, and I will kick your ass worse than I did in Lust’s parking lot.”

Aww, a part of Amaya got all gushy at Scarla’s declaration, though she would never show it. “Noted. Anything else?”

Scarla’s eyes narrowed. “Nope. I just wanted it to be known.”

“So happy you got that off your chest.”

“So am I.” She smirked. Amaya could tell she was fighting a smile. Clearly Scarla came for another fight. She wouldn’t get one today, but one loomed on the horizon. Scarla was too bossy, too used to getting her own way…and so was Amaya.

“Well, later. It’s a long drive back to civilization.”

Amaya did the decent thing and showed her unwanted guest to the door. She even watched her climb into her Mercedes and back out of the driveway.

A familiar power rolled across her skin. Breathing steady, features schooled, still her heart rate ticked upward as she turned.

“I know. Not the one you wanted.” Tahariél shrugged, and leaned against the archway between the living room and dining room. Today’s tee shirt read It Won’t Suck Itself. His wings weren’t visible.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what? Be irresistible?” He gave her a wolfish grin.

“First. You are not irresistible. Second. I’m talking about your wings. How do you make them go away?”

“I am irresistible. Admit it and I’ll tell you the secret.”

The UnHallowed took annoying to another level. She made him wait until she poured herself another drink, then pointed at him. “You’re only irresistible to yourself. Now tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.” He added an arched eyebrow and managed to look sexier. The blasted UnHallowed would enjoy it. “Fine,” she hissed. “You’re irresistible.”

He tapped his forehead. “It’s all in the mind. Will it and it will be so.”

She sipped her drink and considered what he’d said. Couldn’t be too hard. She closed her eyes and concentrated for at least a full minute to achieve her goal. She thought she felt something, a twinge, a ruffle of her feathers. A glance over her shoulder confirmed nothing had happened. Her wings were still visible and dragging.

He cackled like an old lady, and slapped his leg. “Not so tough, Padawan. The force is not with you.”

Star Wars. Really? “You’re as irresistible as a rash in the crack of my ass.”

Riél clutched his chest and staggered. “Ouch! Now that was low.” And scratched his butt.

The idiot made her laugh.

“Amaya.”

A tingle went down her spine and spread through her wings at the sound of Bane’s voice. Her feathers ruffled, an automatic response. He stood behind Tahariél in the kitchen doorway, his hair slicked to his skull, water clinging to his cheeks, a microscopic crimson ring around his aquamarine eyes. He was dressed in black on black, tight jeans, tight shirt. Both wet and clinging and outlining his incredible body.

Thunder shook the house or was it her trembling?

His brow furrowed, he took a step forward and stopped. “Are you all right?”

She took another sip of her drink and nodded. “I’m fine.” Lie. She was as far from fine as Mars was from Earth.

Amaya never took her gaze off Bane. For a split second, his eyes narrowed and seemed to penetrate her, examined her in a way she hated, and didn’t. “Have you seen Daghony? He wasn’t in the best shape when I dropped him into the shadows.” She was ashamed she hadn’t asked about him sooner. Scarla and Tahariél had distracted her.

He nodded and tilted his head at the open basement door. “I’ll show you were he is.” He headed that way without waiting.

“Have fun visiting. Now that all the important parties are mended and mending, I’m out.” Tahariél waited until Bane turned his back to make a call me motion with his thumb and pinkie.

As if she had his phone number. She shook her head and caught up to Bane on the basement staircase. “Did he find his way here?”

“Yeah. The shadows spit him out in the basement two days ago.”

“Two days? That’s how long I’ve been asleep?”

“A little less.”

What did that mean? Forty hours? Thirty-six? “What about the Cruor? Have you found it?” He shook his head, but that wasn’t good enough. She touched his shoulder. His muscles bunched beneath her hand. He stopped on the landing and pivoted slowly. Her position on the staircase put them at eye level, giving her a bird’s eye view of his neutral features. His gaze slid to her hand still on his shoulder. She jerked away.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, close to his grim lips. “We’re still searching.”

She looked over his shoulder at Chay, Kush and Zed still perched on the sectional, playing Call of Duty. Rimmon strolled out of a bedroom—now shirtless. Thick metal cuffs circled his wrists and neck. The former Archangel of Storms, she remembered. The cuffs looked like jewelry, the bondage kind, but she didn’t quite buy it. He plopped himself back on the sofa.

Bane cleared his throat. Startled, she gave him her attention and didn’t miss the irritation tightening his lips and the frost in his eyes.

He’s jealous. She almost smiled. To dig the claws in a bit deeper, she gave Rimmon’s chest a longer perusal. “Exactly who is searching for the Cruor?”

“A few others,” he growled. “Daghony’s this way.” He left her on the stairs and walked to a bedroom off the living room. She followed because she wanted to see Daghony.

“Hey. Your wings are cleaning the floor.”

She didn’t know which one said it, and it didn’t matter because they all laughed. She flipped them off, which caused them to high-five each other. Two doors down, next to the room he claimed as his own, Bane stopped at an open door.

Amaya peered around him, into the room, then pushed past him and rushed to Daghony’s bedside. The UnHallowed wasn’t as crispy as he was two days ago. New pink skin peeked between the charred patches and fuzz covered his bald head. His face was still burned, though, his wings were folded under him, providing an extra cushion between him and the bed.

“How-h-how—”

“The wings heal first. They’re always our priority,” Bane informed her.

Good to know. Carefully, she touched a pink patch on Daghony’s hand. “How long will he be like this?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever survived this degree of burn. Daghony should be dead.”

“But he isn’t.” She surprised herself with the fierceness of her words. He didn’t have to fly with her, especially with sunrise so close. The rest had bailed, even Bane. Daghony stayed.

That wasn’t fair. Bane couldn’t have taught her to fly. The anger still percolating in her gut said otherwise.

“I dropped him in the shadows, hoping it would heal him.”

“It would, pain free, also, but it’s a longer process, and he wouldn’t stay.”

She stroked his wings. They were so soft, yet incredibly strong. Guilt assailed her. Here she was fondling Dag’s feathers when she hadn’t even touched hers. A shudder ran through his body, but he didn’t open his eyes. She needed to see his eyes.

Amaya pulled up a chair and parked it next to his bed. It wasn’t often someone did something for her. She had no inner circle, didn’t trust anyone. Pilar was her best friend, yet Amaya couldn’t say she would miss her if she had to leave her behind.

Careful of where she touched, she took Daghony’s hand. It was large and rough, latent strength in every detail. Like Bane’s hand. Memories of his palm on her ass assailed her. His mouth on her breast. Him moving inside her.

Don’t go there.

She shoved the memory away. Pain she could deal with. What she had with Bane…

Daghony’s eyes cracked open a quarter. She eased his hand back to his side and leaned over him. “Hey there.” She stopped herself from cupping his face. It would only cause him more agony and she was already responsible for his crispy condition.

His lips parted a fraction and he groaned, “You. Made. It.”

She patted the sheet covering his chest. “So did you. Next time, we go flying at night, okay?” She’d swear a weak smile lifted a corner of his unburned mouth, then his eyes closed. “You’ll be on your feet again.” Her heart felt lighter saying the words.

A floorboard creaked. Bane stood next to her chair. She’d thought he’d left. Relief swam in his eyes, then hardened when he shifted his gaze to her.

“I want to show you something.”

“Later. I don’t want to leave Daghony.”

A vein popped in his temple.

She hadn’t said it to be mean. She owed Daghony.

“I’ll bring you back to him.” He vanished and she chose to follow him. She had a thing for backs, the broader the better. His black tee stretched tight, hugging a rippling landscape. Watching each muscle tense and relax wasn’t a hardship as she moved deeper into the basement.

Each open doorway showed furnished rooms, some elaborate, some spartan, though some of their tastes left much to be desired. They passed another living room with a bank of flat screens, an enormous sectional lining the wall, and a pool table between the two. She shouldn’t be surprised. Bane renovated the entire house in an evening. Lucky for her, and all his limbs, he didn’t stray from the pictures in Home and Garden. “I’m not up for a tour.”

“I didn’t call you back here for one.” He kept going until a tunnel came into view.

“What the hell happened? Who started and stopped the renovation? No one gets to carve up my home.” She pushed past him and stormed halfway to the tunnel. “Which one of you did this?”

“I did. It was the only way I could reach you.”

She spun and faced him. “What?”

“I dug the tunnel to reach you.”

“Y-you did?” She remembered being in his arms and had flashes of the hospital, and of course the pain…there was something else. A time frame between the hospital and when she dug her way out of Braile’s grave. Something she should remember lingered just out of reach.

She stepped into the tunnel and walked all the way to the abrupt end. Rain pounded the other side of the thin ceiling. Droplets peppered her head as she absorbed the determination it took for him to do what he did. One wrong move and the tunnel could have collapsed. Sunlight would’ve fried him. “Umm, thank you.”

His lips thinned. “Keep your thank you. That’s not why I brought you here.”

She didn’t expect him to gush, but she didn’t expect him to bite her head off either. “Fine, why am I here then?”

He scooped up a clump of dirt and shoved it into her hand. “Get a good sniff.”

Instead of arguing, she brought the sticking, clumped together mound to her nose. An acrid scent singed her nostrils. In response, her wings flared with aggression. “What is that?”

“That is the scent of the Spaun who attacked you. Twice. Remember it.”

Twice? She took another sniff and then flung the dirt away. Her jeans served as a good place to scrub her hand clean. “Okay. We’re going after him, right.” It wasn’t a question. A demon had attacked her and it would die. All she needed was to pack her weapons, grab her sword, and hit the road.

He sliced his head to the left once.

“Excuse me. That wasn’t a no. I was attacked. I need some payback. With or without you.” She moved past him.

He clamped onto her bicep and hauled her to his side. “That isn’t the mission. The mission is to get the Cruor. Only after that is secured, do we seek revenge.”

“We? He attacked me.” She pointed a finger at her chest, then at him. “Not you. Revenge is mine. Not yours.”

A dry, bitter laugh escaped him. “When you attack one of us, you attack all of us.”

That made no sense at all. “I’m not one of you. You’re UnHallowed. I’m not.”

“Really? Thinking that way will get you killed. Look around you, Amaya. The only ones here are the UnHallowed. Not the Celestial Army and not Michael. As far as they’re concerned, you don’t exist, which is less than nothing in their great esteem.”

She refused to show how much his words stung. “That Spaun attacked me twice. Why? I get his attack centered on finding the Cruor, but why come back and attack me again?”

His voice lowered. “You were a diversion. He attacked you while his master stole the Cruor.”

“Tell her all of it or none.” Razuel, formerly the Keeper of God’s Secrets, stepped out of the shadows across from Amaya and Bane. “This pointless subterfuge is annoying.”

The last she’d seen Razuel, he’d flipped Michael both middle fingers in the burial chamber and left.

“Leave.” Bane snarled at Razuel.

“Not until he explains what he’s talking about.” She pulled free of Bane and stepped up to Razuel. Images of him flashed through her mind. He was always off by himself. He wasn’t even a part of the Celestial Army. He was a seraph, yet he was there that day when they all fell. Abruptly, the images ended. As the Keeper of Secrets, he was never a part of them, separate and unequal, due to his elevated status. That trend continued after the fall. However, he was here when he didn’t have to be.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

A devilish gleam flared in Razuel’s eyes and he smirked as if he were bursting to share his secret. “The Cruor is the lock and your blood is the key.”