Someone must have drugged my tea, because I slept more in those two days than I’d slept in the past few weeks put together. Curled up in the silky sheets, with light beaming through the tall, open windows, I’d dreamt of those four black suns darkening the sky. Sometimes I dreamt of a black, thorny throne towering above me, its beauty luring me in and sharp spikes warning me away at the same time. Each time I woke up, the pain in my shoulder had subsided a little more.

As the thick fog of sleep began to clear, I stared out the window at the reddening sunlight. I’d woken at sunset. In the forest, I caught a glimpse of Kratos and his hounds moving between the trees—those flashes of ivory, gold, and red. I shuddered at the sight.

I was pretty sure that, two days in a row, I’d missed my early morning summons from Yasmin. I could only hope she hadn’t spent too much time lingering in reflections until the sentinels spied her.

Tracing my fingertips over my bandage, I tested my wound. I could hardly feel the ache in my shoulder at all. When I peeked under the bandage, I found the wound almost closed up. Fae, like demons, healed fast, but some magic had been at work here too, knitting veins and tendons together until I barely had a scar.

When the sun drifted lower behind the oak boughs, energy buzzed through my body, and I sat up in bed. Now that I’d recovered, it would be time to set to work learning about this place, even as I waited for my guided tour with the warrior-virgin.

For now, I remained locked in my room. As soon as I had earned enough trust, I needed to investigate that magical forest and find out what the gods were trying to tell us. I mean, assuming Yasmin wasn’t completely full of shit—which, quite frankly, was a big assumption.

But while locked in here, I supposed I could start with the vast library around me. Kratos had said he’d learned about the human race through books. Now I’d find out what he thought of them.

As requested, a fire had been burning in the fireplace day and night since my first night here.

Dressed in my rose-pink nightgown, I stood, stretching my arms over my head. Even with the shadows lengthening over the wintry ground outside, the fire warmed the room.

First on the agenda, I wanted to learn what I could about this luxurious prison.

I started with the vast tapestry across from my bed—the one I stared at every time I opened my eyes. In the light of day, I’d a better view of it. Vibrant gold, blue, and red threads depicted a battle scene, one in which a man sat atop a white horse, his head gleaming with a golden halo of light, gripping an enormous golden sword.

Kratos really wanted me to worship him, didn’t he? I had a feeling he’d put me in a room specifically designed to glorify his exploits through the medium of needlework.

Honestly. Apparently, even angelic men craved phallic symbols to feel good about themselves. Nothing particularly illuminating there.

Time to move on to the upper story. The book selection would give me a window into Kratos’s mind.

I crossed to the spiral stairwell—a set of narrow, winding steps that led up to the books. On the balcony level, the air cooled. Shelves of dusty books spanned the three walls of the mezzanine floor. I crossed to the side above the canopied bed, where I found row after row of books about war.

Given the tapestry on the wall, I supposed it wasn’t surprising. The dude was into war. The books began with the ancient Greek section: the histories of the Peloponnesian war and the Persian expedition. I scrolled past tomes about Napoleon, Sun Tzu, Genghis Khan, Hannibal and Scipio, and Caesar.

The war books gave way to books about leadership strategy and philosophy: Machiavelli, Thomas More, Hume, Aquinas, Kant, Plato, Nietzsche.

Boy, these angels really knew how to have fun. I didn’t suppose I’d find any beach romances in here to pass the time.

On the next wall—the one above the fireplace—I found Greek tragedies that blended into shelves of epic poems: the Iliad, the Odyssey, Beowulf, Gilgamesh, Metamorphoses, and so on. Shakespeare lined these shelves, too—mostly the tragedies, but The Tempest was there as well. I snatched it off the shelf—I liked a little magic in my books, a little escapism, and this could make for some bedtime reading.

On the final wall, I found the tragedies. Not the Shakespearean tragedies; the real tragedies.

Here I found the history books chronicling some of the worst events in human history. The Ephesian Vespers Massacre, the Massacre of Thessaloniki, the Crusades, preventable famines, Byzantine massacres, the European invasion of the Americas—and on and on until I got to the world wars and the thick tomes about the Holocaust. My throat tightened.

Okay. So this was what Kratos had learned about humans. Obviously, he didn’t have a very rosy view of humanity, and after reading the titles on the spines of all these books, I had to admit my feelings about the human race had soured a bit as well. No wonder he preferred his hounds.

I hadn’t learned anything about dragons, but at least I’d gathered insight into Kratos’s mindset: war and conquest, and the heart of a warrior, coupled with complete and utter disgust at the entire history of humanity.

Slightly depressed, I descended the stairs, clutching The Tempest under my arm. When I glanced out the window, I glimpsed a sentinel drifting past.

I let out a long breath. Well, I could always explain that I was looking for a good beach romance.

A chill had crept over my skin, and I wanted desperately to settle into a warm bath. Padding across the bare flagstones, I headed for the bathroom. A silver tub stood in the center of a stone room, right in front of another tall window that overlooked the forest.

On the opposite wall, I eyed another tapestry of Kratos, this time standing proudly with his sword. In fact, he was standing proudly on another man, whose ugly features were contorted in pain. A nice soothing image of violent domination to accompany my relaxing bath.

I turned on the steaming water, and as the tub filled, I decided to do a slight bit of redecorating in the bathroom so as to be ready for Yasmin’s communications.

A gilded mirror hung on one wall. In one corner of the bathroom, an alcove was inset into the walls. This is where I found the toilet and a wooden hamper containing fresh towels. If I stood in the alcove, the sentinels couldn’t see me. Seemed like a perfect place for the mirror if Yasmin would be flickering into the room.

I pulled the towels from the hamper, dropping one by the bath. Then, when the view was free of sentinels, I crossed to the gilded mirror. I hoisted it off the wall and carried it to the alcove, where I rested it on the empty hamper.

Now I had a little communication center, assuming I could get Yasmin over here.

I peered out of the alcove. As another sentinel drifted past the window, I shuddered at the idea that they’d be watching me in the bath. Still, I supposed the watchful eyes of the sentinels weren’t the worst thing in the world. I had a feeling the sentinels had no real blood running through their veins, and they’d feel nothing at the sight of me naked. Not that I knew for sure.

Unlike Kratos.

As the bath filled up, I pulled off my nightgown and underwear. Slowly, I slipped into the steaming water. After a few minutes, I was working up a lather over my body with the rose-and-poppy-scented soap.

As the sentinels drifted past, staring at me in the bath, I began to measure the intervals. If I was going to hide anything from their view, I’d need to know exactly how much time I had between their drive-by viewings.

By my calculations, I had between four and six minutes. That was it. Not a ton of time to stage a coup against lethal, immortal beings, but I’d do what I could.

For just a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the angel named Adonis. Mostly, I remembered he’d been terrifying. As I breathed in the rose-scented air, his image blazed in my mind. Golden skin, gray-blue eyes with silver flecks, that dark sweep of hair…

Then a vision of Kratos burned in my mind, his body glowing with gold. By the way he’d devoured me with his gaze, I knew he lusted after me. I hated him, and I planned to kill him—but for some reason, I didn’t mind the thought of him fantasizing about me. I needed to find out exactly what the angels had meant about becoming fallen. If seducing him meant I could destroy his mission—would I actually do it?

I opened my eyes, finding my skin flushed in the hot water.

I leaned over the side of the tub, snatching the copy of The Tempest off the floor.

I thumbed through it, frowning at the damp smudges my fingerprints left. My gaze swept over the word library, and I read a bit of dialogue:

If only that were enough for Kratos. If only he didn’t feel the need to conquer the Earth.

As I sank deeper into the bath, the steam enveloped me, easing my mind—until a familiar power rippling over my skin.

Slowly, I turned my head to find Kratos looming in the doorway, as if I’d lured him here with my thoughts.