Wyck slowly returned to wakefulness and reached for Quinn, but she was gone. With a sigh, he sat up and saw her walk across the bedroom of his apartment. He couldn’t remember feeling so content and relaxed. Nothing bothered him now. Quinn had chased away the residual nightmare’s of the Nephilim attack, with kisses and lovemaking.

He blinked up at the ceiling. Light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. He had no idea what time it was or what day it was, only that he’d never realized how lonely he’d been before Quinn came into his immortal life. She’d given him more purpose than any Scion mission, and now he lived to see her smile, to hear her voice. Even if that voice was warbling an off-tune rendition of some corny pop tune.

Apparently, Quinn wasn’t perfect after all. Her singing was awful, but he loved it just the same. She was happy too, he could feel vibrating through their connection.

They’d bid an awkward farewell to Victor this morning at the lab then returned here. The odd little scientist’s expression had been black as midnight and Wyck had teased Quinn on the cab ride home that maybe Victor was upset because he’d heard them having sex. She’d blushed crimson, but he didn’t care if the little man heard them or not.

He just hoped they would not need the scientist’s help again.

One of the Nephilim who’d attacked them was dead, but the other remained at large, along with untold others who continued their secret plans to bring on the Apocalypse. He needed to find a way to capture that second Nephilim and question him.

The need for revenge swept through Wyck’s bloodstream like lit gasoline, but he tamped it down. He wanted to kill all the half-breeds for their treachery, but he couldn’t do that until they knew what they were planning. To find out, he needed to get that second attacker so that Divinity could get to the bottom of their plot.

There had to be a reason the archangel Ruman had chosen to work with them, perhaps something to do with Quinn’s serum. Frustrated, Wyck exhaled slow. If only he’d had access to one of those bodies the Nephilim had killed. He could examine for proof that they were conducting experiments with the serum at the club. Unfortunately, the half-breeds had incinerated the evidence. Nothing left of those humans except ash and bone.

Wyck’s head ached. He’d sent the soil sample he’d collected that first night in the plaza to his other Scion brothers to look at as well, but none of them had come up with anything new. So, the best he could do now was to find that second attacker and bring him in for interrogation. All he needed was a way to get inside their new club so he could lure the half-breed outside again.

Wyck tossed the bedclothes aside and stood to tug on his jeans and shirt from the day then walked out to the kitchen. Quinn followed behind him, tugging on her own clothes as she went. She walked over to stand before the windows in the living room, her gaze raking over him and leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

She wore only her skirt and her black lace bra at present. Both hugged her delectable curves. Maybe his plan could wait a bit longer. Right now, he had far more interesting things on his mind.

Like making love to Quinn again.

What he felt for her went beyond lust and hunger, deeper than duty or love. He only thought of protecting her, keeping her by his side forever.

She smiled, but the expression quickly froze with fear as she turned to face the windows again.

Wyck frowned. “What’s wrong?”

The living room wall exploded.

He shielded his face as Quinn’s screams echoed around him.

Heart jackhammering and adrenaline flooding his system, Wyck lowered his arms and squinted at the damage. Glass and hunks of brick littered the floor The broken white window frame dangled precariously from the mortar.

Quinn was gone.

Wyck ran to the gaping hole in the side of his apartment and leaned out over the second-floor precipice. He caught sight of her bright auburn hair, sticking out from under the arm of a Nephilim henchmen, his white suit reflecting the sun as he made off with her. Quinn struggled, flailing and kicking, but her abductor’s grip never faltered. She screamed again.

“Quinn!” Wyck stepped over the edge of the drop off, summoning a vortex then chasing after the half-breed. The Nephilim looked back at him, grinning. Wyck raced faster, determined to save the woman he loved.

She was his to protect, his duty, his desire, his Seal.

A dark jagged line opened up in the air ahead, growing larger by the second. Black fog swirled out of the portal until the crack was large enough to pass through. Wyck charged, hand outstretched, desperate to follow Quinn’s abductor, but the rip in time vanished before he reached it.

He stopped in mid-flight, fury sizzling inside him. Throwing his arms out, he flung his head back and cursed the sky. The world trembled, and ominous clouds gathered. He took a deep breath to purge his hunger for violence.

Eventually, blue skies returned and the earth calmed.

Wyck returned to his flat and finished dressing, gathering his weapons and checking them all before strapping them to his body. Guns, knives, and his trusty dagger. He was going to war and he damned well wanted to be prepared. His Scion instincts told him the Nephilim had taken her to their club. he would start his search there. Quinn was in danger and he would save her, no matter the cost.

His Scion mark glowed white-hot. Divinity was summoning him, ordering him to return to Heaven, but he ignored the call. She could punish him for his insubordination later.

Right now, he had a Nephilim to kill and his love to save.

Fully armed and ready for a fight, he summoned another vortex and zoomed down toward the street, ignoring the crowd of onlookers and law enforcement vehicles gathered around the side of the now-crumbling warehouse. He’d cloaked himself so no one could see him as he plummeted toward the street and then shot along the road just above the flashing lights, invisible to human eyes. Gaining speed, he took each corner sharply, zigzagging through the city toward the club. The second attacker would be there with Quinn, he could feel it.

This would end tonight. He’d make sure of it. He refused to report to Divinity that he’d failed in his sacred Scion duties and allowed his Seal’s host to be killed. Nor could he let those who’d killed so many innocent humans go free.

He had to do this. It was the reason for his creation.

The rest of the journey passed in a blur. Wyck landed in a crouch behind a dumpster in the alleyway behind the club and scanned the area. It was far too early in the day for patrons to loiter about. Nothing was happening outside. He searched the exterior of the building but found no guards on duty. Which meant his Nephilim attacker wanted this to be one on one.

Fine. Wyck was good with that too.

He pressed his ear to the black metal entrance door beneath the unlit neon sign. Muffled voices issued from the other side. One male, the other softer, quieter. Female. Quinn. He sniffed the air for her scent and caught the smell of roses, soap, and cinnamon. She was here.

He picked the lock and opened the door a tiny crack. The voices became clearer.

“That Scion pussy won’t come for you,” the half-breed said, his tone snide. Footsteps echoed through the shadows. “You mean nothing to him.”

“You’re wrong.” Quinn grunted and Wyck felt her pain. The man was hurting her. “My Scion will come and when he does he’ll kill you, you abomination.”

“Shut up, bitch.” A slap reverberated through the shadows and Wyck gripped the hilt of his dagger. The urge to slaughter the half-breed bastard for hurting his beloved threatened to overwhelm him. His Scion’s mark flared again, not with Divinity’s call this time, but with Quinn’s.

She told him to stay away.

Confusion burned away his anger. He couldn’t abandon her. He loved her.

“Keep quiet or I’ll make you wish you had.” The Nephilim snarled, and Quinn cried out again. “If I’d known you were such worthless trash I wouldn’t have bothered to pick you up. Can’t even discover a decent serum that works.” More slaps followed. “The Scion won’t come for you. Stupid, ugly bitch.”

Enough.

Wyck kicked in the door, sending it flying off its hinges. He stalked into the empty club, knocking tables and chairs from his path. The Nephilim cackled, dodging his blade and grabbing Quinn to use her as a shield. Her head lolled to the side and Wyck quickly assessed her condition. Blood trickled from her split lip and bruises formed on her pale cheeks and her bare arms too, and one of her bra straps looked ready to break. The half-breed coward twisted Quinn’s arm behind her back and she cried out in pain.

Wyck raised his dagger.

The Nephilim grinned, his teeth bright in the dim light. “You Scion, always so righteous, always so easy to predict. I knew you’d rescue her, but I hoped to test her own serum on her first then let her die just to piss you off, but then I realized there was something more to her. Not every day you get to kill a Seal host, eh?” The Nephilim snickered, sinister and chock full of crazy. “Maybe I should have, fucked her too, but I find her repulsive.” The half-breed’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Quinn, listen to me,” Wyck said. She swallowed hard and met his gaze, her eyes wide. She’d been so strong until now, almost reckless. He wanted to free her, make her feel safe again, but he couldn’t do that with the half-breed’s syringe of serum ready to prick her jugular vein. “Are you alright?”

She gave a tiny nod.

“Good. Keep still and don’t panic.” Wyck felt her pulse slow. “Perfect. I won’t let anything happen to you. Understand?”

The Nephilim made gagging noises.

“This is between us, half-breed. Let her go. It has nothing to do with her.”

“I like having her as a barrier. Keeps things fair while we cut our deal.”

“Deal?” There was only one way that things were going to go down now and a deal wasn’t it.

“Play nice, Scion, or the bitch bites it. Not that I’d mind laying wasted to this shithole creation of Divinity’s by unleashing the end times, but let’s keep this civilized, eh? The same as it was with the archangel.”

“Ruman.” Wyck all but spat the name.

“He was quick to agree when I offered him a chance to play.”

“Play for what?” If Wyck discovered what had tempted Ruman to join the Nephilim, perhaps he could stop their evil plans before any more innocents died. “If you expect me to turn traitor, I need more information. What is it you want with this serum?”

Quinn slumped over, exhausted. Duty warred with love inside him. He couldn’t surrender this chance to capture the second Nephilim attacker and get information on why Ruman had worked with them, but he couldn’t risk Quinn’s life either.

“It grants eternal life.” The half-breed tilted Quinn’s head up and traced the needle of the syringe along her limp neck. “She tell you that?”

Yes, but it didn’t matter. The half-breeds were already immortal. Besides, he didn’t have much time. Quinn still hadn’t fully recovered from her initial blood loss and now she was weakening by the second.

“What do we care about that?” Wyck did his best to sound casual. “I thought you were offering me a deal.”

“Money, power, anything you want... I’ll even throw in her life to sweeten the pot.” The Nephilim let Quinn’s head flop forward again. Wyck forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t attack yet, had to wait for the right moment. “All I ask in return is you help out occasionally, turn the other cheek. After all, it’s just a few worthless human lives. What difference to they make in the greater cosmic scheme?”

Wyck scowled. Losing even one mortal life was too many. “What kind of help?”

“Erase a few heavenly records, perhaps steal an item or two from the Empyrean vaults, ignore an accidental poisoning or two.”

“Or a hundred.” Rage boiled inside Wyck again. So that was why the half-breeds had needed an archangel on their side. If a human died at the hands of an immortal—even a half-breed one—a record appeared in Heaven and Divinity investigated. It was all part of the tenuous treaty between Heaven and Hell that kept things in balance. Ruman had covered up the Nephilim experiments on humans with Quinn’s serum so none of them registered. He’d been protecting these sick freaks and letting them get away with murder.

Wyck had heard enough.

He stared the half-breed down and said coldly, “No deal.”

Before the Nephilim could move, Wyck was beside him, gripping the syringe. He twisted the half-breed’s arm and pushed Quinn away. She stumbled and fell, landing in a heap on the floor. Wyck wanted to check on her but the Nephilim kneed him in the stomach. He spun and shoved the half-breed hard, sending him flying across the room to slam into the opposite wall.

Wyck crouched beside Quinn and pulled her close, shielding her with his body and splitting his focus between her and the rest of the room. Her pulse weakened and he knew he’d lose her if he didn’t get her out of there soon.

A snarl issued from behind him and Wyck spun, dagger raised to block the Nephilim’s strike. The half-breed grinned and shot toward him again as they weaved through the confined space. Finally, Wyck reached the bar and settled Quinn on the floor behind hit.

“Stay here. I’ll be back,” he whispered, touching her flushed cheek. The skin blazed beneath his fingers. Beads of sweat dotted her brow and her emerald eyes were dull and flat. Wyck pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had no choice. Quinn was strong. She wouldn’t give up. She’d keep fighting until he returned.

He said a silent prayer to Divinity before stepping back out in the room to face his enemy.

The Nephilim stood on the stage now, the dim lights above casting his eerie pale skin in blue shadows. Wyck held his ground. The half-breed wouldn’t try another direct attack. He was clever enough to know he didn’t stand a chance that way.

Overturned tables and chairs crowded the space between them.

Wyck summoned what little energy he could spare and light swirled from the center of his palm. He shot the beam forth toward the half-breed like tiny laser spears. The Nephilim’s movements blurred as he avoided hundreds of them, but he couldn’t evade them all. Eventually one or two would hit and that was all it took. Besides, his opponent was wasting precious energy.

At last a single shaft of light grazed the half-breed’s cheek, slicing through the pale skin. The Nephilim’s flat gray eyes narrowed. In a flash, he disappeared from the stage, only to reappear behind Wyck with the syringe in his hand. He stabbed the needle toward Wyck’s shoulder, leaving a jagged scratch, the serum felt wet on his skin and stung as it seeped into the open wound. His first encounter with the serum had nearly killed him. The second might succeed.

“Wyck!” Quinn cried.

The Nephilim’s attention snapped toward the bar.

Wyck shook off the pounding in his skull and grabbed the half-breed’s arm, to keep him from attacking Quinn. A wave of pain washed through him and his Scion senses wavered. He yanked the Nephilim back and wrapped his hand around the half-breed’s throat. The half-breed scratched at his fingers but Wyck only tightened his grip before throwing his enemy across the room.

The Nephilim hit the stage, then slumped to the floor.

Wyck shot across the room before his opponent could recover and grabbed the half-breed’s throat again, pinning him to the stage as he beat the Nephilim his face was as bruised and battered as Quinn’s. Violent anger rippled through him, demanding satisfaction. He bashed the Nephilim’s head against the stage until the wood split. Still, he didn’t relent, not even when the half-breed jammed what was left of the needle into Wyck’s arm, injecting the remaining serum.

The effects were instant. Wyck’s head spun and his body weakened. The Nephilim kicked him hard and he fell backward onto the floor, tried to get back onto his feet but the half-breed was too fast. He clawed at Wyck’s stomach, directly over his Scion mark, as if trying to rip it from his flesh. The Nephilim’s nails sliced through his skin, cleaving the mark in half. Wyck screamed. He had to survive, had to protect Quinn.

Failure was not an option.

The Nephilim prepared to strike again and Wyck raised his palms, pressing them to the half-breed’s chest. Nothing happened. He didn’t even have the power to blast his opponent off him. And the Nephilim knew it.

His sharp grin widened.

Then his face went slack and his eyes widened.

The half-breed fell sideways, revealing Quinn behind him, Wyck’s dagger clutched in her hand.

“That’s for calling me bitch,” she bit out just before her knees buckled. Through what was left of their connection, Wyck felt her pulse stutter. She was dying. She shouldn’t have moved.

Wyck wanted to tell her he loved her, wanted to comfort her, but a bright white light engulfed them. He fought against it. Divinity couldn’t take her, not yet. Not when they’d just found each other.

The beam lifted them both into the air.

Quinn stirred, opening her eyes briefly. Her fingers grazed his mid-air and he smiled, desperate to reassure her. He’d failed in his Scion duties.

Perhaps, in this final act, he could succeed.