Breslin glanced over at Scott as they bounced down the road in his truck. He was a hot bear shifter and before Rhett came along, she’d have been all over him. He was big and beefy, just her type. Everything about him was appealing. So why was she thinking about the demon? Sighing, she tossed her thoughts out the window and turned in her seat to face him.

She sat sideways, laying her hand on his thigh. A wave of nausea hit home. It was a challenge to swallow the bile in her throat but she was determined to be with another male, despite the pain and revulsion caused by the mating brand.

Breslin wanted to hold onto her anger and hatred towards Rhett, but clutching it so tightly was hindering her ability to relax. It stopped any forward momentum, so she let some of it go. She was determined to move on with her life, without the demon.

Breathing easier, she smiled and traced her thumb back and forth on his jeans.

“Thanks for no’ taking off on me. That demon ruined our evening and I’m sorry aboot that,” she admitted.

“He said you were mates. Is that true?” Scott asked and she turned her head so he wouldn’t see her reaction.

She watched the rain fall against the windshield and hesitated before answering.

“No,” she replied and attempted to keep her voice steady. “Fire demons don’t have Fated Mates like we do,” she answered honestly and fought back the tears threatening to spill.

Rhett was her mate and her heart ached just thinking about him.

“I didn’t know that about their kind. Want me to beat the shit out of him for making false accusations?” Scott offered as he relaxed and scooted his leg closer to her.

Breslin’s chest tightened. She hadn’t lied to Scott, but lying by omission was just as bad.

“Hmmm. Having you pound him is tempting but I’d never ask you to do that. You know how fire demons are with their unpredictable rage. Besides, he’s not worth our time. How about that drink you promised? We can go back to your place,” she suggested, batting her eyelashes.

“I like the way you think, Princess,” Scott murmured and grabbed her hand then brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

Razors sliced through her flesh where their skin met. Not many suffered from the touch of another after they found their Fated Mate.

No. Most were enjoying the bliss of their new blessing. Breslin decided it was the worst punishment the Goddess could inflict on supernaturals. Why did she have to create Fated Mates? This was the worst experience of her life, not some fucking blessing.

It was bad enough suffering the stabbing pain from her mating brand, but now if another touched her in a sexual manner, it felt like her flesh was being sliced apart.

Taking several deep breaths, Breslin went to that place in her head where she compartmentalized pain. Zander taught her how to do that after her first fight with skirm.

She recalled being surrounded by half a dozen enemies. The venom from the bite wound felt like acid on her side, and she was writhing around on the ground. Breslin was so consumed by the agony that she lost sight of the skirm stalking toward her. Thank the Goddess, Zander jumped in and saved her ass. Afterwards, he taught her his meditation techniques and what he did to shove pain aside and continue fighting.

Who knew she would use that same method regarding her mate? Battling demons and their minions was a cakewalk compared to the challenge of denying Rhett.

Scott pulled into his driveway and Breslin steeled her nerves. She wanted this, she reiterated. She jumped out of the truck then grabbed his hand as they walked to his front door. The sensation of someone watching had her head turning and scanning the street.

Rhett had better not follow her or she would rearrange his body parts. He was a wanderer by nature and loved female company, so she needed him to do what came naturally, and stay the hell away.

Not entirely, she amended. Breslin needed his blood to survive and there was no way she was going to allow him to disappear again. It wasn’t just her will to live. She missed hunting with Bhric, and Zander promised she could patrol after her next feeding.

Scott opened the door and tugged her inside. Before the wood panel shut, she noted she saw no hint of Rhett or his vehicle, which was a good sign.

“How about some wine?” Scott asked as he let go of her hand and walked toward the kitchen. “Do you prefer red or white?”

“Red would be great. Thank you,” Breslin answered.

“Perfect. I have Apothic Inferno. It’s my latest obsession,” he responded.

“Sounds good to me. I like the name,” Breslin murmured and winked.

She scanned her surroundings. Scott lived in a modest two-story home with contemporary décor. She preferred the antiques that filled Zeum but there was something about an overstuffed leather sofa. She sank into the cushions and kicked off her shoes, making herself comfortable.

“Where is your family? Are they out for the night?” she asked.

It was common for supernaturals to live together. Several generations, even. With shifters, many cohabitated at the Grove and she wondered why he chose to live somewhere else.

Scott returned and handed her a glass of wine before he sat next to her. “My parents and grandparents are at a pack gathering at the Grove and my brother is probably at Confetti Too. I swear he lives there,” Scott shared with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

She scooted closer and snuggled up to his side and was relieved when butterflies fluttered instead of swarming up her throat. She hadn’t been with anyone since Rhett and her body needed satisfying.

“Your brathair sounds like the males at Zeum. Except the ones I live with go there to hit on their mates and spice things up in the bedroom,” she said with a laugh.

“Mmmm. I like spicy,” Scott murmured and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

Pain sliced through her lips, and Breslin turned her head as she let out a moan, hoping he construed it as pleasure.

“I’m as spicy as they come,” Breslin purred as she set her wine on the coffee table and swung a leg over his lap so she straddled his crotch. No kissing, just get down to the nitty gritty, she told herself.

“Yeah you are. Your ass,” Scott husked as both hands latched on and squeezed, “I want to bite it,” he growled and tugged her against his straining erection.

Pain shot to her core and Breslin jumped from his lap, grabbing her stomach, despite the torment being much lower.

“Wow, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe it was that appetizer from earlier. How about we just talk?” she offered.

Scott eyed her warily for a moment then nodded. Throwing his arm over the back of the chair, he said, “So, I heard Zander put out a call to recruit stripling for a new Dark Warrior program. A trial run, so to speak. My mom said these new demons are killing off our protectors. Is that true?”

Breslin exhaled her relief. Scott wasn’t going to push for more but hadn’t lost interest. She needed a bit more time and he seemed willing to give it to her. She took a sip of the wine, enjoying his selection. She went on to tell him about the current state in the realm, even though her body demanded release. She was strung tight but couldn’t give into her desires unless it was with her mate. Ugh, she needed to kill something.

When Scott excused himself to the restroom, Breslin sent a text to Bhric, asking him to pick her up at Scott’s house in an hour, and to bring her patrol gear. Forget what Zander said. She couldn’t wait until her next feeding to hunt.

* * *

Ramiel ran a hand through his dirty blond hair and tried to contain his fury. His hands gripped his sides and he fought the urge to hunt and kill the demons. He needed to control his emotions or Camael would never grant his request.

He was still adjusting to his new status and lethal wings. The memory of how he arrived at this new station in life still stabbed his heart. He was born Dalton Hayes but murdered by skirm at the age of twenty-five. Everything that meant anything was taken that day. His dream job, his parents and friends, and the love of his life, Elsie.

Eventually, he became an Angel of Retribution (AOR). His massive black wings were tipped with razors, and extremely heavy. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d sliced and diced his legs trying to carry the additional weight.

A beautiful angel with silver wings and a loving smile met his eyes as he walked down the hall to Camael’s office. The color of her wings told him she was an angel of salvation, but her grin was replaced by wariness and fear when she noticed his wings bristle.

Angels of Retribution were notorious hotheads of the angelic community. They were driven by a bone deep need for vengeance for the wrong done to them during their death. Their purpose was to seek retribution for those unable to do it themselves. Rami saw his job as offering a tribute to victims. He preferred to look at it as rewarding those hurt rather than punishing the offenders.

He would always recall the words Camael spouted the day he received his black wings, “For evils done, we are retribution against the wicked.”

Each AOR had to earn their wings. For Rami, it was the role of Guardian Angel to a little girl that shattered his soul with her very existence. Still, he loved Isobel with all his heart. She meant the world to him and was the reason behind his current mood.

The sky darkened and thunder sounded in the distance. It was always disconcerting to see the clouds so close. Angelic living quarters were an odd combination of clouds and buildings that were open to all unless the angel used their power to close the space. Rami acknowledged his personal space remained shut. There was no welcome mat at his front door. More like a sign saying enter at your own risk.

Stopping outside the oversized door, Rami wrapped his knuckles against the wood. He didn’t have to wait long before his boss barked, “Yeah, come in.”

Rami cringed. Camael was obviously in a foul mood and he was about to make it worse. Then again, that was par for the course. With a shrug, Rami twisted the knob and pushed his way in the room.

Camael sat behind a massive desk carved from a living oak. It literally grew from the earth beneath the office floor. In fact, one side displayed the tree’s bark. It was magnificent and Rami loved the desk. Camael’s head was slightly bent and his salt and pepper hair was a stark contrast to the dark wood of the tree.

When the chief lifted his head, searing blue eyes met Rami’s, and his words stuck in his throat. The dark circles and fine lines around the archangel’s mouth spoke of stress. He wasn’t going to like what Rami was about to say.

“I have a request, Chief,” Rami began.

“What else is new, Ramiel? Let me guess, this concerns Isobel or Elsie. It always does with you,” Camael replied curtly as he leaned back, rubbing his well-groomed beard.

His facial hair was black as coal and made Rami wonder why it wasn’t the same color as his hair. Did he dye his beard? If so, why?

“I want to be involved with the team that seeks retribution against Crocell,” he replied and held his breath as he waited for the explosion.

He didn’t have to wait long. Camael surged to his feet so fast that his chair sailed behind him and hit the wall with a loud clang.

“We are not intervening in this matter and, even if we were, there is no way I would allow you to be part of the mission. You’re too close to the parties involved to remain unbiased and make decisions for the greater good,” the archangel spouted.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Rami challenged.

As a human, he never once spoke out of turn and would’ve eaten shards of glass before talking back to his boss, but that meek man died the day those creatures sliced his throat.

“So you’re telling me that if you were faced with a scene where Isobel, or Elsie, was being held at knifepoint by a demon, and you were forced to choose between them or a stadium full of humans, you would make the right decision?” Camael asked as his chest heaved with anger.

Rami watched the male regain control. He had a quick temper, as well. Rami could appreciate such passion. Camael’s breathing settled, his eyes lost their ire, and his stance relaxed. Rami, on the other hand, was ready to call his weapon of light at the mere mention of demons.

“I don’t know that death for anyone is ever the right choice, but yes, I would put the needs of many above that of two individuals,” Rami concluded. Truth was, he’d die before he ever let anyone hurt either Elsie or Izzy but Camael didn’t need to know that.

The archangel eyed him warily and Rami knew he could see right through his appeasing words.

“Nice try, but the answer is no. Look, you’re still Isobel’s Guardian Angel and it is your job to protect her. You will go to her when she calls. If there is a bigger crisis, you will not be part of the team that addresses it. You will remain with the child. That is where your loyalties lie,” Camael replied.

“I can protect Izzy and be of use to others, as well,” Rami objected.

“You are blinded by your love for the girl and her mother, and that limits your rationalization,” Camael stated.

Rami couldn’t deny that he loved them. He’d tried for months to forget Elsie and the life they shared but it was impossible. She was his greatest love and would always hold a piece of his past, and hardened heart.

“Izzy and Elsie aren’t involved so why can’t I form a team and find the missing children?” Rami said, focusing on the situation he came to discuss.

It didn’t matter that the reason he wanted to act was because he feared the archdemon’s tentacles would reach Izzy.

“It’s not our problem. We are burdened with our current charges. The holes in the veil between Earth and Hell are widening. More and more upper level demons are slipping through the cracks. Humans need us. The supernaturals have the Dark Warriors,” Camael explained as he pulled his chair back to the desk and resumed his seat.

“But children are being kidnapped,” Rami argued. “The Dark Warriors can’t find them. They are failing and I won’t allow it. Izzy could be next.”

“And you can find Crocell? Last time I checked, you didn’t have a crystal ball to determine her location. This is a perfect example of how you would be useless in a crisis involving Isobel. You are so consumed with worry for her safety that you have forgotten your other charges. That doesn’t work for me, Rami. And I’ll tell you one thing more. If you can’t pull your head out of your ass and see to your duties, I’ll have Raphael remove you as Isobel’s Guardian Angel. Understand?” Camael bit out and pinned him with a glare.

“You wouldn’t,” Rami denied as he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Try me. Now this conversation is over unless you have something else to discuss. I have shit to do,” Camael spouted and dismissed him with a wave.

Ramiel swallowed the words before they flew from his mouth. Continuing to argue his position would result in him losing Izzy. His feet faltered on his way out the door.

“Did you forget something?” Camael asked without looking up from his paperwork.

He could say yes and tell his boss he was a fucking idiot. Then again, he would be pulled from Izzy’s case in the next heartbeat. On one hand that would be a blessing. He wouldn’t have to see Elsie ever again. Watching her cook for her new husband, fawn and kiss all over Zander, knowing they shared a child together. It shredded Rami’s insides. He would do just about anything to escape the torture. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have Izzy’s smiles or affection, and that wasn’t worth losing.

Isobel might be Elsie and Zander’s daughter but she was the only thing that kept him from losing himself to rage when he discovered Elsie had moved on and mated Zander. In that instant, Ramiel’s human life as Dalton exploded when he saw the depth of love Elsie felt for Zander. She had never loved him that deeply and it pissed him off.

Initially, he considered the task of protecting Izzy fate’s cruel joke. He understood later that he was being tested. He needed to put aside his anger and rage to act on behalf of another being to earn the title Angel of Retribution.

“No, Chief,” Rami muttered and left the room.

He swore he heard the pleas of suffering children as he made his way to his private quarters. He would find a way to offer his assistance. Otherwise, there would be no peace for him.