The late morning sun did little to warm the icy air in the kitchen—more precisely, the one emitting off his mate.

Dagan set his empty mug on the table. A smile tugged his mouth as he watched Shae. He found he enjoyed being with her when she had her meals. Just because he didn’t eat, didn’t mean his mate had to take her repasts alone.

But the ire coming from her held all the threat of several swords about to pierce him in the heart. Nope, she wasn’t happy with him.

But she had to learn that she couldn’t put her life at risk like she’d done two nights ago by not following his orders. Anger and fear resurged when he remembered the demon, Luka, trapping her in the alley with his blood-demons close behind.

And the damn kiss. He’d almost blown everything apart and killed the bastard right there.

Her chair scraped back on the marble tiles. Shae rose, carrying her cereal bowl and glass to the sink. She rinsed her dishes then packed them in the dishwasher.

Dagan strolled over and left his mug in the sink. Before she stalked off, he grasped her hand. “I’ll be clearing my old workshop during the morning, then training with Blaéz later this afternoon if you need me.”

She already knew his schedule for the day, but he wanted to get a reaction out of her.

Aaand, did he get one.

“I don’t think I’ll be looking for you much today, thanks.”

With that caustic parting shot, she marched out, leaving behind a trail of frosty air.

Yeah, he’d asked for that, he thought wryly, rubbing his jaw…

A few minutes past two, Dagan headed for the massive training arena in the basement. As he jogged down, he grimaced, gingerly pressing his side. The wound still hurt like hell. With his healing abilities almost flatlining, he couldn’t afford to sustain any more injures. Michael would surely bench his ass for as long as the damn wound took to heal. But he needed to train and keep physically fit since he was draining psychically, too.

In the empty arena, he selected a sword. At a shimmer in the air, he spun and barely missed decapitation at the deadly obsidian blade winging past his head. Considering whom he partnered this afternoon, not paying attention was asking for trouble.

The Celt had a masochistic streak a mile wide and appeared to be in a mood—summoning that damn Gaian weapon without cause was like reaching into your body and pulling out a rib.

Blaéz grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mating has made you soft.”

Dagan snorted and lunged at him. Blaéz countered with cold cunning deliberation, reminding Dagan of a time when the warrior hadn’t been in possession of his soul. Dagan didn’t let emotions crowd him either. Next on his to-do list: get rid of the Fallen after his mate, find the bastard who’d killed Shae’s father and if he got ahold of Samael along the way, he’d take pleasure in annihilating the scourge.

Soon, the fierce clashing of steel reverberated off the walls. Time passed, and still, they fought. Long, hard, and brutally…

“Blaéz?”

At the soft, feminine voice, he spun toward the door instead of blocking the strike. Dagan’s sword rammed him in the side. The Celt stumbled back, a curse flying free, but it didn’t stop him from striding to his mate.

“Blaéz!” she gasped, darting across to him, fear darkening her eyes.

“Dammit, Darci—” he growled. “I told you, this place is off-limits.”

Before she saw her mate’s blood coating his sword, Dagan headed to the opposite side of the arena and got out a cleaning cloth from the shelf. Despite their low voices, he could clearly hear their conversation.

“You walked away before we finished talking. I gave you time to cool off. You didn’t come back.”

“What’s there to talk about?” His tone terse, Blaéz pulled off his shirt, revealing the vicious scars crisscrossing his back, a horrific reminder of his brutal imprisonment in Tartarus. He wiped his face and chest. The place where Dagan had accidentally pierced him already healing. “You don’t want to get married, fine.”

Darci snorted. “The way you say fine, it sure is. Look, all I said was two weeks is too little time to prepare for a wedding. Maybe early next year—April?”

“December…the first weekend.”

“But that’s just under four weeks,” she protested. Then a sigh drifted out of her. “Okay.”

His good mood apparently restored, his obsidian sword settled on his biceps. “Sumerian,” he called as he ushered his mate out. “Rematch. Tomorrow.”

Dagan nodded, putting his sword away.

* * *

Ten minutes later, showered and changed for patrol, Dagan left his room. He jogged down the gloomy, narrow side stairs, glancing out the darkened window. Dusk had settled in. With the onset of winter, daylight faded fast, and the job started too damn early.

As he hit ground floor, hunger cramped his belly. His teeth ground down. Later, he’d get that seen to. He had to go find Shae first. For now, he retrieved a cigar from his pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply to tamp down his thirst.

He cut through an empty kitchen. As he walked past the pantry for Hedori’s quarters, his mate’s scent drifted to him. He pivoted. And there, in the brightly lit pantry, he found her reaching for a canister on the top shelf. Her skirt lifted a little higher, exposing more of her thighs. Her long sweater, unfortunately, stayed in place.

He walked inside, and went motionless. The scene of her tears hit him like a dagger in the chest. “Shae?”

Hastily, her hand moved as if wiping her cheek. She didn’t turn. “I can’t reach the canister.”

He got the tin and left it on the counter. “What’s wrong?”

She lifted her damp eyes to his. “I’m trying to be strong for Mom. It’s so hard seeing her this way. She barely speaks and doesn’t eat. Hedori made her favorite cake and…nothing. I don’t know what to do. I-I thought making her favorite drink would help…” Her lips trembled. “What did that angel do to her, Dagan?”

His gut twisted to see her so distressed. He set his cigar on the shelf edge and drew her close. She buried her face against his chest.

How did he tell her about the horror he’d sensed in that damn place? It would devastate her. He said instead, “Samael took away her memories. It’s why she’s in this state. When she’s physically stronger, we’ll help her heal any way we can.”

Silence lengthened. Just when Dagan thought she wouldn’t speak, she said, “She held my hand for hours.” A whisper of pain.

“Because you being there gives her strength.”

Her arms tightened around his waist. “I’m glad.”

He stroked her back, lending her his strength. After several minutes, a shuddering breath escaping her, she stirred and touched the damp patch on his black, crewneck shirt. “It’s wet.”

Hell, he didn’t care about his shirt. He tucked a coppery strand behind her ear. “You okay?”

She nodded. Her gaze lifted to his. “You’re going out on patrol?”

“In a few minutes, but I’ll wait until I know for sure you’re all right.”

She sighed, her fingers smoothing his shirt. “No, don’t do that. It’s important that you go out there—”

“No, Shae, nothing is more important than you…” He kissed her tenderly, tasting her tears in the kiss. Then he pressed his lips to her right damp cheek. “Absolutely nothing…” Finally, he trailed his mouth over the bumpy lesion on her left cheek. “Not one damn thing.”

A tremulous smile curved her mouth. It was like the sun peeking out after a bad storm. His heart settled. He caressed her back, her hips, still soothing her. Curious, he slid his palms under her skirt and encountered the smooth, bare curves of her bottom. “You didn’t put on underwear?”

She glowered. “When you looked like a thundercloud”—he lifted a brow at that—“it seemed best to placate you.”

Placate? He snorted, squeezing her bum cheeks. And bit off his own groan, his cock stirring in anticipation. But it felt damn good to see her back to her old self.

Shae grasped his shirt, tugged him down, and kissed him. “Thank you.”

It was hard to ignore the hardening fucker with her mouth on his, and his hands cupping her sexy bottom. “For?”

“Bringing Mom back, for being my mate—for everything.”

Ah fuck! His heart went gooey in his chest like a teen with his first crush. He kissed her deeper. She leaned against him. Her warmth and the musky perfume of her arousal tormented his senses, agitating his hunger for her. “You undo me, Shae. Every time.”

“I need you,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. Her eyes still held fragments of bleakness, something he never wanted to see again. “It’s been a horrible, horrible day.”

Much as he wished he could make everything better straight off with her mother, he wasn’t a miracle worker. But this, he could give her.

With his mind, he shut the door.

He picked her up, set her on the counter. Her hands lowered to his leathers. And as she unbuttoned and undid his zipper, he slid his hand between her thighs, parted her folds, and stroked a finger down her tempting cleft. She shuddered.

His cock freed, she grasped him, flicking the head with her thumb. His balls jerked. Damn. He drew her to the edge of the counter and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Her hand dropped away, and her legs wrapped around his hips, her seductively wet core sliding against his sex.

Aaand he lost whatever remained of his common sense. In one hard thrust, he sank into her.

“Ohhhh…” she breathed as her body stretched to accommodate him. A groan of pure need garroted him, her intimate muscles locking around him like a fist. And then he was thrusting inside her with hard strokes then slow drags.

“More,” she whimpered. “Faster.” The wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh filled the quiet pantry. Voices drifted from the kitchen. The warriors would be getting ready to leave on patrol now. And he could care less.

“Dagan—”

“Ignore them.”

“The door—”

“Forget it.”

He didn’t bother to lock the door as he pulled out and thrust back into her. It could be done in an instant. And he wanted her on the edge to give her what she needed.

She braced her hands on the counter. Her gaze lowered to where they were joined. At the sight of his cock sliding into her tight body, arousal burned deeper.

He rolled her clit with his thumb, and she shuddered, her feminine muscles clamping around him. He gripped the tiny point of pleasure and tugged.

“God, Dagan!” She came fast, squeezing him like a vise as he pumped into her.

“Come here, baby.” He pulled out, set her down, and spun her around. She grasped the counter. He slid his cock back into her, bent his knees, and drew her against him, his erection sliding deeper into her still spasming sheath. Wrapping her hair in his fist, he tilted her face to his and kissed her. His own orgasm barreling furiously down his spine, his balls tightened. His fangs lengthened.

Fuuuck! He pulled away and buried his face in her hair, his incisors piercing the flesh of his lip instead. He shuddered, releasing into her.

Several harsh breaths later, he eased away from her wet warmth and bit off a groan.

Shae staggered back against the shelves and then grabbed them, her skirt falling back into place and concealing her.

He hadn’t meant to take her so hard. Obviously, his brain had hiked off into the land of the dead when it came to her. But hell, he didn’t regret it for one damn second.

He reached for his cigar and inhaled the sedative smoke deeply…aware her eyes were fixed on him. But she didn’t say anything. His throbbing incisors finally receding, he clenched the cigar between his teeth and glanced around. Grabbing a couple of paper napkins from another shelf, he cleaned her since she seemed to lack the strength to stand or do anything.

“Are you all right?” she asked as he took care of himself.

Always about him. Yet she’d been the one hurting so badly.

“I’m good.” He zipped up and pushed the used tissues and dead stub into his pocket and felt her panties. “Here.”

She pulled on her underwear, her wary gaze flickering past him to the shut door. “Are they still in the kitchen?”

Cutting her an amused smile, he shook his head. “They left.” He picked up the hot chocolate from the counter, put his hand on her waist, and ushered her out.

In the kitchen, she got out the milk from the fridge and glanced at him where he leaned against the window counter. “Aren’t you leaving now?”

“In a few minutes.”

“I’m okay. Honest.”

Yes, their passionate encounter had replaced desolation in her eyes. But he knew, too, the moment she went back to her mother, it would resurface.

Hedori entered through the open French doors. He’d seemed a little rattled after their rescue of Jenna in the Dark Realm. Dagan couldn’t blame him, it had been centuries since the Empyrean took up arms as a warrior and killed.

Hedori cast a quick look at Shae then back to Dagan. “May I have a word?”

Dagan followed him out into the small terrace rich with the smell of herbs and stuff that grew in pots. Damn, he had to tell him the truth about Jenna.

Since Shae was still in the kitchen, Dagan lowered his voice, “Jenna is whom I’ve been searching for. She’s the psychic killer.”

“What?” Shock paled Hedori’s tan features. “That means…”

“The seraphim will demand justice, and Michael will have to carry out the execution.”

“No!” Hedori spat in vehemence. “She has been through hell—trapped in that godsforgotten place. The heavens only know what horrors occurred there. Besides, what reason would she have to kill those males?”

“To protect Shae. Samael probably blackmailed Jenna then blocked or wiped her memories of the kills—godsdamn these fucking angel wars!” Dagan cursed. “We’ll need a miracle to stay that sentence.”

Shae would be devastated.

Hedori’s features morphed into hard, angry lines. “I won’t let any harm come to her. Not again.”

“Me either.” Dagan exhaled a rough breath. “Shae doesn’t know anything yet, and I’d like to keep it that way for now until I speak with Michael.”

Hedori remained silent, his gaze on the trellised walkway, then those orange-green eyes came back to Dagan. “There’s something I meant to tell you, but it slipped my mind with everything that occurred. The marking you asked about? The one that resembles a rope with one side unknotted? It’s normally used as a brand of claiming by immortals. Once the deed’s done, the knot closes off.”

Fury like wildfire raged through Dagan. The bastard! He slammed his palms on the wrought-iron table there. That was why the fucking thing repulsed him.

“What is it?”

“Shae has a marking like that on her wrist.” It was a miracle he could force the words out, considering how hard his teeth were clamped. “She has no idea what it is, thinks she got the damn tatt done. Aza must have wiped her mind of the incident.”

“It’s a tricky situation,” Hedori said. “He will come for her.”

Dagan’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he straightened. “Shae’s mine. We mated.”

“True. The Fates chose her as yours. But he claimed her first. After Blaéz’s dangerous encounter with the law-keepers a few months ago, I got the tome of the Absolute Laws to look for loopholes. It’s all there. You didn’t get rid of the mark when you mated her, so your soul-joining will not be at full strength. You’ll probably experience everything a soul-joining bestows with her—telepathic communications, sense her emotions, etcetera—but all will be faint. If he mates her, it will override your bonding…”

Hedori brushed back a loose strand of hair that had escaped his metallic-gray braid, lines creasing his brow. “Though the Morrigan has ruled that the Absolute Laws do not affect the Guardians, you know the law-keepers will still keep watch. If Aza goes to them, you’ll lose her.”

Godsdammit! She was his mate. His!

Dagan paced the length of the terrace, his fury amping. Now Shae could be taken from him? No! Not fucking happening!

“You have two options. Find a way to get the mark off her before it’s too late. Or kill him,” Hedori said, like he didn’t know that. “And tell her the truth, Dagan. She needs to know.”

Dagan. Downtown. We have a situation near Club Nocte. At Blaéz’s telepathic message, he bit back a curse. Hell, he should have left for patrol a half hour ago.

“I have to go, work emergency,” he told Hedori. “I’ll speak to Shae when I get back. Keep her—keep them both safe for me.”

“With my life.”

* * *

Dagan took form deep in the alley where he’d first met Shae and crossed to Blaéz, who waited near a boarded-up building with a For Sale sign.

Blaéz nodded to the door. “Inside.”

Dagan followed him in then slowed to a halt, keeping his breathing shallow at the scent of fresh blood drenching the air. There, on the wall, the blond band member Shae had hugged was nailed to the surface, blood dripping down his body to pool on the grimy floor.

“Found this on him.” Blaéz held out a smeared note, his expression grim.

The families of the Guardians’ mates will soon join him, all nailed to this wall. You took what belongs to me. I want her back.

Jenna or Shae?

Dagan’s jaw clamped down at the bastard’s warning.

If Shae found out about this, she’d give herself up in a heartbeat. Not only was her friend’s life on the line, but the families of the Guardians’ mates, too.

He frowned at the note in his hand, and it finally registered. He couldn’t pick up shit—his ability was dead like a damn doorknob.

A shimmer in the air, and Michael appeared. His eyes glowed silver as he looked at the crucified male. Dagan showed him the note while Blaéz eased the huge steel nails out of the unconscious man’s limbs and laid him on the floor.

“Everything’s blurry; can’t pick up a reading,” Dagan said.

His features cast in steel, Michael knelt beside the human and swept his palm down his body. An eerie, silvery-white light, almost like a shroud, coalesced around the man as the Arc started the healing.

Dagan pulled his mind back to the job at hand. With little hope, he tracked for the psychic signature of the one responsible for this torture. A faint flicker of fury touched him. “I’m going to follow the trail, I can still feel the energy of whoever did this.”

He headed for the door, his stomach constricting in hunger, reminding him that he had to go feed. As soon as he checked out the trail, he would.

As he traversed the alley, thousands of heartbeats crowded his head, the draw tugging him. His fangs throbbed at the temptation. Dammit. He fell against the wall, breathing hard, fighting for control. Before he went on a rampage, with shaky hands, he pulled out a cigar, lit the thing, and inhaled deeply.

A few minutes later, his hunger dulled, he cut through a thoroughfare into another grimy backstreet. The psychic vibration had gone cold.

About to head back to Blaéz and Michael, a piercing pain tore into his abs, and he stumbled backward. Cursing, Dagan yanked the sword free, but his palms stung as if acid were eating his flesh. What the hell? He flung the weapon away.

“Did you think I didn’t know which of you assholes had my mate?” A tall, familiar blond emerged from the shadows. Aza.

“She’s not yours. She will never be,” Dagan snapped, his vision blurring a little. “How did you trick her into getting branded?”

Aza ignored that and circled Dagan. “The mighty Guardian, now at my mercy.”

“You marked her against her will—” He wavered, but steadied just as fast. “I’m going to kill you for that.”

The Fallen slid his hands into his pockets and laughed. “Strange, I’m here, and you’re fumbling around like a feeble human. Feeling a little frail there, Guardian? It hurts, doesn’t it? You see, that’s an angel’s blade spelled with demon’s blood. Can’t heal that in a hurry, vampire.”

Dagan leaped for the bastard, but he shimmered away. Something else about the Fallen nagged at Dagan, and it wasn’t just him branding Shae.

A cacophony erupted deeper in the alley. Harsh grunts and snarls drifted to Dagan. A familiar flash of swords briefly brightened the alley. The other warriors appeared.

“Pity my fun’s cut short,” Aza drawled, reforming again. “Those blood-demons are hungry—you should be right at home with them. But know this, Guardian, Shae is mine. I will get her back.” In a flash, Aza vanished.

Dagan snarled in frustration, wanting to go after the bastard. But with his Guardian oath too ingrained, he stumbled down the alley instead. He summoned his sword and dove into the horde, his weapon swinging—fuck! He faltered, pain gouging him as he stretched his injured muscles.

Shield, Aethan’s voice drifted into his mind. At the familiar wave of white light flowing out from the middle of the chaos, demoniis scattered from Aethan like roaches. Dagan stood there. He couldn’t move, couldn’t dematerialize. His ability didn’t worked. He shut his eyes.

“Dammit, Dag!” Tough arms snatched him away from certain death and dematerialized them to a rooftop. As they took corporeal form, Dagan slid to the cemented floor.

His chest heaving, Týr faced him, his obsidian sword still in his hand, the moon highlighting the concern on his face. His nostrils flared, and then he lowered to his heels and pulled up Dagan’s t-shirt, exposing his abs and the wound Aza had inflicted. Before Dagan could stop him, Týr ripped off the dressing on his side. Horror darkened his face. “This demon-bolt wound is days old. You’re not healing?”

Struggling to breathe through the excruciating pain, Dagan pulled his shirt down and closed his eyes. What could he say to the one person he didn’t want seeing him this way? He wasn’t healing because his abilities were now dead and he needed a true feed? Yeah, right.

“Dammit, Dag,” Týr shook him. “Tell me what the hell to do.”

He forced his eyelids open. “You can’t do anything. The blade was…it’s nothing. The Fallen bastard wants Shae back.” Then he finally said the words, “If anything happens to me, ask Nik to keep her safe.”

Týr’s expression tightened at the shutdown of Dagan not asking him for help, but he’d trusted Týr once. The pain still lived in him.

“Well…” Týr retorted, “I would, but seeing as it’s a soul-joining, maybe you’d want to give her a last message, too, before she joins you?”

Fuck, he’d forgotten about that. He bit back a pained groan and pressed a hand to the new wound.

“Here.” Týr held out a thick wrist, stunning all hell out of him. “You need blood, take mine.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I know.” His mouth firming, Týr’s obsidian dagger appeared in his palm. He sliced his wrist, blood gushed, thick and rich, snagging Dagan attention like a lure. “After we became Guardians, I followed you once, to talk to you…I saw you feed from a mountain lion.”

“You’re always where you shouldn’t fucking be,” Dagan muttered. “By the heavens, Týr, how could you let that happen? I thought you cared about her—”

A thick wrist was slapped against his mouth. Hunger gnawing his gut, Dagan clamped his lips around Týr’s profusely bleeding wound and sucked. But at Týr’s fast healing abilities, the lesion closed. Too ravenous to care, Dagan’s fangs dropped. He licked the warrior’s skin and sank his incisors deep again.

Týr inhaled sharply. A groan escaped him. “Fuck me! Is that what they all feel when you feed from them?”

Like a blast of icy water, Týr’s words froze him. What the hell was he doing? He jerked away, shame rushing through him. Týr’s blood would stop his thirst for a while, but it wouldn’t give him what he truly needed.

Týr cut a quick look at the puncture marks in his wrist as they closed, then checked Dagan’s wound again. His brow creased. Those pale brown eyes nailed him. “Why aren’t you healing?”

He rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Because it’s female blood I need.”

“Shae—”

Dagan shook his head and lowered his hand. “I cannot. She’s human. I’ll kill her…that’s my fucking curse.”

“Tartarus sure screwed us over,” Týr muttered. His eyes darkened, hollowed as if pulled back into the past. “What about the goddess I sensed you with over the centuries?”

Call Kaerys again? His entire being revolted. “No.”

“Then find another female to feed from. You need to heal.”

“No.”

“What the hell do you mean, no?”

Dagan cast him a tired look. “Not at the price it comes with. My saliva being an aphrodisiac, they’ll want more than I’m prepared to give. I can’t—I won’t betray Shae. I’ll heal like humans do.”

“Dag, we fight fucking evil and other shit every night. You cannot be at mortal strength.”

“I’ve fought well enough in the past month.”

“You haven’t fed for that long?” Týr growled, reminding Dagan so much of how they’d once been. An ache formed in his sternum.

“I have, just not from a female of our genus. Animals sustain my hunger for a few hours.” He shifted against the pillar and winced as pain speared him. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Because no matter what, you’re still my friend. I know I fucked up damn bad. I wish to the heavens I knew what happened that day. I spent millennia going through the events…” His fingers tunneled through his shaggy hair. “I was patrolling the temple area when one of the handmaidens said that Inara wanted to see me. I recall waiting for her in her chamber. She arrived, seemed happy I was there, and she wanted to go to the river. I refused. She wasn’t pleased but accepted it. After that, nothing…”

When Dagan remained silent, Týr’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “I know no apology will ever be enough…” He rose to his feet. “Let me check what’s going on down below, I’ll be back to take you to the castle.”

After Týr had left, with humiliation and guilt churning his gut, Dagan felt like shit. He wished he could let go of the past. But every time he thought about the brutal battle in the Sumerian temple, his mind turned hazy with agony and betrayal, and all he saw was Týr—the sole survivor in that blood-soaked room.

Pain strummed through his belly as he moved again. He bit back a curse and pushed against the cemented pillar. Using the thing as a crutch, he shoved to his feet, breathing hard through his nose, and braced a hand on the wall.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

At the soft voice, his gaze snapped to his left. A shadowy, feminine figure appeared at his side, her scent achingly familiar. His heart pounded against his sternum. He dropped to his ass, shock nailing him in place. “No. No, it cannot be…

“Aye, it’s me.” A broken laugh echoed in the light breeze. Gentle hands touched his face. “I missed you, ahu.”

Brother? He blinked his blurry gaze, so sure he was hallucinating from blood loss. “Inara? How—why?”

The mirage merely shook her head. She appeared older. Thinner. No longer the teenage girl he’d once known. “You suffer greatly, when all you have to do is trust yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Her vision wavered. “No, don’t leave—please don’t—” He tried to grab her. Instead, his hand flayed through air. “Where are you?”

“I am…where I choose to be.” Her ethereal image kneeled before him, and she stroked his hair. Then she fingered one of the ropey lengths and smiled. “Eons have passed, and you still wear your hair this way. She likes it, you know.”

“What?” He shook his head again, trying to clear the dizziness. “Inara—”

“Shh, brother. Go back to your mate and do what you must.”

He heaved a sigh at her words. Damn, he pressed a hand to his new injury. Even breathing fucking hurt. “I can’t. She’ll die, and that I cannot bear.”

“How quickly you forget. I am the Goddess of Life. Aye, I’ve accepted what I am.” A wry laugh. “Death is not in the cards today.” She laid a hand on his arm. The intense pain eased as his body shimmered and the decrepit rooftop vanished.

Eyes clenched tight, Dagan staggered as he took form, not on the portico of the castle but on his own balcony.

“Be at peace, ahu,” her fading apparition whispered. “You cannot blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

“Inara, wait!”

“Alas, I cannot linger...”

At the sadness in her voice, Dagan’s chest hurt. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you—”

“No, brother mine, this time, it’s my burden to endure. Penance for my mistake.” Her misty form enfolded him in a sweet hug he couldn’t feel. Her familiar scent of honey and some musky flower surrounded him, filling his mind with images of a time of innocence and laughter. Then, he was alone.

“Forgive your old friend.” Her last words penetrated the fog in his mind. “Things are not what they seem…the dark angel, Lucifer, was my mistake.”