Dagan stood to one side of the living room in Hedori’s quarters while Michael spoke to Jenna. He’d discarded his shades, and she didn’t react to his eerie irises. Her gaze clouded with pain and confusion, darting between him and the archangel.

Hell, Dagan wanted her to have a little more time, but Michael insisted it was imperative to speak to her, find out what he could about Samael’s plans.

And why he was here instead of out on patrol.

“I don’t know who took me…I don’t know anything,” she whispered again, curling into the corner of the couch, her knuckles white beneath her tan skin as she continued tugging at a lock of dull red hair. Ten minutes of questions, and still nothing.

Thank the stars Shae had been spared from seeing her mother this way.

Suddenly, Jenna jerked to her feet, her hands clenching together. “Please, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

A coppery whiff drifted to him. His gaze snapped to her hands. Shit. She’s hurting herself, he telepathed to Michael.

“Jenna,” he said quietly. “Look at me.” Hell, the power in the Arc’s voice made Dagan want to crawl over and stare at him. “Calm down, we won’t hurt you. We simply want to find out what happened.”

Her agitated movements slowed.

“You’re safe here,” he reiterated, his tone softer now, which surprised Dagan, considering he was sure the Arc was created from solid rock.

“No one will harm you again. Will you come and sit down?”

As she lowered to the couch once more, Michael sat on the armchair across from her, keeping a distance. Hedori walked in and stood adjacent to her, near the windows overlooking the herb garden.

Her wary gaze shifted to Hedori, then to Dagan and stayed on him. “You rescued me from that dark place.”

Dagan nodded. “Yes, we did. The Guardians and I—everyone here, will keep you safe.” He cut a quick look to Hedori, who resembled a statue. His eyes, the only things showing emotion, blazed a deep, deadly orange.

“Jenna, can you recall what happened?” Michael asked. “How you ended up in this dark place?”

She remained silent for an endless moment, and just when Dagan thought she’d retreated into herself, tears rolled down her almost pallid face. “We had an argument, Shae and I, over that musician. Every time he called, she would go, and then she’d come home hurting because he would be with some other woman. Though she denied it, I knew—she’s my child. How could I not?”

Jenna inhaled a shuddering breath. “Shae didn’t go that evening. She worked instead and was on her laptop. Everything happened so fast—there was a crackling noise, then an explosion. The blast threw me across the room, and I hit my head on the wall…” Her fingers plucked at the ends of the sweater sleeves. “I don’t remember what happened after that, all I recall is waking up in that dark place.”

Dagan jammed his fist into his pants pocket. Shae hadn’t told him the reason for the fight, and hearing Jenna reveal how much the human had hurt her pissed him off. His territorial nature demanded that he kill the bastard. His Guardian oath kept him glued to the floor.

He stilled, a thought that had been nagging him surfacing again. He summoned the pewter dagger. He hadn’t had a chance to read it again. Maybe she’d know something.

The moment it took shape in his palm, he crossed to her and held out the weapon. “Jenna, do you recognize this blade?”

She stared blankly at the dagger, then her eyes widened. She snatched it from him. “Where did you get this?”

“So you’ve seen it before?”

A sob broke free. “This belonged to my h-husband. It disappeared when he was killed.” Her gaze lifted to him. “We thought the murderer had taken it.”

At her revelation, Dagan rose to his feet. This was a damn shitfest. The blade belonged to an angel, one who’d apparently still possessed his wings when he mated Jenna. It was why Shae had inherited those kinds of abilities—no! Terror crashed through him at the truth—at what it meant for Shae.

Born of an angel and a psi, it made her extremely powerful. A nephilim.

Michael and his band of warrior angels had annihilated all the Watchers and their half-angel offspring. The Arc cut him an unreadable look, obviously picking up his violent emotions.

It’s not my call to make a decision about Shae. But I’ll do what I can, he telepathed him then returned to his questioning as if this were some godsdamn tea party. “What was your husband’s name?”

Too edgy to remain still, Dagan paced back to the door, his rioting mind trying to recall any laws with loopholes to keep Shae safe.

Another long pause before Jenna answered. “Gus Ion.”

That distracted Dagan. Not two names. One. Gusion. A throne. A powerful damn killer. And the other rogue Michael had been hunting.

Dagan frowned. Wait, just how had the throne escaped the law-keepers all those years ago? His mating to Jenna should have blinked on their radar.

“How did Gusion block your mating?” Michael leaned forward, his powerful forearms braced on his thighs. “I’m sure he would have explained the dangers about immortal-mortal mating to you? And about the law-keepers?”

A slow nod, she whispered, “He found an Oracle, she helped us with a concealment incantation.”

She’d have had to be a very powerful one. Dagan knew only— “Lila,” he said.

Her breathing quickened, terror whitening her face. “Please, I can’t…”

It didn’t matter. They had their answer.

Michael stared at her for a long second. Then, “Do you know who I am, Jenna?”

Her gaze lowered again to her fingers destroying the edges of her sleeves.

“I am Michael.”

“No!” she shrieked, jumping to her feet, startling Dagan and Hedori to move closer. “You—you’re responsible for my husband’s death—”

Power sizzled. Her hands flashed out. Michael flew off the seat, hitting the bookshelf opposite him hard and breaking the wood. The silvery light in his shattered blue irises flared brightly.

Hedori grabbed her wrist. “My lady, stop.”

Jenna elbowed him in the belly, stupefying him. Her eyes pinned on Michael became charcoal-gray holes.

Dagan leaped for her before she turned the Arc into a sack of skin. Except Michael straightened, the glow around him intensifying. She groaned, losing her concentration, and swayed, her eyes closing.

Hedori swept her up into his arms and headed for the guest bedroom.

“Someone’s not only tampered with her mind but also set you up as a target,” Dagan said.

“I figured that.” Michael stalked out.

The Arc had many enemies, especially of the winged variety, so this didn’t surprise him.

In the kitchen, Dagan crossed to the Sub-Zero fridge, got out a bottle of water and a Coke, and tossed the latter to Michael.

“There’re a few rogue angels I’ve been hunting,” he said, staring at the can in his hand. “They absconded from the Celestial Realm, thinking to avoid the final step.”

Dagan unscrewed the bottle and sucked back half the liquid. Yes, the loss of their wings and powers as demanded by angelic law for falling would do that. He didn’t envy the Arc his deadly job.

“You cannot let the seraphim pass judgment. They will demand Jenna’s death.”

Michael cut him an irritated look. “You think I don’t know that? Why the hell couldn’t this job be straightforward?”

“You can stay their verdict,” Dagan pointed out. No way would he allow his mate to be hurt again, just when she’d found her mother. “All she’ll need is a protector until her mortal life ends.”

“You can’t be hers. Protecting one psi is a helluva undertaking, and being what Shae is, you’ll have your work cut out. As for Jenna, it’s unlikely the seraphim will be swayed.”

“Not if I am her protector,” Hedori said, walking into the kitchen. He put the kettle on. “Before you say I’m not a Guardian, I’ll ask you to remember what I once was. And why the mage of Empyrea ordered me to keep an eye on its exiled prince. Aethan may no longer need me, but that doesn’t mean I cannot do the job.”

Hedori was a damn good fighter and a male still in his prime. Hell, training with this Empyrean kept the Guardians on their toes.

Michael nodded. “I will make your thoughts known when I meet with the seraphs.”

“Make it known to them, too, that she is mine.”

The Arc’s eyes narrowed. He slowly set his Coke down. “I see.”

His features inflexible, Hedori started preparing a tea tray. “The moment I sensed her in the room at the penthouse, I knew.”

Well, damn! No wonder he’d been so determined to be a part of this.

“Explain something,” Dagan said, screwing the cap back on the bottle. “How did Jenna survive Gusion’s demise? A soul-joining always takes the remaining mate when death occurs.”

Michael scratched his shadowy jaw. Yeah, he knew something, because he sure as hell hadn’t seemed surprised by Jenna’s revelation.

“Gusion didn’t soul-join with Jenna,” Michael finally said. “Celestial angels can’t soul-join with anyone unless they fall. But spawn offspring? Yes, they can do that, just like the Watchers did.”

Dagan remained silent for a moment then setting his water bottle on the table, he met the Arc’s shattered blue stare. His expression implacable, he laid down his decree. “I won’t let any harm come to Shae.”

Michael exhaled a heavy breath. “I know.”

Dagan headed outside to go back on patrol and stopped on the terrace. Despite the soothing sounds of the night insects, his mind churned. It was obvious Shae had no idea what her father was—what she was.

A nephilim, one marked for death if the seraphs had their way.

Not in his lifetime. And since his life was eternal, never.

* * *

Shae woke an hour before dawn in an empty bed. Dagan hadn’t returned from patrol yet.

Rubbing her drowsy eyes, she looked out the darkened window. Mom!

Darn it. She was supposed to check on her mother, not sleep for so long.

A short while later, showered and changed, she ran downstairs.

Hedori glanced up as she entered the kitchen, in the middle of preparing the morning’s meal—or more precisely, dinner for the returning warriors.

“Good morning.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’m going to see if Mom’s up.”

“Your mother had a restless night,” Hedori told her gently. “Michael sent her to sleep. He thinks it better she rests.” He hesitated, then said, “It will take her time to recover, she’s been through…a lot.”

“What did they do to her?” she whispered, dread squeezing her chest, her mind wavering between thoughts of emotional and psychical torture, and…rape? Oh, dear God! She pressed a hand to her cramping stomach. The warriors could have healed her bruises, but the trauma? The memories?

“I don’t know,” he said roughly as if he were in pain. “Your name was the only thing that stirred her back to life back when we found her in the Dark Realm.”

Her eyes burned with tears. Dagan hadn’t said much, just that her memories were blocked and she’d been locked in an empty house. And they’d killed the demons guarding her.

“Thank you for bringing her back.”

He inclined his head.

Shae hurried into the dimly lit room and quietly approached the bedside to kneel on the floor. Her mother resembled a shell of the woman she’d once been. Her face gaunt, her tan skin appeared pasty and stretched tautly over her cheekbones, and her once beautiful auburn hair lay over the pillow like dull, lifeless weeds.

Gently, Shae grasped the cold hand lying on the cover. Tears started to flow.

More than anything, she wanted the bastard Samael to pay for hurting her mother. With an angry dash of her knuckles, she swiped her eyes, not wanting her mother to see her this way if she awakened.

Sensing a presence behind her, Shae glanced back. Hedori approached, his features grave, but those striking orange-green eyes were soft with understanding.

He set a tray on the table with cocoa and her usual cereal. “Thought you might want to eat while you waited for her to awaken.”

More tears lodged in her throat. She couldn’t speak, but nodded.

His gaze rested briefly on the bed where her mother slept, a shadow passing over his stern features. Quietly, he walked out.

* * *

The night had been endlessly long and far too quiet. Daybreak was a mere hour away.

Normally, it would have made Dagan uneasy, because it just meant more shit would ensure when evil rose again.

Right then, he didn’t care, restlessness taking hold as he traipsed the still dark alley downtown his mind on everything that had transpired from finding Jenna and the horrid outcome there, to Shae and the wonder of her.

Hell, he should have trusted himself. He’d never hurt her. She was his very life. It took her thumping him to show him the truth. A corner of his mouth kicked up. Only she would dare.

The smile faded, his mind looping back to Týr. A thought struck him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. He stumbled to a stop—no! No way!

Exhaling harshly, he whipped around in the gloomy alley. He had to speak to him. He sent his senses out, found Týr, and dematerialized to Dante’s Bar. Several Harleys were lined up outside the all-night bikers’ bar.

Týr’s latest haunt. Which he didn’t get since he’d heard about the warrior’s penchant for clubs and the females there. And this place? Mostly just bikers and their women hung out.

The moment he entered, the noise cut off. Heads turned. Ignoring them, he made his way to Týr, who was engaged in a tense game of pool with a heavyset, bearded biker, who sported more leather than the Guardians did. And was surrounded by more of his leather-clad pals.

You sure know how to make things come to a halt, Týr telepathed him, his tone bone-dry as he cued his shot.

Dagan snorted. You done?

In a moment, as soon as I get my hundred bucks from this human. Týr shot the last striped ball into the pocket and smirked. He didn’t even notice the waitress nearby eyeing him hopefully as he collected his winnings. They headed outside.

“So. What’s up?” he asked, pocketing the dollars. “Thought you’d be tracking back to the castle and your mate. Wait, did Michael reach a decision about Jenna?”

“No. Her mind’s too fragile for a mental search, so that’s on hold for now…” Briefly, Dagan filled him in at what had occurred earlier. About Jenna and Gusion.

“Man, that’s the shits.”

It sure was. “But there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Let’s head back to the castle first.”

They took form on the kitchen terrace, heavy with the fragrant herbs growing there. The lights from the kitchen spilled out onto the paved patio and the wrought-iron table.

Týr removed his biker jacket and tossed it on the table, cocked a brow, and waited.

Despite the chilly fall breeze coasting over him, Dagan barely felt the cold. But he had to start wearing a coat soon to blend in with mortals. “Something’s been on my mind since we spoke on the rooftop. That last day in the pantheon, when you were with Inara, did you drink anything?”

He scowled. “I wasn’t drunk—”

“No, I meant anything else. Do you recall?”

“Of course, I remember. I’ve replayed that scene a zillion times since then, searching every detail of that day, trying figure out where it went wrong…” Týr frowned. “Inara offered me a drink like she always did, only the cup was different…a gold goblet. Why? What do you—?” His eyes widened. “Hell, no!” He staggered back, hitting the table, a vein throbbing violently on his brow. “She fucking laced the drink because I wouldn’t let her go to the damn river?” He slammed his palms on the wrought-iron table. “How could she?”

Dagan felt like pounding something, too. But the anguish in Týr’s face, the pain there, garroted him. No words of apology could ever make things right—not with five hundred years of having lived the horrors of Tartarus between them.

“How could she?” a tortured whisper.

There was only one thing he could do. “Hefnd rite is yours. I will pay the debt for Inara, for what happened. And for what I did to you.”

His words seemed to stir Týr from the dark desolation he appeared trapped inside. He straightened from the table, the furious color in his face ebbing to leave his usually tan skin pale. “You want me to take revenge on you?” he asked, tone flat. “Why? You weren’t in charge that day.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Dagan snapped. “Because of my sister’s actions and my anger, I mortally wounded you. If the ruling council hadn’t intervened, and we weren’t hauled to the Gates of the Gods in that moment for judgment, you would have died.”

Týr sat on the edge of the table, his gaze on his boots. Asked instead, “Did you ever regret what you did?”

“In that blood-drenched room, all I knew was that Inara was dead, and I was beside myself with grief. In Tartarus, I was still so angry…then my change occurred within weeks of being imprisoned, and all I could think of was my next feed. Sometimes, I think what happened to me there was just and fitting.”

Týr’s brow rose. “Becoming a vampire?”

He shrugged. “When we were sentenced, one of those persecuting gods telepathed my judgment into my mind. For the lifeblood you shed, it will be your downfall,” he paraphrased. At the time, I had no idea what it meant…”

“Which one?”

“The goddess Hel.”

Týr surged to his feet and paced to the trellis, staring into the darkened archway.

“Týr—” Dagan touched his arm, and an image shot through his mind. Endless gray skies, no sign of life, just ending heat and sands— No! He yanked free, bile rushing to his throat. Týr couldn’t have faced the same fate as he did. “You were trapped in Reapers Hell, too?” he rasped.

Týr cut him an unreadable look before glancing away. “No.”

What the hell had he seen then? His abilities never lied.

The murmur of voices drew closer, breaking the thick tension. The other Guardians and their mates entered the kitchen. Shae would come looking for him soon.

“Had I a sister, I probably would have done the same,” Týr murmured, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “I already live with too many regrets. Furious as I am with her now, Inara was like a sister to me, too. But she was too young, probably didn’t realize the consequence of her actions. I guess the only way to know why is to find her.” His gaze shifted to the kitchen window and the other warriors there, the bright lights underscoring his taut features. “No one needs to know what occurred. Ever.”

“You are much more forgiving than I. But you know what our laws demand. There’s no way around it. Retribution is yours. It’s been the ways of the pantheons for eons.”

Týr shook his head tiredly. “Another bloody battle to the death? It’s all our lives have ever been—even here. You have a mate now. Would you so readily take her into death with you?”

Dagan groaned, swallowing a curse. Grateful Shae wasn’t here to hear this. With their weak mate-bond, he’d probably die alone, leaving her vulnerable for that fucker Aza to stroll in and take her.

“Thought not,” Týr drawled. Then said, “We may no longer be a part of the pantheons, but the hefnd fee is mine. You aren’t getting off scot-free.”

Dagan narrowed his eyes.

“What? Unlike you, I’m not all that noble and self-sacrificing. Your cabin in the Adirondacks is mine…” he paused. “And a life-size carving of myself.”

The tension eased from Dagan a little. “The cabin, yes, and a blood debt I hope I can one day repay. But the sculpture…not happening.”

The French door opened, and Shae walked out, the chilly winds stirring her waist-length, coppery hair. Hastily, she buttoned her jacket. “What are you doing out here, it’s so cold—oh, hi, Týr.” She smiled at the warrior.

“Shae.” He nodded, snagged his jacket, and headed for the door, then slowed and cut Dagan a droll stare. “Too bad, you just missed out on having my awesomeness set in stone.”

“It would have been wood and used as kindling after,” Dagan retorted.

Týr’s chuckle drifted to them as he disappeared into the kitchen. Dagan’s amused expression morphed into remorse. He leaned against the table and exhaled wearily.

Tender fingers stroked his jaw. “What is it?” Shae asked softly.

Dagan just reached out and pulled her between his thighs, needing to hold her. Feeling as if he were shattering inside.

After a long minute, when he could breathe again, he said, “My sister, Inara, spiked Týr’s drink with a sleeping draft. That’s why he was unconscious when she was abducted.”

Her worried gaze searched his face. “You both okay?”

Dagan doubted it would ever be okay, but he nodded. “I don’t deserve his decency. When I thought Inara was dead, I took my sword to his throat, Shae. And he forgave me.”

“I know. But he’s alive. The heavens must favor him,” she said softly. “I like him.” Dagan cut her a dark look, his territorial nature racing to the forefront. She laughed. “He has a good heart.”

A sigh. “I messed up badly and will always regret it.” His expression turned grim again. “By the stars, I could wring Inara’s neck! She had no idea what her folly would do. She wanted to go to the damn river on the day the attacks occurred. Týr refused, and she gave him the damn draft—hell!”

“She was still a child, Dagan. She didn’t know any better.”

“The warriors suffered, Shae. They all suffered.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his thoughts troubled, recalling his sister’s pale, thin features. “But she didn’t escape unscathed either. She’d paid a price, too, being trapped in Tartarus for five centuries. The heavens knew what kind of hell she’d endured with Lucifer.”