“Did you pick up any impression of who could have put up the wards?” Dagan asked Hedori the moment the door shut behind the females.

Despite Shae’s mischievous look, which was probably to annoy him or maybe to cover up her shock at what she was capable of, worry took hold. This new ability of hers to teleport would be a problem if she didn’t learn how to lock down her power.

“No, but I’ll recognize it again, and it’s definitely not demon-borne.” Hedori scooped the sliced carrots into a bowl. “There’s always a distinct signature to the species it comes from.”

“Someone like us, then?”

A nod. “There’s more.” Anger seeped into the male’s usually passive features. “One of the bedrooms…so much anguish and despair in there.” His orange-green eyes blazed, which was rare in itself since the Empyrean was more laid back than the rest of them. “Female. And it’s not the girl.”

Dagan frowned. Shae had said her mother took off. What had happened?

The door opened, and Michael strode inside, along with Blaéz and Aethan, back from patrol. Týr followed moments later and dropped onto a chair, his expression tense as if he were riding the edge. Whatever.

“Is she the killer, then?” Blaéz asked, pulling out a chair and dropping down.

Killer? Dagan hesitated. Her slaying those demons earlier with a dagger didn’t mesh with the more dangerous M.O. of killing with the mind. “I don’t think so. But whether she’s psionic or not, I’m not sure. Echo would need to confirm that.”

Aethan dragged out a chair then stopped dead. “Where’s the female?”

“With your mate.”

Gunmetal gray eyes sparked a dangerous white. “Dammit, Dag, you let Echo be alone with a killer—a would-be psychic killer?” he snapped.

Damn pain-in-the-ass mated males. Shae wouldn’t hurt a fly. Hell, she was weighed down with guilt at ending those assholes from the Dark Realm.

“She’s no killer, Aethan,” Echo said, entering the kitchen. “She’s terrified of what’s happening to her.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Aethan cut her a dark look, sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “Until then, keep away from her.”

Echo rolled her eyes at her mate’s order as Elytani, their newest Guardian recruit who was still on probation glided in. Despite her six-foot height, with her pale hair and delicate features, Dagan wasn’t convinced she could handle this life. But hell, Shae, a human, had just proven him wrong. However, unlike the other females here, Elytani appeared quieter, didn’t speak much.

Darci entered the kitchen behind her. Her unusual sunflower-hued eyes swept over them and settled on Blaéz. “You wanted me?”

“Always, a leannan.” He held out a hand. Frowning, she took it and lowered onto the seat beside him.

“Echo, will you be able to decipher what Shae is?” Michael asked. “Human with the usual abilities or…”

She shook her head and moved off Aethan’s lap to the chair next to him. “Her aura’s too faint for a proper reading. And she’s really scared. Her laptop short-circuited several months ago…” Echo repeated what Shae had told Dagan. “I don’t have to tell you how scary that is to someone who barely had any powers. When Aethan found me, even I wasn’t prepared for all this—” She waved her hand around them. “And what followed.”

Michael leaned his palms on the enormous table, his shattered blue irises sparking an eerie silver. “We have to know for sure, one way or the other, if she’s responsible for those deaths in the alley before anything else happens. And if she possesses any other abilities.”

“She can teleport, too,” Dagan said. “Several demons confronted us on the way back. They wanted her. She took them all out in seconds, and there were easily a dozen of them. I think it’s the first time the ability manifested…” Recalling her terror, his gut twisted. He couldn’t protect her from what she was. She had to learn to adapt, fast.

Michael frowned. “So she can also manipulate time?”

He had no idea—hell, he’d stood there in a dazed awe, watching her. “I don’t think so, but she’s really fast when her ability takes over. There’s more. Her apartment has the kind of protection wards only an immortal would use. No, it’s not demon.”

“You think it could be this kin of hers?” Blaéz asked, playing with Darci’s hair.

Dagan shrugged. “Doubtful. She senses Others, and she would have said something.”

“Maybe. But ask her anyway to be sure,” Aethan said, sliding his hand down Echo’s back as if needing the contact.

Dagan nodded and wondered if he’d ever want someone as much as these two warriors did their mates. They’d both been prepared to give up their lives for their women. Shae’s face flickered in his mind. No. He’d given up wanting things he could never have long ago. His path was a dark, deadly one, and a mate was the last thing he needed.

“BTW,” Týr said, tilting his chair back on two of its legs. “Been hearing whispers in the alleys about a man seeing the devil and a white light appearing and bodies disappearing. The cops are trawling the area now.”

“Damn, should have wiped the drunk’s memories,” Aethan muttered, glancing out the open French doors. “There’s still time to find him before the sun rises.” He pushed to his feet.

“One last thing…” Michael straightened, his eerie blues skimming over them. “Someone needs to shadow Shae and guide her into this life and what it means if she does turn out to be psi. As it stands, chances of her going back to her old life don’t look good.”

Dagan slid his hands into his pants pockets. No one stirred. The mated warriors wouldn’t. That only left… He met Týr’s impenetrable dark gaze.

“I have to get back to the penthouse. Need to check out a few things before morning.” Dagan stepped outside. Yet he didn’t move. The thought of her with another ignited a raging fire within him. He rubbed his stubbled jaw. Shit.

Without turning, he said, “I found her, I’ll do it.”

He dematerialized to The Tower, taking form in the backstreet. Crouching on the asphalt, he studied the rugged surface where the fight had occurred earlier, allowing the vibes to slide over his psyche.

Who the hell wanted Shae?

At the prickles cascading over him, he eased into the shadows, letting them conceal him. A familiar stench drifted to him, one he’d marked for killing not twelve hours earlier.

A hefty, dark-haired demon appeared in the alley, shoulders hunched, his gaze darting around the place. Then another, taller, blond male joined him. Dagan frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about the latter.

“What the hell happened?” he snapped, grabbing the demon by the throat. “A simple job, and you fuck up again?”

“She was with one of ‘em. The same one who took her last night.”

“You mean—”

The demon nodded. “He killed the first two minions, and she killed the rest. One minute, she was cowerin’ behind him, and the next, like a cyclone, she killed everyone. I sure wasn’t stickin’ around.”

Dagan sauntered over. Both turned. The tall, thin male instantly vanished, and the stockier one’s form wavered. Before he flashed, Dagan grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.

The demon wailed. “What the hell, man?”

“Talk. Why do you want the girl? And who’s the Fallen?”

“I-I ain’t speakin’, asshole.”

Obviously, a local demon. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Look, man, I was just mindin’ my own biz, and you come up and scare the shit outta me—”

Dagan smashed the demon’s face into the wall. Bones crunched, a screech of pain echoed. “You do realize I could kill you and none would care? This is the human world. Give me a name. Lie, and I’ll just take what I want from your mind. Trust me, if you want to live a normal life, then you don’t want me inside your head.”

He didn’t have Blaéz’s ability, but most of these fucks didn’t know which Guardians possessed said deadly power.

“You’re bluffing.”

“You’re right.” With his mind, Dagan pinned him to the building wall. The demon’s weapon hidden beneath his coat floated into the air. His eyes widened as the tip of the blade pierced his throat. “But I can kill you without touching you, or…I’ll make you kill yourself. Either way, you’ll die.”

“No-no,” a whimper tore free. He grabbed the hilt and tugged, trying to pull it out of his neck. “I can’t tell you, he’ll k-kill me.”

Dagan folded his arms over his chest and stared at the scourge who’d dared to shoot at Shae. At just the thought of her getting hurt, rage tore through him. He let the dagger plunge deeper. An agonized scream ricocheted in the backstreet.

“You took a shot at her last night.” Cold, brutally cold. “Was it on his order?”

“No. Not kill. Only wanted to retrieve her. He says she belongs to him,” the demon tripped out in a guttural moan. “He goes by Aza,” he sniffed. “I think there’s something going on with the Fallens.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Now free me,” the demon whimpered.

“Sure.” Dagan let the blade slide out of the demon’s neck, then whipped it around and sliced clean across, decapitating the fucker. There were no second chances with him.

* * *

Dagan took form on the rec room terrace. Too close to the edge, an unexplained restlessness riding him, he headed for the basement, hoping a workout would settle him.

In the training arena, Týr was going through a furious, solo workout with a broadsword.

Dagan changed into black Gi pants and retrieved a katana from the stand. It didn’t matter that they never spoke, he needed a fight, and this one would be…cathartic to a degree.

He strode to the center. Týr slowed, eyes narrowing. No nod of acknowledgement. He stepped back, exchanged his broadsword for the other katana, and strolled to the middle of the mat.

Dagan lunged. Týr didn’t avoid him but met him head-on, their swords clanging, the sound bouncing off the walls. Memories of another time took over...

Arid lands stretched out for miles, and impossible heat surrounded them in the Sumerian temple, now home to the Goddess of Life. Inara was barely eighteen and too young for this immense responsibility, but she was the chosen one.

The fierce sun beating down on him, Dagan swiped the sweat from his brow as he worked his way along the perimeter of the temple and the surrounding buildings. The lush new life that had sprung up in the temple yard didn’t escape his notice. It was because of Inara. She’d touched the dead plants on her arrival, and life had flowed back to the place.

Her caress gave life.

But she was too playful, didn’t want to be sequestered at so young an age—or accept her calling.

Needing to check on her, he headed back for the temple. In the foyer’s cooler interior, he scanned for her. “Inara?”

“In here.”

Dagan stepped into the living area. His jaw hardened at the sight of the soldier slouched on the couch sipping wine. The male jumped up, the pewter goblet flying to the floor in a dull clunk. “My pardon, sire—”

“You’re released from duty. Get out.”

As the soldier scuttled away, he cut his sister a narrow-eyed stare. “They are here to protect this temple and you. You are not to indulge in this frivolousness, Inara. You have your handmaidens for that.”

“You’re too serious, ahu.” She pouted. “Brother, I will die if I don’t have something else to do with my time other than focus on my duties. There’s no harm, they know this.”

He didn’t care. Her life was far too important. His sister needed to understand this. When he got back from patrolling the borders this evening, he would sit her down and explain the danger she put herself in with her playful ways.

“We will talk tonight.”

Laughing, she waved him off, her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “I cannot wait.”

With his gift of telepathy, it was easy for him to communicate with the other protectors. Dagan headed out and mind-connected with Týr, his second-in-command and the only male he trusted to be at the temple when he wasn’t around. I’m leaving to the borders.

I’ll be there. Seconds later, Týr took form on the temple portico, the sun gleaming off his light hair. He sprinted up the stairs and slowed when he saw Dagan, the twinkle in his pale brown eyes fading. “What’s wrong?”

“I had to dismiss another soldier.”

Týr shook his head, grunted, “Maybe I’ll just kill the next one who forgets his duty.”

“Keep her safe, Týr.”

“Always.”

Much later, the noon sun scorching him, Dagan swiped the sweat from his brow as he patrolled the boundaries. Eyes narrowed, he perused the area again, unease riding him. “Seth, Nikkos,” he called out. “Let’s go to the outlying lands. Something doesn’t feel right.”

They flashed to the remote terrain surrounding the temple. As they reformed, a cloud of dust in the distance had him stilling. Dagan shielded his eyes with his hand as a lone rider approached on a huge destrier.

“Who the hell is that?” Seth muttered, shading his eyes, too.

Dagan’s warning radar roared inside him like an alarm. “Halt,” he yelled, but the rider continued in blatant disregard.

Sword summoned, Dagan leaped into the air and straight at the rider, taking him down. Debris flew all over as their bodies landed with a hard thud on the dusty ground.

Cold, blue eyes met his. With his pale skin and shoulder-length, ebony hair pulled into a queue, he didn’t belong in the desert. Dagan wasn’t in the mood to interrogate, not when it came to his sister’s life. He attacked. The male met him strike for strike. The male’s countermoves held the precision of one well versed in war. He was powerful.

Before questions formed, the pale warrior cursed and leaped away, his gaze scanning the area in front of them. “I am Blaéz of the Celtic pantheon, assigned as protector to the Goddess of Life. We have trouble.”

Dammit. Of course! He’d been watching out for him. Trouble? Dagan pivoted, scanning the area. A sudden haze spilled over the place, and more figures appeared. Red eyes flashed. Dagan stumbled back. Demons. Here?

Fiery hellbolts whizzed past them. Dagan ducked. With his mind, he seized them, flinging them high into the air. His power was such that they didn’t reappear.

Blaéz flew into the horde, hacking off heads.

A hissing sound echoed in the fracas, and a bolt hit Dagan in the back. He stumbled. Fury exploding, he wheeled around and struck out with his mind, splitting the demons in two. Then it all suddenly stopped. The demons vanished, leaving only a thick, dusty haze behind.

Inara! Dagan flashed to the temple, panting hard. At the sight of the blood and the broken bodies of the handmaidens on the floor, a tortured cry ripped from his soul. “No—Inara!”

He raced to her room. More carnage surrounded him. Gore soaked the bed sheets dragged to the floor. Several slain soldiers lay there amidst the crumpled bodies of the handmaidens, their sightless eyes staring at nothing. It hurt to breathe. Tears glazed his eyes.

A groan pierced the pain in his mind. Dagan whirled toward the sound. A huge form pushed off the floor, climbing to his feet as if drunk.

“What the hell happened?” Týr groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Dagan dove at the warrior, slamming him into the opposite wall. “For all that is holy, Týr, tell me she is safe,” he pleaded. “Tell me you kept my sister safe.”

Bleary, pale brown eyes blinked and looked around. Anguish swept over his lean features, and Dagan knew. An agonized cry tore free. He swung his sword in a deadly arch and sliced the carotid of his best friend…

The tinny sound of a sword falling to the floor brought him back. Breathing hard, Dagan stumbled away, fighting to shut off the images that still haunted him to this day, eons later.

Heavens knew he’d paid the price for his crime by being imprisoned in Tartarus.

His gaze fell to the droplets of plasma spilled on the gymnasium floor. Týr stood there, blood seeping from deep gashes on his heaving chest, anguish distorting his usually perfect features. “Bróðir, forgive me.”

The Norse’s words hit him hard. They’d been best friends—brothers—once. Drawn together in the unforgiving world of their pantheons when they’d squired as young boys at the Gates of the Gods, the political powerhouse of all deities. Later, Dagan had shunned his old life to become protector to the new Goddess of Life, and Týr had, too. In all that time, he’d never spoken of his past or his kin. Dagan hadn’t pried.

Swiping the sweat from his brow, he realized he not once asked Týr what had occurred all those centuries ago. He’d only understood that Týr was responsible for Inara’s death—or so he’d thought then. And in his anguish, knowing he’d failed in keeping his dying mother’s wish to protect his sister, he’d sliced the throat of his best friend, nearly killing him—which is what would have happened had they not been yanked out of the temple to the Gates of the Gods for judgment in that precise moment.

It tortured him daily, wondering what else he could have done to save his sister. Where he’d fallen short. But it was too late—too fucking late for anything. The desolation in him deepened.

“Dag—”

Shaking his head, he strode out before the pain roiling inside him erupted and he tore everything apart with his bare hands and hurt the people who mattered.

And the bastard, Týr, did.

He just couldn’t forgive him.

* * *

An hour later, showered and changed, Dagan took the stairs up to Michael’s quarters on the fourth floor, knocked, and entered.

“Dressing room,” Michael called out.

The Arc’s quarters had the same layout as his. He headed for the first door next to the fireplace. Michael stood in the middle of the room with closets on one side and a mirrored panel on the other. He re-hitched the towel slung low on his hips. A brow rose. “What’s up?”

“I found one of the demons who attacked Shae and me—the same one who took a shot at her. Took care of him. But the Fallen he was with escaped.” Dagan leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “It seems the Fallens are rallying together for something big. You know anything?”

Lines furrowing his brow, Michael opened his closet. His back bore two deep, lumpy, lengthwise scars where his wings should have been. “I’ve heard rumblings about them gathering here. I trolled through the city a few days ago, but nothing seemed amiss. At least not so far.”

“You do realize they could be hiding whatever it is they’re up to when you’re around?”

Michael had probably been behind a lot of those Fallen losing their wings. Revenge was always in the cards when it came to them.

A nasty grin broke over Michael’s face as he dropped the towel, got a pair of jeans, and dragged them over his muscled thighs. “Hmm, so their vendetta’s probably with me. We shall see… Besides, I don’t want to tip my hand just yet, I have bigger fuckers to reel in.”

Undoubtedly more runaway angels, but Dagan didn’t ask. He had a shitload to deal with right now, he couldn’t worry about the other aspect of his job. Shae was who mattered, and she had no idea of the danger nipping at her heels.

He got back to the issue at hand. “This Fallen wants Shae.”

“I’m not surprised. Kicked from Heaven and losing their more powerful abilities, they would look for ways to compensate—gain power again. Take Shae to Romania. It’ll be safer for her there, and buy us some time.”

Dagan rubbed his jaw. Hell, he wanted to leap at the chance to go back to the place he regarded as home, but his Guardian oath stopped him. “No, with trouble stirring again, you need me here. I’ll keep her safe, but it’s my duty to see this to the end.”

“Understood.” Michael’s fractured irises glowed as he pulled on a navy t-shirt. “But she’s far more important. They obviously know we have her now—we’ll keep an eye on the penthouse. You need to leave, trouble already heads this way. I’ll remain here for the duration or as long as it takes to end this. With the kind of abilities she wields and her burgeoning powers, she’s vulnerable right now.”

Dagan glanced behind him through the bank of windows. Weak, early-morning light seeped into the bedroom, daybreak mere minutes away. “One more thing.” He refocused on his leader. “Inara?”

When Michael freed them from Tartarus, he’d told Dagan he freed her, too. But she’d disappeared, never to be seen again.

The Arc exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Still nothing. It’s been three and a half millennia. Wherever she’s gone into hiding, she’s secreted herself well. She is the Goddess of Life, Dag, she won’t be found if she doesn’t want to be.”

He didn’t care. She was his sister, and he’d failed her once. Not again. “When this is all over, and Shae’s safe, I’m taking some time off. I have to find my sister, I need to know she’s okay.”

With a slight incline of his head, Michael acknowledged his wish.

Dagan headed out, only to stop on the third-floor landing. He had no idea where Echo had put the little hellcat. He scanned the castle and instantly picked up her psychic vibration, the damn thing rolling through him like an inherent caress.

Mouth tight, he pulled out his cell, recalling her number—yeah, he’d checked after the human texted—and sent her a message. Come down to the rec room.

He jogged down to the ground floor and headed for the rec room. It was empty, but cheering from a recorded ball game playing on the flat screen echoed in the place. The Celt was probably around somewhere.

Dagan retrieved his spare cigar case from the wet bar in the corner and removed a smoke. He threw open the French doors, stepped outside, and sat on the top step leading out to the rolling lawns as day broke. Cigar lit, he inhaled a fragrant lungful of smoke and stared into the gardens, his mind on everything that had occurred.

A soft, furry slap flicked his side as he blew out a spiral of smoke. Dagan glanced down and cocked an eyebrow at the overweight, gray feline. “You hit me with that fluff of yours again, I’m going to shave off all your hair. Understand, cat?”

Bob ignored him. With another flick of his tail as if to show Dagan who was boss, the cat stalked past him and down the few steps, tail held high. He prowled through the plants, his focus on the birds perched on a low branch.

Dagan shook his head. Cat probably had snark for breakfast with that streak of bravery.

“Come down to the rec room. Really? Did it occur to you that this place is massive and I could get lost—which I did until I smelled your smoke?” Her husky but frustrated voice stroked his senses, shoving all his need receptors to the forefront. He shut his eyes at the effect this human girl had on him.

Another deep inhale, then Dagan killed his half-smoked cigar, pushed it into his pocket, and rose. “We’re leaving.”

“Again?” Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I’ll explain later, but we need to go, now.”

“Where?”

“To the Guardians’ other abode.”

She blew out a tired breath. “Great, more migrating. I should have been a bird. Fine, let me get my stuff.”

“No time. I’ll have your things sent over.”

Pulling on the last reserves of his psychic energy, he parted the mystical veils, and a shimmering gateway appeared. At her wide-eyed stare, he grasped her hand and stepped through the flickering portal.