Praise for New York Times and USA Today
bestselling author
GENA SHOWALTER’S

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

The Darkest Night

“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.”

—New York Times bestselling author

Karen Marie Moning

“Dark and tormented doesn’t begin to describe these cursed warriors called the Lords of the Underworld. Showalter has created characters desperately fighting to retain a semblance of humanity, which means the heroines are in for a rough ride. This is darkly satisfying and passionately thrilling stuff.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 stars

“Amazing! Stupendous! Extraordinary! Gena Showalter has done it again. The Darkest Night is the fabulous start of an edgy, thrilling series…”

—Fallen Angels reviews

“Not to be missed…the hottest new paranormal series.”

—Night Owl Romance

The Darkest Kiss

“In this new chapter the Lords of the Underworld engage in a deadly dance. Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4½ stars

“Talk about one dark read…If there is one book you must read this year, pick up The Darkest Kiss…a Gena Showalter book is the best of the best.”

—Romance Junkies

The Darkest Pleasure

“Showalter’s darkly dangerous Lords of the Underworld trilogy, with its tortured characters, comes to a very satisfactory conclusion…[her] compelling universe contains the possibility of more stories to be told.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 stars

“Of all the books in this series, this is the most moving and compelling. The concluding chapters will simply stun you with the drama of them…You will not be sorry if you add this to your collection.”

—Mists and Stars

The Darkest Whisper

“If you like your paranormal dark and passionately flavoured, this is the series for you.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 stars

This one is for Max, my demon—which makes me his angel. Of course. And now that it’s been printed, it can’t be denied. Max = demon. Gena = angel.

This one is also for Jill Monroe, but don’t tell her I said so.

Acknowledgements:

I want to thank all the wonderful people at Harlequin for the continued support and encouragement. I am very blessed to work with you!

Lords of the Underworld

In a remote fortress in Budapest, six immortal warriors—each more dangerously seductive than the last—are bound by an ancient curse none has been able to break. When a powerful enemy returns, they will travel the world in search of a sacred relic of the gods—one that threatens to destroy them all.

Gena Showalter’s

paranormal series

LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD

continues with

THE DARKEST PASSION

Also available in this series

THE DARKEST NIGHT

THE DARKEST KISS

THE DARKEST PLEASURE

THE DARKEST WHISPER

DARK BEGINNINGS

And don’t miss the next Lords of the Underworld book

THE DARKEST LIE

Coming next month from MIRA®

Lords of the Underworld

Glossary of Characters and Terms

Aeron—Keeper of Wrath

All-Seeing Eye—Godly artifact with the power to see into heaven and hell

Amun—Keeper of Secrets

Anya—(Minor) Goddess of Anarchy

Ashlyn Darrow—Human female with supernatural ability

Baden—Keeper of Distrust (deceased)

Bait—Human females, Hunters’ accomplices

Bianka Skyhawk—Harpy; sister of Gwen

Cage of Compulsion—Godly artifact with the power to

enslave anyone trapped inside

Cameo—Keeper of Misery

Cloak of Invisibility—Godly artifact with the power to shield its wearer from prying eyes

Cronus—King of the Titans

Danika Ford—Human female, target of the Titans

Darla Stefano—wife of Dean Stefano; Sabin’s lover (deceased)

Dean Stefano—Hunter; Right-hand man of Galen dimOuniak—Pandora’s box

Dominic—A young Hunter

Elite Seven—The most prestigious faction of angels

Galen—Keeper of Hope

Gideon—Keeper of Lies

Gilly—Human female, friend of Danika

Greeks—Former rulers of Olympus, now imprisoned in Tartarus

Gwen Skyhawk—Half-Harpy, half-angel

Heavenly High Council—Angelic governing body

Hera—Queen of the Greeks

Hunters—Mortal enemies of the Lords of the Underworld

Joy-bringers—Angels tasked with watching over mortals

Kaia Skyhawk—Harpy; sister of Gwen

Kane—Keeper of Disaster

Legion—Demon minion, friend of Aeron

Lords of the Underworld—Exiled warriors to the Greek gods who now house demons inside them

Lucien—Keeper of Death; Leader of the Budapest warriors

Lucifer—Prince of darkness; ruler of hell

Lysander—Elite warrior angel and consort of Bianka Skyhawk

Maddox—Keeper of Violence

Olivia—Fallen warrior angel

One True Deity—Ruler of the angels and head of the Heavenly High Council

Pandora—Immortal warrior, once guardian of dimOuniak (deceased)

Paring Rod—Godly artifact, power unknown

Paris—Keeper of Promiscuity

Reyes—Keeper of Pain

Rhea—Queen of the Titans; estranged wife of Cronus

Sabin—Keeper of Doubt; Leader of the Greece warriors

Scarlet—Keeper of Nightmares

Sienna Blackstone—Female Hunter

Strider—Keeper of Defeat

Taliyah Skyhawk—Harpy; sister of Gwen

Tartarus—Greek, god of Confinement; also the immortal

prison on Mount Olympus

Titans—Current rulers of Olympus

Torin—Keeper of Disease

Unspoken Ones—Reviled gods; prisoners of Cronus

Warrior Angels—Heavenly demon assassins

William—Immortal warrior, friend of Anya

Zeus—King of the Greeks

The Darkest Passion
Gena Showalter

www.mirabooks.co.uk

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Gena Showalter has been praised for her “sizzling page turners” and “utterly spellbinding stories”. She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels, and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalter blogspot.com.

CHAPTER ONE

“THEY DON’T SEEM TO CARE that they’re dying.”

Aeron, an immortal warrior possessed by the demon of Wrath, was perched atop the roof of the Bübájos Apartments in central Budapest, peering down at the humans so blithely going about their evening. Some were shopping, some talking and laughing, and some snacking while they walked. But none of them were dropping to their knees and begging the gods for more time in those feeble bodies. Nor were they sobbing because they wouldn’t get it.

He shifted his focus from the people to their surroundings. Muted moonlight spilled from the sky, blending with the amber glow of the street lamps and casting shadows on the paved pathways. Buildings stretched on every side, some of the higher points wrapped in light green awnings, the perfect contrast to the emerald trees rising from their bases.

Pretty, as far as coffins went.

Humans knew they were fading. Hell, they grew up knowing they’d have to abandon everything and everyone they loved, and yet, as he’d already observed, they didn’t demand or even request more time. And that…fascinated him. Were Aeron to learn he’d soon be separated from his friends, the other demon-possessed warriors he’d spent the last few thousand years protecting, he would have done anything—yes, even beg—to change his fate.

So why didn’t the mortals? What did they know that he did not?

“They aren’t dying,” his friend Paris said from beside him. “They’re living while they have the chance.”

Aeron snorted. That wasn’t the answer he sought. For how could they live while they had the chance when their “chance” was a mere blink of time? “They’re frail. Easily destroyed. As you well know.” Cruel of him to say because Paris’s…girlfriend? Lover? Chosen female? Whatever she was, she’d recently been shot to death in front of Paris. Still, Aeron couldn’t regret his words.

Paris was the keeper of Promiscuity, forced to bed a different human every day or he would weaken and die himself. He couldn’t afford to mourn the loss of one specific lover. Especially an enemy lover, which was what his little Sienna had been.

Aeron hated to admit it, but on some level, he was glad the woman was dead. She would have used Paris’s needs against him and ultimately ruined him.

I, however, will ensure his safety always. It was a vow. The king of the gods had given Paris a choice: the return of his female’s soul or Aeron’s freedom from a horrific blood-craze that constantly danced thoughts of maiming and killing through his mind. Thoughts, he was ashamed to admit, he had acted upon. Over and over again.

Because of that curse, Reyes, the keeper of the demon of Pain, had almost lost his beloved Danika. In fact, Aeron had been poised to strike that final blow, blade sharpened, raised…falling toward her pretty neck. But just before contact, Paris had chosen Aeron and the craze had instantly left him, sparing Danika’s life.

Part of Aeron still felt guilty about what had almost happened—and about the consequences of Paris’s choice. A guilt that was like acid in his bones, eating away at him. Paris now suffered while he reveled in his freedom. That didn’t mean he would show Paris mercy in this matter, however. He loved his friend too much for that. More than that, Aeron owed him. And Aeron always repaid his debts.

Hence the reason they were on this roof.

Taking care of Paris, though, was not an easy task. For the past six nights Aeron had carted his friend here amid ceaseless protests. Paris had only to pick a woman, then Aeron would procure her and ensure the two were safe while they had sex. But each night the choice was made later. And later.

Aeron had a feeling he and Paris would sit here and talk until sunrise this time.

Had the now-depressed warrior eschewed these weak mortals as Aeron did, he would not currently be wishing for something he couldn’t have. He would not be desperate for it—and denied it for all eternity.

Aeron sighed. “Paris,” he began. Then stopped. How should he proceed? “Your mourning must end.” Good. To the point, just as he preferred. “It’s weakening you.”

Paris ran his tongue over his teeth. “As if you’re one to talk about weakness. How many times have you been Wrath’s bitch? Countless. And in how many of those countless instances can you blame the gods? Only once. When that demon overtakes you, you lose all control of your actions. So don’t add hypocrisy to your list of sins, okay?”

He didn’t take offense. Sadly, Paris’s claim was irrefutable. Sometimes Wrath would seize control of Aeron’s body and fly him through town, striking at everyone within reach, hurting them and gorging on their terror. During those instances, Aeron was aware of what was happening, but unable to halt the carnage.

Not that he always wanted the carnage to halt. Some people deserved what they got.

But he did loathe losing control of his body, as if he were merely a puppet with strings. Or a monkey who danced on command. When he was reduced to such a state, he despised his demon—but not as much as he despised himself. Because with the hatred, he also experienced pride. In Wrath. Wresting the reins of control from him required power, and power of any kind was to be prized.

Still. The love-hate tug-of-war disturbed him.

“You might not have meant to, but you’ve just proven my point,” he said, jumping back into conversation. “Weakness births destruction. No exceptions.” In Paris’s case, mourning was simply another word for distracted. And such distraction could prove fatal.

“What does that have to do with me? What does that have to do with the humans down there?” Paris pointed.

Big picture time. “Those people. They age and deteriorate in a heartbeat of time.”

“And?”

“And let me finish. If you fall in love with one of them, you might have her for the better part of a century. Maybe, if disease or an accident do not befall her. But it will be a century spent watching her wither and die. And during it all, you’ll know an eternity without her awaits you.”

“Such pessimism.” Paris tsked—hardly the reaction Aeron had expected. “You see it as a century spent losing that which you are unable to protect. I see it as a century spent enjoying a great blessing. A blessing that will aid you the rest of eternity.”

Aid? Absurd. When you lost something precious, the memories of it became a tormenting reminder of what you could never have again. Those memories added to your troubles, distracting you—unlike Paris, he wouldn’t wrap the word in a pretty bow—rather than strengthening you.

Proof: that’s how he felt about Baden, keeper of Distrust and once his best friend. Long ago, he’d lost the man he’d loved more than he would have loved even a blood brother, and now, every time he was alone, he pictured Baden and wondered about what could have been.

He didn’t want that for Paris.

Forget big picture. Time for a little more mercilessness. “If you’re so capable of accepting loss, why do you still mourn Sienna?”

A beam of moonlight hit Paris’s face, and Aeron saw that his eyes were slightly glazed. Obviously, he’d been drinking. Again. “I didn’t have my century with her. I had but a few days.” Flat tone.

Don’t stop now. “And if you had been given a hundred years with her before she died, you would now be at peace with her death?”

There was a pause.

He hadn’t thought so.

“Enough!” Paris slammed a fist into the roof and the entire building shook. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Too bad. “Loss is loss. Weakness is weakness. If we don’t allow ourselves to grow attached to the humans, we won’t care when they leave us. If we harden our hearts, we won’t desire that which we cannot have. Our demons taught us that very well.”

Each of their demons had once lived in hell and desired freedom, and so together they fought their way out. Only, they ended up exchanging one prison for another, and the second had been far worse than the first.

Rather than enduring sulfur and flames as they had before, they spent a thousand years trapped inside Pandora’s box. A thousand years of darkness and desolation and pain. They’d had no independence, no hope for something better.

Had those demons been stronger, had they not craved that which was forbidden to them, they would not have been captured.

Had Aeron been stronger of will, he would not later have helped open that box. Would not then have been cursed to house the very evil he had released inside his own body. Would not have been kicked from the heavens, the only home he’d ever known, to spend the rest of eternity in this chaotic land where nothing stayed the same.

He would not have lost Baden while warring with Hunters—despicable mortals who abhorred the Lords, blaming them for the world’s evil. A friend just died of cancer? Of course the Lords were responsible. A teenage girl just discovered she was pregnant? The Lords had clearly struck again.

Had he been stronger, he would not be caught up in that war once again, fighting, killing. Always killing.

“Have you ever yearned for a mortal?” Paris asked, drawing him from his dark thoughts. “Sexually?”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Welcome a female into my life one day, only to lose her the next? No.” He was smarter than that.

“Who says you have to lose her?” Paris withdrew a flask from the inside of his leather jacket and took a long swig.

More alcohol already? Clearly his little pep talk hadn’t done his friend a bit of good.

After swallowing, Paris added, “Maddox has Ashlyn, Lucien has Anya, Reyes has Danika and now Sabin has Gwen. Even Gwen’s sister, Bianka the Terrible, has a lover. An angel I had to oil-wrestle, but whatever. We won’t talk about that part.”

Oil-wrestling? Yes. Best to avoid. “Those couples have each other, but each of those women has an ability that sets her apart from the others of her kind. They’re more than human.” That didn’t mean they would live forever, though. Even immortals could be slain. He’d been the one to pick up Baden’s head—without the warrior’s body. He’d been the one to first glimpse that eternally frozen expression of shock.

“Well, hello, solution. Find a female with an ability that sets her apart,” Paris said dryly.

As if it were that easy. Besides…“I have Legion, and she’s all I can handle at the moment.” He pictured the little demon so like a daughter to him and grinned. When standing, she only reached his waist. She had green scales, two tiny horns that had just sprouted atop her head and sharp teeth that produced poisonous saliva. Tiaras were her favorite accessory and living flesh her favorite meal.

The first he enjoyed indulging, the second they were working on.

Aeron had met her in hell. Well, as close to the blistering pit as a man could get without actually melting inside its flames. He’d been chained next door, so to speak, drunk with that cursed bloodlust, determined to slay even his friends, when Legion had dug her way to him, her presence somehow clearing his mind, giving him the strength he so prized. She’d helped him escape, and they’d been together ever since.

Except for now. His precious baby girl had returned to hell, a place she despised, all because an honest-to-the-gods angel had been watching Aeron, skulking in the shadows, invisible, waiting for…something. What, he didn’t know. He only knew that intense gaze wasn’t on him right now, but it would return. It always did. And Legion couldn’t stand it.

He leaned back and peered up at the night sky. The stars were vivid tonight, like diamonds scattered across black satin. Sometimes, when he craved even the illusion of solitude, he would soar as high as his wings would take him and then fall, fast and sure, only slowing seconds before impact.

As Paris downed another mouthful of his liquor, the scent of ambrosia wafted on the breeze, as gentle and sweet as baby’s breath. Aeron shook his head. Ambrosia was his friend’s drug of choice, the only thing capable of numbing mind and body for men such as them, but its use was getting out of hand, making the once fierce soldier sloppy.

With Galen, leader of the Hunters and a demon-possessed warrior like them, roaming the streets, he needed his friend lucid at the very least. Factor in the angel, and well, he needed his friend in top fighting form. Angels, as he’d recently learned, were demon-assassins.

Did this angel want to kill him? He wasn’t sure, and Bianka’s consort, Lysander, wouldn’t tell him. But then, the answer really didn’t matter. He planned to gut the coward, male or female, the moment it grew some balls and appeared in front of him.

No one separated him from Legion. Not without suffering for it. Legion could even now be hurting, mentally and physically. At the thought, Aeron’s hands clenched so tightly the bones nearly fractured. The little darling’s brethren enjoyed taunting her for her kindness and compassion. They also enjoyed chasing her, and gods knew what they’d do to her if they actually caught her.

“Much as you love Legion,” Paris began, once again dragging Aeron from the sharply tangled mire of his thoughts. He tossed a stone at the building across from them before draining the rest of the flask. “She can’t meet all your needs.”

Meaning sex. Could they not abandon this topic once and for all? Aeron sighed. He hadn’t bedded a woman in years, perhaps centuries. They simply weren’t worth the effort. Because of Wrath, his desire to hurt them soon outweighed his desire to please them. More, as tattooed and battle-hardened as Aeron was, he had to work for every scrap of affection he received. Females were scared of him—and rightly so. Softening them required time and patience he didn’t have. After all, there were a thousand other, more important things he could be doing. Things like training, guarding his home, guarding his friends. Indulging Legion’s every whim.

“I have no such needs.” And for the most part, that was true. Disciplined as he was, he rarely indulged in pleasures of the flesh. Only time he did so was while alone. “I have everything I desire. Now, did we come here to share our feelings or find you a lover?”

With a growl, Paris tossed the empty flask as he’d tossed the stone. It slammed into the building’s wall, plumes of dust and rock filling the air. “One day, someone’s going to fascinate you, draw and ensnare you, and you’ll crave her with every cell in your body. I hope she drives you insane. I hope, for a little while at least, she denies you, leading you on a merry chase. Perhaps then you’ll understand a glimmer of my pain.”

“If that’s what’s necessary to repay the favor you did me, then I’ll gladly endure such a fate. I’ll even beseech the gods for it.” Aeron couldn’t imagine ever wanting a female, immortal or human, so much that it disrupted his life. He wasn’t like the other warriors, who constantly sought companionship. He truly was happiest when he was alone. Or rather, alone with Legion. Besides, he was too proud to chase after someone who didn’t return his ardor.

But he’d meant what he said. For Paris, he’d endure anything. “Did you hear that, Cronus?” he shouted to the heavens. “Send me a female. One who will torment me. One who will deny me.”

“Cocky bastard.” Paris chuckled. “What if he actually sends you this unattainable female?”

Gods, that amusement pleased him. It was so like the old Paris. “Doubtful.” Cronus wanted the warriors focused on defeating Galen. Which had been his obsession ever since Danika had predicted the god king would die by Galen’s hand.

As the All-Seeing Eye, Danika’s predictions were always accurate. Even the bad ones. But there was a silver lining: those visions could be used to elicit change. At least in theory.

“But what if?” Paris prompted when his silence dragged on too long.

“If Cronus answers my plea, I’ll enjoy the ride,” Aeron lied with a grin. “Now, enough about me. Let’s do what we came here to do.” He sat up and peered down at the street, scanning the thinning crowd.

To preserve the roads, cars weren’t allowed in this part of town, so everyone had to hoof it. That’s why he’d picked this location. Pulling a female out of a moving vehicle wasn’t something he enjoyed. This way, Paris had only to make his selection and Aeron would spread his wings and fly the warrior down. One glance at the gorgeous blue-eyed devil, and the chosen female would stop and gasp. Sometimes a smile was all that was needed to convince her to strip, right there in public, where anyone lurking in the alleyways could watch.

“You won’t find anyone,” Paris said. “I’ve already looked.”

“What about…her?” He pointed to a plump, scantily dressed blonde.

“No.” No hesitation. “Too…obvious.”

Here we go again, he thought with dread, but gestured to another woman. “And her?” This one was tall and perfectly curved with a short cap of red hair. And she was dressed conservatively.

“No. Too mannish.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That I don’t want her. Next.”

For the ensuing hour, Aeron pointed out potential bedmates and Paris shot them down for various—ridiculous—reasons. Too pristine, too rumpled, too tan, too pale. The only rejection that mattered was “I’ve had her before” and as many as Paris had had, Aeron heard that one a lot.

“You’re going to have to settle on one eventually. Why not save us both the hassle, close your eyes and point. Whoever you’re pointing at will be our winner.”

“I’ve played that game once before. Ended up—” Paris shuddered. “Never mind. It’s not good to wander down that particular memory trail. So no. Just no.”

“What about—” His words halted abruptly as the woman he’d been eyeballing disappeared in the shadows. She hadn’t faded from view, as was natural. Normal. She had simply ceased to exist, there one moment, gone the next, the shadows somehow tugged to her as if they’d been jerked on a leash.

Aeron jumped to his feet, wings automatically pushing from the slits in his bare back and expanding. “We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Paris, too, sprang to his feet. Even though he wavered slightly from the ambrosia, he was still a soldier and palmed a dagger.

“The dark-haired female. Did you see her?”

“Which one?”

That answered Aeron’s question. No, Paris hadn’t seen her. If he had, the warrior wouldn’t have needed to ask of whom Aeron spoke.

“Come on.” Aeron snaked his arms around his friend’s waist and leapt from the building. Wind blasted through Paris’s multicolored locks, whipping several strands against his face as the ground loomed closer…closer still…“Be on the lookout for a woman with shoulder-length black hair, straight as a pin, roughly five-ten, early twenties, black clothing. Most likely she’s more than human.”

“Kill?”

“Capture. I have questions for her.” Like how she’d disappeared like that. Like why she was here. Like who she worked for.

Immortals always had an agenda.

Just before they hit concrete and stone, Aeron flapped his wings. He slowed just enough to land upright with only a mild jarring. He released his charge, and they instantly branched in separate directions. After thousands of years of fighting together, they knew how to proceed without first outlining every move.

As Aeron sprinted down the alleyway to his left, the direction the woman had been heading, he folded his wings back under their slits. He spotted several people—a couple holding hands, a homeless male draining a bottle of whiskey, a man walking his dog—but no dark-haired female. He reached a brick wall and spun. Damn this. Was she like Lucien? Able to whisk herself to any location with only a thought?

Scowling, he kicked back into motion. He’d search every alley in the area if need be. Only, halfway down, the shadows around him thickened, consuming him, choking out the golden glow of the street lamps. Thousands of muted screams seemed to seep from the gloom. Tortured screams. Agonized screams.

He stopped, lest he slam into something—or someone—and palmed two blades. What the hell was—

A woman—the woman—stepped from the shadows, only a few feet away from him. She was the only light in that sudden, vast expanse of dark. Her eyes were as black as the gloom around her, her lips as red and moist as blood. She was pretty, in a feral kind of way.

Wrath hissed inside his head.

For a moment, Aeron feared Cronus had actually listened to him after all and sent a female to torment him. But as he stared over at her, there was no heat in his veins, no flutter in his heartbeat, as he’d heard the other Lords expound on whenever one found a female he just “had to have.” She was like any other to him: easily forgettable.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t I a lucky girl. You’re one of them, a Lord of the Underworld, and you came to me,” she said, her voice as raspy as smoke. “I didn’t even have to ask.”

“I am a Lord, yes.” There was no reason to deny it. The townspeople recognized him and the others on sight. Some even thought they were angels. Hunters recognized them on sight, as well, but were all too quick to renounce them as demons. Either way, the information could hardly be used against him. “And I did come looking for you.”

At his easy confirmation, her features revealed a hint of surprise. “A great honor, to be sure. Why were you looking?”

“I want to know who are you.” Better question—what was she?

“Maybe I’m not as lucky as I thought.” Those lush red lips dipped into a pout and she pretended to wipe away a tear. “If my own brother doesn’t recognize me.”

Well, he now had part of his answer: she was a liar. “I don’t have a sister.”

She arched a black brow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t been born to a mother and father; Zeus, King of the Greek gods, had simply spoken him into existence. Same with all the Lords.

“Stubborn.” She tsked, reminding him of Paris. “I should’ve known we’d be just alike. Anyway, it’s so nice to finally catch one of you alone. Who’d I get? Fury? Narcissism? I’m right, aren’t I? Admit it, you’re Narcissism. That’s why you plastered your body with tattoos of your own face. Nice. Can I call you Narci?”

Fury? Narcissism? None of his brothers carried those demons. Doubt, Disease, Misery and many others, yes, but not those. He shook his head—only to remember that other demon-possessed immortals were out there. Immortals he’d never met. Immortals he was supposed to find.

As he and his friends had been the ones to open Pandora’s box, they’d always assumed they were the only ones cursed to house its evil. But Cronus had recently corrected that false assumption, gifting the Lords with scrolls bearing the names of others like them. Apparently, there had been more demons than warriors, and with the box nowhere to be found, the Greeks—the gods in power at the time—had placed the remaining demons inside the immortal prisoners of Tartarus.

A discovery that did not bode well for the Lords. As Zeus’s former elite sentries, they’d locked many of those prisoners away—and criminals often lived only for vengeance. Something Wrath had taught him well.

“Hello,” the woman prompted. “Anyone home?”

He blinked down at her, cursing himself. He’d allowed himself to be distracted in the presence of a possible enemy. Fool. “Who I am is none of your concern.” That was information that could be used against him. Especially since lately, Wrath was so easily provoked the most innocent of statements could send it—and therefore Aeron—into that murderous craze, placing this town and all of its citizens in danger.

He blamed the angel stalking him.

Except he couldn’t blame the angel when Wrath began snarling inside his mind, clawing at his skull, desperate to act. To hurt. The demon’s keenest ability was, and had always been, sensing the sins of anyone nearby. And this woman’s, he suddenly realized, were vast.

“I’ll take your sudden black expression as a no. You’re not Narci, and no one’s home.”

“Stop…talking…” He gripped his temples, cool blades pressed against his skin, trying to stop the mental bombardment he knew was coming, another distraction he could ill afford. Useless. Her multitude of sins played through his head at once, like movies on split screens. She had recently tortured a man, had chained him to a chair and set him on fire. Before that, she had gutted a female. She had tricked, and she had stolen. Had abducted a child from his home. Had lured a male to her bed and sliced his throat. Violence…so much violence…so much terror and pain and darkness. He could hear the screams of her victims, could smell burnt flesh and taste blood.

Perhaps she’d had good reason for doing those things. Perhaps not. Either way, Wrath wanted to punish her, using her own crimes against her. First it would chain her, then gut her, then slice her throat and set her on fire.

That was the way of Aeron’s demon. It beat beaters, murdered murderers, as well as everything in between. So yes, at Wrath’s urging, Aeron had done those things. Many times. Now, he clenched every muscle in his body, locking his bones in place. Steady. Can’t lose control. Have to stay sane. But gods, the need to castigate…so strong…a need he liked more than he should have. As usual.

“Why are you here in Budapest, woman?” Good. That was good. Slowly he lowered his arms.

“Wow,” she said, ignoring his question. “That was quite a display of restraint.”

She’d known his demon wanted to hurt her?

“So let me guess.” She tapped a nail against her chin. “You’re not Narci, so you have to be…Chauvinist. Right again, aren’t I? You think a pretty little thing like me can’t handle the truth. Mistake. But no matter. Keep your secrets. You’ll learn, though. Oh, yes, you’ll learn.”

“Are you threatening me, female?”

Again she ignored him. “Word on the street is Cronus gave you the scrolls and you plan to use them to hunt us down. To use us. Perhaps even slay us.”

Aeron’s stomach bottomed out. One, she knew about the scrolls when he and his friends had only just learned of them. Two, she knew she was on that list. Which meant this woman was indeed an immortal—and a criminal—and if she was to be believed, she was also demon-possessed.

Aeron didn’t recognize her, which meant he and his friends hadn’t been the ones to imprison her. That meant she’d come before their time in the heavens. And that meant she was a Titan and a greater threat, for the Titans were far more savage than their Greek counterparts.

Worse, the now-freed Titans were currently in charge. She might have godly help.

“Which demon do you carry?” he demanded, not above using its weaknesses against her.

She offered a wicked grin, his hard tone clearly amusing her. “You didn’t share that information with me. Why should I share anything with you?”

Infuriating woman. “You said us.” He looked over her shoulder, half expecting someone to leap forward and attack him. All he saw was darkness…and all he heard were more of those muted screams. “Where are these others?”

“Hell if I know.” She splayed her arms, her hands out and empty, as if she didn’t think he warranted the use of a weapon. “I’m on my own, just like always, and that’s the way I like it.”

Probably another lie. What woman would approach a fearsome Lord of the Underworld without backup? He didn’t relax his guard as he met her gaze. “If you’re here to war with us, know that—”

“War?” She laughed. “When I could kill you all while you sleep? No, I’m just here to deliver a warning. Call off the dogs or I’ll wipe your presence from this world. And if anyone can do so, it’s me.”

After the things he’d seen in his mind, he believed her. She attacked in gloom, a phantom who delivered no warning. Without a doubt, there was no crime she found too vile. That didn’t mean he was going to heed her demands. “You might think yourself powerful, but you can’t defeat us all. War is what you’ll get if you continue to issue such warnings.”

“Whatever, warrior. I said what I wanted to say. You just better pray this is the last time you see me.” The shadows thickened again, enveloping her and leaving absolutely no sign of her presence. Until, right next to his ear, he heard, “Oh, and one last thing. This was my courtesy call. Next time, I won’t play nice.”

Then the world around him crashed back into focus: the buildings at his sides, the trash bags littering the concrete, the inebriated male now passed out cold. Finally, Wrath calmed.

Aeron remained on alert, eyes scanning, body ready. He listened, heard only the deliberate drags of his own breath, the patter of human footsteps beyond the alley and the song of night birds.

Once more his wings expanded and he shot into the air, determined to find Paris and return to their fortress. The other Lords had to be notified. Whoever the bloodthirsty female was, whatever else she could do, she needed to be dealt with. Soon.

CHAPTER TWO

“AERON! AERON!”

At the fortress, Aeron’s booted feet hit the balcony that led into his bedroom. Jolted by the unfamiliar female voice, he released Paris.

“Aeron!”

At that third ear-piercing feminine cry of terror and desperation, both he and Paris spun to face the hill below them. Thick trees knifed toward the sky, obscuring visibility, but there, amid the dappled greens and browns, he could just make out a figure draped in white.

A figure rushing toward their home.

“Shadow Girl?” Paris asked. “How the hell did she make it past our gate so quickly? And on foot, no less?”

Aeron had explained what happened with the woman from the alley along the way. “That’s not her.” This voice was higher, richer and far less confident. “The gate…I don’t know.”

Weeks ago, after he and Paris had recovered from battle wounds inflicted by Hunters, they had erected an iron gate around the fortress. That gate stretched fifteen feet tall, was wrapped with barbed wire and had tips sharp enough to cut glass. It also vibrated with enough electricity to send a human into cardiac arrest. Anyone who attempted to climb it wouldn’t live long enough to reach the other side.

“Think she’s Bait?” Paris tilted his head, his study of her intensifying. “She could have been dropped from a heli, I guess.”

Hunters had been known to use beautiful human females to lure the Lords out into the open, distract them and capture them for torture. This one certainly seemed to meet the criteria, possessing long wavy hair the color of chocolate, skin as pale as a cloud and a curved, ethereal body. Aeron couldn’t make out her facial features just yet, but he would bet they were exquisite.

His wings unfolded from their slits as he answered, “Maybe.” Damn Hunters and their perfect timing. Half his friends were gone. They’d traveled to Rome to search the Temple of the Unspoken Ones, ruins that had recently risen from the sea. They hoped to find anything that would lead them to missing godly artifacts. Four artifacts that, when used together, would then lead to the location of Pandora’s box.

Hunters hoped to use that box to lock the demons back inside, destroying the Lords since man could no longer live without demon. The Lords simply hoped to demolish it.

“There are trip wires out there.” The more Paris spoke, the more Aeron noticed a tremor in his tone. Because of Shadow Girl, as Paris had called her, there hadn’t been time for him to bed anyone in town, so his strength must be draining. “If she’s not careful…Even if she is Bait, she doesn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Aeron!”

Paris fisted the balcony railing and leaned down for a better look. “Why’s she calling for you?”

And why was she using his name with such familiarity? “If she’s Bait, Hunters are probably out there right now, lying in wait for me. I’ll try and help her and they’ll attack.”

Paris straightened, face suddenly bathed in moonlight. Bruises had formed under his eyes. “I’ll get the others, and we’ll take care of her. Of them.” He was off before Aeron could reply, striding out of the bedroom, boots thumping against the stone floor.

Aeron kept his focus on the girl. As she continued to race upward, closer and closer to him, he realized the white cloth draping her was actually a robe. And the back of it, which he hadn’t been able to see before, was bright red.

She wasn’t wearing shoes, and when her bare toe slammed into a rock, she fell, that mass of chocolate hair cascading around her face. There were flowers woven through the curls, some of the petals missing. There were also twigs, but he didn’t think she’d placed those there intentionally. Her hands were shaking as she reached up and pushed the strands away.

Finally, her features came into view and every muscle in his body jumped, tensed. She was exquisite, just as he’d supposed. Even splotchy and swollen from tears as she was. She had huge sky-blue eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, perfectly sculpted cheeks and jaw, both just a little rounded, and perfect lips that formed a lush heart.

He’d never met her before, he would have remembered, but suddenly there was something almost…familiar about her.

She lumbered to a stand, grimacing and groaning, then started forward. Once again, she fell. A pained sob escaped her, but still she persisted, rising, edging toward the fortress. Bait or not, such determination was admirable.

Somehow she managed to dodge all the traps, weaving around them as if she knew where they were, but when she hit another rock and tumbled to the ground for a third time, she stayed down, shuddering, crying.

His eyes widened as he studied her back. The red…Was that…blood? Fresh, still wet? The metallic tang of it drifted on the breeze and reached Aeron’s nostrils, confirming his suspicions. Oh, yes. It was.

Hers? Or someone else’s?

“Aeron.” No longer a scream, but a pathetic wail. “Help me.”

His wings expanded before he could think things through. Yes, Hunters would purposely injure Bait before sending her into the lions’ den, hoping to gain sympathy from the target. Yes, he’d probably end up with arrows and bullets in his back—again—but he wasn’t going to leave her out there, injured and vulnerable. Wasn’t going to allow his friends to risk their lives to save—or destroy—his little visitor.

Why me? he wondered as he shot from the balcony. Up, up he soared before falling toward her. He zigzagged to make himself less of a mark, but no arrows whizzed by and no gunshots sounded. Still, rather than land beside her, he increased his speed, reached out his arms and scooped her up without ever slowing his pace.

Perhaps she was afraid of heights and that was the reason for her sudden stiffening. Perhaps she’d expected him to be killed before ever reaching her and, when he’d actually managed to latch onto her, had stiffened from terror. Either way, he didn’t care. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He had her.

She began flailing weakly against his hold, grunting in shock and pain. “Don’t touch me! Let me go! Let me go, or I swear to—”

“Be still, or by the gods, I will drop you.” He had her by the stomach, her face aimed toward the ground. That way, she could see just how far she would fall.

“Aeron?” She craned her neck to see him. The moment their gazes connected, she relaxed. Even smiled slowly. “Aeron,” she repeated on a sigh of pleasure. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

That pleasure, undiluted and untouched by malice, surprised—and confused—him. Women never looked at him like that. “Your fear was misplaced. You should have feared I would come.”

Her smile faded.

Better. The only thing that disturbed him now was the radio silence from his demon. As with Shadow Girl, images and urges should have bombarded him by now. Worry about it later.

Continuing to zigzag, he flew into his bedroom, not stopping on the balcony as usual. He needed cover as quickly as possible. Just in case. Except, just as he was retracting his wings, they slammed into both sides of the doorway and fire rushed from the tips to the arches.

Aeron ignored the pain as he skidded to his feet. When he righted himself, he strode to the bed and gently laid his charge atop the mattress, facedown. He ran a fingertip along the ridge of her spine and her heart-shaped lips parted on an agonized groan. He’d hoped she’d been doused with someone else’s blood, but no. Her injuries were real.

The knowledge wouldn’t soften him. She’d probably inflicted the damage herself—or allowed the Hunters to do it—just for the sympathy it would evoke. No sympathy from me. Only irritation. As he stomped to his closet, he drew his wings into his back, but broken as they now were, they wouldn’t fit under their flaps. That only increased his irritation with her.

He didn’t have rope and didn’t want to leave the room to find some, so he grabbed two of the neckties Ashlyn had given him in case he ever wanted to “dress up.” He returned to the bed.

Her cheek pressed into the mattress, her gaze tracking his every move, as if she couldn’t help but peer at him—and not in revulsion as most females did. She watched him with something akin to desire.

An act, surely.

And yet, that desire…there was something familiar about it. Something unsettling. That’s what he’d noticed earlier, he thought. When she’d called his name, that same desire had been evident and deep down, he’d known he’d encountered it before. When? Where?

From her?

He continued to stare down at her, and Wrath—was still silent, he realized. This was (supposedly) the first time he’d ever been in her presence, yet his demon still wasn’t flashing her sins through his mind. That was odd. Had happened only once before. With Legion. Why, he’d never figured out. Gods knew his baby girl had sinned.

So why was it happening again? With possible Bait, no less?

This woman, had she never sinned? Had she never said an unkind word to another? Never purposely tripped someone or stolen something as simple as a piece of candy? Those pure, sky eyes said no. Or, like Legion, had she sinned but for whatever reason, flew under Wrath’s radar?

“Who are you?” His fingers wrapped around one of her fragile wrists—mmm, warm, smooth skin—and anchored it to a bedpost with the tie. He repeated the action with her other wrist.

Not once did she protest. It was as if she’d expected—and already accepted—that she would receive such treatment. “My name is Olivia.”

Olivia. A pretty name. Fitting. Delicate. Actually, the only thing that wasn’t delicate about her was her voice. Layer after layer of…what was that? The only word he could think to describe it was honesty, and so much drifted from her, he was knocked backward.

That voice had never told a lie, he would bet. It couldn’t have.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?”

“I’m here…I’m here for you.”

Again, that truth…it was a force that flowed into his ears, through his body, and sent him staggering. There wasn’t room for doubts. Not a single one. He was simply compelled to believe her.

Sabin, keeper of Doubt, would have loved her. Nothing pleased the warrior’s demon more than tearing down another’s confidence.

“Are you Bait?”

“No.”

Again, he believed her; he had no choice. “Are you here to kill me?” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at her, waiting.

He knew how fierce he looked, but again, she didn’t react as females usually did: trembling, cowering, crying. She fluttered her long, black lashes at him, seemingly hurt that he’d maligned her character.

“No, of course not.” She paused. “Well, not anymore.”

Not anymore? “So. At one time, you meant to slay me?”

“I was once sent to do so, yes.”

Such honesty…“By whom?”

“At first, I was sent by the One True Deity to merely watch you. I didn’t mean to scare your little friend away. I was only trying to do my job.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, turning those beautiful blue irises into pools of remorse.

No softening. “Who is the One True Deity?”

Pure love lit her expression, momentarily chasing away that sheen of pain. “Deity of you, Deity of me. Far more powerful than your gods, though mostly content to remain in the shadows, and so rarely acknowledged. Father to humans. Father to…angels. Like me.”

Angels. Like me. As the words echoed in his head, Aeron’s eyes widened. No wonder his demon couldn’t sense any wickedness in her. No wonder her gaze felt familiar to him. She was an angel. The angel, actually. The one sent to kill him, by her own admission. Though she didn’t plan to end him “anymore.” Why?

And did it matter? This delicate creature had been, at one point, his appointed executioner.

Suddenly he wanted to laugh. As if she could have overpowered him.

You couldn’t see her. Would you truly have been able to stop her, had she gone for your head?

The thought hit him and he lost his amusement. She was the one who had been watching him these many weeks. She was the one who had followed him, unseen, driving a pained Legion away.

Which begged the question of why Wrath wasn’t reacting as Legion always did. With fear and even physical agony. Perhaps the angel controlled which demons sensed her, he considered. That would certainly be a handy ability to possess, keeping her intended victims ignorant of her presence—and intentions.

He waited for brutal rage to fill him. Rage he’d promised to unleash on this creature time and time again should she ever reveal herself. When the rage failed to appear, he waited for resolve. He must protect his friends at any cost.

But that, too, remained hopelessly out of reach. What he got instead? Confusion.

“You are…”

“The angel who has been watching you, yes,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “Or rather, I was an angel.” Her eyelids sealed shut, tears catching in her lashes. Her chin trembled. “Now I’m nothing.”

Though he believed her—how could he not? That voice…Seriously, he wanted to doubt her about something, anything, but couldn’t manage it—Aeron extended a shaky hand. What are you, a child? Man up.

Scowling at his display of weakness, he steadied his hand and flipped away her hair, careful not to touch her injured skin. He pinched the scooped neck of her robe and gently tugged. The soft material ripped easily, revealing the expanse of her back.

Once again, his eyes widened. Between her shoulder blades, where wings should have protruded, were two long grooves of broken skin, tendons torn to the spine, ripped muscle and even a peek at bone. They were savage wounds, violent and unmerciful, blood still seeping from them. He’d had his own wings forcibly removed once, and it had been the most painful injury of his very long life.

“What happened?” The hoarseness of his voice threw him.

“I’ve fallen,” she rasped, shame dripping from her tone. She buried her face in the pillow. “I’m angel no more.”

“Why?” Never having encountered an angel before—well, besides Lysander, but that bastard didn’t count because he refused to speak to the Lords about anything of importance—Aeron didn’t know much about them. He only knew what Legion had told him, and of course, there was a very good chance her recounting had been colored by her hatred of them. Nothing she’d described fit with the female on his bed.

Angels, Legion had said, were emotionless, soulless creatures with only one purpose: the destruction of their darker counterpart, the demons. She’d also claimed that, every so often, an angel would succumb to the lures of the flesh, intrigued by the very beings he—or she—was supposed to loathe. That angel would then be kicked straight into hell, where the demons she had once defeated were finally allowed a little vengeance.

Was that what had happened to this one? Aeron wondered. A trip to hell, where demons had tormented her? Possible.

Should he untie her? Her eyes…so guileless, so innocent. Now they said help me. And save me.

But most of all, they said hold me and never let go.

He’d been tricked by such innocence before, he thought, stopping himself before he could act. Baden had been tricked, as well, and had died for it.

A smart man would learn a little more about this woman first, he decided.

“Who took your wings?” The question emerged as a gruff bark, and he nodded in satisfaction.

She gulped, shuddered. “Once I was cast—”

“Aeron, you stupid shit,” a male voice said, hushing her. “Tell me you didn’t—” Paris stalked into his bedroom, but ground to a halt when he spotted Olivia. His eyes narrowed, and he ran his tongue over his teeth. “So. It’s true. You really flew out there and grabbed her.”

Olivia stiffened, keeping her face hidden from view. Her shoulders began shaking as if she were sobbing. Was she finally scared? Now?

Why? Women adored Paris.

Concentrate. Aeron didn’t have to ask how Paris knew what he’d done. Torin, keeper of the demon of Disease, monitored the fortress and the hill it sat upon twenty-eight hours a day, nine days a week (or so it seemed). “I thought you were gathering the others.”

“Torin texted me, and I went to him first.”

“And what did he tell you about her?”

“Hallway,” his friend said, motioning to the door with a tilt of his chin.

Aeron shook his head. “We can discuss her here. She’s not Bait.”

Another swipe of his tongue over his straight, white teeth. “And I thought I was stupid when it came to females. How do you know what she is? Did she tell you and you couldn’t help but believe her?” His tone was sneering.

“She’s an angel, despot. The one who’s been watching me.”

That wiped the scorn from Paris’s expression. “An actual angel? From heaven?”

“Yes.”

“Like Lysander?”

“Yes.”

Very slowly, Paris looked her over. Female connoisseur that he was—or used to be—he probably knew everything about her body by the time he was done. The size of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the exact length of her legs. That did not annoy Aeron. She meant nothing to him. Nothing but trouble.

“Whatever she is,” Paris said, far less angry than he’d been, “it doesn’t mean she’s not working with our enemy. Need I remind you that Galen, the world’s biggest blowhard, says he’s an angel?”

“Yeah, but he’s lying.”

“And she can’t be?”

Aeron scrubbed a hand down his suddenly tired face. “Olivia. Are you working with Galen to harm us?”

“No,” she mumbled, and Paris stumbled backward, just as Aeron had done, clutching his chest.

“My gods,” his friend gasped. “That voice…”

“I know.”

“She’s not Bait, and she’s not helping Galen.” A statement of fact from Paris now.

“I know,” Aeron repeated.

Paris shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Still. Lucien will want to search the hill for Hunters. Just in case.”

One of the many reasons Aeron had always followed Lucien. The warrior was smart and cautious. “When he finishes, call a meeting with whoever’s here and tell them about the other woman. The one from the alley.”

Paris nodded and suddenly there was a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Quite an evening you’ve had so far, huh? I wonder who else you’ll meet tonight.”

“Gods help me if there’s another,” he muttered.

“You shouldn’t have challenged Cronus, my friend.”

Aeron’s stomach clenched as his gaze swung back to the angel. Had the god king actually answered his dare? Was Olivia to be the one who led him for a merry chase? His heart was pounding, he realized, and his blood was heating.

He ground his teeth. Didn’t matter whether she was or not. She could try to tempt him, but even she, with her fall of chocolate hair, baby blues and heart-shaped lips, would fail to do so.

“I don’t regret my words.” Truth or lie, he didn’t know. He hadn’t thought Cronus had any power over the angels. So how then would the god king have sent her here? Or was he not responsible? Perhaps Aeron was mistaken and Cronus had nothing to do with this.

Again, it didn’t matter. Not only would the angel fail to tempt him, he would ensure she left before she had time to cause a single moment of concern.

“Just so you know,” Paris said, “Torin saw this one on the hill with his hidden cameras. Said she dug her way out of the ground.”

Out of the ground. Did that mean she had been tossed into hell, and had then been forced to claw her way free? He couldn’t picture the fragile-looking female doing such a thing—and surviving, that is. But then he recalled the determination she’d displayed while running toward the fortress. Maybe.

“Is that true?” He looked her over with new eyes. Sure enough, there was dirt under her fingernails and smeared on her arms. Besides the blood, however, her robe was perfectly clean.

In fact, as he watched, the tear he’d made wove itself back together, much like his body did when wounded. A piece of cloth with healing properties. Would wonders never cease?

“Olivia. You will answer.”

She nodded without glancing up. He heard a sniff, sniff. Yes, she was sobbing.

An ache bloomed in his chest, but he ignored it. Doesn’t matter what she is or what she’s endured. You will not soften, damn it. She frightens and hurts Legion and has to go.

“A real, live angel,” Paris said, clearly awed. “I’ll take her to my room, if you’d like, and—”

“She’s too injured for bedsport,” Aeron snapped.

Paris eyed him strangely for a moment, then grinned and shook his head. “I wasn’t sizing her up or anything, so let go of your jealousy.”

That didn’t even deserve a response. He’d never experienced jealousy, and wasn’t about to start now. “So why were you offering to take her to your room?”

“So I can bandage her wounds. Who’s the despot now?”

“I’ll take care of her.” Maybe. Could angels tolerate human medicine? Or would it hurt them? He knew well the dangers of giving one race something meant for another. Ashlyn had almost died when she’d drunk wine meant only for immortals.

He would have called for Lysander, but the elite warrior angel was currently living in the heavens with Bianka and if there was a way to reach him, Aeron hadn’t been told what it was. Besides, Lysander didn’t like him and wasn’t the type to willingly offer information about his race.

“You want to be the responsible one, fine. But admit it.” Paris tossed him another grin. “You’re staking a claim on her.”

“No. I’m not.” He didn’t have even the smallest desire to do so. It was just that she was injured and couldn’t take care of herself, and was therefore in no position to be anyone’s bedmate. And that’s all Paris would want her for. Sex. No matter what the warrior claimed.

Besides, she’d called for Aeron. Screamed Aeron’s name.

Undeterred, Paris continued, “An angel isn’t technically human, you know. An angel is something more.”

Aeron popped his jaw. Of all the things for the man to remember from their earlier conversation. “I said I’m not staking a claim.”

Paris laughed. “Whatever you say, compadre. Enjoy your female.”

Aeron’s hands curled into fists, his friend’s laughter not so welcome now. “Go and tell Lucien everything we’ve discussed, but under no circumstances are you to inform the women that there’s a wounded angel here. They’ll raid my room wanting to meet her and now is not the time for that.”

“Why? Do you plan to make out with her?”

His teeth ground with so much force he feared they would soon be nothing but a fond memory. “I plan to question her.”

“Ah. So that’s what the kids are calling it these days. Well, have fun.” With that, a still-grinning Paris strolled from the room.

Alone once more with his charge, Aeron gazed down at her. Her silent sobbing ended, at least, and she faced him again.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?” Saying her name shouldn’t have affected him—he’d said it before, after all—but it did. His blood heated another degree. It must be those eyes of hers…piercing him…

A shuddering breath escaped her. “I knew the consequences, knew I was giving up my wings, my abilities, my immortality, but I did it anyway. It’s just…my job changed. Joy was no longer mine to give. Only death. And I hated what they wanted me to do. I couldn’t do it, Aeron. I just couldn’t.”

His name on her lips, uttered with such familiarity, affected him, too, and he sucked in a breath. What was wrong with him? Toughen up. Be the cold, hard warrior I know you can be.

“I watched you,” she continued, “as well as those around you, and I…ached. I wanted you, and I wanted what they had—freedom and love and fun. I wanted to play. I wanted to kiss and to touch. I wanted joy of my own.” Her gaze met his, bleak, broken. “In the end, I had a choice. Fall…or kill you. I decided to fall. So here I am. Yours.”

CHAPTER THREE

YOURS. SHE SHOULDN’T have said that.

Olivia froze in horror, one thought blasting through her mind louder than any other: she’d just ruined everything.

She should have eased Aeron into the truth. After all, every time she’d approached him these past few weeks, he’d threatened her with agony and death. That she’d been invisible hadn’t mattered. He’d known she was nearby. How, she still hadn’t figured out. She should have been imperceptible, as insubstantial as a phantom of the night. And now that she was here, in the flesh and spilling her secrets, he probably viewed her as even more of a threat. He probably viewed her as an enemy.

Probably? She laughed without humor. He did. His questions had lashed at her, cutting deep. Yep. She’d ruined. He’d want nothing to do with her now. Well, except to bestow that agony and death upon her.

You didn’t fight your way from the depths of hell to be slaughtered in this fortress. She’d fought her way out of hell for a chance with Aeron. Despite the chance of failure.

You can do this. Having surreptitiously watched him time and time again, she felt she knew him pretty well. He was disciplined, distanced and brutally honest. He trusted no one but his friends. Weakness was not a trait he tolerated. And yet, to those he loved, he was kind, nurturing and solicitous. He placed their well-being above his own. I want to be loved like that.

If only he could have seen her before she’d been kicked out of the only home she’d ever known. If only he’d seen her before her ability to fly had been taken away. Before her newfound skill of creating weapons from air had been obliterated. Before her capacity to shield herself from this world’s evil had been removed.

Now…

She was weaker than a human. Having relied on her wings rather than her legs for the whole of her centuries-long existence, she didn’t even know how to walk properly. What if she couldn’t do this?

A sob escaped her. She’d given up her home and friends for pain, humiliation and helplessness. If Aeron kicked her out, too, she’d have nowhere to go.

“Don’t cry,” Aeron ground out.

“I can’t…help…it,” she replied between shuddering whimpers. Only once before had she shed tears—and those had sprung because of Aeron, as well, when she’d realized her feelings for him were completely overshadowing her sense of self-preservation.

The magnitude of what she’d done was now a screaming force inside her head. She was alone, trapped in a frail body she didn’t understand, and dependent on the mercy of a man who sometimes wreaked deathly havoc on an unsuspecting public. A public she, as a bringer of joy, had once been responsible for making happy.

“Try, damn you.”

“Can you…maybe…I don’t know…hold me?” she said between gasps of air.

“No.” He sounded horrified by the thought. “You will simply desist immediately.”

She cried all the harder. Had she been home her mentor, Lysander, would have gathered her close and cooed until she quieted. At least, she thought he would have done so, since the theory had never been tested.

Poor, sweet Lysander. Did he know she was gone? Did he know she could never return? He’d known she was fascinated with Aeron, spending every free moment in this plane to watch him in secret, unable to complete the terrible task she’d been given, but Lysander had never expected her to give up everything for the man.

To be honest, she hadn’t, either. Not really.

Perhaps she should have since her troubles had begun even before she’d first laid eyes on Aeron.

A few months ago, golden down appeared in her wings. But gold was the color of the warriors, and a warrior she had never longed to be. Even though it would have elevated her station.

Remembering her unhappiness, she sighed. There were three angelic castes. The Elite Seven, like Lysander, worked directly with the One True Deity. They had been selected at the beginning of time and never wavered in their duties to train other angels and monitor evil happenings. Next were the warriors. They destroyed the demons who managed to escape their fiery prisons. Last were the joy-bringers, as Olivia had once been.

Many of her brethren had experienced instant wing envy at the arrival of the golden down—nothing malicious, of course—but for the first time in her existence, she’d been uncertain of her path. Why had she been chosen for such a duty?

She’d loved the job she had. She’d loved whispering beautiful affirmations in human ears, bringing them confidence and pleasure. The thought of hurting another living being, even a deserving one…She shuddered.

That’s when she encountered those first thoughts about falling, about starting a new life. They’d been innocent thoughts, really. What if and maybe…And when she spied Aeron, those thoughts had intensified. What if they could be together? Maybe they could live happily ever after.

What would it be like to be human?

So by the time the Heavenly High Council, a daunting body composed of angels from each of the three factions, had called her into their tribunal chamber, she had expected to be chastised for her failure to destroy Aeron. Instead, she’d received an ultimatum.

She’d stood in the center of a spacious, white room, the ceiling domed, the walls forming a perfect circle. Columns had stretched all around, even the ivy climbing them a stark, pristine white. A throne sat between each of those columns, a regal form perched in every one.

Do you know why you are here, Olivia? a resonant voice had asked.

Yes. Though she trembled, her wings never ceased their graceful glide. They were long and majestic, the feathers a glorious white threaded with moonlit gold. To discuss Aeron of the Underworld.

We’ve been patient for weeks, Olivia. The emotionless voice had echoed like a war drum inside her head. We’ve given you countless opportunities to prove yourself. You failed each time.

I’m not meant to do this, she’d replied shakily.

You were. You are. There is no better way to spread joy than to save humans from evil. And that is what you will be doing with the completion of this task. This is your last chance. You will end Aeron’s life or we will end yours.

The councilor’s threat hadn’t been meant as a cruelty, she knew. That was simply the way of the heavens. A single drop of poison could ruin an ocean, and so every corrosive drop had to be wiped out before hitting the waves. Yet she’d protested anyway.

You cannot kill me without the True Deity’s blessing. And He would not give it. He was all that was tender and kind. He cared for his people, all of his people. Even wayward angels. Quite simply, He was love.

But we can send you away, ending life as you know it. The speaker had been female, but her voice was no less flat.

For a moment Olivia had had trouble catching her breath, and bright sparks of light had danced around her eyes. Lose her place? She’d just purchased a newer, bigger cloud. She’d promised to take over one of her friend’s joy-bringing shifts so that he could go on vacation—and she’d never before broken a promise. Still she’d persisted. Aeron isn’t evil. He doesn’t deserve to die.

That is not for you to decide. He ignored an ancient law and must be punished for it before others think that they can do the same without consequence.

I doubt he even knows what he’s done. She’d spread her arms, beseeching. If you would just allow him to see me and hear my voice, I could talk to him and explain—

Then we would be ignoring an ancient law.

True. Faith was built on the principle that you believed in what you could not see. Only the Elite Seven were allowed to reveal themselves in the mortal plane, as they were sometimes tasked with rewarding people for that faith.

I’m sorry, she’d said, head bowed. I should not have asked such a thing of you.

You are forgiven, child, they’d replied in unison.

Forgiveness was always granted so easily here. Well, except when commandments were ignored. Poor Aeron, she’d thought, even as she’d said, Thank you.

It was just…Aeron drew her. He looked every inch the demon with his tattooed flesh, yet seeing him for the first time had roused desires inside her that had been too strong to ignore. What would it be like to touch him? What would it be like to be touched by him? Would she finally know the joy she brought to others?

At first, those thoughts had shamed her. And the better she’d come to know Aeron, the stronger the desires had become—until falling and being with him had been all she could think about.

Finally, she’d told herself it was acceptable to feel so strongly about him because, despite his appearance, despite what the Council said, he was honest and good. And if he was honest and good, she could do the things that he did, and be honest and good, as well. More than that, it would be okay because he, protector that he was, would keep her safe. From others, from herself.

If he were killed, however, she would live the rest of eternity never knowing how…exquisite experiencing him in every way could have been. She would regret. She would mourn.

But to save him, from her own hand, at least, meant giving up everything she knew, as the Council had proclaimed. More than losing her home and her wings, however, she would also be stuck in a world where forgiveness was not always granted, patience was rarely rewarded and rudeness was a way of life.

He is your first assassination, so we do understand your reluctance, Olivia. But you cannot allow that reluctance to ruin you. You must rise above it or you will pay the price forevermore. Which will you choose?

That had been the Council’s last-ditch effort to save her. Yet she had raised her head and uttered the words that had been churning inside her for all those weeks—the words that led her here. Before fear could change her mind.

I choose Aeron.

“Woman?”

The hard voice shook Olivia from the past; it was deeper, richer than anyone else’s and…necessary. She blinked, her surroundings slowly coming into focus. A bedroom she knew by heart. Spacious, with silver stone walls plastered with portraits of flowers and stars. The floor was composed of dark, polished wood, and draped by a soft pink rug. There was a dresser, a vanity and a young girl’s lounge.

Many would have scoffed at the fact that this strong, proud warrior possessed such a feminine room, but not Olivia. The furnishings merely proved the depths of Aeron’s love for his Legion.

Did he have room in his heart for one more?

Her gaze landed on him. Still he stood beside the bed she was sprawled upon, gazing down at her with…no emotion, she realized, disappointed. And who could blame him? What a sight she must be. The tears had dried on her cheeks, making her skin feel tight and hot. Her hair hung in tangles, and dirt streaked her exposed skin.

Meanwhile, he looked gorgeous. He was tall and mouthwateringly muscled, with the most amazing violet eyes fringed by long black lashes. His dark hair was cropped nearly to his scalp, and she wondered if the choppy strands would prickle her palm when she caressed them.

Not that he would allow her to caress him.

He was heavily tattooed, even on the perfectly sculpted planes of his face. Each of those tattoos depicted something gruesome. Stabbings, stranglings, burnings, blood—so much blood—each skeletal face etched in torment. Yet amid all the violence were two sapphire butterflies, one riding his ribs and one outlining the wings on his back.

The other Lords, she had noticed, only had one butterfly tattoo, each a mark of their demon-possession, and she’d often wondered why Aeron had the extra. Wasn’t as if his body contained two demons or anything.

More than that, he despised weakness. Didn’t the butterflies remind him of his folly? For that matter, didn’t the other tattoos, the violent ones, remind him of the terrible things his demon had forced him to do?

As for Olivia, why didn’t this man repulse her as he would have repulsed any other angel? Why did he continue to fascinate her?

“Woman,” he repeated, impatient now.

“Yes?” she managed to croak.

“You weren’t listening to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Who wanted me dead? And why?”

Rather than answer, she begged, “Sit down, please. Looking up at you like this is straining my neck.”

At first, she didn’t think he would comply. Then he surprised her by easing to his haunches, his expression gentling. Finally, their gazes were level and she could see that his pupils were dilating. Odd. That usually happened when humans were happy. Or angry. He was neither.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Now answer me.”

Such a commander. She didn’t mind, though. The reward was too great. Now she could drink in the wonderfully wicked sight of him without effort, while talking to him as she’d dreamed of doing all these weeks. “The Heavenly High Council wants you dead because you helped a demon escape from hell.”

He frowned. “My Legion?”

His Legion? Olivia nodded, winced. Pain wasn’t something she’d ever experienced before—mentally or physically—and she wasn’t sure how she was withstanding it. Lucidly, at least.

Or maybe she did know. Humans produced adrenaline and other hormones, which numbed them somewhat. Maybe she was producing those things, too, human that she now was. More and more, she began to feel pleasantly distanced from her new body and its unfamiliar aches and emotions.

“I don’t understand. Legion had already crawled free by the time we met. I did nothing to earn anyone’s…wrath.” His mouth tightened on that last word.

“Actually, you did. Without you, she wouldn’t have been able to reach the surface because she was bound to the underground.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Olivia’s eyelids, suddenly heavy and seemingly laced with sandpaper, closed—oh, to discuss something else—but she forced them to reopen. “For the most part, demons are able to leave hell only when they’re summoned to earth. It’s a little loophole we didn’t catch until too late. Anyway, when they’re summoned, their bond with hell breaks and in its place they become bound to the summoner.”

“But again, I didn’t summon Legion. She came to me.”

“Maybe you didn’t consciously summon her, but the moment you accepted her as yours, it was as if you’d done so.”

He flexed and unflexed his hands, a gesture she knew he made while trying to get himself under control. Perhaps he was angry. “She has every right to walk this earth. I am demon, and I have done so for thousands of years without punishment.”

True. “But your demon is trapped inside you. Therefore you are its hell. Legion is now unfettered, able to come and go as she pleases. Which means she has no hell, and that defies all heavenly rules.”

She could see he was preparing to argue. Perhaps it would help to explain the origins of hell.

“The more powerful demons were once angels. Only, they fell. They were the first to fall, actually, and their hearts were blackened, all goodness wiped from them. So, rather than lose their wings and powers, they were punished to suffer forevermore. A tradition that has continued with their offspring. There can be no exceptions. Demons must be bound to some sort of hell. Those who break that bond are killed.”

Red seeped into his irises, glowing brightly. “You’re saying Legion has no hell, and because of this, she must die?”

“Yes.”

“You’re also saying she was once an angel?”

“No. Once in hell, the demons learned how to procreate. Legion is one of those creations.”

“And you think to punish her, even though she has caused no harm?”

“Not me, but yes. Even though.”

“Understand me now. I will allow no harm to befall her.” Calmly stated, but no less violent.

Olivia remained silent. She wouldn’t lie to him and tell him what he wanted to hear. That he and Legion were safe now, their crimes forgotten by those in the heavens. Eventually, someone would come to do what Olivia had been unable to.

“She didn’t deserve to be there,” he growled.

“That wasn’t for you to decide.” The rebuke emerged softly, as gently as she was able. That the words were an echo of what the Council had said to her left a bad taste in her mouth.

Aeron drew in a rough breath, his nostrils flaring. “You fell. Why aren’t you being thrown into hell?”

“The first angels to fall turned their backs on the One True Deity, hence their blackened hearts. I did not turn my back. I merely chose a different path.”

“But why were you sent to me now? Not as one of the fallen, but as an executioner? Thousands of years ago, I did far more terrible things than break a little demon’s bond to hell. All of us here did.”

“The Council agreed with the gods that you and your brethren were the only ones capable of housing, and perhaps one day controlling, the escaped demons. As I said, you are their hell, and you have been punished for those early crimes sufficiently.”

Victory claimed his features, as if he’d caught her in an untruth. “Wrath will be freed the moment of my death, escaping his so-called hell. What of that? You still think to kill me?”

If only that loophole had not been closed…“Once, we were forbidden to kill demon High Lords, and that is what your Wrath is. Then they escaped the depths, forcing us to change our rules accordingly. So…I was to kill Wrath, as well.”

The admission caused his victorious expression to fade. “You fell. That means you didn’t agree with the edict. With killing me, my demon and Legion.”

“Not true,” she said. “I think you should be spared, yes. And Wrath, too, since the demon is a part of you. Do I think Legion should be permitted to live in this world? No. She is a menace in ways you haven’t yet learned, and she’ll most likely cause untold harm. I fell because—”

“You wanted freedom and love and fun,” he said, parroting her earlier words. Only, his were sneered. “Why were you chosen for this task? Have you killed before?”

She gulped, not wanting to admit how things had unfolded but knowing she owed him an explanation. “The dark one, Reyes…he has visited the heavens many times because of his woman, Danika. I saw him once and followed him here, curious about the life a demon-possessed warrior could have built for himself.”

“Wait.” Aeron scowled over at her. “You followed Reyes.”

“Yes.” Hadn’t she just said that?

“But you followed Reyes.” Anger radiated from him, body and tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, understanding. Suddenly she wished she’d kept that part of the story to herself. She knew how protective Aeron was of his friends, and his dislike of her had to be growing by the minute. “I didn’t hurt him, though. I…I spent every day afterward traipsing these grounds.” Following you. Wanting you. “I was chosen because I, better than anyone, knew your routine.”

Or had the elders sensed her mounting desire for him, and thought that if she were the one to eliminate Aeron, she would eliminate that appalling desire, as well? She’d often wondered.

“Just so you know, Reyes has a woman.” Aeron arched a brow, disrupting the etching of ghostly souls on his forehead. Screaming souls rising toward damnation. “But that hardly matters. I want to know how you would have killed me.”

She would have formed a sword of fire, just as Lysander had taught her, and taken his head. That was the quickest death an angel could deliver, she was told. The quickest and the most merciful, over and done with before a single thread of pain could be felt.

“There are ways,” was all she said.

“But you fell and are now unable to complete your mission,” Aeron replied, and now his voice was tight with dread. “Someone else will be sent in your place, won’t they?”

Finally he was beginning to understand. She nodded.

His frown gave way to another scowl. “Like I said, I will allow no harm to befall Legion. She’s mine, and I protect what’s mine.”

Oh, to be his, she thought, the longing inside her fiercer than her lingering pain. That’s why she was here,after all. Better to experience a moment with him than a lifetime with anyone else.

She would have liked more than a moment, yes, but a moment was all they had. When her replacement came, and he would, Aeron would die. Though her heart sank at the thought, the circumstances were as simple as that. Aeron would be defenseless against an opponent he could not see, hear or touch. An opponent who would be able to see, hear and touch him.

And, knowing heavenly justice as she did, that replacement would be Lysander. Olivia had failed, and so her mentor would be held responsible for her shortcoming.

Lysander wouldn’t hesitate to deliver the final blow. He never did. Yes, he was different now that he’d mated with Bianka, a Harpy and descendant of Lucifer himself. But to walk away from Aeron meant that Lysander, too, would have to fall. He would have to give up his forever with Bianka, and that was not something the elite warrior would do. Bianka had become his everything.

“I thank you for the warning.” Aeron pushed to his feet. If he’d said something before that, she’d missed it, distracted as she’d been. What was wrong with her? She’d come here for him, but since her arrival, she’d mostly retreated into her mind.

“You’re welcome. But there’s something I’d like in return. I—I would like to stay here,” she rushed out. “With you. I can even help with your maid duties, if you’d like.” So many times she’d watched Aeron clean this fortress, grumbling about his hatred for the assigned chore.

He bent down to untie her wrists, his motions so tender he elicited only the barest twinges of pain. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

“But…why? I won’t be any trouble. Honest.”

“You have already caused trouble.”

Her chin started trembling again, the emotional numbness she’d experienced fading quickly. He still plans to get rid of me. Fear, confusion, despair all bombarded her. She buried her face in the pillow, not wanting Aeron to see. She was already at enough of a disadvantage with him.

“Woman,” he growled. “I told you not to cry.”

“Then don’t hurt my feelings.” The words were muffled from the cotton pressed against her lips—and yes, from her tears.

There was a rustle of clothing, as if he were shifting from one foot to the other. “Hurt your feelings? You should be grateful I haven’t killed you. You caused me untold grief this past month. I had no idea who followed me or why. My loyal companion couldn’t remain with me and had to return to a place she loathes.”

A place she deserved to be, despite Aeron’s earlier assertion, but whatever, as some of the Lords were fond of saying. “I’m sorry.” Despite everything, she really was. Soon, he would lose all he valued and there would be nothing either of them could do to stop it from happening.

Don’t think like that or you’ll start crying again.

He sighed. “I accept your apology, but that doesn’t change anything. You aren’t welcome here.”

He forgave her? Finally, a step in the right direction. “But—”

“You are fallen, but you’re still immortal. Yes?” He didn’t give her time to reply. Her clothing had healed itself, so in his mind it probably stood to reason that she would, too. “You’ll be fine by morning. And then I’ll want you out of this fortress.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AERON PACED THE LENGTH of the hallway. He’d been at it for hours, but saw no reprieve in his immediate future. Someone had to guard the angel. Not from intruders but from her intrusion, just in case she was here to sneak about and listen to things she shouldn’t.

A rationalization that didn’t make a lot of sense, but one he would stick with. Yes, she could have listened to things she shouldn’t have as an angel, invisible and protected, but she was vulnerable now, and she could one day be captured by the Hunters and used to hurt his friends.

His hands fisted, and he forced his mind to retreat from thoughts of her torture and their deaths before he punched a wall. Or a friend.

Besides, when Olivia was well enough, which should be any time now, part of him expected her to try and escape his room to hunt for Legion. Even though Legion was absent, that wasn’t something Aeron would allow. Not that Olivia, fallen as she now was, could do much damage during her search.

Still. She could reveal her findings to another angel, the one she predicted would come, and that angel could attempt to see the deed done.

Not on my watch, he thought.

His friends had already had their meeting—he’d heard their mutterings, then their laughter, then their footsteps as they parted—but he had no idea what had been decided. No one had visited him. Were they going to pursue the odd female he’d met in that alley? Had Lucien found any sign of Hunters on the hill?

Aeron hadn’t changed his mind; he didn’t believe Olivia was involved with them. But they could have followed her here. Sneak attacks were their specialty, after all.

And really, an invasion would be the perfect end to this terrible night.

Half an hour ago, he’d called for Legion to warn her about what was happening. Usually, no matter the distance between them, she heard his cry and came to him. Not this time. Like Lucien, she could flash from one location to another with only a thought, but she hadn’t appeared.

Was she hurt? Bound? He was tempted to formally summon her, just as she’d taught him—though until Olivia’s explanation, he hadn’t understood what she meant—for that wasn’t something she could ignore. The more he’d considered the possibility, the more he’d thought it likely that the angel—fallen or not—had to be out of the fortress before Legion would feel comfortable enough to return. He remembered her fear, the way she’d trembled even uttering the word angel.

He could have asked Olivia to stop doing whatever she was doing that pained the little demon and not him. Or his friends, for that matter. They’d never sensed Olivia, not in any way. But he hadn’t asked. She was healing, and he didn’t want to disturb her.

Especially when she’d done so much for him already. No softening.

So he’d left Legion alone, as well. For now.

Not that he could imagine the fragile Olivia hurting anyone. Even at full strength—whatever that was. Should it come to a fight, Legion would have the angel pinned, those poisoned fangs deep inside Olivia’s vein, in seconds.

That’s my girl, he thought, grinning. Only, his grin didn’t last. The thought of Olivia dying didn’t sit well. She hadn’t killed him as she’d been ordered. Not that she could have, but she hadn’t even tried to do so. Nor had she harmed Legion, as she’d probably wished to. She wanted only to experience the joys of life she’d clearly been denied.

She didn’t deserve to die.

For a moment, only a moment, he thought about keeping her. As calm as Wrath was around her, not demanding he punish her for some crime she’d committed twenty years ago, a day ago, a minute ago, she would be the perfect companion for him. She could see to his needs, as Paris had said.

Needs he’d claimed not to have. But he couldn’t deny that while he’d been crouched beside her, something had stirred inside him. Something hot and dangerous. She’d smelled of sunshine and earth, and her eyes, as blue and clear as the morning sky, had regarded him with trust and hope. As if he were a savior rather than a destroyer. And he’d liked it.

Idiot! A demon, keeping an angel? Hardly. Besides, she’s here to have fun and you, my friend, are as far from fun as a man can be.

“Aeron.”

Finally. News. Relieved to push Olivia from his thoughts, Aeron whipped around and saw Torin leaning one shoulder against the wall, gloved arms crossed over his chest and an irreverent smile curling his mouth.

As keeper of Disease, Torin couldn’t touch another being skin to skin without beginning a plague. The gloves protected them all.

“Once again, a Lord of the Underworld has a woman locked in his chambers while he tries to figure out what to do with her.” Torin chuckled.

Before Aeron could reply, images began flashing through his head. Images of Torin lifting a blade, expression intent, determined. That blade descended…nailed its target in the heart…and emerged wet and red.

The man who’d been stabbed, a human, collapsed into a heap on the ground. Dead. There was a figure eight tattooed on his wrist, the symbol of infinity and the mark of a Hunter. He hadn’t hurt Torin, hadn’t even threatened to do so. The two had simply passed each other on the street, some four hundred years ago, when the warrior had left the fortress to finally be with the woman he’d fallen for, but had first spied the brand and attacked.

To Wrath, the act was malicious and without provocation. To Wrath, the act deserved punishment.

Aeron had seen this particular event many times already, and each time he’d had to suppress the urge to act. Now was no different. He actually felt his fingers curling around the hilt of his dagger, the need to stab Torin as Torin had stabbed the Hunter strong.

I would have done the same thing, he mentally shouted at the demon. I would have killed that Hunter, maliciously and without provocation. Torin doesn’t deserve castigation.

Wrath growled.

Calm. Aeron’s arm fell to his side, his hand empty.

“Demon wanting a go at me?” Torin asked matter-of-factly.

His friends knew him very well. “Yes, but no worries. I’ve got the bastard under control.”

He thought he heard the demon snort.

The more he denied Wrath, the more its desire to penalize would grow—until the need overtook Aeron so completely, he would snap. That was when he’d fly into town, no one safe, the slightest sins met with absolute cruelty and ruthlessness.

Those vengeance sprees were the reason Aeron had tattooed himself as he had. As he was immortal and prone to heal quickly, he’d had to mix dried ambrosia into the ink to be permanently marked and it had been like injecting fire straight into his veins. Had he minded, though? Hell, no. Every time he looked into the mirror, he was reminded of the things he’d done—and what he would do again if he wasn’t careful.

But more than that, the tattoos assured him that the people he’d killed, the ones who hadn’t deserved to die, would never truly be forgotten. Sometimes that helped ease his guilt. And sometimes it helped dim his irrational pride in the demon’s strength.

“—sure you have control?”

“What?” he asked, pulling himself from his thoughts.

Torin grinned again. “I asked if you were sure you had control of your demon. You’re winking in and out, and your eyes are glowing red.”

“I’m fine.” Unlike Olivia, there wasn’t utter truth in his voice. The lie was there for all to hear.

“I believe you. Really. So…back to our conversation?” Torin asked.

Where had he gotten sidetracked? Oh, yes. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to compare me to our mated friends. I’m hardly the love-struck fool all of them were when they brought their women here.”

“And just like that, you’ve ruined my next three jokes. You’re no fun.”

Exactly what Aeron had thought when Olivia had mentioned her three desires. Having the knowledge confirmed, though, scraped him up inside for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Torin. Your purpose, please.”

“Fine. Your angel’s already causing problems. Some of us want to get rid of her, and some want to keep her. I’m on Team Keep. I think we need to charm her to our side before you make her hate us all and she decides to help the enemy.”

“Stay away from her.” Aeron didn’t want the warrior anywhere near Olivia. And it had nothing to do with the man’s white hair, black brows and green eyes that never seemed to take anything seriously, ensuring Torin didn’t need to touch a woman to win her.

Torin rolled those eyes. “Moron. You should be thanking me, not threatening me. I came to tell you to hide her. William’s on my team and he wants to be the one to do the charming.”

William, an immortal with a sex addiction. An immortal with black hair and blue eyes even more wicked than Torin’s. A warrior who was tall, muscled and untamed. A warrior whose only tattoos were hidden under his clothes. If Aeron was remembering correctly, there was an X over his heart and a treasure map on his back. A treasure map that crossed his ribs and dipped around his waist, finally ending over his “fun zone.”

He was a “real beefcake”—if human females could be believed—and was the epitome of fun.

Olivia would probably like him.

Why did Aeron suddenly want to bash the man’s face into the wall, ruining those pretty looks? Something he’d never wanted to do before, despite Wrath’s intense need to punish the man, breaking his heart into hundreds of pieces the way he’d done to hundreds of women. Only, Wrath wanted Aeron to use a blade.

Aeron had always resisted because he liked William, who may not be a true Lord, but who could be counted on during battle. The man had no limitations when it came to killing.

Without Legion, you’re looking for a fight. That’s all. Yes. Clearly he was on edge.

“Thank you, Torin, for the warning about William,” he said, hoping he sounded properly wry. “Though Olivia won’t be here long enough to be charmed by anyone.”

“I’m sure William would tell you he only needs a few seconds.”

Do not react. Although, if William showed up, Aeron could “accidentally” lose control of Wrath, allowing the demon to finally have a go at the immortal.

Wrath purred his approval.

“Oh, hey,” Torin said, claiming his attention. “Switching the topic from one sex addict to another, Paris wanted me to tell you that Lucien flashed him into town to find a woman. Lucien planned on leaving him there, so he won’t be back until morning.”

“Good.” His relief had nothing to do with Paris being far away from Olivia. “Did Lucien see any sign of Hunters while he was out there?”

“Nope. Not on the hill and not in Buda.”

“Good,” Aeron repeated, kicking back into motion. From one corner to the other he paced. “Was there any sign of the dark-haired woman?”

“No, but Paris promised to continue looking for her. Once he regained his strength, of course. And speaking of lost strength, Paris mentioned that the angel is injured. Do you want me to have someone fetch a doctor?”

“Fetch” meant “abduct” in this household. “No. She’ll heal on her own.” They’d been on the lookout for a doctor to permanently employ for some time, but they’d had no luck. Now time was of the essence, since Ashlyn was pregnant. But no one knew if the baby would be mortal or demon, so they had to be careful whom they chose.

Hunters, as they’d recently learned, had been breeding immortals with mortals for years, spawning halfling children in the hopes of creating an unstoppable army. The demon of Violence’s baby would be a prize among prizes, someone every Hunter would love to use. And in the hands of the wrong doctor, the Lords’ secrets would be anything but safe.

Torin shook his head in sympathy, as if Aeron were too dim-witted to think things through properly. “You sure she’ll heal? She was kicked out of the heavens.”

“We were kicked out of the heavens, yet we heal as fast as ever. We even regenerate limbs.” Which Gideon, keeper of the demon of Lies, was now in the process of doing. The warrior had been captured during their last battle with Hunters and tortured for information—information he had not given. In retaliation, the Hunters had removed both of his hands.

Gideon was still bedbound and a major pain in everyone’s ass.

“Good point,” Torin said.

A woman’s scream suddenly burst from Aeron’s bedroom.

He stopped pacing, and Torin straightened. By the time the second scream sounded, both were running for the room, though Torin kept a good distance between them. Aeron threw open the door, the first inside.

Olivia was on the bed, still lying on her stomach but now thrashing. Her eyes were closed, and despite the shadows her lashes cast, he could see that bruises now branched under them. That dark hair was in tangles around her trembling shoulders.

Her robe had obviously cleaned itself, most of the blood gone. Yet there were two new stains where her wings should have already begun to grow back, both bright crimson and wet.

THE DEMONS were tugging on her.

Olivia could feel their claws digging into her skin, cutting, stinging. She could feel the sticky slime on their scales and the burn of their putrid breath. She could hear the glee in their laughter and wanted to vomit.

“Lookie what I found,” one of them cackled.

“A pretty angel, fallen right into our arms,” another chortled.

Plumes of sulfur and rot thickened the air, and the stench was sucked into her nostrils as she tried to catch her breath. She’d just fallen, the clouds opening up under her feet, sending her tumbling from the heavens, down…down, no end in sight, flailing for something, anything to catch and stop herself…and when the end had finally appeared, the ground had opened up, too, the flames of hell swallowing her whole.

“A warrior angel, at that. She has wings with gold.”

“Not anymore.”

The tugging became harder, more violent. She kicked and hit and bit, trying to fight her way free to run and hide, but there were too many demons around her, the jagged, rocky landscape behind them unfamiliar to her, so her efforts elicited no results. The tendons anchoring her wings in place began to tear; the scalding pain spread, consuming her until every thought in her head revolved around the easiest way to stop it: dying.

Please. Let me die.

Stars winked over her eyes, suddenly the only thing she could see. Everything else had gone black. But black was good, black was welcome. Still, on and on the laughter and tugging continued. Dizziness soon flooded her, and nausea began churning in her stomach.

Why wasn’t she dead? Then one of her wings ripped free completely and she screamed, that scalding pain morphing into what she now knew was true agony. Not even death could end this kind of suffering. No, this would follow her into the afterlife.

The other wing quickly followed, and she screamed again and again and again. Claws continued to scrape at her clothing, damaging more of her skin and sinking inside the fresh wounds on her back. Finally, she did vomit, emptying her stomach of the heavenly fruits she’d consumed just that morning.

“Not so pretty now, are you, warrior?”

Hands squeezed at her, touching her in places no one had ever touched her before. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she lay there, helpless. This was it. The end. Finally. Except, one thought glimmered in that sea of black: she’d given up her beautiful life, only to die in hell without ever knowing joy, without spending time with Aeron. No. No!

You are stronger than this. Fight! Yes, yes. She was stronger than this. She would fight. She would—

“Olivia.”

The hard, familiar voice swept through her mind, momentarily blocking the hated images, the pain and the sorrow. The determination.

“Olivia. Wake up.”

A nightmare, she thought, with a small hint of relief. Only a nightmare. Humans often had them. But she knew the assault had been much more to her. A memory, a replay of her time in hell.

She still thrashed atop the bed, she realized, her back even now aflame, the rest of her bruised and knotted. Forcing herself to cease, she pried her eyelids apart. She was panting, chest swiftly lifting and falling against the mattress, air burning her nose and throat as if she were inhaling acid. Sweat dripped from her, soaking her robe to her skin. That blessed numbness she’d experienced earlier was completely obliterated; she felt everything.

Death might have been preferable, after all.

Once more Aeron was crouched beside the bed and peering over at her. A male—the one named Torin, she recalled—stood beside him and watched her through haunted green eyes.

Demon, Olivia thought. Torin was a demon. Just like the others. The ones who had ripped out her wings. The ones who had touched her and taunted her.

A piercing scream coiled from her raw throat. She wanted Aeron, only Aeron; she didn’t trust anyone else. Didn’t want anyone else even looking at her right now. Especially a demon. That Aeron himself was possessed by Wrath had no bearing on the situation. To her, Aeron was simply Aeron. But all she could think about when she looked at Torin was how scaled hands had pinched her nipples and sunk between her legs. How those hands would have done far more if she hadn’t begun fighting.

Fight. Yes. She kicked out her leg, but the foolish limb flopped uselessly, the muscles too tense to work properly. Helpless. Again. A sob joined her scream, both choking from her as she then tried to scramble from the bed and throw herself into Aeron’s arms. But once more, her feeble body refused to cooperate.

“Make him leave, make him leave, make him leave,” she shouted, burying her face in the pillow. Even looking at the newcomer was painful to her. She might know Torin on sight, but she didn’t know him the way she knew Aeron. Didn’t crave him the way she craved Aeron.

Aeron, who could make everything better, as he did for his friend Paris every night. Aeron, who could protect her as he did his little Legion. Aeron, who was so fierce he had scared her nightmares away.

Strong hands settled on her shoulders and held her down to stop her renewed thrashing. “Shh. Shh now.You have to calm down before you injure yourself further.”

“What’s going on?” Torin asked. “What can I do to help?”

No. No, no, no. The demon was still here. “Make him leave! You have to make him leave. Now. Right now.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” Torin said gently. “I’m here to—”

Hysteria was bubbling up inside her, about to consume her and sweep her under. “Make him leave. Please, Aeron, make him leave. Please.”

Aeron growled low in his throat. “Torin, damn it. Get the hell out of here. She’s not going to calm down until you do.”

There was a heavy sigh, sadness in the undertones, then blessedly, footsteps sounded.

“Wait,” Aeron called, and Olivia wanted to scream. “Did Lucien flash to the States as planned the other day and purchase Tylenol for the women?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Torin replied.

They were conversing? Now? “Make him leave!” Olivia shouted.

“Bring me some,” Aeron said, talking over her.

The door creaked open. Finally, the demon was leaving—but he would return with human medicine. Olivia whimpered. She couldn’t go through this again. Would probably die from fear alone.

“Just throw it inside the room,” Aeron added, as though sensing her thoughts.

Thank you, sweet merciful Deity in heaven. As Olivia slumped onto the mattress, the door clicked shut.

“He’s gone,” Aeron said softly. “It’s just you and me now.”

She was trembling so violently, the entire bed shook. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.” The plea proved just how weak she currently was, but she didn’t care. She needed him.

Aeron smoothed the sweat-damp hair from her temples, his touch as soft as his voice. This couldn’t be her Aeron, speaking to her so sweetly, caressing her so tenderly. The change in him was almost too vast to be believed. Why had he changed? Why was he treating her, a virtual stranger, as he usually only treated his friends?

“You wanted me to hold you earlier,” he said. “Do you still wish it?”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. Whatever the reason for the change, it didn’t matter. He was here, and he was giving her what she’d desired for so long.

Very slowly, he eased beside her, careful not to jostle her. When he was stretched out, she inched forward until her head was resting in the groove of his strong, hot shoulder. The action lanced more of that debilitating pain through her, but being this close to him, finally touching him, was worth it. This was why she’d come here.

He wrapped one arm around her lower back, still so careful of her wounds, and his warm breath trekked down her forehead. “Why aren’t you healing, Olivia?”

She loved when he uttered her name. Like a prayer and a plea, wrapped in the same pretty package. “I told you. I fell. I’m fully human now.”

“Fully human,” he said, stiffening. “No, you didn’t tell me that. I could have brought you medicine sooner.”

There was guilt in his tone. Guilt and dread. The dread she didn’t understand, but was too wrung out to question. And then she forgot all about it. In the center of the room, an amber light sparked. That light grew…and grew…brightening so much she had to squint.

A body took shape. A big, muscled body draped in a white robe very similar to hers. Pale hair appeared next, waving to thick shoulders. She saw eyes like liquid onyx and pale skin with the slightest dusting of gilt. Last to fill her gaze were wings of pure, shimmering gold.

She wanted to wave but could only manage a faint grin. Sweet Lysander, here to comfort her at last, even as a figment of her imagination. “I’m dreaming again. Only, I like this one.”

“Shh, shh,” Aeron whispered to her. “I’m here.”

“As am I.” Lysander’s gaze swept his surroundings and his lips curled with distaste. “Unfortunately, this is no dream.” As always, he spoke true, his voice as filled with certainty as hers.

This was truly happening? “But I’m human now. I shouldn’t be able to see you.” Actually, seeing him was now against the rules. Unless her Deity thought to reward her? Given that she’d just turned her back on her heritage, that hardly seemed likely.

Now he peered straight into her eyes—straight, it seemed, into her soul. “I petitioned the Council on your behalf. They’ve agreed to give you one more chance. And so, right now, a part of you is still angelic and will remain so for the next fourteen days. Fourteen days in which you may change your mind and reclaim your rightful place.”

Like a bolt of lightning, shock lanced through her, burning and sizzling. “I don’t understand.” No fallen angel had ever been given a second chance before.

“Nothing to understand,” Aeron said, still trying to soothe her. “I’ve got you.”

“I am of the Seven, Olivia. I wanted fourteen days for you, and so you were given fourteen days. To live here, to…enjoy. And then, to return.” Lysander’s affronted tone proclaimed his status should explain everything.

It did not, but still the hope in his voice saddened her.The only thing she regretted about her choice was hurting this amazing warrior. He loved her, desired only the best for her.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t change my mind.”

He appeared thunderstruck. “Even when the immortal is taken from you?”

She barely managed to stop her horrified cry. I’m not ready to lose him. But weak as she was, there was nothing she could do to save him, and she knew it. “Is that why you’re—”

“No, no. Calm yourself. I’m not here to kill him.” The word yet was unsaid, but present all the same. “If you decide to stay, his new executioner will not be decided until your fourteen days have passed.”

So. She was guaranteed two weeks with Aeron. No more, no less. That would have to be enough. She would make so many memories, they would last a lifetime. If she could convince Aeron to let her stay here, that is. As stubborn as he was…

She sighed. “Thank you,” she told Lysander. “For everything. You didn’t have to do this for me.” And had probably had to fight the Council mercilessly for such a concession, one of the Seven or not. Yet he’d done so, without hesitation, just so she might experience the joy and passion she craved before reclaiming her place in heaven. She wouldn’t tell him that she could not go back. No matter what happened.

In fourteen days, if she did return, she would be expected to kill Aeron, she knew—and still she would not be able to do so. “I love you. I hope you know that. No matter what happens.”

“Olivia,” Aeron said, clearly confused.

“He cannot see, hear or even sense me,” Lysander explained. “He now realizes you are not talking to him and thinks you are hallucinating from the pain.” Her mentor stepped toward the bed. “I must remind you that the man is a demon, Liv. He is everything we fight against.”

“As is your female.”

He squared his wide shoulders, and his chin lifted. Ever the stubborn warrior, her Lysander. Just like Aeron. “Bianka broke none of our laws.”

“But even if she had, you would have wanted to be with her. You would have found a way.”

“Olivia?” Aeron repeated.

Lysander paid him no heed. “Why would you choose to live with him as a human, Olivia? Just for a few minutes in his arms? That can bring you nothing but heartache and disappointment.”

Once again, there was undiluted truth in his tone. Lies were not permitted in their—no, his, she thought sadly—world. Still, she refused to believe him. Here, she would do things she desperately wanted to do. Not only would she live as a human, but she would feel as one, too.

The bedroom door swung open, saving her from replying. A small plastic bottle was tossed inside. It landed on the floor a few inches from Lysander’s sandaled feet.

“Here are the meds,” Torin called. The door shut before Olivia could work up another scream.

Aeron made to rise, but Olivia settled her weight more firmly atop him. “No,” she said, grimacing as another of those burning bolts struck her. “Stay.”

He could have pushed her aside, but didn’t. “I need to get the pills. They’ll help ease your pain.”

“Later,” she said. Now that they were touching, now that she felt the warmth of his body, wrapping around her, soothing her, she didn’t want to lose it. Even for a moment.

At first, she thought he would disregard her plea, but then he relaxed and tightened his hold on her. Olivia sighed with contentment and met Lysander’s hard gaze once more. He was scowling.

“This is why,” she told him. Cuddling wasn’t something angels did. They could have, if they’d so wanted, she supposed, but none ever had. Why would they? They were like brothers and sisters to each other, physical desire not part of their makeup.

“Why what?” Aeron asked, confused all over again.

“Why I like you,” she answered honestly.

He stiffened, but didn’t reply.

Eyes narrowed, Lysander spread his wings in one smooth jerk, the gold glistening in the moonlight. A single feather drifted to the floor. “I’ll leave you to your recovery, pet, but I will return. You don’t belong here. As the days pass, I have a feeling you, too, will realize that.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THAT FIRST NIGHT, after Olivia finished her strange conversation with herself, she finally fell back asleep, once again moaning and groaning with her pain, thrashing and hurting herself further. The second night, the mutterings about demons began. Don’t touch me, you filthy wretch. Whimper, gag. Please, don’t touch me. The third night, a deathly stillness claimed her.

Aeron almost preferred the begging.

Through it all, he mopped her brow, kept her company—even reading one of Paris’s romance novels to her, though she remained unaware—and forced liquids and crushed pills down her throat. He would not have her death on his conscience.

More than that, he wanted her out of his life—no matter how strongly his body reacted when he neared her. Or thought of her. He hadn’t lied. Once she was healed, she was gone. Because of how his body reacted.

Worse, the way his demon reacted. Not to her, but for her.

Punish, the demon said for the…what? Hundredth time? Punish the ones who hurt her. During Aeron’s blood-curse, the demon had spoken to him—in one-word commands—in addition to flashing violent images through his mind. For the past three days, though, extended speech was Wrath’s preferred method of communicating, and Aeron wasn’t quite used to it. Where was the peace Olivia elicited?

Also, he wasn’t sure what Olivia had been through when she’d been kicked from her home, and he couldn’t allow himself to find out. He might not be able to stop his demon from acting. Could barely stop the demon now. And if he knew the truth, he might not want to stop his demon. If ever there was a time to enjoy what Wrath could do…

Don’t think like that. Aeron didn’t want to soften toward Olivia any more than he already had, and he didn’t want her sinking deeper into his thoughts and decisions. His life had enough complications. And already she’d added more.

She wanted to have fun. As he’d assured her, fun wasn’t a word he was acquainted with, nor did he have time to learn. And he wasn’t disappointed about that. Truly.

She wanted to love. In no way was he right for that task. Romantic love wasn’t something he would ever bring to the table. Especially with someone as fragile as Olivia. And he wasn’t disappointed about that, either. Truly.

She wanted freedom. That he could give her. In town. If she would just get better, damn her!

She would get better, or by the gods he would finally unleash his demon, willingly and without restraint.

Punish. Punish the ones who hurt her.

Why did the demon like her? And Wrath had to like her. Nothing else explained the urge to strike at beings they hadn’t personally encountered. He’d had time to think about this, way too much time, yet no answers had materialized.

Aeron scrubbed a hand down his face. Because he refused to leave Olivia’s side, Lucien had had to continue seeing to Paris’s care and ensuring the warrior fed his own demon properly. Torin, in turn, had had to see to Aeron’s meals, bringing him trays of food throughout the day, but never staying to talk with him. If Olivia were to awaken and see the male…He didn’t relish a repeat of her earlier terror.

Unfortunately, the women of the house had learned of the angel’s presence and had descended en masse to welcome her. Not that he’d let them past the door. No telling how Olivia would react to them. Besides, none of them had known how to help the angel. He’d asked. Fine. He’d snarled.

Although he might have endured fits of terror from Olivia if it meant seeing her conscious again. Why the hell would she not awaken? And now, as still as she was…He rolled to his side, careful not to jostle her, and stared down at her. For the first time, she didn’t curl into him but remained as she was. Her skin was ghostly pale, her veins visible and garish. Her hair was a matted nest around her head. Her cheeks were hollowed out and her lips scabbed from where she’d chewed them.

Yet she was still beyond beautiful. Exquisite, even, in a protect-me-forever kind of way. So much so, his chest constricted at the sight of her. Not in guilt, but in a possessive need to be the one doing the protecting. A need that ran bone-deep.

She had to heal, and he had to get rid of her. Soon.

“At this rate, she’s going to die,” he snarled to the ceiling. Whether he was speaking to her One Deity or to the gods he knew, he wasn’t sure. “Is that what you want? One of your own to suffer unimaginably before perishing? You can save her.”

Look at you, he thought, disgusted with himself. Pleading for a life as the humans never do.

That didn’t stop him. “Why won’t you?”

The barest hint of a…growl? hit his ears. Aeron tensed. As he palmed one of the daggers he’d placed on his nightstand, his gaze zoomed through his bedroom. He and Olivia were alone. No godly being had appeared to chastise him for his impudent tone.

Slowly he relaxed. Lack of sleep was finally catching up with him, he supposed.

Night had long since fallen, moonlight shimmering through the windowed doors leading to his balcony. So peaceful was the sight, so fatigued was his body, he should have finally drifted into slumber. He didn’t. Couldn’t.

What would he do if Olivia died? Would he mourn her as Paris mourned his Sienna? Surely not. He didn’t know her. Most likely, he would feel guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. She had saved him, yet he wouldn’t have done the same for her.

You don’t deserve her.

The thought whispered through his head, and he blinked. It hadn’t belonged to Wrath, the timbre too low, too gravelly—and yet, somehow familiar. Had Sabin, keeper of Doubt, returned from Rome, attacking his self-confidence as was the warrior’s unintentional habit?

“Sabin,” he spat, just in case.

No response.

She’s too good for you.

This time, Wrath rumbled inside his head, prowling through his skull, suddenly agitated.

Not Sabin, then. One, Aeron hadn’t heard Sabin return and, two, he knew the warrior wasn’t due to arrive for another few weeks. Plus, there was no gleeful undertone to these doubts, and Sabin’s demon found great joy in the spreading of its poison.

So, who did that leave? Who possessed the power to speak in his mind?

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

That does not matter. I am here to heal her.

Heal her? Aeron relaxed just a little. There was a ring of truth in the voice, just as there was in Olivia’s. Was this an angel? “Thank you.”

Save your thanks, demon.

Such anger from an angel? Probably not. Or was this a god, perhaps, answering his prayers? No, couldn’t be, Aeron decided. The gods enjoyed their fanfare and would have relished the opportunity to reveal themselves and demand gratitude. And if this were Olivia’s Deity, surely there would have been a hum of power in the air, at the very least. Instead, there was…nothing. Aeron sensed, smelled and felt nothing.

I have every faith that, when she awakens, she will begin to see you for what you really are.

Because of the being’s certainty that she would awaken, Aeron didn’t mind the implied insult. He was too relieved. “And what am I?” Not that he cared. But in the answer, he might learn who this speaker was.

Inferior, wicked, malicious, foolish, single-minded, rotten, unworthy and doomed.

“Tell me how you really feel,” he replied dryly, hoping his sarcasm hid his actions as he slowly edged over Olivia, using his body to shield hers. Wicked and malicious—the beliefs of the Hunters. Yet a Hunter would have attacked Aeron before offering anyone aid. Even their Bait.

Again he wondered if this newcomer was an angel. Despite that anger. And clearly, hatred.

Another growl echoed. Your insolence only proves my point. Which is why I will allow her to get to know you as she desires, for I have a feeling she will not like what she learns. Just…do not soil her. If you do, I will bury you and all those you love.

“I would never soil a—”

Silence. She awakens now.

To prove the words, Olivia moaned. In that moment, the amount of relief that flooded him was irrational. Too much for someone he didn’t know and wouldn’t mourn. One thing he did know: whoever the speaker was, he was indeed powerful, to draw Olivia from that deathly slumber so quickly.

“Thank you,” he said again. “She suffered unjustly and—”

I told you to be silent! If you dare disturb her healing process, demon…actually, I’ve had all of you I can stand for one evening. Sleep.

Though he fought against it, his body seemed unable to refuse the command and sagged against the mattress, a few inches from Olivia. His eyelids closed and lethargy beat through him, dragging him kicking and screaming into the darkness he would have previously welcomed. Still, that darkness couldn’t stop him from reaching for Olivia and drawing her into his side.

Where she belonged.

EYES STILL TOO HEAVY TO OPEN, Olivia stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, the knots unwinding from her muscles. Sooo good. Grinning, she drew in a deep breath that brought with it the scent of exotic spice and forbidden fantasies. Her cloud had never smelled this…sexy before. Nor had it ever been this warm, almost decadently so.

She wanted to stay just like this forever, but laziness wasn’t the way of the angels. Today she would visit Lysander, she decided. If he wasn’t away on a secret mission as he often was, and if he hadn’t locked himself away with his Bianka. Afterward, she would head to the fortress in Budapest. What would Aeron be doing today? Would his contradictions fascinate her once again? Would he sense her again, as he shouldn’t have been able to do, then demand she reveal herself so that he could kill her?

Those demands always hurt her feelings, though she couldn’t blame him for his anger. He didn’t know who she was or what her intentions were. I want him to know me, she thought. She was likeable; she really was. Well, to other angels, she was. She wasn’t sure what a demon-possessed immortal warrior would think of the real her, his supposed opposite.

Only, Aeron didn’t seem like a demon to her. Not in any way. He called Legion his “precious baby,” bought her tiaras and decorated his room to fit her tastes. He’d even had his friend and fellow Lord Maddox construct a lounge chair for her. A lounge chair that rested beside his bed and was draped with pink lace.

Olivia wanted her own lacy lounge chair in that bedroom.

Envy is not a good look for you, she reminded herself. You might not have a lacy lounge, but you have helped countless people laugh and rejoice and learn to love their lives. Yes, she took a great amount of satisfaction from that. But…now she wanted more. Maybe she’d always wanted more, but just hadn’t realized it until her “promotion.”

So greedy, she thought with a sigh.

The rock-hard yet smooth mattress underneath her shifted and moaned.

Wait. Rock-hard? Shifted? Moaned? Jarred into lucidity, Olivia now had no trouble prying her eyelids apart. She jerked upright at the sight she beheld—or didn’t behold. The indigo haze of a rising sun and fat, puffy clouds were nowhere to be seen. Instead, she saw a bedroom with jagged stone walls, a wood floor and polished cherrywood furniture.

She also saw a lacy pink lounge chair.

Realization slammed into her. Fallen. I’ve fallen. She’d descended into hell, and the demons—do not think about them. Already, with only that small memory, her body had begun trembling. I’m with Aeron now. I’m safe.But if she truly was mortal, why did her body feel so…fit?

Another realization: because she wasn’t truly human.

Fourteen days, she recalled Lysander saying, before she lost all of her angelic traits. Did that mean…Could her wings have…

Biting her lower lip, afraid to hope, she reached behind and felt her back. What she encountered caused her shoulders to slump with both relief and sadness. No injuries remained, but her wings had not regrown, either.

Your choice. Your consequences. Yes. She accepted that. It was strange, though. This wingless body belonged to her. A body that would not live forever. A body that felt both the good and the bad.

And that was okay, she rushed to assure herself. She was in the Lords’ fortress, and she was with Aeron. Aeron, who was underneath her. How fun. So far this body had only experienced the bad, and she was more than ready for the good.

Olivia scooted off him and twisted to study him. He was still sleeping, his features relaxed, one arm tossed over his head, the other at his side, where she had been. He’d been holding her close. The corners of her lips lifted in a dreamy smile, and her heart fluttered wildly.

He wasn’t wearing a T-shirt, and the knowledge caused her heart’s fluttering to pick up speed. She had sprawled across the colorful expanse of his chest, had lain on those tiny brown nipples, those ropes of muscle and that intriguing navel.

Unfortunately, he was wearing jeans. His feet were bare, though, and she saw that even his toes were tattooed. Adorable.

Adorable? Really? Who are you? People were being murdered on those toes. Still, she wanted to trace her fingertips over them. She did trace a fingertip over the butterfly on his ribs. The wings curled into sharp points, destroying any illusion of delicacy.

At her touch, breath pushed from his lips, and she jolted backward. No way did she want to be caught molesting him. Well, without his permission. The action proved more forceful than she’d meant, and she propelled off the bed completely, plummeting to the floor with a painful thwack. Hair danced over her face, and when she brushed the strands aside, she realized she’d awoken Aeron.

He was sitting up, glaring down at her.

Olivia gulped and waved up at him shyly. “Uh, good morning.”

His gaze roved over her, narrowed. “You look better. Much better.” His voice was rough. Probably from sleep, and not desire as every cell in her body hoped. “Are you healed?”

“Yes, thank you.” At least she thought she was healed. Her heart had yet to calm, its continued erratic beat foreign to her. And there was an ache in her chest. Nothing terrible, as the pain in her back had been, but odd. Her stomach was even quivering.

“You suffered for three days. Any complications? Any lingering twinges?”

“Three days?” She hadn’t realized so much time had passed. And yet, three days hardly seemed long enough for her to have healed so thoroughly. “How am I all better?”

He glowered. “We had a visitor last night. He didn’t give me a name, but he said he would heal you, and I guess he was true to his word. He didn’t like me, by the way.”

“My mentor.” Of course. Healing her would have meant bending the rules, but Lysander had helped make those rules. If anyone would know ways around them, it was him. And an angel who didn’t like Aeron? Lysander for sure.

Once more Aeron’s gaze raked her, as if searching for injuries despite the truth in her claim. His pupils dilated, gobbling up every bit of that lovely violet. Not with happiness, but with…anger? Again? She had done nothing to quash his earlier tenderness. Had Lysander said something to upset him, then?

“Your robe…” he croaked, and quickly turned away from her, giving her his back. His second butterfly tattoo greeted her, and her mouth watered. What would those jagged wings taste like? “Fix it.”

Frowning, she looked down at herself. Her knees were drawn up and her robe was bunched at her waist, revealing the small, white panties she wore. He couldn’t be angry about that. Anya, Lucien’s wife and the minor goddess of Anarchy, wore much less on a daily basis. Still, Olivia smoothed the soft, flowing material to her ankles. She could have stood and rejoined him on the bed but decided not to risk either falling or a rejection.

“I’m covered now,” she said.

When he faced her, those pupils still blown, he tilted his head to the side, as if he were replaying their conversation through his mind. “Why do you have a mentor?”

Easy enough to answer. “Like humans, angels must learn how to survive. How to help those in need. How to fight demons. My mentor was—is—the greatest of his kind, and I was blessed to work with him.”

“His name.” The two words lashed like a whip, hard and sure, cutting.

Why such a negative reaction? “I believe he’s an acquaintance of yours, actually. You know Lysander, yes?”

Aeron’s pupils finally retracted, the violet irises once more visible—and drowning her in their irresistible depths. “Bianka’s Lysander?”

She smiled at the description. “Yes. He visited me, too.”

“The night I thought you were talking to yourself,” he said, nodding.

“Yes.” And he planned to return. That, she didn’t mention. Lysander loved her and wouldn’t hurt Aeron—yet—because that would, in turn, hurt her. At least, that was the hope she clung to.

Aeron scowled. “The angelic visits have to stop, Olivia. Between Hunters and our demons, we have enough to deal with already. Even though Lysander helped you, even though I’m grateful, I cannot allow the continued interference.”

She laughed. She just couldn’t help herself. “Good luck with that.” Stopping an angel was like stopping the wind: in a word, impossible.

His scowl intensified. “Are you hungry?”

The subject change didn’t bother her; it actually delighted her. He’d often done the same thing with his friends, moving from one topic to another without warning. “Oh, yes. I’m starved.”

“Then I’ll feed you before taking you into town,” he said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing.

Still Olivia remained in place, but this time the immobility was because her limbs felt as if they were anchored to rocks. First, he was gorgeous. All muscle and danger and mouthwateringly colorful skin. Second—“You still mean to cast me out?”

“Of course.”

Don’t you dare cry. “Why?” Had Lysander said something, as she’d suspected?

“Better question. When did I ever imply otherwise?” He strode to his bathroom and she lost sight of him. There was a rustle of clothing, and then a burst of water upon porcelain.

“But you held me in your arms all night,” she called. “You cared for me for three days.” That had to mean something. Right? Men didn’t do such things unless they were besotted. Right? In all her time with Aeron, she’d never seen him with a female. Well, besides Legion, but the little demon didn’t count. He’d never held her in his arms all night. So his attention to Olivia was special. Right?

There was no reply. Soon, steam and the scent of sandalwood soap were drifting through the room. He was showering, she realized, and her heart once more picked up speed, even skipping a beat altogether. He’d never showered when she’d been here before. He’d always waited until she had left.

Seeing his naked body had become an obsession.

Was he tattooed there, between his legs? If so, what design had he chosen?

And why do I want to lick that design the same way I want to lick the butterflies? Imagining doing so, Olivia traced her tongue over her lips before freezing in astonishment. Bad, naughty girl. Such a desire…

Well, I’m not fully an angel anymore, she reminded herself, and she wanted to see—and taste—him. So see him—and hopefully taste him—she would. After everything she’d endured, she deserved a little treat. Or maybe a big treat? Either way, she wasn’t leaving this fortress until she’d gotten a peek.

Determined, Olivia finally pushed to her feet. Without her wings to center her, she had no sense of balance, and quickly toppled over, sharp pains exploding from her knees and making her wince. This pain, however, was bearable. After the wing extraction, everything was probably bearable.

Again, she stood. Again she fell. Argh! All too soon, the water shut off. There was a slap of wet flesh against marble, and then a glide of cotton from metal.

Hurry! Before it was too late.

For balance, she placed one foot in front and one in back and spread her arms wide. Slowly she inched to her full height. She wobbled left, then right, but managed to stay upright this time. Go, me!

Then Aeron emerged from the bathroom, and disappointment filled her. There was a towel wrapped around his waist and another winding around his neck. Too late. Double argh!

“You showered so swiftly. Surely you missed a spot,” she said.

He didn’t flick her a glance, but kept his attention on the dresser in front of him. “No. I didn’t.”

Oh.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said after placing a T-shirt on top of the wood. He used the second towel to dry what little hair he had.

Had she called him gorgeous before? She should have said magnificent. “My robe cleans me.” Did she sound as breathless to him as she did to herself?

He frowned, still not facing her. “Even your hair?”

“Yes.” Her hands were shaking as she pulled the hood over her head, gave it time to work its magic, and then cast it back. As the material fell, she smoothed a hand through her now silky, smooth locks. “See? All of me.”

Finally, he looked her over, gaze sliding down her body, lingering in certain places, heating her blood, making her skin tingle. When their eyes met, his pupils were once again dilated, black overshadowing violet.

Seriously, what was she doing to cause such anger?

“That it does,” he growled. He turned on his heel and strode forward, entering his closet and disappearing from view. The towel soared out and landed in a heap on the floor.

He was naked again, she thought, forgetting his anger. Now’s your chance. Grinning, Olivia propelled into motion. She managed two steps before toppling and landing on her knees—then launching the rest of the way to her stomach, air whooshing from her lungs.

“What are you doing?”

Up, up she looked. There was Aeron, in the closet doorway, dressed in that black T-shirt, now paired with jeans. He’d also pulled on a pair of boots and weapons were probably strapped all over his muscled body. His eyes were narrowed, his lips drawn tight in a frown.

Foiled again. She sighed in dejection.

“Doesn’t matter, really,” he said, clearly done waiting for her reply. “It’s time for us to go.”

Now? “You can’t take me into town,” she rushed out. “You need me.”

He sputtered for a moment. “Hardly. I need no one.”

Oh, really? “Someone else will be sent to do the job I couldn’t do, remember? As you couldn’t sense Lysander when he visited me, you won’t be able to sense another angel.”

Aeron crossed his arms over his massive chest, the very picture of male stubbornness. “I sensed you, didn’t I?”

Yes, he had, and she still hadn’t figured out how he’d done so. “Well, like I said, you didn’t sense Lysander. I, however, can see the angels. I can warn you when another approaches.” Not that they would come for him until her fourteen-day reprieve ended—wait, they had an eleven-day reprieve now, since three had already passed—but he didn’t need to know that.

He popped his jaw left and right, disrupting the flow of the images etched there. “You told me you were hungry. Let’s find you something to eat.”

Again with the subject change. This time, she hated it, but still let it slide, sensing further argument was futile. Besides, she was hungry. She crawled to her knees, then eased to her feet. One step, two…three…Soon she was in front of Aeron, smiling at her success.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Walking.”

“Took you so long, I’m officially fifty years older.”

She raised her chin, pride undiminished. “Well, I didn’t fall.”

He shook his head—in exasperation?—and took her hand in his. “Come on, angel.”

“Fallen,” she automatically corrected. The feel of his fingers curled around hers, warm and strong, made her shiver. A sensation she wasn’t allowed to relish.

When he tugged her forward, she tripped over her own feet. Thankfully, before she could kiss the ground again, he jerked her up and into his side, anchoring her there.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

Now this was the life. She snuggled as close to him as she could get. Throughout the centuries, she’d watched many humans succumb to their baser desires, but until that golden down had appeared in her wings, she hadn’t truly wondered why they did so. Now she knew: every touch was as delicious as Eve’s apple had probably been.

She wanted more.

“You are a menace,” Aeron mumbled.

“A helpful menace.” Maybe, if she reminded him enough, he would begin to realize that he did, in fact, need her.

He didn’t offer a response, but led her down a hallway, keeping her upright the entire time. Even better, he had to carry her down the flight of stairs. Something she would have enjoyed far more if she hadn’t been so distracted. The walls were lined with portraits of the heavens—angels she recognized flying through the clouds—as well as hell. The latter she avoided studying, not wanting any reminders of her time there.

Also lining the walls were pictures of naked men, most lounging on beds of silk. Those she stared at, a fact that didn’t embarrass her. Really. Even when she had to mop up her drool. All that skin…that brawn…that sinew…Too bad they weren’t tattooed from head to toe.

“Anya’s been doing some decorating. You should cover your eyes,” Aeron said, his deep voice cutting into her ogling.

“Why?” Covering her eyes would be a crime. One that would surely insult her Deity, for wasn’t it her duty to admire his creations?

“You’re an angel, for gods’ sake. You aren’t supposed to look at such things.”

“I’m fallen,” she reminded him. Again. “And how do you know what I’m supposed to do?”

“Just…close your eyes.” He dropped her legs, forcing her to stand, and ushered her around a corner.

A bevy of voices suddenly assaulted her ears, and she stiffened, stumbled, unprepared to deal with anyone but Aeron.

“Careful,” he said.

She slowed her steps. People were unpredictable, and his immortal friends more than most. Worse, her body was now susceptible to all forms of injury. They could torture her, physically, mentally and emotionally, and she wouldn’t be able to fly away.

In the heavens, everyone loved everyone else. There was no hate, no cruelty. Here, kindness was often an afterthought. Humans often called each other terrible names, tore down each other’s self-esteem and purposely broke one another’s pride.

Olivia would have been happiest spending every minute of her humanity alone with Aeron.

You weighed the good versus the bad, remember? Youthought the possibility of pleasure worth any price. You can deal. You have to.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She was determined.

They rounded another corner, entering the dining room, and Aeron stopped. Immediately, the voices tapered to quiet. Olivia did a quick scan and saw that four individuals sat at a table piled high with food. Four potential torturers.

Fear sparked inside her chest, and she had trouble catching her breath. Before she realized what she was doing, she had pulled from Aeron’s clasp and inched behind him, hiding from view. To remain upright, she had to flatten her palms against his back.

“Finally. Fresh angel meat,” a woman said with a husky laugh. “We were beginning to think Aeron planned to keep you hidden forever. Not that I would’ve allowed such a thing, you understand. I’d already dug out my trusty lock pick and had a rendezvous scheduled for midnight.”

A nice-to-meet-you rendezvous or a how-does-the-tip-of-my-blade-feel rendezvous? Probably the latter. Olivia recognized the raspy voice as that of Kaia Skyhawk, Bianka’s twin and Gwen’s big sister. She was a stealing, lying Harpy, and the spawn of Lucifer. She was also aiding the Lords in their quest to find Pandora’s box, and would destroy anything she viewed as a threat. Like an angel.

Gwen, the youngest Skyhawk, lived here with Sabin, though the pair was currently in Rome, last Olivia had heard, along with several others, searching one of the Titans’ newly risen temples for artifacts that had once belonged to Cronus.

Silly Cronus, whom the Lords assumed was all-powerful. If they only knew…

“I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you,” the one called Paris warned the Harpy.

Olivia peeked around Aeron’s shoulder.

“Why?” Kaia asked, unconcerned. “You think Aeron will attack me? You should know by now that I like to wrestle. In oil.”

Paris’s lips pursed at the unpleasant reminder of his own oil-wrestling experience. With Lysander. Something Olivia would have loved to watch. “No, I don’t think you should be quiet because of Aeron. I think you should be quiet because you’re prettier that way.”

There was a feminine snort, and Olivia smiled in response. No longer drunk with pain and memories, she found, to her surprise, that her fear of the demons was fading. Maybe she really could do this.

“So, Olivia,” Paris said. “How are you? Feeling better?”

Though she didn’t move from behind Aeron, she replied, “Yes, thank you.”

“Mmm. I’d love to give you something to be really thankful for.” This speaker was William, she realized. He was handsome, wickedly so, with black hair and blue eyes. He was also an untamable rogue with an odd sense of humor Olivia didn’t always understand.

“Someone needs to remove your something for the good of womankind.” That pronouncement came from Cameo, the only female Lord. Well, the only one the Lords knew about. She was possessed by Misery, and all the world’s sorrows rested in her voice.

Just then, Olivia wanted to give the woman a hug. No one here knew it, but Cameo always fell asleep crying. It was heartbreaking. Maybe…maybe they could become friends now, she thought, again surprised by her still-fading fear.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Aeron said, once again taking Olivia’s hand and dragging her with him as he marched forward. When he reached the table, he pulled out a chair for her.

She kept her eyes downcast as she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to sit alone.” Not after she’d experienced the bliss of having him as her mattress and then her cane.

Sighing, he plopped into the chair himself. Fighting a triumphant grin, Olivia perched herself on his lap. Well, she fell into his lap. No longer able to use him as a cane, she’d had no anchor to steady her. He stiffened, but didn’t rebuke her.

She had no idea what everyone thought of her display because she kept her gaze downcast. For the moment, she was calm and she wanted to stay that way.

“Where’s everyone else?” Aeron asked, picking up the conversation as if it had never tapered off.

“Lucien and Anya are in town, still looking for your Shadow Girl,” Paris replied. “Torin’s in his bedroom, of course, watching the world and keeping us safe. Dan-ika—” Aeron flinched at the girl’s name, and Olivia patted his hand in comfort. Clearly, he still felt guilty for almost killing her. “Danika is painting something, but she won’t tell us what yet, and Ashlyn is looking over the scrolls Cronus gave us, trying to remember if she ever heard a conversation about any of the people listed.”

The scrolls in question documented nearly everyone who had been possessed by one of the demons released from Pandora’s box, Olivia knew. Angels had kept watch over them throughout the centuries, so she knew where a few lived. Would she be marked for death by her own kind if she told? Would that break an ancient law?

“Gods, Sex. We should rename you Boring. Let’s get to the good stuff. Introductions are in order, yes?” William prompted. “It’s only polite, really.”

“Since when do you care about politeness?” Aeron barked.

“Since now.”

Behind her, she heard her warrior’s teeth grind. “This is Olivia. She’s an angel,” he said to no one in particular. His harsh tone didn’t invite further conversation.

“Fallen angel,” she corrected anyway. She spied a bowl of grapes and couldn’t stop her squeal of delight. Three days of neglect caught up with her.

Sharing and moderation, creeds she had lived by all her life, abandoned her as she grabbed the bowl and pressed it into her chest. One by one (handful), she popped the delicious fruit into her mouth, savoring, moaning her satisfaction. But all too soon, the bowl was empty and she frowned—until she spied a plate of apple slices.

“Yummy.” Olivia leaned forward. She would have tipped to the side, but Aeron’s big hands settled on her hips, securing her in place and making her shiver. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” he rasped.

Grinning, she swiped up the plate and settled back in his lap. He tensed as she did so, and poked her in the lower back, but she barely noticed. The slices, too, were consumed amid happy moans. Food tasted even better as a human. Sweeter. Necessary rather than an afterthought.

Finally full, she glanced up to offer someone the last remaining slice. Everyone was staring at her, and the food settled like lead inside her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. What had she done wrong?

“Why are you apologizing?” Kaia asked. There was nothing malicious in her tone, only genuine curiosity.

“Everyone is watching me, so I thought…” More than that, Aeron was tenser than before.

“I’m with the Harpy,” William added, wiggling his eyebrows. “I love a woman who molests her breakfast.”

She had not done that. Had she?

Kaia slapped the back of his head. “Shut it, playboy. No one cares about your opinions.” To Olivia, she said, “In case you had trouble grasping my meaning, I’m staring at you because I’m curious about you.”

Just as Olivia was curious about her, she realized. The Harpies could only eat what they stole, lied unabashedly and killed with abandon. In short, they were the antithesis of the angels, yet they enjoyed life to its fullest, which was why Lysander had chosen to be with one.

Soon, I will enjoy life to the fullest, as well.

“Do you know Lysander, my twin sister’s man?” Kaia asked.

“Yes. Very well.”

The Harpy propped her elbows on the table, rattling dishes. “Is he as ironfisted as I think?” Disgust layered her voice.

“Probably more so.”

“I knew it! Poor B.” Sympathy darkened her features, but she quickly brightened. “I know. You and I can put our heads together, because two gorgeous heads are always better than one, and plan ways to loosen him up a bit. We can even get to know each other better. The girls of the house have to stick together.”

“Not possible. I’m taking Olivia into town.” Aeron’s hold, which had never fallen away, tightened further. “There’ll be no planning. No loosening up. Definitely no getting to know each other.”

Olivia’s shoulders slumped. Had Aeron always been so harsh and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was this attitude for her benefit? “Are you sure you want to get rid of me?” she asked him. “I’m good for you. I promise!”

“Because you can help me?” A question when it should have been a statement.

She wanted to shake him, the stubborn man. “Yes.”

“Well, we’ve got enough helpers here, so, yes, I’m sure.”

“I can also make you smile. That was my job, you know.” Her old job, anyway, and one she missed. “Would you like to smile?”

He offered no hesitation. “No.”

“I would.” William clapped. “I like to smile when I’m in bed and naked, so I say we keep her.”

Aeron’s nails dug past her robe and into skin, but she didn’t protest. If she did, he would remove his hands, and she liked them where they were. “Like Kaia said, your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Besides,” Kaia added. “I doubt the big guy even knows how to smile.”

“I do, too,” Aeron snapped, causing everyone to laugh.

“Sure you do, Grumpy.” Kaia tossed her bright red hair over her shoulder. “Listen, there’s no need for you to take her into town. News flash—I’m taking myself up on my offer and getting to know her. I’m totally impressed by the fact that she got herself booted from the heavens, and I need all the juicy details.”

“As will I.” Cameo nodded to emphasize her determination. “Be getting to know her, that is.”

“You can include me, too.” William blew Olivia a kiss, and her cheeks heated with a blush. “No need to say anything. I already know what words are perched on your tongue. Stop me if I’m wrong, but my getting to know you will be your pleasure.”

Aeron growled low in his throat. “She’s not staying, and there will be no pleasure. As I said, I am taking her into town and leaving her there. Today.”

“But why?” Olivia asked. She might have hated her duties as a warrior angel and might not have ever made a kill, but that didn’t mean she was a complete pushover. “You said you didn’t want any more helpers, but Ipromise you, those you have can’t help you with the next angel sent to kill you.”

She expected someone to speak up and agree with her, but no one seemed to care that a heavenly assassin would be coming to snuff out their friend. Everyone at the table, including Aeron, probably assumed the Lord was invincible.

So of course, he remained stubborn. “I don’t care.”

She slapped the apple plate back where she’d found it, rattling the dishes far more than Kaia had. “I can also help you defeat the Hunters.” Truth.

“Olivia,” he said, and she didn’t have to see him to know he was gazing up at the ceiling and praying for patience. Except, if she wasn’t mistaken, the prayer she actually heard him mutter was for strength. “We are demons, and demons and angels do not mix. Besides, Legion can’t return until you’re gone.”

The one argument she couldn’t refute absolutely. “But…but…I’m willing to try to get along with her.” If he heard her panic, he gave no indication. “And I’ll be nice to all your other friends, too. How could I not? I gave up everything to save you.”

“I know.” The words were snarled.

“The least you can do is—”

“I didn’t ask you to give up anything,” he snapped. “So, no. There is no least I can do. You’re healed. We’re even. I owe you nothing.”

Cameo ignored him, propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward, closer to Olivia. “Forget about him. He just hasn’t had enough caffeine yet. Let’s backtrack a bit. How can you help us with the Hunters?”

Finally. Interest, even if Cameo’s tone was more morose than encouraging. Olivia raised her chin another notch. “For one thing, I know where other demon-possessed immortals are located.” Thankfully, lightning didn’t strike her at the confession, and angels didn’t appear with fiery swords raised. “You said you were looking for them, I believe.”

A moment passed in shocked silence, all eyes hitting—and staying on—her.

“Aeron,” Cameo said.

“No. It doesn’t matter,” his hard voice proclaimed. “We have the scrolls for that.”

“Yes, but they give names, not locations.” The female Lord’s stare became penetrating. “Sabin will want to talk with her when he returns.”

“Too bad.”

“If that dickwad Sabin wants to talk to her, that means Gwennie will want to, as well.” Kaia drummed her nails against the tabletop. “And as you know, puppy, I ensure that my sister gets what she wants. Besides, I’m about to die of boredom since no one has attacked the fortress as promised.”

“Harpy,” Aeron snapped. “Don’t try my patience. You will obey me in this and let the angel go.”

“Warriors are so adorable when they think they’re all tough and commanding.” Kaia’s arm shot out, again rattling dishes, and she snatched up a handful of eggs. A handful she then launched at Aeron.

Olivia quickly dodged, and the eggs slapped Aeron in the face. His lips curled in a grimace as he wiped away the yellow mess. Rather than touch her again, however, he flattened his palms on the arms of the chair.

Kaia giggled like a schoolgirl. “Don’t act surprised by our insistence that she remain here. Paris told me what you said to Cronus the other night on that rooftop. ‘Send me a woman who will deny me,’” she mocked.

“Oh, really? When did you and Paris have time for a heart-to-heart?” William asked as he buttered a blueberry muffin.

Kaia shrugged, her focus remaining on Aeron. “A couple nights ago, I was looking for a little fun, and he was looking a little weak.” Another shrug. “He was feeling chatty afterward.”

Paris merely nodded in confirmation. Every time Olivia had seen the keeper of Promiscuity, he’d appeared sad. Just then, he looked almost…happy, if a little tired. That must have been some chat.

“But I offered you a place in my bed,” William whined to the Harpy.

Bed? Oh. Oh. Kaia and Paris had apparently accomplished more than talking during that heart-to-heart.

“You suck at ‘Guitar Hero,’ so I figure you’re bad with your hands. Besides, someone else we all know and love has staked prior claim on you.”

“Who?” Olivia asked before she could stop herself.

Kaia ignored her, continuing on. “Therefore, I picked Paris to keep me warm the other night. And I can’t wait to give Bianka the down-and-dirty details.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You can’t kiss and tell,” Paris sputtered.

The Harpy smiled lazily, evilly. “Just watch me. Any-hoodles. You want your little demon to return, Aeron-bo-barren, you’ll have to go into town and play with her there. The angel stays.”

The heat of Aeron’s breath was like fire on the back of Olivia’s neck. “This. Is. My. Home.”

“Not anymore.”

Kaia and William had spoken in unison. They shared a smile, though William still looked sulky over Kaia’s choice of bedmates.

“Yeah,” Olivia said, chin lifting yet another notch. “Not anymore.” She wanted Aeron here with her, yes, but he apparently needed time away to reflect on how lucky he actually was to have her.

That wasn’t egotistical of her, she told herself. Truth was never egotistical. Besides, it shouldn’t take him more than a few hours to realize just how much he needed her and wanted to be with her. He was smart. For the most part.

Please, let him want to be with me.

Once more Aeron’s hands settled on her waist. This time, he squeezed hard enough to make her gasp. “Do you know where Pandora’s box is, Olivia?”

Of course he’d ask the one question she didn’t have an answer for. “Well…uh…no.”

“Do you know where the Cloak of Invisibility and the Paring Rod are being held?”

Okay. Two questions. “No,” she admitted softly. What she did know was that the Lords had found two of Cronus’s artifacts: the Cage of Compulsion and the All-Seeing Eye. What they lacked, as Aeron had mentioned, was the Cloak of Invisibility and the Paring Rod. As the One True Deity had no use for such relics, her kind had never searched for them.

Aeron lifted her to her feet and released her. Olivia had to grip the table to keep from toppling over. She also had to press her lips together to keep from moaning in disappointment. Touch me.

“Still want her here?” he asked the others, emotionless. “Her, rather than me?”

One by one, they nodded. Unrepentant.

“Fine.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “She’s yours. Get what information you can from her. As suggested, I’ll be in town. Someone text me when she’s gone. Only then will I return.”

CHAPTER SIX

THERE WAS A CONSPIRACY to drive him mad, Aeron thought darkly.

First, his friends had kicked him out. Second, his demon had screamed at him to stay. To stay. With Olivia. A being Wrath should despise. A being Aeron should despise. Instead, he understood his demon’s dilemma.

She was enchanting.

This morning, when he’d woken up and realized she was fully healed, the desire he’d denied only a few days ago had sparked to life. Ever since, it had refused to fade. She’d fallen to the floor, robe bunched at her waist, and her panties—shit, her panties. Too white, too pure. Made a man want to rip them apart with his teeth and dirty the wearer up a bit. He’d wanted to tear her robe away, too, and devour her.

Somehow, some way, he’d managed to stop himself.

Maybe because he’d realized—and reminded himself, over and over again—that Lysander had been the voice he’d heard the day before. That Lysander had been the one to heal Olivia, the one who wanted her happy and whole.

“Unsoiled,” he muttered.

And Lysander would be a terrible enemy to have.

The Lords could fight Hunters, yes. But Hunters and an angelic army? Hardly.

So Aeron had finally gotten himself under enough control to leave the bed without falling on top of Olivia in a desperate rush to touch and taste her. He’d finally convinced himself to get rid of her. He’d finally, blessedly forgotten there was a throbbing erection between his legs while she wiggled on his lap and made love to her food.

Only to have Wrath insist on “more.”

“I liked you better when you were merely a presence. An urge,” he told the demon now.

A snort was the only reply. At least there was no more of the demon’s pleading. Wrath had only quieted a few minutes ago, when realizing what Aeron planned.

Aeron scrubbed his face so hard his calluses scratched his cheeks. He was in Gilly’s apartment in town. A spacious three-bedroom on the wealthier side. Gilly was a young friend of Danika’s who now lived in Budapest. Torin, their first line of defense at the fortress, had loaded her apartment with state-of-the-art security, just in case Hunters ever discovered her connection to the Lords. Even though she was fully human and as innocent as a person could be—a miracle in and of itself, given what Danika had told the Lords about Gilly’s troubled childhood—those bastards wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

She was currently at school—high school, that is—and undoubtedly happy for the distance between them. She still wasn’t comfortable around him. Understandable. Though Gilly was only seventeen, she’d seen the dark side of man and had been on her own for years. They’d offered her a room at the fortress, but she’d desired a place of her own. Good thing, too. Now Aeron wouldn’t have to roam aimlessly until dark; he could summon Legion at last.

He stood in the center of the living room, the couches and chairs pushed back to make space for the circle of salt and sugar he’d sprinkled just in front of him. He was going to summon her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

He splayed his arms and said, “Legion, Quinientos Dieciséis of the Croisé Sombres of Neid and Notpeõhocil,” just as Legion had taught him. It was her name, number, and title in a mix of different languages. Legion, Number Five Hundred and Sixteen of the Dark Crusaders of Envy and Need. If he didn’t say it all, he could accidentally summon someone else. “I command you to appear before me. Now.”

There was no flashing light as Cronus liked to employ when materializing, nor did time stop. One minute Aeron was alone, the next Legion was inside the circle. Simple, easy.

She collapsed to the floor, panting, sweat glistening on her scales.

“Legion.” He bent down and scooped her up, careful not to let a single grain of salt or sugar touch her. It would burn, she’d told him.

Wrath purred, happy again.

Immediately Legion snuggled into his arms. “Aeron. My Aeron.”

The action reminded him of Olivia. Sweet, beautiful Olivia, who was now with Kaia, a demented Harpy with a warped sense of humor, and Cameo, a ruthless killer with a tragic voice. He’d leave William and Paris, two unabashed sex addicts, out of the equation. Because if he didn’t, he would destroy Gilly’s apartment in a fit of rage. Rage, not jealousy, just to be clear. If they messed with the angel, they’d be inviting Lysander’s wrath—and it was that prospect, not the thought of Olivia being attracted to one of his friends, that infuriated him. Of course.

Gilly’s wall would look better with a few holes, he thought then. He’d be doing the girl a favor, helping her decorate.

Plus, as leery as Olivia was with others—anyone but himself, that was, not that he was proud about that—shemight not be faring well. Even now she could be hiding, crying, praying for his return.

Surely Gilly’s couch would be more comfortable if it were sawed in two.

Harden your heart, as you so unflinchingly told Paris you could do. Olivia’s state of mind didn’t matter. Her tears didn’t matter. They couldn’t. Actually, they would help. She would leave the fortress that much faster.

Legion was the most important thing to him. The child he’d secretly wanted but had never been able to have. Not just because he’d never committed to a woman, but because he knew how weak babies could be. Becoming a father, something he’d never had himself, hadn’t been worth the agony of watching his own child wither and die.

With Legion, he didn’t have to worry. She would live forever.

“What’s wrong, precious girl?” he asked, carrying her to the couch and falling into its cushions. The scent of sulfur clung to her, and Wrath sighed, clearly homesick. Once his demon had hated that aroma. But now that the fiend knew the horrors of Pandora’s box, hell seemed like Paradise.

“They chassse me.” She rubbed her cheek against his pectoral, abrading skin, and purred. “Almost got me thisss time.”

Her forked tongue always caught on and prolonged her S’s, something he found endearing. When he’d first met her, she’d even spoken like a baby, using the wrong tenses and pronouns. At her request, they’d been working on her grammar, and he was very proud of her progress.

“You’re here now. You’re safe.” He rubbed the two little horns atop her head, knowing how sensitive they were and how much she liked it. “You don’t have to go back.”

“Angel dead?”

“Not exactly,” he said, sidestepping the question for the moment.

They sat like that, silent, for several minutes, while she fought for control of her breathing. Finally, she calmed and the burning heat of her scales cooled. She sat up and that red gaze looked around.

“Thisss isssn’t home,” she said, confused.

Aeron scanned their surroundings, trying to see the place as she must. Furniture in a rainbow of colors: red, blue, green, purple and pink. A wood floor draped with a floral-print rug. Walls dripping with different-sized portraits of the heavens, gifts from Danika.

“We’re in Gilly’s apartment.”

“Pretty,” she said, the awe in her voice unmistakable.

Her sense of femininity had ceased surprising him. When he moved back to the fortress, he would give her a room of her own. A room she could decorate as she wished. He wasn’t sure how much more pink he could stand in his own.

“I’m glad you like it. We might be here awhile.”

“What?” Her awe was replaced by fury as she faced him. “You’re living with Gilly now? Isss ssshe…Doesss ssshe love you?”

“No.”

Slowly she relaxed. “Okay, then, but I wanna go home now. I missss it.”

Me, too. “We can’t. The angel is there.”

Legion stiffened, fury returning. “Why isss ssshe there and not usss?”

Excellent question. “She’s going to help the others with the Hunters.”

“No. No. I help with Huntersss.”

“I know, I know.” She might be little, but she was fierce. And killing was a game to her. But she’d endured so much strife in her life that Aeron desired only peace for her now. He didn’t want to drag her into yet another battle. He wouldn’t.

She meant too much to him.

“We can be alone here,” he said.

“Fine.” Again, she relaxed against him. “We’ll stay, but I will help more than her.”

Or Olivia would lose her head. Warning received. Time to distract his little darling. “Want to play a game?”

Jumping up, grinning, she wound herself around his neck, slithering like a snake. “Yesss, yesss, yesss.”

Always ready to play, his Legion. Despite her improved speech, she hadn’t lost her childlike needs. “Pick something. Whatever you want.” He reached up to pet her, and his gaze fell to his arm. There was a single patch of bare skin on his wrist. He should have a snake tattooed there, to remind him of Legion. A tattoo to remind him of the good in his life, rather than the bad.

Yes, he liked that idea.

“I want to play…Clothes Optional.”

Also known as Shred Everything Aeron Wore. “Maybe pick something else. What about Beauty Shop, like we played a week ago? You can paint my nails.”

“Yeah!” Legion clapped, her excitement palpable. “I’ll go get Gilly’ssss polisssh.” Off she raced, disappearing around the corner.

“Gilly’s room is the last one on the right,” he called. He would spend an hour or two indulging her and then he would patrol the city for any sign of Hunters, as well as Shadow Girl. After what Legion had endured in hell, he owed her a little recreation, damn his duties.

Owed. The single word blasted through his head, and he cursed. He also owed Paris.

Even though he’d claimed he wouldn’t return to the fortress until Olivia was gone, he had to take care of Paris. That wasn’t a duty he would relinquish for any reason, yet he’d already allowed Lucien to see to Paris’s needs for the last three days. He sighed, disappointed in himself. Just because Lucien had taken the warrior into town didn’t mean Paris had picked anyone.

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