Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author

GENA SHOWALTER

Wicked Nights

‘Showalter delivers yet again!’

—RT Book Reviews on Wicked Nights

The Darkest Passion

‘Showalter gives her fans another treat, sure to satisfy!’

—RT Book Reviews

The Darkest Whisper

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

—RT Book Reviews

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 possibilityof more stories to be told.’

—RT Book Reviews

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.’

—RT Book Reviews

The Nymph King

‘A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!’

—J. R. Ward

Playing with Fire

‘Another sizzling page-turner … Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spell-binding story!’

—Kresley Cole

Beauty Awakened
Gena Showalter

www.mirabooks.co.uk

First, to my amazing new editor Emily Ohanjanians for taking me on and not vomiting when I explained my ‘process.’

To Marie, who takes care of me in so many ways!

To my mom and dad, for answering every single one of my book-related calls and never saying ‘This again? But we went over it yesterday—for an hour.’

To my agent Deidre Knight, for always having my back. Even when I say things like, ‘So … here’s what I want to do next.’

To Jia Gayles, for always being willing to help with promos.

And to Jill Monroe, for too many reasons to list.

God is good. All the time, God is good.

PROLOGUE

SEVEN-YEAR-OLD KOLDO sat as quietly as possible in the corner of the bedroom. His mother was brushing her hair, lovely dark ringlets spun with threads of the purest gold. She perched in front of the vanity, humming softly but excitedly, her smiling, freckled image reflected in an oval mirror. He couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated.

Cornelia was one of the most beautiful creatures ever created. Everyone always said so. Her eyes were the palest violet, edged by lashes the same brown-and-gold mix as her hair. Her lips were heart-shaped, and her pale skin glowed as brightly as the sun.

With Koldo’s inky hair, dark eyes and deeply bronzed skin, he looked nothing like her. The only thing they had in common was their wings, and perhaps that was why he was so proud of the glittering white feathers cushioned by plush, amber down. They were his one redeeming feature.

Her humming suddenly ceased.

Koldo gulped.

“You’re staring at me,” she snapped, all hint of her smile gone.

He cast his gaze to the floor, as she preferred. “Sorry, Momma.”

“I told you not to call me that.” She slammed the brush onto the marble counter. “Are you so foolish that you’ve already forgotten?”

“No,” he replied softly. Everyone lauded her sweetness and gentleness as much as her beauty, and they were right to do so. She was generous with her praise and kind to everyone who approached her—everyone but Koldo. He’d always experienced a very different side of her. No matter what he did or said, she found fault. And yet, still he loved her with all of his heart. He’d only ever wanted to please her.

“Hideous little creature,” she mumbled as she stood, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle drifting from her. The purple fabric of her robe danced at her ankles, the jewels sewn into the hem sparkling in the light. “Just like your father.”

Koldo had never met his father, had only ever heard about the man.

Evil.

Disgusting.

Repulsive.

“I’m having friends over,” she said, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “You’re to stay up here. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. He understood. If anyone caught sight of him, she would be embarrassed by his ugliness. She would rage. He would suffer.

She peered at him for a long while. Finally she growled, “I should have drowned you in the bathtub when you were too young to fight back,” and stomped from the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

The rejection cut bone deep, and he wasn’t sure why. She’d said far worse countless times before.

Just love me, Momma. Please.

Maybe … maybe she couldn’t. Not yet. Hope unfurled in his chest, and he raised his chin. Maybe he hadn’t done enough to prove himself. Maybe if he did something special for her, she would finally realize he was nothing like his father. Maybe if he cleaned her room … and had a bouquet of fresh flowers waiting for her … and sang a song as she drifted to sleep … Yes! She would hug and kiss him in thanks, the way she often hugged and kissed the servants’ children.

Excited, Koldo folded the blankets he used for his pallet on the floor and jumped to his feet. He darted through the room, picking up the discarded robes and sandals, then fluffed the pillows strewn around the center rug, where Cornelia liked to relax and read.

He ignored the wall of weapons—the whip, the daggers and the swords—and straightened the items on the vanity: the brush, the bottles of perfume, the creams for his mother’s skin and the pungent-smelling liquid she liked to drink. He polished every necklace, bracelet and ring in her jewelry box.

By the time he finished, the room and everything in it glistened as though brand-new. He grinned, pleased with his efforts. She would appreciate all that he’d done—he just knew it.

Now for the flowers.

Cornelia wanted him to stay here, and had he promised to obey her, he would have. But he hadn’t promised. He’d told her only that he understood her desires. Besides, this was for her, all for her, and no one would see him. He would make sure of it.

He strode to the balcony, pushed open the double doors. Cool night air wafted over him. The palace was situated in a far realm of the lower heavens, neighbored by thousands of stars twinkling from an infinite expanse of black velvet. The moon was bright and high, a mere sliver curved into two upward points.

The moon was smiling at him.

Encouraged, Koldo stepped to the balcony’s ledge. There was no railing, allowing his toes to curl over the side. He flared his wings to their full length, the action bringing a cascade of joy. He loved flying through the sky, soaring up and zipping down, rolling through the clouds, chasing birds.

His mother knew nothing of this. “You are never to use your wings,” she’d announced the day they’d begun to sprout from his back. He’d planned to heed the command, he had, but then, one day, she’d been screaming about how much she despised him, and he’d climbed to the roof so that she wouldn’t have to gaze upon his ugly face. His misery had distracted him and he’d fallen down, down, dooown.

Just before landing, he’d flared the previously unused appendages and managed to slow his momentum. He’d crawled away with a shattered arm and leg, broken ribs, a punctured lung and a fractured ankle. Eventually, he’d healed—and he’d next jumped on purpose. He’d been addicted to the feel of the breeze on his skin, in his hair, and had craved more.

Now, in the present, he dived headfirst. The air slapped at him, and he had to swallow his whoop of satisfaction. The freedom … the slight edge of danger … the rush of warmth and strength … He would never get enough. Just before impact, he straightened and leveled out, his wings catching the current. He landed softly, his feet already in motion.

One step, two, three, annnd he was a mile into the forest. Not because he was fast—though he was—but because he could do something his mother and the other Sent Ones he’d seen could not. He could move from one place to another with only a thought.

He’d discovered the ability a few months ago. At first, he’d only been able to whisk a yard, then two, but every day he managed to go a little farther than before. All he had to do was calm his emotions and concentrate.

At last he reached the stretch of wildflowers he’d found the last time he’d broken the rules and left the palace. He plucked the prettiest from the ground, the petals the perfect shade of lavender, reminding him of his mother’s eyes. He brought them to his nose, sniffed. The mouthwatering aroma of coconut clung to him, and his grin returned.

If Cornelia asked where he’d gotten the bouquet, well, he would tell her the truth. He refused to lie, even to save himself from a punishment. Not only because other Sent Ones could taste when another being lied—unlike him—but also because lies were the language of the demons, and demons were almost as evil as his father.

His mother would appreciate Koldo’s honesty. Surely.

Hands full of moist green stalks, he sprinted out of the forest and leaped into the atmosphere, going higher and higher, his feathers ruffling in the wind, the muscles in his back straining in the most delightful way. Up and down his wings glided. His heart thundered in his chest as he landed on the balcony and peeked through the doorway. There was no sign of his mother.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered the room. He emptied Cornelia’s favorite vase of old, dried flowers, then added the new and watered the stems. He returned to his place in the corner, folded his legs and waited.

Hours passed.

More hours passed.

By the time the hinges squeaked to signal the door was being opened, his eyelids were heavy, his eyes as dry and scratchy as sandpaper, but he’d managed to stay awake and now jolted to eager attention.

A soft fall of footsteps. A pause.

“What did you do?” his mother gasped. She spun, taking in every inch of the bedroom.

“I made it better for you.” Love me. Please.

A sharp inhalation of breath before she stomped over, stopping just in front of him and glaring down with fiery hatred. “How dare you! I liked my things the way they were.”

Disappointment nearly crushed him, so heavily did it settle in his chest. Once again he’d failed her. “I’m sorry.”

“Where did you get the ambrosia?” Even as she spoke, her gaze jerked to the double doors leading to the balcony. “You flew, didn’t you?”

Only a beat of hesitation before he admitted, “Yes.”

At first, she gave no reaction. Then she squared her shoulders, an action of determination. “You think you can disobey me and never suffer any consequences. Is that it?”

“No. I just—”

“Liar!” she shouted. Her palm smacked against his cheek, the force of the impact propelling him into the wall. “You’re just like your father, doing what you want, when you want, no matter how anyone else feels about the matter, and I’m not going to tolerate this behavior anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, trembling.

“Believe me, you will be.” She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He didn’t struggle, allowing her to toss him onto the bed, on his stomach, and tie his wrists and ankles to the posts.

Another whipping, he thought, not allowing himself to beg for mercy she wouldn’t show. He would hurt, but he would heal. He knew that for a fact. He’d earned a thousand other punishments just like this one, but he’d always recovered. Physically, at least. Inside, his heart would bleed for years to come.

His mother selected a blade from the wall, ignoring the whip she normally wielded.

She was going to … kill him?

Finally Koldo tugged and twisted, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight his way free. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll never again clean your room, I promise. I’ll never again leave it.”

“You think that’s the problem? Oh, you foolish boy. The truth is, I can’t let you loose. You’re tainted by your father’s vile blood.” The fire in her eyes had spread to the rest of her features, creating a wild, crazed expression. “I’ll be doing the world a favor by limiting your ability to travel.”

No. No! “Don’t, Momma. Please, don’t.” He couldn’t lose his wings. He just couldn’t. He would rather die. “Please.”

“I told you not to call me by that wretched name!” she screeched.

Panic caused little crystals of ice to form in his blood. “I’ll never do it again, I promise. Just … please, don’t do this. Please.”

“I must.”

“You can take my legs. Just take my legs!”

“And make you dependent on me the rest of your life? No.” A slow grin lifted the corners of her lips. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

A second later, she struck.

Koldo screamed and screamed and screamed … until his voice broke and his strength drained. Until he saw his beautiful wings on the floor, the feathers now soaked in his blood.

Until he could only close his eyes and pray for death.

“There, now. Hush. It’s done,” she said almost gently. “You lost what you did not deserve.”

This was a dream, surely. His mother was not so cruel. No one could be so cruel.

Soft, warm lips pressed into his tearstained cheek, and the jasmine and honeysuckle of her scent overshadowed what remained of the coconut. “I’ll hate you forever, Koldo,” she whispered into his ear. “There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

No, not a dream. Reality.

His new reality.

His mother was far worse than cruel.

“I don’t want to change it,” he said, his chin quivering. Not anymore.

A tinkling laugh escaped her. “Is that anger I hear? Well, well. You’re already more like your father than I knew. Perhaps it’s time you met him.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Yes, in the morning, I’ll take you to your father’s people. You’ll realize just how good I’ve been to you—if you survive.”

CHAPTER ONE

In a world of darkness, the smallest light is a beacon.

Present Day

KOLDO STALKED DOWN the ICU ward of the hospital. He and the warrior with him were hidden from human eyes and protected from human touch. The doctors, nurses, visitors and patients misted through them, completely unaware of the invisible world playing out alongside theirs. A spirit world that had given birth to this natural world, the human world.

A spirit world that was the true reality for all creation.

One day, these humans would discover just how exact that statement really was. Their bodies would die, their spirits would rise—or descend—and they would begin to understand the natural world was fleeting, the spiritual eternal.

Eternal. Just like Koldo’s irritation seemed to be. He didn’t want to be here among the humans, on yet another silly mission, and he really didn’t like his companion, Axel. But his new leader, Zacharel, wanted him busy, distracted, for he suspected Koldo teetered on the verge of breaking a heavenly law.

Zacharel wasn’t wrong.

After everything Koldo had endured in his father’s camp … after escaping and spending centuries searching for his mother, Koldo had finally found her—and locked her inside a cage in one of his many homes.

So, yes. Koldo teetered. But he wouldn’t ever cause the woman irrevocable harm. He wouldn’t even lower himself to break one of her nails. For now, he simply hoped to teach her the horror of being trapped by circumstance, as she had taught him. As she was still teaching him.

Later, he would … He wasn’t sure. He no longer liked to consider the future.

Because of his abhorrence of Cornelia, Koldo had landed in the Army of Disgrace. It was a terrible name for such a choice defensive force, but it was one that fit nonetheless. The members were the worst of the worst, the baddest of the bad … male and female Sent Ones who were in danger of damnation.

For various reasons, all twenty soldiers had ignored prized heavenly laws. They were meant to love, but they hated. They were to help others, but they really only hurt. They were to build up, but they only ever tore down.

Three months ago, the members had been given one year to mend their wicked ways, or they would be stripped of their abilities and kicked into hell.

Koldo would do whatever was necessary to keep that from happening—even deny himself true vengeance. He refused to lose the only home he’d ever known.

Axel grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. “Dude! Did you see the meat bags on that girl?”

And there was reason number one why Koldo had a problem working with Axel. “Could you be any more disgusting?” He jerked from the warrior’s hold, contact with another not something he enjoyed.

“Yeah,” Axel said with an irreverent grin. “I could. But someone, and I won’t say your name, K, my man, needs to get his mind out of the gutter. I wasn’t talking about her chesticles.”

Koldo ran his tongue over his teeth. “What, then?”

“Hello. Her demons. Look.”

His gaze slid to the room at his right. The door had been in the process of closing and now clicked shut, blocking the occupant from view. “Too late.”

“It’s only too late when you’re dead. Come on. You gotta see this.” Axel strode forward and ghosted through the entrance.

Koldo’s hands curled into fists, and he battled the urge to punch a wall. They had a mission, and distractions only extended their time in a place crawling with demons laughing at the pain the humans suffered and whispering into the ears of anyone who would listen.

Can’t survive, they said. There’s no hope. And these humans … so many were puppets, with clawed hands tugging at their strings. If they failed to fight back, they would become casualties in a war between good and evil, either in this life or after death. One way or another.

That’s just the way things worked.

The Most High ruled the heavens. “He” was actually a sacred trinity consisting of the Merciful One, the Anointed One and the Mighty One, and He was the King of kings, His word law. He had appointed several underlings throughout the skies. Germanus—or Deity, as some of Koldo’s kind called him, referring to a title, nothing more—was one of those underlings. A king answerable to the King.

Germanus led the Elite Seven—Zacharel, Lysander, Andrian, Gabek, Shalilah, Luanne, Svana—and each of those seven led an army of Sent Ones. Zacharel, for instance, led the Army of Disgrace.

Sent Ones looked just like angels, but they weren’t actually angels. Not in the sense the world knew, at least. Yes, Sent Ones were winged. Yes, they waged war against evil and helped humans, but in actuality, they were the adopted children of the Most High, their lives tethered to His. He was the source of their power, the essence of their very existence.

Like humans, Sent Ones battled the desires of the flesh. They experienced lust, greed, envy, rage, pride, hate, despair. Angels, in actuality, were servants and messengers of the Most High. They experienced none of those things.

Mind on the mission.

Koldo straightened his spine. Zacharel had tasked him and Axel with killing a specific demon here at the hospital. The demon had made the mistake of tormenting a patient who knew about the spiritual world around him, a male who had called upon the aid of the Most High.

The Most High was love personified, willing to help anyone who asked. Sometimes angels were dispatched, sometimes Sent Ones. Sometimes both, depending on the situation and the skills needed. This time, Koldo and Axel had been chosen. They had been nearby, headed to a training session, when Zacharel’s voice had whispered through their minds, imparting instructions.

Axel peeked his head through the center of the door and said, “Dude! You’re missing it!”

“The person in that room is not our—”

Grinning, the warrior once again disappeared.

“Assignment,” Koldo finished to no one but himself. His anger intensified.

Control yourself.

He could move on and fight the demon he was supposed to fight, no problem, but according to Zacharel’s orders, he wasn’t to proceed without his partner.

Grinding his teeth, he marched forward. He slipped through the iron obstruction without any difficulty, stopped and glanced around. The room was small, with multiple machines attached to the motionless blonde female on the bed. A redheaded female sat next to her, chatting easily.

The redhead had no idea there were two demons standing behind her, pretending not to see the Sent Ones in the room.

“Two of the guys in my office got to arguing about who could run faster,” she said, “and soon bets were flying.”

Her voice had a whispery quality, as if filled with smoke and dreams, and it settled over Koldo like warm honey. And yet, with the soothing came a tensing. Every muscle in his body knotted up, as if preparing for war. He … wanted to fight such a delicate human? But why? Who was she?

“I felt as if I was standing in the middle of a stock exchange or something.”

Laughter bubbled from her, such beautiful laughter, pure, with nothing held back. The kind he’d never experienced himself.

“They decided to race in the parking lot instead of have lunch, and the loser had to eat whatever’s in the plastic bowl in the break room fridge. The one that’s been in there for over a month and is now black. I heard the cheers as I was pulling out of the lot, but I didn’t get to see who won.”

Wistful now. Why?

“You would have voted for Blaine, I’m sure. He’s only five-nine, so he wouldn’t tower over you too badly, and he has the cutest blue eyes. Not that his looks have anything to do with his speed, but I know you, and I know you would have wanted him to win regardless. You’ve always been a sucker for baby blues.”

He could only see the top half of her, but judging by the fragility of her bone structure, she was a tiny thing. Her features were plain, her skin as pale as porcelain, and her eyes as gray as a winter storm. Her mass of strawberry hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the ends curling all the way to her elbow.

There was an air of fatigue surrounding her, and yet, there was a sparkle in those winter eyes.

A sparkle the demons behind her would soon snuff out.

He forced his attention on the pair. One was posted at her left and one was posted at her right, and both had a proprietary hand on her shoulder. They were Koldo’s size, with dark, pupilless eyes that reminded him of bottomless pits. Lefty had a single horn protruding from the center of his forehead, and crimson scales rather than flesh. Righty had two thick horns rising from his scalp, and dark, matted fur.

There were many different types of demons, and they came in all different shapes and sizes. From the first of their kind, the fallen archangel Lucifer, to the viha, the paura, the násilí, the slecht, the grzech, the pica and the envexa. And sadly, many more. Each sought the destruction of mankind—one man at a time, if necessary.

Amid the types of demons, there were ranks. Righty was a top-of-the-line paura, and all about fear. Lefty was a top-of-the-line grzech, and all about sickness.

Demons liked to attach themselves to humans and, through whispers and deceit, infect them with a toxin that caused their anxiety levels to spike, in the case of the paura, and the immune system to weaken, in the case of the grzech. Then, the demons fed off the ensuing panic and upset, weakening the humans further and making them easy targets for destruction.

The girl must have been a veritable buffet.

Just how sick was she?

Lefty gave up trying to ignore Axel and glared at him as he danced around, slapping his face and saying, “I’m hittin’ you, I’m hittin’ you, what’re you gonna do about it, huh, huh?” in the good-ole-country-boy accent he sometimes liked to use.

Koldo despised demons with every ounce of his being. No matter their type or rank, they were thieves, killers and slayers, just like his father’s people. They left chaos and confusion in their wake. They ruined. And this pair wouldn’t leave the girl unless forced—but even then she could welcome others.

His chest burned as he switched his focus to the girl on the bed. But … his gaze lasered through the wrinkled cover, the thin hospital gown, and even skin and muscle. What he saw astonished him.

To him, the blonde was now as transparent as glass, granting him a glance at the demon that had wormed its way inside her body. A grzech, different from the one plaguing the redhead. This one had tentacles that stretched through the blonde’s mind and into her heart, draining the life from her.

The Most High often blessed Sent Ones with specific supernatural abilities during difficult situations, things like this X-ray vision, as he’d heard others call it. Until now, Koldo had never experienced anything like it. Why here? Why now? Why this girl and not the other?

The questions were overshadowed a second later, when, in the blink of an eye, Koldo learned exactly how this had happened to her, the information seeming to download straight into his brain.

Born at twenty-six weeks, the blonde and her redheaded twin had struggled to survive the heart defects they’d been born with. Multiple surgeries were needed, and both almost died countless times—each time nullifying any progress made. Throughout the years, their parents had become fond of saying, “You have to keep yourself calm or you’ll have another heart attack.”

Innocent words meant to aid the pair—or so it seemed.

Words were one of the most powerful forces known—or unknown—to man. The Most High had created this world with His words. And humans, who had been fashioned in His image, could direct the entire course of their lives with their words, their mouths as the rudder on a ship, as the bridle on a horse. They produced with their words. They destroyed with their words.

Eventually the blonde had come to believe the slightest rise in her emotions would indeed cause another painful heart attack, and with her belief, fear had sparked to life.

Fear—the beginning of doom, for heavenly law stated that what a person feared would come upon them. In the blonde’s case, the fear had come upon her in the form of the grzech. She’d caught his notice, and she’d been such an easy target.

First, the demon breathed his toxin into her ear, whispering destructive suggestions.

Your heart could stop at any moment.

Oh, the pain … it’s unbearable. You can’t live through that again.

This time, the doctors may not be able to revive you.

Demons knew human eyes and ears were a doorway to the mind, and the mind was a doorway to the spirit. So, when the blonde had entertained the terrible suggestions, constantly rolling them through her mind, the fear had multiplied and become a poisoned truth, causing her defenses to crumble, allowing the demon to slink inside her, create a stronghold and destroy her from the inside out.

She had indeed had another heart attack, and the necessary organ had weakened beyond what human medicine could repair.

Did the Most High want Koldo to help her, even though she wasn’t his current mission? Was that what this unveiling was about?

Sighing, the redhead leaned back in her chair, returning Koldo’s attention to her. Once again, he saw flesh and blood rather than spirit. The Most High’s gift hadn’t extended to her.

He didn’t have time to wonder why. A waft of cinnamon and vanilla hit him, quickly followed by the sickening scent of sulfur. A scent the girl would not be able to shed, as long as the demons stayed with her.

“It’s about time for me to go,” she said, rubbing at the back of her neck as if the muscles were knotted. “I’ll let you know who won that race, La La.”

Did she have any idea that evil weighed her down and stalked her every move?

Did she know she was full of demon toxin, just like her sister? That, if she didn’t fight, she would end up in the same circumstance, the demons worming their way inside her body?

Koldo could kill Lefty and Righty, but again, other demons would sense what easy prey she was and attack her. As unknowledgeable as she clearly was, she would surrender again.

For any kind of long-term success, he would have to teach her to wage war against the toxin. But to do so, he would need her cooperation and time. Cooperation she may not give. Time she may not have. But … maybe she was the one the Most High wanted him to help. Maybe Koldo was to save the redhead from the blonde’s fate.

Either way, the choice to aid her—or not—was Koldo’s. Germanus and Zacharel might issue orders, but not the Most High. Not even when He revealed a truth. He never overrode free will.

“You want in on this, buddy?” Axel asked him, continuing to slap at the now-snarling demons behind the redhead. “‘Cause I’m about to take things up a notch.”

“A notch above annoying is merely irritating,” he said, inwardly fuming because he already knew he was going to pick the mission. Survival always came first.

Why was he fuming, anyway? He liked the sound of the girl’s voice—so what? Who was she to him? No one. Why should he care about her and her future?

“We have a duty,” he added. “Let’s see to it.”

Immediately guilt attempted to rise. No matter who she was—or wasn’t—he was cold and callous to leave her to such an evil end, wasn’t he? His father would have made the same choice. His mother would have—He wasn’t sure what she would have done. She still seemed to love everyone but Koldo.

“Ah, come on, hoss,” Axel said. “Stop and play, that’s my motto.”

“You come on,” he called to Axel. “Now!” Before he changed his mind.

“Sure, sure.” Axel worked his way behind the demons and kicked one in the back of the knees. The other twisted swiftly to bat the side of Axel’s head with a meaty fist, sending the warrior propelling through the far wall.

Koldo stepped in front of his brethren when he returned to the room, preventing him from springing into a full-on attack. “Touch him again and you’ll discover my talent with the sword of fire,” he told the demons.

Loyalty mattered to Koldo. Deserved or not.

“Yeah.” Axel didn’t sound upset or even winded. He sounded happy. “What he said.”

Koldo threw him a glance, saw that he’d raised his fists and was hopping from one foot to the other. He could not be thousands of years old. He just couldn’t be.

“You’re the intruders here,” said the demon that had pretended Axel’s head was a baseball. His voice was as jagged as broken glass. “The girl is ours.”

He struggled against the urge to hurt and maim the demons as he reached back, grabbed Axel by the collar of his robe and tossed him through the only door into the hall. “I pray we’ll see each other again,” he told the fiends.

They hissed as Koldo stalked from the room.

Axel stood in the middle of the walkway, black hair shagging around a face he loved to claim women saw in their fantasies—because he saw it in his own. His electric blues glared holes in Koldo. “Dude! You wrinkled my clothes.”

They were back to “dude,” rather than “hoss.” Clearly the warrior had no idea just how volatile Koldo’s emotions were. Every step farther away from the girl darkened his mood. “What do you care? We’re to engage in battle, not model the current fashions from the skies.”

“Duh. But a guy’s gotta look his best, no matter the occasion.” An orderly walked by, wheeling a cart piled high with trays of food, snagging Axel’s attention. He followed, tossing back a delighted smile. “I smell pudding!”

How sublime. I got stuck with the only winged warrior with ADD.

THE FUN AND GAMES ENDED the moment Koldo and Axel closed in on the targeted demon. The human the creature tormented was restrained to his bed, and drugged, too, if the drool leaking from the side of his mouth was any indication.

A slecht hovered in the air at his right, whispering vile curse after vile curse.

“G-go away,” the male managed to gurgle. He could see the demon, but not Axel and Koldo. “Leave me alone!” The more he spoke, the stronger he became … but not yet strong enough.

You couldn’t slay a dragon if you had not yet learned to slay a bear.

Axel shocked Koldo by surging forward without a word, his wings shooting from his back. The demon only had time to look toward him and gasp before the warrior unsheathed two double-edged short swords from an air pocket and struck.

The swords were a gift from the Most High and something every Sent One was given. Axel’s wrists crisscrossed to form a very effective scissor, chopping the demon’s head from its body in a single heartbeat of time. The pieces thudded to the floor before evaporating into ash.

Deep down, Koldo had expected to carry the weight of the battle. This was … I was …

Not fair.

The human sagged against the bed, his head lolling to the side. “Gone,” he sighed with relief. “It’s gone.” He closed his eyes and sank into what was probably his first peaceful sleep in months.

Axel tossed the black-stained weapons back into the air pocket. “Dang, I didn’t mean to do that again.”

Again? “You’ve killed so quickly before?”

“Well, yeah. Every time before. But once, just once, I’d like to only injure my opponent and get a little thrusting and parrying in before I deliver the deathblow. Well, see ya.” Axel flew through the ceiling, disappearing from view.

The man was as much a mess as Koldo. No wonder Axel had been given to Zacharel.

Just how wildly did he teeter at the edge of falling?

As close as Koldo?

Go home.

Good advice, and miracle of miracles, it sprang from his own mind. He meant to heed it. He did. But a single thought changed his mind. The redhead. He wanted to see her. Muscles tensing all over again, Koldo whisked back to the blonde’s hospital room.

Only, the redhead was already gone.

Disappointment hit him first, followed by a new tide of frustration and anger.

He whisked to his home hidden in the cliffs along the South African coast. A flash, the action was called. He’d learned a lot about himself and his abilities since being dropped in the middle of his father’s camp all those centuries ago.

A man will do just about anything to survive, boy. And I’ll prove it to you.

His father’s words—and yes, Nox had indeed proven them.

Just like that, the frustration and anger spilled over, and he roared. He beat his fists against the walls, over and over again, soaking his knuckles in crimson, cracking his bones as well as the stone. Every punch was a testament to a centuries-long rage, a soul-deep pain that had never gone away, and a festering wound he knew would never heal.

He was what he was.

He was what his parents had made him.

He’d tried to be more. He’d tried to be better. Each time, he’d failed miserably. Darkness constantly flooded him, banging against an already unstable dam made of tainted memories and corrosive emotions. A dam he was only able to rebuild after outbursts like this one.

The punching continued until he was panting and dripping in sweat. Until skin and muscles were shredded, and the broken bones exposed. Even still, he could have taken another thousand swings, but he didn’t. He forced himself to exhale with measured precision and imagine a cascade of darkness leaving him.

The dam refortified.

Aches and pains made themselves known, but that was okay. The banging had stopped. For now, that was all that mattered.

He padded across the living room. Along the way he fisted the collar of the dirty robe and yanked the material over his head. He dropped the garment on the floor, wind and dew whipping around him without any hindrance. He had no doors to block the gales, no windows to silence the song of nature; the entire house was open to the elements. Even better, the ceiling, walls and floor had been formed by the elements, presenting a showcase of glittering dark rock.

He stopped at the ledge overlooking a magnificent rushing waterfall pounding into the jagged stone below. Heavy sheets of mist rose from a turbulent sea, enveloping his naked body.

He came here when he desired privacy and peace. The turbulence around him had a way of making his mind seem calmer than it was. The wind kicked up, rattling the beads he’d woven into the length of his beard.

Once upon a time he’d possessed a head of hair to match. Long, thick and black, intricate beadwork woven throughout the prized strands. Now … He scrubbed a hand over the smoothness of his scalp. Now he was bald, his precious hair sacrificed in favor of vengeance.

Now he looked like his father.

Before he could stop it, his mind took him back to one of the many times he’d stood at the bottom of a deep, dark pit, thousands of hissing serp demons slithering over feet that had been flayed like fish … around a neck that had been sliced like Christmas ham.

Serps were very much like snakes, and they had continually sunk their fangs into him, all over him, dripping venom straight into his veins. But through it all he’d stood utterly still, remaining strong, refusing to so much as groan. His father had promised to remove a finger for every sign of weakness he exhibited. And when he ran out of fingers, he had been told he would lose his hands, his feet … his arms and his legs.

Back then, he hadn’t yet reached full maturity—hence the reason his wings had not grown back—and he would have been unable to regenerate the limbs. He would have suffered all of his life, and he—

Beat the ugly memory to the back of his mind, where it belonged. So his father had tortured him for eleven years. So what? He’d been rescued by Sent Ones, and had later become part of an army himself. Not the one he was currently in, but a different one, commanded by the now-deceased Ivar. Back then, Ivar had been the best of the Elite, and being under his command had been an honor.

Yet, in a fit of temper very much like the one he’d just displayed, Koldo had thrown that opportunity away, besting Ivar in front of his men.

Regret still haunted him. Such a lack of respect for such an admirable man …

Koldo had been kicked out of the army and left on his own—for a while. He’d used the time to return to his father’s camp and obliterate everyone and everything.

The single greatest day of his life.

He reached up and gripped the rock above him. Now I’m part of this new army, led by a man once known only as Ice. Tomorrow, Zacharel would have another mission for him, one far below his skill level. Koldo knew this, because his leader had sent him out every day for the past three weeks, allowing him no time to break a heavenly law and bring judgment upon his head. At least, supposedly.

Koldo could lie.

Koldo could steal.

Koldo could kill.

He could do any number of other things their kind was not to do. But he wouldn’t.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about being paired with Axel. Zacharel liked to assign him a new partner for every new mission, probably to keep him off-kilter.

Sadly, it was working.

And yet, there was one bright light, he realized. The girl from the hospital in Wichita, Kansas. The redhead. He still wanted to see her.

Surely she wasn’t as tiny as he seemed to remember. For all he knew, she possessed the long, lithe legs of a dancer. Surely her hair wasn’t the sweet color of strawberries. It had to be fire-engine red or an ordinary dark blond. Surely he’d imagined the purity of her tone. Surely.

He straightened, anticipation overshadowing all else. He had to know, the desire a living entity inside him.

First, though, he would have to hunt her down.

CHAPTER TWO

KOLDO SPENT THE REST of the night digging through the heavenly archives kept on every human ever to live and learned several interesting tidbits about the blonde and the redhead. The comatose girl was Laila Lane, and the other one, the one he wished to observe, was Nicola Lane. They were twenty-three-year-old twins, with Nicola being older by two minutes, and unmarried.

So young. Too young.

The two were identical. The only reason Laila had blond hair was because she’d bleached it, hoping to be “unique.” The girls had no other family, and relied only on each other. Their parents had died in a car accident five years before.

Koldo left the library and flashed to Laila’s hospital room. Once again Nicola was nowhere to be seen. But he wasn’t worried. According to the gossiping nurses, she came every day. He had only to wait.

He strode to the edge of the bed. This time, the Most High’s gift was not in operation, so, when he looked, he saw the blonde rather than the demon hiding under her skin.

The sight was almost as bad.

Her hair was dry, thin and matted. There were bruises under her eyes, and her lips were chapped. Her skin was severely yellowed, her liver obviously shutting down.

She wouldn’t last much longer.

The Water of Life was a powerful liquid capable of repairing the most damaged human flesh, and the only thing capable of saving her. It would also rid her of the demon. But her thoughts, words and actions would influence its continued success.

The grzech could return to her and try again to poison her. So, even if Koldo fed her the Water, she would have to learn to fight the forces of evil—and then actually fight. Was she willing to engage in any kind of battle?

Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, Koldo wasn’t willing to suffer and sacrifice, and he would have to do so to even approach the shoreline of the River of Life. First, he would be whipped. Second, he would be forced to give up something precious to him. Last time he’d relinquished his hair. And there was no telling what he would be asked to give up next. His ability to flash? His captive mother?

Never!

The practice had not been created by the Most High, and wasn’t even supported by Him. But Germanus refused to end “a tradition that had been with their kind since the beginning,” as a means of proving the depth of their determination. So, once again free will prevailed and the practice continued year by year. Koldo saw no way around it.

The room’s only door opened suddenly, and Nicola stepped inside. Koldo straightened, and even tensed at the sight of her. He frowned. His body had only ever reacted this way before battle. Why was this happening with her?

At least she had no idea he was there. He was in the spiritual realm, and she in the natural, so he was blocked from her gaze.

He looked her over from bottom to top, then back down—far more slowly. That fall of strawberry curls was once again in a ponytail, the thick length tumbling over one shoulder. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the color in her cheeks was high. Her lips were swollen from being chewed. Despite the heat outside, a worn pink sweater draped her shoulders, the lapels pulled tightly together.

She was a tiny fluff of nothing, just as he recalled, her frame heart-wrenchingly delicate. He towered over her, and could easily break her in half with a single twist of his wrist.

Can’t ever touch her, he told himself.

For some reason, the tension inside him only increased.

The same demons stood sentry behind her, following close at her heels. They spotted Koldo and spewed a mouthful of dark curses.

“Why are you here?”

“What do you hope to gain?”

He ignored them, and they decided to do the same to him, perhaps hoping he would go away this second time, too.

“Hey, La La,” she said softly. “It’s Co Co. I’m told you’ve taken a turn for the worse.”

The words were encased by a thick, grim shell, yet still her voice stroked over him. A feather tickling. A brush of velvet caressing. He savored the odd sensations, even … liked them?

Nicola pushed the smallest chair next to the bed, struggling under its weight. The demons snickered at her. Angered, Koldo stepped toward her, intending to help her, but immediately forced himself to still. Now wasn’t the time to reveal himself. He would frighten her.

The demons caught his aborted action and scowled at him. So much for ignoring him.

“You’re not welcome here, Koldo,” Lefty said.

Responding to a demon invited conversation. Conversation invited lies. Koldo wasn’t so foolish as that. But he wasn’t surprised the creature knew his name. With as many demonic kills as Koldo had made throughout the centuries, the entire underworld knew of him.

“We can make you leave,” Righty proclaimed.

Fine. He was foolish. He said, “You can try.” No matter what, they would fail.

Nicola reached out and gently patted her sister’s hand. “Oh, did I tell you? Blaine won the race.”

The monitors beeped steadily, the comatose girl never moving, never twitching.

Sighing, Nicola sat back in the chair and began to relay the trials of her workday.

This time, he would help her, Koldo decided. To start, he would have to do something to ensure she listened to him, and actually acted on what he said.

That was the only way she would come out of this.

And perhaps it was his only way out, too. In saving her, he might finally find some sort of atonement.

Atonement. The word echoed in his mind. It was something he sometimes craved, but not something he deserved. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the agonized screams he’d caused … could still feel the barb of his victims’ fear.

Clenching his fists, he resolved himself. He could do this. And so could she.

“You’re going to get better, La La,” she suddenly announced, as though drawing hope from his thoughts. “You have to recover. I won’t allow anything else. I’m the big sister, and you have to do whatever I tell you to do. Nothing else is acceptable.”

Gaze locked on Koldo, Righty bent down and whispered into her ear. Spreading poison.

The color drained from her cheeks.

Lefty squeezed her shoulder, and she slumped forward, as though some of her energy had evaporated in a puff of smoke.

She stopped talking victory, and went back to discussing her day.

Koldo rubbed the back of his neck. What had just happened was a prime example of the life she had probably always led, pulling herself up only to be knocked down again.

Well, no more.

His body tensed all over again, preparing for war. But this was different than what he’d felt when Nicola had first entered the room. There was no sense of anticipation, no hint of excitement. He just wanted to flat-out raze his enemy into the ground.

He held out his hand and summoned a sword of fire—another gift every Sent One received from the Most High. One he always had a right to use.

Righty and Lefty jolted to attention, gnarled wings popping from their backs.

“You sure you want to do this?” Righty asked with a gleeful smile. The horns on the creature’s head grew … grew … becoming monstrous ivory towers. Fangs stretched between his lips, extending past his jaw. “You’ll walk away, but you’ll be in pieces.”

The same grotesque transformation overtook Lefty, little sparks of fire flashing underneath his scales.

Koldo didn’t bother with a response. He simply launched forward, blade arcing through the air. The two demons flew apart, moving out of harm’s way. He expected the action and went low as he landed, twisting to the right. Flames slicked over Righty’s thigh.

The demon grunted from the pain, the scent of burned hair filling the room.

Koldo jumped up, kicking a leg forward and a leg backward, nailing both of his opponents at the same time. He landed, and they recovered enough to leap at him, punching. He blocked one, but purposely took the other’s abuse, grabbing on to Lefty’s arm and holding tight as he used the appendage as leverage to swing up both of his legs into Righty’s throat with a brutal slam slam of his booted feet. Then he flipped Lefty over and tossed him to his back to stomp on the creature’s face. Bone crunched, suddenly a jigsaw puzzle that needed to be put back together.

Before the second stomp, Lefty rolled to his feet and bounded on the bed—the females utterly unaware—and, without pausing to consider a wiser way, slammed into Koldo’s back. A long, thick tail wound around his middle, squeezing. The hook on the end sliced all the way to Koldo’s intestines.

Lefty raised sharpened claws, intending to slash through his windpipe, but Koldo flashed to the other side of the bed. The moment he landed, he leaned forward and grabbed the end of the creature’s tail, jerking and spinning Lefty’s entire body.

As the fiend careened forward, Koldo flashed behind him and swung his sword. The demon tried to dodge, but wasn’t fast enough. Fire met scales and bone, and scales and bone immediately lost. The demon’s arm detached, spraying black blood over the floor.

Blood the humans would never see.

A howl of agony erupted as Lefty grabbed the appendage and flew out the window, into the afternoon sunlight. Unlike Sent Ones, demons couldn’t regenerate limbs. The creature would have to have the arm reattached.

Deep down, Koldo knew this would not be their last battle.

Cursing, Righty turned in a half circle, his gnarled wings sweeping in Koldo’s direction. He could have dodged, but he chose to allow the end of one wing to clip his ankles, knocking them together, sending him flying to the floor. The beads in his beard rattled as he hit, air bursting from his lungs. He pretended to lose his hold on the sword, and the weapon vanished.

Righty dived on top of him, just as he’d wanted, fangs bared. Koldo punched with all of his might, and broke the demon’s nose, sending fragments of cartilage into his rotting brain. Then, Koldo flashed behind him, summoning the sword of fire, swinging. The demon shot forward, staying low. But not low enough. The scent of smoke and sulfur filled the air. A loud thump sounded. One of the creature’s horns was now missing.

Features contorted with rage, the demon hopped to hoofed feet, black blood leaking down his face, from his busted nose. Roaring, he lunged. Twisting left, twisting right, Koldo stepped into the battle dance. Righty knew when and where to move, sometimes managing to avoid injury. They tangoed from one side of the room to the other, up the walls, down the walls, on the floor, across the ceiling, rolling over the bed, falling through Nicola as she continued to chat with her sister, not so much as a hitch in her breath.

Koldo released the sword and grabbed a fistful of fur on the demon’s chest. He launched the creature through the far wall. A second later, the fiend raced back into the room.

“The girl is mine,” Righty snarled, stalking a circle around him. “Mine! I’ll never let her go.”

“You were foolish when you decided to follow Lucifer rather than the Most High, and you’re foolish now, to think you can best me. You fight from a place of defeat, and you always will.” Long ago, the Most High had crushed all the forces of hell. But still the creatures struck at humans, determined to hurt those the Most High loved.

And the Most High loved all humans. He wanted to adopt them, as He’d done the Sent Ones.

A hiss of rage sounded. “I’ll show you defeat!” Rather than initiating a full-scale attack, the demon backed one step away, two … three. A slow grin lifted the corners of his lips. “Yes, I’ll show you defeat. Very, very soon.” With that, he disappeared through the wall.

Koldo waited, at the ready, but the demon never returned. No doubt, he’d gone to recruit a few of his friends.

I’ll be ready.

Only problem was, “very, very soon” told Koldo nothing. In their realm, one day could be as long as a thousand years and a thousand years as short as one day.

“What the heck is going on?” Nicola exclaimed. “It’s like two boulders have been lifted from my shoulders.” As she spoke, a smile lit her entire face, transforming her from plain to exquisite. Her pale skin took on a radiant sheen, her eyes becoming the color of summer rather than winter.

The moisture in his mouth dried.

“Oh, La La. It’s wonderful!”

Wonderful, yes, but still the toxin flowed through her veins. That would have to be dealt with.

He would have to find a way to gently reveal himself to her, something he’d never done with a human. He would have to garner her trust, something he’d never before cared to try. But when? How? And how would she react?

Be as shrewd as a serpent yet as harmless as a dove, Germanus used to tell him.

Funny, but Koldo was far less assured of his success with the girl than he’d been with the demons.

CHAPTER THREE

The next day

THE ELEVATOR DINGED, and the double doors slid open. Nicola Lane stepped inside the small enclosure, relieved to find she was alone. She was—

Not alone, she realized with a jolt of surprise. Oh, wow. Okay. In the far corner, a very tall, very muscled man shifted from the shadows. How could she have missed him, even for a second?

The doors closed, sealing her inside with him. I don’t judge by outward appearance. I really do not judge by outward appearance. But oh, wow, wow, wow, he had to be a time-traveling Viking sent here to abduct modern women to give to his men back home—because they’d killed all the women in their village.

I watch too much TV.

He certainly gave off an all-dangerous-all-the-time vibe. And now, it was too late to avoid a possible pillaging.

Her heart fluttered, the warped beat making her light-headed.

“Floor?” he asked, his deep voice filled with more jagged edges than a shattered mirror.

“Lobby,” she managed to reply, and he pressed the appropriate button.

It was a miracle the entire elevator didn’t split apart from the force he used.

There was an exaggerated shake, and the cart began to descend. The scent of morning sky and—this could have been mere fantasy on her part—rainbows filled the small enclosure, and every waft came from the man. It was, quite possibly, the best cologne she’d ever smelled, and like the ladies in the AXE commercials, she had to battle the urge to lean into him and sniff his neck.

And wouldn’t he just love that? He would demand to know what the heck she was doing, she would panic and her heart would give out, just as Laila’s had, and … and … she wasn’t going to think about her beautiful, precious Laila right now. She wasn’t going to think about losing another loved one. First her mother, father and br—No, she wasn’t going to think about that, either. She would break down.

And was that delicious heat coming from the Viking, too? For the first time in years, Nicola felt enveloped by warmth, the cold from her medications and poor circulation finally chased away.

The man turned and leaned against the wall, facing her fully. In that moment, she decided “very tall, very muscled” wasn’t an adequate description for him. The tallest, most muscled man she’d ever seen in person or on TV worked better, but again, the description failed to capture the essence of his absolute gigantorness. He. Was. Huge.

And okay, yeah, he was also quite beautiful despite his murdering-and-pillaging aura. He had bronze skin, a gleaming bald head and a black beard tied by three crystal beads. His eyes were a surprising shade of gold, and capped by two thick brows with a prominent arch in the center. He wore a white linen shirt and white linen pants, each garment flowing as fluidly as water. On his feet was a pair of combat boots.

And she was studying him as if he were a bug under a microscope, she realized, horrified by her behavior. Nicola had often gone to school with electrodes taped to her chest and tubes sticking out of her clothing, so she knew the pain of a single wide-eyed stare. Her attention darted to the glittery pink tennies her twin had given her for their birthday last year.

“I’m quite large, I know,” he said in an accent she couldn’t place. At least he hadn’t sounded offended.

Still, her stomach bottomed out. He’d noticed her examination of him, and now sought to … comfort her for her rudeness? How unexpected and sweet. Well, then, she would be brave.

She raised her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Maybe I’m just amazingly tiny,” she said, trying for humor.

His eyelids narrowed menacingly, hiding all that gold, leaving only the black of his pupils. “Do not lie, even through implication. Not for any reason, not even to be nice.”

Her fingers went numb, and her heart once again fluttered. He was okay with staring, but joking was a killing offense. Good to know.

“Lies are the language of evil,” he added in a gentler tone.

A gentler tone, but still intense.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and a short, heavyset man took a step inside.

“You’ll take the next elevator,” the big guy announced.

The smaller man instantly froze. He licked his lips, backed up. “You know what? You’re right. I will.” He spun and raced away.

For a moment, Nicola considered following his lead. There was being polite, and there was being wise, and the two didn’t always intersect. The fact that the Viking wanted to be alone with her couldn’t bode well.

The doors began to draw together. Now was her chance to run.

But … she couldn’t do it. “You didn’t yell at him,” she pointed out, unsure why she was having trouble keeping quiet—and why she’d stayed. “You seem like such an equal-opportunity yeller.”

“I didn’t yell at you, either,” he said with a frown. A moment passed. He nodded as if he’d just realized something important. “You’re sensitive. I’ll be more careful.”

What, he dreaded her wrath?

He studied her as intently as she’d studied him, causing her to squirm. “You are five-two, aren’t you?”

“Five two and a half, thank you.” She never forgot that very important half!

“That’s a somewhat decent height for a woman, I suppose.”

“For an eight-year-old boy, too,” she grumbled.

“Not any that I know,” he replied, deadpan.

Was he teasing her? Or was he just that blunt?

Finally the box stopped for good, and the doors opened to the lobby. Her companion politely waved her forward. She offered a bemused smile, said “Thanks” and hurried out—alive.

Almost alone, she thought wistfully. She would be able to sort through her thoughts and figure out what she was going to do when her sister … When Laila …

She couldn’t think the word, even though she knew it would happen sooner rather than later. A mercy for Laila. Another sorrow for Nicola. She wasn’t sure how many more she could bear and still survive.

Most people with their condition and underdeveloped heart died in their late teens. But she and Laila had lasted into their early twenties, a true miracle in itself, and she should be thrilled with the time they’d had together. And yet, she wanted more. For both of them. Laila wasn’t satisfied with her life, and a person should be satisfied before they died. Right?

Nicola just … well, she needed to decide on a plan of action today. For once, her mind wasn’t shrouded by a thick veil of fear and anxiety. And why were people looking at her as if she were a hideous beast monster determined to—

Not her, she realized, but the man beside her. The giant from the elevator. Nicola stopped, and so did he. He failed to maneuver around her, as if her slight presence was somehow blocking his path. She faced him fully, anchoring her hands on her hips. He stepped three feet away from her, and she found herself shivering all over again.

The heat did come from him.

He peered down at her, his golden eyes framed by the blackest, most luscious lashes of all time, so unexpected in that rough-and-tumble time-traveling-warrior face.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“No, but you can have coffee with me.”

No, he’d said. Meaning, she couldn’t help him. He really took the honesty thing seriously. And had he just … asked her out? “Why would you want to do that?” she wondered aloud. And why hadn’t she just said no? She had to return to work, like, soon. Her lunch hour was almost over.

“I’m not ready to go home.”

Ah. Not a date, then. He simply craved a distraction from whatever had brought him to the Palace of Tears and Death, and oh, could she sympathize. And she wasn’t disappointed that he wanted nothing romantic from her. Really. Her mother had been right. Boys equaled excitement and excitement equaled another heart attack. And really, she hadn’t ever missed boys and excitement all that much because she’d always had Laila. But Laila was … was …

“Coffee sounds great,” she croaked as her chin quivered. Clearly she needed a distraction, too. The planning could wait. So could work. Pulling herself out of this pity pit was more important. “There’s a little shop down the far corridor.”

He stepped up beside her, and all that delicious heat returned. They kicked into gear, earning several more stares and even a little whispering. People had to be shocked by the difference in their sizes, and she couldn’t really blame them. The top of Nicola’s head failed to reach the man’s massive shoulders.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Koldo.”

Cold-oh. Had to be foreign. “I’m Nicola.”

“Nicola. Latin, meaning ‘a victorious people.’”

They turned the first corner, though the scenery didn’t change. All of the hallways were the same: white and silver with signs posted along the walls. “Uh, did you just secretly look that up on a cell phone I can’t see or did you already know?”

“I knew.”

“Why?”

“The words we speak are important, powerful, and since names are spoken every day, directed at specific individuals, people often become what they are called. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Well, she wouldn’t tell him she was the most defeated person ever and shatter his illusions. “What does Laila mean?”

“Dark beauty.”

Interesting. Laila was fair, but she was lovely. “What does Koldo mean?”

“Famous warrior.”

A warrior, as she’d first assumed? She wondered if he was in the army. “Are you truly famous?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No pride. In his mind, he must have simply stated a fact. She admired his confidence. “So, what do you do, Koldo?”

“I’m in the army.”

Nailed it!

Two more corners, and they reached the shop. He directed her to an empty table. “What would you like, Nicola?”

Her name on his lips … an embrace and a curse, all rolled into one. It was a little disconcerting. “Oh, I can—”

“You won’t offer to give me money, and insult me,” he said, and for once he sounded genuinely offended. “Now, then. Let’s try this again. What would you like? I’m buying.”

She smiled. No one had ever insisted on buying her something to drink. Most offers came from the coworkers who knew about her situation, and were mere tokens. The moment she mentioned taking care of her own bill, the other person immediately acquiesced. “An herbal tea, please. Something without caffeine. And thank you very much.”

A nod, and he was off, leaving her chilled. She watched as he approached the counter. Watched as the punked-out cashier stared at him with utter fascination. He didn’t seem to notice as he placed the order and waited for the drinks … and muffins, scones and croissants from the looks of it.

What kind of woman would capture his attention? she wondered.

Another warrior-type probably. Strong, capable, with big-enough bones to withstand any kind of abuse—uh, contact.

He returned a few minutes later and spread out a feast before her, the scent of berries, yeast and sugar wafting up and making her mouth water. She hadn’t eaten in forever, it seemed, because she’d been too consumed with worry for Laila, dread over paying bills she hadn’t begun to make a dent in and, well, trying not to drown in a sea of despair.

Today was different, though. Even as upset as she was, she felt better than she had in a long, long time, and her stomach rumbled.

Cheeks flushing, she claimed her tea and sipped at the burning liquid, savoring the sweetness. “Seriously, Koldo. This means a lot to me. A thousand times thank you wouldn’t be enough.”

“It’s very much my pleasure, Nicola.”

So polite. She liked that.

And the likes were certainly outweighing the dislikes now, weren’t they?

“The food is for you, as well,” he said, pushing a muffin in her direction.

Her eyes widened with astonishment. “All of it?”

“Of course.”

Of course, he’d said. As if she was used to eating for an entire legion.

“You will keep up your strength,” he added. “Right now, you’re too pale, too frail.”

She wasn’t insulted. She was pale and frail. Nicola selected one of the croissants, pinched off a warm, buttery corner. “So … were you here visiting someone?”

“Yes.”

Though she waited, attentive, he offered no more than that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Annnd … again he offered nothing more. “Do you come here often?”

“That could be the plan, yes.”

Silence.

Talkative much? But okay, no problem. They weren’t really here to get to know each other, were they? They were here to forget their lives, if only for a little while. “I’m here a lot.” Every day, in fact.

“Perhaps we’ll see each other again.” He lifted a steaming cup of coffee to lips as plush and red as candy apples and gulped. His expression never changed, the fiery temperature somehow not melting and welding his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” she offered.

Again, silence.

What were girls supposed to talk about with boys they weren’t interested in romantically? Because, if she were being honest—something he would definitely approve of—this was kind of painful. It wasn’t what she’d expected or hoped for.

“What do you do when you’re not here, Nicola?” he asked, at last taking up the reins of conversation.

Relieved by his efforts, she relaxed in her seat. “I work. I’m an accountant every weekday morning and afternoon.” A job guaranteed to keep her blood pressure steady. She could crunch numbers, sort receipts and design a financial plan to get anyone out of debt. Anyone but herself, that is. She was still working through her parents’ bills, and her and Laila’s medical costs were still stacking up. “I’m a checkout girl at an organic food market every evening and on weekends.”

“Neither of those jobs sprang from a childhood dream.”

No, but dreams died … and if you weren’t careful, the ghosts would haunt your present. “Why do you think that?” She wasn’t fond of her jobs, but she’d always done whatever was needed to survive.

“I’m highly observant.”

And quite modest.

“So, what did you want to do?” he asked.

Why not tell him the truth? “I wanted to live,” she said. Really live. “I wanted to travel the world, jump from airplanes, dance on top of a skyscraper, deep sea dive for treasure and pet an elephant.”

He tilted his head to the side and steadily met her gaze. “Interesting.”

Because she’d mentioned activities rather than a career? Well, there was a reason for that. She’d never known how long she would live, so a career had seemed pointless. “What about you?” she asked. “What did you want to do?”

“I’m doing it.” He refused to look away. “You could still do all of the things you mentioned.”

“Actually, I can’t. My heart couldn’t take it.” Let him assume she meant her nerves would get the better of her rather than the truth.

“You’re right.”

Wait. “What?”

“If words are the power of life and death, you just pointed a loaded gun at your head.”

“What are you talking about? That’s absurd.”

“You speak what you believe, and you believe you’re doomed. If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout the years, it’s that what you believe is the impetus for your entire life.”

A spark of anger caused her heart to skip a beat. “I believe in reality.”

He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Your perception of reality is skewed.”

Oh, really? “How so?”

“You believe what you see and feel.”

“Uh, doesn’t everyone?”

“Everything in this natural world is changeable. Temporary. But the things you cannot see or feel are eternal.”

She slammed her tea on the tabletop. Liquid splashed from the hole in the lid, burning her hand. “Lookit. Maybe you’re not getting enough oxygen up there where your head lives, but you sound like a crazy person.”

“I’m not crazy. I know you can be healed.”

Healed? As if she hadn’t tried everything already. “Some things can’t be changed. Besides, you don’t have any clue about the things I’ve done or the future I have.”

“I know more than you think. You’re so afraid to live, you’re actually killing yourself.”

Heavy silence descended. He’d … nailed it, she thought. She’d watched as fear slowly ate away at her sister’s happiness, tainting every aspect of her existence. And in the days before she’d landed in the hospital, that’s all Laila had had. An existence.

Her stomach had always hurt, ruining her appetite. Nicola was already striding down that road.

Laila had lost weight, and even her bones had seemed to wither. Give Nicola another few months.

Laila’s hair had lost its glossy sheen. Blue and black smudges had become a permanent fixture under her eyes. Yeah, another few months should take care of that for Nicola, too.

“Somewhere along the way you lost hope,” Koldo said, and there was a grim quality to his voice, as if he had suffered a loss of his own. “But if you’ll listen to me, if you’ll do what I say, your heart and body will mend and you’ll at last do all the things you’ve always wanted to do.”

“Are you a doctor?” she demanded. “How do you know that? And what do you think you can do for or to me that hasn’t already been tried?”

Ignoring her questions, he said, “Selah, Nicola.”

And with that, he disappeared, there one moment, gone the next.

CHAPTER FOUR

DETERMINED TO PROVE A POINT to Nicola, Koldo flashed out of the hospital to his underground home in West India Quay. The place of his greatest shame.

The place he kept his mother.

The small, hidden cave was illuminated by a soft green glow emanating from a lake of water uncontaminated by human life. Air so fresh it literally crackled with vitality enveloped him.

Just like the home in South Africa, he kept no furniture here, no wall hangings, no decorations and no amenities of any kind. Unlike the other home, there was a cage, a bucket for food, a bucket for water and a blanket. He would have provided his mother with a bed, but then, she’d never given him one.

“Well, well,” she said. “Look who’s returned.”

And there she was. Cornelia. A name that meant horn. And she was certainly that. Sharp and deadly, able to puncture a man’s heart and coldly walk away as his very life drained from him.

She sat in the corner of the cage, wearing a robe made by human hands and natural fabric. One Koldo had tossed her after ripping off the one made in the skies, for the robes their people wore could clean themselves and their wearers. But he hadn’t wanted Cornelia cleansed in any way. He’d wanted her to know the feel of dirt that could never be scrubbed away.

Her skin was pallid, her freckles a stark contrast. Her long hair had been shorn and now fell to her ears, the locks tangled and sticking out in spikes. He hadn’t been the one to do this deed. A few weeks ago, she had been captured by a horde of pica and dragged into hell in an attempt to force Koldo to betray Zacharel. He hadn’t. He had rescued her instead.

He had no idea what else had been done to her, only that torture had, indeed, taken place. When he’d found her, she had hovered at the edge of death, and that was the only reason she hadn’t fought him as he doctored her back to health. Now, here they were.

Her, as hate-filled as ever.

Him, shockingly dissatisfied with the situation.

As a child trapped under his father’s reign, he had dreamed of punishing her in the worst of ways. And he still wanted to. Oh, did he want to. The desire was always there, burning in his chest. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d allowed himself to do little things, like denying her the bed and proper robe, but nothing else. He was nothing like her, and every day he proved it. He would come here, pit himself against the pull to act and then leave.

Wise men knew not to even approach the door of their temptation, but Koldo hadn’t yet convinced himself to stop.

“Hello, Mother.”

She sucked in a breath. “I should have cut your tongue out of your mouth when I had the chance.” She tossed a pebble at him. The stone bounced off his shoulder and tumbled to the floor.

“Just like you should have drowned me. I know.”

Her eyes narrowed, long lashes fusing together and hiding the violet depths he so often saw in his nightmares. “I hadn’t the stomach for violence back then. But your father … I expected better of him. He should have done what I could not.”

“Oh, never doubt that he tried.” Many times.

Koldo thought back to the day Cornelia had flown him over his father’s camp and dropped him. As weak and agonized as he’d been, landing had hurt more than the brutal removal of his wings.

A huge, bald man with more muscles and scars than Koldo had ever seen stomped toward him. Cornelia called, “Meet your son, Nox—may you destroy each other,” before flying away.

Nox. A name that meant night.

Koldo had blacked out seconds after that, only to awaken on the floor of a spacious tent, the bald man looming over him, grinning widely, his eyes as black as his name implied.

“You’re my son, are you? Raised by a do-gooder angel.”

His mother? A do-gooder?

“I’m betting you’re filled with silly notions about right and wrong,” Nox had continued. “Aren’t you, boy?”

Concentrating on the words had proven difficult—everything inside Koldo had been screaming at him to run and never look back. But he’d been trapped inside a body too weak to move or flash. All he could do was watch as thin curls of smoke wafted from the male’s pores, scenting the air with sulfur.

That’s when realization had slammed into Koldo with collision force. A bald head, bottomless eyes and black smoke could mean only one thing. Nefas. His father hailed from the most dangerous, vile race in existence. A race that sneaked up on humans, poisoned slowly, painfully … destroying utterly. A race without a conscience.

A race just like the demons.

The Nefas were death dealers. Soul suckers.

The age of their victims never mattered. The gender of their victims never mattered. They lived to inflict pain. They killed. And they laughed while doing it.

“No worries,” the man had said. “You can unlearn.”

Nox had wanted Koldo to embrace the Nefas way of life, and Koldo had resisted … at first. But every time he’d tried to escape, flashing away, his father had been right on his heels, easily finding him and dragging him back—punishing him. Once, Nox had tied him down and poured acid down his throat. The time after that, Nox had plucked out one of his eyes and nailed it to the bar of his cage, so that he could watch himself watching himself. Koldo had had to win the eye back—and stuff it back in. By then he’d been a little older and had been able to partially heal it. Still, his sight had never been the same.

Bitterness and hatred had taken root inside him. Why him? Why had no one saved him? How much more would he be forced to endure?

Finally, he’d lost his will to fight. He’d given in. He’d raided villages. He’d helped his father and the other soldiers fit their mouths over their victims’ mouths and suck out innocent souls, leaving only lifeless shells.

A man will do just about anything to survive, boy.

It was the only one of his father’s lessons that he’d taken to heart.

Now, Koldo was certain he’d passed the point of redemption. He could have fought harder. Should have fought harder. That he hadn’t … Guilt would always ride him, and shame would always fill him.

He had too many memories. The dark kind that never went away. Each one made him long to pluck out his eyes, just to blank his line of sight, or cut off his ears, just to quiet the screams.

Over the years he’d earned a big-enough name to draw Germanus’s attention. An army of Sent Ones had swooped into his father’s camp to destroy Koldo, had seen the scars on his back and mistakenly assumed he wasn’t Nefas, for Nefas could not grow wings, and Koldo had obviously had them at one time. So, the soldiers had captured him instead.

That had been the beginning of his new life.

Germanus—a name meaning “brother”—could have and probably should have slain him despite his origins. Koldo had been feral. He had snarled and cursed and attacked anyone who neared him. After all the things he had done, after all of the people he had killed, he was supposed to forgive himself and adopt the “do-gooder” approach? Impossible!

But Germanus had looked deeper than the surface, had seen the shame and guilt in Koldo’s eyes. Emotions raw and intense, even back then.

The king of the Sent Ones had spent the next several years coaxing Koldo from his rages, doing his best to comfort a young male with such a damaged past, ensuring Koldo was trained to fight the right way, that he had a safe, comfortable place to sleep, that he always had a proper meal to eat.

It had been Koldo’s first taste of actual caring and concern, and he’d soon grown to love Germanus—would still die to protect him.

“Why did you mate with Nox?” he asked his mother as he stalked around the cage.

“Why not? He was a very beautiful man.”

Some women would find such a dangerous male attractive, Koldo supposed. Despite the bald head and dead eyes, he’d had a face far lovelier than any Koldo had ever seen. A purity of features, a radiance most beings could only ever dream about.

“Did you hope to tame him? Did you think you would be the one to change him?”

Cornelia pushed to her feet, always keeping her gaze on him, never permitting him to have her back, where her beautiful white-and-gold wings lay. She expected him to remove them. She was right to do so. It was one of his biggest temptations.

“Evil cannot be changed,” she said.

“Did he betray you for another? One of his own kind, perhaps? A female better suited to his particular tastes? Or, perhaps he turned to many other females.”

“Shut up.”

But he couldn’t. He was closing in on the truth. Even as sickness churned in his stomach, he said, “He used to laugh about you, you know. Said you loved him, begged him to be with you, to stay with you. Said you sobbed when he left. Said you—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she shrieked, racing to the bars where Koldo stood. She shook with so much force he was surprised the reinforced metal held steady.

The ferocity of her reaction should have pleased him. This was what he’d always wanted from her, after all. Rage, frustration. Helplessness. Mirroring what he’d felt for so many years. But the sickness intensified. How could he do this to a female? Any female?

How could he hurt another of his kind?

She spit on his boots. “I hate you. I hate you so much I can barely breathe past it. I hate you so much I’d rather rot in this cage than pretend I love you or say I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I’m not! I never will be. You were an abomination then and you’re an abomination now. The day you die is the day I rejoice.”

Hurt and fury joined the collage of other emotions, the darkness in his mind thickening, once again banging at the dam. He stepped back, away from her, lest he lash out and end her—becoming just like his father. The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle followed him.

Even here, she carried the despised fragrance with her.

What had an innocent little boy done to elicit this kind of rejection? How could she blame Koldo for his father’s treatment of her?

How could Koldo still hurt, after all this time?

“If ever I die,” he said, “you won’t be the cause. You’re too weak. You’ve always been weak, and that’s why Nox let you go.”

Again she spit on his boots.

Hands fisted, he flashed to his home in South Africa. He had sixteen residences throughout the world, each tucked securely away from prying human eyes, but more and more this was the one he preferred, the one where he spent most of his free time.

Before he even manifested, he was beating at the walls, tearing the newly healed skin on his knuckles. Blood splattered. Bone snapped.

This time, the rage failed to drain as quickly.

Hours seemed to pass before he was shucking his clothing, ripping the material in his haste. The shirt and pants hit the floor and drew together of their own accord, the tears and halves forming a perfect robe. Cool water droplets splashed against his bare skin as he peered out at the turbulent waterfall.

That woman …

He punched the side of the wall, dust and debris ghosting through the air. Always she reduced him to this, to a man who felt as if his heart had been cleaved from his chest, stomped on, sliced, kicked around and burned to ash. He had to gain the upper hand with her.

Otherwise, he would kill her.

When Cornelia breathed her last, her spirit would leave her body. But she would not go up, would not spend the rest of eternity with the Most High in the Heavens of heavens. She couldn’t. To die with hatred blazing in her heart was to go down, down, down. It was a spiritual law no one—not even a Sent One—could supersede.

Devilish things could not coexist with divine things.

Reason number one Koldo was in such danger himself.

Cornelia deserved such a fate, yes. She deserved to suffer for all eternity. But he wasn’t going to be the one to send her to an early grave. He wasn’t like her—if he had to remind himself every day, he would. More than that, he wanted … what he could never have. Answers. Her love.

Absolution.

He gritted his teeth. No, he wasn’t like her—and he no longer wanted those things. A taste of vengeance was all he craved.

The thought hit him, and he paused. There was no way someone like him could help a female as fragile as Nicola, was there?

He should have stayed away from her, he realized. But he hadn’t, and now it was too late. He’d flashed away from her to prove the existence of supernatural activity, hoping to force her to accept it and take the first step toward fighting the demons. Now she knew.

Now she would ask questions.

If she asked the wrong people, they would give her the wrong answers.

He scrubbed a hand over the smoothness of his scalp. He had to stick to his plan.

And that wasn’t such a bad thing, he told himself. Nicola intrigued him. Her voice, so soft, so sweet … so addictive, a caress his ears already craved again. Her wit. Her resilience. Her bravery. He’d snipped at her, yet she hadn’t sobbed and begged for mercy.

Throughout her very short span on earth, one disaster after another had befallen her. Perhaps the demons were responsible, or perhaps the imperfect world. Perhaps both. Whatever the reason, he wanted better for her. The better he himself had found with Germanus.

Koldo just had to teach her how to fight the toxins. And he had to do it while keeping her calm. Fear would strengthen what the paura had left behind, and tension would weaken her immune system, strengthening what the grzech had left behind. Without fear and tension, the toxins would fade. With hope and joy, the toxins would fade faster.

Bottom line, what you fed grew and what you starved died.

Would she be able to look past her negative emotions and see the light?

A spark of anticipation beaded, somehow overshadowing the nearly overwhelming cascade of acid his mother had caused. Despite everything, he couldn’t wait to see Nicola again, to learn what she’d decided about his disappearance. If she’d convinced herself she’d imagined him, or if she’d accepted he was something other than human.

“So not the view I was hoping for,” a male voice said from behind him.

Still naked, Koldo spun and faced Thane, the second-in-command of Zacharel’s army. Thane, meaning freeman. And the warrior certainly seemed to be everything the word implied. The male’s carnal appetite was well-known. He hunted a new lover every day, discarding those he finished with as if they were dirty tissue.

And yet, even knowing that, women still flocked to him, as though he was the only male in creation with curling blond hair and big blue eyes.

“What does Zacharel want me to do this time?” Koldo demanded, reaching into the air pocket at his side to withdraw another robe. He yanked the material over his head, trying not to stare at Thane’s wings. They arched over the warrior’s wide shoulders, sweeping all the way to the floor. Pure white was broken up by dazzling gold. Trying—and failing.

“It’ll be better to show rather than explain,” Thane said, an odd note in his voice.

That didn’t bode well. “Very well. Lead the way.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NEXT WEEK PASSED in a blur for Nicola. Every day she woke up at the butt crack of dawn, went to work, went to see her sister on her lunch hour, went back to work, went to her second job and toiled until the wee hours of the night before at last heading home, watching TV to unwind, then falling asleep for four measly hours—and the cycle started all over again.

Now, she sat at her desk at Estellä Industries, watching the clock. Come on, noon. Get here already. The only aspect of her life that had changed was her thinking. She couldn’t get Koldo out of her mind. Who was he? What was he?

After his disappearance, she’d asked the girl at the coffee shop whether or not she’d actually spoken to a giant of a man with a bald head and beaded beard. The answer hadn’t surprised her.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not blind. But, uh, are you guys dating or, like, is he available? Because I already wrote my number on a napkin if you want to, like, give it to him.”

Unless they’d shared the same hallucination, Koldo was real and Nicola wasn’t crazy. Or maybe she was, despite that. She’d actually taken the napkin, curious to know what Koldo’s reaction would be.

But … what was he? she wondered again. What did say-la mean, the last word he’d spoken to her? She had no idea how to spell it, so she hadn’t been able to look it up online. And how had he vanished in the blink of an eye? Was he some kind of ghost that more than one person could see?

With as many near-death and death-death-for-a-minute-or-two experiences as she’d had, she knew there was an afterlife. Several times she’d floated into it. Once, she’d even talked to some kind of being.

Isn’t this nice? he’d said. He’d had pale hair, eyes as clear as the ocean and a pair of beautiful white wings. He’d been handsome in a classic movie-star kind of way, and had worn a long robe as he’d tried to urge her down a long tunnel. Isn’t this peaceful? Just let go of your old life and you can have this forever.

He’d reminded her of the angels she’d seen in picture books, but there’d been something about his tone … something in those eyes … she had fought him, wanting to return to Laila, and for a second, only a second, his affable mask had fallen away and she’d gotten a glimpse of bright red eyes, gnarled bones and fangs.

A monster. A monster just like she used to see as a child, before therapy and drugs had convinced her otherwise. Now she wasn’t sure what to think about Koldo and the monsters and had no idea how to figure it out. There was an overload of information out there, but nothing had jelled with her.

The right answer would elicit peace; she knew that much. Peace always accompanied truth.

Koldo would just have to tell her. If he ever showed up again.

And he had to show up! Did he really know how to heal her heart? If so, could Laila’s be healed, as well?

The more she wondered, the more hope filled her. To be able to fall asleep and not wonder if she would wake up, or if Laila would still be alive … to never fear losing another sibling. To be able to walk up a hill, holding Laila’s hand, without either of them passing out … to be able to skip and jog and jump … to be able to dance! Oh, to dance. To fall in love, get married and have children. To live, really live, as they’d used to dream, before tragedy convinced them to deal in “reality” rather than “fantasy.”

Koldo had said he would be visiting the hospital again, but hadn’t mentioned when. If he waited much longer, she might strangle him when he appeared, just to release a little steam. Every day she looked for him so diligently the nurses asked her if she’d like a Xanax or ten to help her relax.

When has anything good ever happened to you?

The question wafted through her mind, and she frowned.

Being optimistic will only lead to crushing disappointment.

No. No, that wasn’t true.

You don’t need one more thing to worry about right now.

Her hands curled into fists. Before meeting Koldo, she might have caved under the weight of those thoughts. She definitely would have battled an upset stomach, paced a thousand miles without ever leaving her chair and frayed the edges of her nerves until her limbs began to shake uncontrollably. Now …

“I’m not listening to you.” Or herself. Whatever! She had hope for the first time in years, and she wasn’t letting go. She leaned back in the chair at her desk. “He’ll keep his word. He’ll turn up, and he’ll answer all of my questions.”

The depressing thoughts stopped, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Are you Nicola Lane?” a hard, biting voice asked.

Nicola blinked rapidly and focused on the beautiful woman in the open doorway. She was tall, slender and black, with a fall of jet-black curls. Shadows consumed eyes the color of chocolate. Koldo’s were lighter, like caramel, and—Wow, Nicola must be hungry.

The woman wore a black-and-white tailored jacket, a pencil skirt and mile-high stilettos that perfectly complemented toenails painted black-and-white. Everything about her screamed style, sophistication and cold-blooded calm. So, what was she doing here, at the middle-class stress capital of the world?

“I’m Nicola, yes.”

“Well, congratulations. I’m now part of your department.”

Sarcasm on the first day. Wonderful. “Are you Jamila Engill or Sirena Kegan?”

Frowning, the girl said, “Jamila Engill.”

“Pretty name.” She wondered what Jamila meant. No doubt Koldo would have known.

“You have two new hires?”

“Yes.” Nicola tugged the lapels of her sweater closer together to ward off the chill blasting from Jamila’s attitude. Okay, fine. It was from the overhead vent. “Please, have a seat and we’ll get to know each other.”

Jamila marched into the office and slammed onto the far chair. Chin high in the air, she twined her hands in her lap and kept her gaze narrowed on Nicola, her back ramrod straight.

They were gonna have fun together, she could tell.

Five days ago, her very jittery, very irritable boss told her that he’d decided to hire two more accountants. Shock had nearly drilled Nicola to her knees. She’d been begging for a new hire for months, and every time she had been told to “make do.”

Currently, she was doing the work of five people. At first, she had managed. After Laila’s hospitalization, she’d begun to fall behind.

“So … what will be expected of me?” Jamila asked tightly.

Nicola explained a little about the operating system, and even though she hated sharing personal information with a stranger, she added, “I’ll be as much a help as possible as you learn, but the truth is, my sister is … dying—” even voicing the word was difficult “—and she … Well, I’m being pulled away from the office more and more.” Sooner or later, Jamila would have found out anyway. Phone calls would have come in, paperwork would have blasted through, or coworkers would have mentioned it.

This way, it was out in the open from the start.

Jamila leaned back in a pose that should have relaxed her. Instead, she appeared more rigid. “I’m sorry.”

People always said that. Nicola wondered what Koldo the Honest would have said.

Just the thought of him caused her heart to flutter. She cleared her throat. “Sometimes we have to confront employees who haven’t turned in their books. They’ll make excuses, but you’ll have to stay on them.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

No flinching, and no paling.

“Good, then you should do fine.” Unless you keep glaring at me like that.

“Hey, y’all. I’m Sirena, and I’m reporting for duty.”

Nicola’s attention shifted to the girl now standing in the doorway. She was taller than Nicola by an inch, maybe two, and wore an ill-fitting black jacket and matching pair of slacks, with a pink button-up top breaking up the darkness. Her hair was long and blond and as straight as a board. Her eyes were as wide as a doll’s, a mix of brown and blue; a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

“Oh, my,” she said, shutting the door behind her. She glided to the other chair and eased down, then extended a small gift basket. “This is for you. I was just so excited to work with you, I couldn’t help but show it.”

How sweet. “Thank you.” Nicola accepted the offering with a smile. A jasmine body wash and a lotion scented with honeysuckle.

“Look at this place.” Sirena gazed around. “It’s not big, but it’s homey and wonderful, isn’t it?”

Homey? Wonderful? Not even close. The room boasted plain white walls and a concrete floor painted gray. The only furniture was the desk, Nicola’s chair and the two chairs in front. Not one of the three had a cushion.

Her first few months in the office, Nicola had hung pictures of her family on the walls, but every time she’d looked at them, memories had flooded her.

She’d heard her mother shout, “What are you doing, laughing like that? Excitement of any kind isn’t good for you. Do you want to die and send me spiraling into another depression?”

She’d remembered her father patting her on the head and saying, “Every night I go to sleep afraid I’ll never again see my beloved girls.”

Well, his fear had come true, but not for the reason he’d thought. His life had been cut short by a drunk driver, and he hadn’t seen them again.

Pictures of Laila only served to remind her of all she would soon lose. Her best friend, her confidante, her cheerleader. Her very heart.

“You’ll be able to decorate your cubby however you like,” she said, fighting a quiver in her chin.

“I can’t wait!” Sirena’s happy tone chimed.

Jamila stiffened, as though offended.

A knock boomed from the door. The entrance swung open before she could bid the person on the other side to enter. Dexter Turner peeked his head inside. He had a full head of dark hair and brown eyes that were puppy-dog sweet.

“Hey, Nicola, I was wondering—” His gaze landed on Jamila, widened, slid to Sirena, widened still more, before finally settling on Nicola. He gulped. “I, uh, didn’t know you had company.”

“I can leave if you want,” Sirena said, eager to please.

“You’re fine,” Nicola told her, not wanting the women to vacate just yet. Dex had asked Nicola out several times, and she’d always told him no. In high school, she and Laila had been forbidden to date for their own good. Then, after their parents had died and they’d been on their own, they’d both gone a little crazy, going out with anyone who asked.

Granted, only five guys had asked Nicola. But then, she was glad there hadn’t been more. She had hated every minute of every date. The nervousness had been too much for her, especially since each of the boys had expected her to be more experienced than she was, considering her age. She had stuttered, and she had squirmed in the uncomfortable silences that followed.

After vomiting before the last one, and nearly passing out during dinner, she had decided not to date until her doctors discovered a way to regulate her heartbeat once and for all.

Not Laila, though. Laila had flourished under the attention. A few months ago, she’d even made a go of a serious relationship. But the two had fought and fought and fought, and all that strife had put a strain on her body. She’d ended up in the hospital. Of course, when the doctors told her that she would never leave, the guy had walked away and never come back.

“I’ll just catch you later,” Dex said, and shut the door.

Several beats of silence passed.

“Is he yours?” Jamila asked.

“Nope,” Nicola said. “I’m single.”

“Well, I think you two would make an adorable couple,” Sirena said, her hand fluttering over her cheek as if she were flushing. “Just adorable.”

The phone rang, and Nicola picked up the receiver, grateful for the distraction. “Nicola Lane’s office.”

“Miss Lane?” A strong male voice. Familiar.

“Yes,” she said, her heart suddenly pounding erratically.

“This is Dr. Carter at County General.”

Dread spiked, and she experienced a rush of dizziness. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid. Your sister has taken another turn for the worse. How soon can you get here?”

WHAT DID I DO to deserve this? Koldo had spent the past six days with Thane. An eternity, surely. A punishment, definitely. They had traveled to the Downfall, Thane’s place of business. A palace of iniquity, to be sure. One that would have been visible to the human eye if not for the cloud surrounding it. But it had to be this way. Only the Most High, Sent Ones, angels and demons operated in the spiritual realm. Other supernatural creatures, like the ones Thane entertained, would have been unable to visit otherwise.

The entire place was in the process of a very slooow descent toward the earth, moving a mere inch a day.

Falling.

As the members of the Army of Disgrace might at any sign of misconduct. Symbolism at its best, he thought. But then, wickedness of any kind caused a separation with the Most High.

The club would eventually end up in hell.

Won’t think about that.

Other than successfully completing the three demon-killing missions Zacharel had assigned the entire army, Koldo and his companions hadn’t left the club.

Thane and fellow angels Xerxes and Bjorn lived there, and Koldo wasn’t certain how they were allowed to maintain their status as Sent Ones. But he now knew why they had been given to Zacharel. More than using a new woman every night, they fought whoever angered them with brutal intensity—and nearly everyone they encountered angered them.

Now the four of them were in the bar, sitting in a shadowed corner. Different immortal races wandered about, drinking and dancing, their hands wandering. From the trouble-happy Harpies to the scream-happy Phoenix, and everything in between. Vampires, shape-shifters, the Fae and countless others.

The snake-shifters were considered the most dangerous, with the Phoenix a close second. But the race that topped them all? The race no one ever considered, because everyone liked to pretend they were nothing more than a nightmare? The Nefas.

Koldo was very glad no one knew about his father. Gladder still no one ever would. Even the Sent Ones who had rescued him from the camp all those centuries ago had no clue about his origins.

“Having fun?” Thane asked him.

“Why am I here?” he demanded.

The warrior tossed back a shot of vodka. “Haven’t we gone over this? Because Zacharel commanded us to stick together, and I refuse to live in one of your hovels.”

Koldo’s frustration level spiked. He was to have a permanent babysitter now? No. Absolutely not. He refused. Something would have to be done. “What about our mission? The one you couldn’t tell me about? The one you had to show me?”

“I never said there was a mission.”

Must not kill a Sent One.

“But if I had told you I wanted you to come to my place and enjoy yourself,” Thane continued, “you would have said …”

“No.” Never.

“And there’s the reason I implied there was a mission.”

Koldo banged his fist into the table, earning several what’s-up-with-the-angry-beast glances from nearby patrons.

His gaze swung to Bjorn, who sat on Thane’s right. “Is he always this tricky?”

“Are you always this curious?” was the irritating reply.

Bjorn had dark hair and tanned skin veined with the same gold that wove through his wings. His eyes were a rainbow of colors, from the lightest of blues to the darkest of greens, with shades of pink and purple thrown into the mix.

His name was Scandinavian for bear. Again, another perfect fit.

Jaw locked, Koldo looked to Xerxes.

Xerxes, Persian for monarch. The male had long white hair pulled back in a jeweled torque. His skin was the color of milk and lined with scar after crisscrossing scar, each in jagged patterns of three. Arresting, yes, but it was his eyes that truly held a person’s attention. They were a bright ruby-red, and glowed with an endless rage matched by few.

I’m one of the few.

“Are they always this cryptic?” Koldo asked him.

“Are you always this annoying?”

All three males chuckled at their own ridiculous wit.

Koldo refused to envy their friendship, or their complete ease with each other. He’d heard they’d met inside a demon fortress, each a prisoner—each tortured. He’d had no one during his own years of anguish, and perhaps that was why he preferred his solitary life. The fewer people privy to his secrets, the less likely he was to face betrayal.

“I’ve introduced you to many beautiful females, hoping one of them would entertain you—and free me of the burden of you,” Thane said, tossing back another vodka. “You’ve refused them all. Why?”

“I have no interest.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?” Bjorn asked.

“No.” He’d had no desire. He still didn’t. Except … every day since he’d come here, Zacharel had granted Koldo an hour-long break from Thane. He’d spent the first half of that hour with his mother, resisting the urge to hurt her, and the second half with Nicola, watching, hidden from view.

He would ensure no demons were following her. He would wonder what she’d look like if she laughed with all of her heart, carefree, and his blood would heat in the strangest way. A tingling heat. Almost … electrifying. He would begin to step into the natural realm, catch himself and back off. What if his presence caused her heart undue stimulation? What if he hurt her? He had the hands of a killer, after all.

So, he would remain in the spirit realm. But the tension within him had gotten worse. The hum of anticipation had gotten stronger.

He had no idea what to do, what to think.

Even still, he was eager to speak with her, to at last discover what conclusion she’d drawn about him. How was he to kick things off, though?

Your sister is going to die, but I can help you save yourself.

I’m a Sent One. Heed my words.

I’m a cold, hard man. I’ve done terrible things. But have no fear, I won’t harm you.

“A virgin,” Xerxes said with a tinge of … envy? Surely not. He motioned to a female. “We must change that.”

Smacking bubble gum, a blonde Harpy approached the table. She wore a sequined bra and spandex shorts, her hair braided at the sides in two perfect ropes. “What’s up, guys?”

“We want you to give our friend a lap dance,” the scarred warrior said. Then, to Koldo, “I bet you can’t resist that.”

Her gaze slid to Koldo. She was a pretty little thing, with wide green eyes and freckles scattered across her nose. He wasn’t into freckles. “You want me to cozy up to this guy?” she asked, hitching her thumb in his direction.

“Yes,” Xerxes replied, deadpan.

“He looks like a cold-blooded killer.”

In Koldo’s case, looks were not deceiving. “You don’t have to—”

“So of course I’ll give him a lap dance!”

Wait. What? “No, thank you. I don’t want—”

“Whoohoo, this is gonna be fun.” She fist-pumped the air. “Are you prepared to soar?”

“We’re already in the skies, sweet,” Thane said, clearly fighting a wave of amusement.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatevs. He knew what I meant. Didn’t you, Killer?”

“I would rather you not—” Koldo began, only to be cut off again.

“Move the table,” the girl said, rubbing her hands together. “I want to get this party train out of the station the right way. And that’s my way, in case anyone missed my meaning.”

Koldo pinched the bridge of his nose as Bjorn and Xerxes stood to obey the Harpy. Before the warriors could get started, he stiffened.

Not because of their intentions, and not because of the Harpy. Deep inside, where instinct sizzled and crackled, he experienced a sudden knowing.

Nicola was in trouble.

“I have to go.” He jumped to his feet, accidentally sending the table toppling the floor.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” the girl muttered.

Zacharel’s orders stated that Koldo was to remain with Thane twenty-three hours a day. If he disobeyed, he risked punishment. He’d already used up his hour away today. “And you get to come with me,” he told the warrior, pointing at him to show there would be consequences if he was ignored.

“Wait. You’re leaving right now?” The Harpy’s pink, glittery lips fell into a seductive pout. “But I haven’t even started yet, and I’ve got some wicked-cool moves. Did I mention I’m very bendy?”

Thane’s gaze narrowed on Koldo. “We’re not leaving. We do, and I’ll never get you back here.”

The warrior had just as much to lose as he did, Koldo realized—and that gave Koldo all the bargaining power he needed. “We’ll return. You have my word. Until then, you had better follow.” He informed Thane of where to go and flashed to the hospital, but … Nicola wasn’t there. He flashed to her office. She wasn’t there, either. He did, however, spot a Sent One, as well as a girl he didn’t recognize but thought he should.

There was no time to question either female. He flashed to Nicola’s house, but his redhead wasn’t there, either. Her second job … nope. Back to the hospital, where he materialized at an empty nurse’s station and used the computer. A good decision. Laila had been moved to a new room.

Thane landed just in front of him. He tucked his wings at his sides as he looked around. “What are we doing here?”

“You’re waiting for me to conclude my business, and I’m in the process of concluding my business.”

Without another word, he flashed to Laila’s new room. And that’s when he found Nicola, sobbing over her sister’s body.

CHAPTER SIX

KOLDO ASSESSED THE SITUATION quickly. Laila’s heart monitor was racing. There was a sharp odor in the air—the scent of impending death. There was a wheeze to her breathing, even with the machines doing all of the work—the sound of impending death. Though she wasn’t dead, her spirit was already halfway out of her body, about to ascend or descend whatever path she’d chosen for herself.

She wouldn’t last much longer. Once the spirit was all the way out, the body couldn’t survive.

Nicola’s forehead rested on the bed, her delicate shoulders shaking as she cried with the intense force of her despair. Despair … a mix of both fear and tension, strengthening both of the toxins. Soon, every demon in the hospital would be hungry to feed off her.

“Nicola,” he said, stepping into the natural realm and becoming visible. His first word to her in all these many days. He shouldn’t have waited until tragedy struck, he realized.

Her attention whipped up to him, and red, swollen eyes landed on his face. She gasped, “Koldo,” with a big dose of surprise. Her nose was stuffed, her voice no longer smoke and dreams but scratchy. Strands of hair clung to splotchy cheeks. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

How could he explain that he’d felt her pain, when he wasn’t sure how or why he’d done so? Ignoring the question, he forced his gaze to move to Laila. “She’s dying.”

A pause. A trembling, “Yes. I shouldn’t be crying. I knew this was coming.” Nicola covered her face with her hands, wiping away the tears, perhaps even trying to rub away the tension. “She needs me to be calm. I need me to be calm.”

So do I.

“But …”

“You hurt,” he said.

“Yes.” Sighing, she fell against the back of the chair. She released a breath, drew in another, and her nose wrinkled adorably. “Last time you smelled wonderful. This time you smell like a brothel.”

He wasn’t embarrassed by the insult. Nothing had ever or would ever embarrass him. He was … overheated. Yes. That’s why his cheeks suddenly felt as though they were on fire. “And how do you know what a brothel smells like?”

“Fine. You smell like what I assume a brothel smells like. Cigarettes and alcohol and conflicting perfumes.”

“My apologies.” The first part of what she’d said at last penetrated. Before, she’d thought he’d smelled wonderful.

His body tensed, just as before. But there was no urge to inflict pain … he wanted only to touch her, to offer comfort and—he wasn’t sure.

The beeping from the monitor sped up.

Nicola traced her fingers over her sister’s hand, then stopped, just stopped, as if the action were too much for her.

How much strength had she lost since his last visit?

No matter the amount, the answer was the same. Too much.

“What are you, anyway?” she asked almost absently. “You haven’t figured it out on your own?”

“No. How could I?”

“There are many ways.”

“Name one.”

“Easy. A sensitive spirit.”

She expelled a weary breath. “All I know is you aren’t human.”

“Correct.”

“So why don’t you just tell me?”

“Would you believe me?” If he admitted he was a Sent One, she would, perhaps, have no idea what that was. If he used the word angel, she might have certain expectations he would be unable to meet. “We can discuss it later. Right now, why don’t I help your sister?”

Immediately he wished he could snatch the words back, but did he? No. He’d said them. He would deal with the fallout.

Eyes as wild and turbulent as a winter storm widened. “How?”

“I … can buy her a little time. She’ll strengthen and she’ll awaken, but I don’t think she’ll live more than a few weeks,” he rushed to add. She had to be swimming with toxins. Not only that, she would still have no internal or external barriers against the demons. Barriers she would have to learn how to erect. Barriers she might not have time to learn how to erect.

“A few weeks,” Nicola parroted.

“Not long, I know, but—”

“I’ll take it!” she shouted, as though she feared he would change his mind.

So eager for so little. “But you haven’t yet heard my terms.”

Her beautiful mouth edged into a frown. “You want something from me?”

Many things. “I’ll buy your sister a few weeks, and in exchange you’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you, until the day I release you from my charge.” He had no idea how long it would take him to rid her of the toxins and teach her enough to survive on her own.

“That sounds like something I’ve heard on the late-night news. Are you expecting me to become your sex slave?” Her tone wasn’t scandalized, but curious.

“No,” he replied with a frown of his own. “I don’t want you in that way.” He didn’t, did he? He hadn’t lied to Thane and the others. He was a virgin. Desire wasn’t something he was familiar with, and he wasn’t sure he would recognize it.

He knew he admired Nicola’s loyalty to her sister. He knew he wished he had someone who loved him half as much. But seeing her naked was … intriguing, he realized, the blood heating in his veins, becoming molten, scorching him. A heat that had nothing to do with rage. It bubbled up, washing away the cold man he knew himself to be.

Perhaps he did want her in that way.

The very idea nearly sent him stumbling backward. His mind reeled. But … but … but she was so dainty, so fragile. He dwarfed her. Could crush her. Why her? Why now? Desire for her was implausible. Impractical.

“No,” he croaked. He couldn’t.

“Oh,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “So, you want me to obey you when you tell me to … what?”

“Stay calm. Embrace peace. Sow joy.”

“Sow?”

“There is an irrefutable spiritual law that states a person reaps what they sow. Therefore, if you sow joy into others, you will reap joy for yourself. Right now, you need joy.”

“Calm, peace, joy,” she echoed hollowly. As if he were insane.

Maybe he was. “Yes.”

“Why do you want me to feel those things?”

If you don’t, the toxins will build up, and eventually you’ll die, just like your sister. They weren’t exactly calming, peaceful, joyous words, so he remained quiet.

“Wouldn’t you rather have me, I don’t know, grow a beard, get taller and play the part of Koldo in a little production called What You’re Asking Is Impossible? Because that I think I can do.”

Silly human. For the first time in his life, he wanted to smile. “No.”

Desperate, she said, “How about the number of the coffee shop girl? I could give you that, and we could call it even.”

Coffee shop girl? “Remember when I told you I could help you heal?”

“As if I could ever forget.”

“This is the way.”

A moment passed. A moment she spent blinking at him. “Calm, peace, joy,” she repeated. “Tell me my sister will live longer than a few weeks, and it’s done.”

As if he was in control of how long her sister survived. But she didn’t know that, and she was trying to buy more time. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. I gave you my top offer. There’s nothing more I can do on your sister’s behalf. Therefore, there will be no negotiating of my terms.”

“I figured, but I had to try.” She offered the same bright smile she’d given him in the elevator, and he had the foresight to capture a mental picture this time. One he would remember on the worst of nights, when the past threatened to rise up and swallow him. She was proof there was more in the world than darkness and pain.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked.

“We do.”

He nodded. “Very well. Don’t allow the doctors to take her off life support. I’ll return shortly.”

“But—”

He left before she could finish her sentence. Right now, every moment counted.

He flashed to Thane, who paced in the hospital hallway, and told him where he was going. Then he flashed to Zacharel’s cloud in the lower level of the skies. He had no wings and couldn’t hover outside the entrance to await permission, which was why Zacharel had given him an open invitation to enter—as long as he remained in the foyer.

“Zacharel,” he called. Walls of swirling mist surrounded him, obscuring his vision of the rest of the home. But that’s the way clouds worked. They opened only as you moved through them.

His commander stepped through the haze, his black hair askew, his robe dirty, torn and speckled with blood. Solid gold wings arched from his back, patches of the feathers missing.

Protective instincts rose. “What happened to you?” Koldo demanded. “Do you require aid?”

Zacharel’s dark head tilted to the side, his emerald eyes glassy, as if he’d … cried. “No aid is currently needed. You’ll find out what happened with the rest of the Sent Ones. A meeting will be called very soon, and every army will be there. Until then … what are you doing here, Koldo?” The last was said on a weary sigh.

Koldo liked and respected Zacharel. The warrior had taken responsibility of the most unruly army in the skies, and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to help each and every one of his men out of trouble.

“I gave Annabelle a vial of the Water of Life and I need what remains.”

Zacharel stared at him for a long while before saying, “Why do you want it?”

“Is there any left?” he asked, refusing to state his reason when he wasn’t yet sure there was a prize to be had.

Ignoring his question, Zacharel turned and motioned for Koldo to follow.

After only a few steps, the cloud opened up, revealing a living room suited for the richest of humans, with a velvet-lined couch, one half of it backed and the other half open. It was ideal for any Sent One and human pairing. There was a matching recliner, an intricately carved coffee table made of crystals from all over the world. A tapestry hung on the far wall, the words Perfect Love Casts Out Fear scripted in Greek in the center.

Clearly Annabelle had decorated—Annabelle, who sat in front of the coffee table, poring through books, furiously writing passages down in a notebook.

“Hey, Koldo,” she said when she glanced up. She had a fall of straight, blue-black hair and rich amber eyes. Her Japanese mother and American father had certainly shared the perfect blend of DNA to create her, he thought, for there wasn’t a single flaw to her exquisite features. And yet, she couldn’t compare with Nicola. A fact that delighted him. Why?

He inclined his head in greeting.

Zacharel eased onto the couch behind her, enfolding her between his legs. Refusing to give precedence to the urgency inside him, Koldo claimed the recliner across from them. He had no wings, so the back of the chair offered no restriction to his movements.

A white-hot pang blistered through his chest.

“You asked if there was any left. There is,” Zacharel said.

“Oh, what are we talking about?” Annabelle asked, dropping her pen.

“How much?” Koldo insisted, ignoring her.

“A single drop.”

Annabelle grinned with delight. “The Water of Life, then.”

A drop. That was enough for what Koldo planned. “I wish to purchase it from you.” The words seemed to be pushed through a tunnel of broken glass. He’d shed blood for this liquid. Had lost his hair for it. And now he had to give something else?

Annabelle had kept her end of the bargain, he reminded himself. She had kept Zacharel out of the heavens while Koldo searched for his mother. The Water was hers. Not his. So yes, he had to give something else.

“Again, why?” Zacharel asked.

“I hope to save a female.” At least for a little while.

Annabelle tapped a finger against her chin. “Human?”

He offered no more. That information wasn’t necessary.

“The female you have locked away?” Zacharel asked tightly.

He knew Koldo had a Sent One trapped somewhere because Koldo had rescued two females from hell, all those weeks ago. His mother, and one of Zacharel’s soldiers. That soldier had been lost to the pain of her injuries and should not have been aware of Koldo’s actions. But aware she had been. And she’d told Zacharel everything she’d witnessed.

Zacharel had no idea Cornelia was Koldo’s mother, and he had yet to demand Koldo free her. Maybe because he knew Koldo would simply hunt her down again. Instead, he’d kept him busy with all those missions and now the babysitter, hoping to restrain him from any further wrongdoing.

One day Zacharel might realize nothing could restrain Koldo.

“No,” he said. “Not the one I have locked away.” Again, he offered nothing more.

“She is—”

“Not up for discussion.”

Zacharel popped his jaw, the very picture of a commander who’d had too much lip from his subordinate. “You’re supposed to be with Thane, watching him. What are you doing with a human female?”

So Koldo was to keep Thane from committing a crime, not the other way around? “I’ll return to Thane. You have my word. Now, will you sell the Water to me or not?”

Emerald eyes crackled with angry flames. “Not.”

Koldo looked to Annabelle.

Seemingly delicate shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Sorry, but I know better than to tango with Zachy when he’s gone stubborn.”

No, she didn’t. She tangoed with “Zachy” no matter his moods. Koldo had seen her—and he’d seen her win.

Teeth grinding, Koldo popped to his feet. “Very well.” He would try and purchase a drop of the Water from someone else. If he failed, if he had to approach the Heavenly High Council, he … would not, he thought. He could endure a whipping, no problem, but he still wasn’t sure what sacrifice they would next require.

Therefore, he had to find someone willing to sell him the Water. If he failed to return and keep his part of the bargain, Nicola would never trust him. And if she never trusted him, she would never listen to him. Never find comfort with him.

Never reap the joy that she needed so badly.

He marched out of the living room.

“Koldo,” Zacharel called.

He stilled, his muscles knotting from strain. He’s your leader. Show him respect—even though you would enjoy ripping his head from his body. Slowly he turned and faced the warrior. “Yes?”

“I won’t sell it to you. I will, however, give it to you.” Zacharel reached into an air pocket and withdrew a clear vial. A single bead of Water rolled and glistened at the bottom. “The very day you gave Annabelle the vial, I poured a drop into a separate container and saved it for you, waiting for the day you would need it. I only pray you use it wisely. It’s a second chance … and I won’t be offering you a third.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

NICOLA WAS LIGHT-HEADED and close to fainting. Her nerves were frayed, her heart alternating between fluttering painfully and stopping as though squeezed by an iron-hard fist. Koldo had been gone sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. During that time the doctor had come back expecting to turn off Laila’s machines. Ending her. Forever.

How was Nicola to remain calm, embrace peace and sow joy like this?

She had asked for more time, and the doctor had tried to talk her into hurrying along.

Laila’s in pain.

She’s ready to go. Her body can’t endure on its own, and her mind is already gone.

She’ll never recover from this.

Nicola had refused him.

Finally, he had left the room. But he would be back. She knew he would be back.

If Koldo failed to return in time …

Laila will die today, she thought, and nearly vomited.

Her light-headedness increased, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to remain lucid much longer. If she passed out cold …

Again, Laila would die.

If. If. If. How she hated the word! She—

Koldo stepped into view, as though he’d opened a doorway she couldn’t see.

Relief speared her, and she leaped to her feet. He was as big and strong as she remembered—maybe bigger, maybe stronger—and he was a warrior. In some kind of army, he’d said. As long as he was here, Laila would be safe.

Except, his eyes held a grim taint.

Why grim?

She looked him over, searching for a clue. He wore the same flowing white shirt and pants as before, the same combat boots, looking comfortable, stylish and ready for action. There were no specks of blood to suggest he’d had to fight his way here.

All that grim was for Laila, then.

“Koldo,” she croaked.

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Stop worrying, Nicola.”

“First tell me the bargain stands.” The words rushed out. And wow, had she really put her trust and hope in a stranger like this? A stranger of such dubious origins?

Yes, actually. She had. Laila’s survival was too important.

“It does,” he assured her.

Good. That was good. “Where have you been?” Ugh. Watch the accusation. You don’t want to send him fleeing.

“Here and there.”

A lovely nonanswer. “Well, are you sure this will work?” Whatever “this” was.

“I’m sure she’ll hurt,” Koldo said, once again ignoring her question, “and she’ll scream, but her body will heal. What happens after that will be up to her. Do you still wish me to proceed?”

Nicola had a little talent for dissecting tones and unveiling a supposition only hinted at. What had she just gotten from Koldo? He didn’t think the results would be worth the effort. Well, too bad. She did. Laila was worth anything. Her sister deserved a second chance. No matter how short.

“I do,” she finally replied.

“Very well.” Koldo stepped up to the bed and gently pried Laila’s lips apart. He opened his hand to reveal an empty vial … no, not empty. A single droplet of water rolled at the bottom, glistening in the light.

He placed the vial over Laila’s open mouth, paused. He inhaled sharply, as if trying to force himself to act. His hesitation caused Nicola’s worry to magnify. Maybe this wasn’t the best decision. Maybe she had made the deal with Koldo for her own selfish needs.

“Is there another—”

But she was too late. Koldo had just tipped the droplet onto Laila’s tongue.

Nicola waited, expecting something to happen right away. The screaming he’d promised, perhaps. Or maybe, miraculously, a smile.

A minute passed, then two, and nothing changed.

Koldo released a heavy sigh. “It’s done,” he said, and met her hopeful stare. “I must return to my duties or face—never mind. I shall come to you tomorrow, and your time in my care will begin.”

For the third instance in their acquaintance, he vanished.

“But—”

There was no time to lament or rage over his newest defection. Laila unleashed the promised scream. A scream that nearly busted Nicola’s eardrums. Worried all over again, she rushed to her sister’s side. “Laila, darling, what’s wrong? What do you need?”

Her sister responded with another scream.

Two nurses burst into the room, both unwinding stethoscopes from around their necks.

“What’s going on?” one demanded.

“I don’t know,” Nicola replied hoarsely. Koldo had fed her sister a drop of … what? Not water, that much she now knew. But she couldn’t mention the warrior without sounding utterly insane.

And if they doubted her sanity, they would refuse to allow her to see Laila. Laila’s fate would fall into someone else’s hands, and someone else would get to decide to turn the machines off.

“Step back,” the other said, even giving her a little push.

They checked the monitors and wheeled a machine closer to the bed. Laila’s entire body began to violently shake.

“Is she going to be okay?” If Koldo had actually done something to harm her sister, Nicola would … She would … There were no actions vicious enough.

Another nurse came rushing in. “What’s the problem?”

“Get her out of here,” the others commanded, motioning to Nicola.

Nicola was too weak to fight as she was dragged from the room. The nurse raced back inside, shutting the door, leaving Nicola standing in the hallway. Tears leaked from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. She flattened her hand over her heart. The flutter was gone, but the beat was too hard, too fast. Black spots began to wink through her vision. Breath singed her lungs even as her blood chilled.

Her sister was in there, screaming and screaming and screaming, and obviously in more pain than ever. Her sister could be dying right this second, but Nicola wasn’t with her. Only strangers.

How could she have done this? How could she have risked so much, without knowing more?

The black spots thickened. Her breath heated another degree, and the chill in her blood turned to ice-thickened sludge. Knowing she would pass out at any moment, Nicola tried to sit down. But her knees gave out a second later, no longer able to hold her weight, and she toppled forward.

Her face slammed into the tiled floor, and she knew nothing more.

SOMETHING PRIED NICOLA’S eyelids apart, and a bright light suddenly chased away the darkness. Little details claimed her attention. There was a throb in her temples, a steady beep, beep, beep in her ears and a stream of cold in her arm.

A voice beckoned to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. A brighter light was flashed over one eye, then the other. She tried to turn away, but her head was too heavy to move. She tried to reach up and push the stupid thing away, whatever it was, but her arm was even heavier.

She felt as though she’d fallen asleep at the wheel of a car and woken up inside a mangled heap, her weakened body pinned in place. Help had yet to arrive.

“Nicola?”

Scratch that. Help had arrived.

She blinked rapidly, and finally managed to focus. A man loomed over her. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and his skin was beautifully black. He wore a lab coat and had a stethoscope draped around his neck. Dr. Carter from County General, she realized. Laila’s doctor.

“You fainted,” he said, his tone gentle.

“No, I—” Had fainted, yes. The memory played through her mind, and she saw herself in Laila’s room. Koldo had fed her sister a droplet of something, then vanished, and her sister had begun to scream. A nurse had shoved Nicola out of the room and fear had overtaken her.

Now she was lying in a hospital bed, hooked to an IV and wearing a paper-thin gown.

“Your heartbeat has been regulated,” he informed her.

Don’t care. “Laila,” she said, trying to sit up.

Dr. Carter kindly pushed her back down. “You knocked your skull pretty hard when you landed. In fact, you have a concussion, and we’re going to keep you for the rest of the day and night.”

“Laila,” she repeated, her voice a mere croak.

His lips curved into a slow smile. “It’s the most amazing thing. Once we got her calmed down, we noticed her vitals were actually stronger than they’d been in weeks. We drew some blood, and the results astonished us. Her liver and kidneys are finally working properly, and her heartbeat is steady.”

“She … she …”

“Just might live,” he confirmed.

Just like that, undiluted joy burst through Nicola, as potent as any drug. Joy Koldo had sown into her. Laila was on the mend! Koldo had told the truth. He had—

Saved her twin for a little while, Nicola recalled. Only a little while. Ribbons of disappointment threaded through the joy. He’d said he could buy her sister time, nothing more.

Before, that had seemed so promising. Now? She wanted more.

Time. Time. The word echoed through her mind in tune with the ticking of a clock. How much time did her sister have? Koldo had said she wouldn’t live more than a few weeks, and when Nicola peeled back the top layer of those words and peeked inside, she realized Laila could drift away much sooner. In a matter of days.

Tomorrow, even.

An hour from now.

“I want to see her,” she rushed out.

Dr. Carter’s smile widened as he turned to the side and waved his arm toward the patient in the bed beside hers. “You can.”

Her gaze landed on the beautiful blonde buried under a mound of covers, and her joy returned full force. Tears flooded her eyes. Her beloved Laila was stretched out on her side, facing her, the color in her cheeks healthy for the first time in months. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. Her chest rose and fell on its own, with no help from a machine. Her lips were curved in a grin. A soft, happy grin.

Nicola had worried for nothing, she realized. In fact, she had actually harmed herself. Had she remained calm and trusted Koldo, she could have enjoyed hearing the news of her sister’s recovery while on her feet.

She could have whooped and laughed and watched as Laila strengthened. I’ll never make that mistake again.

“It’s a miracle,” Dr. Carter said. “If she continues to recover at this rate, she should be able to go home in a few days.”

“Really?”

“Really. Right now she’s resting, and I suggest you do the same. We’ll be checking on you every few hours.” He reached out, squeezed her hand. “If you need anything, let us know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

He nodded and strode from the room.

Nicola stared over at her sister, marveling. How many nights had she and Laila lain awake in the same bed, snuggled up to each other, whispering and sharing secrets? Countless. And they would have that again.

Laila released a soft sigh and—

Oh, wow, wow, wow.

Nicola rubbed at her eyes, but … she could still see an ugly little monkey with tentacles instead of arms perched on the side of Laila’s bed. The creature was glaring at Nicola with hatred in his eyes as he stroked Laila’s arm, as though trying to capture her attention.

A hallucination? Surely. She was concussed, after all. But … but … it looked so real. Just like the monsters she’d seen as a child.

Koldo materialized at the side of Nicola’s bed, consuming her attention and overwhelming her thoughts. Any other time, surprise would have jacked up her heartbeat. Because really, she didn’t think she would ever get used to watching a man appear from thin air. But there were currently very strong drugs in her system, preventing any kind of adverse reaction.

“Do you see that?” she demanded.

“What?” he replied, looking around.

The monkey was gone, she realized. “Never mind.”

He peered down at her and frowned. “I was granted permission to return, to leave the thorn in my side for another hour, and check on you. Apparently, I’m a beast to be around. And I find you injured?” There was a thread of anger in his tone. “Why are you injured?”

“I hit my head when I passed out,” she admitted.

“And why did you pass out?” He leaned over and traced calloused fingertips across her forehead, exactly where she’d hit it during her fainting spell. A sharp lance of pain caused her to wince, and he drew back, a gleam of shame in his eyes.

A part of her mourned the loss of him, pain or not. He’d just given her a nonmedical-related touch, and it was the first she had received since Laila’s admission here. She’d liked it. A lot.

He was so warm. So vibrant.

So … necessary.

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story.” Suddenly nervous, she twisted the sheet on her bed—and maybe the drugs weren’t so strong, after all, because her heart skipped a beat. “You see, you had just given my sister that drop of liquid and disappeared, and she had just started screaming—”

“As I told you she would do.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t exactly prepared and …”

Understanding dawned, lightening those golden eyes to a bright, otherworldly amber. “You worried.”

“Well, yeah. Did I mention Laila was screaming?”

His lips pursed. With irritation? she wondered. Yeah. Definitely with irritation. He looked ready to murder her. It probably wouldn’t help his mood if she told him that he suddenly reminded her of a male model flashing Blue Steel. Or Magnum. And that he was really, really, really good-looking. Like, superbeautiful.

I have to watch less TV on the nights I can’t sleep.

“We’re not off to a good start,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology earned her a short, curt “Do better.”

“I will.”

“See that you do.”

So bighearted of him. “So, what did you give her?”

A pause, then, “I’m not ready to share that information.”

Judging from the hardness of his tone, he might never be ready. “Well, are you ready to tell me what you are? Besides a soldier, I mean.”

“You still have no guess?” he asked, his features darkening with disappointment.

She bit her lip. “I’ve been busy.”

“Lesson number one,” he said. “People give priority to what’s important to them.”

“That’s true, but I have to work two jobs. I’ve had to care for my sister. I’ve had to sleep whenever possible.”

“And you couldn’t spare a minute here, and a minute there? Of course you could have! Instead, you give me excuses.”

And excuses weren’t allowed in Mr. Koldo’s classroom, obviously. He was going to be fun to hang with, wasn’t he? “Oh, yeah, well, how am I supposed to do the peace-and-joy thing if you continue to be mean to me?”

He jolted a step backward, as though shocked. “I’m not mean.”

She peered at him, doing her best to radiate mock sincerity. “Koldo, do you know the definition of the word mean?”

“‘Nasty. Unkind. Cruel.’“

“Maybe for some. But the Nicola Lane definition is ‘pain in my rear.’“

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I will endeavor to be nicer, then.”

She suddenly felt a little guilty for teasing him. He’d taken her seriously. “Will you at least give me a hint? Maybe tell me where you go when you vanish?”

“I go to the spirit realm,” he said, watching her intensely.

“So … you’re a ghost?” As she’d first suspected?

He flashed his teeth in a fearsome scowl. “Ghosts do not exist.”

Wow. “O-kay.” There was a glimpse of the Viking pillager from the elevator. The one who had a major beef with lies. “So you’re not a ghost. Got it.”

“There are no ghosts,” he reiterated sharply. “Human spirits go up or down, but they never linger or come back. What people consider ghosts are actually familiar spirits and familiar spirits are dem—” Sighing, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Never mind. I have more to teach you than I realized.”

A bead of worry she’d told herself she wouldn’t feel joined the guilt. “You won’t change your mind, will you?”

Annnd he flashed his teeth in yet another fearsome scowl. “How could I? A bargain was struck.”

And he was always a man of his word. She’d already known that about him, and had to stop inadvertently insulting his sense of honor. He might stick around no matter what, but she wanted him as happy as she was supposed to be while he was doing it. “Why do you want to teach someone like me, anyway?” Nicola had nothing to offer in return. “And what do you want to teach me? I thought you only wanted me to do the calm, peace, joy thing.”

He looked away, saying, “Perhaps I know what it’s like to suffer one travesty after another, desperate for hope but discovering none.” He studied her sister for a long while. “I just pray Laila proves to be as accepting as you.”

“Would that help her? Save her for more than a few weeks?” A whisper. A desperate rasp.

“Honestly? Only she knows the answer to that. I can teach her what I teach you—and no, I won’t share the details yet. You’re drugged, and will forget the most important parts. I’ll do everything I possibly can to make her feel calm, at peace and joyful.” A flicker of doubt in his eyes, followed by … anger? He shook his head and added, “But will she listen?”

Would she? Laila, who was so stubborn, so hardheaded, she would argue until she ran out of breath. Laila, who possessed the unique ability to tune out anyone at any time. Nicola loved her, but she was highly aware of her faults.

“What you teach us, what we feel, will help us heal?” she asked.

“Yes. I have seen lepers cleansed. I have seen the lame walk and the blind regain their sight.”

“I’ll make her listen, then.” Determination mixed with a heady dose of excitement. Over the years, she had been checked out by hundreds of doctors. A thousand tests had been run. A million procedures and surgeries had been endured. The prognosis had always been the same.

We ‘re sorry, Miss Lane, but there’s nothing we can do.

Now there was hope for Laila, too.

Koldo’s expression softened as he gazed at her. He actually appeared proud of her. “The only sure way to fail is to give up, Nicola Lane. You aren’t a quitter, I can tell.”

A compliment from so blunt a man was sweeter than words of adoration from any charmer.

“Nicola?”

Nicola jolted at the sound of her sister’s voice. A voice that was rough, the edges broken, but still unbelievably beautiful. “Laila! You’re awake!”

Koldo stepped back, out of the way, and Nicola’s gaze zipped in her sister’s direction. First thing she noticed, the monkey hadn’t returned. The second thing, Laila was glowing.

Though their features were identical, Laila had somehow always been the pretty one. The charismatic one. People had always gravitated to her, hanging upon her every word.

Even Nicola, the serious one, never willing to take a risk, had been enchanted by her.

“I’m thirsty,” Laila mumbled. She was still on her side, with her head propped on her pillow, but now her eyelids were opening and closing slowly and repeatedly, as though she were fighting to stay awake. “I’d really like some water.”

Nicola looked to Koldo. “Will you get—”

But he was no longer there.

Laila frowned, her gaze finally remaining open, and said, “Where’d the doctor go?”

Doctor? Yeah, the title fit Koldo very well, she thought. “I wish I knew.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

LAILA WOULD BE COMING home today, far earlier than anyone had expected!

Nicola could barely contain her excitement as she puttered around her office, gathering the files and receipts she needed. Even the fact that Jamila and Sirena were the worst coworkers of all time and Nicola was carrying just as heavy as load as before failed to dampen her good mood. She could do the most pressing tasks tonight, after she had tucked Laila into bed and finished grocery shopping. Who needed sleep, anyway?

“Jamila,” she called.

Silence.

“Sirena?”

Again silence.

Sighing, Nicola closed her bag. Between half-hour bathroom breaks and two-hour-long lunch sabbaticals, the girls barely had time to sit at their desks.

“Your forehead is healing nicely. I’m pleased.”

Nicola’s head snapped up, her gaze colliding with the golden brown of Koldo’s. Instantly her heart sped into a frenzied beat. “You’re here.”

Last night she’d lain in that hospital bed thinking about him, wanting so badly to hear his voice, to draw in his scent, to feel his heat, to lean on his intensity. His honesty. His strength.

Now he was standing just in front of her desk, wearing a black shirt and pants, the dark shade the perfect contrast to the bronze of his skin, making him more beautiful than any model and sexy in a way that should have been illegal. Seriously. Giant warrior man had her drooling. He was total Drogo hot.

A scar bisected the side of his forehead, adding an air of danger. His lashes were thick and black. His nose was aristocratic, regal, and she’d never been one to think beards were a male must-have, but Koldo changed her mind, the dark shadow accentuating the masculine purity of his jaw.

His head tilted to the side, his study of her intensifying. “You’re a strange mix of emotion and energy today. Happy yet anxious, enthusiastic yet fatigued.” Expression stern, he added, “You must take better care of yourself, Nicola. That’s an order.”

She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “Yes, well, I’m waiting for you to teach me how. Hint, hint.” That was the safest response.

He remained stoic as he turned and walked to the far wall, where he traced his finger over the peeling paint.

Hands trembling, she smoothed the wrinkles from the white cotton button-up she wore. Yes, he’d said he wasn’t interested in her romantically, and that was fine. Really. She hadn’t wanted to pout about it or anything like that—or try and change his mind. Therefore, she wasn’t sure why she’d raced home from the hospital to shower and dress, spending a little extra time on her makeup and hair, just in case he showed up. Really.

“That’s what I came to discuss with you,” he said. “I hoped to begin your training today, but that’s proven impossible. I have just returned from a mission, and have been unable to prepare.”

“A mission? Oh. What kind?” she asked, trying for a casual tone.

He rolled his shoulders, saying, “The kind that involves an army.”

Fighting some kind of enemy? “Using guns?”

“No.”

“Daggers?”

“Of a sort.” He strode to the only window and checked the lock. “Beginning tomorrow, I’ll require half an hour out of your day, every day. You’ll devote yourself to me, and only to me.”

Just half an hour? Surely that wasn’t disappointment swimming laps in her veins. “It’s yours. But are you sure that’s enough? I mean, don’t we have a lot of ground to cover?”

He stiffened, saying, “We do.” He massaged the back of his neck. “I’ll give you forty-five minutes and—” He shook his head, narrowed his eyes. “That’s not enough, either, is it? I’ll give you … an hour.” The last was gritted from him, as if granting her an hour was a hard decision to make.

Half of her was insulted. The other half of her was too excited to care. “Thank you.”

“And when we’re apart,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “you’ll not worry. You’ll not stress, as you humans say. You’ll do only the things that make you happy.”

“Great in theory, but how do you suggest I go about that?”

He faced her, his brow furrowing as he considered her words. “Perhaps you should listen to jokes.”

A stellar idea from Mr. Serious, she thought drily. “That’s all you’ve got? I thought you had all the answers.”

“Spend time with your sister. She’s better, I’m guessing.”

“She is.” Nicola had told her sister about Koldo and his claims, and her sister had laughed, thinking either the drugs or the concussion or both were messing with her mind. Nothing she’d said had been able to convince the girl otherwise. “She might need some convincing to take you seriously, but don’t worry. I’ll convince her.” The alternative was to watch her sister die, and she simply wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

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