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passion, her writhing beneath him hadn’t been one of ecstasy, but death. He’d broken away so fast and tried to save her, but her mortal heart gave out, unable to survive the electrical surge of his powers flowing through her.
    He regretted her death. One he would never allow to happen again. And no amount of taunting from Týr would make him forget that. He stuck to summoning immortal females from the pantheons the rare times he gave in to his sexual demands...and here he was back to threading dangerous grounds. He couldn’t stop thinking about her . He had no desire for those empty liaisons from before, he wanted more. He wanted— shit ! What he needed was a damn fight to get his head screwed on right again.
    Týr’s voice dragged him back. “Arc, are you bringing the others in on this?”
    Michael drew off his shades and pinched the bridge of his nose then glanced at them with eyes resembling fractured sapphires. The strange silver light glowing between the fissures in the wild blue irises made them all the more eerie. “Just one. The demons are gathering in forces searching for the female. It’s why I asked Dagan to assist.”
    At the name of the other warrior, Týr became motionless. For an infinitesimal second, Aethan thought he saw regret flicker in his dark eyes.
    Whatever had happened between them, Aethan knew in the three thousand years he’d been on this realm, Týr and Dagan hadn’t spoken a word to each other. With the violent lives they led, most males would beat the tar out of the other but not these two. Which made the silent war all the more deadly.
    Aethan picked up his water bottle and drained it then said, “Why don’t you give him this job? It’s his kind of thing to sense power of any sort. And he doesn’t have to scan anyone. Makes life easier for us.”
    Michael shook his head and rested his arm on the bar of the treadmill. “Dagan cannot be in every place at once. I want all of us working on this.”
    “What’s the real reason the Celestial Realm wants her?” Blaéz asked, raking a hand through his short, sweat-slicked hair. “Sure, a human with godlike or angelic powers would be a catastrophe in the making. But why pyre and rime ...what is it about her powers?”
    “Would make life easier if I had that answer, wouldn’t it?” Michael responded.
    “How is it, Arc?” Týr asked. “You have access to all the realms and you still can’t tell us anything?”
    “Nothing is that simple. It’s bloody hard work schlepping the realms, trying to find the remains of a prophecy that came into being long before any of you were born. I’d gladly exchange places with one of you.”
    Týr snorted. “We just want answers, man, not your lifestyle. Celibacy is not for me.”
    Michael ignored him. “I will check the ancient archives for anything relating to this prophecy. In the meantime, whatever catches your attention, check it out. If you find her before I get back, inform me immediately. The spiking on the psychic planes means her powers are awakening. We must find her before they escalate and she catches the public’s attention.” He put on his shades. “The psychic vibration remains within this city, so concentrate your search there.”
    “Gotcha, Arc.” Týr grinned and set down the weight. “Find the girl. Call you. No playing with her.”
    “Exactly,” Michael agreed with a cool look. “Now, about the rift in Demon Alley?”
    “Had a few incidents,” Aethan told him. A fracture in the psychic veils between the realms had opened in a backstreet off Times Square several days ago. The rift allowed demoniis to enter at will, giving the warriors no choice but to guard it at all times. “But we’ve managed to keep them at bay.”
    Aethan rose, unable to sit still any longer. He had to get out of here.
    “Good. Find the girl, fast. I’ll be in touch.” The air shifted. Michael shimmered and dematerialized in a scatter of silvery-white sparks.
     
    ***
     
    Cursing, Aethan