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stepped into the shower. He hoped the icy needles of water pelting at him would set him back on track. But no such luck.
    How the hell could he look for the prophesized female when every molecule in him demanded he go after another? One he shouldn’t even look at, let alone touch.
    And talks of Gaia had brought back black memories scored deep in his soul. Aethan braced his fist against the tiled wall, head bent, as the water sluiced down his body. Pain, fresh as if it had happened yesterday, bled into him.
    They’d not allowed him near his sister when she died. Instead he’d been banished from Empyrea. He’d roamed this world, wreaking havoc in his pain and anger, and destroying all he came across. He hadn’t been able to think past the agony of Ariana’s death for the first century.
    Not until Gaia, a Being unlike any he’d ever seen, rose from the very grounds he destroyed, in all her furious beauty. With hair like the sun, her skin bronzed like the earth, and the green markings swirling around her brows, she resembled the very things she protected.
    Gaia’d demanded propitiation for his senseless damage to her realm. Doubtless, she’d wanted to kick his ass to oblivion. Instead she’d taken his allegiance and then thrown his worthless hide into a horde of demoniis coming out of a portal. When a sword appeared in his hand, he hadn’t cared how it came to be. He fought to rid himself of the pain.
    Much later the truth of the blade hit him.
    He’d never forget the first time the sword shimmered then settled onto his arm in the form of a tattoo. He’d been horrified by Gaia’s gift. He’d tried to get it off him and damn near lost his mind in the pain. That was a lesson learned in agony, never to summon the blade without cause.
    Aethan shut off the shower and rubbed his biceps where the blade remained silent for now. Naked, he made his way to the dressing room. He pulled on a pair of leathers, selected a T-shirt off the shelf, yanked it on, and finished dressing. He raked a hand through his damp hair and tied the flowing mass with a leather thong before he headed to the back of the room.
    He pressed a concealed button on the wall and the wooden paneling slid open to reveal an arsenal of weapons. His gaze settled on the iron dagger he nipped from her. He’d known the minute she nicked his and had been amused because the obsidian dagger could not be stolen, taken, or given away. Ever.
    So, why the hell didn’t it return to him when he willed it back? Did she chain the blade to her side?
    Aethan picked up the dagger and ran a finger down the lethal edge. A thin line of red appeared. He stared blankly as the wound knitted together, his mind lost in the taste of her warm silky skin beneath his tongue—
    Dammit! He set the blade back on the shelf then grabbed a few throwing stars and dropped them into his pockets. He picked up a pewter dagger, sheathed it on his belt, and strode out of his room.
    A day ago, his life had been simple. Find demoniis and eradicate them. Find prophesied female with powers of fire and ice and hand her over to Michael.
    Now, his life was knocked of its axis because he’d followed a damn demonii to church.
     
    ***
     
    Later that night, Aethan was heading toward the Bowery, on his way to recon with Týr and Blaéz, when his cell vibrated. He pulled the phone from his leathers, saw the name on the display, and answered.
    “Yeah?”
    “We need to talk,” the male said.
    “Fine, meet me at the usual place.”
    A quick scan of the alley revealed no signs of life around him. Aethan dematerialized. A moment later, he took form again in a backstreet in the Lower East Side. Beneath the stench of stale piss and overflowing dumpsters, the faint odor of sulfur drifted to him. His informant was already here.
    Riley had taken a chance, meeting Aethan out in the open. It meant certain death for the demon if one of his kind was seen with a Guardian. So he kept to the shadows cast by the flanking