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the tremor of trepidation that flickered down Rhys’ spine. “You flesh bags get your dicks wet whenever you feel like it and are spared his wrath. The one time I do it, I’m banished for eternity. Hardly fair.” Suriel sat back and propped his booted feet on top of Rhys’ desk. “So now you know. I had sex. Tasted the flesh of a woman. And now I’m here, walking this hellhole till He decides that I’ve properly learned my lesson. But do you know what? I’ve already learned everything there is to know about your kind. And that ain’t saying much.”
    “What do you want, Suriel?”
    “Believe it or not, I’ve come to warn you.”
    Rhys snorted. “About what?”
    “Your stupid curiosity and macho hero tendencies. That’s right,” Suriel said with a chuckle, “I saw you trying to open the portal.”
    “Big deal,” Rhys muttered, trying to act nonchalant. In truth, he was utterly unnerved. Where had Suriel been lurking?
    “Eyes and ears, my friend,” Suriel reminded him as he rose from his chair and allowed his black wings to unfurl from beneath the long leather trench he always wore. “It’s the mark of a good guardian angel.”
    “You’re not my guardian.”
    Suriel shrugged. “Who the hell else would put up with you?”
    “I don’t need a babysitter.”
    “You’re not getting my subtlety, MacDonald.”
    “And you’re not getting mine. So let me be clear. I don’t want anything from you. Stay the hell away from me.”
    Two large hands slammed down on the desk. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me. I’m trying to help you, even though it goes against everything I feel. Now,” Suriel said quietly, “do not make another attempt to go beyond that door. What it leads to is a world you cannot be part of. There are dangers there you cannot begin to fathom.”
    “I already know about Annwyn and Cailleach and all the other fairy tales that have been passed down.”
    “But you don’t know this one.” Suriel turned his hands over. Angelic script appeared tattooed on his palms. The ink was blue and vibrant, and Rhys felt his gaze latch on to the strange symbols. “Life, with the left hand,” Suriel murmured. “Death with the right. If you go beyond that door, this”—Suriel held up his left hand—“cannot save you.”
    “What makes you think I’ll need saving?”
    Suriel reached out, and it took everything in Rhys not to flinch as the angel touched him. Suriel’s fingers were hot as they swept beneath the neck of his shirt. “Do you believe in this symbol, MacDonald?”
    Rhys looked down to see his necklace lying in Suriel’s hand. The ornate Celtic cross glistened against the script tattoos.
    The cross had been a baptismal gift, bequeathed to each firstborn male of the MacDonald line. Daegan had brought the cross with him from Scotland. The story went that Daegan had the cross blessed with the waters from a sacred pool in Annwyn.
    It was a protection talisman; one Rhys had never taken off.
    “Do you believe in it?” Suriel snarled. The look in his eyes was rabid.
    “I believe.”
    Although he wasn’t a churchgoing type of guy, he believed, and what was more, he had immense faith in the power of the cross he wore around his neck.
    Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Suriel lifted away from him and stepped back. Rhys heard the silky sound of Suriel’s wings scraping against the hardwood floor. “Good. Use that faith. Never let it waver. You’ll need it.”
    “What is your purpose here, Suriel? The truth.”
    “Use your head, MacDonald,” Suriel snapped. “What do I care if you go into that forsaken tunnel and get yourself butchered in Annwyn? I don’t give a shit. But He does, apparently.”
    “How did you know I planned to go into the tunnel? Maybe I just wanted to open the door and have a look.”
    Suriel snorted. “You don’t lie well. Besides, how do you think I know? He told me.”
    Rhys’ gaze dropped to Suriel’s palms. The markings were gone; erased.
    “Erased,