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took him across the room. He slammed his palms onto the paper-strewn desktop and leaned across to thrust his face into that of the Dominion seated on the other side. “What in the hell is going on? Do you have any idea what nearly happened? Do you know what I almost did? What the repercussions would have been?”
    An obviously shaken Verchiel swallowed hard. “That’s enough, Aramael.”
    He curled his fingertips around the edges of the darkstained oak and just barely restrained himself from dumping the entire desk, contents and all, into her lap. “Enough? I haven’t even begun yet.”
    â€œI know you’re upset—we all are. But we won’t find the answers by slamming doors and yelling.”
    The wood beneath Aramael’s fingers heated, blackened, began to smolder. Verchiel blanched and removed her own hands from the desktop, tucking them into her lap.
    Aramael’s voice softened with a menace he made no effort to hide. “You dare to lecture me, Dominion? You, who cannot keep a promise, who conspired against me in order to serve your own needs? You would lecture me on how to comport myself?”
    Verchiel’s face turned a shade whiter. “I told you—”
    Aramael cut across her words. “She saw me, Verchiel. Not as a man, but as an angel.”
    The Dominion regarded him in silence for a long moment, truth struggling with denial in the pale depths of her eyes.
    She sighed. “Yes.”
    â€œI very nearly destroyed her.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œThen tell me what went wrong.”
    â€œI can’t. I don’t know.”
    Aramael released his grip on the desk and straightened to his full height, towering over her. With a monumental effort, he lowered his voice to a snarl. “Nephilim or not, she is still a mortal. If I hadn’t stopped—”
    â€œI’m aware of the consequences, thank you.”
    â€œConsequences? War between Heaven and Hell isn’t a consequence , Dominion. It’s the end of the mortal realm. And I’m damned if I’ll be the one to start it.” Aramael paced the room, returned to the desk. “Find someone else to watch her.”
    â€œBut Caim has been named to you—you cannot leave the hunt.”
    â€œNot for the hunt. For the woman.”
    Verchiel shook her head. “There is no one else. You were the only one—” She broke off and her gaze slid away from his.
    Aramael’s mouth twisted. “The only one desperate enough to agree to this?”
    The Dominion didn’t answer. Aramael didn’t need her to. The very mention of his brother’s name had stirred anew the vortex in his center, and the instinct to return to the hunt clawed at him. Instinct, and a darker, bleaker something that thrilled at the idea of taking on Caim a second time.
    Of making him suffer.
    Aramael’s chest went tight. He would not think those thoughts. Would not be drawn down the same path his brother had chosen. And he dared not let the Dominion know the depth of the conflict raging within him.
    As if sensing victory in the matter, Verchiel stood up from her chair and folded her hands before her. Brief pity flashed across her expression before it hardened.
    â€œYou cannot leave her side again,” she said. “Caim cannot find her.”
    She was right, but the knowledge did nothing to ease Aramael’s resentment. He wheeled and stalked to the door, leveling a last, livid glower over his shoulder.
    â€œFine,” he snarled. “But find what went wrong and bloody well fix it.”
    Â 
    VERCHIEL WAITED UNTIL the outer door had slammed shut behind the departing Power and then sank back into her chair, hating herself for the tremble that overtook her. Nagging apprehension, omnipresent ever since Mittron had first suggested this entire fiasco, took on a new, urgent edge. This—all of this—was such a bad idea.
    The scent of scorched wood drifted