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. âWhat 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?â
An obviously shaken Verchiel swallowed hard. âThatâs enough, Aramael.â
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. âEnough? I havenât even begun yet.â
âI know youâre upsetâwe all are. But we wonât find the answers by slamming doors and yelling.â
The wood beneath Aramaelâs fingers heated, blackened, began to smolder. Verchiel blanched and removed her own hands from the desktop, tucking them into her lap.
Aramaelâs voice softened with a menace he made no effort to hide. âYou 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?â
Verchielâs face turned a shade whiter. âI told youââ
Aramael cut across her words. âShe saw me, Verchiel. Not as a man, but as an angel.â
The Dominion regarded him in silence for a long moment, truth struggling with denial in the pale depths of her eyes.
She sighed. âYes.â
âI very nearly destroyed her.â
âI know.â
âThen tell me what went wrong.â
âI canât. I donât know.â
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. âNephilim or not, she is still a mortal. If I hadnât stoppedââ
âIâm aware of the consequences, thank you.â
âConsequences? War between Heaven and Hell isnât a consequence , Dominion. Itâs the end of the mortal realm. And Iâm damned if Iâll be the one to start it.â Aramael paced the room, returned to the desk. âFind someone else to watch her.â
âBut Caim has been named to youâyou cannot leave the hunt.â
âNot for the hunt. For the woman.â
Verchiel shook her head. âThere is no one else. You were the only oneââ She broke off and her gaze slid away from his.
Aramaelâs mouth twisted. âThe only one desperate enough to agree to this?â
The Dominion didnât answer. Aramael didnât need her to. The very mention of his brotherâs 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.
Aramaelâs 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.
âYou cannot leave her side again,â she said. âCaim cannot find her.â
She was right, but the knowledge did nothing to ease Aramaelâs resentment. He wheeled and stalked to the door, leveling a last, livid glower over his shoulder.
âFine,â he snarled. âBut find what went wrong and bloody well fix it.â
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. Thisâall of thisâwas such a bad idea.
The scent of scorched wood drifted