MARCUS

I groaned, clutching at my chest as an unbearable ache began to build beneath my sternum. Shots of pure agony zipped down my bones, turning my muscles to liquid and my bones into glass. I staggered, wobbling unsteadily before falling onto one knee. My fingers curled inward as my back arched, and I collapsed to the ground in a pathetic heap. Being without my Kaiah was more than merely painful; never in my immortal life had I experienced such suffering.

Gasping, each breath a battle, I called for the one being who would hear me and come to my aid.

“Lucifer,” I wheezed, my claws and tail digging deep furrows into the dirt beneath me.

A long-suffering sigh came from behind me, “What is it, Marc? Did my troublesome mate put you up to…Father above, what happened to you?”

I groaned, managing to twist onto my back. Above me, a golden-skinned, black-haired, blue-eyed son of a bitch peered down at me concernedly.

“Fuck, you look like death,” the angel grinned at his joke, then sobered as I inhaled raggedly. “We need to get you to Raphe.”

“No fuckin’ shit,” I spat, then dissolved into a fit of tortured coughing.

“Alright, alright, I’ve got you, brother.” The angel hauled me up, my arm wrapped around his shoulder. Then we warped, and the grass beneath us turning to the rough-hewn stone of Hell’s castle.

“Marcus? What in the ever-loving fuck happened to you?” Ammi demanded, rushing to my side to hook my other arm over her shoulder. Though she was slim and much shorter than Luce and me, she bore a good deal of my weight easily.

Perks of being a god, I thought, with no small amount of bitterness. Then, I felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t Ammi’s fault I’d been cursed. She deserved none of my ire. Though, with her track record, that could change at any time.

“We need to him to my brother, Rika. Where is he?” Luce asked.

Ammi gestured down the hall, “He’s in the dojo.” As they began walking, she continued, “We were training when he told me you’d left Hell. I came to see what was up. Did a Nephilim do this to you, Marc?”

I snorted, though it hurt like Hades. “You could say that, yes.”

Ammi growled ferally, deep in her throat, and opened her mouth to pester me further, but Lucifer’s wing shot out and popped her on the ass, none too gently.

“Not the time, little one,” he admonished, impervious to her wicked glare. I was sure the only thing keeping her from retaliating was her concern for me, which was flattering. Not much could make Amirykal let shit go.

We staggered into the dojo like a six-legged, clumsy, ugly-ass chimera, and Raphael jerked his head up in surprise. His gaze zeroed in on me instantly, undoubtedly sensing the pain signals radiating off me in waves. He stepped forward, his tawny wings shivering and his blue eyes, eerily similar to his brother’s, alight and focused. He brushed a finger to my forehead before I could warn him against it, and his body went rigid, legs buckling beneath him and forcing him to lean heavily against the wall.

“Fuck, Raphe, are you-”

He waved away Ammi’s concern, and spoke from behind clenched teeth, “Lay him down on the mat, I’ll see what I can do.” He grimaced, “though, if past cases are to be trusted, soon we’ll not have to worry about him being in pain.”

“Just what do you mean by that, Raphe?” Ammi pressed, but abruptly switched focus as I let out a muffled groan of pain.

I hissed out a sharp breath from between tightly clenched teeth as Ammi and Luce lowered me to the floor, the frigid stone a harsh contrast to my overheated skin. A sharp shard of agony shot its way down my spine, pulling a feral sound from my frozen lips.

I looked warily up at Raphael, who, for an angel of healing, had a tendency to harm rather than heal. Or, more accurately, he had a tendency to hurt me rather than healing me. The feeling was very much mutual, I might add. He was a barely tolerable shit-stirrer, as far as I was concerned. He reminded me too much of Hermes, who, though by himself was a rather likeable god, was an irrepressible father’s boy. And I hated his father with a passion rivaling the flames of Tartarus.

And then there was the inescapable reality: magical healing required a deep, intimate connection between the healer and their patient, and I wasn’t sure just how deep the archangel would have to go.

When I’d been stitched up by Raphael in the past, I’d at least had some semblance of control, some part of myself to throw up and shield myself with. This would be raw and gritty in a way I doubted either of us were prepared for. My natural Greek suspicion was roaring deep in my chest, warning me to slice the angel’s hand from his wrist if he attempted to touch me. Unfortunately, my limbs were heavier than lead and I had long ago lost the ability to heal myself. So, archangel juju it was.

“This will hurt, daemon,” he warned, though he didn’t sound too broken up about it. His hands lowered, and I vaguely heard Ammi mutter something about Raphe “needing to work on his bedside manner” before my world was agony.

My jaw locked with such force I feared my teeth would shatter. My back bowed, each vertebra clicking into place one by one and feeling as if they were grinding against one another. The pain was indescribable, as if every cell in my body were bursting, my organs liquifying in my chest.

Evidently, some dying dregs of my godhood remained, for the sensation, as unbearable as it may have been, wasn’t enough to cast me into the blissful realm of the unconscious. My mind was sharp as ever, and I began to feel sympathy for the titan Atlas. Surely this pain was comparable to holding the cosmos on one’s shoulders.

Then, praise Chaos, as quickly as it struck the pain abated.

Then, an entirely new sort of pain began.

Where was my mate?

My attention was abruptly shaken when Raphael groaned, slumping to the ground heavily. I relaxed abruptly against the unforgiving floor, my now sweat-slicked skin ice cold against the unforgiving stone beneath me. I barely registered Raphael’s jolting rise from the floor, the sounds of metal ringing against leather as his broadsword was yanked roughly from its scabbard.

“What in my father’s holy name are you?” Raphael grit out from between clenched teeth, eyeing me like I was a rabid hellhound seconds away from mauling him. If I’d been able to pick myself up off the floor without assistance, then maybe I’d find his concern understandable.

At his brother’s statement, Luce’s eyes widened, flickering to me quickly in a mild panic. He then attempted to swiftly usher Ammi from the room.

“Oh no you don’t! Not when the tea is so hot!” She cried, struggling to peek out from the massive archangel I called my friend and she called her mate.

“Later, little one, this is not for you to know.”

Lucifer may as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the good that did. Really, you’d think he’d know that at this point it was a useless fight.

“Luce,” I called, stopping him in his tracks. My friend turned, a dark brow raised in question. I nodded, and he released his mate with a shake of his head. I smirked at his long-suffering expression.

My brief good humor evaporated when the tip of a gigantic broadsword appeared below my chin. The razor edge prodded into the tender skin of my throat, and I grunted, doing my best not to move, lest I skewer myself. If that’s how I went, I’d never hear the end of it. Imagine; Thanatos-turned-daemon stabs himself on enemy archangel’s broadsword. Not dignified in the least.

Peering upward, I met Raphael’s eyes, which were as hard and cold as chips of ice.

“You are no daemon. What’s your true name?” The angel’s voice was cutting and gave no room for fucking around.

But fucking around was my specialty.

“True name? Is that some sort of chakra-healing-crystal-aura-chi-and-yoga bullshit?” I quipped, purely on instinct. It was also instinct that had me rolling to the side to avoid Raphael’s immediate and practiced swipe with the hilt of his sword. Which, if I were being honest, was a fair reaction.

“Raphael!” Luce barked, his dark wings shivering in the way they did when he was agitated. “You will cease attacking my second!”

“Your second,” Raphael snarled, his upper lip curling as if the words themselves were dirty, “is nothing more than a lying mongrel.”

He spat the words as if they would wound me. I rolled my eyes, a habit I’d been picking up since I’d been spending more time with Ammi. I gave absolutely no shits what this particular archangel thought of my character.

“Raphe, you’re doing that thing you do where you randomly turn into a complete asshole,” Ammi growled-literally.

“I’ve apologized for that, dammit!” Raphael snapped, staring up into the Heavens as if his father would come down to back him up.

Ammi grumbled under her breath, crossing her arms. Luce dropped a casual arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him grumpily.

“That is quite enough, little brother. Marc has kept nothing from me.” My friend defended me fiercely.

“I will have the truth from you!” Raphael was no longer speaking to his brother, glowering at me exclusively. It was a rather novel experience for me, since whenever I was in a room with the Devil, I tended to blend into the background. I’d forgotten what it was like to be seen as just as formidable as the angel of death. Perhaps it was my godly ego speaking-and fuck knows I’d had enough of godly egos to last any mortal lifetime-but I found the recognition rather refreshing.

Normally, I’d spend some time fucking with him, giving him shit and generally enjoying myself, but I didn’t have the time. I needed to get my ass up, pull myself together, and find my girl. While we were here diddle-fucking around, my girl was out there, alone, and though during our brief interaction she rather seemed she could handle herself, I’d be crawling out of my skin until she was safe, tucked into my side. My instincts demanded I follow her more closely than her very own shadow, and I wasn’t particularly inclined to resist.

I began to get to my feet, and Luce rushed to my side to help, Ammi right on his tailfeathers. Normally I would’ve shrugged them off, but not even I was too proud to accept help when every molecule I possessed hurt as if they’d each decided run a marathon without my consent.

When I was finally safe on my feet, I fixed Raphe with the sternest glare I could muster (attempting to channel Athena; the goddess could cause even Herakles to tremble in his sandals), and said, “Thanatos. My ‘true name’ is Thanatos, douche bag.”

Amirykal gasped, a mixture of shock and delight.

Lucifer just sighed, mumbling under his breath about ‘dramatic Greeks’, ‘excitable females’ and ‘upstart little siblings’. The little brother in question stumbled back a step, a glimmer of, not fear, exactly, but mild concern, entered his expression.

To his credit, he recovered quickly, and came back swinging. “Well, now, perhaps you’ll share the story of how you’ve gained and lost a mate since yesterday?”

“Dude, a mate? That’s dope!” Ammi’s voice was shriller than normal, mostly to do with excitement, I expected. “It gets lonely here with just me and Meg. Too much testosterone.”

Lucifer glanced at me from the corner of his eye, ignoring his mate’s outburst in a well-practiced manner. “Father granted you a mate?”

I winced, knowing this wouldn’t go over well. “Yes. She’s Nephilim. Blessed,” I hurried to add. “But…I believe she’s Michael’s daughter.” Not that I give two shits, I thought to myself.

Ammi paled even further, a thing I’d not thought possible. Instantly, Luce was at her side, an arm wrapped around her waist and another buried in her hair, stroking soothingly. Her tense frame relaxed, and she melted into Luce, sending a pang of my own longing through me. That should be me and my Kaiah right now.

“How could a spawn of Michael’s be Blessed?” Raphael asked, voicing all of our thoughts.

I shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. But you’d be wise to refrain from referring to my mate as ‘spawn’, angel.”

“She’s not…like Michael, is she?” Ammi whispered, obviously working very hard to control her breathing. As her terror ticked up a notch, Luce began to grow wild, flicking around the room, his protective instincts demanding he slay her enemies. Unfortunately, Ammi’s demons were not of the physical sort.

“She’s Blessed, Amirykal,” I reminded her. “And Michael is dead. He won’t hurt you anymore.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know, Marc. Thank you.”

Luce buried his face in her hair and took his own calming breaths.

“As much fun as this is, I need to find her, and quickly. The Cursed Nephilim don’t seem too fond of her, and they’re hunting her down as we speak. So, which one of the pretty boy archangels is going to help me track my mate down?” I demanded, crossing my arms, gritting my teeth at the weakness in them.

Raphael opened his mouth to respond, when another voice beat him to it.

“Neither of them, you idiot.” Meg strolled in like she owned the place, grinning from ear to ear.

“Megara! I told you to stop listening in on conversations!” Lucifer glared at his primary mage, aggrieved.

Raphael just stared at the small female with misty doe-eyes. “I think it’s adorable,” he murmured.

“And I think it’s never going to change, so get over it, Chief.” Meg winked, getting up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her mate’s cheek. Raphael instantly transformed from a proud archangel to a sappy puddle of goo.

“Besides, I’m here to help,” she went on, locking eyes with me meaningfully.

“How?” I asked, reaching into my coat pocket and retrieving my girl’s dagger. Tucked into the leather-bound hilt was a small silver coin, engraved with a suitably arcane symbol. There was little doubt as to who that belonged to. I tossed the mage the charm, and it stopped midair, floating the last bit into her belt pouch. “There’s your tracker. Got a plan B?”

“Don’t I always?” Meg gloated, jerking her head in a tossing motion, before frowning. “That was much more effective when I was a blonde.”

I growled, tired of the dramatics. “The plan, Meg?”

She cleared her throat, “Well, we needed the charm because there was no existing connection to her, other than her attempting to remove my head, of course-no dramatics now, Raphie, it’s still attached…but, we no longer need to forge an artificial connection. Your mate bond will be more than enough to accomplish a tracking spell.”

“Won’t she have wards against that?” Ammi asked, causing Luce to start in surprise. It really shouldn’t shock him, what with how much time her and Meg spent together.

“If she isn’t an idiot, of course,” the mage confirmed, “but as I’m sure you know, my Queen, the mate bond is made of stern stuff, even before the female is marked.”

“Enough talk,” I interrupted, “how do we find my mate?”