The way she undressed so effortlessly had entertained him immensely. A woman comfortable in the nude was rare these days, but Caro seemed perfectly at ease. Her confidence was underlined in ignorance, something he would enjoy fixing. By the time he finished with her, she wouldn’t recognize herself.

Sethios added his shoes, socks, and undershirt to the pile but left on his trousers. He would make Caro remove them.

Right, then.

Time to have some fun with a naked Seraphim and her knives.

4

Wings with a View

Caro admired the New York City skyline. She never understood the allure from above, but Sethios’s floor-to-ceiling windows offered quite a view.

The city lights illuminated his room in brown and black colors, including the monstrous bed dominating a fourth of the space. Why he felt the need to possess such a large mattress was beyond her. He clearly valued sleep more than he did practicality.

She ran her thumb over the hilt of her weapon before twirling it in her hand, similar to the way he had moments ago. Stabbing him upon entry seemed like a valid plan. If she hurt him badly enough, he may be willing to give up the position of his father.

Or she could go through with his request for a night in bed in exchange for information.

What sort of being considered that a practical request?

A humanized one.

The poor man had no idea how much this plane had devalued his spirit. Granted, his birth was an atrocity in its own right, suggesting fate had it out for him all along.

“Try, angel.” His voice came from the doorway behind her. “I’ll withhold my persuasive advantage to give you an even battleground, but we play for terms.”

“Seraphim.” She turned to meet his gaze. “And what game are you suggesting now?”

He stepped away from the shadowy entry and into the lights streaming through the glass. She already suspected he possessed an athletic form, but his lack of a shirt confirmed it. All lean, muscular lines, and an abdomen sculpted from hard work. She could admire that because she knew what that type of physique required.

“Well?” she prompted, waiting for him to get on with it.

His lips curled. “You’re a warrior at heart, Caro. Show me what you can do with your toys.”

She blinked. “You wish for me to fight you?”

“I desire you to try, yes.”

Try, he had said. Twice. “You do not believe me to be capable of besting you.”

“Not in the slightest, but I’m willing to handicap myself by not engaging my gifts. Unless you prefer me to put you on your knees now and start our seven-hour marathon?”

Such arrogance. “I’ll never kneel for you,” she said, meaning it. “And you should be cautious of who you underestimate.”

His pupils flared with challenge. “Prove me wrong, angel.”

“Seraphim,” she corrected for the thousandth time. “Angels are a myth.”