“I’m not familiar with a ‘Skye.’ ” She frowned.

“You wouldn’t be,” Ezekiel snapped. “I’m risking my life by being here, Sethios. Either come with me or face your fate, but I’m not waiting for Osiris to sense my presence here.” He held out his hand and cocked a brow. “Decide.”

Sethios considered and shrugged. “I appreciate the warning, E. But I’ll handle it.” He always did in one way or another. Besides, he also had a Seraphim at his disposal. She could mist them to anywhere in the world, or even to the angelic plane. A perfect escape mechanism.

Ezekiel shook his head, sadness radiating from him. “You always were a stubborn ass.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“Touché,” his best friend murmured. “But do me a favor?”

“Sure.” He’d try, anyway.

“Don’t die on me. You’re one of the few in existence I can tolerate.” Ezekiel disappeared with those solemn words.

Sethios smiled. “Likewise, old friend. Likewise.”

Energy drifted over him, the only indication that Ezekiel may have heard him, and then his friend’s essence was gone.

“Hmm.” Sethios poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, followed by one for Caro. “Tell me what you have planned for Osiris.” He threaded compulsion through the words, leaving her no choice but to obey.

“To deliver the message from the High Council of Seraph.”

“And what do you plan to do after that?”

“Kill you,” she replied simply.

He grinned. “Well, now that isn’t a threat to my father. He might be disappointed, but I hardly think he’d mistake it for his own demise.” Sethios appraised her outfit choice of a white shirt and boxer shorts. “I approve, angel.”

“Of my killing you?”

“Of you trying,” he corrected. “Especially in my clothes.”

“Mine weren’t in the bedroom, and these were the only practical option.”

“As I said, I approve.” He was about to grant her permission to move when the hairs along his arms stood on end. “Well, then.”

Sethios hadn’t exactly doubted Ezekiel so much as wondered at the plausibility of his friend’s claim. Osiris never visited the city without purpose, which indicated he’d taken this prophecy far too seriously.

This is going to be fun.

Or hurt.

Maybe both.

He popped his hip against the counter and picked up his coffee mug, the picture of nonchalance.

Caro stood beside him, hands fisted. “Free me.” She clearly didn’t feel the impending doom approaching them both.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Sethios murmured. In fact… “Do not speak, mist, or move unless I give you permission.” His tone left no room for flexibility or negotiation.

Fury radiated off her, something he would have found entertaining any other time.

“It’s for your protection, angel.” And his as well. “If I grab your hand and call you ‘love,’ then mist us to Paris.”

He blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Poor Caro would have to wait to taste hers. He didn’t trust her not to dump the piping hot liquid over his head.