She swallowed and nodded in understanding. Whether the Fates wanted this to happen or not remained a moot point in the presence of Caro’s instinctual reactions to the life blossoming inside of her.

Protect.

Foster.

Cherish.

It was as if her soul had already vowed to do all those things without her conscious consent.

But as he said, it felt too right to resist.

“Okay, but this doesn’t mean I like you,” she whispered, not really meaning it.

He grinned against her lips. “I would hope not, angel. Otherwise, this partnership will be awfully boring.”

“What if I prefer boring?”

“You don’t.” He drew his mouth along her cheek to her ear. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t want to fuck me.”

Words failed her. A denial would be a lie. Acceptance would only stroke his oversized ego. Remaining quiet seemed her only option, though that, of course, implied her agreement.

Sethios kissed her again, soundly, before standing. “Food first, angel. Then I’ll pleasure you until you beg me to stop.”

Well. If that’s how he intended to treat her while pregnant, who was she to argue?

Her last pregnancy left her miserable and pained. Perhaps this time would be different with Sethios by her side.

Starting with more hot chocolate.

12

Fresh Alliances

Gabriel leaned against the brick wall, gaze on the courtyard across from him. Beyond it stood a building he wanted to know everything about.

The headquarters of the Catastrophic Relief Foundation, otherwise known as the CRF.

It was a humanitarian organization led by millionaire Jonathan Fitzgerald—an Ichorian of poor talents. The public saw him as an enigma, being in his early twenties and owning a rather large company that sprouted out of nowhere. His son, one Thomas Fitzgerald, resided with Jonathan’s supposed wife somewhere in upstate New York.

Supernatural powers were definitely at play here, but humans were naive. They believed the easiest lie rather than consider the impossible.

Gabriel crossed one jean-clad ankle over the other, waiting.

Sethios had given him a full description of Ezekiel. It was only a matter of time before the infamous assassin appeared. Especially as Gabriel had been anticipating his arrival for almost a week now.

His attempt at surveying Osiris’s compound failed when he realized the Seraphim was using locator deciphers.

Tricky, talented, and intelligent.

A lethal combination for a sociopathic immortal with no sense of right or wrong.

It was no mystery to Gabriel why his council wanted this Seraphim removed. He’d created an army of minions with varying degrees of abilities, all with the sole purpose of protecting him in a fight. Not that any of them seemed too eager to act on their leader’s behalf.

From what Gabriel had gathered, the Ichorians and Hydraians had no idea they existed because of Osiris’s blood.

Fascinating, really.

And odd.

His endgame, while predictable, was shrouded in confusing layers. Why not claim his birthright and rule his kind? Why allow them to live in a state of ignorance? What point did it prove?