That implied the Ichorian met with the seer alone, perhaps often. Sethios had stated Ezekiel was only granted one day a year with her in return for obedience. It seemed that might not be completely accurate.

Gabriel pocketed the detail for later investigation.

Ezekiel paused outside the entrance of a bar, hand on the door. “Meet me here in five days. I’ll provide an update.”

Gabriel studied the name and location. “Done.”

“Cheers.” He wandered inside and went straight for a man sitting on a stool. “Dear Owen. You and I need to—”

The door closed on whatever Ezekiel had been saying. Gabriel considered entering—if anything, to see why the dark-skinned man by the counter had turned an unfavorable shade of green—but decided it wasn’t his business.

Curiosity served no purpose. Especially where Ichorian politics were involved.

Because the immortal inside was a Hydraian, sitting on notorious Ichorian turf.

An unintelligent choice considering the laws governing their kinds.

Gabriel didn’t understand any of it. If Osiris would just take ownership of his minions, none of the bickering would be needed. Though, it seemed that was precisely what Osiris wanted—chaos.

One day Gabriel would seek to understand it.

Until then, he had a sibling to learn more about.

He misted home, to the lands on Earth shrouded in protection runes. Humans didn’t know these areas existed, and the Seraphim preferred to keep it that way.

Time for another discussion with the seers. He doubted they would be any more forthcoming, but it was worth a shot.

If anything, he could compare their talents to those of the one named Skye.

Perhaps she would be more powerful than he expected.

Or lack any real means at all.

Only experience would tell.

13

Colorful Words

Caro woke to a headache.

It spiked behind her eyes, blurring her vision of the ceiling.

She moaned softly to herself, frustrated. This pregnancy was leagues better than her first one, but every time she tried to do something alone—like sleep—the pain returned tenfold.

Her body seemed to require Sethios’s presence.

But she’d stalked off to her bedroom because she meant to punish him for not giving her what she wanted.

Sex.

He’d withheld it for weeks now. Oh, he pleasured her nearly every day—usually with his mouth—but he refused to do anything else. Almost as if he was afraid to break her.

She growled.

The man was driving her positively wild. Emotions unlike any she’d ever experienced overwhelmed her every thought.

Fury, lust, frustration.

He’d turned her into a Seraphim with feelings.

She didn’t care for it. Nor did she appreciate the ache between her thighs or the throbbing in her head.

Caro sighed. She knew the cure to all her ails. It lay a few feet away in the other room in the form of male perfection.

“Fuzz,” she muttered. “Fuzz, fuzz, fuzz.”

Fuck, her mind supplied.

“That too.”

She rested a palm over her fluttering abdomen. The bump was small, but there—an indication that this pregnancy would fall under a similar timeline to her last one. That meant they might have a baby in five weeks or so. Two-month gestational periods were fairly standard for Seraphim.