He canned the headlights and hung a right, downshifting from rush, rush, rush to slow, slow, slow. Cracking his window so he could hear better, he inched along, hating the sound of the tires crunching over a million seashells. The only good news was that the perma-glow of the city didn’t exist out here in the semi-sticks, and the moon was covered by clouds. But how much you want to bet they had motion-activated exteriors on the house and/ or trees?

Isaac rolled up behind another unmarked that had to be Matthias’s car. A K-turn later and he was facing out. Taking the keys with him, he jogged along the fringes of the lawn, his senses alive, his rage an inferno in his blood.

Matthias would die if he laid even a finger on Grier. One hair out of place on that woman and that bastard was going to get slaughtered.

As he approached the house, he searched out the doors. The front was open and he couldn’t see the back.

But then what did it matter—he was expected. And on that note, he should just fuck the DL ninja shit and announce himself.

Coming up to the farmhouse’s entrance, he kept his guns hidden and his eyes sharp as he curled up a fist and beat at the wooden jamb.

“Matthias,” he called out.

As he stepped inside, the resounding silence was more terrifying than any scream or pool of blood. Because God only knew what he was walking into.

Jim had had a plan as he and the angels had flashed to Grier’s father’s place. He hadn’t wanted to leave Isaac on his own back in town, but all they would have done was argue, and God knew the canny bastard could take care of himself.

Bottom line, Devina was playing deadly games, and that was something only Jim could deal with. And having a delay before Isaac arrived might not be a bad thing: If Matthias had done anything to that Grier woman, the soldier was going to be impossible to control.

Yup, as Jim landed and went gunning for the open door of the farmhouse with his wingmen in tow, he was prepared to take care of things.

Nigel, however, derailed him.

The archangel appeared right in his path, and this time he wasn’t in his tuxedo or his croquet whites or a nice little dapper-ass seersucker: He was nothing but a glowing form, a wavy silhouette of rippling light.

And he spoke only one word: “No.”

As Jim hauled up on his momentum, he would have punched the fucker if there had been anything solid to aim for. “What the fuck is the matter with you!” First the mislead over Isaac and now this?

“The die is cast.” Nigel lifted his barely-there hand. “And if you intervene now, you will ultimately lose.”

Jim pointed through the open door. “There’s a man’s soul at risk.”