“Or what? You’ll kill me? You’re the nephilim. I’m already dead,” he said, and I had no idea what that meant. The demon lifted his head off the roof, thick tendons standing out of his neck. “You killed him, and it’s already too late. You have no idea what kind of storm is coming your way.”

I slammed his head back down. “Tell me what you did to him!”

“He was chosen.” He laughed, chilling me to my very core. “The Harbinger is finally here, and there’s no stopping what is coming. Rivers will run red. End times, baby, and there’s no way you can stop the Harbinger. You’re going to be a part of it all.”

I opened my mouth, but the demon suddenly moved. Not to roll me off or to attack. He gripped the wrist of my hand that held the dagger to his heart, and then he thrust up as he pulled me down.

Impaling himself.

“What the—” I shouted, jumping up and stumbling back as flames spilled from the hole in his chest and licked over his body.

Within seconds, he was nothing more than a scorch mark on the roof.

I looked at my dagger, then at the spot, and then back to my dagger. “What in the ever loving—”

The warm ball in my chest next to my heart pulsed, and a moment later, a ginormous thing dropped out of the sky and landed nimbly on the ledge like a Trinity-seeking missile of pissed-off-ness.

Oh, crap.

The Warden rose to his full height. Wings fanned out as wide as the body was tall and then some. Under the silvery moonlight, golden hair stirred between two proud, thick horns.

Zayne was a fearsome sight as he stepped onto the roof and stalked toward me, chin dipped low. Some people might think Wardens in their true form were grotesque, but not me. I thought he was beautiful in a raw, primitive way, like a coiling cobra moments before it struck.

In Warden form, Zayne’s skin was slate gray, and those two horns could puncture steel and stone, as could those wickedly sharp claws, and I thought for probably the hundredth time that it was a damn good thing Wardens were on Team Good.

As he drew closer, I realized his fangs were out. Those things were enormous, and I knew him well enough to know that they meant he was very, very angry. But even if I hadn’t seen his fangs, I’d have known. I could feel his anger right next to my heart. It felt like how cold medicine smelled, and it was further confirmation that this bond was a two-way street, feeding feelings to each other.

Slowly, I sheathed my daggers and then clasped my hands. A few seconds passed, and then I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “Do you know I love fireworks?”