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Still dazed, I allowed him to take my hand. His touch was warm—unexpectedly so for someone called the Angel of Death—and a current of energy passed between us, not unpleasant but startling in its intensity. He guided me to a stone bench nestled beneath the spreading branches of a tree I didn't recognize.

The stone was cool beneath me as I sat, my bare feet brushing against soft grass. Azrael settled beside me with fluid grace, his massive wings adjusting to accommodate the bench. This close, I could see the intricate pattern in each silver feather, the way light seemed to move through them rather than reflect off them.

"I know this is... difficult to process," he began, his resonant voice gentle. "But I am indeed your paternal grandfather. Your father was my son."

I stared at him, trying to reconcile this revelation with everything I thought I knew about myself, about my family.

"But my father..." I started, struggling to find the words. "He was human. He abandoned us. He?—"

"Your father was half-angel," Azrael corrected softly, something like grief passing across his perfect features. "A nephilim. And I deeply regret that I could not be part of your life until now, Sierra. But it was necessary to bring you to where you are today, with your destined mates, ready to fulfill your purpose."

I bristled at that. "My purpose? What the fuck does that mean? Did you... orchestrate all this? My entire life?"

Lianna stepped closer, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight. "It wasn't like that," she said, her melodious voice soothing. "The paths were laid, but the choices were yours."

Azrael nodded in agreement. "Free will is sacred, even to those of us who can see the patterns of fate. You have always made your own choices, Sierra. We simply... ensured certain opportunities would arise."

A thought struck me suddenly. My grandmother. Gran had raised me, loved me, protected me. Had she known about this? About who—what—my father really was?

"Did Gran know about this?" I asked, the question bursting from me. "About you?"

Pain flickered across Azrael's impossibly beautiful face. He nodded slowly, his silver hair catching the light with the movement.

"Your Gran knew," he confirmed, his colorless eyes filled with a depth of emotion I couldn't fully comprehend. "She was your mother's mother, but she was aware of your father's heritage. She was sworn to secrecy, a burden she carried willingly to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" I demanded, anger beginning to cut through my confusion.

Azrael sighed, the sound like a distant wind. "From those who would harm you because of what you are. From the weight of knowledge you weren't ready to bear." His eyes grew distant. "Your father... he was not strong enough. The gifts that run in our bloodline—the ability to see the dead, to hear their whispers—they consumed him. He couldn't control them, couldn't bear the constant presence of those who had passed."

My throat tightened as I thought about my own childhood. The ghosts that had frightened me, then later became my companions and protectors. Had my father experienced the same thing? Had he been overwhelmed by it?

"He abandoned us," I said flatly, old pain lancing through me.

"He fled," Azrael corrected gently. "From his gifts, from his responsibilities, from himself. It was weakness, yes, but born of suffering rather than malice."

I looked away, unwilling to feel sympathy for the man who had left my mother to raise me alone, who had never been there when I needed him.

Azrael reached out, his large hand carefully covering mine. "I'm sorry I couldn't reveal myself to you before this moment. Truly. But it had to be this way. You needed to grow into your strength naturally, without the expectations of your heritage weighing on you."

Lianna stepped forward then, moving to sit on my other side. She took my free hand in both of hers, her touch cool compared to Azrael's warmth.

"I want to thank you," she said, her ice-blue eyes, so much like Archer's, looking directly into mine. "My son has suffered greatly, carried burdens no one should have to bear. But he has found such joy with you. Such peace." Her smile was radiant as she squeezed my hand. "I am grateful beyond words that my son has such a beautiful and powerful mate."

Her words sent heat rushing to my cheeks. I wasn't used to such earnest praise, especially from someone as ethereally beautiful as Lianna. And hearing her speak of Archer with such maternal love made my heart ache in complicated ways.

"Your full abilities haven't revealed themselves yet," Azrael drew my attention back to him. "The power you've discovered thus far, your connection to the dead, your ability to read angelic script, those are merely the first small buddings of what you will become."

I frowned. "What does that mean? What will I become?"

"On your twenty-ninth birthday, which is just ten days from now, your celestial heritage will fully awaken," he explained. "It's why you've been experiencing the cramping, the mood shifts. Your body is preparing."

"Preparing for what?" I asked, feeling a flutter of anxiety in my stomach.

"Your primal heat," Lianna said gently. "Your true primal heat."

I stared at her in confusion. "But I already had that. When I met the guys, I?—"

Both Azrael and Lianna were shaking their heads.