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PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 31, 2327

“Papa?”

“Almost ready, Sabrina,” Damian called out. His voice was gravelly, packed with everything he wanted to say to her, his beloved daughter.His wild Beastie.All the mixed emotions he was experiencing at leaving her to assume his job as Aether, adding to her Oracle mantle, gathered within his chest and caused his heart to hammer uncomfortably.

Undoubtedly, she would feel them because of what she was, the power she wielded. In a short time, she’d be more powerful still. Allhepossessed—magic, money, and a shit-ton of responsibility—would transfer to her so he could be reborn and share a new life with his mate.

At well over five hundred years old, it was time for him to retire this body and lay it to rest.

A crack rent the air as lightning slashed across the sky, tearing through the fabric of the veil and revealing a portal to the Otherworld through the opening. A woman in a shimmering white, floor-length gown guarded the entrance. Her dark hair danced on the breeze her spell had created.

The Goddess.

Understanding Damian’s need to take a few precious minutes for his goodbyes, she patiently waited to help his soul transition to the next stage of its existence. After bowing his head as a sign of respect and acknowledging her presence, he turned his back to her.

His gaze swept over the tombstones surrounding the one meant for him, and he finally allowed himself to let go. To experience all the love and loss he held in check over his lifetime without allowing others to see. Isis encapsulated his emotional blast and protected those behind Beastie, who had arrived as a show of gratitude and support.

Some were descendants of his.

Others, his misfit band of Sentinels.The team had defied him at every turn but continued to have his back when it mattered most. More than once, they’d stood as a single unit with him, ready to burn the entire magical community to the ground if that was what it took to see justice done or to rescue him and each other from their many crimes against the Authority.

As those bittersweet memories flowed through him, Damian smiled. He’d loved those fuckers, the men and women who’d become his best friends. His gaze touched the granite headstone closest to him, and he squatted to run his fingers over the name etched in stone.

Trevor Michael Blane.

The Death Dealer.

Damian glanced up and met the eyes of Trevor in his latest incarnation, currently a teenager making his way in the world. Their bond was strong even now. This new version of Trevor wouldn’t make the connection or understand why, and he likely wasn't familiar with the workings of rebirth yet, but one day he might recall. Sometimespeopledid.

And, of course, Damian would always remember his friend’s story. The guy had never let him down in all the years they’d worked together. Sure, Trevor’s assistance wasn’t given without plenty of grumbling and a whole helluva lot of swearing whenever shit hit the fan. But without fail, he’d come through when it counted.

The man had been hisownworst enemy at times, buthishadn’t been an easy life back then…

CHAPTER1

PRESENT DAY

Trevor Blane observed Soleil Stephens puttering about in her greenhouse from his spot beneath the tall pines, thirty yards away.

“Earth witches,” he muttered.

How provincial they all were!

This one was no different.

She was toiling away at her workbench, scooping dirt into a pot as she planted yet another seedling. How ridiculous to use her hands and waste hours when a simple snap of her fingers would do. Watching her spend time with her plants was like watching grass grow—boring and a complete waste of his time.

She cooked like a five-star Michelin chef, though. Her cherry pie brought a smile to his lips whenever he thought about it. Four months ago, when they were all cloistered at the Aether’s England estate, she and her hotter-than-hell sister Taryn made sure none of those present went hungry. Trevor still dreamed about that goddamned flaky pie crust.

“I suppose she has that going for her,” he said aloud.

On the short side, Soleil possessed a full hourglass figure. Her hair was the color of the richest, darkest soil and bundled in a topknot that forever listed to one side. Stray tendrils escaped from the thick bun and curled along the nape of a graceful neck. Longer, non-strategically placed strands framed her rounded, flushed face. Like any witch, she had the ability to glamour and make herself perfect, but apparently, she preferred the form she was born with.

If Trev were being objective, he’d say she was attractive, but he preferred taller, sleeker women like Soleil’s ethereal older sister, Vivian. Of course, as the wife of the Aether, she was off-limits to any man who wanted to take another breath. Damian Dethridge would smite anyone who considered hooking up with his beloved mate. And Trev had no desire to feel the pain of that sonofabitch’s fury. Been there, done that.

None of his musings mattered. He was here for a job. A shitty, tedious job, but a job all the same.