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O n the street in front of the Angor Management Club, Dom released his grip on Ike, the Scourge-dash-snitch. “Well, where is this human?”

Rubbing the back of his neck hard enough to slough off skin, Ike stuttered, “I-I-I have to show you.”

“We have trust issues,” said Remi, speaking for everyone.

The Feard warriors finished the convo telepathically.

What’s the worst that could happen? Dom shifted from one foot to the other as he pathed his brethren.

A bored Ely rested a hand on the hilt of a short blade in his hip holster. A shitload of Scourges could be waiting to jump us.

And that would hurt us how, Ely? Dom frowned, not sure what the problem was. They were Immortals, and other than themselves, no one except the OneCreator or Michael could extinct them.

His ice-winged brethren turned an empty gaze to Dom. They can’t kill us, but we could be laid up for a while if there were enough of them.

When did you get to be such a wuss? asked Remi.

Ely’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. Not. I could use a real dust-up to keep me awake. Just throwing out a possibility.

Dom scrubbed a fist across his jaw. I’ll fly above the Scourge, keeping pace with him. You two stay on his ass. Be ready for a surprise once we land.

“Let’s go, Ike.” Dom’s ebony wings spread wide as he pounded into the air. The Scourge popped off the ground next with Remi and Ely following him. They skimmed the rooftops, taking a route toward the industrial district.

Newly arrived inmates in Angor or those who were too stupid to move up in status worked in the factories here in Stupool. No safety standards. They breathed chemicals, sooty air, and toxic fumes. A dark cloud of smog enveloped the area, a thick, nasty haze vomiting from smokestacks. Not that it could kill them, but getting air in the zone was like breathing underwater and had them hacking up black spit.

After Ike signaled below, he angled toward the ground, coming in for a soft landing on a street. “She’s in this d-d-district, but the alleyway gets n-n-narrow. We have to walk.”

Dom snagged his upper arm, nearly yanking him off his feet. “She? You didn’t tell us the human was a female.”

“Does it matter?” The Scourge’s cheek twitched.

Dom distrusted beings with nervous tics. They weren’t reliable. “Where we goin’?”

Ike pointed straight ahead, leading the way.

Dom’s gaze took in both sides of the alley. What a dump. Course that assessment pretty much held for all of Angor, except where the assassins lived. The largest city, Stupool, was a dismal industrial jungle of factories, flesh bars, BDSM joints, roads clogged with cars emitting carbon monoxide, and streets ripe with smells and things you didn’t want to think about. Whenever possible, he avoided strolling the avenues, wading through sewage that leeched onto the street.

Beyond the city were the Ordeals—Blood Volcano, Slough of Despair, Blades Forest, Violence Village. And more. Each spot was a punishment zone for Scourges.

Angor was often shrouded in fog and storm clouds, the sky dim, a palpable gloom that ranged from shadowy to inky. Yet the fickle weather would change in an instant. Gentle breezes turned to gale-like winds and tornadoes, light mists transformed into monsoon rains, and black skies heralded sunshine. One moment, you slapped on sunscreen and dark shades on a hot, bright day. The next, you buttoned up your fur-lined jacket against the stormy skies and intermittent light, a cold, icy, stark place as cruel as those it contained.

Nonetheless, centuries ago, the Feard had elected to live in the White Mountains of Angor rather than among their kind in Vast. Each winged assassin had a different reason for the relocation. Ohngel had grown weary of the politics of Vast, the OC’s favored dimension. Ely, bored with immortality, was game for anything new. Dom wanted to distance himself from those he might have to capture or kill another day, as he’d done with Gareth. Remi? Well, who knew why the bronze spike-winged assassin did anything.

The Feard had built their homes on cliffs high in the mountains, open to the air and overlooking the ocean and Scutter Shoals Bay. In that territory, they thrived in the unpredictable environment, far from Vast’s politics, other Immortals, and the ennui of eternity.

Though they lived among the Scourges of Angor, the same detritus the Feard tracked, captured, or extincted, there was an honesty to this dimension that Vast lacked. The OneCreator’s home base was a place of disguises, platitudes, and intrigues. And it had its own miscreants, sometimes as dangerous as Scourges.

Behind Dom, Ely cleared his throat. We’re heading into a warehouse zone. Keep sharp.

Dom answered by flicking out his onyx-tipped wings, some with sheathed razor-edged feathers. Then he swooshed them into his spine. “Ike, we better get there soon. I’m getting itchy. When I get itchy, shit dies.”

The Scourge pivoted around, his eyes wide with fear. “Just a little farther. H-h-honest.” He resumed walking forward.

Dom listened as Remi rambled on about his kinks. This place smells like the ass-end of a pig. Not my favorite perfume. I prefer a nicely showered female Scourge wearing a leather garter belt, fishnet stockings, and nipple rings. She’s carrying a whip and chain.

Remi had a thing for fucking Angor inmates. The more pain, the more pleasure. For someone who could light up a dimension with his broad, dimpled smile and deep amber eyes, he could be dark and destructive.

But Dom was in no position to judge. He enjoyed a weekly visit from the Scourge Mora, and he dabbled in other local females as well as several in Vast. He had one steadfast rule, though—no emotional connections. Sex for the sake of sex. If a female got too clingy, too demanding, she was history.

Ike halted. He gestured toward a tall metal door. “H-h-here. I’ll wait outside.”

“You wish,” said Dom. “You’ll be keepin’ us company. In fact, you’ll be first through the entrance. Thanks for volunteering to be target practice.”

“But Praevus is mean.”

The Feard flicked their gazes from one to the other. “That fucking Mind Rat,” said Remi. “Is he our mark?”

The Scourge nodded.

Dom grabbed the handle, jerked on it, and, grabbing the back of Ike’s ragged tee, shoved him through the door. The Scourge stumbled, falling to the ground. The Feard stepped over him, Ely and Remi racing forward to flank their brother assassin.

Nothing.

The place was empty. Dom’s nostrils quivered as he picked up a faint scent beneath the stale air of the warehouse. The female. She had a rich, layered aroma. He had sensed something similar before. It was when he had been in the OneCreator’s library in Vast. Books . Ancient ones. Classics. The boundless array of learning had appealed to his senses. And floating just above that scholarly bouquet was the spice of the skies beyond his home, the free territory between Vast and Angor. Also, OneWorld’s oranges. He drew a deep breath, wanting to remember the complicated smells. Wanting to roll around in them. Books, oranges, and fresh, free air.

Boots echoed across the massive warehouse as the Feard searched.

Ely paused beside a back wall. “We got ropes here. Looks like she was cut loose.” He eyed the ground. “The only footprints belong to a male. No female has feet that big. He must have carried her off.”

Rummaging in boxes scattered throughout the cavernous space, Remi shouted, “Looks like Praevus boogied out in a hurry. Nothing good here.”

Dom stroked his chin. “Ike, get the fuck over here.”

The Scourge pushed off the ground and raced across the warehouse. “This is where she was. I swear. You owe me.”

“Yeah. Yeah. She was here. We’ll pay what we owe. But part of the deal is you report whatever you hear. If I find out you’re holding back, I’ll put you through a meat grinder. Literally. First pain, followed by non-existence at the end of my blade.”

The Feard most often extincted because of an order from the OC. But not always. Faced with a situation, they could use their own judgment.

“I-I-I’d never ch-ch-cheat you, Dominion.”

“Get lost. We’ll be checking on you.”

As Ike hustled out the door, disappearing into the alley, the assassins confabbed. Ohngel was on his fucking honeymoon. But to Dom, the Feard would always be short a member. He stared into space, missing his friend Gareth and their adventures. They’d raced across the sky to see who was faster. Challenged each other to sword fights. Shared willing Immortals in bed. Tossed back drinks at a bar, enjoying the camaraderie of friendship.

Ely interrupted Dom’s memory-lane trip. “We could use Ohngel. This is shaping up to be more than a three-man job.”

“Damn straight,” muttered Remi. “Their honeymoon is over. We need him. The search for Praevus and this human female requires a full crew to tear Angor apart.”

Dom hesitated because Ohngel had insisted that he and Indigo have some alone time, free from business in Angor or Vast. Screw their me time. This was serious. “I’ll call him in, and we’ll divvy up the tasks. Ely, you hit the hot spots, the clubs, the hangouts, the joints frequented by Scourges. Remi, you see what you can learn at the Ordeals. I’ll be on the ground, scouring streets and alleys. We’ll assign Ohngel to flyovers, stopping any place that looks promising.”

After Ely and Remi headed off on their assignments, Dom rubbed his sightless eye. It ached today. Pain in his barometer was never a good sign, a signal something bad was about to happen.

He strolled out of the alley. Stretching his midnight wings, he shot into the air, his flight taking him into the passageway that led out of Angor. From there, he traveled to Scath, the realm of a species called Aeternals, where Ohngel’s mate resided.

First stop, Indigo’s office. Dom could have pathed his brother-in-arms, but he was certain Ohngel would cut him off. This situation required a face-to-face and, perhaps, muscled persuasion.

Not long ago their fire-winged assassin brother had saved Scath’s Aeternals and Earth’s humans. But the OneCreator had a non-interference rule. When Ohngel violated it, he was put in stasis. Eventually he’d been forgiven and offered his old job back.

In a surprise move, the OC reinstated Ohngel and allowed Indigo to travel with him in OneWorld. For some reason, the boss was soft on the mouthy witch from Scath. And the couple fascinated Dom. He couldn’t understand the bond they had formed. Anyway, they were still on what the witch called their honeymoon. His assassin brethren said it meant he didn’t have to chase asshole Immortals and could fuck the days and nights away.

Time’s up.

Ohngel needed to clock in on the job, but Indigo’s office was empty. Since Dom knew the witch spent hours at the River Am, reading the water for images of possible futures or hints of trouble, he winged his way there.

Dom spotted the couple swimming in a calm pool, dammed by boulders and fallen trees. Hovering above them, he watched their riveting play for a while before he floated to the bank of the river.

Laughing, Ohngel dunked his mate under the water. Then his head snapped around. “What the hell, Dom? Indy, stay put.” The fire-winged assassin strode up the incline, naked, threatening, muttering something like, “Fucking intruders. Fucking up my fucking good time.”

Once Ohngel was out of the river, he fashioned clothes with a flick of his wrist, faster than re-donning his own, which were in a pile near a tree.

The dark-haired witch glared at Dom as she stood neck-deep in the pool. “Roark, make me something to wear.” She still called him Roark, even though she knew his real name. It had been his alias when she’d first met him.

“They’ll be wet,” he growled, his pissed-off gaze fixed on Dom.

“Then how about a swimsuit?” she shouted.

When she exited the water, Indigo was dressed in a vintage bathing outfit, navy blue, a blousy top, a bow at the neckline, and pantaloons below her knees. She glanced down and rolled her eyes. “Really?”

Ohngel shrugged.

She joined the males to sit on the grassy bank. “Welcome, O frowning one,” she said.

Settling his onyx-tipped wings into his spine, Dom stretched his legs straight. “We have a problem, Ohngel. Praevus the Mind Rat has a human in Angor. We had a lead, but he’d already vacated with her. Whereabouts unknown.”

“An Earther in Angor?” Ohngel’s brows arched.

“A female,” Dom emphasized.

The mated couple exchanged glances and nods. Indigo slapped her thigh and said, “Knights in shining armor to the rescue.”

“What do you need me to do?” Ohngel looked at his Feard brother, still grinning at his mate’s comment.

“Flyovers.”

“How can I help?” asked Indigo.

“You can’t,” blurted Dom.

“Don’t make me witch bolt you, O dark, misogynistic one.” Indigo crossed her bare feet at her ankles. “I’ll be joining Hotness for the task.”

Though Ohngel laughed, Dom still didn’t understand this warrior’s attraction to the sassy but powerful mage from Scath. The fire-winged assassin, who lived for the hunt, needed to get her under control. “You can’t fly.”

“True. But I have my loyal Oskar.”

She summoned a modified gryphon she’d once claimed to have “bedazzled” with scales. He was unique, having the head and wings of an eagle, the neck and torso of a dragon, and the haunches and feet of a lion.

He plopped onto his fat rump and snorted, sending out sparks of fire that landed on Dom. The black-winged assassin brushed off the hot spots. “Do that again and you’re toast.”

Indigo patted her gryphon’s haunch. “There. There. He didn’t mean it.”

Dom snapped, “You can’t take the gryphon into Angor or Vast.

“Hmm.” Indigo scratched her chin. “A problem in need of a resolution.”

Ohngel didn’t look happy, probably because Indigo sounded as if she had a scheme in mind.