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Naomi dropped her gaze from the framed painting to the cards beneath it. Under Please don’t touch was the name of the artist and also the price of the artwork. At the latter, she almost whistled. Hefty.

But then most of the pieces here at this particular gallery were.

Located in the Underground, it was quite an impressive place, all high ceilings and shiny flooring. The plain white walls and clever lighting helped emphasize the works displayed all around.

Still feeling bloated from her lunch with Tobe, she put a hand to her belly and blew out a breath.

She usually spent her Sundays in her workroom, but he’d asked that they meet up at one of the ethnic restaurants here in the Underground, whining that they didn’t see as much of each other now that Luka was in the picture.

Not strictly true. It was more that Tobe was finding it hard to adjust to her having another man in her life. Which wasn’t unusual for anchors, so she made a point of making time for him.

He had requested that they stop off at the gallery on their way out so that he could speak to one of his contacts here.

Yes, even upscale galleries with very elite clientele were willing to do business with imps if it meant better profits.

Some even obtained work via Tobe on behalf of their clients.

Naomi didn’t mind waiting. She’d always liked wandering around such places, and the ambience here was pretty relaxing.

People talked low as they meandered around or chatted with curators, so the echoes were mostly inaudible. The smells of sage, plaster, paint, and wood polish circulated through the air—some stronger in some sections than others.

There were plenty of pieces to admire – paintings, carvings, blown glasswork, and mass-media sculptures. The various sections appeared to be organized according to themes. Depending on the nature of the piece, some hung on walls while others were propped on tables.

A couple of paintings were actually hers. Of course, none were under her name—her clients had taken the credit. But it still gave her a burst of pride to see them displayed here.

Her mother constantly pestered her to stop hiding her light, to take the plunge and work to become an established artist. But truly, Naomi preferred it this way. It wasn’t about hiding; it was just that the limelight wasn’t for her.

Tia struggled to understand that, because she herself was a total extrovert who would embrace any attention that came with success. She failed to see how Naomi could possibly be happy in the shadows. Some people just were, though.

Hearing footfalls, she turned to see Tobe heading her way. “All good?”

“All good,” he confirmed.

“Then let’s head out.” They skirted the room divider, walked through the open doorway into the sparse reception area, and then breezed out of the gallery. Spotting her guard, Naomi smiled. “Hey, Kon. I’d invite you to walk with us, but I know you won’t.”

“And so he shouldn’t,” said Tobe, his hand on her elbow guiding her forward. “His job isn’t to keep you company, it’s to watch your back. You’ll just distract him.”

She huffed. I guess.

As they joined the pedestrians walking in the direction of the Underground’s exit, Tobe cast her a quick look. “I suppose you’re meeting Belinsky later.” A petulant grumble.

Naomi sighed inwardly. “Don’t start grumbling about him again.”

“It was an innocent comment. I was merely making conversation.”

“Your idea of good conversation doesn’t feature Luka.”

“Did you make clear to him that I’m your favorite person?”

Dear Lord. “Why would I need to? It’s highly unlikely he’d care one way or the other.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Tobe mumbled. “He’s far too possessive of you for my liking.”

“You said you weren’t jealous.”

“And I’m not. Just like I wouldn’t be jealous if you took a mate. Though I would be annoyed. It would ruin our plan to grow old alone together.”

Naomi felt her brows knit. “When was that ever our plan?” she asked, mirth bleeding into her voice.

“Always.”

She shook her head. “It ain’t my future goal—let’s be clear on that.”

“Well, just make sure that Belinsky doesn’t help you meet that ‘future goal’. And before you go defending him, bear in mind that I have plenty of legitimate reasons for having reservations. He’s a criminal.”

Aware of the ears all around them, she telepathically shot back, So are you. So am I.

But we don’t associate with mobsters.

You commissioned a painting for one literally last month, and I was the one who painted it.

Well, we don’t torture people in a secret underground location.

Something about his tone made her narrow her eyes. You broke into Luka’s vault, didn’t you? She’d heard whispers about the place.

It is hell on earth, I’m telling you.

Exasperated by his lack of self-preservation, she barely managed to bite back a growl. All Primes have a place they take people to be punished .

Jolene doesn’t.

Yes she does. You helped her build it!

Tobe spluttered. “Stop picking holes in my argument.”

“I don’t need to. The gaping holes are already there—I’m just pointing them out.”

Finally they reached the elevator. He jabbed the button on the wall panel hard. Have you told Lou about him?

No , she replied. I’ve only seen Lou once since he showed up in my bedroom when we had the cleric in our custody.

He bragged about how, given the many deaths he’d caused, he had for sure killed the dark practitioner, and then he left.

He’s still mad at me for not contacting him about the monkhood initially.

Right then, the elevator’s metal doors slid open with a ding .

They stepped inside. Konstantin smoothly joined them and jabbed the “up” button.

Have you heard anything more from Stefan ? Naomi asked Tobe as they began to ascend.

Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms. Nope. Haven’t seen him loitering around either. I’m hoping that he’s decided to let it go, but he’s stubborn. Kind of like Iain .

I don’t think I have to worry that Iain will start being stalkerish again.

Considering he spent time in Belinsky’s underground chamber of horrors, I’m not surprised he’s happy to leave you be , Tobe jibed.

Naomi rolled her eyes. “He has a first name, you know.”

“I do know.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to use it.”

“I know that, too.”

“Or to be nice—that costs literally nothing.”

Impatience moved across Tobe’s face. “Hey, have I broken into his house? No. Have I set him on fire? No. Have I hotwired his car and taken it for a joy ride? No.”

“Those things really aren’t a reason for me to pat you on the back. Fact is that you naturally shouldn’t do those things.”

“Whatever.”

She exchanged an amused look with Konstantin.

Finally the elevator came to a halt. The three of them piled out of it, exited the club, and headed for the parking lot.

As Tobe walked her to her car, she said, “Thank you for lunch.”

“We should do it more often.” He gave her a pointed look.

Naomi poked his shoulder. “We had lunch on Wednesday. Stop being a diva.” Ignoring his unintelligible mumble, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Take care.”

“You too.” He gave her a brief hug and then headed for his motorcycle.

Spotting Konstantin approaching his own car, Naomi gave him a little wave before sliding into her vehicle. She placed her purse on the passenger seat and then clicked on her belt, grimacing as the damn thing put pressure on her still-bloated stomach.

Hearing her phone beep, she plucked it out of her purse. It was a text from Ella: You free on Thursday? Me and my sister go to a pool hall every Friday, but we’re going Thursday this week. I want to introduce you to her and I figured it might be fun if you come with us.

Feeling her lips curve, Naomi replied, I’m up for it. Just let me know exactly where and what time.

Ella’s response came fast: Awesome. We usually meet there around 6.30 . She added the address of the pool hall and then See you there.

Placing her cell back in her purse, Naomi heard Tobe’s bike disappear with a loud rumble. She inserted her key into the car ignition and switched on the engine. Or tried. It only sputtered.

She tried again. Another sputter.

Frowning, she cocked her head. And heard a low, ominous rhythmic beeping. Her stomach took a nosedive. Fuck.

From the dark pockets of shadow beyond the parking lot, Jonah pressed his thumb down on his cell phone screen, and two cars exploded. He smiled, satisfied.

The devil’s whore and her protector were now dead. Lucifer’s plan had been foiled. The child would never be born.

And the monkhood would not perish.

“It is done,” he said to his brothers, lifting his chin.

“So it is,” agreed Henry flatly, staring at the flaming vehicles in the lot.

Jonah frowned. “You should be happy.”

“I still do not like that we used bombs. That is not our way.”

“Kushiel was clear that it was the only way,” Oslo cut in, ever the peacemaker.

Henry’s brow inched up. “If it was the only way, why didn’t he suggest it at the beginning? And since when would God wish for us to use terrorist methods?”

Duncan’s lips thinned. “It is not our place to question an angel. He is a messenger of God. Yet you persist in doing so. It is no better than blasphemy.”

“I didn’t initially question him,” Henry defended. “But he has . . . changed.” His gaze swept over each of the other brethren. “Is there not one of you here who agrees that Kushiel is not always so angel-like anymore?”

Some responded with only a stubborn look. Idris and Van, however, shifted uneasily while Griff and Magnus exchanged a brief glance.

Jonah himself was uncomfortable. Because the truth was that, yes, Kushiel was indeed somewhat different from when he’d first come to them many months ago.

The angel was still intense. Still wore an ethereal glow. Still carried an aura of power. But he no longer emitted peace and serenity. No longer exuded a calm presence that put the brothers at ease and made them feel close to God.

“The way he speaks to us now,” Henry began, “as if we are servants to be ordered about and beneath his contempt—”

“But we are servants,” Maynard interjected. “God’s servants. Kushiel is his voice; issues his commands.”

“Does he really?” Henry drawled, a hint of challenge in his voice. “Or are those commands his own?”

Alban lifted his shoulders. “Does it matter? Both Kushiel and our Lord want the same thing. They want what we want.”

“But I will bet that God would not have raged at the rest of us each time our other brothers failed in their attempt to kill her ,” Henry hedged.

“Well, Kushiel will not rage this time,” Jonah pointed out. “She is dead. The work of our Holy Father has been completed.”

“Has it, though?” Henry asked.

Jonah felt his brow pinch. “Excuse me?”

Henry shrugged. “The translation of the prophecy still seems off to me.”

Idris’s back straightened. “I know the old tongues; my translation was exact.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. I still maintain—”

“A large crowd has gathered in the lot,” Magnus cut in. “We should leave. It is no good for us to hang about.” He flicked his gaze around . . . and frowned. “Where is Oslo?”

Jonah looked at where their brother had last stood. The spot was empty. “Oslo! Oslo!” He spun around, calling his name repeatedly, the others doing the same.

No response.

Jonah turned back around. “I don’t see . . .” He trailed off on noticing another absence. “Duncan?”

Magnus gripped Jonah’s arm painfully tight, his eyes flickering. “We must leave. Now. Something is not right.”

Jonah’s stomach churned with apprehension. “I agree. But Oslo and Duncan—”

“We have to go,” Magnus insisted . . . just as an unfamiliar male abruptly appeared behind him.

Feeling his eyes widen, Jonah yelled, “Move!” But it was too late. The newcomer fisted Magnus’ tunic, and then they both disappeared into thin air.

Curses and gasps flew out of the seven remaining brethren.

His pulse quickening, Jonah conjured an orb of pure white magick, but there was no one to aim it at. He glanced around, his every breath now short and choppy. “Where are they?” Who were they?

He did a double-take as movement snatched his attention. “Duck!” he shouted as the unfamiliar male returned, materializing at Griff’s back. Again his warning came too late. Both men vanished before he could toss the orb of magick. “Dammit!”

“Maynard and Idris have disappeared as well,” Van informed him, his voice shaky. “ And Alban.”

Visibly panicking, Henry began dragging Jonah toward their vehicles. “We must leave now, we—”

An invisible wall slammed into them, knocking both to the ground.

The orb in his hand winking out, Jonah grunted at the pain that raced up his spine. Telekinesis , he thought. “Stop hiding and face us!” he demanded . . . but nobody did. It was as he and Henry struggled to their feet that he noticed Van had also disappeared.

“They come at people from behind, we need to ensure that they can’t!” stated Henry. He and Jonah went back to back, scanning the shadows. “I see nothing.”

Nor did Jonah, but . . . “They’re there,” he murmured, his nostrils flaring, anger and dread panging in his blood. “Whoever they are.”

An invisible impact rammed into their sides, making them topple over like skittles.

Jonah felt Henry’s body heat disappear; knew that he was now alone.

The click-clack of heels preceded a familiar woman stalking out of the shadows. The whore.

Squatting near Jonah, she glared at him.

“You know, I’m sick and fucking tired of you idiots coming at me—not to mention furious that you almost killed my bodyguard.

He has nothing to do with your prophecy, but you didn’t care about that.

So I’m really not gonna care that this will hurt.

” She fisted his hair, wrenched back his head, and bit into his neck.

Oh God, it burned. Burned like acid as she drank his blood. Drank and drank and drank. He cried out as that burn coursed through his body, weakening him on every level. Like her bite had injected something into him.

She finally unlatched her teeth from his skin and dumped him on the ground with a sneer. Then her gaze snapped upward, turning wary.

Even as pain racked his insides, Jonah tracked her gaze. A tall man in an elegant suit appeared, his expression cold, his dark eyes twin orbs of fury, snakes wriggling beneath his skin.

Jonah felt the blood drain from his face. “Lucifer,” he breathed in horror.

The man tore his gaze away from the whore and slammed it on Jonah. “Oh no,” he said, his voice flat and pure frost. “I’m something much, much worse.”

Jonah was about to ask who could possibly be worse than Lucifer, but then the man threw a ball of flames at his head, and an all-consuming pain stole every thought from his mind.