Page 52

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.

"What you experienced was merely a preview," Azrael said. "A taste of what's to come. Those with angelic blood don't reach their true heat until their twenty-ninth year. It's... different from what you've experienced thus far."

"Different how?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

Lianna's expression was sympathetic. "More intense. More... consuming. But your mates will help you through it. That's why you need all three of them—each provides a different kind of balance to the power that will surge through you."

My head was spinning with all this new information. My grandfather was the Angel of Death. I was part celestial. I hadn't even experienced my true heat yet. It was overwhelming, like trying to drink from a fire hose.

"I know this is a great deal to absorb at once," Azrael said, as if reading my thoughts. "We've given you much to consider, and your mates are anxiously trying to wake you from this dream-state."

"Dream-state?" I echoed. "This is a dream?"

Lianna nodded. "A true dream, one that bridges realms rather than merely playing out in your subconscious. We are really here with you, but you are also really with your mates, asleep in their presence."

"We will return to your dreams soon," Azrael promised. "There is much more to discuss, but for now, you should return to them. They're concerned for you."

As if on cue, I became aware of distant voices calling my name. Callum's deep rumble, Archer's sharp concern, Rowen's gruff command. They seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Wait," I said urgently, gripping Azrael's hand tighter. "I have so many more questions?—"

But the garden was already fading around me, colors bleeding into one another, the stone bench dissolving beneath me. The last thing I saw was Azrael's face, his strange colorless eyes filled with a mix of pride and sorrow.

"Soon, granddaughter," his voice echoed as everything went dark. "Very soon..."

I jolted awake with a violent shudder, my entire body trembling as my eyes flew open. Callum was leaning over me, his pale green eyes wide with concern. Archer and Rowen stood just behind him, both wearing identical expressions of worry.

"Sierra?" Callum's voice was tight with anxiety. "Are you alright? You were completely unresponsive."

My mind was racing, fragments of the dream still vivid in my consciousness. The garden... Lianna... Azrael with his silver hair and colorless eyes. My grandfather. The Angel of Death was my grandfather.

"I know why I can read the angelic language now," I gasped, my voice shaky as I struggled to sit upright. "I know what I am."