Page 1

PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 31, 2327 - EARLY MORNING…

S unlight streamed through the branches, creating shadows on the face of the headstone. It was newer than most in this cemetery; clean, polished, and carved from marble streaked with aquamarine veins. The color choice had been Bloodstone’s request. Subtle. Striking. Not quite what anyone expected, like the woman herself.

Damian stood silently, staring at the name etched in stone, with his fingers curled loosely around the edge of his coat, holding the edges together. The morning was chilly, but the cold couldn’t touch him. Those blessed with magic easily regulated their body temperature without excess clothing. Yet he still preferred the feel of a soft sweater against his skin and a peacoat to cut the wind, allowing him to concentrate on things other than warming his cells.

No, the ache in his chest had nothing to do with the weather. It had everything to do with saying farewell to another friend’s memory. In this case, multiple friends, all the Sentinels he’d come to love. But first, he needed to say goodbye to her.

Taryn Marie Stephens.

His sister-in-law and the woman who helped him bring down a corrupt organization.

He grinned.

Those bastards had messed with the wrong woman. Gone after the wrong man, too. The one she’d loved with all her heart, and who had loved her in return.

Damian inhaled, then exhaled slowly.

Goddess, the memories cut deep some days, and perhaps this morning he was a little more melancholy than usual, but he’d been too busy wrapping up the loose ends of his life. His beloved daughter and heir, Sabrina, had little left to do when he crossed over within the hour. After today, he was free of his Aether responsibilities. He could hardly wait to reunite with his wife’s spirit, to be reborn with Vivian by his side. The years had been endless since her passing, and he missed her dreadfully.

Movement in his peripheral caught his eye, but he didn’t need to turn. He already knew who was there, lurking in the shadows.

“Word on the street and under the ocean is that you’re calling it quits today, Aether.”

Damian grinned at the man’s annoyed tone. “The word is correct.”

“Well, that’s some shite. Am I supposed to be the only immortal left now? Do you know how bloody boring it’s going to be?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage, my friend.” He met Bloodstone’s moody sea-green eyes. “Besides, I’m tired. After all these centuries, it’s hard to do the math anymore. I have no idea how old I am.”

“I’m going to call BS. And did you miss the word ‘immortal’?”

Damian chuckled. “I’m passing that mantle on to Beastie. I’ve left instructions for her to annoy you and not let you sulk in your grotto.”

“Bastard. At least tell me she knows how to play chess, or I’m liable to rip this damned amulet from my chest and head into the Otherworld with you.”

“She learned from the best,” Damian quipped.

“That would be me, and I know I didn’t teach her.”

They grew contemplative as they stared at the names etched in stone.

“I’m glad we chose to trust each other that day, Dethridge. Legacy is better for it.”

“He was the man to thank.” Damian nodded, indicating the name displayed on Taryn’s matching tombstone. “If he hadn’t brokered the peace between us, we’d have been on opposite sides of the fight.”

“I’d like to think we’d have come together eventually. The cause was just.”

“Yes.” He couldn’t disagree.

Silence stretched between them. The kind that only came between men who’d fought together, lost too much, and said most of what needed saying years ago.

“Do you think about her as often as I think about Viv?”

There was no need to clarify who. The Siren prince never wavered in his love for Taryn.

“I think of her daily.” The confession was wrung out of Bloodstone, and the husky note in his voice struck a chord in Damian’s heart. “She surprised me,” the man said. “Not many people do.”

“She turned out to be a helluva head council member, didn’t she?”Damian said.

The question was rhetorical; the only answer could be “yes.” Taryn, heavily involved in rebuilding the new Legacy council, became the magical community’s fiercest advocate. Under her tutelage, members young and old had learned to set aside their prejudices and embrace their fears, working through potential problems before they could escalate. And somewhere in her free time, she lent her voice to Fintan’s, and the two created achingly beautiful music. Their three diamond and two multi-platinum albums were a testament to how much the world loved the duo.

The Siren prince grinned, casting one last glance at the Seer’s headstone before sauntering away. But not before saying, “Don’t think I’m after forgiving you for taking the easy way out, Dethridge.”

Damian expelled a soft huff of amusement. Bloodstone wasn’t fooling him. They’d often discussed reincarnation over a glass of brandy while playing a game of chess. The Siren prince’s incarnation as Fintan had been his most talked-about.

“Try not to burn the place down,” Damian called back.

Fintan Sullivan.

The Seer.

The person always quick to answer a summons and provide future intel when needed. When Damian had first met him, he’d been reserved, grumpy, and suffering unbearable pain, tortured at every turn by his “ancestors” all in the name of preserving an organization that should’ve been dismantled a century ago. He’d had his revenge in the end.