“Next time it may not make a difference.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out. It was a heavy, frustrated sound. “I guess I’d better ring Ilianna and tell her what happened.”

“Good idea.” I glanced around the sodden living area. “There doesn’t seem to be much in here worth salvaging.”

“No. But hopefully the bedrooms will be relatively untouched.”

Hopefully. The doors still being closed was a good sign, at least. “You planning to stay the night?”

“Yeah. The fire burned out the security system, so I’ll keep watch until we can get it fixed.” He studied me for a moment. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a key to hunt down, and a deadline to beat.”

He frowned. “What deadline?”

I briefly explained what my father had done, and he swore softly. “Shit, we can’t seem to catch a break, can we? Not from fucking anything.”

“It would certainly appear that way.”

He hesitated, then said, “You can’t do this on your own, Ris. You need help – of the reaper kind.”

“I know.” I’d known it since I’d woken up earlier this morning. It had just taken me a whole lot of angst and arguing with myself to come to the conclusion everyone else had already reached. “I’m just not sure what to say, given the way we parted.”

“It’s simple. You need to explain why you were so angry, and he needs to explain why he did what he did. And then you both need to apologize and move on.” He half smiled. “There’s a world of people who are relying on you both, even if they don’t know it.”

I sighed. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

He placed his hand over mine and squeezed lightly. “You feel hungry? The lamb I was preparing is more than a little overcooked as a result of the fire, but I can wander down the street after I ring Ilianna, and pick up some burgers and coffee.”

“That would be lovely. In the meantime, I might just bite the bullet and contact Azriel.”

“Then I shall take my time getting back. Just in case there’s fireworks.”

“I’m not intending to argue —”

“I wasn’t talking about arguing,” he replied, a cheeky smile touching his lips. He bent and kissed my cheek. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I was no doubt going to need it.

Tao left, closing the door behind him. I turned and retreated to my bedroom. I really didn’t want to confront Azriel in the ruins of our living room, just in case, one way or another, things did get heated.

My bedroom had a definite smoky smell, and plenty of water had crept under the door, soaking a good portion of the carpet near the door, but otherwise, everything was as I’d left it. Which meant it was messy – tidy I am not. I grabbed a bunch of towels from my en suite and dropped them over the soaked carpet in the vague hope they would sop up some of the water. Then I walked to the center of the room, my stomach twisting into knots – as much from fear that he wouldn’t respond as from anything else.

I took a deep breath – though it didn’t do a whole lot to calm my nerves – then said mentally, Rephael, we need to talk.

Rephael was Azriel’s real name, a name known and used only by those very close to him. Which meant I couldn’t say it out loud simply because, in the reaper world, names were a thing of power, and knowing someone’s true name gave you a measure of control over them. That he’d told me meant he not only trusted me, but he cared more than he’d let on. Only I’d been too damn lost in my own misery and anger to even realize it.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Sweat began to trickle down my back and my heart thumped so fast it felt as if it was about to tear out of my chest. God, what if he didn’t come back? What if he couldn’t? He might have said I only had to say his name and he’d hear me, no matter what he was doing or where he was, but he’d also warned that the powers that be might not allow him to come back once I’d sent him away.

If I had to spend the rest of eternity as a goddamn Mijai, I sure as hell didn’t want to spend it alone. Or with any other reaper, for that matter.

“There would never be another reaper in your life,” he replied quietly. “In that, also, the choice has gone.”

I spun around, a turbulent mix of relief, happiness, and fear surging through me. He appeared near the end of my bed, the electricity of his presence playing gently through my being, a sensation as intimate as the caress of fingers against skin. Longing shivered through me, but the fear sharpened. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in his expression, and not even the slightest whisper of warmth in the mental line between us. There was no sign whatsoever that he was, in any way, happy to see me.

I swallowed heavily, but it did little to ease the sudden dryness in my throat. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is not as though I had any other choice, given you used my name.” He crossed his arms, an action that not only emphasized the muscles in his arms and shoulders, but brought into stark relief the jagged pink scar that now marred his left arm.

My fault, I thought, feeling sick. I’d sent him away, not only disgracing him but ensuring punishment in the form of being ordered into the battle being waged against escaping demons at hell’s second gate. I swept my gaze over the rest of him, searching for other signs of injury. His face – which was chiseled, almost classical in its beauty, but now possessing an even harder edge than before – was untouched. But his well-defined torso bore a new scar, one that ran from the left edge of his belly button and up under his arm, slashing through the middle of the stylized black wing tattoo that swept around from his spine, the tips brushing across the front side of his neck.

Only it wasn’t a tat. It was a Dušan – a darker, more stylized brother to the lilac one that resided on my left arm – and had been designed to protect us when we walked the gray fields. That the scar swept through the middle of the Dušan suggested that perhaps it, too, was battle scarred.

My gaze rose to his again. His blue eyes – one as vivid and bright as a sapphire, the other as dark as a storm-driven sea – gave as little away as his expression.

“Azriel, we need to talk —”

“So you said,” he interrupted coolly. “About what? I was under the impression you had no desire to see me again, let alone talk to me.”

Anger slipped through me, brief and sharp. It wasn’t like he was the only injured party here… I took a deep breath, and thrust the thought away. Calm, cool, rational. That’s what I had to remain. It was acting in anger that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

Well, that and his actions.

“Look, I understand why you pulled me back from death. Your mission —”

“Was only part of the reason,” he cut in. There was a flicker of either fury or frustration in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. But a muscle along the side of his jaw pulsed, a sure sign of annoyance.

I took a deep breath and plowed on regardless. “The mission to reclaim the keys has always been first and foremost in your thoughts, and your actions have always reflected this. I should not have reacted as I did, in anger and sorrow.”

He didn’t say anything, just continued to regard me steadily.

I took another deep, steadying breath. It still wasn’t helping. “So, I apologize for reacting as I did, and for sending you away.”

“But?” It was practically growled.

“But,” I added, “I think you owe me both an apology and an explanation. Not only did your actions rob me of all my future lives, but given I am the only one who can find the keys here on Earth, my death would have meant they’d remain unfound. Both our worlds would have been safe, Azriel, and isn’t that what we’re both trying to achieve?”

“The problem,” he said, voice flinty, “is that your death would not have meant the keys were safe. If I hadn’t reacted as I did, the Raziq – and in particular, Malin – would have called you back from the path of light and, in doing so, would have had control over both you and your actions.”

I frowned. “But if my body was dead and my soul had reached heaven —”

“It would not have mattered,” he cut in. “The Aedh could have not only forced you back into this world, but into the flesh of another. It is your being, your soul, that is vital to finding the keys. The outer layer does not matter.”

“Then why couldn’t my father have just claimed another body and found the keys himself?”

“Because souls cannot be transferred at will. It can only occur at death.”

“Then why didn’t the Raziq just kill me? Wouldn’t that have been easier for them?”

“They would not have done it unless there was little other choice. And they also know I would have killed you had they chosen such a path. Once dead a second time, your soul would have become one of the lost ones – inaccessible to both them and us.”

A ghost, I thought with a shiver. At least I’d been saved from that. “So why is what you’ve done so very different?”

“Because I merged our beings rather than just pulling you back. It made you more. Made you what I am.”

“But in the process, made you less.” Because he could never again become a soul guide. He would remain a Mijai for the rest of eternity.

“I am well aware of the price,” he replied coldly. “But I had no choice – and no desire – to do otherwise.”

It was a statement that could have meant anything, but even so, something inside me leapt in hope. “So this is what you meant when you said that death was not the answer?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck,” I practically exploded, “didn’t you explain that to me at the time? Why keep something like that secret? If I’d known —”

“Would telling you have made you any less angry at my actions?”