“Much better than he initially was.” Lore slipped his arms around Nia’s waist. “A powerful angel appeared and sped up his healing.”
“We don’t trust those bastards!” Týr growled, pressing a palm to the wide bandage taped to his abs where a sword had gored him.
“And Echo?” Kira asked, glancing their way as she tossed the bloodied gauze and cotton pads in a trash basket. “Michael sorta filled us in, but he’s back out there—” She nodded at the decimated grounds. “Just said Aethan will be fine. Someone he knew had shortened the healing months.”
“Yes, it’s true, and Echo’s much happier now,” Nia said, stroking Lore’s forearm with a fingertip. “Aethan’s conscious. I guess they just need some alone time after that scare.”
“Definitely,” Kira murmured, collecting the leftover bandages, salves, and potions.
Lore pressed his lips to Nia’s head, the loosened strands of her messy bun tickling his face. He took the moment of quiet, just holding her and breathing in her scent while the females continued to fuss over their injured mates.
He studied the band of warriors he was now a part of. Despite their brutal roasting of each other, a tight bond existed, as he’d witnessed with Aethan being so grievously injured. A similar connection grew between their mates, too.
Nik held a pregnant woman. That female’s name had something to do with gloom…darkness, no…Shadow? Yes, that.
“Thanks, man,” Nik called out, catching Lore’s stare as his mate cleaned the droplets of blood from his smirking face. “Didn’t think you’d actually kill your former brethren.”
Before Lore could answer, Nia twisted in his arms, eyes dark with worry. “You fought? Do you feel well enough to do that?”
He smoothed back the strands of hair framing her face. “I’m okay?—”
“Shit, I can’t believe we were losing the damn fight,” Týr muttered, pulling on a fresh shirt and wincing a little. “What the fuck happened out there anyway? Where did that power surge come from?”
Nate, who stood on the terrace near the open door with his mate, turned at Týr’s comment.
“Nate?” Nia called out.
He glanced back, then sighed. “Fine. Yo, Michael!” he yelled. “You wanna field these questions?”
Lore snorted.
Nate smirked. “He should. It was his doing. Besides, I’m still trying to get my brain on track after all the chanting.”
Ely frowned. “What?”
“Soon,laika,” Nate said. “It’s a lot to take in, and Michael can get to it so much better.”
The archangel remained on the destroyed grounds, a lone figure under the moonlight. Some distance away, Race roamed the ruined land, his hair gleaming.
Michael called out something to him, then strode for the castle and entered the living room, urn in hand. Those shattered blues took everyone in with one sweep.
“What was with all the power shedding and the thrones vanishing?” Blaéz asked, sipping more of his juice.
Michael set the jar on the floor. “Once I realized what Nate was, after his final change and rebirth as a Watcher, then finding Rania and learning about her awakening abilities, my suspicions have paid off.”
“Well, shit,” Nate muttered. “Watcher? Should have known.”
Michael nudged the urn with his booted foot. “I always thought the rising psionics would be the ones to call the Celestial Realm to heel, but I was mistaken. It was the Trinity. As per the Watchers’ warning, that prophecy has come to pass.”
“Whattrinityare you talking about?” Týr demanded, looking like he wanted to go back and slay all the thrones again. “What the hell happened?”
Lore waited for Michael’s disclosure. While he knew most of it, Michael seemed to be a fount of information on the Trinity prophecy.
He pressed his lips to Nia’s head. With adrenaline still coursing through him at an all-time high, his hunger for his mate grew, but he had to tamp down that need.
“I think,” Blaéz murmured, setting down his glass on a side table, his gaze shifting between Nate and Nia. “The Trinity are the three siblings?—”
“What?” Týr narrowed his eyes.
