Chapter Four

Dante cradled—dare he say gently—his wounded mate in his arms as he soared over the city. He whooshed over the low mountains separating Los Angeles from the San Gabriel Valley to the east, not daring to waste any time in reaching the Reaper. Ezekiel wasn't the bringer of death, quite the opposite. But the nickname was a bit of a joke among their ranks.

Their fellow Slayer possessed a gift with which the angel Azrael had anointed him in the early years of the original formation. In order to truly be the Angel of Death, Azrael was forced to shed all light and life from his being. Only then would the Divine Spark agree to promote him to that position.

Ezekiel won what Azrael cast off in a card game.

The Nephilim he clung to might survive longer because of his angelic blood. However, his human side was clearly struggling. Ezekiel's added light gave him the ability to replenish instead of depleting life, so getting him to the gifted Slayer in time was crucial.

His mate moaned, and dread settled low in Dante's belly. He didn't want a mate, had no interest in a family, but the thought of anything happening to this half-human terrified him. He'd forgotten what that feeling was like. He didn't do terror.

As Dante approached the Mission in San Gabriel, he slowly circled the vicinity before moving lower. Humans might not be able to see a shifted gargoyle, but they'd have no problem spotting the floating man in his arms.

I should've known.

The instant he and Mal had come upon the filth stalking his mate in the alley behind the bar, he'd locked gazes with the man. The moment had come and gone in a flash, but Dante had no doubt that this small human could see everything happening around him. No one who was fully human could do that.

Dante landed behind a hedge, once again verifying they were safe from detection. It was early morning but still quite dark. He needed to get them inside the old church right away before any workers spotted them. It had been so long since he'd been at his home base that he had no idea what schedule the priests followed. Who knew how they'd react to his floating mate drifting through the church?

Once he was sure no one was nearby, he carried his mate inside the old stone and adobe brick building, then headed down the long aisle of the majestic, rectangular-shaped structure to reach the altar. To his relief, everything was essentially the same as the last time he'd been at this location, yet the paintings and statues appeared almost new as if they'd been restored.

The details of the interior remained fresh, as if he'd been at the church only yesterday. Thankfully, the altar still boasted a hidden panel that, when opened, revealed the stairs leading to their lair, hidden deep beneath the church.

As he swiftly moved through the darkness down the winding stone steps, he nuzzled his mate's soft curls, the hint of sandalwood combined with a muskier, more natural aroma filling his nostrils. A little sniff couldn't hurt, right? It didn't mean anything beyond his own curiosity. After all, regular sex wasn't all bad. Might even make his life easier.

However, being inside their California headquarters for the first time in eighty years didn't exactly thrill him. He didn't doubt that his fellow Slayers would be resentful of him breaking ranks. When he'd followed the trail to LA of what he was sure must be an unusually large gathering of rogues, he'd figured he might get found out. But the hunt had been too intoxicating to resist.

He reached the bottom, a ten by ten room with a marble floor. Opposite the stairs was the iron door that protected their lair from anyone—or anything—that might try and attack. Before he had the chance to place the blessed selenite crystal that he wore around his neck into the keyhole, the massive door groaned and creaked, sliding into the reinforced rock bed wall.

He hadn"t a clue as to why they had an underground lair in an earthquake country. That was above his pay grade. But the gargoyles who'd been tasked with building the space seemed to know what they were doing. No one had ever been crushed, so he couldn't complain.

Ezekiel appeared once the door was all the way open. His eyes glowed gold in stark contrast to his clean-shaven, rich black skin. With high cheekbones and a strong jawline, his presence commanded respect. However, he didn't appear amused at the moment.

"Get inside before you bring a scourge of rogues in with you." He glanced down then flicked his eyes back up. "Oh, look. It's Mr. I'm-too-busy-for-this-mate-bullshit, yet here you are."

"Shut up." Dante narrowed his eyes as he brushed past him. "Nice to see you too, Zeke."

The door groaned shut behind them, the noise barely concealing Ezekiel's throaty growl.

"Already, Dante, huh? You know I fucking hate being called by that name."

Dante paused in the foyer shaped like a half-moon, the entrance being at the flat end of the curve, noting that nothing had changed. "Better than the other thing I could call you."

"Heaven help us all, but you're an asshole. If it weren't for the Divine Spark's insistence that you mate, I'd tell you and this Nephilim to fuck off."

Dante's own eyes blazed as he stared Ezekiel down. Before him was a formidable adversary and not one he dared challenge—especially not when he so desperately needed the Reaper's help. The Slayer was around six five, like most slayers were, but he had a leaner, less muscled frame.

"Then fulfill your duty and heal my mate."

Ezekiel gave him a self-satisfied smile as if he knew a secret. Dante figured he was enjoying being the one to witness the return of the prodigal son.

"It would be my pleasure." Ezekiel gestured to the hall on the left, the one that led to the private sleeping chambers. The center hallway led to the heart of their operations, and to the right were recreation and eating areas.

"Unlike some Slayers, I do what's best for all, not only what I prefer doing."

If his mate's life weren't in the balance, throat punching wouldn't be off the table.

They made their way down the corridor, passing more than one fellow Slayer who raised an eyebrow or two at his presence. He had no interest in engaging. All he could focus on was saving his fated one.

Ezekiel paused at the arched doorway of a room Dante had no issue recalling—his own. Despite Los Angeles being much different when their lair was constructed, it was still more interesting to him than the ancient locales he'd once called home. All gargoyles, Slayers included, needed a home base that was their responsibility to protect. Should the unthinkable happen, they would fight the holy ground until it fell.

Ezekiel regarded him. "What's wrong? Forgot you had your own room?"

Dante pressed his lips together, startled by the unexpected development. "I assumed someone else, new progeny perhaps, would've taken my spot. I certainly didn't need it."

Ezekiel tilted his head. "Are you sure?" He gestured to his unconscious mate. "It would appear you need it after all."

His patience was non-existent at this point. The banter between him and Ezekiel that once gave him a perverse pleasure had evaporated with the urgency to save his mate.

"Not unless you heal him," Dante snapped.

Ezekiel's features softened. "Of course." He gestured for Dante to go ahead. "I won't let him slip away."

Dante laid his mate softly on the bed, startled that the plush velvet of the black duvet showed no sign of dust or dirt. He glanced at the Edwardian bedside tables that he had always loved, and not a speck of dust could be found there either.

"Are you sure no one's been staying here?" He grunted. "Not that I care, but everything is spotless."

Ezekiel rolled his eyes before leaning over Dante's still-motionless mate. "You can thank the ever-hopeful Mal for that. He was convinced your return was imminent and he didn't want you to be discouraged by a filthy room."

A pang of guilt coursed through him. Mal never gave up on him, even though he himself had given up on everyone else—including his closest friend. Perhaps his only friend after the way he'd behaved for close to a century.

Dante rubbed his forehead, frustration taking over. Too much remorse and sorrow filled him, too many gentle, caring emotions. He needed his rage, needed to remain cold and heartless. How else could he fulfill his duty?

He tried to banish from his thoughts that part of that duty was to mate, but it was useless. He'd made a promise to the Divine Spark and wouldn't go back on his word if the Nephilim was spared. Reminding himself that sex on the regular wasn't the worst thing that could happen, he could perhaps have things both ways.

Dante licked his lips. Of course, he'd always protect this tiny Nephilim, make sure he and their progeny were safe. But that didn't mean he couldn't carry on killing Rogues. Surely the Divine wouldn't have a problem with that?

Ezekiel's lips were pressed together, eyes tightly shut as he used his palm to scan the still man. Dante swallowed hard. He didn't have a clue how Ezekiel's powers worked since he was more of a life-taker than a giver.

Ezekiel whispered words in a language Dante had never heard as he moved his hands in increasingly elaborate gestures as if he were conducting an orchestra. The minutes ticked by, and he became increasingly anxious. Was it too late? Were Ezekiel"s efforts pointless?

His mate stirred, his brow wrinkling as his eyes fluttered open, and Dante let out an audible sigh. Ezekiel snorted, and Dante's thoughts returned to the idea of throat-punching him. Yet, in a shocking moment, he found himself more concerned about this mysterious person than showing Ezekiel what he thought of his snarkiness.

"W-what… Where am I? Who are you?"

His mate gazed up at Ezekiel, who was still leaning over him, and Dante was gripped with a surge of raging jealousy. He balled his fists to keep from reacting irrationally. He'd sort through his feelings later. For now, not terrifying this confused half-human was his main concern.

Ezekiel smiled at him as he straightened, and Dante bit back an angry remark.

"I'm Ezekiel, a healer. You were wounded quite badly."

Dante crossed his arms, shifting his weight to the other foot then shifting back again. He wanted to be the one to answer all of his mate's questions, yet he'd never felt more awkward in his life. Fear of saying the wrong thing had overtaken him, which made zero sense. He'd never given a shit about what he said.

Dante cleared his throat. "And I brought you here because you're…" No, that wouldn't be the best way to announce their status. "What I mean is that I was one of the Slayers who fought off the rogue gargoyles attacking you. I brought you here so my associate could heal you."

His mate abruptly straightened, sitting up as if he were about to bolt from the bed. His jaw went slack, his eyes widening. "Slayer? Slayer?" He shook his head then quickly palmed his skull with a wince. "Ow." Peering up at him, Dante couldn't miss the fear in his gaze. "Are you… Are you going to slay me?"

Ezekiel chuckled, patting his mate's shoulder. Dante tensed. If Ezekiel didn't immediately remove his hand, he was going to lose an arm. Ezekiel darted his eyes in Dante's direction.

"Cool down, lover boy."

He did, however, stop touching his mate.

Dante pressed his lips together. While his natural inclination leaned toward losing his shit rather than calm discussion, the fear radiating off his mate was palpable. He'd heard of the inescapable bond between mates for ages, how they could sense everything about each other, know if their mate was in pain, sad, happy, or scared.

But hearing about and experiencing that state were two massively different things.

Dante glanced at Ezekiel, who seemed to be having way too much fun observing his discomfort. He'd had about enough of his secretive, wry grins and eyes dancing with amusement.

"Would you mind?" He made a shooing gesture. "I need to explain everything to my mate."

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose at his mate's gasp. He truly had zero social skills.

Ezekiel snorted. "Nice one, champ." He leaned over his mate again and stage-whispered, "Good luck." As he left, he peered over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows at Dante. "You're welcome, by the way. Oh, and you can expect Michael to show up soon to…" He jerked his head in this mate's direction. "Find out what all the fuss was about."

Dante nodded, knowing that Ezekiel was being vague until they knew more about his mate's circumstances. Perhaps he had no idea what the relic was that he carried. Although, they had no idea what he was carrying either. But whatever it was, the Rogues seemed awfully interested in stealing it.

"Got it." He rubbed the back of his neck as he realized how ungrateful he was being. "And, uh, thanks. Appreciate it."

His stomach clenched from having to say something decent to Ezekiel. Perhaps he should quit being so hostile toward his comrades. They were all on the same side.

Before he closed the door, Ezekiel peeked around the edge. "Don't worry. I didn't do it for you."

Dante frowned. Back to being hostile.

Once Ezekiel was gone, Dante regarded his mate. He was pressed against the elaborately carved mahogany headboard with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked at Dante as if he were the devil himself. Yet, something about the way he stared at him was unsettling.

Dante rubbed his chin. Hmm. Yeah, he was definitely out of his element on how to proceed. He rubbed his hands together as he surveyed his room. Since he was quite a bit larger than his mate, and towering over him was undoubtedly more intimidating, he should at least sit down before they began a relatively complicated discussion.

His room was truly untouched. His gaze landed on his favorite lounging chair, which was more of a throne since he'd stolen it from Whitehall Palace after the death of Henry VIII. Everyone had been so distracted by all the pesky royal succession panic that it had been simple enough to remove the gold-gilt piece of furniture without being detected.

As he dragged the opulent red-velvet cushioned chair across the room, his mate whimpered, recoiling from him. Dante drew his eyebrows together at the unexpected reaction. As soon as he sat down, his mate's shoulders relaxed.

"You don't have to fear me, you know. No matter what else happens, I'll always protect you."

His mate's eyes darted around the room as if he were searching for a way to escape. "I don't understand what's going on. You and your friend are slayers? Does that mean you're, like, professional killers or something?"

Dante nodded. "Something like that."

"And you hunt down those freaky black creatures to kill? You said they were rogue gargoyles. Do you also hunt humans?" He visibly swallowed.

"Actually, no. Our mission is to protect humans from evil and harm."

"Right…" He crossed his arms. "But I also saw more regular-looking gargoyles fighting the rogue ones." He rubbed his forehead. "I can't believe I just said that out loud." With a sigh, he continued, "Anyway, did you also have to save me from those other gargoyles? I passed out after being clawed by one of the weird ones."

Clearly, his little mate had no clue about his angelic blood. This was going to be an interesting conversation.

Dante locked eyes with him. "I'm one of the so-called regular gargoyles who fought to save you from the rogues."

His mate scooted away to the point Dante worried he'd fall off the other side of the bed.

"I… You… What?" His breathing accelerated. "I demand you tell me everything right now. I've had a really crappy day, and I don't appreciate being mauled by some sort of evil, bloodthirsty creature and… and…" He jabbed a finger at Dante. "Gargoyle? That's ridiculous. I don't believe you. You're clearly a man." His gaze flicked down to Dante's crotch then back up. His face flushed. "Very clearly."

Dante held in a groan. His mate was a feisty one. "Why don't we start by introducing ourselves? We don't even know each other's names. I'm Dante. And you?"

"Amir."

"Just Amir?"

"Tell me what's going on first."

This was going to be a fun eternity. Two stubborn mates fighting for superiority. Good times.

"Fine." Dante eased back into the chair, allowing his legs to fall open. Amir's blush deepened. "I'll be as concise as possible. I'm from an ancient faction of gargoyles who were anointed by the Divine Spark as Shadow Slayers. We protect the world's holiest relics from falling into the claws of rogue gargoyles in league with the demons who have turned against the fallen angels. If they should acquire three relics, humanity and Earth would be plunged into darkness. The fallen would lose their sovereignty over Hell, and the heavenly realms would be threatened. Basically, everything would go to shit."

Amir threw his hand up, palm out. "Hold on a sec. You actually expect me to believe any of this?" He snort-laughed. "My guess is that you're telling me this wild story, so I'll hand over the—" Amir coughed into his fist. "I mean, you obviously brought me here for a reason. Just tell me what you really want instead of making up bizarre stories. Then I'll be on my way." He stuck out his chin. "I was merely walking home after class, and those things came after me. I have no idea why."

Dante pursed his lips. "Yeah, I bet you don't." He leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Look, little one. You saw those things with your own eyes. You saw my fellow slayer and I in our gargoyle forms.How much bigger of a reach is it to believe in a demon uprising? Don't get me started on having to put up with Lucifer's bullshit." Dante rolled his eyes. "Asshole is always whining about something."

Amir whispered, seemingly himself, "I can't believe this is happening. Khaled wasn't delusional after all." He blinked repeatedly then looked up. "How is Lucifer involved in all this? And you said Divine Spark. Is that, like, God?"

Dante nodded. "Yeah. That's how we've always known them. Humans have given them a bunch of names, but we don't pay attention to that." He chuckled. "Basically, the Fallen became desperate because they were losing control of Hell. Lucifer was then tasked by the rest to act as an ambassador and ask the Divine for help. It's a win-win since both sides would be damaged if the rogues won." He pointed to himself. "So here I am, along with all my cohorts."

It occurred to Dante that he was starting to think of himself as part of the team again. Dammit.

Amir slowly shook his head. "I'm not sure how to process all of this. Especially since my body feels so…" His face flushed again. "I'm just confused, that's all."

Dante tilted his head. "Feels so what?"

Amir lowered his head. "It's nothing. Listen…" He started to rise. "Thank you for helping me out, I really appreciate it. But I've got to get going. No offense, but this is all a bit much for me."

As Amir reached for his backpack, Dante rushed to block the door. Amir abruptly straightened.

"What are you doing?" His voice held an edge of panic.

"You can't leave."

Dante felt terrible about keeping Amir from going, for treating him as if he were a prisoner. He simply needed to make him understand the circumstances.

"Why not?"

Amir stared up at him with saucer eyes, and for the first time, Dante took notice of how truly beautiful his mate was. The black curls that he'd first noticed about Amir hung haphazardly around his oval face, reaching just beyond his ears. His warm brown eyes were heavily lashed, and his smooth, tawny skin begged to be touched.

And oh, how Dante wanted to touch.

Amir hugged the backpack in front of his small frame as if it could protect him from an unnamed attack.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Amir's brow creased, sweat forming at his hairline. He licked his lips. "You brought me here to save me, right? So what do you want from me?"

He chewed on his plump lower lip, and Dante wiggled his fingers, fighting the urge to grab Amir and toss him on the bed, to tear away his clothes and fill him with his seed. The more he thought about it, the more he ached to take his mate now. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not unless Amir consented.

"You're right. I'm not going to hurt you." Dante gestured to the bed. "Please sit down, and I'll explain everything."

"Absolutely everything?"

Dante gave Amir his version of someone who was a friendly guy, offering him a quirk at the corner of his mouth and a dip of his chin.

"Everything."

Dante waited a beat to see if Amir would sit down again before he did the same. Something told him that his mate wasn't the type who gave up easily, and he wanted to make sure he didn't make a run for it again. In addition to wanting to jump him, he was anxious to discover which relic he had and how he happened to come into possession of it.

After returning to the throne, he eased back into a relaxed pose, his legs crossed and elbows resting on the chair arms. Hopefully, his demeanor would help calm Amir.

Amir arched his eyebrows. "Well?"

Dante grunted. He supposed Amir had good cause to be cranky. "Have you accepted that what I've told you so far is true, that I'm a gargoyle? That I'm tasked with protecting the holy relics and only wish to protect you?"

Amir tipped back his head, sighing and mumbling to himself. He met Dante's eyes again.

"I don't want to, but I can't deny what I saw. Not sure whatthe protecting me thing is about, but I'll accept it for now" He shook his head as if still in disbelief. "My uncle always warned me that strange beings and dangerous creatures existed in the mystical realm and that he possessed…" He averted his eyes for a second. "Something they would kill to steal."

"And what was this item?"

Amir cleared his throat. "That's not the point. What I'm saying is that as much as I thought he was too obsessed with the spiritual teachings he'd grown up with, I was the one who was wrong about everything. I've been studying ancient languages, but I always interpreted what I read as being myths. And I assumed that all the trauma he experienced escaping Iraq had skewed his thinking, that he was living in a constant state of paranoia."

Dante was beginning to get the picture. "Is that where he obtained the relic?"

Amir's jaw dropped. "What made you say that?"

Dante shrugged. "When Baghdad fell, the National Museum was ransacked. I'm assuming he stole it in order to keep whatever it is safe."

Amir appeared as if he might be sick. "He did, he was working there at the time. But now it's mine to protect. My uncle said that if anything ever happened to him, that I needed to protect it."

"Of course. But did he give you instructions on how to do that? To keep yourself from being murdered and the item falling into the wrong hands?"

"N-no. But I didn't believe anything he said was actually true. I mean, yeah. The—" He slapped a hand over his mouth before speaking again. "The item is valuable and an important historical artifact, but…" He sighed. "I guess I assumed I'd never have to worry about anything bad happening. I was eighteen when my folks died, and he let me live above the shop. He has an antique store. I helped him clean, and I worked at the store when he went on buying trips. That sort of thing. When I was ready to go to college, he paid my tuition."

"Sounds like a good man."

Dante found himself relieved that his mate had been looked after. Yet, a part of him also wanted to kick himself for being so focused on killing the rogues that Amir could've been killed. Instead of accepting his mate when he reached his quota, he'd defied everyone and gone off on his own, leaving Amir to an unknown fate.

"He was." Amir looked down, picking at the cloth of his jeans.

"Is the relic still safe?" As much as he wanted to tell Amir that they were destined to be together and his true origins, he did have another duty to the Divine. "None of the rogues were able to steal it?"

"No. It's fine."

Amir moved his hand until it rested on his hip. Dante had a pretty good idea of where the relic was and that it was one of the smaller artifacts still missing.

"Good. When the Archangel Michael arrives, you'll need to hand it over so it can be kept secure with the others."

"Others?"

"Of course. We've recovered several other items over the years, such as the Holy Grail, Ark of the Covenant—some of the biggies. But many are still unaccounted for and need to be kept safe from the demon scourge so they can't seize power."

Amir shook his head as if stunned. "Wow. Never could I have imagined that any of this was possible. Man, the world sure is living in complete oblivion."

Dante shifted in his seat. "Actually, there is something else you should know."

Amir winced. "Oh no. What now?"

Dante leaned forward and patted Amir's hand, regretting the unthinking action immediately. Amir gasped, yanking his hand away, his cheeks going scarlet red as he gaped at Dante. He couldn't quite read Amir's expression, but he wasn't afraid. The way he rubbed his hand with the other was like he'd been zapped.

"There's nothing to worry about."

He hoped Amir would agree with that assessment. It would suck if his mate recoiled in disgust once he discovered Dante was about to be his baby daddy.

"Then why do I feel so strange around you? I know there's something you're still hiding."

"Not hiding. Working up to."

"How's that coming along?" Amir snorted. "Because I already told you I need to know everything."

Yup. A feisty one. "If you want it all at once, here you go. We're fated mates, and you've been chosen by the Divine Spark to be my mate and the life-giver of our offspring."

Amir choke-coughed. "That's it. I'm out."

He leaped from the bed and made a run for the door, Dante blocking him before he could reach the latch. Not that he could go anywhere since he was deep in the lair, but he wanted his mate to understand, to accept that he was of a special status. Not a prisoner.

"Let me go!" Amir struggled in his grasp. "I know nothing about you and I'm not giving up everything to stay wherever it is I am! I have my own life and my own…" Amir choked on a sob. "Where would I go? I-I don't know what to do. My uncle was the only family I had left."

Dante drew him into an embrace, cradling him against his chest and stroking his back while Amir cried. The more his sadness poured out, the more Dante wanted to fix everything for him.

He made an oath to himself. He'd not only do whatever it took to protect him, he'd devote himself to making Amir happy. Yeah, finding his mate had triggered something inside him. Clearly, he'd lost his mind. He also wondered why he'd been an idiot for so long. Holding Amir felt…nice. Comforting.

Dante growled to himself.

Amir snuffled, lifting his head to look up at him. "I don't understand what's happening to me. I'm not sure I should be admitting this, but it feels so good being held by you." His lips parted, and he frowned. "Another weird thing happened. I remember now, I remember seeing you, and as soon as our eyes met, I don't know." His face blushed furiously. "I was mesmerized, felt like I could drown in your arms forever. But at the same time…life-giver?" He winced. "That can't possibly mean what I think it does."

"It does."

Amir's knees buckled, and Dante grabbed him before he could fall. "Look. If it helps, I'm going through similar feelings about you. I'm not the poetic type, and it'll take me some time to accept our union, but I think we can have a good future together."

His body was also experiencing some pretty intense reactions to Amir. But he didn't want to overwhelm him with his pervy fantasies. Explaining why he was able to get pregnant and that he wasn't fully human would be challenging enough.

Amir appeared as though he was in shock. "I just don't understand how me…you know…giving birth is possible." He snorted. "Or why it's even necessary."

Dante carefully guided Amir to sit down again, then he sat beside him. "There's something very important that you also need to know. Maybe it will help you to make sense of your role in all this."

Amir rubbed his forehead. "I'm not sure how many more surprises I can take today, but what the hell. Have at it."

Dante cradled Amir's face between his palms. "You are meant to mate with the gargoyle guardians, and Slayers are the highest ranking of our kind."

"But why, Dante? Why me?"

"Because you are a Nephilim. Half human, half angel."