Love. He found her among the crowd and the pang in his chest grew unbearable. She was currently adding a magic marker mustache to one of Sabin’s portraits while Kaia added…other things down below. Kaia was giggling; Bianka looked like she was just going through the motions, taking no joy.

He wanted her happy. Wanted her the way she’d been.

“You think you are embarrassed of her,” Olivia continued when he gave no response.

“How do you know?” He forced the words to leave him.

“I am—or was—a joy-bringer, Lysander. It was my job to know what people were feeling and then help them see the truth. Because only in truth can one find real joy. You were never embarrassed of her. I know you. You are embarrassed by nothing. You were simply scared. Scared that you were not what she needs.”

His eyes widened. Could that be true? He’d tried to change her. Had tried to make her what he was so that she, in turn, would like what he was? Yes. Yes, that made sense, and for the second time in his existence, he hated himself.

He had let Bianka get away from him. When he should have sung her praises to all of the heavens, he had cast her aside. No man was more foolish. Irreparable damage or not, he had to try and win her back.

He jumped to his feet. “I do,” he said. “I love her.” He wanted to throw his arms around her. Wanted to shout to all the world that she belonged to him. That she had chosen him as her man.

His shoulders slumped. Chosen. Key word. Past tense. She would not choose him again. She did not give second chances, she’d said.

She often lies…

For the first time, the thought that his woman liked to lie caused him to smile. Perhaps she had lied about that. Perhaps she would give him a second chance. A chance to prove his love.

If he had to grovel, he would. She was his temptation, but that did not have to be a bad thing. That could be his salvation. After all, his life would mean nothing without her. Same for her. She had told him that he was her own temptation. He could be her salvation.

“Thank you,” he told Olivia. “Thank you for showing me the truth.”

“Always my pleasure.”

How should he approach Bianka? When? Urgency flooded him. He wanted to do so now. As a warrior, though, he knew some battles required planning. And as this was the most important battle of his existence, plan his attack he would.

If she forgave him and decided to be with him, they would still have a tough road ahead. Where would they live? His duties were in the heavens. She thrived on earth, with her family nearby. Plus, Olivia was destined to kill Aeron, who would essentially be Bianka’s brother-in-law after tomorrow. And if Olivia decided not to, another angel would be chosen to do the job.

Most likely, that would be Lysander.

One thing his Deity had taught him, however, was that love truly could conquer all. Nothing was stronger. They could make this work.

“I’ve lost you again,” Olivia said with a laugh. “Before you rush off, you must tell me why you summoned me. What Raphael said to you.”

Some of his good mood evaporated. While Olivia had just given him hope and helped him find the right path, he was about to dash any hopes of a happily-ever-after for her.

“Raphael came to me,” he repeated. Just do it; just say it. “He told me of the council’s unhappiness with you. He told me they grow weary of your continued defiance.”

Her smile fell away. “I know,” she whispered. “I just…I haven’t been able to bring myself to hurt him. Watching him gives me joy. And I deserve to experience joy after so many centuries of devoted service, do I not?”

“Of course.”

“And if he is dead, I will never be able to do the things I now dream about.”

His brow furrowed. “What things?”

“Touching him. Curling into his arms.” A pause. “Kissing him.”

Dangerous desires indeed. Oh, did he know their power. “If you never experience them,” he offered, “they are easier to resist.” But he hated to think of this wonderful female being without something she wanted.

He could petition the council for Aeron’s forgiveness, but that would do no good. A decree was a decree. A law had been broken and someone had to pay. “Very soon, the council will be forced to offer you a choice. Your duty or your downfall.”

She gazed down at her hands, once again twisting the fabric of her robe. “I know. I don’t know why I hesitate. He would never desire me, anyway. The women here, they are exciting, dangerous. As fierce as he is. And I am—”

“Precious,” he said. “You are precious. Never think otherwise.”

She offered him a shaky smile.

“I have always loved you, Olivia. I would hate to see you give up everything you are for a man who has threatened to kill you. You do know what you would be losing, yes?”

That smile fell away as she nodded.

“You would fall straight into hell. The demons there will go for your wings. They always go for the wings first. No longer will you be impervious to pain. You will hurt, yet you will have to dig your way free of the underground—or die there. Your strength will be depleted. Your body will not regenerate on its own. You will be more fragile than a human because you were not raised among them.”

While he thought he could survive such a thing, he did not think Olivia would. She was too delicate. Too…sheltered. Until this point, every facet of her life had dealt with joy and happiness. She had known nothing else.

The demons of hell would be crueler to her than they would be even to him, the man they feared more than any other. She was all they despised. Wholly good. Destroying such innocence and purity would delight them.

“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice trembled. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

“Because I do not want you to make the wrong decision. Because I want you to know what you’re up against.”

A moment passed in silence, then she jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, you know.”

He squeezed her tightly, sensing that this was her way of saying goodbye. Sensing that this would be the last time they were offered such a reprieve. But he would not stop her, whatever path she chose.

She pulled back and smoothed her trembling hands down her glistening white robe. “You have given me much to consider. So now I will leave you to your female. May love always follow you, Lysander.” As she spoke, her wings expanded. Up, up she flew, misting through the ceiling—and Bianka’s flowers—before disappearing.

He hoped she’d choose her faith, her immortality, over the keeper of Wrath, but feared she would not. His gaze strayed to Bianka, now walking down the aisle toward the exit. She paused at his row, frowned, before shaking her head and leaving. If he’d been forced to pick between her and his reputation and lifestyle, he would have picked her, he realized.

And now it was time to prove it to her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I’VE GOT TO PULL MYSELF from this funk, Bianka thought. This was her youngest sister’s wedding day. She should be happy. Delighted. If she were honest, though, she was a tiny bit—aka a lot—jealous. Gwen’s man, a demon, loved her. Was proud of her.

Lysander considered Bianka unworthy.

She’d thought about proving herself to him, but had quickly discarded the idea. Proving herself worthy—his idea of worthy, that is—would entail nothing more than a lie. And Lysander hated lies. So, according to him, she would never be good enough for him. Which meant he was stupid, and she didn’t date stupid men. Plus, he didn’t deserve her.

He deserved to rot in his unhappiness. And that’s what he’d be without her. Unhappy. Or so she hoped.

“So much for our plan to go naked,” Kaia muttered beside her. “Gwen saw me leave my room that way and almost sliced my throat.”

“Did not,” the bride in question said from behind them.

They turned in unison. Bianka’s breath caught as it had every time she’d seen her youngest sister in her gown. It was a princess cut, which was fitting, the straps thin, the beautiful white lace cinching just under her breasts before flowing to her ankles. The material covering her legs was sheer, allowing glimpses of thigh and those gorgeous red heels.

Her strawberry curls were half up, half down, diamonds glittering through the strands. There was so much love and excitement in her gold-gray eyes it was almost blinding.

“I almost pushed you out a window,” Gwen added.

They laughed. Even stoic Taliyah, their oldest sister, who had her arm wrapped through Gwen’s. Since it turned out Gwen’s father was the Lords’ greatest enemy, and Gwen’s mom had disowned her years ago, Taliyah was escorting Gwen down the aisle.

“Hence the reason I’m now wearing this.” Kaia motioned to her own gown, an exact match to Bianka’s. A buttercup-yellow creation with more ribbons, bows and sequined rose appliqués than anyone should wear in an entire lifetime. They even wore hats with orange streamers.

Gwen shrugged, unrepentant. “I didn’t want you looking prettier than me, so sue me.”

“Weddings suck,” Bianka said. “You should have just had Sabin tattoo your name on his ass and called it good.” That’s what she would have done. Not that Lysander ever would have agreed to such a thing. Whether they were together or not.

Which they never would be. Bastard.

“I did. Have him tattoo my name on his ass,” Gwen said. “And his arm. And his chest. And his back. But then I casually mentioned how much I’d always wanted a big wedding, and well, he told me I had four weeks to plan it or he’d take over and do it himself. And everyone knows men can’t plan shit. So…” She shrugged again, though the excitement and love on her face had intensified. “Are they ready for us yet?”

Bianka and Kaia turned back to the chapel, peeking through the crack in the closed doors.

“Not yet,” Bianka said. “Paris is missing.”

Paris, who had gotten ordained over the internet, would be presiding over the nuptials.