"WHERE IS SHE?"

"What the hell did you do with her?"

Reyes was slumped in a chair in the entertainment room, a glass of ambrosia-laced brandy in his hand. Danika's mother and sister stood in front of the television where homemade movies of Danika as a child played. Her grandmother sat beside him, her cast-clad legs outstretched.

He'd had Lucien fetch the movies three days ago and had not left the chair since. Right now, they were his only link to Danika and, hopefully, his key to finding her. Danika. I miss you, my love. He didn't care that Hunters were most likely gearing for another attack. Didn't care that his friends were preparing for war.

Footsteps. A slap across his cheek. He fingered his jaw, but for once he was too numb to enjoy the pain.

"Talk to us!" the sister demanded.

"Please," the mother begged. "Fight your evil side and help us."

"Leave him alone," the grandmother told them, patting his hand. "I used to see demons in my dreams, and this man is no demon. He loves our girl and is doing everything in his power to bring her back."

Was he? He felt as if he should be doing more. But what, he didn't know. "If I knew where she was, she would have been rescued by now," he finally answered. "I failed her. There. Does that make you feel better?"

Silence.

"Well, get her back!" Tinka, the mother, shouted.

"I don't know how." The admission was painful, so painful, and not in a good way.

Five days had passed since Danika had vanished. In those five days, Aeron had regained consciousness, his need to kill completely gone, as if it had never been a part of him. He'd apologized - forgive me. Please forgive me, for I doubt I will ever be able to forgive myself. I love you, would never purposely...Gods, Reyes, I'm so sorry - and Reyes had done the same: begged for forgiveness. I love you, too, my friend. I should have taken better care of you. Can you ever forgive me?

They'd embraced, and Legion, who was never far from Aeron's side, had cheered. But Reyes's sense of loss had not faded. He had summoned the gods over and over, praying, begging, all to no avail.

He didn't know what else to do.

Tinka and Ginger, the sister, began pacing and muttering in front of him. Every so often, he could see the TV. He thought he heard a young Danika laughing.

"Who took her?" one asked.

"I heard one of the monsters - uh, warriors - say it was the work of the gods," the other replied. "And we all heard Danika say that she saw herself in the heavens."

"If Danika saw the heavens, she's in the heavens," the grandmother said. "Trust me. I know."

"Okay, then. Let's pretend the warrior was right and the gods took her. Why was she taken by them?"

"Probably because she is a portal." He refused to use the word was. That would mean Danika was...dead. Gone. No longer reachable.

All three women stopped and eyed him sharply. "What are you talking about? What kind of portal?"

He explained, trying to hold back his tears. Pain was close to whimpering inside his head. On the screen, Danika laughed again. What was she doing? He leaned to the side. She was blowing out birthday candles. He imagined a child of hers - of theirs - would look just as sweet, and he would have smiled at the image if he hadn't been so miserable.

"My baby was a portal between - "

"Is," he and the demon growled in unison. "Is a portal. She's still alive."

"That's just not possible," Tinka said. Then she held up her hands. "She's alive, that's not what I meant. I just...It's too hard to believe she was some kind of gateway between heaven and hell."

"You've seen wings pop out of a man's back, daughter," the grandmother said staunchly. "Believe it."

"But how could I not have known?" Tinka whispered brokenly. "How could I have missed something like that?"

"Her dreams," Reyes said. "It was always her dreams."

"I was once just like her." Mallory uttered a sad little sigh. "First time I saw one of her paintings, I nearly fainted. I was frightened for her, I admit, and didn't know what to do. Had I not fought my own visions so terribly, I might have realized what was going on and might have been able to help her cope."

"You did help her. The stories you told her gave her the strength and courage to face her nightmares rather than run from them." His eyes burned and he rubbed them with the back of his wrist. My Danika, sweet Danika.

Mallory squeezed his hand.

Tinka's pacing renewed. Again, Reyes was given a momentary glimpse of the TV screen. There was a blur as the camera stopped rolling and picked up on another date. In this one, Danika was probably eleven years old and painting. She was covered in the stuff, a living rainbow.

He felt closer to her like this. He could not, would not, give her up. Had begged Anya for a miracle, like the one she'd performed for Maddox and Ashlyn. She'd tried to help him, but had failed. He'd even asked his friends to take his head and end this torment. They'd refused. In the end, he'd been a bit relieved, knowing his soul would go to hell, placing him only farther away from Danika.

Somehow, someway, she was in heaven. Alive - he would not believe otherwise, ever - but there all the same.

If he had to earn his way there, he would do it. They would be together again.

Ginger and Tinka seemed to have forgotten his presence as they continued to pace and talk.

"The man does seem to love her."

"Seem is the key word. I don't care what my mother says; I can't forget what he is. What all of them are."

"Demons."

"Yes. The very demons Danika used to paint."

Still does, he thought, but remained silent. Damn them. He wanted them out of his way so he could see the screen fully and without interruption.

"But he cried when she disappeared."

"He sobbed, actually."

Still want to. Pain curled into a ball in the corner of his mind, licking at its emotional wounds. The creature had fallen in love with Danika just as Reyes had. Was lost without her. They were two halves of the same whole, so Reyes supposed it stood to reason they would love the same woman.

"If anyone can bring her home, it's him."

He listened vaguely, still drinking in those flickering visions of little Danika. Even then she'd been an angel, full of light and hope for the future. I'm nothing without her.

"Are you listening to me?" Ginger stood in front of him, hands anchored on her hips. She was taller than Danika, even thinner. Pretty, but she was not his angel.

"No," he said. "Move."

Tinka joined her daughter, linking their arms. "There has to be something else you can try."

"Bring her back," Ginger said, "and we'll stop trying to convince her to leave you."

"Not that it did any good. She wanted you in her...in her..." Tinka sobbed. "In her life."

The two women embraced. Reyes's chest ached.

Pain took no notice. Want my angel.

Me, too.

Need her.

Ginger and Tinka released each other and clomped off to the corner to whisper. Finally Reyes was able to see the screen in full detail. There was Danika, proudly waving her hand in front of the finished painting.

"They mean well," Mallory said.

"I know."

"Maybe, if I concentrate hard enough, my visions will come back. Maybe I can discover a way to fix this."

Maybe. But he would not get his hopes up. Reyes noticed the design of Danika's painting for the first time. He frowned, grabbed the remote control. The camera panned away from the painting, showing a frowning woman - a younger version of the grandmother, who was studying the colors and the lines.

Reyes pressed Rewind. When the painting reappeared, he pressed Pause. Ginger strode back in front of him, determination radiating from her.

"Move," he told her.

"Uh, excuse me. You - "

"Move!"

Gasping, she raced out of the way. "Fine. No need to shout."

His gaze locked on the painting once more. Could it be - was it...? It was. It really was. He shot to his feet, numbness giving way to anticipation. "Mallory. Look at the painting and tell me what you see."

She obeyed, wide-eyed. "Oh, my God. Is that...is that...?"

"I think so." He might just have found the way to save Danika.

DANIKA FLOATED on a sea of black, surrounded by winter's chill.

Every so often she could feel the brush of fingertips across her face and neck, and knew a cloth draped her naked body because the cool silk somehow kept her from drifting away into absolute nothingness. Too, she periodically heard a voice inside her head.

Tell me what you see.

She knew what the speaker wanted: to know what the demons in hell and angels in heaven were doing and saying. She also knew the speaker couldn't invade her mind without an invitation, for he had tried, over and over again, to scan her visions and had failed.

Purposefully, she projected an image of Reyes. Her shadow warrior. Her love. Oh, how she missed him. Craved him. He had held her tenderly while she'd bled, his body offering her strength, his eyes begging her to heal. She'd wanted so badly to stay with him but ghostly hands had grabbed her and jerked her away.

She hated the owner of those hands and knew it was the man even now shouting, Enough of this. Do not show me the demon again.

I will show you nothing else. Return me to him.

Silence.

How much time passed while the hands continued to touch her, the cloth continued to hold her, she didn't know. Time was endless here...immeasurable. There was no more denying who and what she was.

I just want to go home.

The speaker once again approached her. Tell me what you see.

Everything inside her stilled. For a moment that had sounded like -

Tell me what you see.

Reyes! The voice belonged to Reyes. Her heart sped up, her blood rushing hot and fast in her veins. My love, she said.

I'm here, sweet Danika. I'm here. Two fingers traced her lips.

But the chill didn't leave her. No, the cold remained. The scent of sandalwood didn't fill her nose. She smelled only the sweetness of the clouds and the drift of baby powder.

In that moment, she knew it wasn't Reyes who had spoken and her joy plummeted, fury taking its place. Reyes doesn't call me his sweet Danika, you sick bastard!

There was a rumble of anger. Reyes will die by my hand if you do not tell me what you see! The voice had returned to normal.

In her mind, she screamed and screamed and screamed. The sound was one of anguish and pain, agony and anger, and she projected it into the mind of her tormentor.

Stop. Enough.

Will you hurt him?

No.

She didn't know whether she could trust him or not, but she quieted. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?

You can help me rule this world. Together, we will ensure the safety and prosperity of the heavens. No harm shall befall us.

Who are you? she insisted.

Let me show you. A moment later, an image of a tall, lean man floated into her head. He had a kind but formidable face, with a head of thick silver hair. He was wearing a white toga and sitting upon a bejeweled throne.

She recognized him from the painting she'd made for Reyes. Cronus.

The image in her mind shifted and she saw a woman reclining in a chaise beside the king's throne. A beautiful woman with long pale hair and wide green eyes. Like Danika, but not. The pair smiled at each other, happy, unimaginable peace radiating from them.

You helped me once. You can help me again. With your vision and my might, we can make the world all that it once was: sublime, serene, beautiful.

Not me. I didn't help you.

The image faded. No, not you precisely. But the power of the Eye passes through your bloodline. At one time, your ancestors guided my path, kept me informed. Helped me to rule. Why won't you do the same? Once you agree, you will be free to roam the heavens. Your only job will be to observe my allies and enemies and report to me their activities. The rest of the time will be yours to use freely.

I want Reyes. Again she projected an image of the warrior. Where was he? What was he doing? In her mind, she heard herself sob. Tears began to fall. They didn't stay inside her mind, however, but began to rain over her entire body, the cold causing her skin to ice over.

You cannot have him. He belongs to the Underworld and you belong to me.

No!

Arguing with me does not change anything.

Then know this. I belong to Reyes, and he belongs to me. You will have no answers from me as long as I'm parted from him.

She felt the god move toward her, anger in every step.

"CRONUS!" Reyes shouted from the rooftop of the fortress. "Cronus, show yourself!"

The wind whipped, hostile, as if it wanted to pound him to a bloody pulp. At one time, he had been glad for that, had welcomed the sensation. Danika had changed him for the better. She had given him something to live for.

"Cronus!"

"I am here, Pain."

Surprised, Reyes spun. The king of gods stood on the other side of the roof, his white robe swirling fiercely at his ankles. He appeared as old and frail as any human, but strength radiated from him. Strength and power the god would never be able to hide.

"Where is she?"

"Safe," was all the god said, inclining his head.

Still, that one word comforted Reyes as nothing else could have. She was safe. Which meant she was alive. Which meant she could be sent back to him. "Show her to me. Please. I beg you."

Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited. Finally Cronus nodded, waved a hand through the air, and a vision of Danika shimmered into focus. She was exactly as she'd described in the moments before she'd vanished. She lay on a marble dais, a golden, glowing vision. White draped her from neck to toes.

She was Sleeping Beauty.

"Is she...is she hurting?"

"Not even a little. I opted to keep her and so I healed her."

"Thank you."

"I did not do it for you."

Didn't matter. He'd done it, and for that Reyes would be forever grateful. "I want her back," he managed to croak past the lump in his throat. He reached out, meaning to trace his fingertip over Danika's soft red lips.

Another wave of Cronus's hand and the vision faded.

Reyes felt the demon howl. "Please. I want her," he said again.

"And she wants you." Eyes narrowed, Cronus walked forward. No, he did not walk. He floated. His feet never touched the gravel-laden slats. "But now that I have her I plan to use her. My decision to have her killed was...hasty."

"Why do you need her?"

"My reasons are my own. All you need know is that you would distract her."

"I won't. I swear it."

"You will not be able to help yourself."

"I love her."

"Yes, I know, but that knowledge does not sway me," the god said mercilessly. Then they were standing nose to nose.

Reyes smelled the sun, the stars and the moon, all in one inhalation. He hated the scent.

"The demon hordes want her, your mortal enemies want her. Even your friends seek to use her for their own gain. You cannot protect her on every front."

"I can. I would die for her. I love her. I will let no harm befall her."

Cronus arched a dark brow. "As you proved when you let Wrath stab her?"

Guilt swam through him anew. "Knowing she experienced pain nearly destroys me every time I think of it. I will not allow such a thing to happen again." His hands fisted at his sides. "I saw something today, one of Danika's earliest paintings. You...you were in it."

The god's head tilted to the side, his expression becoming pensive. "I am listening."

"In the painting one of your enemies had taken your head."

With every word Reyes had spoken, rage had further darkened the god's face. "How dare you utter such blasphemy! No one is strong enough to do such a thing. I should strike you down for the mere suggestion."

He knew he trod on dangerous ground, but he said, "It is true. I would hardly lie when so much is at stake."

"Where is this painting? You will show it to me. Now." The entire fortress trembled, stones rubbing together, some crumbling.

Reyes shook his head. "I will trade it for Danika."

"The painting. Now!"

"First agree to my trade."

Cronus drew in a breath, held it, slowly released it. It was as hot as a poker and smoke billowed from his nostrils. "She is my property, and unlike you, I do not barter what's mine."

His property? Hardly. "Then you may kiss your head goodbye. I doubt your Eye is ever wrong."

Though Reyes had half feared the god would smite him for his impudence, silence reigned for a long while. Then, "When you can prove you're strong enough to protect her, summon me again. We will talk." With that, the god disappeared.

"YOU USED TO BE A GODDESS. Tell me how to prove to Cronus I can protect Danika."

Anya had been in the process of flipping through her wardrobe while William sat on her bed, begging for the precious book of prophecies she'd stolen from him, when Reyes burst into her bedroom. Without knocking, she might add. Bastard. He was lucky she wore more than a smile and a pink boa. And the only reason she did wear actual clothing was because Lucien was on the hillside, checking traps. Well, that and William was here, and the man was too much like a brother to show off her favorite boa.

"First thing first, Turd Ferguson. I am a goddess," she said to Reyes. To William, she added, "Begging is not a good look for you." She continued flicking outfits out of the way.

"You promised me the book," the warrior said.

"Yeah, but I didn't say exactly when."

"I'm staying here until I get it."

"That's just reason for me to keep it. You're fun to have around."

William dropped his head into his upraised hands.

"I do not mean to interrupt," Reyes said, "but - "

"Second thing second, I wasn't done. William, what do you think of this dress?" She held up a strand of beads.

"I love it," the warrior said with a grin.

"Anya, please," Reyes pleaded.

"Fine. I just hope you're ready for my irritation." Turning, she ticked off a finger and walked toward him as she spoke. "Look here, sugar plum. I helped break the death-curse that bound you to Maddox yet you bad-mouthed me to Lucien a few weeks later. That was very naughty of you."

He opened his mouth to speak.

She held up another finger and arched a brow, daring him to utter a single word. He pressed his lips together.

William laughed, his own woes clearly forgotten. "You're in trouble," he sang.

"Then," she continued, nodding with satisfaction, "you made Lucien wait days before telling him about Aeron. Plus, I already tried to help you with Danika. You didn't say thank-you. Next, I don't know the Titans all that well. They were already imprisoned by the time I was born. And last but definitely not least, you really smell. Ever heard of a shower, Painie?"

"I am sorry for every way I've ever wronged you, Anya," he rushed out. "You have only to tell me what to do to atone for my sins, and I'll do it. But please, help me first. Cronus demands I prove I can protect Danika before he'll give her back to me."

Gods, I'm a sucker for love. Anya studied the warrior in front of her. He'd lost weight, maybe because he'd stopped eating and only poured ambrosia-enhanced alcoholic beverages down his throat, and hadn't showered or changed in what seemed like forever. He was pale, his unwashed hair standing on end from the many times he'd plowed his fingers through.

Frankly, he was a mess.

What drew her attention most, however, was the fact that for the first time since she'd met him, he was not riddled with cuts. "Hey, why aren't you hurting yourself?"

He looked down at his arms, turning them in the light to study them, as if he hadn't realized he'd stopped. "I hurt every minute of every day. There has been no need to cut myself."

"But what if, when she returns, your pain leaves and you have to cut yourself again? Would you still want her?"

"I will happily cut myself to ribbons if only I can have her."

"Interesting." She propped her hip against the vanity beside her, tapping her nails on the marble top. Click, click, click. "Obviously you've spoken with King Craphead. What exactly did he say to you?"

William leaned forward, listening.

Reyes relayed the conversation, word for word, unconcerned by his rapt audience.

"And how did he take the news of Danika's paintings?"

"With fury. Fear, I think. What if he never gives her back to me?" Suddenly his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. He stayed there, waiting. "Damn. I don't think I've ever been this weak."

"Well, you're not going to prove anything but weakness in this sorry condition." She raised her hand and tapped her nails against her chin. "He said demon hordes are after her. Maybe you should, like, battle them. Kill them."

"To war with them would require centuries," William pointed out.

"Yeah, but he's got nothing but time. Jeez." She rolled her eyes. "Rain on my parade of smartness, why don't you? If you don't want to go that route..." she added to Reyes.

"I don't."

"Fine. Whatever. Let's see, let's see. There has to be something else. Think, Anya, think. You, too, Willy. Put that fat head of yours to work."

Silence. Hours of silence.

"Maybe slap Cronus around a bit," William finally suggested. "That would convince me of your strength."

Anya clapped happily. "That's it! Defeat Cronus, and you'll end this little game right now, as well as rid the world once and for all of his nastiness."

Reyes's eyes widened. "You're kidding. Defeat Cronus?"

Hearing him say it dimmed her excitement. "You're right. Probably not possible. Sadly, he's the most powerful being living and you're, well, not."

"What I am is a man in love." A crazed gleam entered Reyes's eyes, a glint that scared her. If he went after the god king, Lucien would be upset. And she didn't like when Lucien was upset.

"Uh, Reyes, baby, let's put our heads together and come up with something else. Something - "

If he heard her, he gave no notice. He'd lumbered to his feet and limped from the room. Anya wished like hell she'd kept her big mouth shut.

AFTER STUFFING HIMSELF with more food than his stomach should have been able to hold, Reyes had Lucien flash him to the storage facility where Danika kept all of her paintings. Her mother, sister and grandmother had come along for the ride, a comfort to him. He was grateful Hunters hadn't beaten him to it.

Every hour he sorted through the stacks of canvas, his determination to win Danika increased. Though Cronus had never reappeared, Reyes could always feel the god's eyes on him, boring, watching, waiting for a glimpse of the mysterious painting.

But Reyes didn't offer it to him. Not yet. Since that night upon the roof, he had ceased playing the tapes of Danika's childhood. And though he longed to see them again, he knew it was for the best.

"Just a little more time, angel, then we'll be together again. I swear it." He'd already uttered the words at least a hundred times. For her. For him. Her family had stopped shaking their heads in surprise when he did so.

Ginger dusted her hands together. "I can't believe the nightmares my little sister has had to deal with."

Tinka wrapped an arm around the girl's waist. They made a beautiful pair, sandy hair gleaming, cheeks glowing rosily. Danika should be here, enjoying them.

Pain grunted an agreement.

"She's stronger than I ever knew," Ginger continued, glancing at the stacks of art. "A better painter, too. I mean, I knew she was good, but I had no idea."

Tears poured from Tinka's green eyes, eyes so very much like Danika's his heart wanted to explode every time he looked into them. "I can't believe I shamed my daughter into hiding these in storage. They should be in a gallery. They're hauntingly lovely, aren't they?"

Like Danika herself. "Yes. They are."

Mallory pulled a plastic bag from her purse, opened it and offered half of a peanut-butter sandwich to him. "Before we left, your friend Anya told us we had to help you keep your strength up."

He accepted it gratefully and had it consumed in two bites, liking the thoughtfulness of the woman's gesture. Danika's family - not to mention Anya herself - seemed to have forgiven him for his crimes against them. "When Danika is returned to us, she will find joy in her paintings. This I swear to you."

"I so wanted to hate you," Ginger said on a sigh.

His lips twitched. Her tart tongue amused him, reminding him of Danika.

Would everything remind him of Danika? he wondered then. He didn't mind the reminders, he loved them, but many more and he might break down, give in to the misery of being without his woman.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Tinka asked, suddenly beside him.

"Ask Mallory," was all he said, unwilling to cease his search to explain. He would not give up. If necessary, his last breath would be expended finding Danika.

"Look for anything involving Cronus, King of the Titans, and set it aside for Reyes to study. And before you ask, Cronus is tall, with thick silver hair and a beard, and always wears a white toga."

One of the portraits caught his eye, a colorful depiction of angels and demons, life and death, blood and smiles. Like Ginger, he was amazed by what she had seen in her young life. Amazed even more that she had thrived despite her burden, emerging as the determined yet gentle warrioress he knew.

A few more flips, and he found four paintings of Cronus. His heart rate sped up. In some, the god paced the corridors of a prison cell, flames licking the walls, smoke filling the air. In others, he fought his way free, killing with expert precision, using his scythe, which stretched and stretched and stretched miles past its usual length to take the heads of his enemies.

Why had Cronus not carried the scythe when he'd visited Reyes? Afraid he would use it and regret it? If that were the case - which Reyes seriously doubted - it would mean Cronus needed him alive. Perhaps the king had traded it for something. Danika's life? Anya had once mentioned that even the gods were bound by the laws of give-and-take, sow-and-reap.

Reyes frowned, pushing the thoughts from his mind. For now. They weren't as important as saving his woman. He moved to another stack of canvases, the first of Cronus cornering a group of trembling gods and backing them into the very cell he himself had occupied. Gods Reyes had once guarded. Seeing them now, he felt a pang of forgotten loyalty. Cronus's expression was one of cold determination. It was obvious he wanted to kill them, but wanted them to suffer the same fate he had even more.

For hours more, Reyes pored over the artwork. The women supplied him with water and snacks but remained silent, as if sensing his need to focus. Finally, he had examined every single canvas.

He hadn't found the one he wanted - had Danika destroyed it? Hidden it elsewhere? - but he had learned some valuable information and began ticking each fact off in his mind.

Cronus hated confinement. Would do anything to avoid it.

He preferred revenge over absolute safety, for never again could the Greek gods challenge him for the heavenly throne if Cronus had killed them. Instead, he'd locked them away, taking Anya's greatest treasure to ensure they stayed where they belonged.

His scythe could elongate as surely as Reyes's nails.

All of that, on top of the first painting Reyes had seen...his mouth fell open as the answer finally, blessedly shifted into place. He jumped to his feet, having trouble catching his breath. Grinning for the first time in days.

"What?" the women asked in unison.

"I know what I have to do." Close, he was so close. All he had to do now was find a way into heaven.

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