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“You over think things.” The Seraph said as he stepped past the shadows into the light. He was an Angel of War, but not just any Seraph, he and his brothers were the Elite’s Warrior Angels. Slaves to the bands wrapped tightly around their neck. Only their mates could free them, and the Nubi were extinct. So much for their happily-ever-after.

“You’re dramatic.” Gabe shot back.

“I’ve come to issue a warning.”

Always with the warnings, as if he hadn’t had enough during his two hundred year sentence.

“What warning?”

“Don’t interfere in this upcoming battle.”

Direct, but still elusive. He knew something was brewing, everyone did. They just didn’t know what. Too many things were happening all at once, the emergence of both the Red Hand Organization, and Eremiel was not a coincidence. Something bad was coming, and it was going to tear everyone’s world upside down.

Greyson, almost seven feet tall, blocked what little light the screens threw off in the office. His shoulders were wide enough to cast their own shadows. Shoulder length charcoal hair that sometimes looked silver at night settled in what women called silky waves around his head. It was the collar that drew your attention though. A metal not found of this world, with the power to make the wearer bow to your commands. Greyson and his brothers had managed to kill the original owner, but not before learning that the slave collar came with a curse. Only their mates could remove it, and their mates were a race of warrior women called the Nubi, killed by the mother of all demons, Lilith.

Females still fell at Grey’s feet, and who was he to offer warning? It was their funeral. Gabe on the other hand wasn’t afforded the luxury of a woman’s touch. Most of his time was spent in the computer room, operating the controls, making sure security was tight. There wasn’t time for frolicking. Frolicking? Damn his age was showing.


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