“I’m a seraph and a strong one.” She didn’t feel it was fair to remind him that she’d mere minutes ago been caught between him and Ava, so she changed the subject. “Earth?”

With a curt nod, Wrath opened his wings and took to the skies.

Haziel watched him climb with a wince. As a seraph she had wonderful wings, three sets of them in fact, which on a normal day made the seraphim more agile and faster in the air than even the archangels. But six wings meant a lot of delicate bones and cartilage to damage, and right now, her right wing was aching like a demon. When she’d smacked into the wall, she must have damaged something.

Taking a deep breath, she snapped open her wings. A whimper of pain got away from her before she could stop it. Fortunately Wrath was too far ahead of her to hear and already stroking the air powerfully in the direction of Lust’s demesne.

It was much quicker to fly than walk, and now that Ava knew they were leaving her territory, it was also safer.

And she didn’t want Wrath feeling bad about her damaged humerus. The pain seared from her wing and down her back, necessitating the use of a wonderful curse she’d heard on earth. “Motherfucker!”

The thing about normally being able to fly faster than an archangel, or in this case hell prince, was that it didn’t give an angel a true appreciation of how fast they were. This angel wobbling along like a lame duck was learning the hard way that hell princes could get some speed through their feathers. Haziel knew she could call out and ask him to slow down, but that would mean him getting to his daughter slower, and she didn’t want him to feel guilty about her injured wing on top of his residual guilt about her bruised arms.

Pain, however, had different ideas and went from awful to searing, unbearable agony. It felt like the entire right side of her body was a torturous combination of numb and hypersensitive. She lost feeling in her right hand and cradled her arm against her chest as hot sparks prickled through it and brought tears to her eyes. Ahead of her, Wrath soared over the border between Ava and Shade’s demesnes. He dipped his shoulder and took a long, lazy bank to the right.

And Haziel tried. She lowered her right shoulder and dropped like a stone.

Her injured right wing snapped back and fluttered uselessly amongst the other two on that side. She tried to flap her remaining wings, but her body was beyond responding and too busy hurtling her straight for the ground.

The fall wouldn’t kill her, but it was going to fucking hurt, and she braced for impact.

A hard body appeared in front of her, and she smashed into Wrath’s chest.

“Angel.” He grunted as he took the impact and then his large wings tilted to create a backdraft and he lowered them to the ground. He touched down softly, but Haziel felt the slight jolt in every fiber of her being. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but a guttural moan escaped before she could censor it. The world wobbled in front of her eyes. Blood drained from her head, and everything went dark.

She woke in a cave with luminous moss creating a soft indigo glow on the walls. She was lying close to a pool of shimmering iridescent blue water, and she was lying against Wrath. His big arm cradled her body against his chest, her injured wing draped gently over his forearm. And Haziel felt completely safe.

He must have sensed her wake, because he whispered, “Angel?”

She meant to say something blithe and bright, to allay the deep concern throbbing in his bass voice. What she said instead was, “Gargh.” Or something close to that.

His large hand cupped her cheek and stroked hair away from her face. “Just rest, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’ll have you better in no time.”

“My wing.” She dared not move for fear of starting the torment again. So far, her attempt to keep her injury quiet was going swimmingly.

“The humerus is broken,” he said. “I splinted it and did as much healing as I could. I think if you keep it still for a day or two, it’ll repair itself.” He nudged her face up with a finger. “Here.” He put a bottle against her lips. “Take a sip or two of water and then get some more rest.”

“Thank you,” she managed before taking a sip of water. “You should leave me here. Find Eddie.” Sleep pushed her eyelids back together again.

“I’m not leaving you.” Wrath muttered close to her ear, and she felt the soft press of his lips to her forehead before she drifted back to the place where it didn’t hurt so much.

Warm breath huffed down her neck when she woke the second time. Her head felt clearer, and she could wiggle the fingers of her right hand without pain exploding through her. Her other wings must have retracted because her spine was pressed to Wrath’s chest. The slow rise and fall of his deep breathing synchronized with her own and wrapped her in another layer of security.

Voice sleep raspy, he said, “How’s the wing?”

“Feeling a bit better.” She resisted the urge to give it a quick trial.

“Hmm.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Care to explain why you didn’t tell me about your injured wing.”

And she gave him the honest answer. “No.”

His thighs bracketed her legs and he shifted slightly, careful not to jar her wing. “Let’s try a different question.”

“Must you?”

“Yup.” It was darker in the cave now, and she could barely make out the sharp play of muscle along his forearms. “Why didn’t you tell me about your injured wing?”

“I didn’t want to slow you down.” Truth.

“And?”

Damn, shit, and bugger. “I didn’t want you to feel bad about my wing getting hurt.”

“Silly angel,” he murmured. “Go back to sleep. Ramiel and I share opposite sides of the same power, so my healing should help. Did it?”

Her wing did seem to be feeling a lot better than it would without healing. “Yes.”

“Give me the full answer.”

Damn him for always going that extra mile. “But not as well as if Ramiel had healed it.”

“Well.” He chuckled. “That’s a blow to the ego, but I’ll take that it worked a bit.” He pressed her head back against him. “Now go back to sleep and we’ll talk about this not telling me business in the morning.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Tough shit. Now, sleep.”

“You’re very bossy.” Wrath’s heat wrapped around her, and drowsiness crept through her limbs. “And far too comfortable with using my unfortunate ability to always tell the truth.”

“Uh-huh.” He stroked her spine with one plate-size hand. “Sleep, angel.”

Haziel pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck and did as she was told.

Wrath closed his eyes and drank in the rose and lotus scent of the angel cradled against his chest. Her silky skin pressed against his throat. Her breath huffed softly against his chest. Ramiel’s source power brushed against his, familiar and yet different from the signature of the archangel. Softer and lighter, lustrous and alluring, calling to him on a primal level.

When he’d first seen her falter in the air, his heart had lodged in his throat, and he’d almost shredded his wings getting to her in time to stop her plummeting to the ground.

She stirred things within him that he would rather were left dormant. Not since Rosabella had he felt the odd mélange of protective and possessive around a being.

The feathers of her injured wing tickled his arm. He’d wanted to puke when he’d seen the damage to the humerus. A simple break had become a complete longitudinal fracture with her insisting on flying with it. He’d been moments away from summoning Ramiel to help her, but his stubbornness had stopped him. He didn’t want Ramiel close to her. Hated the idea of seeing the adoration in her beautiful eyes when she gazed at her archangel. He had poured every ounce of his own healing strength into the break, and it had sped up knitting her humerus. The effort had exhausted him, but thank fuck it had done something, because if it hadn’t, he would have been left with no other option but to summon the feathery fartberry.

She murmured in her sleep and shifted against him. Her hip brushed his crotch.

His cock, the pig sniffer, took notice and stirred.

The lust seal was worsening, and here in Shade’s demesne, the effects were shooting through his system. He wanted to move his hand up and cup the generous jut of Haziel’s breast, strum the nipple until it stood hard and proud, and ready for his mouth.