“I don’t need a collar to know when I own a woman, Raina. You should keep that in mind.”

“If we play for stakes”—she nipped at him—“I may be putting this collar on you. Or you could just concede defeat now.”

It made him chuckle with dark pleasure. “I’ve never lost a battle yet.”

“How do I know that’s not an exaggeration, a boast? A lie?”

“Because I’m alive.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, startled, but he gestured to the box, the froth of tissue paper. “I noticed a nice paddle over there. When I win, I’ll use it on you.”

“Or maybe I’ll use it on you,” she noted, a devilish gleam in her eyes. “Since it has a bad girl cutout, I think that imprint would look fabulous on your very fine ass.”

8

“SO HOW DO YOU BECOME A DARK GUARDIAN?” RAINA shuffled the deck of cards, let him cut it. “Do you spring from the loins of the Underworld, or does Lucifer belch you out after a particularly good meal of fried puppies and newborn babies?”

“Cute.” Mikhael leaned back in the chair. They were in the smaller, ground-level library, which opened out to the side garden they’d been in earlier in the day. When they’d entered the room, the house had swung the French doors wide-open, letting in the breeze and faint scent of her roses, as well as the gurgle of two small fountains hidden among the potted plant arrangements on either side of the doors. A card table with two chairs was already by the open archway.

When he said nothing further, she gave him an exasperated look. “You can dig into my head like Indiana Jones raiding a tomb, but I can’t ask you anything?”

“That was my plan. But I guess you’ll get all pouty if I don’t throw you a bone.”

She snorted. “Just making conversation. Trust me, you’re not that interesting.”

“Mmm. So you don’t want to know.”

He ducked, barely in time to be missed by the book that shot out of the case on a direct line for his head. It stopped short of tumbling to the floor. She returned it to the shelf without a glance, a tiny ripple of power. “The house doesn’t like smart-asses.”

“That was not the house.” He gave her a dark look.

She smiled sweetly. “There are a lot of books in here. Some much bigger than that.”

“See, I said you’d pout.” At her dangerous expression, he relented with a dry chuckle. “My mother was human, a sorceress. My father was nephilim. Child of an angel and a human mother, so I’m one-quarter angel. A mixed breed like you, witch.”

She let that pass. “So that’s where the wings come from.”

“Mine emerged when I reached sexual maturity, but all Dark Guardians are given them when they receive the commission.”

“But they’re really yours. Not a factory add-on.” She dealt their first hand. “Practice rounds while we chat?”

“You’re trying to figure out my tells.”

She gave him a sanguine smile. “You said you have to accept a commission. So you aren’t born into the role.”

He grunted, considered his hand. “There’s a school for the arcane, a very exclusive school. It takes a class of thirteen students every two decades. You don’t apply; you’re invited. You attend for thirteen years. Two cards.”

She passed them over, took his rejects back into the deck.

“It’s an initiation into some of the highest levels of magical practice, taught by mages of the Underworld. The school is held there, in its lowest chambers, so it’s hot as Hell—literally.” He pursed his lips, seemingly unaware of Raina’s fascinated attention. “You don’t see topside for all of those years. You live, eat and breathe the things they teach.”

“The knowledge must be worth a great deal.” She could only imagine the skills it had given him. From the brief taste of his magic she’d experienced, it was equaled only by things she’d seen Derek Stormwind do. “Say I wanted to give up sunlight for over a decade and attend. What’s the tuition?”

“No women have ever been alumni. That was never explained, but you didn’t ask questions there. Or say anything. A vow of silence is part of the requirements.” He paused, considering. “Actually, maybe that’s why women aren’t invited.”

She did her very best to leave the embossed imprint of Moby-Dick on his forehead. He countered, a magical arm-wrestling match where the book hovered halfway between the case and her objective. In the brief, exhilarating swirl of energy, she felt him around her in a way that was almost physical, the different pressures and textures of his magic, like the different textures and hardness of his male body. She undercut him by zapping his foot with a short electrical burst, and the book dropped to the floor. He shot her an annoyed look as she levitated it back to the case.

“Cheat.”

“You deserved the pain,” she said.

“A man is ever punished for the truth. You’re giving me crap for cards. I’m going to call for a different dealer.”

“Tell me more about the school. The one run by chauvinist pigs.” She dealt another hand. “So you didn’t speak the whole time you were there? Not even a whisper?”

“If you did, you were gone. Expelled.”

She digested that. “But you developed some form of communication with the others. You’d go mad otherwise. Passing notes?”

He snorted. “The youngest of us was five hundred, because human mortality wouldn’t have survived the Underworld climate. We’d already done quite a bit of talking in our lives. Some of us too much.” He lifted a shoulder. “No writing implements allowed; everything committed to memory. So we became adept at reading hand and face signals, body language.”

A skill he’d obviously mastered. She wouldn’t be surprised if the mages intended it that way all along. Putting down a pair of threes against his two aces, she gathered in the cards and dealt again. “So what’s the tuition cost for the attendee with the appropriate dangly bits?”

That firm mouth quirked. Raina wished she could think of something that would make him smile outright. She’d won a couple chuckles, but nothing that eased those lips into the sexy grin she was sure he’d have.

“At the end of the thirteen years, one student must become a Dark Guardian, forever serving the Underworld. That’s the tuition cost for the entire class. On graduation day, you’re allowed to speak, but only one word. Yes. To accept the honor.”

She stopped, resting her card hand on the edge of the table. “So you were chosen.”

“If no one volunteers, the headmaster chooses. I volunteered. I stepped out of the line and said yes.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

When he didn’t respond right away, just tapped the table, she passed him another card. She couldn’t tell if he was going to answer, but she had a feeling he would. He seemed to be studying his hand, but she sensed he was tumbling words, choosing what he would let her know. She did the same whenever she spoke of things that mattered.

“When I started my studies, centuries ago,” he said at last, “I aspired to be a Guardian of the Light. That was what all wizards strive toward, unless they’re already committed to evil, which is not the same as being committed to Darkness, though most don’t realize there’s a difference. As time went on, and I was with wizards whose true calling was to serve the Light, it started to feel wrong to me. At the time, though, it was the path that made the most sense for my skills.”

“Like a graphic designer deciding to do tech support for Office Depot until Disney or Blizzard come calling.”

“Something like that.” He nodded. “Then I was chosen to attend the Academy. It nurtured the Darkness in me, and I knew I could serve the Underworld, for the overall good. At least that was my intent. Derek was in my graduating class.”

She came to a full stop. “That’s how you know each other?”

Mikhael shook his head. “We’ve known each other for a long time. A decade before we were chosen for enrollment, our paths crossed. We’d become friends, of a sort. Given what he does as a Light Guardian, he didn’t understand my choice. It doesn’t matter. Dark and Light Guardians aren’t meant to be drinking buddies. This is what my destiny called me to do, and I chose it.”

She flicked the edges of her cards thoughtfully. “I don’t know a lot about Dark Guardians. Just the rumors, the results of their work, but I don’t think it’s easy for a lot of people to understand.”

“Being a Dark or Light Guardian…It’s like a pendulum. When those who embrace Darkness move too far to the edge, and it’s determined that Dark is required to push them back toward the center, toward balance, then I employ the necessary methods to do that.”

Meeting his unfathomable eyes, she saw things that chilled the soul, made it curl into itself in the small hours of the night, caught in a web of hopeless desolation. He broke the gaze, and the moment was gone, but she rubbed away gooseflesh on her arms.

“It doesn’t help to explain it, trust me,” he said quietly. “But understanding isn’t necessary. In fact, the lack of comprehension makes the results even more effective.” Turning his cards over, he grimaced at the lack of options, folded and slid them back to her. “All jobs have their difficulties, Raina.”

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “Because a shitty day at the office ranks right up there with using Dark forces to balance the cosmic slate. You aren’t drinking buddies with Light Guardians, but what about Dark ones?”

“It’s solitary work. And not just because of my uniquely antisocial personality.”

“Okay.” He had a full house this time, which beat her hand. She didn’t deal another set, though, putting the cards aside. “Do you have anywhere you call home? The Russian accent…Is that home?”