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The media acknowledges Milly and Carlson proposes.

There were multiple stab wounds on her stomach, no doubt from talons sinking into her flesh. Remarkably, the wounds were showing signs of healing at a rapid rate.

Nikka's hands stilled. She watched with fascination as the wounds on Micah's stomach continued to heal without her assistance.

"She's more than wolf."

"Yes, she's half-Seraphim. You'll need to be careful when you handle her blood."

Caspian was still surprised by this new revelation. He and Leigh had been monitoring the attack in the alley, and they'd both heard Micah when she'd admitted her heritage to the other vampire.

Given her seraphim bloodline, they'd expected her to dispatch of her attacker quickly. Caspian had been preparing to exert his mood control on both combatants to keep the fight from turning deadly. They'd been surprised to realize Micah lacked the killing instinct. It was an instinct he'd hoped she would have because she would need it to survive what was to come unscathed.

Still, he thought with a frown, though Micah had failed to kill when she had the opportunity, her seraphim heritage made her even more valuable. Thanks to the massacre that had almost wiped out the race, seraphims were now extremely rare. Their power and ability were not fully understood, and their origins remained shrouded in mystery.

"I believe she doesn't need much help," Nikka said as she cleaned the area around the wounds and gently applied antiseptic.

"Fine," Caspian said. "The human looks strong enough to withstand the turning. Watch her closely."

Not for the first time, he regretted his decision not to intervene when the woman had walked into that alley. He'd thought it would be worth the risk to see how well Micah would handle the situation. Now the human would suffer for his mistake. If she survived the turning, he would accept her into the Black coven and help her adapt to her new life; he owed her that much.

Nikka nodded in agreement and moved back to the bed where the human lay. She worked quickly and efficiently, binding the human's wrists and ankles. The turning process was excruciatingly painful and the restraints were a necessary precaution.

He spared one last look at Micah, relieved to see that she continued to heal rapidly. "Contact me if there is any significant change in either woman."

He left the infirmary and tore off his bloodstained shirt as soon as he was out in the corridor. There was no point torturing himself with the scent of what he couldn't have.

* * * *

Ice-blue eyes that reflected only cold, dead nothingness stared at the drying blood on the arena floor.

Metallic cages hung over the three arenas in the large, underground room that was built directly beneath Diablo. It was a room cloaked by magic so powerful that the room's existence remained hidden from even the oldest and most skilled of beings.

"Daemon?" A hypnotic voice called out, pulling Daemon from his fascination with the drying red liquid.

"What is it, Christian?" Daemon asked, his cold gaze turning to the man who had been his leash for several centuries.

"You need to stop and rest." Christian watched as Daemon frowned and turned back to face the blood-stained arena. "Brother, you can't go on like this."

"What do you suggest, Christian? Should I accept death and allow them to wipe me out like I'd never walked this damned planet?"

"You have left footprints of blood, brother."

For centuries, Christian had tried to sway Daemon from the bloody path he'd chosen. Guilt twisted in his heart when he thought of how his efforts to save his brother had so far failed. Daemon would one day die a vicious death; no one with that much innocent blood on their hands escaped the judgment of the gods.

"I wonder how much the Death Angel will bleed before she dies."

Daemon's voice held a trace of excitement that left Christian feeling cold. Time was running out for all of them; every day, Daemon walked closer to the edge of sanity. All Christian could do was try to delay the beast that lay in wait, ready to strike out.

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