After Dark by Gena Showalter Page A

yourself.”
    That made two of them. Something was troubling her; sadness had never layered her voice before, yet now it did. Determined to help her, he summoned two chairs, one for him and one for her, and they sat across from each other. Her robe plumed around her as she released her wings and twined her fingers together in her lap. Leaning forward, he rested his weight on his elbows.
    “Let us talk about you first. How goes your mission?” he asked. Only that could be the cause. Olivia found joy in all things. That’s why she was so good at her job. Or rather, her former job. Because of him, she was now something she didn’t want to be. A warrior. But it was for the best, and he did not regret the decision to change her station. Like him, she’d become too fascinated with someone she shouldn’t.
    Better to end that now, before the fascination ruined her.
    She licked her lips and looked away from him. “That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.” A tremor shook her. “I don’t think I can do it, Lysander.” The words emerged as a tortured whisper. “I don’t think I can kill Aeron.”
    “Why?” he asked, though he knew what she would say. But unlike Bianka, Aeron had stepped past the point of no return. For every natural action, there was a spiritual reaction, and as he had knowingly escorted a demon out of hell, his actions had produced a death sentence—for himself.
    If Olivia failed to destroy the demon-possessed male, another Sent One would be tasked with doing so—and Olivia would be punished for her refusal. She would be cast out of the heavens, her immortality stripped, her wings ripped from her back.
    “He hasn’t hurt anyone since his blood-curse was removed,” she said, and he heard the underlying beseeching.
    “He helped one of Lucifer’s minions escape hell.”
    “Yes, Aeron did that, and there is no excuse for him. But he can return her.”
    “That doesn’t change the fact that Aeron helped the creature escape.”
    Olivia’s shoulders sagged, though she in no way appeared defeated. Determination gleamed in her eyes. “I know. But he’s so...nice.”
    Lysander barked out a laugh. He just couldn’t help himself. “We are speaking of a Lord of the Underworld, yes? The one whose entire body is tattooed with violent bloody images no less? That is the male you call nice? ”
    “Not all of the etchings are violent,” she mumbled, offended for some reason. “Two are butterflies.”
    For her to have found the butterflies amid the skeletal faces decorating the man’s body meant she’d studied him intently. Lysander sighed. “Have you...felt anything for him?” Physically?
    “What do you mean?” she asked, but rosy color bloomed on her cheeks.
    She had, then. “Never mind.” He scrubbed a hand down his suddenly tired face. “Do you like your home, Olivia?”
    She blanched at that, as if she knew the direction he was headed. “Of course.”
    “Do you like your wings? Do you like your lack of pain, no matter the injury sustained? Do you like the robe you wear? A robe that cleans itself and you?”
    “Yes,” she replied softly. She gazed down at her hands. “You know I do.”
    “And you know that you will lose all of that and more if you fail to do your duty.” The words were harsh, meant for himself as much as for her.
    Tears sprang into her eyes. “I just hoped you could convince the council to rescind their order to execute him.”
    “I will not even try.” Honest, he reminded himself. He had to be honest. Which he preferred. Or had. “Rules are put into place for a reason, whether we agree with those reasons or not. I have been around a long time, have seen the world—ours, theirs—plunged into darkness and chaos. And do you know what? That darkness and chaos always sprang from one broken rule. Just one. Because when one is broken, another soon follows. Then another. It becomes a vicious cycle.”
    A moment passed as she absorbed his words. Then she