“You’re still allergic to pants, I see.”
“I don’t try to tell you what to wear,” I retorted.
Both Sam and Dion were dressed in black leather pants and boots that were made for destruction.
Sam opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a shriek of delight.
“Aunt Dani!” A little girl with bright red hair ran into the room and straight into my legs.
I laughed, scooping her up in my arms. “You’re getting so big. What are you, like six now?”
“No, I’m three.” She held up three fingers to illustrate her point.
“Nova, what did I tell you about running at people?”
I dragged my gaze from Nova to her father. Nate was easily the most beautiful man I knew—bright green eyes that Nova had inherited, long lashes that were probably the envy of every girl who looked at him, tousled blond hair, thick silver wedding band.
“But, Daddy, Aunt Dani is here,” Nova said like he was missing a crucial point.
“I can see that, sweetheart.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
Nova had been a handful from the moment she was born—she had every bit of her mother’s sass, her father’s protective instincts, and an innocent charm that made everyone love her almost instantly. Nate blamed it on the fact that she was Nephilim—the child of an angel and a human—and since all the rest of them had been killed off before even Micah was born, no one could really say for sure. We just knew that everyone adored her. She even had Dion wrapped around her finger, and Sam’s son was the least social person I knew.
He was currently giving me his signature unimpressed look. I wasn’t sure if it meant he found me lacking or if he simply didn’t like the attention Nova was giving me.
Nova played with the gold cross that hung around my neck. “Why can’t I wear necklaces when I fight?”
“Because it’s stupid,” Nate answered bluntly.
“But you do it,” she said, looking over at her father, who was indeed wearing two round pendants around his neck.
“I’ve been training for a lot of years,” he answered. “I’m allowed to make stupid decisions now.”
Sam snorted. “Great plan. Admit to your daughter that you’re an idiot.”
Nate shrugged as he joined Sam and Dion in the middle of the gym. “Better me than her.”
All three males stripped out of their shirts, and within seconds, they’d all spread their wings—Nate’s dark red, Dion’s the same white as mine, and Sam’s a shiny silver. It was a perfect illustration of the secret order. A few years ago, I never would have believed I’d ever get to see angels born of three different orders training together in one room. But that was what made them special, different.
Dion held a child-sized trident clutched in a tight fist. The weapon was nearly as big as he was, but he looked at ease with it, like it fit him perfectly. He’d been training for less than a year, but I was pretty sure he could take me down if he wanted to.
Reluctantly, I set Nova back on her feet, and she ran toward the boys. She looked so unbelievably young in hergym clothes with her long red hair pulled into a high ponytail. It didn’t help that she was weaponless.
The four of them started out working in pairs. Sam worked with Dion on different moves with the trident while Nate and his daughter wrestled on the mats that covered the wooden floors.
I tried not to wince every time the points on Dion’s trident got close to his skin, knowing the kid wouldn’t appreciate my concern for his safety.
Watching Nova wasn’t any easier. She was good—fast and graceful—and she was going to be an amazing warrior someday. Considering who her father was, that wasn’t the least bit surprising. And there was the fact that the Nephilim were considered the most dangerous species to ever be born into the world. That reputation had to come from somewhere. But it was still hard to watch her fight without worrying.
After a while, Sam took the trident from his son, and the two kids faced off with each other. They were such opposites. Nova fought like it was her favorite game in the world—all smiles and laughter. Dion’s expression, in contrast, was dead serious, his every move cold and calculated.
“Are you learning any new tricks?” Sam asked, coming up beside me with his silver wings still extended and his dark eyes trained on his son. Like me, Dion was born into the seventh order. We technically had the same natural abilities, but Dion’s skill far surpassed mine.
“I think I’m the definition ofyou can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Bullshit. I think your problem is that you don’t really want to fight.”
“Maybe I don’t.” No part of me had ever been interested in becoming a warrior. The only reason I tried as hard as I did was so that I could fit into my family.
