Rather than enduring sulfur and flames as they had before, they spent a thousand years trapped inside Pandora’s box. A thousand years of darkness and desolation and pain. They’d had no independence, no hope for something better.

Had those demons been stronger, had they not craved that which was forbidden to them, they would not have been captured.

Had Aeron been stronger of will, he would not later have helped open that box. Would not then have been cursed to house the very evil he had released inside his own body. Would not have been kicked from the heavens, the only home he’d ever known, to spend the rest of eternity in this chaotic land where nothing stayed the same.

He would not have lost Baden while warring with Hunters—despicable mortals who abhorred the Lords, blaming them for the world’s evil. A friend just died of cancer? Of course the Lords were responsible. A teenage girl just discovered she was pregnant? The Lords had clearly struck again.

Had he been stronger, he would not be caught up in that war once again, fighting, killing. Always killing.

“Have you ever yearned for a mortal?” Paris asked, drawing him from his dark thoughts. “Sexually?”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Welcome a female into my life one day, only to lose her the next? No.” He was smarter than that.

“Who says you have to lose her?” Paris withdrew a flask from the inside of his leather jacket and took a long swig.

More alcohol already? Clearly his little pep talk hadn’t done his friend a bit of good.

After swallowing, Paris added, “Maddox has Ashlyn, Lucien has Anya, Reyes has Danika and now Sabin has Gwen. Even Gwen’s sister, Bianka the Terrible, has a lover. An angel I had to oil-wrestle, but whatever. We won’t talk about that part.”