They were black, self-sealing, and made of a material that didn't exist on Earth.

Aidan slowed his pace and adjusted his sunglasses to better shield his appearance. She was traversing the busy street at an angle, moving from the opposite sidewalk to the one he was walking on. He fell back, allowing more pedestrians to fill the space between them.

It was a gorgeous day in Rosarito Beach, Mexico.

The sky was a pristine blue and dotted with pure white cottony clouds. Just beyond the shops to his left, the ocean kissed the shore in steady, rhythmic waves. The air was crisp and salty, the temperature warm, the breeze cool. The six-pack of Coronas he held in his hand were sweaty with condensation, and in the hotel room around the corner, his lover awaited him. Naked. Beautiful.

In danger.

He watched the Guardian—possibly an Elder—as she joined the light flow of foot traffic just a few feet ahead of him. Dressed in a short summer dress with thin straps and a flowered pattern on white, she might have looked innocent if not for the multiple tribal tattoos on her arms and the spiked leather bracelets.

Aidan rolled his shoulders back, limbering his body in preparation for battle. If the woman turned the upcoming corner and headed toward his hotel, he was ready to throw down.

Luckily for both of them, she didn't.

His relief was minimal. Every bit of his training told him to follow her and see what she was after.

His heart, however, urged him to head down the small side street to his room and keep Lyssa safe.

The struggle within him was worse than the one he'd been gearing up for. He hated sparring with women, detested it, but that would be easier to deal with than risking Lyssa's life.

Aidan began to cross the street that led to his hotel. He glanced to the side swiftly, scoping out the exterior of the building. Seeing nothing amiss, he clenched his jaw and kept going. He followed his quarry, ignoring the cramp in his gut that protested his decision. He couldn't go to Lyssa straightaway, regardless. It took him an average of thirty minutes to make the five-minute trip to the liquor store because of the precautions he took to make certain he wasn't followed.

Because of his anxiety, he was grateful that it wasn't long before the redhead deviated from the main street and made her way to a small dive motel that had definitely seen better days.

He fell farther behind.

When she tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder, Aidan linked arms with a nearby petite brunette and offered her a beer. His unsuspecting accomplice's surprise turned into sensual appreciation when she noted his appearance. He smiled down at her but kept his eye on the Guardian, who apparently found him innocuous enough to disregard.

"Thank you," he murmured to his companion when the redhead slipped into a room on the ground floor. Aidan noted the number on the door, then extricated himself carefully from the brunette. "Enjoy the beer."

She called after him, but he was already heading back the way he'd come. Back to Lyssa. He took a long, roundabout, and thoroughly unplanned route on the return trip to his hotel, pausing to examine various ponchos, hats, jewelry, and shot glasses displayed on tables near the street.

He was acutely conscious of those who moved around and behind him. Only when he was absolutely certain he wasn't being followed, did he walk through the small open iron gate that decoratively bisected the manicured lawn of the hotel from the dusty public road.

As he stepped into their third floor room and engaged all the many locks on the door, Lyssa complained, "That took forever."

Aidan tossed his shades on the dresser by the television, set the remaining six-pack on the nightstand, and crawled over her sheet-draped body. Straddling her, he lowered his head and took her mouth, his eyes squeezing closed as relief flooded him, The vibrating anxiousness he'd felt over her safety faded when her slender arms wrapped around his neck and held him close.

Her soft moan of welcome was music to his ears.

Tilting his head to better fit his mouth to hers, Aidan licked deep, his tongue sliding along hers, his senses inundated with the feel, smell, and taste of her. He growled deep in his throat as she arched upward, pressing her breasts into his chest.

"Umm…" she purred.

"Umm…" he agreed, lifting his head to nuzzle his nose against hers. Lowering to her side, he tucked her against him.

"You're not going believe what I have to tell you,"

she murmured.

Her skin smelled like apples and her long blonde hair was damp from a recent shower. The sheets carried the lingering essence of them together, bare skin to bare skin, and a night of passion that had taken them from sunset to sunrise.

"Oh yeah?" He cupped the back of her head and kept her close.

"Yeah. Connor is at my house."

There was a long pause. "Imagine that."

Lyssa lifted her head and stared down at him.

"Why don't you sound very surprised?"

Aidan exhaled harshly. "I saw another Guardian.

She's staying in a hotel not too far from here."

"Oh shit."

He nodded wearily. "Exactly."

Chapter 4

Gasping for air and wracked by violent shivers, Connor emerged from the frigid lake and crawled up the sandy bank. As he pushed to his feet, his Elite uniform clung heavily to his body.

He was so focused on fighting off the tension that came from hypothermia that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he was tackled and knocked backward.

As a smaller, wirier body wrapped around his, his roar of outrage reflected off the surface of the water and released his mounting tension.

Connor twisted and grappled with his assailant until the moment they both fell back into the lake in an explosion of water and slapping skin.

The sting of the unexpected impact combined with the shock of being attacked really, really pissed Connor off. He grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his robes and dragged him onto the shore.

"Wait!" Dressed in gray, the man could only be an Elder.

Unfortunately for him, Connor wasn't feeling so charitable toward Elders right now and he was in the mood to kick some serious ass. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his glaive free of its scabbard. "If you had a death wish, old man," he growled, "you should have just said so outright."

"Cross needs you."

Connor stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Of course it couldn't be just any Elder.

Not on a crappy day such as today. It had to be Elder Sheron. His instructor from the Elite Academy.

"What Cross needs are answers, Sheron. We all need answers."

The Elder pushed back the soaked cowl that hid his face and Connor took a good look at the man who had helped to mold him into the warrior he was today. Sheron's appearance had changed so drastically he was nearly unrecognizable as the vigorous Master he had once been. His dark brown hair was now pure white, the suntanned skin now an unhealthy pale, and his pupils were so wide and dark they swallowed the whites of his eyes all together. In that respect he looked very much like the thing that had been sealed up in the Temple.

Disgust filled Connor only to be quickly replaced by fury. Aidan had looked up to Sheron as one would a father. Deserted by his birth parents for entering the Elite Academy, Aidan had needed a parental figure and turned to Sheron to fill that role. It angered Conner further to think that his friend's trust had been so misplaced.

For his part, Connor came from a long line of Elite Warriors. Male and female alike, the Bruces all joined the Elite. Live and die by the sword was their family creed, which was why Connor had little patience for lies and deceit. Time was precious, even for a nearly immortal.

Aidan's parents, however, were a different breed of Guardian altogether— one a Healing Guardian, the other a Nurturer. They couldn't understand the path their son had chosen and the constant questions they'd pestered Aidan with had eventually driven him away. The Crosses couldn't understand why their only child needed to be working against the Nightmares, not repairing the damage they caused after the fact. Since they were the only family Aidan had, that left him with only two bonds— Connor and Sheron.

And Sheron had been unworthy of such esteem and affection.

"Others have been sent to the mortal plane after Cross," Sheron said grimly, both hands clasped tightly around the hilt of his sword.

"Powerful Elders. He will require assistance."

"We're not as out of the loop as you might think,"

Connor scoffed, circling his adversary with slow, steady steps. "And while you're in a sharing mood, why don't you explain what that thing was in the Temple?"

Sheron stilled, his sword lowered. "I warned them.

I told them the system was untried and unsecured.

It was too risky, but they were determined."

"What are you talking about?" Connor's gaze narrowed on the Elder, his wariness increasing.

He'd seen this ruse before, the one where a combatant pretended to lose interest in the fight only to strike with the element of surprise.

Sheron paused mid-step. "The cavern was our primary means of controlling the flow between the mortal plane and the Twilight, but we knew that such heavy reliance on one location left us too vulnerable. We altered a room in the Temple of the Elders in an effort to attract Medium slipstreams. It worked, to a lesser extent.

But the Temple is not secure from Nightmares."

"It isn't?" That struck a deep cord of unease in Connor. He had always looked at the shining white edifice of the Temple and felt peace. It was untainted by their enemy and filled with the history of his people in the Hall of Knowledge.

While he'd never personally made use of the information there, it had calmed him to think of it.

"No." Sheron pushed back the sodden shank of pure white hair that fell over his brow.

"The Nightmares have grown more desperate. The older ones have learned to stalk their prey, rather than simply attack in a frenzy. Every shadow you see is suspect and only the cavern is safe, though we are not certain why. Something to do with the water, I suspect."

"Maybe it's too damn cold," Connor suggested, shivering in the gentle breeze. With a wave of his hand, he heated the air around him, forming an