Enter New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh's darkly beautiful world of archangels and immortal power, as a pact is sealed between two souls bound by blood, stirred by desire, and driven by vengeance... With wings of midnight and an affinity for shadows, Jason courts darkness. But now, with the Archangel Neha's consort lying murdered in the jewel-studded palace that was his prison and her rage threatening cataclysmic devastation, Jason steps into the light, knowing he must unearth the murderer before it is too late.   Earning Neha's trust comes at a price - Jason must tie himself to her bloodline through the Princess Mahiya, a woman with secrets so dangerous, she trusts no one. Least of all an enemy spymaster.   With only their relentless hunt for a violent, intelligent killer to unite them, Jason and Mahiya embark on a quest that leads to a centuries-old nightmare... and to the dark storm of an unexpected passion that threatens to drench them both in blood. Praise for the series: “The Guild Hunter world is an awesome place to be.”— Fiction Vixen “The Guild Hunter series remains a must-read for paranormal romance.”— Bitten by Books “I loved every word…amazing in every way!”— New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter “Paranormal romance doesn’t get better than this.”— Love Vampires “Powerful, raw, intense dark--and so intimate.”— Smexy Books “Steamy and beautiful…a great novel that makes me want to read everything Nalini Singh has ever written.”— Fresh Fiction “[A] powerful, riveting novel. I found myself wholly absorbed.”— Dear Author “Stuns with intensity…left me raw and aching at the end in the best way possible.”— Romance Junkies “Mesmerizing…fascinating world building.”— Bitten by Books “Stunning, original, beautiful, intriguing, and mesmerizing.”— Errant Dreams Reviews “I could not put this book down.”— Night Owl Romance “Completely awe-inspiring.”— Fallen Angel Reviews “Worldbuilding that blew my socks off.”—National Bestselling Author Meljean Brook New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nalini Singh lives and works in beautiful New Zealand, and is passionate about writing. She also loves chatting to readers. You can find her on Twitter (@nalinisingh) and Facebook (facebook.com/authornalinisingh), and via her website: nalinisingh.com Nalini's Newsletter : Goes out monthly and includes exclusives for subscribers, including free short stories, sneak peeks, deleted scenes and more. To join, just copy and paste this into your address bar and fill in your name and email address: mad.ly/signups/59681/join Questions or comments? Email, Tweet, or Facebook Nalini at any time! Hush Jason didn’t know how long he’d been hiding in the dark place in the ground where his mother had put him, telling him to “hush.” He’d waited so long, hadn’t even crawled out when his stomach hurt with hunger, but she hadn’t returned as she’d promised, and his wings were cramped and hurting from the small space, his face wet with tears. She knew he hated the dark. Why had she put him in the dark? The sticky dampness that had dripped through the floorboards above, it covered him, the taste of it thick and ripe in the air. The smell made him nauseous, and he knew he couldn’t stay here any longer, even if his mother was disappointed by his disobedience. Stretching his stiff limbs as far as he was able in the confined space, his wings still crumpled, he pushed up on the trapdoor, but it wouldn’t budge. He didn’t cry out, had learned to never ever cry out. “You mustn’t make a sound, Jason. Promise me.” Digging his feet into the earth, he pushed and pushed and pushed until a tiny crack of smudgy light appeared at the edge of the door, the handwoven mat above thin enough not to blot out the sunshine. Whatever was blocking the trapdoor was heavy, but he was able to wedge his fingers under the lip of the door, touch the mat he’d helped his mother weave after they’d collected the leaves from the flax bushes. It felt rough against his knuckles as he pushed his hand through to the wrist, and the trapdoor hurt when it came down on that wrist, but he knew his bones wouldn’t break—his mother had told him he was a strong immortal, that he’d already grown deeper into his power than she had by the time of her hundredth birthday. “So strong, my baby boy. The best of both of us.” He didn’t know how long it took to wedge his other hand under the lip of the trapdoor, to twist his body around in the hole, the skin rubbing off his wrists, until he was holding the edge and pushing it up. He just knew he didn’t stop until he shoved hard enough to slide off the blockage, the mat sliding away with it. The door came open with a dull thud, as if it had landed on something soft. Chest heaving and arms sore, he had to wait to attempt to climb out, and even then, his hands slipped, slick with the blood from his torn-up wrists. Rubbing them on his pants, he gripped the edge again . . . and sunlight f