Burned

trembled, but he gripped the hilt tightly, finding warmth and the echo of the beating of his heart.
    “I am a Guardian,” he whispered. And with the words came true acceptance of himself and, finally, understanding. It wasn’t about killing the bad within him; it was never about that. It was about controlling it. That was what a true Guardian did. He didn’t deny brutality; he wielded it with honor.
    Stark bowed his head so that it rested on the Guardian claymore.
    “Zoey, my Ace, my
bann ri shi’,
my queen—I choose to accept it all and to follow the way of honor. That’s the only way I can be the Warrior you need me to be. This I swear.”
    With Stark’s oath still hovering in the air around him, the archway that was boundary of Nyx’s Otherworld disappeared, along with the Guardian claymore, leaving Stark alone, weaponless, and on his knees in front of the goddess’s grove and the ethereal beauty of the hanging tree.
    Stark struggled to his feet, automatically walking toward the grove. His one thought was that had to find her—his queen, his Zoey.
    But as he got nearer to the grove, Stark slowed and finally stopped.
    No. He was starting out wrong. Again.
    It wasn’t Zoey he had to find, it was Heath. As big a pain in the ass as Aphrodite could be, he knew her visions were for real. What the hell was it Aphrodite had said? Something about Heath having to move on for Zoey to come back. Stark thought about it. As much as it hurt him to admit, he could understand why what Aphrodite had seen was the truth. Zoey had been with Heath since they were kids. She’d watched him die, which had hurt her so badly her soul had shattered. If she could be whole, and be with Heath here . . .
    Stark looked around, and as when he’d connected with the claymore, he was really
seeing
.
    Nyx’s realm was incredible. The grove was directly in front of him though he could sense the vastness of the place, and knew Nyx’s realm was way bigger than this one place. But, in all honesty, the grove itself was enough—green and welcoming, it was like a shelter for his spirit. Even after what he’d been through to get there, knowing his responsibilities as Zoey’s Guardian, and understanding his quest was far from finished, Stark wanted to enter the grove, breathe deeply, and let the peace of it fill him. Add Zoey’s presence to all of that, and he’d be more than content to stay here for at least a slice of eternity.
    So, yeah, give Heath back to Zoey, and she’d want to stay. Stark rubbed a hand over his face. He hated to admit it—it broke his heart to admit it—but Zoey loved Heath, maybe even more than she loved him.
    Stark mentally shook himself. The love she felt for Heath didn’t matter! Zoey had to come back—even Aphrodite’s vision said so. And, sure, if Heath weren’t involved, he’d probably be able to convince her to come back with him. That was the kind of girl she was—she cared about her friends more than she cared about herself.
    Which was exactly why Heath would have to leave her, and not the other way around.
    So he’d have to find Heath and talk him into giving up the only girl he’d ever loved. Forever.
    Fuck.
    Impossible.
    But it should also have been impossible for him to have defeated himself and accept all that meant.
    So think, damnit! Think like a Guardian and don’t just act and react like a stupid kid.
    He could find Zoey. He’d done it before. And once he found Zoey, Heath would be there, too.
    Stark’s gaze went to the hanging tree. It was bigger here than on Skye, and the pieces of cloth that were tied to its massive umbrella of branches kept changing colors and lengths as they waved gently in the warm breeze.
    The hanging tree was about dreams and wishes and love.
    Well, he did love Zoey.
    Stark closed his eyes and concentrated on Zoey—on how much he loved her and missed her.
    Time passed . . . minutes, maybe hours. Nothing. Not one fucking thing. Not even a vague inkling of where she might be. He couldn’t feel her at all.
    You can’t give up. Think like a Guardian.
    So love wouldn’t lead him to Zoey. Then what would? What was stronger than love?
    Stark blinked in surprise. He already had the answer. He’d been given it with the title of Guardian and the mystical claymore.
    “For a Guardian, honor is stronger than love,” Stark said aloud.
    He’d barely finished speaking the words when a thin golden ribbon appeared directly above him in the hanging tree. It glinted