"He tends to destroy the natural balance of everything when he's free," Death said with some annoyance. "Maybe when he's stabilized, he can leave Hell."
He looked at her, and she smiled the same gentle smile she used to greet humans to the underworld.
"But who in Hell is going to become his mate?"
"His brother Kris will take care of it," she said.
"He'll make things right with Rhyn after their nasty break?"
"Not on purpose, but yes."
Intrigued, Gabriel relented from his stubborn position before the altar.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The leader of the convent that cared for the Sanctuary opened the door and curtseyed. Death curtseyed back, gave Gabriel a final look of warning, and followed the woman in grey to afternoon tea.
He watched her go, wondering how he could help his friend without breaking the Immortal Code yet again. Pocketing the vial, he willed himself to the shadow world, the place between worlds. It was hazy and cool, like a beach after the evening fog rolled in. Portals to the mortal and immortal worlds glowed warm yellow through the fog like beacons. He went to the only portal that glowed black --the portal to Hell --and stepped from the shadow world into the tiny, dark cell holding his friend.
He watched Rhyn's body contort beneath the spells of Rhyn's brother, Sasha. Without the contents of the vial, Rhyn was defenseless against any immortal. Gabriel couldn't help the feeling of deep satisfaction as he gripped the vial in one hand.
Rhyn was being given a second chance, and Gabriel hoped he killed Sasha before the sands in the hourglass were gone.
Rhyn didn't even know what shape he was. The world was dark as always, cramped, his skin hot and clammy. He'd been fevered for a zillion years, trapped in the tiny cell in ever-changing forms, always in darkness.
At least he wasn't burning or drowning or freezing or watching his skin being pulled from his body and screaming. Sometimes his brother let him out for a furlough, claimed he was free, and then yanked him back. If nothing else, his traitorous half-brother Sasha kept things switched up. He would stay in this holding cell on the outskirts of Hell until Sasha figured out some new grueling punishment.
A touch of coolness grazed his heated frame, which always grew hotter than Hell when he changed forms. His body contorted, and agony floated through him as the sixty seconds of being whatever he'd been was up and he changed again.