Opportunities are like lightning: they rarely strike twice. Don’t fumble.
ALISTAIR
Celine’s jaw is rigid. The feathers of her wings have morphed into knives, and she’s covered in ancient-looking markings. They’re beautiful. She’s beautiful. A warrior ready to rain justice on her enemies.
Most of the human lore surrounding angels is wrong, but looking at Celine now, I have the urge to hit my knees and worship her.
Someone has crossed her. I don’t know the details, but that much is clear. If she points me in their direction, I’ll make damn sure they regret it for eternity.
“Angels aren’t all the same,” she says, pacing again. “We’re born into one of seven different echelons—think of them as tiers. Once we mature, we’re further sorted by skills and assigned roles that benefit society. The kid Ciprian found outside the bar, forexample, is a guardian, the muscle of the celestial realm. He falls in the middle of the social order. I-I belong to thenish thatsha.”
That name means nothing to me, but from the way Celine stops pacing to brace herself, this characterization is important. “Your echelon,” I say carefully. “Does it have something to do with these orphans?”
“It’s the smallest population,” she admits. “But . . .Thatshais the top tier. They rule the others, facilitating the balance continuum.” She waves her hand, emphasizingtheyas if she doesn’t want to be part of the structure she’s explaining.
“I faked my own death and left because... I needed to get out.” Celine points at one of the symbols glowing on her arm. “This rune is my calling card. Those dots on the map are a message to me. Someone knows I’m alive.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask, my eyes flitting to Luca’s trembling hands.
Celine sucks in a deep breath. “Because it means truth. It’s my radiant magical gift.”
I nod, considering all the information she’s shared. Her theory is plausible, but I don’t understand why she’s so sure. I need more. I want to rule out all possible explanations before we reach a conclusion.
“Is it rare?” I ask. “They could be referencing someone else.”
“It’s not rare...” Celine raises her eyes to meet mine. “It’s unique. I’m the only angel in existence with this gift.” I let the information settle in, amazed by what I’m hearing.
Luca shoves to his feet, his clenched fists shaking. “And how many people know this? Is there a registry? Who the fuck would set up this creepy puzzle and use children with no memories as their messengers?”
Celine’s wings curl around her body protectively, the overhead light from the living room fixture glinting off the metallic edges.
“My father,” she says, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “I should have put it together sooner, but I didn’t want to think . . .” She hangs her head, then snaps it back up. “Bottom line: This rune is a mark—for my death. I got away from him once; he’s telling me he won’t let it happen again.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Luca demands. “Just like that, he wants to kill his own daughter? Will he send assassins? What exactly are we up against, Celine?”
“It’s not ‘just like that,’” she says. “He’s been trying to kill me for most of my life in one way or another. I’m telling you both because you deserve the truth, but there is nowe. I’ll handle this myself. You will both distance yourselves from me. We can stage a public falling-out or something dramatic, in case he’s sent spies?—”
“Slow down, angel,” I beg.
“Um, more like stop right fucking now,” Luca hisses. “I’m not staging a public falling-out or any other stupid shit like that. If someone shows up to kill you, I’ll tear them to pieces. They’ll beg me to turn them to rock before I’m done.”
“I won’t let you take that kind of risk,” Celine says.
“You don’t let me do anything.” Luca grabs her shoulders. “I make my own choices. I always have, and I always will. And if you think I won’t choose you every time, you’ve lost your godsdamn mind. I. Choose. You.”
“Luca—”
“No, listen to me, Celine. Please. I will turn every single person in Nevada, human or supernatural, to stone before I let you go. We’ll spend the rest of our lives building whatever we want from the dust of your enemies. You can slice me to ribbons with your wings, set me on fire a dozen times—whatever the fuck you want—but you don’t get to push me away. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Celine whispers.
I watch, amazed, as her wings soften to down. My heartswells, envy pulsing with every beat. Their bond—I want that. Viscerally. Not to take, but to share. Will I ever have it?
“Angel, if you don’t kiss him now, I will,” I say, my voice raspy.
And she does. Celine rises on her tiptoes, both hands digging into Luca’s hair. She pulls his head down, and their lips meet as if they’ve kissed a million times before. It’s not frantic or angry, although both of them are clearly dancing on the edge of their emotional limits.
My eyelids flutter as Luca moans deep in his throat. The sound is intimate, hot, and involuntarily relieved. It’s the kind of sound someone makes when chronic pain finally lets go—only for a second—and their body doesn’t know whether to cry or scream.
