Still, I don’t move.
I can’t.
Whatever he did to me tore my soul clean out of my body, and I have no idea if I’ll ever fully recover from it.
Both his hands come around me, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all. My head spins as he carries me into another room. I try to focus, try to make sense of where we are, but everything is a blur.
Then he flicks his lighter, and a small flame comes alive—quivering, casting bronze glints across his features. My blurred gaze follows him as he begins lighting the candles, one after another, sending tiny fires blooming around us. When I inhale deeply, the scent of warm wax and faint, sweet caramel curls into my lungs.
He sets the lighter down on the sink with a soft click, and when I glance down, I catch my reflection wavering in the clean, glistening water. Slowly, he lowers me into the bathtub, letting my body sink into the warm steam rising in soft, curling tendrils.
The moment the heat wraps around my skin, a low groan escapes me. He adjusts me carefully, settling me so every inch of me is submerged in the soothing warmth.
I close my eyes, letting the back of my head rest against the warmed tile. I hear him moving around the room, gathering something, and then he takes my hand. Gentle circles begin to spiral across my skin as he massages it with a sponge—slow, delicate motions that unravel me.
I let myself drift, sinking into the quiet, into the tenderness of his touch that pulls fresh tears to my eyes. And somewhere in the hush of my thoughts, I hear his voice—soft and warm, like sweet honey sliding over the edges of my consciousness.
“And I’m yours.”
New York, USA
“Tonight’s the night.”
My brows shoot up, and I shake my head slowly as I lean in, studying the boy who can’t be a day over thirteen. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved dark olive shirt, lightweight khaki work pants, black boots, and—cherry on top—sleeve protectors and a plastic apron.
“Aren’t you a little too young to be watching shows like that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. “And to be in a place like this, for that matter?”
“I snuck out. I had to.” His voice is bright with youth, but there’s a faint tremor under it. He shifts closer, lowering his toneto a hushed, secretive whisper. “I just know it. Someone is going todietonight.”
A smile curves across my face, and a warm, anticipatory feeling bubbles inside me as I nod, silently affirming that he’s far more correct than he realizes.
Someone is absolutely dying tonight.
We received an order to eliminate a serial cheater. When Dante saw the location, he looked a bit baffled, but I wasn’t surprised. Every damn Halloween, it’s the same story.
This fair is the largest, flashiest, most overhyped spectacle in the heart of America. Getting tickets is an Olympic sport. People flood in from every corner of the world to immerse themselves in the chaos—gourmet food stands, bizarre drinks, the signature cotton-candy scent that clings to everything, and a whole collection of attractions: haunted houses, mirror mazes, theme rides—you name it.
And, of course, it is the easiest hunting ground for anyone looking for a fresh body and an excuse to cheat.
Our target is twenty-five. Charming. Pretty. A face that hasn’t yet learned the art of aging. A pity he’s also a lying, cheating piece of shit.
Personal orders like this always have a certain appeal. Eliminating powerful people has its own satisfying weight, but these jobs let me be creative. They rarely come with restrictions. And in a place like this, we can kill him and leave what’s left in whatever twisted tableau we see fit.
“They sure will,” I say at last, catching the flicker of worry brightening the boy’s eyes. I lean closer, lift my hand, and slide my fingers through his perfectly neat hair, deliberately wrecking it. His gasp is priceless as I transform his pristine style into a calculated disaster.
“Dexternever styled his hair,” I tell him. “Especially not when he killed people.”
His mouth hangs open as he stares at me—wide-eyed, stunned into perfect silence. A thank-you would be nice, but he looks too shell-shocked to remember how words work.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dante walking toward us, paper boxes of fast food stacked in his hands. I straighten and tilt my head toward the side. “Go on, buddy. Leave before you see what’s about to happen.”
He inhales sharply. “You know where they’re going to kill them?”
I gesture behind me to the black, heavy wings fanning out from my back. “Yes, because I’m going to kill them. Don’t you see? I’m the angel of death.”
His face cracks into a grin. “Cool,” he says, dragging the word out, and I roll my eyes.
“Hey, buddy,” Dante greets as he steps up beside us. The scent of hot nuggets strikes me, warm and greasy, and I nearly drool as I swipe one of the boxes out of his hands. “Nice costume.”
