“You’re wearing some sort of jet pack, right? I’ve seen those invention shows. The military make them, and rich people buy them as toys. You’re rich, your dad travels the world . . . he brings you expensive toys—” Her high-pitched rambling draws another smile to my lips. If she’d stop talking, she’d hear the beat of my wings against the air. She continues.
“Don’t drop me, Breckin. I’m not sure I’m a fan of this. I prefer driving. You have a cool vehicle, a classic even. Couldn’t we have driven? Can you put me down? I mean, can we go back down?” I shift, turning my body under hers as we head east, toward my house. Vivienne squeals, squeezing her eyes closed. “No, no, no. What are you doing? How high are we? Please tell me this is a nightmare. This isn’t real. You’re not here, I’m in bed—”
I kiss her.
It’s a simple brush of my lips against hers—one I must rip myself away from, because holy hell, I want more—but she shuts up.
“Was that not real?” I ask, winding my leg around her calf and locking her closer.
Her jaw works back and forth. “It couldn’t have been.”
We glide on the wind, my wings beating once every twenty feet. “Why not?”
She draws a shaky breath, her hand shifting at my spine, her nails digging into my skin as she clutches tighter. Her lips form a silent O.
“You’re shirtless,” Vivienne accuses.
It took her this long to notice? Removing my shirts when I fly is a must, unless I want to shop for new clothes every time my wings make an appearance and rip them in two.
“I am.” She tilts her head, though she still doesn’t look down. “I’m not wearing a jetpack, either. All you have to do is look beyond my face, and all your questions will be answered.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Wry humor clings to her words. Catching her bottom lip with her front teeth, her eyes slide left and go wide. I still, allowing her a good look at my wings. Her chest expands with her deep inhale.
“They’re real,” I say preemptively. “Not some expensive toy my father bought me.”
“You have wings.” The rhythm of her racing heart tugs at my angelic senses. My palm aches to press against her chest, to memorize the song each beat creates. Blood rushes to her face, and I grin.
“You like them.”
Her head whips around, her blush deepening. “They’re beautiful,” she admits. “But I don’t—”
“Crap.” A dark shadow circles a hundred yards behind us. I should have caught his presence sooner. Vivienne has me off my game. “Close your eyes and hold on tight.”
I push her head to my chest and bank left, flying toward Mount Alexa and over the falls. We pick up speed as I lead the reaper away from my house and the town. The Court of the Sun and the Moon would not look favorably on a Saturday night fight between angels in the square. Searching out a spot, I locate a small clearing in the trees deep in the forest, near the northernmost ridge, and land.
Vivienne’s legs give out as her feet hit the snow. I loosen my hold, giving her room to stand on her own.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
I push her toward a wide tree. How do I explain what she needs to know?
“He’s here,” Vivienne says as her cold fingers clutch my bicep. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she’s putting pieces together. “He has wings, too,” she says, looking over my shoulder.
Deep rolling laughter sounds behind me. I turn and face the reaper, who’s taken the shape of an unfamiliar teenage boy.
My hand tightens around Vivienne’s. “You can’t take her.”
“Can’t I?” His eyes flick over our heads. A snap reverberates through the forest as branches twist and break above us. We dodge to the right as a pile of snow and bark land in our footprints.
“You would kill her?” That’s not allowed. Reapers do not determine death. He risks the wrath of a guardian angel; he risks the wrath of me. Fury builds. “You do not want to play with me, reaper.”
He slinks forward. “You stole her from me.”
I push Vivienne behind me. “And I would do it again.”
Fallen Angel
Vivienne
Angels growl.
This little tidbit pops into my mind as the man with glowing blue eyes snarls.
Angels.
At least, I suppose that’s what Breckin is—an angel.
The ground spins, and I focus on the dark wing sheltering me. My wide eyes follow the copper-tipped feathers to where they connect with Breckin’s spine. They were iridescent in the moonlight, but in the shadows of the woods, they’re inky black perfection against glowing skin. The impulse to stroke them is maddening.
“You cannot protect her forever, son of angels.”
Breckin’s wings twitch.
I slide closer, touching his lower back as he laughs. “Now, I’m sure you’re familiar enough with our kind to know your challenge will not be taken lightly.”
Cringing at Breckin’s snide tone, I step sideways for a better look at the angel threatening us. Breckin’s wing blocks me, extending like a wall. My stomach flutters at his protectiveness. This is not the Breckin Roberts I know.
“She is such a pretty thing. Do you plan on making her your toy?”
Breckin’s muscles flex beneath my fingertips, as a hair-raising snarl vibrates in his chest. “Do you plan on dying today, reaper?”
There’s the Breckin I know. Why am I suddenly finding him hot? Well, he’s always been hot, but now he’s Channing Tatum wearing a welding mask hot.
The other angel grunts. I lift on my toes, but Breckin is too tall, and his wings are too effective at blocking my view.
“What is your allegiance, boy? A son of angels in love with a human? They will kill you once they find out. I will take her soul from you soon enough.”
A gust sprays fine snow as my breath catches. In love with a human? My soul? Breckin steps forward, allowing me a glimpse of this other angel. His wings, smaller and lighter in color compared to Breckin’s black ones, stir the air. He levitates before us, and his wings still, as though he was merely waiting to catch my gaze. When he does, it’s as though he sees through me. His eyes hold me captive.
“Do not let the half-breed taint that soul of yours, my sweet.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Breckin grabs my wrist. “Vivienne.”
I stop. I’ve stepped in front of Breckin—and don’t recall moving.
“Soon enough.” The dark angel smiles. Cool, finger-like strokes cross my mind—caressing, invading—and I stagger back, my hand against my forehead, as he shoots into the sky.
Transfixed, I stare after him, anticipating his return. Moonlight, stars, and wisps of clouds hover above the trees. No shadow angel. No blue eyes.
“Viv?” Breckin cuts through my haze. He cups my shoulder, and tingles race along my arm.
“What is this, Breckin?” My sanity hangs by a thread as questions tumble forth. “You’re an angel? He’s an angel? He wants to kill me? Tried to? How did you steal me from him? What’s going on?”
“You’re shivering.” Breckin steps forward—his wings lowering and folding closer to his body—as I move back.
“I’m fine. Answer my questions.”
“I will, once you’re warm.”
I can’t see his face in the shadows of the trees, but I can read his voice. He’s concerned, which is funny, considering his lack of clothing. “You’re shirtless.”
He releases a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, I am. I’m also not prone to hypothermia.”