With each flap of her wings, she dipped dangerously close to the ground, but the farm was right there. A stone's throw at the most. With her new and improved eyesight, she counted the dandelions sprouting near the porch steps, even though she was a mile away.

Just a bit more. Keep going. Exhaustion gripped her south of Detroit. Determination, and the terror of collapsing and ending up in a government lab, kept her afloat. In the last hour, she’d flown over a patchwork of farms. She had no idea if anyone had seen her. How to explain the UnHallowed and whatever she’d become? She wasn’t an angel and she wasn’t human. What if someone saw her and she was on some government radar being tracked right now? Leading them home…

Too tired to give a damn, she pressed on.

And got a mouthful of dirt and grass.

She’d crashed and hadn’t even realized it. She climbed to her hands and knees. Head lolling, she focused on the house and cursed. Why is it further away? It’s as if she flew backward instead of forward.

All she needed was one last burst of energy and she’d be home. It wasn’t mission impossible.

“Just because you slap wings on a human, doesn’t make them an angel,” she grumbled. Tell that to every spasming muscle on her back. Angels could go millennia without rest, Braile had bragged.

What-the hell-ever.

She shoved to her feet and agony rippled from her shoulders to her hips, though centered on the joints attaching her wings. “Don’t think about it,” she gritted through her clenched teeth.

It worked. The mind over matter bullshit actually worked. Her back was numb. Now to get her ass home.

A breeze ruffled her feathers and swayed the tall grass around her. She opened her wings, letting it catch, and lift her. Another hundred yards and she’d be on her porch, in her living room, home. The breeze became a hard gust. Caught in an updraft, it propelled her into the air and across the distance at breakneck speed. She had no control when it slammed her through her bedroom window. Something snapped when she hit the hardwood. She rolled, snapping more body parts she didn’t have half a day ago. Blinding pain lashed every cell and darkness dimmed her vision, once, twice, as white, red-tipped feathers floated in the air. She had to hang on. Had to…footsteps thudded on the staircase and halted outside of the sun-drenched bedroom.

She focused on the black combat boots and her name. The voice calling her from a thousand miles away… “Bane?”

* * *

Amaya pushed away from the pillows and spun around, her gaze bounced around the room until she realized this was her bedroom. She was in her bed, and had been laying on her stomach. She remembered hitting the floor, snapping her wings. Passing out. Yet she didn’t feel broken and the pain was a manageable ache. Someone had risked a third degree burn to scoop her off the floor and put her in bed.

She had an idea who, even though she’d only seen a pair of boots. She slid off the bed and stretched. Her shoulders ached, but nothing close to the pain that knocked her out. She flexed her wings and knew the position of each feather as she knew every inch of her own skin, except the sensation was completely alien. Unique. Through her feathers, she could tell the room temperature—seventy-nine degrees—and knew the barometric pressure was dropping. Rain scented the air.

Good thing her window had been repaired. She opened the window and climbed out onto the roof. The world looked safe enough with her ass planted on the shingles. The stars twinkled, a hot breeze kissed her skin and ruffled her feathers, the grass moved, and insects chirped away. Energy swirled all around her. Passed through her. All of it connected her to nature—air, water, earth, fire—connected her to the planet and its place in the universe. She focused and the rings of Saturn came into view in exquisite detail. The upgrade was pretty sweet. Too bad the end of the world got in the way of enjoying it.

A bolt of lightning illuminated a storm cloud in the distance. Ten minutes and the farm would be drenched. She arrived in the afternoon and didn’t need a clock to know it was close to midnight. Yet, she had the distinct impression it wasn’t the same day.

“How long was I out?” she muttered as her stomach and bladder simultaneously cramped. Seemed her basic anatomy was still very human. She returned to her bedroom and halted at the sword laying on the bed next to the spot she’d just left.

Was it there when she woke? She didn’t think so. And she definitely hadn’t carried it with her when she flew. The last time she remembered having the weapon was in the cave, after Michael left her.

Shiny didn’t come close to describing the surface or the razor edge. She had the distinct impression she could separate a head from its shoulders without the slightest effort, or peel the skin off a grape with surgical precision. All she needed was the skill to do both. She picked it up, couldn’t resist the urge. A surge of power raced up her arm, leaving her lightheaded. When the sensation passed, she focused on the incredible blade in her hand. The ivory was the purest white she’d ever seen, with markings etched into the surface, protected by the intricate empyreal weave comprising the hilt and the cross-guard’s sharp tipped wings. The blade was half her height, shorter than she remembered when Braile wielded it. Maybe that was her perception since she was a child, but she doubted it. Though it appeared to weigh a ton, it was impossibly light and the hilt fit her palm like haute couture to a run way model.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror and couldn’t help staring at the hot mess. Her hair was a matted nest and dirt clung to every inch of her…and she had wings. She twisted around for her first true look at them.

They were stunning, smaller versions of Braile’s bi-level wings. Sprouting from between her shoulders and mid back, they had glorious, pristine white feathers tipped in blood red around the edges. Once, she begged for Braile to save one of his feathers for her, one that fell out. He explained that angels didn’t lose their feathers. Then he plucked one and gave it to her. She still had it pressed between the pages of the children’s Bible her grandmother had given her.

She used the facilities and decided to risk a shower. Luckily, her shower was deep and apparently, her wings were waterproof. Good to know. Hot water and soap. The simple things are the best. The shower made her feel more human. She had to skip the bra. To go without one when she’d worn a bra since puberty was…weird. Uncomfortable. C-cups didn’t go braless.

Tell that to her new appendages.

A halter top was the only thing she could wear. Not a problem in June. Her limited attire would be an issue come September when the temperatures dipped. The winters were brutal in this part of the country. A halter top would equal death by hypothermia.

She headed for the stairs, dragging her wings across the hardwood. This wasn’t going to work. How did Michael and the UnHallowed do it? Dag, Kush, Riél, Michael, she thought of how they moved with their wings. Their postures were all the same, erect, with their shoulders slightly rounded. Their wings never dragged. She mimicked the pose and it worked, but it took effort to hold that unnatural position, too much effort.

She sighed. Something else to work on.

She headed for the kitchen and the refrigerator. The fresh cut up fruit had spoiled, along with the milk, but the pastrami and Swiss cheese were still good, good enough to ignore the stale Kaiser rolls. She made a sandwich, added mayo and mustard, and gobbled it down. Plus, there were oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies, and other strange items she didn’t eat, on the top shelf, and bags of chips on the kitchen counter.

Voices drifted from the open basement door. She wolfed down the rest of her sandwich, plus two oatmeal cookies—no one had thought to buy milk to go with the cookies—and headed downstairs.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Get a group of males together and invariably one of them would buy a humongous flat screen and an Xbox. The UnHallowed didn’t prove different. Included with the seventy-five-inch flat screen and gaming system was a new leather sectional. All the creature comforts.

Hand on hip, daggers in her eyes, Amaya stood in front of the flat screen. Empty beer and booze bottles, competing with a mound of empty pizza boxes littered the room. So much for them not eating. “Is this what you’re all going to do all day?” A beer can smacked her shoulder.

“Get out of the way!” Zed shouted.

“I swear if I lose because you—” Chay threw a pillow at her.

She swatted it away. “You won’t do a damn thing,” she said to Chay, then pointed at Kush. “On the other hand, you would do something because you can’t help yourself.” She shifted her gaze to Zed. “I place you in that same poor impulse control category as Kush.” Lastly, she waved a finger at Rimmon. “And you, I haven’t quite figured out yet.”

“Oh, Rimmon’s easy. He’s a complete asshole.” Scarla marched down the stairs. She ignored Amaya in favor of leaning over the back of the sofa and kissing Chay on the cheek. Kush got a slap to the side of his head. The other two got the cold shoulder as she sauntered over and planted herself in front of Amaya. “I didn’t believe the upgrade, but shit. I don’t know whether to be jealous or sympathetic.”

At least she was honest.

Scarla glanced down. “You know their dragging, right? Collecting dust bunnies.”

“Yes, damn it. I know!”

Scarla held up her hands and backed away as the UnHallowed laughed. “Pay them no mind. They have no life, so they’ll live through those that do. They’re pathetic and most are virgins. Let’s get a drink and I’ll tell you which ones.”