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.”

“Because you’re an angel?” I prod.

Breckin sighs, his warm breath sending a puff of smoky air between us. “Part angel, yes.”

Part angel. Half-breed.

I sniff, my nose running, thanks to the cold. Flexing my stiff fingers, I look about. We’re high on the mountain. The air is thin, the trees scarce, the wind gusts consistent— how did I not notice this before?   

Taking advantage of my preoccupation, Breckin’s wings surround me, drawing me near as he bridges the gap between us. He’s taller than me. Tall enough for me to fit under his chin as I walk into his arms and press my cheek against his unnaturally warm skin. My fingers lock behind his back, and he leaps at my icy touch. His dark wings envelop me—a Breckin cocoon, of sorts—and an overwhelming mix of tranquility and trepidation washes over me. Being in his arms is so right, yet I’m terrified. Not of him, or what he is—but of what’s happening. I fight the pull coaxing me to stroke his wings as his feathers ruffle. His hands shift on my back, one low and one high, his fingers slipping under the hair at my nape and holding my head against his chest.

“Please don’t drop me.”

“I’ve got you.”

A rush of cold air hits me, stealing my ability to reply, as we shoot into the sky.

This time I’m brave enough to turn my head and open my eyes to the world below. The lights of Havenwood Falls glow. It’s a cheery, lit-up town in an otherwise dark canyon of mountains and trees. Mathews River shimmers from one end of town to the other, and beyond. Cars dot the streets, moving slowly from work to home, from homes to stores. From here, the moonlight turns the flecks of gold in Stuart Fountain into glowing dancing fairies. The gazebo in town square is a beacon thanks to all the Christmas lights wrapped around it. My world is so small, so peaceful from this vantage point. Breckin’s wing shifts into my sightline, and with a deep breath, I understand: my world is nothing like I thought.

* * *

We circle the town twice—“to assure we’re not being followed,” Breckin says tightly—before descending to a snow-covered deck. Breckin’s house is a completely updated and remodeled historic Victorian located on the corner of Fairchild and Eleventh. Not exactly the most private spot for a family of angels. The fence around the yard is a stone wall and iron bars. Anyone who passes by can see us standing here. I would have expected them to live up in the woods on a private lot, or in Havenwood Heights. I’ve passed this street hundreds of times. How did I not know he lived here?

“You’re not worried about people seeing you?”

Breckin shrugs as his wings disappear before my eyes, and he pulls his shirt from where it’s tucked into the back of his pants and draws it over his head. “Humans don’t see us like this.”

“I see you,” I counter, leaning this way and that for a glimpse of his back as his shirt covers his skin.

Amber eyes lock on mine. “I let you.”

My argument dies, my breath catching at the cocky arch of his brow. I allow Breckin to lead me inside, his fingers warming mine. He pushes a hand through his hair, releasing deep sighs as we walk through the richly decorated—and unusually dark—house and down a set of stairs. He flips a switch, and we end up in what might as well be called an apartment in his basement. A living room, complete with a stone fireplace, a huge projection screen, and dark leather couches and chairs, fills the right side. An eat-in kitchen and bar fills the left. On the far end of the room is a second sitting area with two doors on the far wall. I make out the end of a bed through one and spot a sink—obviously a bathroom—through the other. Biting my nails for the sole purpose of ensuring my jaw hasn’t dropped to my knees, I turn and gawk at the rest of the basement: built-ins, a full-sized pool table, an old-fashioned arcade game, and a bar-height table with chairs in the corner.

“I think this place is bigger than the apartment Mom and I live in.”

“My house?” Breckin asks, leaving me standing at the bottom of the steps.

I laugh at the excess laid out before me. “No, your basement.”

The fireplace flares to life with the flick of another switch, and Breckin straightens. “Sorry,” he says uncomfortably.

My eyes wander the room. No Christmas tree, lights, presents, or stockings. The upstairs was dark and unfestive as well. Christmas is in two weeks. “Don’t you celebrate the holidays?”

He’s an angel—isn’t Christmas a pretty big deal to them?

Breckin’s mouth twists, his shoulder sort of popping up in a half shrug as he looks around. He seems indifferent. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Sorry, that’s not my business.” I hug myself, and my teeth chatter as a shiver works from my toes to the top of my head.

Breckin grabs a throw. “You’re freezing. Take off your shoes and jacket and come sit by the fire.”

I wiggle my toes in my boots. They’re ice, despite the thick wool socks I wear. The fire looks delectable, but I stand fixed at the base of the stairs—uncertain. Searching my bag, I pull out my phone as Breckin remains beside the fire, his face impassive.

“I won’t hurt you.”

My eyes lift from my cell.

“You’re safe, Vivienne. He won’t come here, and I won’t hurt you,” he repeats.

“I know.” I sigh, like I’m surprised the words came from my lips.

Breckin shoves his hair back, his right eye narrowing thoughtfully.

“That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? After tonight . . . I don’t think I truly know anything, but . . .” I pause. My fear and hesitation aren’t rooted in what he is, or isn’t. We’ve lived in the same town and gone to the same school all our lives. He’s got an ego, he causes trouble occasionally, but he’s not a bad guy. And he isn’t someone I’ve ever been afraid of. Still, my heart races as nerves dance in my stomach. I’m terrified of letting down my guard. Terrified of my thoughts, my feelings. Feelings? Where did this come from?

“I trust you. I’m just—” My shoulders lift when I can’t articulate properly.

“Freaked out? Scared as hell? Considering a mental institution?” He says it with such calm—straight-faced, mouth drawn—I can’t prevent laughter from bubbling up.

“Well, thank goodness.” My fingers fumble with my jacket as my hesitance melts away. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who thinks I’m crazy.”

Breckin’s poker face slips as I untangle my bag from around my neck and set it on the floor. I shrug out of my jacket, kick off my boots, and inhale deeply before daring to move forward.

He holds the throw blanket out as I near him and the plump chair he’s angled toward the fire. “You’re not crazy, Vivienne.”

That’s debatable. “First things first.” Accepting the blanket, I sit and pull my knees to my chest, covering my legs and feet. “I should text Zara so she doesn’t call my mom.”

“Good idea. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He crosses the room to the kitchen as I type out a vague text. My gaze flits from the keyboard to his back, unable to not look for evidence of the wings hiding in there somewhere. Do they hide? Are they magic? Invisible? “Ask whatever you want.”

My head snaps up. Breckin’s face reflects in a mirror running from floor to ceiling behind the wet bar. He watches me stare at him. My cheeks burn. Hitting send on my text, I drop the phone to my lap and drag the throw to my chin. The fire works its magic, the flames warming my frozen toes.

“I’m not sure what to ask,” I admit, after a moment of watching him watch me.

He pulls two water bottles from a mini refrigerator, his mouth twisting. “You’ve been watching my backside—”

I choke. “Uh, watching your wings. Not your backside, thank you very much.”

“Yes, my wings. That’s what I meant, Vivie. I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”

I gape at his smug grin. His tease draws my ire at the same time his calling me Vivie draws goosebumps over my skin. “I do not have a dirty mind.”

As if testing me, he twists the lid from his water and drinks half of it—a knowing smile on his perfect face when he’s done. Darn my eyes for staring. I face the fire and bite the inside of my cheek.

Breckin sets a bottle of water on the table by my chair and takes a seat on the couch. I peer into the fire, watching the flames leap around the ceramic logs, the blue glow from the gas flickering at the base.

“I like real fires better,” I say for no reason, other than to break the silence, my eyes not leaving the fireplace. “There’s no snap, crackle, and pop to a gas fire. No faces in the burning logs.”

“Faces in the logs?”

“Yeah? Don’t you ever stare at the flames? At the way the embers and burnt logs burn into creatures?” My breath catches. Creatures, like demons and dragons—that’s what I usually see in a fire. Scary fairytale type things I never considered real, like angels. Now I’m unsure.

“The one upstairs is real. I brought you down here because the lack of windows is safer.”

I work up the nerve to face him, to ask my questions. “Safer from what?”

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his thighs. He flips his water bottle between his knees and regards me.

“You said you would tell me everything if I came with you. What happened yesterday? Why do I need to be in your basement? Why do I need safety?”

His head falls. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”

“Why would this be your fault?”

Yesterday was a normal day. Zara dropped me off after school. I ate a snack with my mom, then changed to go for a run while she got ready for work. She dropped me at my usual trailhead at the base of Mount Alexa, and I started jogging. For the past three years, I’ve followed this route—jogging for several miles. Yesterday something happened. Something different.

“You said I was attacked, that you heard me scream. But I have no memory of it. I have no physical injuries.” I shake my head, challenging everything he told me.

“You have bruises,” he says softly. “On your ribs.”

“How would you—”

He sinks into the couch. “Because I took your clothes off, Vivienne. I carried you back to my house and undressed you and made sure you were okay before carrying you home.”

My sports bra and running tights. Half my clothing was missing. My shoes were missing. My breathing accelerates, the possibilities filling my mind.

“You were covered in blood. I saw it from the air and . . . it’s not the first time I’ve seen a wild animal attack while out flying, but . . . but I followed the trail. Something drew me down to earth yesterday. Something made me track you.”

My fingernails dig into my palms as the blood drains from my face.

“Whatever it was ran off. All I saw was a flash of movement as I came through the trees and saw you lying there.”

“No.” My feet slip from the chair, dropping to the floor with a thud as I sit forward. “No, that’s not right. Blood from where? I’m not injured. I’m fine.” A tear slides down my face.

“I’m an angel.”

He’s no longer cocky and full of egotistical pride. He says those three words as if they’re nothing—like reciting the day’s weather or answering a simple question. My palm covers my mouth.

It is the answer.

He’s an angel. He called the other a reaper. A reaper.

“You said I was dead. He said you stole me from him.” Images flash through my mind. The rip of claws at my side. The darkness hovering, the pain of a million suns consuming my body, the amber eyes—Breckin’s eyes—filled with worry. My cheeks are hot with tears. “Breckin?”

“You were moments from death. He was here to take your soul. You were supposed to die.” His pain-laced voice cuts me deeper than knowing the truth.

But I didn’t die. My wounds were healed.

He nods, somehow knowing my thoughts and confirming what I know to be true. “I healed you. I brought you back.”