As the sounds of the Hunt raged outside, I curled up in my makeshift bed—a collection of blankets and rags. I didn’t sleep with the others.

After we’d come inside, I’d eaten my portion of rabbit and potatoes by myself in my little room, a ramshackle Victorian outpost where I stayed on my own. This was what I was used to—living among humans, while never quite being one of them. Always a little bit separate, always holding back my true nature just a little.

My parents had left the fae realm centuries ago. The fae kingdoms were kind of backward, sexist as hell. My mom was supposed to be some sort of sex slave to a fae lordling, but she and my father had fallen in love. So they’d left and started working among the humans.

Most fae considered us traitors. Most humans would consider us dangerous if they knew the truth. I’d been lucky to find people as open-minded as Alex and my other rookery friends.

I pulled a blanket around myself tightly, surveying my familiar space. Truth be told, I was pretty sure that my corner of the rookery had once been a VD clinic. The poster on the wall when I’d first arrived, reading No Glove, No Love, had made that clear. But believe it or not, I’d managed to clean the place up, even decorate a little.

I had everything I needed here in the cozy little VD clinic I called home: a candle, a bottle of whisky I’d looted from the Sainsbury’s, and helpful reminders about the dangers of chlamydia. I’d decorated the walls with the help of a glue gun and pieces of broken glass and aluminum that glinted like jewels in the candlelight. (You could take the girl out of the burlesque club…)

And most precious of all, tucked under a plastic waiting room chair, stood my collection of books. The dragons had destroyed half of London, but mercifully, the Whitechapel Library remained standing. Some lucky survivors had claimed the library as their rookery, but through charm and flattery, I’d wangled my own reading material from them. I now boasted a small collection of paranormal romances, a few biographies, and stacks of history books.

Apart from finding my sister again, what more could I ask for in the world of the Great Nightmare?

Maybe a bit of company at night, I supposed.

Only I couldn’t sleep with the others—not with the candle burning. Katie, Lucy, and Alex slept in a part of the hospital with windows, where a flickering light would give away our presence.

I hadn’t always been scared of the dark, but ever since the dragons had descended, it freaked me out. In the shadows, I saw things I didn’t want to see. Lucky for me, VD clinics didn’t tend to have windows, so I could keep my candles burning.

As far as the others knew, Alex’s snoring had driven me to another building.

Outside, I heard the hounds barking as the Hunt tore through the nearby streets, and a chill rippled over my skin. Did the sentinels ever tell the hounds where they could find people, huddled in the rookeries?

No one really knew much about the hounds, only that they were supposed to be the size of horses, with bone-white fur. Oh, and they had the charming habit of tearing people to pieces and eating them. Worst of all, anyone caught harming a hound would be found hanging from a lamppost the next day, so you couldn’t fight back without dying.

Not a single one of us knew why the Great Nightmare had begun at all, even though theories abounded. We’d sinned, and we deserved it. We were destroying the Earth and hurting each other. God was angry with us.

If you asked me, the gods were insane. Best not to worry too much about their motives.

I opened a book, trying to block out the human screams that wound through the streets. I flipped the pages, trying to read about medieval England, long before the angels had come—when people lived among living things, when they could hear the sound of rain pattering on trees or walk in the woods.

Before long, I closed my eyes, envisioning an ancient forest, sunlight streaming through verdant yew branches. Warm light dappled my skin, the earth, until sleep claimed my mind.

* * *

Barefoot, I walked through the woods. I had the sense that I was supposed to be hunting, but I hadn’t brought my bow with me.

My hair whipped around my head in the forest breeze. My stomach growled, reminding me of my hunger. I needed to find a sapling, one I could carve into a bow and arrow. Then I could catch a stag.

But as I reached a clearing, my heart began to race.

I wasn’t in the woods anymore. I was in New York, on the day the dragons came. On the day my soul began to wither.

We’d been in the middle of a picnic when the first dragon shadows had darkened the skies, fire streaming from their mouths. Dragons had killed my parents years ago. Now they’d come for us.

I stared at the grassy earth, unwilling to lift my eyes. Blood stained the blades of grass, splattered over my shoes. Here, in this memory, there were things I didn’t want to see. Marcus lay dead nearby, ripped to shreds. By the wild panic in my chest and the shaking in my hands, I knew Hazel had already been snatched from the Earth, taken from me. I’d never felt so alone, so desperate. With a shaking hand, I plucked a single, copper feather from the grass. Death is coming for me.

My chest aching, I forced myself to look up at the skies, where the golden-haired angel swooped lower, filling me with a terrible sense of awe.

The dragons seemed to sense him, their necks craning up to look at him as he headed for me. My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard. He wore black military clothes, with a silver bow slung over his back. Not a demon, like I’d thought. An angel. A harbinger of death.

If I hadn’t been halfway dead, the sight of him would have sent a cold shiver of fear up my spine. As it was, I just hoped he’d end my life quickly.

I stared at him as he swooped down, and my fingers found their way to my side. As he landed, I clutched my battered ribs protectively.

He peered down at me, his amber gaze cold and hard. “A succubus against a legion of dragons. Seems you’ve held your own for a while.”

“What?” I could hardly process what he was saying.

He leaned in, stroking a finger over the golden skin on my forearm—the one patch of skin not covered in red and black blood. “A succubus,” he repeated. “One who dresses like an angel. Too intoxicating to waste as dragon food.”

He remembered me from the other night. I was still wearing the glamour of a succubus, and it seemed to be saving my life.

One of the dragons snarled, moving closer, his eyes locked on me, blood dripping from his jaw. Whose blood, I had no idea, but he seemed to want mine also.

The angel pivoted. Then he lifted a powerful arm, slashing his hand through the air. As he moved his arm in an arc around us, an invisible blade seemed to cut through the dragons, ripping through their necks, their chests. Screeching, a few of the dragons flapped their wings, trying to get away before the angel cut through them too, but he was too fast.

He flicked his wrist, and tons of severed dragon flesh slammed against the Earth, shaking the pavement.

And just like that, half the dragon horde around me lay dead.

I turned to stare at the angel, his body glowing with a golden light.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He took a step closer, his velvet voice brushing over my skin. “I am Kratos.”

“Are you an angel?” I stammered. I had the strongest urge to drop to my knees before him, to worship him. The Earth’s gravity wanted to yank me down. Shaking, I resisted the pull. I wasn’t going to kneel before him. He’d caused all this.

I swallowed hard, clutching the copper feather between my fingertips. “I need help. The dragons took my sister.” But even as I said the words, I knew I was pleading to the wrong man. The man before me wasn’t my savior.

He stepped closer, and heat burned off his body. He leaned in and whispered, “Well then, you’d better find her, hadn’t you?”

“What’s happening?” I stammered.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You could come with me. You could amuse me. I won’t stay in this hellhole long.”

“Come with you where?” My voice sounded hollow.

“To London.”

I shook my head, trying to block out the pile of sodden ash that lay a few feet from us. The grief washed over me so completely I could hardly remember how to speak. “I have to find my sister.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What do you want from me?” I breathed.

“Little succubus. I demand only worship, submission, and the end of the world.”

Again, that urge to kneel overwhelmed me—I wanted to feel the rocky earth biting into my knees. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to straighten.

I grabbed his arm, my fingers leaving smudges of blood over his black clothing. He was terrifying, but desperation spurred me on. “I need your help.”

Cold fury flashed in his eyes, and he pulled his arm away from me. In a burst of honeyed light, he spread his wings, his hair gleaming like a halo. Then he lifted off into the darkened skies.

* * *

I woke, covered in sweat, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Nausea gripped my gut, and I wanted to puke. That was why I slept with the candle burning, why I did everything I could to stop myself from remembering the past.

Kratos had been there when the dragons had killed my boyfriend, when they’d ripped my sister from the Earth. He’d done nothing to stop it. To them, we were no better than animals, filthy creatures who should be on our hands and knees in the dirt before them. Once I found Hazel again, maybe I’d put an iron-tipped arrow through the lot of them.

I glanced at the candle, the wax dripping over the floor, and I pulled out a fresh one. I really didn’t want the lights going out tonight. In fact, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sleep at all anymore.