Page 1 of Sixth Sin

PROLOGUE

The first time I kissed an angel, I died.

I was eight years old when it happened. A child with nowhere to run, trapped in a storm of sin and hatred. Desperate to escape my gilded cage, I ran as fast as I could into the solace of my bedroom and prayed.

Prayed as I counted the shadows under the door.

Prayed as I counted the screams.

Prayed for the darkness to swallow me whole.

Prayed God would send an angel to make it all go away.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Maybe that was what drew him out of the shadows. Maybe I wished him into existence. Or maybe he’d always been there.

Watching.

Waiting.

The boy with the frozen eyes who stood in the doorway and watched me cry. At that moment, I knew he’d be the one to end my life. When he quietly asked me why I counted the same five numbers over and over, I spoke with a child’s honesty.

“Because I’m scared of six,” I whispered, quickly closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see him laugh at me.

Only he didn’t laugh.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I counted his footsteps as he made his way across the room and then knelt before me, his hands covering mine. “Look at me.”

So, I did. Not because he asked me to, but because I had no choice. Not because I was used to doing what I was told, but because even in my young mind, I knew I was meant to.

I could’ve denied him, but why bother?

Fate always found a way.

And somehow, as he hunched in front of me, his thumb brushing the shadows on my wrist, I heard the door to my cage unlock. “You’ll never have to count again,” he promised.

I believed him.

And because I believed him, I nodded, a soft breath escaping my lips as I pressed them against the back of his hand. As innocent as it was, we both stilled, something foreboding crackling in the surrounding air.

Looking back, it wasn’t that single promise that made me kiss him. It was the mark of salvation. It was the dare shining in those steel, arctic eyes and the blessed cruelty simmering just below the surface. In that moment, I knew I’d sealed my fate.

I’d escaped one cage only to be claimed by another.

“Are you God?” I asked quietly.

My heart stuttered at his regretful smile. “No. I’m the Angel of Death.”

Those three words hit me like a hammer to the chest. I rolled them around in my head and tasted them on my tongue, only to have my eyes water at their beautiful bitterness.

Like him.

He was beautifully bitter.

I didn’t have any friends. Mama always said it was because they were jealous, but I saw the truth in her eyes. They were afraid of me. I was a cursed poison seeping into the vulnerable crevices of their innocence, and their parents were right to warn them about me. Not that it made it hurt any less. I was still a child, too. I cried, too.

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