Page 70 of Wings of Death

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I pretend not to notice. His gaze shifts to Demetros and Lacinda, and his brow creases slightly.

“You brought…friends,” he says, his voice laced with discontent.

I stare at my friends, who both take a step back and glance down.

“Are you…the God of Death?” I finally ask.

It’s pretty obvious by now, but I have to know for sure. He isn’t what I was expecting.

His eyes find mine. “I am. But you already knew that,” he says. “Now, what exactly were you expecting?”

I swallow hard. “Perhaps an older male.”

He smirks once more. “Don’t let my looks fool you. I am thousands of years old, little angel.”

My mouth drops open, and I have to force myself to close it.

His smirk vanishes as his features shift into a more serious and somewhat terrifying glare. “Why have you summoned me?”

My heart thumps against my chest, and I have to remind myself to breathe. Just breathe. “The gods bonded me to a human on Earth, who isn’t a human at all. He is a fallen angel who had his wings removed, and I believe you may know how to get them back.”

He narrows his eyes and clasps his hands behind his back as he slowly circles me. He is a predator, and I am his prey. I swallow hard and try to slow my breathing. His warm breath tickles my neck as I realise he’s close behind me, and I force myself to stand still. He grazes his fingers down my neck, and I shiver at their cool touch.

“So you summon me for a favour?” he asks as he moves around to stand before me.

He’s very close, but I force myself to maintain eye contact. Something tells me this male—god—admires strength.

“I do not know if it is a favour. I want to know of the dark magic.”

The male laughs. “There are other ways to return wings to an angel, and it does not require the dark magic. Ways in which you do not know.”

My brows furrow. “Other ways?”

He doesn’t respond and just stares at me until I can’t bear it any longer and look away. His fingers caress my cheek, moving down to my chin, and he gently turns my face toward his.

“If you wish for the dark magic, I can help you,” he says, and I can feel my face light up at his words, “but I cannot guarantee it will end well.”

His fingers remain on my face, which is growing cooler as the seconds go by.

I shiver. “So the dark magic can give me the power to restore his wings?”

“Zarla, I’m not sure—” Lacinda says, and the male glares at her.

“Do not speak!” he bellows. “You do not speak in my presence unless called upon.”

Lacinda blinks and takes several steps back, bowing her head.

Oh no. The last thing we want to do is anger the God of Death.

Reading my thoughts, he smiles, and it takes my breath away. Gods above, he’s handsome. His smile widens, and I have to remind myself to stop thinking.

“The answer to your question is yes. The dark magic can restore his wings.”

“Then I want to do it,” I firmly say.

He presses his lips together as he scans my face. “Very well, then.”

He takes my face between his hands and closes his eyes as a searing pain shoots through my head. I scream as the pain rips through every cell in my body, and I feel as though I’m about to die, and if not, I wish for death. Anything to stop this.

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