Wicked Kiss

His brows drew together at this blunt statement. “I thought there was something different about you now.”

No, I wasn’t a gray. But I was still a nexus. I still had the powers of Heaven and Hell that had been dormant inside me for seventeen years. And I already knew I could repel angels and demons who threatened me.

This angel might not have a body, but I could try my best to repel it, anyway. Repel it all the way back to the Hollow.

I grabbed hold of Bishop’s wrist.

“Samantha, don’t!” It was the real Bishop who said this, and his voice held panic.

I looked deep into his glazed eyes. “Let me try. Let me—”

Snap!

I stand on the platform, waiting for my  fate. The weeks I spent in that small, stinking hole have prepared me to  embrace this. Still, my legs feel weak and ready to collapse beneath  me.

I’m afraid to die. So afraid.

Below, dozens have gathered to witness my  execution. Some look up at me with grim expressions, others with pleased  ones. Justice had finally been done in their eyes. Someone has put an end to  this monster.

Maybe they’re right.

“Do you have any last words?” the priest  asks me, clutching his leather-bound Bible to his chest.

“No,” I mutter.

“Do you wish to be absolved of your  sins?”

“No.”

“But in God’s name—”

“I don’t believe in God. Now go away, and  leave me to die.”

I expect outrage at my blasphemous words.  But they’re true. My brother was the one who clung to religion to give him  strength in times of weakness. Not me.

I spot a man in the crowd I met two months  ago—one who told me lies and made me empty promises. I hate him almost more  than I hate Kara.

“Let me ask you one more question on  behalf of your father,” the priest says. My gaze snaps to him, since that’s  the man I was just looking at. “You agreed to something he proposed. Do you  still agree?”

Two months ago I was out of my mind. The  edges of my memories are fuzzy at best. I’d drunk bottle upon bottle of  absinthe, hoping to erase those memories and ease my pain. It worked very  well—at least, when it came to the memories.

“What difference does it make  anymore?”

The executioner nudges the priest out of  the way so he can loop the noose around my neck. The rough rope tightens  painfully around my throat.

“Do you still agree?” the priest  asks.

“Yeah, whatever you say. Now get  lost.”

“Your particular talents will be valued  even more now that they’ve been honed to a sharp edge.”

“Go to hell,” I mumble.

He makes the sign of the cross to bless me  and steps back.

I refuse to close my eyes. Instead, I  stare out at a crowd that hates me. That wishes me dead.

Despite the fear that rises in my throat  and chokes off my breath, I feel the exact same way. There’s no one here  whom I want forgiveness from. No one here to give a damn about me or that I  give a damn about in return. My choices have led me to be alone today, only  three days after my eighteenth birthday.

I wish forgiveness only from James.

He’s the only one I miss.

I killed him. I sent him to Hell.

Now I’m certain, despite any foolish  promises made by the man who claims to be my father, I’ll be joining him  there.

Finally, the executioner pulls the lever.  The platform drops out from beneath my feet and I fall.

My death is not fast. My neck doesn’t  break.

Instead, I slowly strangle while the crowd  cheers. They rejoice in every moment of my pain and suffering until,  finally, death rises up to claim me...

Snap!

I staggered back from Bishop so violently that I tripped over my own feet and fell to the ground hard on my butt. In the distance I heard the sound of police sirens. Jordan had made the call like I asked her to and they’d arrived to break up the party.

I barely heard the sound. Barely saw the flashing lights to the far left.

I just sat on the ground and stared up at Bishop.

I’d seen his execution. I’d experienced it as if I was him.

The hopelessness he’d felt. The raw pain and loneliness. The shame.

He wanted to die that day.

But just like what happened to me earlier, he hadn’t stayed dead.

His eyes were still glazed white. I hadn’t been able to repel the angel. All I’d done was see another piece of Bishop’s past. More pieces of his puzzle. A corner piece that snapped into place painfully and with effort.

“I can let you go,” the angel spoke through him, squeezing Bishop’s eyes shut. “But you must let me feed.”

“No,” Bishop gritted out in reply. “You won’t hurt anyone else. It’s over.”

“Then we’re at an impasse. You’re mine. I will take your body over completely. Soon you will stop fighting. I can still feed through a touch. I can take the joy of others and make it my own. He promises me that I will be more powerful than ever before.”

Cassandra and Roth finally approached, with Connor trailing after them. They each looked grim, their attention on Bishop. They knew what was going on without getting a recap.

Bishop’s glazed eyes widened with surprise as he looked at the blonde angel. “You.”