If not, they’d likely shatter on a London street.
He pulled the feather from inside his trouser pocket and presented it to the bare wall. The hidden doors clunked and smoothly rolled open, revealing his wings. His breath caught. He hesitated. Long ago, his enemy had carved those wings from his back. What if he couldn’t bear their weight again? What if he’d changed too much?
Didn’t matter.
He was here. This had to be done.
He stopped beneath their great expanse. The right wing bore a vicious tear. Blood had dried on the wall and floor, left there like a scab. Only Mikhail could have mutilated them so. A sob tried to crawl up his throat. It had been war. Mikhail had taken the trophies ten years ago as a message, but to cut them now? Mikhail was so full of hate. It seemed impossible that love could exist surrounded by it. And Severn was not entirely blameless. He had betrayed Mikhail in the worst way.
He reached a hand up, hovering it away from the wing membrane. Gods, they were alive, warm and still, as though they’d been waiting all this time. He could feel their heat, his heat.
His fingertips brushed their leathery surface. Tiny veins flared, sparking outward, and a jolt of pain snapped up Severn’s arm. He gasped, yanking his hand back, but it was too late. An unraveling power crackled up his arm, through his shoulder, into his chest—waves of lightning-like fractures—and to his horror, the Remiel illusion disintegrated piece by piece, turning to dust.
No, no, no… he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t done!
He clutched his arm and staggered backward, his whole body reverting—not to Konstantin’s beautifully black skin—but to Severn’s. “Dammit… no!”
This shouldn’t be happening. He was brimming with power. The illusion had been solid enough to last for days. But it fell apart now, peeling off his torso, his thighs, everywhere.
Remiel lay in dust at his feet.
Gods, he was Severn again.
Severn, standing in Mikhail’s gallery, staring at his fucking wings.
He had to get them down—now!
He reached for the wings.
“Stop!” Solo boomed.
Severn froze, a thousand scenarios running through his mind, and all of them ending in Solo dying. Why?! Why him, why here and now? Why was destiny so fucking intent on screwing with him? He lowered his hand and slowly turned. Solo approached, angelblade in his right hand. He had his wings hidden, but they’d be spread soon enough because the snarl on his lips was far from friendly.
Severn had his own blade hitched to his side. The illusion left him with his accessories, including clothing, but could he use the blade against Solo? He reached for the handle.
“Draw that blade and it ends with your death, Severn.”
Dread sat cold and heavy in his gut. “Solo… wait.”
Solo continued to approach. “I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice.”
Severn held out his hands as though to slow him. “Solo… just listen. These wings… they belong to me. I have to have them back.”
“You lied to us again!”
Severn winced. “Yes, and it’s a fucking shitty thing to do, but I had no choice. Will you just listen before trying to kill me?”
“I listened to your lies for ten years. You’re a demon.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “You’re the leech Konstantin!”
“Leech is harsh, but—”
Solo pressed the blade’s tip to Severn’s chest, his arm locked, face severe. Severn still held his hands aloft, but if Solo tensed to thrust the blade home, Severn had already mapped exactly how he’d knock the blade aside, grab the angel by the throat, and see to it only one of them walked out of the gallery alive. But it wouldn’t come to that. He had to believe it.
“It began as lies,” Severn said. “But it ended in love.”
Solo slowly shook his head. “How could you, Severn? How could you do this to us? You were my friend. You were Mikhail’s friend.”
“I still am—” Solo pushed against the tip, and the blade dug in a notch, stealing his breath. Solo would kill him, if he didn’t talk him down, but it couldn’t get that far. “There is more at stake here than my betrayal. Mikhail must be stopped, for everyone’s sake, not just the demons’. You see it, don’t you? He’s powerful and out of control. I want to help him.”
“Help him?” A silvery tear wet Solo’s cheek. “You broke his heart!”
Angels did not cry. But the rules had been rewritten. Change was happening. “Solo, please. I love him.”
“Lies!”
“I lied, yes, in