I wish more than anything right now that I could crawl into the deep abyss of Echo’s eyes and live the rest of my life there with him in the shadows that he commands so expertly. I miss them. I want to be where they are. Anything would be better than this white nothingness all around me. I hate this.
I hate it.
I stare at the scythe in my hands and shake my head. Like I’m some fucked up, possessed human Uber not in my right mind, I wrap both my palms around the staff and then slam the end of it against the smooth, colorless ground. I want to smash this place into smithereens. Break it until it resembles what I feel on the inside.
I slam the scythe down again and again, the hits reverberating up my arms and into my chest, like they’re trying to soothe me. With inky black rage bleeding into my vision, I scream like a banshee and fling the tears from my cheeks as I do my best to gouge the snowy floor under my feet.
Bam!
For my mom.
Bam!
For my dad.
The scythe thunks loudly as it connects with the ground again, and I picture each of my demons’ faces and demand retribution. I won’t stop until this place is as cracked as my heart.
Bam!
“For me!” I shriek out as my arms grow heavy and my body tired from the fury I’m expelling and the abuse I’m delivering to the only thing I can punish in this place other than myself.
“Excuse me!” The voice thunders all around me, making me jump. “Exactly what do you think you are doing to my meditation room?” the smooth arrogant voice demands.
I whirl around, shocked, and find a breathtakingly beautiful winged man stomping toward me. I’m so stunned by his presence, that it’s like my brain just stutters to a stop, in need of rebooting. Tanned skin and a chiseled body quickly closes the distance between us. He has long flowing golden blond hair, and the massive wings behind him are the same lustrous tones of sepia-gilded feathers.
He’s terrifyingly beautiful and clearly very pissed. His gray-wash skinny jeans hug the thick muscles in his thighs, and the white Henley he’s wearing looks damp like he just threw it on after a shower.
“Who are you, and how did you get in here?” he demands. As he gets closer, I can see his eyes are gray with gold flecks around the pupil. If looks could kill, I’d be dust already.
Instinctually, I tighten my hold on my scythe, and the slight movement immediately draws his attention. His aristocratic features and sharp jawline tense, and his eyes take on a wary caution as he studies me.
“Has your tongue been cut out?” he asks haughtily. His unimpressed eyes rake over me. “You’re not a Grim,” he declares more to himself than me. “I demand to know what you’re doing in my house. Who let you in?”
The word house forces me to look around with confusion. How is this a house? All I can see is endless white. Unless...
“Are you...God?” My tongue nearly sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I was expecting God to be older and less pompous, but what the hell do I know about anything?
A wry smile sneaks across his handsome face. “No, but if you’re here to join my menagerie, be sure to scream that out when I visit you,” he tells me, one eyebrow shooting up in invitation. Did he just...proposition me for sex? I frown, studying him. His lips go a little too Zoolander to be considered attractive, in my opinion. I’m not sure who this is, but I feel like I’m suffocating on the conceit that’s wafting off his heavily muscled body.
I mean, I guess he might scratch an itch for a certain kind of girl, but I’m not her. My brow furrows, and I take a step back like his arrogance might be contagious. This seems to puzzle the angel-guy even more.
“Um, if you’re not God, then who are you?
He puffs out his chest with indignation, his wings flaring out behind him. “I asked you first! This is your last chance, or I’ll have you hung by your wings and flogged at Luce’s next revelry,” he threatens, like I know what any of that means.
Wait. Wings?
I twist and look back over my shoulder, but all I catch is a lot of purple. “What the…” I reach over my shoulder to push my hair out of the way, but instead,