of that drowning, devastating memory. Somehow helping me out of that night when my parents died and I wanted to go with them.
I come up for air like I’m breaching the surface of the puddle I knelt in that night, gasping for oxygen. That overwhelming smell of rain is still surrounding me like noxious fumes, and I can practically feel the electric current in the air from the lightning that’s pummeling the world all around me, though it feels like it’s striking directly into my heart.
Devastation wants to pull me under again, and no matter how hard I kick, I can’t quite break free.
“Delta.” My name comes again.
I open my eyes—or maybe I’m just able to focus—and see that I’ve somehow ended up on one of the white chairs. The storm is raging, but so are my biological parents. They’re demanding to know what’s wrong with me, standing over me like gods demanding penance for my wrongs and insisting on explanations.
“Well? What’s wrong with her?” Nefta demands, hands on hips as she stares down at me like a defective soldier.
Taz scoffs. “There is nothing wrong with her! She’s my progeny!” he says, completely insulted at the idea that any child of his could be seen as anything less than perfect. “Besides, if anything is wrong with her, it would most definitely come from your side.”
They start yelling at each other, facing off, like their words are being lobbed from slingshots back and forth with rapid-fire hits that Bart Simpson would be proud of.
But their shouting, accusatory words just boom in sync with the thunder, and my brittle nerves feel ready to snap. I shove my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound, and my wings come out of their own accord, like they’re trying to barricade me from the whole world. That would be a nice touch, if they didn’t freak me out so fucking much, so that just makes everything even worse.
“Stop!” I choke out as I desperately try to bat them away. But they don’t listen. If anything, the next shaking thunder that rattles the windows makes the purple appendages curl around me even tighter. Wracking gasps take over, and in my panicked haste to get them to get the fuck away from me, I rip out some of the feathers, making me cry out from the sharp pain.
More voices are yelling, more of the storm unleashes around me, and black dots enter my vision like my brain is threatening to shut the fuck off.
But then, there’s a cool, soft touch.
I shudder when I feel fingers gently petting my wings, which seem so panicked and unsure of what to do. The touch strokes gently on the arches, until my feathered appendages shiver and then finally relax, allowing the gentle but firm hands to fold them back.
And then Iceman is there, taking up the entirety of my waning vision. Chilled hands come up to cup my face, and his icy eyes are level with mine as he kneels down in front of me, blocking everything and everyone else out.
“We’ve got you, Delta. We’re right here.”
20
The arguing is still going on, and even though Taz’s and Nefta’s voices are obnoxiously loud, somehow, Iceman’s tone cuts through the entire room like a dagger.
“Everyone stop talking right this instant and give us a moment.”
Composed. Unruffled. Completely dominant. Authoritative, despite the fact that here, he’s just a lower male on the totem pole of angelic and demon hierarchy. I don’t know how he does it without raising his voice or even looking away from me, but immediately, the voices stop shouting. My shoulders sag in just an inch of relief, but it’s something.
“There,” he murmurs to me, his frosted thumbs stroking over my fevered cheeks, wiping away the tracks of tears left behind. “Just breathe, Maverick,” he tells me, and I latch onto his voice like it’s a lifeline, a buoy that will make sure I stay above water.
I feel the rest of my guys standing around me, helping to further shield me away. Someone is running a palm over my back, another is gently threading fingers through my hair, while someone else continues to keep my wings calm and folded back.
“Breathe in,” Iceman directs, as if he somehow knows the black dots in my vision are still threatening to spread.
It’s difficult, but I manage to take in a short, shaky inhale.
“Good,” he praises quietly, his eyes still not leaving mine. “Breathe out and in again for me, slower this