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Life to life, soul to soul. A bond usually reserved for angels coupling for life. Oh, the irony. Severn wasn’t an angel.
“I’d have killed every last demon on the killing field to save you.” He looked down. “It is surely a madness and no doubt the reason why I’m in this cage, but it did not feel wrong…” He met Severn’s gaze through the bars. “It does not feel wrong.”
Destiny was strange, fate was often cruel, but he wondered if both had been trying to guide him here all along.
His angel was a winged emotional disaster, and Severn loved him for it.
He looked at himself—at Konstantin, the incubi lord who had sacrificed everything for the chance to kill a guardian angel. The angel who stood beside him, hands entwined.
Pain stabbed at Mikhail’s heart. Hard and sharp, like a shard of glass through the chest. He gasped and curled around the agony, fingers clutched at his chest as though he could tear his own heart out and toss it in the river with the dead.
