“L.W.’s eyes are green now,” Beth admitted with contrition. “They changed a while ago. I didn’t want you to be upset.”
Wrath smiled. “He’s perfect. Just the way the Scribe Virgin made him.”
“I love you,” his shellan said.
Taking a deep breath, Wrath slowly opened his lids . . . and saw nothing now. But his family was still with him. He could feel the weight, the warmth—and the fur—of all of them.
With peace and love in his heart, Wrath said, “And your voice in the darkness is my reason for living.”
Downtown, as a rare blood moon shone its eerie light upon the twinkling city, a figure in white appeared on the top of one of Caldwell’s two span bridges. Later, people would debate whether it actually existed. Paranormal enthusiasts would say yes, and that it was a ghost or a wraith. Skeptics, on the other hand, would maintain that the pictures taken of the mysterious apparition were doctored.
Oh, and the Area 51 aficionados were convinced it was an alien.
As with so much in life, what folks thought they saw depended more on who they were than what may or may not have been before them.
The stone-cold truth, however, was that a demon did in fact materialize to that arch, and she did look over the city as if it were hers for the taking.
And as for what she wore? It wasn’t a robe like her big brother had sported.
No, when Devina decided to pick that seminal spot for her declaration of dominion, she was wearing a wedding gown.
It seemed apt. And the shit was not vintage.
The ball-gown-style dress with the tight bodice and the peekaboo panels at the cleavage and on the ribs was a brand-new, never-before-worn Pnina Tornai. Devina had chosen it from all of the available stock at the most exclusive boutique in town, putting the satin and sparkles on and three-way-mirror’ing it before she came down here for her big reveal. The dress was all her, elegant but flamboyant, expensive and exclusive. Just what she would walk down the aisle with some night.
Brian O’Neal was correct. She only needed the right partner.
And until someone of male extraction volunteered for that role— and really, what were the chances of that—she was marrying Caldwell.
This city would be her spouse and she was going to enjoy expressing her special brand of love all over its streets and—
At first, Devina couldn’t comprehend what obstructed her view of the highest skyscraper in the financial district.
But there was something on the other bridge.
Standing with feet planted and body braced.
Devina narrowed her eyes. It was a male. Dressed in . . . were those hot pink zebra tights? And what was that shirt? Was that . . . Barney?
“Jesus Christ,” she spat.
All at once, from behind those broad shoulders, a set of gossamer wings extended outward as blond and black hair spooled loose from some kind of tie.
No, it wasn’t J. C.
Lassiter, the Fallen Angel.
As Devina narrowed her eyes and her temper rose, he smiled at her. And lifted one of his hands. With an elaborate show, he blew her a kiss, turned that palm around . . . and extended his middle finger at her.
And thus the next generation of conflict was born.
With so many thanks to the readers of the Black Dagger Brotherhood books! This has been a long, marvelous, exciting journey, and I can’t wait to see what happens next in this world we all love. I’d also like to thank Meg Ruley, Rebecca Scherer and everyone at JRA, and Lauren McKenna, Jennifer Bergstrom, Abby Zidle, and the entire family at Gallery Books and Simon & Schuster.
To Team Waud, I love you all. Truly. And as always, everything I do is with love to, and adoration for, both my family of origin and of adoption.
Oh, and thank you to Naamah, my Writer Dog II, who works as hard as I do on my books! And for Arch, who has stepped up in a major way lately!