Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4)

“I love you,” he breathes.

She can withstand death, which means …

She’s creation. Life.

Perhaps it’s because I cannot do so—not in any real sense. Her soul has cleaved itself to her flesh, and neither my hand nor my power can pry it loose.

And still, the urge to whisk her away rides me. It’s so foreign, so alarming, that my wings fan out, partially in shock, and partially in preparation to take flight.