The Demon of Angels (Bk. 2)
Sneak Peak into Book Three

THE WIND HOWLED under the moonlight, the trees that stood tall above the woman that bristled against it. Her long strands of sun-kissed blonde hair whipped around in its tight high ponytail. Over five years ago, the chilly wind would have been bothersome. Tonight, it was nothing more than a soft breeze as it brushed against the bare skin of her arms in the late November evening.

The woman’s expression remained impassive. The blue hue in her hazel eyes brightened as she watched from above, gaze trained on the Hellhound below through the window, rustling and rolling in his bedsheets.

The sweat beading along his forehead and bare chest could be spotted from where she stood. Another nightmare, she knew. He had them often, and it was easy to spot the signs when they began.

Some nights were better than others: More often than not, he tossed and turned, sweat pooling from his body as he slept; other nights, they were much worse. His screams would ring out in the night, awakening any sleeping or resting creature within a mile radius.

Three and a half years ago, before her life was signed over to another, it would have broken her heart to see; to witness the silent suffering he could never control, and to stand there, unable to bring aid to her best friend, helpless as he suffered.

It would have killed her, if she was still human.

The night Layni Oliver murdered her mother, a man visited her, willing to save her dying little brother in exchange for her service to him. Layni was younger at the time. Fifteen years old and naïve, and willing to do anything to save Max. After agreeing, Layni found out rather quickly just who and what she had just struck a deal with.

The Demon of Death.

Death had kept his end of the deal, and after infusing their blood together and bonding her life to his, Layni had and was still keeping her end of the deal. His soul was tied to hers, his very own lifeline.

As time went on, the less mundane Layni felt, and she was still actively trying to figure out if she preferred to feel nothing at all, than the pain she had endured three and a half years ago. She was weak then, torn in two over what her heart desired. Now, the blackness in her soul dug deeper and deeper every day that passed while tied to the Greater Demon while his soul was trapped in the Oblivion.

Layni Oliver was his little puppet- his pawn, forced to do his bidding until he succeeded in his next grand scheme of a plan. She was his personal slave.

She watched with emotionless eyes as the Hellhound in the window punched a hole in a wall, fisting his disheveled hair into knots. Layni frowned, the first emotional reaction she’s had in over a year, knowing Death was coming soon to tear this pack from the inside out.

His revenge would be his sweetest victory.

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