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Monday, February 2, 2015

Lines 2/2

Price of Angels
Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Gilley
He happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection, as he pulled a towel from the cabinet and laid it on the counter. He almost didn’t recognize himself, the way his eyes were bright, almost feverish, gleaming with a strange light inside a face that was clenched tight with an active, vibrating tension. He looked wild, unpredictable, pulsing with energy.

            Ghost was wrong. He didn’t need a break; this wasn’t the look of fatigue, overwork. This was purpose. This was, for the first time in a long time, something more than obedience. This was revenge. Revenge by proxy, but no less driving.


            The archangel was awake.

            As he turned toward the shower, he had a fast, indistinct glimpse of the wings inked into his back.

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