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A Caress of Wings – Bookshelf • Best Selling Books by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Sylvia Day


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She was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. Trevor watched her as if from a distance, his warrioress angel. She was a small thing but fierce, her body clothed in urban camouflage and Army-issued jungle boots. Her hair was as black as his and her eyes just as blue, although her irises glimmered, as if filled with cerulean flames. She was such a contradiction—part otherworldly beauty, part contemporary woman.

Her hair was styled in a sleek bob around her piquant face, and her trim, curvy body was stunningly framed by those awesome wings. They were massive and certainly heavy, but she moved them with ease. They weren’t white like the pictures and drawings of angels he’d seen all his life. They were multihued and reminded him of the dawn—pale pink feathers darkening to blues and purples with a touch of gold filaments. They were such feminine wings, both playful and seductive.

With a sigh, Trevor settled deeper into the miasma he floated in, feeling warm and at peace. He’d gone from hell to heaven… because of her. She’d saved him. She’d killed the things that had tortured him for so long, taking their repulsive lives with gruesome deaths. He’d listened to their screams with a near maniacal joy, and when he had seen the copious amounts of blood splattered on his guardian angel’s clothes and her beautiful face, he’d loved her all the more.

Then she’d ordered that hellhole burned to the ground. She had stood there with him and watched it go up in flames, making certain he knew that his ordeal was well and truly over. He’d been avenged.

His gratitude and adoration for her was so intense it swamped him. It crashed over him like the gentle waves he laid upon, overflowing his eyes with tears.


He sighed at the sound of his name spoken in her melodious voice. There was a rhythm to her words that moved him, lured him. He thought he might follow that voice anywhere. Even out of blessed, comfortable unconsciousness.

“Trevor, wake up now.”

Opening his eyes, he looked up to find his angel leaning over him, and his breath caught at her incandescent beauty. She had such pale, creamy skin and it was beautifully framed by her inky hair. Her lips were plush and berry ripe, so soft-looking he wished he could touch them with his fingertips. She was the first and only thing he’d yet seen after endless days in pitch dark. If she was also the last thing he saw, he’d die a happy man.

“Thank you.” He was startled by the strength and fullness of his voice. She seemed startled by it, too, blinking a moment before the faintest hint of a frown marred the space between her brows.

Swallowing, he realized his throat was no longer parched and aching. And then he understood. She hadn’t saved his life; she’d come to collect him after his death.

“Damn it,” he growled. “I died in that hell pit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m dead, right?” He looked around, finding heaven to be… not what he’d expected. They were in a small, windowless room.

He lay on a couch. There was a coffee table and an entertainment center with the standard equipment. A door set off to the side appeared to lead into a bathroom, while another led… somewhere else.

“No, you’re not.” Her mouth curved into something like a smile, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “How are you feeling?”

Trevor did a quick mental inventory, amazed to find that he felt pretty good. Awesome, actually. “I feel great.”

“I did a hack job on your hair,” she said with a regretful wince. “Sorry about that, but it was in bad shape.”

He sat up, allowing the blankets tucked around his shoulders to fall into his lap. He shoved his hands through his hair, assessing its length. Lowering his arms, he looked for evidence of the bites he’d endured and found none. Then he stared at her, wondering if he’d finally gone insane and this encounter was merely a figment of his warped imagination.

“Where are your wings?”

“Tucked away.”

“I can’t see them.” Shit. What did it mean that he couldn’t see them?

“Would you like to?”

“Yes. Yes, I would. Please.”

She stood and backed up to an open space.

He watched, riveted, as sinuous tendrils of smoke appeared above her shoulders and gradually took on the shape and substance of wings. The same gorgeous-as-the-dawn wings he remembered. Unable to help himself, he pushed off the blankets and stood. He moved toward her with his hand outstretched, wanting to touch.


God, he loved her voice. Even now, when it sounded choked. “Yeah?”

Her wings disappeared an instant before he touched them. “You’re naked.”

This content was originally published here.


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