(Angel’s POV)
Sleep had been useless. Angel tossed and turned until the sky bruised toward evening. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw fire, wings that weren’t hers, and Lucian’s mouth when he said her name.
When she finally gave up, the camp was already half-cleared. Bikes idled. Laughter rolled through the dusk.
Gambol and Chad were hauling gear toward the trucks, both grinning like devils who’d won the lottery.
“What’s going on?” Angel called.
Gambol rubbed his hands together. “Fight night, baby! Howl at the Moon. With the shifters’ nerves shot after the demon mess, everyone needs to blow off steam. Fights, music, booze. I’m going to make a killing.”
Chad snorted. “Literally, if the bears get too riled up.”
“Angel!” Gambol yelled over his shoulder. “You’re coming. Bring that
