WHY WAS HE SO INSISTENT about a damn bowl of soup? She gulped it down without tasting much of anything. Nate informed her it was time for the ritual. The witch was ready. Moments from now she would belong to Jack for the rest of her days. Which, by her growing headache, wouldn’t be long. Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat. What did Nate put in that last bowl? Was he trying to drug Azazel? Make it easier for her to kill him? When Jack stole her feathers he stole more than some fluff. Feathers grew back. Confidence, on the other hand, didn’t return so quickly. To let a human get the best of her—the signs were all over the place, easy for a newly-corporeal angel to see. But no. Look at her, the big bad Elite huddled in a stupid cage like a chastised puppy. Fresh anger stirred wit
