The smell of ash and unbearable heat.
Lillian’s hands crumpled the bedding, back arching under his firm grip on her hips. How?
“So beautiful,” he whispered above her. Behind her.
She could feel him, his palms gliding down her back but it was weird. He was avoiding her shoulders and she felt . . . something strange. A weight. Not that she could focus on it long, the feeling of something foreign, rough, pressing between her legs, rubbing.
Sweat.
She was sweating, droplets falling from her nose to the sheets below her. And hair. Long, falling forward over her shoulders. Her hair was too long.
It’s not real.
Pressure in her abdomen, the stretch between her legs—she gasped, lifting her head to find a mirrored wall in front of her. Wings. White wings
