Epilogue
Gigi's dorm room buzzes with pre-party chaos. Girls crowd every surface, stepping over duffel bags stuffed with costume pieces and dodging makeup brushes. The tiny space feels electric with anticipation. Brody's off handling Reaper business, and for once, I don't mind. Tonight belongs to something I've never had before—normal college life.
Amanda claims the prime spot in front of the full-length mirror, turning the cramped space into costume central. Makeup palettes and false eyelashes cover every flat surface, and the mirror reflects a parade of angels and devils getting ready. The air smells like hairspray and excitement.
"You're going to kill in this." Amanda holds up my costume—a black fallen angel outfit that makes me think of Brody. While half the girls don their white angel wings and halos, I'm going darker. It fits.
The costume hugs every curve, the fabric catching the light like oil. Black stockings disappear under the hem, and the boots add enough height to make my legs look endless. The wings spread behind me, feathers dipped in shadow. Amanda works magic with makeup, turning my eyes smoky and dangerous.
"Holy shit," someone whispers when I'm done. Five girls crowd the mirror, but I barely recognize myself among them. The girl reflected back looks powerful. Untouchable.
Music pulses through the walls as we make our way to the party. The arts building has been transformed—dark fabric draped everywhere, candles flickering in corners, masked figures moving through shadows. My wings brush the doorframe as we enter.
The crowd parts like water. I catch fragments of conversations stopping mid-sentence, heads turning to track our movement. This kind of attention used to make me want to hide. Now I let it wash over me, remembering who I am, what I've survived.
Then I see Jack. He lurks in a corner, wearing a Reaper mask like he still has the right. Like he didn't lose everything when he crossed the line. My stomach twists, but not from fear. He shouldn't be here, and he knows it.
"Drinks," Amanda announces, tugging my arm. "You look good, and that’s why he’s staring."
She's right. I follow her through the crowd, leaving Jack to stew in his corner.
The frat house throbs with bass that makes the floorboards vibrate. Fake cobwebs catch on my wings as we push through the crowd, and smoke from the fog machine turns everything hazy. Red lights pulse across sweaty bodies, turning angel wings blood-red and devil horns pitch black.
That's when I see them. The Reapers claim the darkest corner of the room, a pocket of stillness in the chaos. Brody stands at their center, dressed in all black, radiating the kind of danger that makes people give them a wide berth. Even in the crowd, there's a clear circle of empty space around them.
His eyes lock onto me through the haze. The look he gives me makes my skin heat despite the chill from the open windows.
"Angel?" He pushes off the wall, moving through the crowd like a shark through water. "A dark angel."
"A fallen angel." The wings brush against his arms as he reaches for me. Up close, I can see he's wearing that black button-down I love, the one that makes his shoulders look deadly.
Amanda makes an exaggerated gagging sound beside us. "You guys need to get a room." Her devil horns are slightly crooked from dancing.
I bump her with my hip, watching Caleb watch her from across the room. "Maybe you can take Caleb again tonight."
She tries to hide her smile behind her red solo cup. "Maybe."
Brody's hands find my waist, fingers sliding over the silky fabric of my costume. "You look so fucking hot." His breath hits my ear. "I swear everyone is staring at you."
"Let them." I press closer, feeling the strength in him. "I belong to you, remember? Boyfriend?"
His lips curl into that predatory smile that promises violence and pleasure in equal measure.
The party swirls around us in a blur of costumes and spilled drinks. Fake smoke catches in my throat as we dance, Brody's hands getting bolder with each song. The alcohol makes everything warmer, softer at the edges, but his touch stays sharp, deliberate. Every brush of his fingers leaves fire in its wake.
"Wanna take this upstairs?" His voice carries that edge I've learned to recognize—the one that means he's done playing nice.
I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather. "Let's."
The stairs creak under our feet, the sound mostly hidden by the music pounding below. Halloween decorations get sparse up here—just a few lonely cobwebs in corners and one sad plastic skeleton propped against a wall. The hallway stretches long and dark, lit only by moonlight through windows.
That's when I see a shadow. A Reaper stands at the end of the hall like a sentinel, completely still in the dark. The sight sends ice down my spine despite the heat of Brody's hand in mine.
Brody's stride doesn't falter. Like finding masked men in dark hallways is perfectly normal.
"Brody." Noah's voice breaks the silence as he steps away from his post. Something passes between them—a look, a slight nod. My stomach drops as I recognize their silent language.
I remain silent, following Brody’s lead.
Brody opens a bedroom door, and the darkness inside takes shape slowly. Moonlight cuts across the room from a screenless window, casting everything in silver and shadow. A figure stands silhouetted against the night sky. Thatcher looms over something on the floor—not something but someone.
The door clicks shut behind us, Noah's presence solid and final.
The scene comes into focus like a photograph developing. Jack's body lies twisted on the carpet, blood spreading in a dark pool that looks black in the dim light. His chest doesn't move. His Reaper mask lies cracked beside him, a final insult.
My palm grows slick in Brody's grip. The silence feels like a physical thing, pressing against my ears. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. The bass from downstairs thrums through the floorboards, an obscene counterpoint to death.
"He had it coming." Noah's voice cuts through the quiet, matter-of-fact. "Leave him here."
We turn away like closing a door on a bad dream. Brody guides me to the next room, his touch anchoring me to reality while my mind tries to process what I've seen.
"Are we—"
"You didn't see anything." His voice is steel wrapped in silk. "You’re with a Reaper, so there’s things you must understand. I don’t want to hear you speak of it again." His hands come up to frame my face, forcing me to look at him. "Erase the last two minutes. We came up here to fuck, so that's what we're going to do."
His hands find the zipper of my costume, but I catch his wrist. "Don't you dare rip this." My voice shakes, but not from fear. "I want to dance with my girls later."
"Fucking tease," he growls, but his fingers turn gentle as they work the zipper. The costume slides down, catching moonlight like oil. His touch carries urgency, but he's careful with the wings, the delicate fabric.
There's something different about him tonight—a barely contained violence that makes his hands shake. What happened upstairs lingers between us, unspoken but present in the way he grips my hips, in how his breathing comes faster.
He takes me against the wall, quick and desperate. My nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt. His control shows in small ways—how he avoids my carefully done makeup, keeps my hair pristine. But there's possession in every thrust, claiming me, marking me, reminding me I'm his.
My body hums with need when he finishes. He helps me back into the costume with surprising tenderness, smoothing the fabric like erasing evidence.
"I'll make you come later tonight," he promises, voice rough. "When I can take my time. When I can hear you scream."
I pull him down by his shirt collar, need making me bold. "Promise?"
"I promise, Duchess." He kisses me hard.
Back downstairs, the party feels like a different world. Amanda spots me immediately, waving from the middle of the dance floor. The girls form a circle, and I let myself be pulled into their orbit of normal college fun. I shake my ass and swing my wings. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
"Shot time!" Someone passes around drinks that taste like cotton candy and burn like sin.
We dance until our feet hurt, until sweat makes angel wings droop and devil horns slip sideways. Amanda teaches everyone the choreography a song and for a while I forget about the body upstairs.
But I feel Brody watching from his dark corner.
His eyes promise later, promise protection, promise care. Promise everything.
I hope you enjoyed this book! Thank you for reading.