PROLOGUE
“You are not human.”
He dropped the piece of information with the cold finesse of a guillotine blade—precise, sharp, and utterly final. Zanan stepped closer into her space until his face was mere inches from hers, his dangerous, red irises flashing in the moonlight. He could feel his hot breath mingling with her own, every muscle in his towering, armored frame vibrating with a terrifying restraint. He couldn’t risk touching her mid-back again. The brief, fiery spark that had ignited between her shoulder blades at his single touch had sent both of their heart rates spiking, leaving him breathless. He feared that if he touched her one more time, his primal instincts would override his military logic, and he would take her by force—an irrational, possessive thought he had been battling ever since he saw her standing in that delicate lavender gown.
“I can’t just leave,” Zehirah whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared back at the winged stranger on her balcony. “I am betrothed to the Prince. I join the army in days. You must be mistaken.”
Zanan’s jaw tensed so hard the bone looked ready to crack. “You belong to the cosmos, angel. Not to them.”
An untranslated excerpt recovered from the Obsidian Archives of the High Council, before the burning of the third sector.
Doom, destruction, and death shall stalk the Zii—a people bound by fear of their own blood. Betrayal and mourning shall walk among them; their elders shall find no rest, and their leaders shall know no peace, until the hour of reckoning.
Then shall arise the twin souls: two children sharing a single span of white wings. The Ultimate, they shall be called, eclipsing all who came before. Foes shall break against them, and though they are twain, they shall be as one, one drawing might from the other. When the sacred mantles finally grace their brows, peace shall dawn once more upon the land.
