Heavy velvet drapes strangled the morning light, turning the room into a suffocating pocket of false night. One lamp burned low on the bedside table, its amber glow crawling across cream silk sheets like it was afraid to touch too much.
The air reeked of expensive incense trying to hide the sour stench of fear-sweat and broken pride. An intravenous line fed into Marcus Heavenchild's wrist like a leash.
An earpiece lay warm on the pillow, still carrying the ghost of his father's voice.
His skin was the color of old ash but it was no result of from blood loss or shock. Something deeper had cracked open inside him after Phei put him on the floor in front of half a million eyes.
His Original Angel blood was clawing its way up from wherever it had been buried, and his ruined body was paying the price in burst capillaries and the metallic taste of defeat.
He was burning in rage that transcended anything!
