Vestige

Before he can return to heaven, she must die.

I can walk in the midday sun without melting, so people call me a witch. I'm not—just resistant to heat and cold, a gift I inherited from my mother. And if those morons want me to wield my powers to suck the fever from their sick family members, they should really stop calling me names.

Sigh. I'm not popular around here, but I'm useful.

However, since my sister's murder, I can't focus on my healing duties. I can't shake the need for revenge. And when a cloaked man enters the infirmary, filling the doorway and glowing like a freaking sun God, I can't look away.

He recognizes me. His gaze licks me from head to toe. Some part of me remembers him too, but the memory slips through my fingers like smoke.

Perhaps those rumors of magic are true.

Perhaps this terrifying male nobody else can see really is a dark angel.

Perhaps he murdered my sister. But his black eyes, hard body, and snaking magic look set to torture me with temptation.

I just need to manifest some resistance to that.