Anger pounded through my body. That bastard, psychotic archangel had actually managed to kill me. I was dead and Zayne was alive—oh my God, Zayne. Pressure clamped down on my chest, strangling me. He’d been there, holding me so I wasn’t alone, and now he was there and I was...well, I was wherever I was. I was dead.

“Trinity!” Peanut shouted.

My eyes flew open, and a strangled gasp left me. Peanut’s freaking transparent face was right there, mere inches from mine.

“What the Hell?” I exclaimed, starting to sit up. I pushed my hands down, planting them in...in something soft and dry. Not damp grass.

I blinked several times as Peanut drifted out of the line of my sight. Confusion swirled through me as I realized I was staring up at the muted glow of the Constellation of Zayne.

I was lying in our bed.

The corners of my lips turned down. “Peanut?” I said hoarsely.

“Yes,” he answered from wherever he was.

“Am I in our apartment?”

“You are.”

What in the what?

Sitting up, I looked around our bedroom. Peanut hovered to the left, in midair, his legs crossed. To the right of me, the bedside lamp was on. The worn, tattered copy of my mother’s favorite book sat on the nightstand. I reached over, running my fingers over the soft cover. Was I...was I a ghost? Was that why I was here? That sort of made sense. I sure as Hell wasn’t ready to move on, and the recently...departed often returned to places they were comfortable. My heart skipped in my chest—

Wait.

I pressed the same hand against my chest, feeling my heart beat unsteadily. If I died and was now a ghost, would I feel my heartbeat? Would I be able to feel anything?

My head swung toward Peanut.

He waved at me.

“I can feel the bed. I felt the book,” I told him, and then thumped my hand off my chest. I winced. That hurt my boob—that actually hurt. Ghosts felt pain? Oh God, if so, how in the Hell did Peanut let himself float through ceiling fans and stuff? “I can feel my heart.”

His brows lifted. “I would hope so.”

I stared at him. “Can you feel your heart?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“How is that a stupid question?” I demanded. “I’m dead. I died, Peanut. I’m superdead, and if I’m a ghost, how can I feel my—”

“You’re not a ghost,” he cut me off. “You’re not dead.”

I stared at him.

He stared back at me.