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“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say in a sugary voice. “Did you not like that? I thought that’s what you wanted. I mean, why else would you be getting all grabby with my man?”
It seems to be our fate to continually pass our debt back and forth.
“The next time you have a quarrel with me, I’d appreciate it if you could just talk to me first before resorting to pelting me with rocks.” “Oh, all right,” I grumble. “You’re so damned civilized.”
I don’t know if he noticed when I took my sweatshirt off, but I’m guessing he was busy at that time because he looks at me with surprise now. His pupils dilate when he sees me. His lips part as he momentarily forgets to marshal his expression, and I could swear he stops breathing for several heartbeats.
“Because you have the look they’re looking for.” “What look is that?” “Beautiful.” His voice is like a caress from the shadows.
“So producing children with humans gets you damned because Nephilim are a big no-no,” I say. “But anything up to that…?” He shrugs. “Apparently, they’ve decided that’s a gray zone. It could get them all burned.” Then he adds in a whisper, almost to himself, “But the fire can be tempting.”
He kisses me with the desperation of a dying man who believes the magic of eternal life is in this kiss.
I’d always found kissing nice and pleasant, like smelling roses or laughter on a summer day. What I just experienced with Raffe was another animal. This was a knee-melting, gut-twisting, vein-tingling, nuclear meltdown compared to other kisses I’d had.
“Are you really an archangel?” I whisper. He gives me a cocky grin. “Impressed?” “No,” I lie. “But I have some complaints I’d like to file about your personnel.” “Talk to middle management.”
I hate it when she does that. There’s nothing more humiliating than being smacked by your crazy mother in front of your friends.
“Shh,” he says gently. “I’m here.” He pulls me into his arms and I try to concentrate on feeling his warmth.
“You don’t even like me, remember?” That’s what I try to say. What actually comes out of my mouth is closer to a baby’s first attempt at babbling. “Shh.” He runs his fingertips along my cheek, caressing my face. “Hush. I’m right here.” He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there’s so much he wants to tell me but feels it’s too late now. I want to stroke his face and tell him that it will be okay. That everything will be all right. And I wish so badly that it would be.
I wilt in Raffe’s arms. My head dangles, my eyes are open but unfocused, my breathing imperceptible. Just like a dead body. “NO!” Raffe grips me as if he can bind my soul to my body.
Raffe looks up with murder in his eyes. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her.”
“I knew from the start that your loyalty would get you killed. I just never thought it would be your loyalty to me that would do it.”
Raffe kneels down and places me on the asphalt. He lifts my hair to one side and lets it run through his fingers as it slowly cascades over my shoulder. His head is haloed in firelight above me, his face in shadow. He runs his fingers across my lips in a slow, gentle touch. Then he pulls away stiffly as if every muscle is fighting him.
I’m afraid they might just burn us all at the stake. In between the chatter, they keep glancing our way. It’s hard to say whether it’s my mother in her speaking-in-tongues prayer trance, my sister with her disturbing stitches and vacant stare, or the dead body that is me that keeps them glancing our way.
Against the wounded sky, a lone angel circles above us. No, not an angel. Light glints off curved metal on one of the edges of his wings. They are not shaped like a bird’s wings. It’s a giant bat-wing shape. My heart speeds up with my need to shout out to him.
