More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
I’m not usually a girl who hopes for a damsel-in-distress rescue but no matter the odds against it, this would be a freakin’ fantastic time for Raffe to come and sweep me into the sky.
By all the laws of nature, I should be crawling under a table and crying for mommy. Only, relying on mommy is what other people do.
But my heel is still on my back foot, several inches higher than my front foot. No way can I have decent footwork limping around like this. So I do the only thing I can do. I kick him in the face point blank with my high heel. He wasn’t expecting that. The angel flies back off the stage. “It really is you,” says Raffe.
Males—they’ve all trained against each other. They expect attacks to certain zones on their bodies and from someone who’s used to relying on upper-body strength. And they always, always underestimate women. Me, I don’t have much upper-body strength, nothing compared to most men, much less these guys. Like many women fighters, my power comes from my hips and legs.
Why bother attacking their strengths when you can go straight for their weaknesses?
Raffe looks over at the bloody knife in my hand. “If I still had any doubts that it was you, that would do it.” He gestures toward my opponent rolling on the ground with his hands cradling his package. “He should have been polite and just let us by,” I say. “Way to teach him some respect. I always wanted to meet a girl who fights dirty,” says Raffe. “There’s no such thing as dirty fighting in self-defense.” He huffs. “I don’t know whether to make fun of him or to respect you.” “Come on, that one’s easy.”
Knock it off. Air. Swim. Think. No time to get sucked into a swirl of pointless drivel that isn’t going to help in any way. Bubbles. Something about the bubbles. Don’t bubbles float up?
I open my mouth to say something meaningful, memorable. “I…” Nothing comes. I reach out, thinking that maybe we could touch hands, wanting to connect. But seaweed is tangled between my fingers, and I reflexively shake it off. It lands on his face with a slimy plop before sliding off.
Raffe puts his hand on my forehead. “You humans are so fragile. If time doesn’t kill you off, it’s germs or sharks or hypothermia.” “Or blood-crazed angels.”
“Why is it that everyone else can look like they’re part of a zombie hunting party, but I still have to worry about fashion?” He won’t stop snickering. “You look like a leopard-spotted Shar-Pei.” I think those are the little pug-like dogs drowning in massive folds of skin. “You’re scarring me, you know. It could haunt me for the rest of my life to be called a wrinkly little dog at the tender age of seventeen.”
And just like that, he’s back to the same Raffe I got to know on the road.
He watches Clara’s reunion with her family with far more sympathy
The sword. Burnt was part of the gang that cut off Raffe’s wings. Because of that, the sword had to leave Raffe. Now, she’s stuck with me, a weakling little human. She’s had to suffer insult upon insult since then, including being laughed at. And now, the final humiliation—Burnt’s about to beat us into the ground with no more than two or three blows. Boy, is she pissed. Fine. I’m pissed too. This bastard took my sister and look what happened.
A human girl. Killing a warrior angel. In a sword fight. Impossible.
