I stop. “You think we need pretty?” I ask. “You think after all we’ve seen, all we’ve done that we want soft, perfect, fragile?” I ease her shirt up a little bit. “We want tough. Strong. A fighter.” Freya’s lips part, her breath warm against my jaw. “Don’t get me wrong, Angel, you’re gorgeous. Stunning. But any scars you’ve got aren’t going to take away from that. They’ll only add to it. Because in our world, staying alive, is sexy as hell.”
