End of Days (Penryn & the End of Days, #3)

by Susan Ee

‘But we all look alike to them, right? How can they even tell us apart? They all look the same to me. They’re all so darned perfect in every way – perfect Olympian bodies, perfectly beautiful faces, even perfect hair. If it wasn’t for you, I’d think that angels were all totally interchangeable.’

‘You mean because I’m beyond perfect?’ ‘No. Because you’re so humble.’ ‘Humility’s overrated.’ ‘So is clear self-assessment, apparently.’ ‘Real warriors don’t stand for psychobabble.’ ‘Or for rational thinking.’

‘You’re a very special girl, Penryn. An amazing girl. An I-didn’t-even-know-someone-like-you-existed kind of girl. And you deserve someone who treats you like you’re the only important thing in his life because you are. Someone who plows his fields and raises pigs just for you.’ ‘You’re matching me up with a pig farmer?’ He shrugs. ‘Or whatever it is that decent men do when they’re not at war. Although he should be able to protect you. Don’t settle for a man who can’t protect you.’

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that trying to make someone stay with you when he doesn’t want to is a recipe for heartbreak. Just ask my mom.

‘Is this goodbye?’ I ask. He nods. We look into each other’s eyes. As usual, I have no idea what he’s thinking. I could make guesses, but they’d be fantasy. He leans down, and his lips hover a hair’s breadth from mine. I close my eyes, feeling the tingle of anticipation. Then he presses his lips to mine. His warmth spreads out from my lips down into my chest and stomach. Time stops, and I forget about everything else – the apocalypse, my enemies, watching eyes, monsters in the night. All I feel is the kiss. All I am is Raffe’s girl. Then he pulls back. He presses his forehead to mine, and I can feel the prickling of tears behind my lashes.

As far as I can tell, a leader ends up doing all the worrying and still needs to pitch in for the regular work.

‘Oh, lots of angels want the job, just not the ones who should have it. Power is best held by the ones who don’t want it.’

You accept me just the way I am, regardless of whether or not I even have wings. Even when I had my demon wings, you’ve never looked at me with pity. You’ve never wavered in your loyalty. That’s who you are – my brave, loyal, lovable Daughter of Man.’