Rafe, of course, looks every bit as composed as he did earlier. Though I still see amusement in the tilt of his lips, there’s concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt, Angel?” “Stop calling me that. I’m no angel!” He clears his throat. “Serafina, let me help you. Please.” Something about hearing my full name on his lips makes me obey. Or maybe it’s the please. Possibly just the fact that I actually do need help.
