‘Call me a sentimentalist, but I like the idea of you in one piece. Besides, she’s not the only one who might be interested in your tasty flesh.’
I tilt my head. ‘Who told you I was tasty?’
‘Haven’t you heard that old saying? Tasty as a fool?’
‘You made that up.’
‘Huh. Must be an angelic saying. It’s to warn the foolish about things that go bump in the night.’
‘It’s daytime.’
‘Ah. So you don’t deny that you’re foolish?’ He finally opens his eyes with a grin. But his expression goes slack when he sees all of me.
‘What are you wearing?’ He scans over my outfit.
I was so comfortable that I’d forgotten I’m wearing the cropped T-shirt and stretchy shorts. I glance down at myself, wondering if I should be self-conscious. I’m reasonably covered except for my midriff, and I guess I’m showing more of my legs than usual.
‘This coming from a guy who runs around shirtless all the time?’ Of course, I kind of like him shirtless and showing off his six-pack abs, but I don’t mention that.
‘It’s hard to wear a shirt when you’ve got wings. Besides, I haven’t heard complaints.’
‘Don’t let it get to your head, Raffe. You haven’t heard compliments either.’ I want to say that we have plenty of guys who look just as good as he does, but that’d be a total lie.
He’s still scrutinizing my outfit. ‘Are you wearing men’s shorts?’
‘I guess so. But they fit.’
‘Whose are they?’
‘Nobody’s. I found them in a drawer.’
He reaches over and pulls a thread off the frayed leg. It unravels, slowly winding its way around my thigh and incrementally shortening the already short shorts.
‘What would you do if you had to make a run for it?’ His voice is husky as he stares, mesmerized, at the unraveling thread.
‘I’d grab my shoes and run.’
‘Dressed like this? In front of lawless men?’ His eyes drift up to my midriff.
‘If you’re worried about pervs breaking into the house, it’s not going to make a difference whether I’m in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they’re decent human beings or they’re not. Their actions are on them.’
‘It’ll be tough for them to take any action while I’m pummeling their faces. Disrespect will not be tolerated.’
I half smile at him. ‘Because you’re all about respect.’
He sighs as if a little disgusted with himself. ‘Lately, I seem to be all about you.’
‘What makes you say that?’ I wish my voice didn’t sound so breathless.
‘I’m sitting on the hard floor outside your door while you take a cozy little nap, aren’t I?’
I slide down the wall to sit beside him on the hallway floor. We sit with our arms almost touching, letting the quiet settle around us.
After a while, I say, ‘I think sleep would do you some good. You can take the bed. I’ll keep watch for a bit.’
‘Not a chance. It’s you who’s at risk, not me.’
‘What is it that you think is going to get me?’ My arm rubs against his when I shift to look at him.
‘The list is endless.’
‘Since when did you become so protective?’
‘Since my enemies have determined that you’re my Daughter of Man.’
I swallow. My throat is dry.
‘They have?’
‘Beliel saw us together at the masquerade. Even with my mask on, Uriel knew it was me on the beach with you.’
‘So am I?’ I whisper. ‘Your Daughter of Man?’ I can almost hear my heart pounding. It beats even harder when I realize that he can probably hear it.
He looks away from me. ‘Some things just can’t be. But neither Uri nor Beliel understand that.’
I let my breath out – slowly, controlled. He might as well have said that I don’t understand it either.
‘So who exactly would be coming after me?’ I ask.
‘Aside from the usual suspects, the entire host of angels saw you with me when I cut the wings off Beliel. They think you’re traveling in the company of a mask-wearing “demon” who cuts wings off “angels.” That’s enough to come after you, if only to find me. Besides, you’re an angel killer now, for which the penalty is an automatic death sentence. You’re quite the popular girl.’
I think about that for a minute. Is there really anything I can do about it? ‘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.’
He glances at my naked legs.
‘No, not that rational, I admit.’ Raffe stands up and puts out a hand to me. ‘Come on. Get some sleep.’
‘Only if you do too.’ I grab his hand, and he pulls me up.