World After

I suddenly feel awkward. “Thanks… I think.”

“You don’t want to look great with wings?”

“I’m just scared this may be a setup for me being the butt of a so-called joke, like, um, how I may look like a wrinkly dog with wings but I have a nice personality or something.” I look up at the ceiling as I think about it. “Okay, that didn’t come out fu

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re safe,” he says in a reassuring voice. “I’d never tell you that you have a nice personality.”

I give him a dirty look and he chuckles at his own teasing comment.

And just like that, he’s back to the same Raffe I got to know on the road.

WE HEAT water on the gas stove, which still works as long as you light it with a match. Then we sit by the fireplace, drinking hot water from mugs while I tell him what I’ve been up to since we last saw each other. The warmth feels so good I want to curl up and fall asleep.

“Where is my sword?”

I take a deep breath. I haven’t mentioned the sword dreams. It would feel a little too much like admitting I snooped into his life. “I had to leave it in a pile of stuff on Pier 39 in San Francisco when I got caught.”

“You left her?”

I nod. “I had no choice.”

“She wasn’t made to be alone.”

“I guess none of us are.”

Our eyes meet and an electric tingle runs through me.

“She missed you,” I say in a whisper.

“Did she?” His voice is a soft caress. His gaze into my eyes is so intense that I swear he sees straight into my soul.

“Yes.” Warmth flushes my cheeks. I… “She thought about you all the time.”

The candlelight flickers a soft glow along his jawline, along his lips. “I hated losing her.” His voice is a low growl. “I hadn’t realized just how attached I’d gotten.” He reaches and moves a strand of wet hair out of my face. “How dangerously addictive she could be.”

His gaze pins me to my spot and I can’t move, can’t breathe.

“Maybe a girl needs to hear that. Maybe she wants to be with you, too.” The words come out in a rushed whisper.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head. “It can’t be.”

“Why?”

“Rules. Custom. Danger. It’s dangerous to be with me.”

“It’s dangerous to be without you.” I nudge closer to the fire.

He reaches out and adjusts my blanket around my shoulders. “That doesn’t change the rules, though.”

I close my eyes and feel the warmth of his fingers brushing my neck. “Who cares about the rules? It’s the end of the world, remember?”

“Rules are important to us. Angels are a warrior race.”

“I noticed. But what does that have to do with it?”

“The only way to keep a society of killers together for eons is to have a strict chain of command and zero tolerance for breach of rules. Otherwise, we all would have slaughtered each other a long time ago.”

“Even if the rules make no sense?”

“Sometimes they make sense.” He grins. “But that’s beside the point. The point is to have warriors follow their orders, not to judge them.”

“What if it keeps you from things and people you care about?”

“Especially then. That’s often the most effective punishment. Death is not much of a threat to a true warrior. But take away your Daughter of Man, your children, your friends, your sword—these are true punishments.”

I can’t help myself. I lean close to him so that my face is just a kiss away. “We’re really scary, aren’t we?”

He looks at my lips almost involuntarily. But he doesn’t back off or lean forward one millimeter. He arches his brow at me. “Daughters of Men are truly dangerous. Not to mention truly a

I lean back. “I’m begi

“She left because she had standing orders to do so should she ever sense the darkness.”

“Why?”

He looks into his mug. “Because a Fallen with an angel sword is too dangerous. Their wings change over time and eventually grow their own weapons if they survive enough battles. To have both Fallen wings and an angel sword is too dangerous a combination to allow.”

“But you’re not Fallen, are you? Why would your sword leave you?”

“The wings confused her.” He takes a drink, looking like he wishes it was stronger than water. “She’s partially sentient but it’s not like she has a brain.” He half-grins.

I sigh and put my mug down. “Your world is so different from mine. Do you guys have anything in common with humans?”

He looks at me with those killer eyes in that perfect face over his Adonis body. “Nothing we’ll admit to.”

“There’s no way around it, is there?” I ask. “We’re mortal enemies and I should be trying to kill you and everyone like you.”

He leans over, touches the tip of his forehead to mine, and closes his eyes. “Yes.” His gentle breath caresses my lips as he says the word.

I close my eyes too, and try to focus on the warmth of his forehead resting on mine.

RAFFE COMES BACK from foraging with a box of cereal and a jar of peanut butter. I wanted to get moving but he insisted that soldiers need food to fight properly. Besides, he said he needed time to think about his next step. So he took off into the night with his very handy night vision while I sat in the house beside my candles.

The cereal is raisin bran and the raisins taste like heaven—I mean, nirvana—or whatever wonderful place doesn’t remind me of deadly angels.

For once, our hands are clean, so we eat handfuls of cereal and lick the peanut butter straight from our fingers. I suppose this place probably has utensils in the kitchen but why bother? There’s something kind of fun about scooping the gooey goodness with our fingers and licking it like ice cream.

Raisin bran and peanut butter. Who knew it could taste so good? If we could just add a bit of chocolate, it would probably make a great, peanutty, crunchy chocolate bar for the high school bake sale. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t taste quite so good compared to the foods in the World Before, but right now, it tastes amazing.

“I need to go back to the aerie,” says Raffe as he scoops his fingers into the jar.

My handful of cereal stops midway to my mouth. “Seriously? The place full of crazed, bloodthirsty Neanderthals where we barely escaped with our lives?”

He arches a brow at me. Sucks the peanut butter off his fingers.

I pop the cereal into my mouth and start crunching. “Just because your people are pretty, doesn’t mean they’re not Neanderthals inside.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I’m guessing that the riot wasn’t what Uri had in mind. Any soldier could have told him that’s what was going to happen. You dangle the apocalypse in front of frustrated warriors unclear about their mission and you have a bit of a tussle on your hands.”

“A bit of a tussle?”

“Too old-fashioned?” He scoops up more peanut butter. He seems to prefer not to mix it with cereal.

“People were torn to pieces. Literally. In bloody, little, horrible bits. That’s not exactly a tussle.”

“And I’m sorry about that but there was nothing I could do to stop it.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds cold and calculating and pragmatic.

“What’s with all the cheering over the apocalypse, anyway? Oh, yay, we get to kill poor helpless humans.” I sound cranky. I dip my handful of cereal into the peanut butter, making sure I leave some of the cereal in it. For good measure, I drop a couple of raisins in it too.