World After

63

I SIT THERE, watching him go, wanting to say something but not knowing what.

I reluctantly get up and move away from the fireplace. The house feels colder now as I head upstairs to find a bathroom.

There are plush towels there, folded in a way that suggests they haven’t been used since they were washed. That was probably months ago.

I shower by candlelight. The water is lukewarm, but compared to the ocean, it feels good on my still frozen skin. I don’t linger, though. Just long enough to rinse off the sand, soap up, and shampoo as fast as I can. I’m still shivering from the cold seeping into my bones and I can’t wait to be dry and warm again.

There’s a thick robe hanging on the bathroom door that I wish I could snuggle up in. But those kinds of luxuries are for people in the World Before, not for people who might be chased out of here any minute by monsters or marauders.

I quickly rummage through the closets and drawers for clothes. The best I can find is a sweater dress that’s probably meant to be just a sweater. Everything else is about four sizes too big. I cinch the sweater around my waist with a scarf and throw on a pair of stretchy pants. The legs fit comfortably down to my ankles even though they’re probably meant to be capris.

I’m sure I could have found something better but I don’t want to linger with my candle lighting the upstairs window. The fog should keep the tiny light from traveling far but why invite trouble?

Downstairs, the living room is warmly lit by the glow from the fireplace. Raffe stands on a chair, duct-taping blankets over the picture windows. He must have had the same thought as I did about the candle glow being visible.

There’s something about him standing on a chair to reach the top of the windows that puts me at ease. It’s such a normal thing to do.

Well, it’s normal if you ignore the dark wings gently gliding back and forth behind him. I suppose he’s drying them. The hooks and scythes are out and gleaming in the candlelight. No feathers to preen. I wonder if he polishes his scythes?

“You’re not Fallen, are you?” The question pops out of my mouth before my head can censor it.

“From everything I’ve heard, that would just make me more sexy to you Daughters of Men.” He finishes taping the last bit of the blanket. “What is it that you all see in bad boys?”

“I’m asking the questions here, Raffe. This is serious.”

“Is it a chance for you to provide redemption?” He hops off the chair and finally turns to look at me.

When he sees me, his shoulders shake in a silent laugh that quickly builds into a full chuckle. Raffe’s laugh is something I would normally enjoy, except that he’s clearly laughing at me.

I look down at my outfit. I admit that I might have rushed a bit too much while getting dressed upstairs.

What looked like a muted patterned sweater by the light of one candle turns out to be leopard-spotted by the light of several candles. And because it’s so big on me, it folds and hangs everywhere. What I took to be a dark scarf around my waist turns out to be a red tie and my brown socks are actually a mismatched pair of pink and purple.

“Why is it that everyone else can look like they’re part of a zombie hunting party, but I still have to worry about fashion?”

He won’t stop snickering. “You look like a leopard-spotted Shar-Pei.”

I think those are the little pug-like dogs drowning in massive folds of skin. “You’re scarring me, you know. It could haunt me for the rest of my life to be called a wrinkly little dog at the tender age of seventeen.”

“Yup. A sensitive girl. That just defines you, Penryn.” The firelight softens his features and warms his skin. “But if you must have an ego boost for your tender side, I will admit that you looked great with wings.” Raffe says this last part in a wistful voice.

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 funny at all, so it would have been a really bad joke.”

“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 annoying.” He shrugs. “In a yappy, occasionally cute kind of way.”

I lean back. “I’m beginning to understand why your sword left you.” Ouch. That came out wrong. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“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.