End of Days (Penryn and the End of Day #3) (3 page)

I’m back where the Fallen are being dragged away to the Pit in chains. The spikes in their necks and foreheads, wrists and ankles drip blood as the hellions ride them.

It’s the same dream I had through my sword when I was at the Resistance camp. But a part of me remembers that I’m not sleeping with the blade this time. It’s leaning against the bed but not touching me. This doesn’t feel like a sword memory.

I’m dreaming about my own experience of being in the sword’s memory. A dream about a dream.

In the thunderstorm, Raffe glides down, brushing hands with a few of the newly Fallen as he heads toward the earth below. I see their faces as Raffe touches hands with them. This group of Fallen must be the Watchers – the elite group of angel warriors who fell for loving Daughters of Men.

They were under Raffe’s command, his loyal soldiers. They clearly look to him to help save them despite their choice to break angelic law by marrying Daughters of Men.

One face catches my eye. His bound form is familiar.

I strain to see him better, and eventually, I do.

It’s Beliel.

He looks fresher than I’m used to, and his usual sneer is gone. There is anger in his face, but behind that, there’s genuine pain in his eyes. He grips Raffe’s hand for a moment longer than the other Fallen did, almost shaking it.

Raffe nods to him and continues toward the earth.

Lightning flashes, and the sky rumbles as rain drips down Beliel’s face.

When I wake up, the sun has moved across the sky.

I don’t hear anything unusual, so hopefully, Paige is still asleep. I get up and walk toward the open window. Outside, it’s still sunny, with the breeze blowing through the trees. The birds sing and the bees buzz as though the world hasn’t completely changed.

Despite the warmth, though, when I look outside, I get chills.

Beliel still lies chained to the garden gate, shriveled and tortured. But his eyes are open, and he stares right at me. I guess he could be completely thawed from his paralysis by now. No wonder I had a nightmare about him.

But it wasn’t really a nightmare, was it? It was more like a memory of what the sword showed me. I shake my head slowly, trying to make sense of it all.

Is it possible that Beliel could have been one of Raffe’s Watchers?

4

The room is warming from the sun. I guess it’s probably around noon. It feels glorious to have a break from all the craziness.

I’m not prepared to give up on my precious sleep yet, but a glass of water sounds good. When I open my door, Raffe is sitting in the hallway with his eyes closed.

I frown. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I was too tired to walk to the settee,’ he says without opening his eyes.

‘You’re keeping watch? I would have taken my turn if you’d told me. Who are we worried about?’

Raffe snorts.

‘I mean, any specific enemy at the moment?’

He’s sitting facing Paige’s door. I guess I should have known.

‘She won’t hurt me.’

‘That’s what Beliel thought.’ His eyes are still closed, and his lips barely move. If he wasn’t talking, I would have thought he was asleep.

‘Beliel is not her big sister, and he didn’t raise her either.’

‘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.

‘Fine. If that will quiet you down.’

We walk into my room, and I crawl onto the bed. I lie down on top of the covers, thinking he’s making sure that I get some sleep. But instead of leaving, he climbs onto the bed beside me.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

He lies his cheek on the pillow next to mine and closes his eyes with some relief. ‘Taking a nap.’

‘You’re not going downstairs?’

‘Nope.’

‘What about the settee?’

‘Too uncomfortable.’

‘I thought you said you’ve slept on rocks in the snow.’

‘I have. That’s why I sleep on soft beds whenever I can.’

5

I expect him to lie there full of tension like me, but his breathing quickly turns deep and slow.

He must be exhausted. Even aside from his lack of sleep and being constantly on red alert, he’s still recovering from his wing injuries, both the initial amputation and the surgery. I can’t imagine what he’s going through.

I lie there, trying to sleep beside him.

The scent of rosemary wafts in through the window along with the warm breeze. The buzzing of the bees near the plants below sounds distant and soothing. The buttery sunshine glows through my closed eyelids.

I turn away from the bright window and end up facing Raffe. I can’t help but open my eyes to look at him. His dark lashes lie in a crescent against his cheek. Long and curved, they would be the envy of every girl. The line of his nose is strong and straight. His lips soft and sensual.

Sensual?
I almost giggle. What kind of word is that to pop into my head? I’m not sure I’ve ever thought of anything as being
sensual
before.

His muscular chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that’s mesmerizing. My hand twitches, wanting to stroke his smooth muscles.

I swallow and flip over to my other side.

With him at my back, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, like I’m trying to calm myself in a fight.

He moans softly and shifts. My movements must have disturbed him.

I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. He must have turned onto his side, facing me. He’s so close I can feel the electric tingle of almost touching along my spine.

So close.

His breathing maintains a deep, steady rhythm. He’s totally asleep while I’m hyperaware of him lying beside me in bed. What’s up with that? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

I try to shove this whole confusing mess of emotions into the vault in my head. But either the vault is full or this bundle of emotions is too big or too stubborn or too thorny to shove into the vault.

In the meantime, my body slowly arches back until we touch.

The second my thigh touches his, he moans and shifts, throwing his arm around me. He pulls me back toward his hard body.

What do I do?

The entire length of my back is now pressed against his chest.

What do I do?

Hard. Warm. Muscular.

Perspiration prickles my forehead. When did it get so hot in here?

The weight of his arm presses my body against him and pins me down onto the bed. I have a moment of panic where I think about jumping out of bed.

But that would wake him. A flood of embarrassment hits me at the thought of him seeing me all hot and bothered while he’s been sleeping.

I try to calm down. He’s holding me like a teddy bear while he sleeps peacefully. He’s probably so exhausted that he’s oblivious to me.

His hand is hot on my ribs. I’m exquisitely aware that his thumb lies along the bottom of my breast.

A thought slips into my head. I can’t seem to get rid of it no matter how hard I try to shove it aside.

What would it be like to have Raffe’s hand on that part of my body?

I’m seventeen years old, going on eighteen, and I’ve never had a guy caress my breast. The way things are going, I probably never will, at least, not in a good, loving kind of way. In an apocalyptic world, violence is guaranteed and good experiences are just a dream. That makes me want to feel it in a good way all the more. Something gentle and sweet that should have happened in due time with the right guy if the world hadn’t gone to hell.

While my head rages in argument and confusion, my hand covers his. Gently, oh, so gently. What would it be like to have Raffe’s hand caress my nipple?

Really?

Am I really thinking this?

But thinking is not the right word for what’s going on inside me. It’s more of an . . . urge. An irresistible, undeniable, pounding, trembling, panting urge.