“Shh.” He runs his finger tips along my cheek, caressing my face. “Hush. I’m right here.” He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there’s so much he wants to tell me but feels it’s too late now.
I want to stroke his face and tell him that it will be okay. That everything will be all right.
And I wish so badly that it would be.
CHAPTER 43
“Shh,” says Raffe, rocking me in his arms.
The light around Raffe’s head falls into shadow.
Behind him, Beliel’s dark form rises into my field of view.
One of his new wings is mostly torn off and dangling by a few stitches. His face is contorted in rage as he lifts what looks like a refrigerator over Raffe’s head the way Cain must have hefted a boulder over Abel’s head.
I try to cry out. I try to warn Raffe with my expression.
But only a whispery exhale comes out.
“Beliel!”
Beliel swings to see who yells at him. Raffe also swivels to take in the scene, still holding me protectively in his arms.
Standing in the doorway is the Politician. I recognize him even without the terrified trophy women following in his wake.
“Put that down, now!” The Politician’s friendly face is marred by a frown as he stares down the giant angel.
Beliel breaths heavily with the refrigerator hefted above him. It’s not clear whether he’ll comply.
“You had your chance to kill him out on the streets,” says the Politician as he marches into the room. “But you got distracted by a pair of pretty wings, didn’t you? And now that he’s been seen and rumors are ru
Beliel hurls the refrigerator across the room. He looks like he’d like to throw it at the Politician. It lands with a crash out of sight.
“He attacked me!” Beliel stabs his finger at Raffe like a crazed infant on steroids.
“I don’t care if he poured acid down your pants. I told you not to touch him. If he dies now, his men will turn him into a martyr. Do you have any idea how hard it is to campaign against an angelic martyr? They’d forever be making up stories of how he would have opposed this policy or that.”
“What do I care about your angel politics?”
“You care because I tell you to care.” The Politician straightens his cuffs. “Oh, why do I bother? You’ll never amount to more than just a mid-demon. You just don’t have the faculty to comprehend political strategy.”
“Oh, I comprehend it, Uriel.” Beliel curls his lip like a growling dog. “You’ve turned him into a pariah. Everything he ever believed in, everything he ever said will be the ravings of a demon-winged, fallen angel. I get it more than you’ll ever understand. I’ve lived through it, remember? I just don’t care that it gives you an advantage.”
Uriel faces off with Beliel even though he has to look up to glare at him. “Just do as I say. You got your wings as payment for your services. Now get out.”
The building shakes as something explodes above.
The last ounce of will drains out of me, and I just can’t keep my head up any longer. I wilt in Raffe’s arms. My head dangles, my eyes are open but unfocussed, my breathing imperceptible.
Just like a dead body.
“NO!” Raffe grips me as if he could bind my soul to my body.
An upside-down view of the doorway shows up in my field of vision. Smoke wafts through it.
Although the pain obscures Raffe’s warmth, I feel the pressure of his hug, the rocking of our bodies back and forth as he repeats the word, “No.”