An angel gets tossed past me head first. I spin to see Raffe pummeling the last one. More are coming our way from the crowd, attracted to a good fight.
Raffe looks over at the bloody knife in my hand. “If I still had any doubts that it was you, that would do it. ” He gestures toward my opponent rolling on the ground with his hands cradling his package.
“He should have been polite and just let us by,” I say.
“Way to teach him some respect. I always wanted to meet a girl who fights dirty,” says Raffe.
“There’s no such thing as dirty fighting in self-defense. ”
He huffs. “I don’t know whether to make fun of him or to respect you. ”
“Come on, that one’s easy. ”
He grins at me. There’s something in his eyes that makes my insides melt a little, like something deep inside us is communicating without me being fully aware of it.
I’m the first to look away.
I slip the blade into the elastic band of my thigh-high stockings. If they’re tight enough to keep the nylons up when I fight, then they should do a decent job of holding my knife. I’m glad these things are good for something.
I look up and see Raffe watching me. I feel a wave of awkwardness.
Raffe grabs me around the waist and lifts me into his arms like in an old-time movie. His arms cradle my back and knees.
I reflexively wrap my arms around his neck. For a moment, I’m confused, and the silliest thoughts flood through my head.
“Don’t let me go,” he says.
He runs with me toward the bluff. Two steps into it, his wings burst out from their wing coverings. Madeline’s sparkly white feathers explode behind us as giant bat wings spread out.
Freedom in the shape of demon’s wings. I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
I’m in Raffe’s arms, flying.
Chpater 59
WE’RE IN THE AIR.
I cling tighter, and he shifts me so that I’m holding on like a kid with my legs wrapped around his middle. He’s warm even as the ocean wind blasts against my back. We pick up altitude to a frightening height, but his arms around me are secure and I can’t help but feel reassured.
That feeling doesn’t last long. Between Raffe’s wings, I get glimpses of what’s behind us.
Tipsy or not, the angels have no trouble lifting off into the air. The sight of demon wings must have incited them because there are more of them chasing us than we saw on the beach. They fly up through wisps of fog lit by pinpoints of firelight as we glide over the black waves.
Angels are supposed to be beautiful creatures of light but the ones chasing us look more like a cloud of demons spewing forth from the mist. Raffe must be thinking something similar because he tightens his grip around my waist as if to say, “not this one. ”
He banks into a turn, flying farther away from the shore to where the mist turns into a blanket. He glides lower toward the water where the fog is thicker and the waves are louder.
We’re so low, the sea sprays over me as it surges. Water swells, turning into whitewater and rolling below us. It feels like mile after mile of black and raging surf.
Raffe zigs one way, then the other. He makes sharp, unexpected turns after going straight for a while. Escape maneuvers.
The fog is so thick that there’s a chance the angels are chasing shadows. The roar of the waves and wind means the angels can’t hear Raffe’s wings as they pump powerfully through the air.
I’m shivering against his body. The icy spray and ocean wind are freezing me to the point of not being able to feel my arms around his neck or my legs around his torso.
We glide along in silence, slicing through the night. I have no idea how close the angels are or whether they’re even on our tail any more. I hear and see nothing in the fog glow. We take another sharp turn toward the ocean.
A face pops up in the fog.
Behind it, giant wings with feathers the color of mist.
He’s too close.
He slams into us.
We spin out of control, bat wings tangling with feathered ones.
Raffe whips his wing with its extended scythes and gouges into the feathered wings. The blades rip through the layers of feathers until they catch on the angel’s wing bone.
We all tumble together in a mass as we fall through the air.
Raffe stabilizes us with great sweeps but he can’t fight with his wings and fly too. He untangles their wings as the angel reaches for his sword.
Raffe doesn’t have a sword.
And he has me—a hundred pounds of dead weight that can only mess up his balance and fighting technique. His arms are holding me instead of being free to fight. His wings need to work that much harder to keep us in the air.
My only thought is that I am not going to end up truly dead this time in Raffe’s arms. I am not going to be one more wound on his soul.
The angel pulls out his sword.
Having trained with the staff, I know there are weapons that need distance to be used effectively. The sword is one of them.