But now that the others are gone, I sit beside him and hold his hand. It’s warm, and I pull it to my chest to warm me up.

‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.

He gives me a look that makes me feel guilty for reminding him about his wings.

‘So? What’s the deal? Are they making you the new Messenger?’

‘Hardly.’ His voice is raw. ‘I fought against them, then conjured up a Pit lord. That’s not much of a campaign for election. The only thing that saves me in their eyes is that they think I sacrificed my wings to save them from the angelic pestilence.’

‘You could have had it all, Raffe. Once Uriel was out of the way, you would have been back with the angels. And they might have voted you in as their king.’

‘Messenger.’

‘Same difference.’

‘Angels shouldn’t have a Messenger who used to have demon wings. It’s unseemly.’ He winces and closes his eyes. ‘Besides, I don’t want the job. We’ve sent word out to Archangel Michael to get his stubborn ass back here. He doesn’t want the title either.’

‘There sure was a lot of fuss over a job that no one wants.’

‘Oh, lots of angels want the job, just not the ones who should have it. Power is best held by the ones who don’t want it.’

‘Why don’t you want it?’

‘I have better things to do.’

‘Like what?’

He opens one eye and looks at me. ‘Like convince a stubborn girl to admit she’s madly in love with me.’

I can’t help but smile.

‘So if it’s not a pig farm that you want, what is it?’ he asks.

I swallow. ‘How about a safe place to live where we don’t have to scrounge for food or fight for it?’

‘It’s yours.’

‘That’s it? All I have to do is ask?’

‘No. There’s a price for everything.’

‘I knew it. What is it?’

‘Me.’

I swallow. ‘I need you to be very clear right now. I haven’t slept in forever, and I’ve been living off of adrenaline, which isn’t the best lifestyle for humans. So what are you saying?’

‘Are you really going to make me spell it out?’

‘Yes. Spell it.’

He stares deep into my eyes. It makes me squirm but also makes my heart flutter like a schoolgirl’s. Oh, wait. I am a schoolgirl. I blink a few times, wondering if that’s how I’m supposed to bat my eyelashes.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What?’ Ugh. I suck at this.

‘Are you batting your lashes at me?’

‘What, me? No, of course not. What . . . spell it.’

He squints his eyes suspiciously at me. ‘This is awkward.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?’

‘You’d lose all respect for me if I did.’