My heart stuttered. “That’s your name.”

“I have no name.”

“Yes, you do. It’s Zayne—”

“And I’ll put you down when I feel like it,” he interrupted. “Guess what, little nephilim. I don’t want to.”

Okay. I loved him with my whole being—loved him more than anything. I was also superconcerned about his mental state at the moment. I wanted to help him, and I would, but he was really starting to tick me off.

“Stop calling me little nephilim,” I warned.

“It’s what you are.”

“What I am is a Trueborn, but neither of those things are my name. It’s Trinity or Trin.” I squirmed, trying to wiggle free. A low, animalistic sound radiated from the back of his throat. “Put me down or I swear to God—”

“God? You swear to God?” He laughed again. “God has abandoned us all.”

A shock went through me. A wild mixture of relief, confusion, irritation and something far stronger, and shattering. For the first time since I’d known Zayne, I felt fear in his arms.

My body went ice-cold, and my own personal alarm system reacted to the bolt of fear. Deep inside me, my grace sparked.

Zayne hissed—he actually hissed—like an angry, feral cat. An angry, very large feral cat the moment my grace pulsed inside me. That was beyond weird.

Instinct took over. Twisting my body, I ignored the pain from all the healing injuries and brought my knee up, slamming it into his groin.

Or at least, I tried to.

Zayne anticipated the move. My knee hit his thigh. A wave of anger and rapidly growing panic whipped through me as my grace pressed at me, demanding to be let out, but I fought it down. He was confused and he’d just come back from being dead with angel wings, so I didn’t want to hurt him too badly. My grace would do more than that. It would kill him.

Managing to get an arm free, I punched him in the jaw, hard enough to send a flare of pain across my knuckles, and he smiled. He smiled like I hadn’t even punched him, and the curve of his lips was all wrong. It was icy and inhuman.

“Ouch,” he murmured. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

I jabbed out with my palm, catching him under the chin. He grunted in pain as he pushed—no, threw—me aside. I hit the ground several feet back with a sharp yelp. Shock still had its tight grip on me, dampening the sting of a fresh new wave of pain as I looked up at him in realization.

This was Zayne but not.