RAFFE RIPS the tuxedo jacket off my dazed attacker and drapes it over me. It covers my entire upper body including my head. I can peek through the slit of the collar as I hide in the oversized jacket.

A warm arm enfolds me like a shield around my shoulder and turns me toward the side of the stage.

“Stay with me,” says a familiar masculine whisper from above my head. Even over the yelling of the mob and the roaring of the waves, something unfurls in my chest at the sound of that voice.

I look up to say something but he puts his finger to my lips and whispers, “Don’t talk. You’ll just spoil my fantasy of rescuing an innocent damsel in distress as soon as you open your mouth.”

I’m so relieved I might laugh hysterically if I open my mouth anyway.

My vision shrinks down to a sliver between the jacket collars as I trot along in the warmth of his cocoon. He holds me tightly against him, guiding and shielding me with his body. I shuffle beside him, trying to become invisible.

We descend four steps into the seething mass of violence.

As soon as we step down, we get jostled. I grip my knife even tighter, trying to be ready for whatever might come next. Raffe freely shoves and jostles right back in a very dominant way. He holds me behind him as he plows through the crowd in front of us.

We’re near the edge of the masses but we still have to work our way through to reach open space. We step over bodies and I try not to look down.

Most of the crowd is too busy with their own fights to bother with us. It’s now mostly angel-on-angel but there are still a few humans on the ground with their arms raised protectively against pummeling fists and kicks. Some warriors shake their heads in disgust at the sight but it’s not much of a consolation. A part of me wants to slash at the attacking angels while another part of me wants to run and hide.

Raffe drags me along too fast for me to dwell on it. I can’t see much in the crush of bodies and I knock into him as he suddenly stops.

We’re on the outskirts of the crowd with most of the fighting behind us. Ahead of us is the bluff that drops down to the dark beach. The only thing between us and freedom is a brawl.

Two angels go at it while two others circle each other. Neither of them have their swords drawn. These fights aren’t meant for real damage, at least not to each other. They’re like drunk Viking warriors with a hellacious vicious streak that Uriel thought he could control.