Chapter Thirty Five

"Hey, Penryn?" Raffe comes up beside me, his feet barely hissing at all as they skim over the brittle leaves. The dusky pink and gold light filtering through the shadow-dappled canopy sways over his face, the leafy patterns dancing with each brisk step we take. In the midst of the navy blue of his gaze, the light plants the smallest specks of gold swirling around his pupil like orbiting planets.

I could drown in those eyes. As I resist the temptation of merely staring awkwardly in response to his prompt, I find it increasingly difficult to ignore considering the dark, smoldering gaze he gives me – a good kind of smolder, of course; the kind of smolder that alights a roiling fire in the pit of my stomach.

Shaking my head to discard my rather scandalous line of thought, I refocus on him, hoping I don't seem too pathetic. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to join me on a short flight?" His wings arch upwards, catching the shafts of light on the snowy feathers and seemingly reflecting it back, making me wonder if his wings are encrusted with tiny diamonds. "I'm itching to get in the air."

"What, is being on the ground for a few more days really so tough?" I don't find it tough at all – each crisp breeze chilled by the frigid mountains brings a new wave of relief, coolly massaging my face. It sends shivers through the woods, causing the light to dance over the forest floor and the breeze to whisper a wordless song. The leaves I toss up with each step release a musty, woody scent into the air, one I've become accustomed to after all these days of only occasionally crossing a highway or skirting around a lonesome town.

Despite my contentedness, Raffe does not seem so pleased with being trapped beneath the tree branches crossing one another like bars of a cage. Grimacing, he sighs exasperatedly, "Yes, actually, it is. I was a good boy for ages as you lead us all over the countryside. I didn't complain. Do me a favor, thanks."

"You didn't complain?" I repeat, eyebrows shooting up. "I'm sorry, did I hear that right, or were my ears clogged?"

"I didn't complain much," Raffe amends, rolling his eyes.

My eyebrows rise a little higher.

Surrendering with a drawn-out sigh, Raffe tips back his head, staring wistfully at the blue sky above the trees, his eyes roving back and forth. I find myself staring just as wistfully at him, watching the sunlight cascade down his throat and halo his head, crowning him like the king he could very well be so very soon. My heart twists painfully in my chest, seeing him lust for the open skies – knowing that he's also lusting for other angels' company dampens my spirits slightly, but I suppose I can give him a non-angelic companion.

I elbow him gently. "Hey, I never said I wouldn't take you up on that offer. You just might want to let Bryon know before you whisk me off on a romantic flight for two, though. He might get touchy."

"Good point." He raises his voice slightly, his face that of someone trying to quell a grin. "You get all that, Scales?"

From higher up in our disjointed, lumpy line we travel in, Bryon lifts his fingers in an "okay" sort of gesture, glancing back once at me. I catch the glint of his bronze eyes reflecting the dawn's glow for a fraction of a second before it vanishes and his attention returns to Paige.

"Any more bases we need to cover?" Raffe questions, letting a brief glimpse of his beatific smile shine through his façade. "Or are you satisfied?"

"I'm pretty much good. Why? You have any passing remarks?"

"I think I'm good, too."

Raffe all but lunges at me, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist and his face burying in my hair. I throw my arms around his neck and clutch myself to his warm chest, resting my forehead onto his collar-bone and allowing him to rock me with each of his rapidly accelerating breaths. In the corners of my vision that Raffe's shadow doesn't protect, where light seeps in and invades my precious dark pocket, I see his wings unfold, tickling the lowermost leaves on the trees above.

"It'll be difficult to get in the air in a place like this," Raffe murmurs into my hair. "Bad wind, lots of hindrances, your deadweight – so just hold on."

"Actually, I was thinking of letting go…"

"Very funny." His voice is steeped with exasperation. "You can make as many bad jokes as you want, just keep holding on tightly, okay? I'm going."

Almost as if to forbid any other of my "bad jokes", Raffe takes to the sky half a second after his speech, leaving my stomach behind. He twirls between a gap in the trees and then leaves the foliage behind, immersing himself in blue.

The wind laps at my back and bubbles beneath my shirt, causing it to flap like a tarp caught in a storm. As we shoot upwards like a bullet from a gun, I find myself more aware of the way that my soft belly brushes his firm torso when our shirts flap together.

Burying all thoughts on the matter so similar to a more delicate topic, I tighten my grip on Raffe to vent my frustration – finally, I'd thought maybe Bryon's peaceful Nephilim Empire might be a way to get through to him, but now, we're further than ever, and by neither of our accords.

Rather, I realize, Lucius has trapped us, placed two rats once running together through the same maze into separate boxes with only one way out. I'm not sure if I'll meet him on the outside of my box, so I'm not even sure I'm going to try and leave. Not while he's still happy in his.

But even these thoughts I force from my brain, compelling myself to instead focus on the flex of Raffe's muscles, on the drumming of his heartbeat, and the rhythmic breaths he takes. I make myself train my thoughts on the wild whipping of my hair in the wind or the way my feet knock around in the air currents, occasionally slamming into Raffe's shins.

And, as Raffe tightens his hold on me, keeping his lips resting lifelessly at my forehead and his eyes gazing through my storm of hair, I can't help but wonder if he's doing the same.

"Will they be okay?" Watching her sister ascend through uncertain eyes, Paige whirls back to Bryon, seeking comfort in his limitless and steadfast knowledge. "They're coming back, right?"

"Of course," he soothes, smiling with his special uncle-smile, the one that makes Paige grin back. "They just need some time alone. If they're not back in a few hours' time, I'll go find those rascals and drag them back by their scruffs."

"Penryn said he was the Wrath of God." Paige lowers her voice. "How can you drag him anywhere?"

Bryon laughs melodically, tilting his head back. "It's just a title, Paige. Just because I'm the almighty Dragon King doesn't mean someone can't grab me by the scruff and drag me back to camp. Besides, your sister can kick his butt, and I think he knows that."

Paige beams. "She's so tough and strong. Really smart, too. I want to be just like her one day. Don't tell her that, okay?"

"Why not?" Bryon smiles, his expression seasoned with wisdom. "Every now and then, a bit of sibling adoration can be just perfect, especially if you're going through hard times. She might need that little spark every so often."

"I don't know…" Paige looks down at the rise and fall of her feet, biting her lip until it hurts. "Penryn always seems busy. I don't want to get in her way."

"Trust me, Paige." His eyes sparkle, suddenly becoming distant. "My brother saved my life once by simply smiling at me." He rubs at his wrist absentmindedly, as if remembering scars from the past. "You might not be able to understand now, but little things have the greatest impact."

"You're right," Paige huffs. "I don't understand. But… what was my dad like? As a kid, I mean?"

"Mischievous, but quiet mischievous, so you never knew he was up to something," Bryon lists almost ruefully, his gaze still one of a man caught in the past. "Clever, practical, even as a boy. He'd take apart the little toys he got and make something new with all the parts he'd collected. A genius, really, but always frightened of limelight."

Miserably, Paige hangs her head, looking down at the ground. "That sounds nothing like me."

"It doesn't, but that doesn't make it a bad thing." His elbow nudges her shoulder, a silent request for her gaze to meet his. "Are you saying now that you'd like to be a little troublemaker? No, you're better off as an original. Trust me, it's much more fun."

"So, what were you like as a child?" Paige's eyes grow round with curiosity. "You weren't always this wise, were you?"

"I wouldn't call it wisdom, even now," Bryon sighs, shaking his head slowly. "No, I'm many things, but wise is not one of them. I've just learned not to make the same mistakes again and again, a skill even a fool can acquire with enough time. And you wouldn't have recognized me in my younger days – always angry, always spiteful, always looking for someone to blame. You might've even been afraid of me."

"So you went through a rebellious teenager stage?" Cocking her head, Paige smirks, trying to mask it with an indifferent expression. "Penryn went through one of those, too. Dad called it a rebellious teenager stage. It sort of… just stopped, though, when he disappeared. Almost like he was the reason it was happening in the first place."

Empathy glows in Bryon's eyes, flashing with the bronze of his irises. "Penryn steps up to the plate when it's necessary, doesn't she? She takes charge if something needs to be done. She can lead. Good thing, too."

"Why?" Paige studies the sky above her, eyebrows furrowed. "Why is it good she can lead?"

"Because, like it or not, you're both pretty-pretty-princesses," pipes up Hugo from behind Paige, plodding up with Scruffy cheerfully waddling after him, licking at his master's extended hand with abandon. "And this guy basically rules alone. No matter what Audiat may say to the Nephilim or how she may think of them, if something were to happen to Bryon, she wouldn't maintain her rank as Queen. Not because of sexism, but because Nephilim honestly shouldn't be lead solely by an angel. It's the reason they didn't depend on the W-squared in the first place. So, that puts the older pretty-pretty-princess next in line for the throne."

"Assuming something is going to strike me down in my prime, yes," Bryon laughs, patting Scruffy on the forehead.

"Actually, there's quite a large debate going on discussing the topic of whether Penryn should be allowed to lead, since Audiat can't." Hugo smiles crookedly. "She was raised a human and she knows almost nothing about Nephilim and Nephilim ways. If something were to happen to you – if something were to strike you down in your 'prime' – she'd have a very tough time fending off both the chaos that would follow your death and making her way to the top of the food chain."

"Why?" Paige's heart burns defensively. "Penryn is a great leader! She'd do a good job!"

Hugo's indifferent gaze, cold and hard and powdered with coppery flecks, settles on Paige's, and she can't help but shrink back – fear of the strange, lanky teen hadn't plagued her as a creature, however now, the realization that he not only one of the cranky adolescents but also one of the powers in the world gone to hell inspires a small trill of fright in her brain each time their eyes meet. Even his personality puzzles her – he acts plenty goofy most of the time, so goofy that he really doesn't seem all that bad to approach, but there are other times when his temper flares white hot.

"I'm sure she would." There is no emotion in his voice, no infliction or care given. "But the fact remains: she's only a quarter Nephilim, and she shows none of the signature trademarks. You, at least, are so much like your uncle that maybe they'd let it slide. As it so happens, unless Penny dear is willing to step down, she's next in line."

"Can we quit talking about this? I'm not too keen on discussing my own death." Shooting Hugo a sharp glare, Bryon silences the boy. "There are more interesting topics to discuss."

"True," Hugo acknowledges, stroking down his wolf's nose, eyes flickering about. "Things like when the next mealtime is and what we're having for the next mealtime do rank more important in my book. After all, it's almost breakfast-lunch and we're all out of trail mix. We've got how many people to feed?"

"I think we've got some beef jerky somewhere." Bryon seems relatively unconcerned. "I ate last night, so I'm good until tomorrow night. Ogden, too, will be fine. Just send Scruffy out to catch something rather large and shoot anything you see. We'll roast it tonight."

"Kill creatures?" Paige whispers, her heart in her throat. "Like, rabbits and birds? And eat them?"

"Yeah, like rabbits and birds, and yeah, we're eating them." Hugo takes Scruffy's head between his hands, resting their foreheads together. The two separate pairs of coppery eyes almost seem to belong to the same creature, reflected into both canine and human forms.

Voice cruel and commanding, Hugo barks, "Scruffy, kill."

As Raffe touches down on the uppermost branch of the pine tree, I feel myself stiffening skeptically in his arms. Maybe these flimsy branches are enough to hold his featherweight mass, but I doubt it'll support me for long. However, it doesn't stop Raffe from gently prying my body off of his and setting me down beside him, closer to the tree than him so I have something to hold onto.

"Raffe, pine doesn't hold up that well," I warn, gripping the trunk with both hands, getting sap all over my fingers. "And this is the top branch. Not the strongest of things."

"Penryn, trust me –" he glances at me with a dark glare in his eyes "– for once in your life. Besides, if you manage to fall, you'll hit a bunch of other limbs on your way down, so it's not like you'll snap your back on the slope."

"Snapping my back on the limbs is totally fine, though," I snarl, not releasing my trustworthy tree trunk.

"Here." One of Raffe's warm hands cup over mine on the tree trunk, and his powerfully muscled arm spans along mine. "Hold my hand. That way, if I'm wrong and we do topple, you get to drag me down, too."

"That is appealing," I acknowledge. Slowly, I peel my fingers off the coarse bark, slipping them into Raffe's gentle hand waiting patiently for their entrance. Grip tightening around my fingers, Raffe sets our tangled hands on the bark between us, rubbing at the back of my hand in a gesture of comfort.

"Your hand is sappy," he berates, shooting me a scalding glare. "When I offered you my hand, I didn't expect it to be a sticky mess."

"Boo-hoo, suck it up." I stick my tongue out at him. "We've both got enough dirt on us to fill a swimming pool."

"Yes, dirt, not gooey sap." Raffe's disgusted face is rather exaggerated. "I don't know why I hang around you, you're disgusting."

"Because of my sparkling personality?"

"No."

"Because of my stunning good looks?"

"Maybe."

"Ha!" I jab him in the side with my elbow. "The dam breaks! So you think I am good-looking!"

"You're a cute little monkey," Raffe decides, attempting to redeem some of his dignity. "I wouldn't go as far as good-looking, but adorable."

"Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, you'll start believing it!" I encourage in a saccharine tone of voice, smiling at him in a sickly sweet manner. "There's always tomorrow, right?"

Raffe rolls his eyes. "Shut up and lean on my shoulder already. Just be careful not to drool all over my shirt."

"It won't be hard." But I accept his offer, resting my cheek on his shoulder and closing my eyes. His scent drifts up from his clothes – it's not necessarily a good scent, after all the walking we've done with seldom a chance to bathe, but it's his, and I suppose that remedies the tangy stench of sweat. "Hey, Raffe?"

"Hmm?"

"Why'd you take me up here? Was it really just to give your wings a stretch?"

"It was partially because of the view." With the hand not twined with mine, he pans over our surroundings. "You don't get this from the ground."

And indeed you don't.

The evergreen he'd perched us on is the last before it drops into a magnificent yet sheer cliff. The sun is at our backs, casting a shadow over the forests of dark green conifers ans the occasion leafy tree slowly turning from emerald in color to ruby and gold and topaz. Still stained by the sunrise, the sky is a splash of pale pinks and vivid oranges, like an artist had spilled his paint over the beautiful clouds. Snow-capped mountains stand proudly in the distance, their icy slopes streaked with all the rich colors of the sunset.

I even find hidden majesty in the pronged needles of our pine – the dew that collects along the green bones of the tree had frozen overnight in the chilly weather, but now the sun's glorious face begins to melt them, its golden rays of light captured by the little crystals and flashing around like diamonds.

"It's really beautiful," I whisper, enthralled with the susurrus wind as it sweeps my hair over my shoulder, toying with it before rushing onwards to a new victim.

"I wish you could see it all," Raffe sighs, shaking his head. "Monkey eyes – how do you live? The mountains sparkle because of all the snow. It's really something you don't see every day."

"Where are we?" I wonder, scrunching my brow. "Those look like the Sierra Nevadas or Cascades or something. Have we really walked that far?"

"I'm not familiar with your names for things, or even with this part of the Earth, but it wouldn't surprise me that we've walked far enough. Your uncle keeps us at a brisk pace, and it's been a long time since we've been at any landmarks you'd really recognize. When was the last time we saw a street sign other than the occasional interstate number?"

"True," I acknowledge ruefully, nodding against him. "But, seriously, Raffe, why'd you take me out here?"

"Honestly?" He swings his legs like a child, eyes transported to a far off place as they skim the skyline. "I'd like to just talk to you. Alone. Nothing more. Your spunky-monkey personality was growing on me. I started to miss it with all of your uncle's seriousness." He pauses. "Also… I would like my sword back, thank you. I'll bet she's pretty eager."

"Another day and she'll hack my head off," I laugh, trying to stomach my nervousness – for his words had prompted a chilly flow of unease into my gut, and a reminder of things that'd happened after he'd handed his sword off to me; the memories of his memories and his thoughts invade my mind's eye, and I can only see Pooky Bear maliciously pouring all of my secrets into Raffe's head.

I almost jump as Raffe extends his hand to take her. Noticing my twitchiness, he misinterprets the movement and cups his outstretched offer around my hand.

"Don't worry," he husks, smiling tenderly at me, eyes soft. "Now that I know you're a trustworthy little chimp, I'll let you handle the big kid stuff more often. Besides, you won't be alone anymore. Whether it's me or your uncle, you'll always have somebody capable looking over your shoulder."

"I can handle myself." Ignoring his scoff, I unclasp Pooky Bear and hold the sheath in my hand for a few seconds, lifting my head from Raffe's shoulder to look reproachfully at the sword. If I could, I'd be scolding her, warning her not to step a toe out of line.

"Penryn?" Raffe sounds puzzled.

"Here." I hand him the sword, careful not to drop it. That'd be perfect – sending her tumbling down a cliff, getting her even more pissed at me.

Raffe's hand wraps over mine and gingerly, he removes Pooky Bear's burden. I realize after a second that I might miss the spunky sword, yelling directions at me and tugging me across the battlefield.

Raffe lifts Pooky Bear to the sky, grinning gleefully at her polished blade as it glints in the sun, shining brighter than a fresh copper penny. He laughs thunderously, a pure and joyful sound, almost like a child rejoicing in a lost toy being discovered again. The ecstatic sparkle in his eyes warms my heart.

"Would you believe it she actually sort of warmed up to you in the end?" Raffe chuckles, turning his gaze to me. "I guess we have more in common than I'd originally thought." His eyes flick towards the sword once again, a brief espy of her shining blade. "And now you're getting stolen away from her, too. Hmm."

"I seriously doubt that sword likes me," I grunt, raising both of my eyebrows at it. "She and I aren't exactly best of friends."

Raffe cocks his head and smirks – it begins as a smirk, anyway. His typical sort of smile, with upturned lips and facetious eyes turned nearly black with mischief and dark, sometimes scandalous motives. With agonizingly slow speed, the steely mystery crumbles in his gaze, becoming something softer, worn by both the grindstones of time and all its precious secrets.

"Of course," he almost croons, "she is eager to spill all of your private thoughts, but I'm not sure that's done out of ill-will."

With my cheeks burning like infernos, I look down, not caring much that I stare down the rocky plummet of a cliff. "I'm not so sure about that."

"There's a lot I find interesting," Raffe purrs, first slinging Pooky Bear over his shoulder, then reaching for my cheek with his freed hand, stroking his thumb over my cheekbone, "but there's something I feel like addressing immediately." His voice sharpens. "You were at the docks while I was hunting Beliel? Why didn't you call out? Or do something to get my attention? No, never mind, she's answering for you, and it makes sense, I guess."

"Sorry." I glare reproachfully at his sword. "I'd like to speak for myself, thanks."

After a moment of silence, Raffe chuckles, as if the sword had responded with something he finds amusing, but doesn't deem it wise to share.

Abruptly, Raffe sits straight, going rigid with tension. He releases my hand, instead gripping Pooky Bear's hilt tightly. Muscles in his body ripple and flex, as if testing their readiness for action. Alarmed by his sudden movement, I grasp the branch nervously, teetering on the limb terrifyingly.

"Angels," Raffe murmurs, his eyes trained on something I can't see. "That's bad. Very, very bad."

"What?" I lift my head, squinting in the direction he's focusing. "Are they on patrol? If we hide, they should just glide right over us, right?"

"No, I don't think so," Raffe growls, not even glancing my direction. "If Uriel knows I've got my wings back, it's likely he knows we're headed this way. The same mole probably whispered in his ears. If they hear loud enough breathing for an angel, they're going to check, going to make sure that it's just a deer, then kill the deer for good measure."

"Okay, so…," I shift my weight. "What do we do? Do we run?"

"What, get the entire choo-choo train on the move?" Raffe snorts rudely. "As if. We'd move at a fraction of their pace, even sprinting. No, I'll deal with it."

"What?" I stare with wide eyes at the angel group that now coasts into view, gliding in through a gap in the ridges like a flock of regal eagles. "Raffe, they're coming in fast –"

The branch jars as Raffe beats his wings to take to the sky without another word – his mind is probably either focused on a badass exit or the necessity presented by the oncoming angel group. I do not believe that he realized my warnings had not been in vain and that the branch beneath me was truly bending. I do not believe he was aware that the jolt his liftoff provided would also be the final jolt that the tree could handle.

Despite myself, I shriek as the branch gives way, a small outburst of terror. The sensation of falling only lasts seconds before my back cracks against one of the wooden branches. Another small, breathy cry escapes my lips, this one of pain. Desperately, I scrabble on the bark as I feel myself slipping, embracing the branch and praying it doesn't give out like the other one had.

My legs kick around helplessly, searching for support. Needles claw at my calves and thighs, their ice-tipped fangs nipping at my skin and leaving tiny pinpoints of tingling pain. The bark of the limb I hold so desperately scratches up the underside of my arms and sap gums beneath my fingernails as I peel the bark away. Christmassy pine stench invades my nose, making me cough and get chips of falling bark in my mouth.

"Penryn?" The branch I clutch to wobbles from a sudden dosage of extra weight, and a foot clothed in a scuffed sneaker almost sets down on my hand. "Are you alright? Anything broken?"

"Your neck will be if you don't get off my branch!" I snarl, glaring up at him with a face scrunched with fury. I poke futilely at his toes with one of my fingers, trying to get my message to him better.

As a stroke of luck, both of my feet first scrape up and down the trunk, shedding bark like woody rain, but they then come to rest at a knoll large enough to fit them both. If the branch breaks, I won't be able to support myself on it, but at least not all of my weight is resting on the meager stick.

"They're in a beeline in this direction," Raffe reports, disregarding my warning, perhaps even taking it as incentive that I'm alright. "Just hang in here, okay?"

"Is that supposed to be funny?" I bark at him, but he's already gone, sending the branch quaking. Growling in frustration, I swivel in my precarious placement to watch him.

It's not that I don't have faith in Raffe's skills – he's dispatched more foes than the dozen angels crying out with candid mixtures of recognition and bloodlust with ease. But I'm not sure I trust him to not get himself hurt again – after all, it'd been, what, five, six angelic bastards that'd beat him up when we'd first met? They'd been persistent and organized with their attacks, but who's to say these guys aren't?

Raffe flies out to meet them, as if trying to distract the angels from the helpless monkey stuck in a tree, but my heart hammers as a few angelic bastards evade his best efforts, swooping around his broad white wings and heading my direction. Roaring out a warning, Raffe whips his head around to watch for an agonizingly long period of time, allowing his set of opponents a few punches before he focuses again.

Realizing that I won't be out of the tree by the time the angels arrive, I glance hesitantly at the ground, contemplating throwing myself from my perch. I don't really like the idea, considering the rocky ground because of the cliff's edge and, of course, the looming cliff's edge, but I don't have much time to think about it.

I thrust myself as far away from the tree – and the cliff – as possible and hope for the best.

Though I try to tuck and roll on contact, but it doesn't quite work the way I wanted as I smack repeatedly into sticks, throwing off my balance. I land flat on my back and the air leaves my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath. It's only the angels that circle like vultures checking to be sure that I'm dead that pushes me up from the ground again, sucking in air difficultly.

My fingers wrestle with the hilt of the knife at my hip – a gift from Emilio, it's just sat at my waist until now, unused and overshadowed by Pooky Bear. But as I yank it from its soft leather sheathe, I realize Emilio knew what he was doing when he'd selected the blade.

"There's nothing like a high-quality European knife," he'd boasted. "The ones they import to this land are tainted by American values. This one is my favorite that I still have with me. Don't lose it."

As the first angel swoops towards me, his sword braced in both hands and ready for a downward strike, I fall to one knee, the knife raised protectively. His sword clangs against the broad of my knife, unable to pierce through my protection. It doesn't officially block his blow, and some of the crippling force he wields thunders down my arm, but most of the strength he'd put into the attack is deflected, sending his blade deep into the earth.

Skittering backwards and away from the pissed off angel, I back myself against the tree, studying the angels as they try to surround me – which would've been quite difficult if they hadn't had wings, as a normal person isn't able to just hover over the chasm of death at my back.

In the back of my mind, a little voice praises Emilio's advice – with a quick glance down towards the shiny knife, I realize that it'd withstood remarkably well against the angel sword, only bearing one scratch down the flat of the blade. I grin, ready to see if it holds up as well as Emilio had claimed it could.

I don't get a chance to try it out, not really.

In unison, all the angels bellow with anguish. They clasp their hands to their heads, clawing at their ears and scratching at their temples, either drifting downwards with wings extended to slow their fall or plummeting like stones. Some yell in pain all the way down the cliff. One of mine rolls down the hill towards me, growing tantalizingly close to the edge – in fact, it's the one that'd attacked me, and his sword is still buried deep in the earth. Though puzzled, I don't waste the opportunity to send him tumbling down the cliff with a solid kick in the back.

You're lucky I was here, watching over you. How have you survived this far, even I don't know.

Bewildered, Raffe meets my gaze, as if I have some answer for the eerie childlike voice. Shrugging, I turn around, searching for the source as well.

The wanderer is on his way over here. Doesn't trust me, that one; it's grown irritating. He probably heard the mental blast I produced to drive those angels mad despite my best efforts. Wherever she is, the madwoman must also be aching – the madwoman cloaked in the pelt of the wolf, that is.

"Who are you?" Raffe shouts over the wailing angels, his voice echoing off the mountains. "Where are you?"

You know me, dearest Wrath. Look closer. I am where you were resting mere minutes before this precious point in time.

My head snaps up so that I'm staring into a pair of adorable blue and bronze eyes at the top of the pine tree we'd been perched, sitting on the very highest stalk like an eerie Christmas star. Belle squeals once, half splaying her wings to the sky.

I hope I haven't disturbed either one of you. She grooms her paws, nibbling between the tiny bronze claws. I didn't mean too. But the facts are that if either one of you had gotten injured in your little melee, we would've had to slow our pace even further and delay again. Penryn dearest already is covered head to toe with scratches. Let's not increase that.

"I didn't know you could speak telepathically," I murmur, watching her as she plucks out mouthfuls of feathers and lets them float with the wind, preening through her calico wings.

Nor did I. The world is full of surprises. But you two must return – we are all going our separate ways, it would seem. The undesired are being shunted home and the warriors are continuing their brazen march. She races down the tree like a scaled swirl, zigzagging over the ground then twirling up my leg, my body, and down my arm until she rests on the hand I grip my knife with.

Come now, Penryn dearest. She blinks innocently with long, long eyelashes, releasing a short, cajoling whistle. We can't leave the angels here. I won't keep up the mental damage forever. A simple stab in the chest will suffice, I believe, since they'll just bleed out.

"Scruffy!" Paige hears the teenager cry in dismay. "What is this? What is this supposed to be?"

She lifts her head over the novel Bryon had brought for her, watching the one-sided argument with amusement. The wolf is covered in brambles and thistles that gum up his fur, and sticky, clumping mud splashes up to his belly. In his mouth, though, is a small bouquet of golden flowers, as if he'd snapped their stalks himself and carted them all the way home.

The flowers are different than they normally are – instead of a typical yellow pallor, the petals seem downright golden, metallic and scintillating. Drifting from the elegant pistils are glowing specks of pollen, luminescent even in the bright light. Paige's mouth rounds in an O of awe.

"What are these?" Hugo demands, ripping one from Scruffy's jaws to study it. "What is this supposed to mean? In what way is this catching food?" He laughs, tossing back his head and playfully hitting the wolf on the nose with the blossom. "You funny little thing. Now, go back and get us some actual meat, or else we're going hungry tonight."

Told you Belle knew more than she was letting on.

Bryon, too.

Are some of you on vacation? I feel so lonely… but if it's the case, I hope you're having fun!

POLL: This poll would've gone better with last chapter, but I had to apologize. This chapter's poll is more of a thought I'd like to hear some opinions on. Bryon and Paige are both "chosen" and whatnot by the White Wolf, correct? Do the similarities end there? Or do the gentle giant and the sweet little lamb have more in common?

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh