“Here she was, beating up on herself, when he was the reason Michael was after them. Christ, she’d gotten a sword stabbed through her chest while protecting him. She shouldn’t be apologizing for anything. Rosalia looked at him. This whole time, she hadn’t opened her mouth, as if she was afraid of blood pouring out. Now she nodded, and he realized the scent of blood that had surrounded them had faded. Her wound had healed—at least on the surface. The shadowy veil around them thickened into an imp...enetrable darkness. He couldn’t see her—couldn’t see anything. Then it pulled out from around him, like coming out of a sticky vat of tar. His stomach dropped in a brief sensation of free fall, then her wings pumped and water rushed into the shoreline beneath him. Then they were over land—fields and groves and communities passing in a blur. Christ. He hadn’t known how fast she could fly when she put effort into it. Within minutes, Rome lay beneath them, and they were diving. His fingers clenched involuntarily on her arm, then she swooped and settled on the ground next to the van.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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