Luce groaned and rolled against him, his head resting on Gabe’s bare thigh. Luce’s forehead was hot against Gabe’s skin, his lank hair brushing the hem of Gabe’s tight shorts, the only piece of clothing the angel wore. Luce’s shorts were red with his own blood, the fabric streaked and torn, and the ends of his hair were bloody as well. “Gabe,” Luce moaned into his leg, his breath feverish. “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” Gabe lied. He had never heard of an angel who lived through the fall, but Luce hadn’t fallen alone. “You’re going to be fine. Just hold on a little bit longer.” To the driver, he barked, “Can’t you drive any faster?”
“What, and kill us all?” the driver snarled, hunched over the steering wheel.
Gabe pulled his wings closer around Luce and prayed for their safety, but he didn’t think anyone up there was listening to him anymore.