“What’s your name?” I ask.
I don’t need to know. In fact, I don’t want to know. Giving him a name makes it sound like we’re somehow on the same side, which we can never be. It’s like acknowledging that we could become friends. But that’s not possible. It’s pointless to make friends with your executioner.
“Raffe.”
I only asked him his name to distract him from thinking about having to use his feet instead of his wings. But now that I know his name, it feels right. “Rah-fie,” I repeat slowly. “I like the sound of that.”
His eyes soften as though he smiles even though his expression doesn’t change from his stony look. For some reason, it makes my face heat up.
I clear my throat to break the tension. “Raffe sounds like Raw Feet. Coincidence?” That gets a smile out of him. When he smiles, he really does look like someone you’d want to get to know. Some otherworldly handsome guy a girl could dream about.
Only he’s not a guy. And he’s too otherworldly. Not to mention that this girl is beyond dreaming about anything other than food, shelter, and the safety of her family.
I rub my finger firmly around the adhesive to make sure it won’t fall off. He inhales sharply and I can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. I’m careful to keep my eyes down on my task.
“So, aren’t you going to ask me my name?” I could kick myself. That sounds just like me flirting. But I’m not, of course. I couldn’t be. At least I’d managed to keep the tone from being giggly.
“I already know your name.” Then he mimics my mother’s voice perfectly. “Penryn Young, you open this door right now!”
“That’s pretty good. You sound just like her.”
“You must have heard the old adage that there’s power in knowing someone’s true name.”
“Is it true?”
“It can be. Especially between species.”
“Then why did you just tell me yours?”
He leans back and gives me a bad boy, devil-may-care shrug.
“So what do they call you if they don’t know your name?”
There’s a brief pause before he answers. “The Wrath of God.”
I take my hand off his foot in a slow controlled motion to keep it from shaking. I realize then that if someone could see us, it might look like I am paying him homage. He sits in a chair while I kneel at his feet with my eyes downcast. I quickly stand up so that I am looking down at him. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and look him straight in the eyes.
“I am not afraid of you, your kind, or your god.”
There’s a part of me that cringes at the lightning strike that I am sure will come. But it doesn’t. There isn’t even dramatic thunder outside in the storm. It doesn’t make me feel any less afraid though. I am an ant in the battlefield of the gods. There’s no room for pride or ego, and barely enough room for survival. But I can’t help myself. Who do they think they are? We may be ants, but this field is our home, and we have every right to live in it.
His expression changes just a fraction before he shutters it in his godlike way. I’m not sure what it means, but I do know that my insane statement has some kind of an effect on him, even if it’s just amusement.
“I don’t doubt it, Penryn.” He says my name as though he is tasting something new, rolling it over his tongue to see how he likes it. There’s an intimacy in the way he says it that makes me want to squirm.
I toss the remaining blister packets onto his lap. “Now you know how to use them. Welcome to my world.”
I turn around, showing him my back, emphasizing my lack of fear. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s also convenient that by turning my back on him, I can let my hands shake a little as I dig through my pack for something to eat.
“Why are you guys here, anyway?” I ask as I rummage for food. “I mean, it’s obvious that you’re not here for a friendly chat, but why do you want to get rid of us? What did we do to deserve extermination?”
He shrugs. “Beats me.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed.
“Hey, I don’t call the shots,” he says. “If I was good at marketing, I’d spin you an empty story that sounds profound. But the truth is that we’re all just stumbling around in the dark. Sometimes we hit something terrible.”
“That’s it? It can’t be as random as that.” I don’t know what I want to hear, but that’s not it.
“It’s always as random as that.”
He sounds more like a seasoned soldier than any angel I’ve ever heard of. One thing’s for sure—I’m not going to get a lot of answers out of him.