The green, digital code was ordered in the shape of wings, and moved as if wind dusting through the feathers. Across his chest a sigil flashed blue, though why it did baffled her. His sigil shouldn’t glow unless he was near his muse. And she was most definitely not his muse. Then another idea occurred to Cassandra. She prayed that none of the muses Coco had put on flights away from Berlin had changed their minds about leaving. None of that mattered. What did was the angel who approached her with a lascivious grin and lust in his multi colored eyes. He was focused on one goal: to mate with her. Cassandra screamed as a wing of seemingly intangible substance swept forward and brushed her cheek. It felt like fire and she smelled burned hair. The coded feathers slipped around behind her neck, burning a trail in her flesh. He leaned in, sticking out his tongue to stroke across her face—and then the creature was gone. The Fallen was flung up and away from her. And in his place stood Sam. Unwinged.
