"Angel," he said, the word scraping out of a throat full of broken glass.
"Do I know you?" I asked, my voice a stranger's. Fisilti - Becca Fitzpatrick
He stepped into a shaft of moonlight, and I saw them—shadows moving under his skin, the faint, terrible beauty of something not human. A fallen angel. My guardian. My damnation. "Angel," he said, the word scraping out of