Finale

strong as a female Nephil. You have the same body you did when you were human, and while it was adequate back then, it’s not enough to
compete now. Your frame is too slender. Compared to me, you’re abysmally short. And your muscle tone is pathetic.”
    “Now that’s flattery.”
    “I could tell you what I think you want to hear, instead of what you need to hear, but would I really be your friend then?”
    “Why do you think you need to tell me any of this?”
    “You’re not prepared to fight. You don’t stand a chance against a fallen angel. It’s as simple as that.”
    “I’m confused. Why do I need to fight? I thought I made it clear repeatedly yesterday that there isn’t going to be a war. I’m leading the Nephilim to peace.” And
keeping the archangels off my back. Patch and I had decided unequivocally that enraged Nephilim made a better enemy than the all-powerful archangels. It was evident that Dante wanted to go into
battle, but we disagreed. And as leader of the Nephilim army, the decision was ultimately mine. I felt like Dante was undermining me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
    He stopped, catching me by the wrist so he could look straight at me. “You can’t control everything that happens from here on out,” he said quietly, and a chill of foreboding
slipped through me like I’d swallowed an ice cube. “I know you think I’ve got it out for you, but I promised Hank I’d look after you. I’ll tell you one thing. If war
breaks out, or even a riot, you won’t make it. Not in your current state. If something happens to you and you’re unable to lead the army, you’ll have broken your oath, and you
know what that means.”
    Oh, I knew what it meant, all right. Jumping into my own grave. And dragging my mom in behind me.
    “I want to teach you enough skills to get by, as a precaution,” Dante said. “That’s all I’m suggesting.”
    I swallowed. “You think if I train with you, I can get to the point where I’ll be strong enough to handle myself.” Against fallen angels, sure. But what about the archangels?
I’d promised to halt the rebellion. Training for battle wasn’t aligned with that goal.
    “I think it’s worth a shot.”
    The idea of war turned my stomach into a bundle of knots, but I didn’t want to show fear in front of Dante. He already thought I couldn’t handle myself. “So which is it? Are
you my pseudo boyfriend or my personal trainer?”
    His mouth twitched. “Both.”

C HAPTER

3
    W HEN VEE DROPPED ME OFF AFTER RUNNING , there were two missed calls on my cell phone. The first was from Marcie Millar,
my sometimes arch-nemesis and, as fate would have it, my half sister by blood, but not by love. I’d spent the past seventeen years having no knowledge that the girl who stole my chocolate
milk in elementary school and adhered feminine pads to my school locker in junior high shared my DNA. Marcie had figured out the truth first, and flung it in my face. We had an unspoken contract
not to discuss our relationship publicly, and for the most part, the knowledge hadn’t changed us any. Marcie was still a spoiled anorexic airhead, and I still spent a good portion of my
waking hours watching my back, wondering what humiliation scheme she’d launch at me next.
    Marcie hadn’t left a message, and I couldn’t guess what she’d want from me, so I moved to the next missed call. Unknown number. The voice mail consisted of controlled
breathing, low and masculine, but no actual words. Maybe Dante, maybe Patch. Maybe Pepper Friberg. My personal number was listed, and with a little investigative spirit, Pepper could have tracked
it down. Not the most reassuring of thoughts.
    I hauled out my piggy bank from under my bed, removed the rubber cheat plug, and shook out seventy-five dollars. Dante was picking me up at five tomorrow morning for wind sprints and weight
lifting, and after one disgusted glance at my current tennis shoes, he’d remarked, “Those won’t make it through a day of training.” So here I was, using my allowance to buy
cross-trainers.
    I didn’t think the threat of war was as serious as Dante had made it sound, especially since Patch and I secretly had plans to pull the Nephilim out of the doomed uprising, but his words
on my size, speed, and agility had struck a chord. I
was
smaller than every other Nephil I knew. Unlike them, I had been born into a human body—average weight, average muscle tone,
average in every single