The wooden floor of the farmhouse was pressed against his cheek, some of his locks trapped between the cold wood and his face. Ugh. He tried to roll over.
Half-solid shadow caught his eyes as he failed. It was anchored to the floor like some mutant spider web. Zophiel lifted his head a fraction and followed the band of it over his shoulders and feathers and hip until it disappeared past his view. He thunked his cheek on the floor. “Damn it.”
They must have found him out there, in the trees. Some days, he really hated the limits of his human body. It was down to some fluke of an angel’s existence that he couldn’t be killed by the rabble of the adaphat, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t slow him down.
If he ever got his hands on the leader of this particular pit, he was going to rend it
