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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 aspect—and it had taken a blood transfusion and the swearing of a Changeover Vow to turn me into a Nephil. I was one of them in theory, but not in practice. I
didn’t want the discrepancy to paint a target on my back, but a little voice at the back of my mind whispered it might.
    And I had to do whatever it took to stay in power.
    “Why do we have to start so early?” should have been my first question to Dante, but I suspected I knew the answer. The world’s fastest humans would appear as though out for a
leisurely stroll if racing beside Nephilim. At top speed, I suspected that Nephilim in their prime could run upward of fifty miles per hour. If Dante and I were seen using that speed on the high
school track, it would draw a lot of unwanted attention. But in the predawn hours of Monday morning most humans were fast asleep, giving Dante and me the perfect opportunity to have a worry-free
workout.
    I tucked the money in my pocket and headed downstairs. “I’ll