Elara's POV
The hunting horns echo through the forest again, closer this time.
I have maybe five minutes before Heaven's hunters reach this crater. Five minutes to decide if I'm going to save the life of an executioner who would have killed me without hesitation a week ago, or leave him here to face whatever punishment Heaven has planned.
His blood is soaking into the mud around him, glowing faint silver. Celestial blood. The kind that leaves traces even magical concealment can't fully hide.
"You're insane," I whisper to myself, hooking my arms under his shoulders. "Completely, absolutely insane."
He's massive. At least six-foot-four and built like he was carved from stone. His armor alone probably weighs fifty pounds, and I'm supposed to drag all of this back to my cottage before the hunters arrive?
I pull with everything I have.
He doesn't budge.
"Come on!" I grit my teeth and try again, my boots slipping in the mud. My healing magic is already drained from stabilizing his worst wounds, and now I'm trying to move a body that weighs twice what I do.
The horns sound again. Maybe three minutes now.
Panic claws up my throat. I can't leave him. I don't know why—maybe it's because he said "please" like he was a person instead of a weapon, maybe it's because I felt his celestial essence and knew he'd been betrayed just like me—but I can't leave him to die.
I close my eyes and do something I haven't done in fifteen years.
I tap into the deep magic.
The forbidden kind. The kind that got me thrown out of Heaven in the first place. Blood magic, drawn from my own life force, the kind that corrupts a little more of my soul every time I use it.
Power floods my muscles. My arms burn with supernatural strength. I drag him out of the crater and through the forest, moving faster than any human could, his body leaving a trail through the undergrowth.
Every second, I expect to hear wings overhead. To hear the hunters' battle cries. To feel Heaven's chains wrap around my wrists.
But somehow, impossibly, I make it back to my cottage.
I kick open the cellar door and half-drag, half-tumble down the stairs with him. We hit the bottom in a tangle of limbs and wings. His head cracks against the stone floor.
"Sorry," I gasp, even though he's unconscious. "Sorry, sorry."
I stumble back up the stairs, slam the cellar door shut, and press my glowing hands against the wood. The concealment ward flows out of me—invisible threads of magic that will hide celestial energy, muffle sounds, make anyone looking for him think this is just an ordinary root cellar.
The moment the ward locks into place, I collapse.
My vision swims. Blood magic always takes a price, and I just used enough to fuel a week's worth of healing. My hands are shaking. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
And outside, I hear them land.
Heavy footsteps on my porch. The creak of my door opening. I didn't lock it—I never lock it because innocent herbalists don't have anything to hide.
"Search everywhere," a male voice commands. Cold. Authoritative. The kind of voice used to being obeyed. "He can't have gone far with those injuries."
I force myself to stand, smoothing down my cloak and wiping the mud off my face. I grab a candle and light it with shaking fingers, then walk calmly toward my main room like I've just woken up from the noise.
Three angels stand in my cottage.
Full armor. White wings folded against their backs. Swords that glow with holy fire. The lead angel is older, with silver threading through his dark hair and eyes like frozen chips of ice.
Commander Uriel. I recognize him from my time in Heaven. Azrael's mentor.
"Can I help you?" I ask, making my voice sleepy and confused. "It's the middle of the night..."
Uriel's gaze sweeps over me, sharp and assessing. "We're searching for a fugitive. A fallen Seraph. Extremely dangerous. Have you seen anyone matching that description?"
"A fallen angel?" I press a hand to my chest, eyes wide. "Here? In Shadowpine Valley?"
"Answer the question."
"No, sir. I haven't seen anyone. I've been asleep until all the thunder woke me up." I gesture to my herb table, deliberately showing the scattered supplies from when the cottage shook. "The storm knocked everything over. I was just cleaning up."
One of the younger angels moves toward the cellar door.
My heart stops.
"Captain," the angel calls. "There's a door here."
"It's just my root cellar," I say quickly. Too quickly. "For storing herbs and vegetables. Nothing interesting."
Uriel walks toward the cellar door. His hand rests on the handle.
I can feel sweat sliding down my spine. If he opens that door, if the concealment ward isn't strong enough, if he senses Azrael's celestial energy...
"Sir," the third angel calls from outside. "We found a blood trail leading east, toward the river."
Uriel pauses, hand still on the cellar door handle. His eyes narrow as he looks at me one more time, like he's trying to see through my skin to the lies underneath.
"You're certain you saw nothing?"
"I promise," I lie, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'm just an herbalist. I wouldn't even know what a fallen Seraph looks like."
Another long, terrible moment of silence.
Then Uriel releases the door handle and turns away. "We follow the blood trail. If he made it to the river, he could be anywhere by dawn."
Relief makes my knees weak. They're leaving. They're actually leaving.
The three angels walk out of my cottage, wings spreading as they prepare to take flight. Uriel pauses in the doorway and looks back at me one last time.
"If you see anything unusual," he says quietly, "report it immediately. Harboring a fugitive is a crime punishable by death. Even for humans."
"Of course," I whisper.
The moment they're gone, I lock the door and slump against it, my whole body shaking. That was too close. Way too close.
I wait twenty minutes to make sure they're really gone before I dare open the cellar door.
Azrael is exactly where I left him, unconscious and bleeding on my cellar floor. His wings are bent at horrible angles. His armor is cracked down the middle. And now that I'm looking at him properly, I can see just how badly injured he really is.
He's not going to survive the night without serious help.
I kneel beside him and place my hands on his chest, preparing to channel what little healing magic I have left. The moment my power touches his, something strange happens.
His celestial essence doesn't just feel wrong.
It feels corrupted.
Like something dark and poisonous is wrapped around his life force, choking it, killing him from the inside out. This isn't just battle damage. Someone did this to him deliberately. Someone powerful enough to curse a Seraph.
"What did they do to you?" I whisper.
His eyes snap open.
Silver-gold eyes, wild with pain and confusion, lock onto mine. His hand shoots up faster than I can react and wraps around my throat, lifting me off the ground with supernatural strength.
"Who are you?" he snarls, his voice rough as broken glass. "Where am I? What have you done to me?"
I can't breathe. Can't speak. My vision is already going dark at the edges.
His grip tightens.
And the last thing I think before I pass out is that I just saved the life of someone who's going to kill me anyway.