Elara's POV
I can't breathe.
His hand is crushing my windpipe, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My feet kick uselessly in the air. Black spots dance across my vision.
"Answer me!" Azrael snarls, his silver-gold eyes wild with confusion and rage. "Who sent you? The Council? Raphael?"
I try to speak, but no sound comes out. My hands claw at his wrist, but it's like trying to move solid steel. He's too strong. Even half-dead and corrupted, he's still a Seraph warrior.
My lungs are burning. My vision is tunneling.
This is how I die. Killed by the person I saved.
The irony would be funny if I wasn't dying.
Then something changes in his eyes. The wild rage flickers, replaced by sudden confusion. He's looking at me—really looking at me—and seeing something that makes him pause.
"You're..." His grip loosens slightly. "You're crying."
I am. Tears are streaming down my face, partly from lack of oxygen, partly from the horrible unfairness of it all. I gave up my safety to save him. I risked everything. And he's killing me for it.
His hand releases.
I drop to the floor, gasping and choking, my throat on fire. I curl into a ball, coughing so hard I think I might throw up.
"You're a fallen," Azrael says above me, his voice rough but no longer aggressive. "I can smell Heaven's rejection on you. But you... you healed me?"
I can't answer yet. I'm still trying to remember how to breathe.
He crouches down, and I flinch backward instinctively. But he doesn't reach for me again. Instead, he looks at his own hands like they belong to someone else.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't... I thought you were..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Where am I?"
"My cellar," I rasp, my voice barely a whisper. "You crashed. In the forest. I brought you here."
"Why?"
"Because you were dying."
"I'm a Seraph executioner." He says it like he's testing me, waiting for me to panic. "I've killed dozens of fallen angels. Maybe more. I've lost count."
My heart pounds, but I force myself to meet his gaze. "I know. I saw your mark."
"Then why save me?"
"Because you asked me to." I rub my bruised throat, wincing. "And because I felt your essence. You're not a hunter anymore. You're fallen, just like me."
Something flashes across his face—pain, maybe, or shame. He looks away.
"They framed me," he says softly. "The Council. They made it look like I murdered innocent angels, like I was working with demons. My own mentor led the hunt against me." His jaw clenches. "They killed my brother to punish me for discovering their corruption."
The grief in his voice is so raw it makes my chest ache. I know that pain. The pain of losing everything you thought was true.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Don't be." His voice hardens. "I spent centuries killing for them without question. I was their perfect weapon. Maybe I deserve this."
"No one deserves to be betrayed by the people they trust."
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and something shifts in his expression. Like he's seeing me as a person for the first time instead of just another target.
"What's your name?"
"Elara. Elara Thornwood."
"Azrael Nightsbane." He tries to stand and immediately collapses back against the wall, his face going pale. "How badly am I injured?"
"Very." I scoot closer, keeping a safe distance. "Your wings are shredded, three ribs are broken, and something's wrong with your celestial essence. There's a corruption wrapped around your life force. Someone cursed you."
His expression darkens. "Raphael. Right before I fell, he touched my chest and said I'd 'rot from the inside out.' I thought he was just being dramatic."
"He was being literal." I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to explain. "The curse is killing you. Slowly. You have maybe three days before it reaches your heart."
"Can you heal it?"
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before." I hesitate. "I'd have to use blood magic. The forbidden kind. The kind that got me cast down in the first place."
"Why would you risk that for me?"
"Because I'm a healer. It's what I do."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can't read his expression. Then he does something that shocks me completely.
He laughs.
It's a bitter, broken sound, but it's still a laugh. "A fallen healer and a fallen executioner. Heaven must be laughing at the irony."
Despite everything—despite my bruised throat and the terror still racing through my veins—I feel my lips twitch. "Yeah. It's pretty ridiculous."
A moment of silence stretches between us. Not comfortable, exactly, but not hostile either. More like two broken things recognizing the cracks in each other.
Then Azrael's expression changes. His head snaps toward the cellar stairs, his whole body going rigid.
"Someone's coming," he whispers. "Multiple someones. Celestial presence."
My blood turns to ice. "They're back. The hunters are back."
"You need to hide me better. If they find me here—"
"They'll kill us both." I'm already moving, my hands glowing as I strengthen the concealment ward. But I can feel how weak I am from using blood magic earlier. The ward won't hold against a determined search.
Heavy footsteps on the floor above us. My cottage door opening.
"Elara Thornwood?" An unfamiliar voice calls down. "We know you're hiding something. Come out, or we'll burn this cottage to the ground with you in it."
Azrael tries to stand, reaching for a sword that isn't there. "I won't let them take you."
"You can barely walk," I hiss. "You'll get yourself killed."
"Then what do we do?"
I look at him—this warrior who killed my kind for centuries, who almost killed me five minutes ago, who I saved anyway because I couldn't let him die.
And I make a choice that will either save us both or doom us.
"Trust me," I whisper.
Before he can respond, I place my glowing hands on his chest and channel every drop of magic I have left into one desperate spell.
The kind of spell that will bind our life forces together.
The kind that means if one of us dies, we both die.
His eyes go wide as he feels the connection snap into place. "What did you just—"
The cellar door explodes inward.
And standing at the top of the stairs, wreathed in holy fire and righteous fury, is my twin sister Lyanna.
"Hello, Elara," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I believe you have something that belongs to Heaven."