The Water Was Unable

Amara simply stood there and watched as the half-demon ran away, with the angel not even trying to follow, as she had no idea why humanity had suddenly returned to Elyra's demon form. He was probably as capable of handling this as she was. Undoubtedly, his injuries weren't the only reason he appeared more vulnerable now.

She did not make the decision to approach him lightly. As far as she knew, everything should have ended there, with the angel resting at Elyra's talons while he stumbled. No hunter had ever survived under her wrath, surely, because they were demons? For the first time, the witch-child's thoughts strayed to the possibility that Elyra's human blood might be more powerful than her demon half.

She was aware that she ought to pursue Elyra and figure out how to ease the burning sensation of angel-fire in her throat. After all, she had promised her teacher that she would do just that. And Gramor was the most important person in her life. Was she compelled to sit there and watch the god-sent, despite her desire to assist him, because of her own human blood?

How would you feel about me, instructor, being so influenced by a celestial being? She hesitated and bit her lip, but she couldn't bear to stare as the angel grabbed for the thorn in his eye once more. "No." Unconsciously, she repeated the demon woman's remarks. You'll remove your eye. Avoid doing that.

The angel raised his head, attempting to concentrate through what must have been a blur of agony and blood. But he must have recognized her by her voice if he did. With more weariness than caution, he said, "Alone this time, witch-child?" Or have you returned with your master to yank my wing?

She didn't see the need to chastise him for referring to Gramor as her master; the change she observed in the immortal in front of her tonight outweighed the error. His new scars did not take away from his beauty—unearthly beauty. In any case, the most of those would disappear by dawn. But she noticed hesitation in his good eye, which shouldn't have been in the eyes of a god-warrior.

With her own skepticism dragging her heels the entire way, she offered cautiously, one step at a time, "A witch-child is a healer, more than a caster of magic spells." And with the support of an angel's might... I might be able to save your eye if you allow me.

He gave her a suspicious but non-aggressive look before raising one hand and hesitantly beckoning her closer. And you want me to believe you? Then, do it. I have no use for the term "witch," but I would enjoy the touch of a healer.

For one crazy minute, Amara thought she saw him strain, as though he were going to attack her, so she drew closer. However, he appeared uninterested in harboring any resentment he may have previously had toward her. She said, her words now tinged with bitter amusement, "And the word 'witch' means nothing to you?" "In your God-sent eyes, we are not on an equal footing with demons and the other damned?"

Lifting his head, he used his one good eye to examine her. At the sight of the other, even she nearly recoiled. He spoke next, however, with purposeful kindness, as if sensing that this was a topic of considerable grief. He repeated, gently and slowly, as though he were not in excruciating pain right now, "The word means nothing to me." One of the people I was supposed to safeguard is you. All I know is that.

Before she could stop herself, hot tears rolled from both of her eyes as her throat tightened and hurt. The idea that the heavens had no deep resentment toward her blood at all, that her mother had really died for nothing but to protect her, was new and horribly unfair.

Before she realized it, she was carried away by the softness of the angel's wings as he rose from his spot on the earth. For a moment, she felt cherished by a light that transcended anything that belonged in this world as a warmth descended upon her, erasing all tears and grief from her soul. His hand held her head against his shoulder, yet he sighed softly into her hair without saying a word.

She could have happily remained in that embrace for the rest of her life, but she was awakened by the sight of his blood spilling into her quivering hand. She pulled back and shook her head, feeling momentarily inebriated and disoriented. However, all hint of pleasant dreaminess disappeared when she saw his eye again, the wound that appeared to be leaking blood.

She added quietly, without her typical agitation or clumsy attempt at an urchin's accent, "I'll help you then." She was already turning and examining the barks and plants around her, giving her attention over to the forces that were as familiar with these things as her breath. She nodded slowly, pulling back entirely this time. "Okay," she replied slowly, now convinced of her own strength and her obligation to save him. "I am aware of what to do."

It failed her against the cold; the anguish refused to go away from her throbbing flesh, and the water could not wash away the searing of angel-fire. Given how simple it was to find her here, why had she come back here, so near? Was she really trying to get away from him?

Her hands, however, were unable to erase the feeling that something terrible was amiss. She recalled how, by sheer luck, she had struck him, seriously wounding his eye. How lost he had appeared, so bewildered, so painless. How could such a creature have such a strong desire for her death? She tried to obliterate herself in the coolness that had previously provided solace, but the sobs kept coming until she was doubling over in the water.

She raised her head at a tiny sound. She thought it would be the angel, or at least the weird guy from the previous evening, who may still be him. She couldn't have been certain it was Dorian for anything. But there he was, his hands shaking, his eyes wide as he stared at her. She wasn't even sure if he was staring at the woman or the demon at that moment.

"Elyra..." He stammered the word out of his mouth, and he was at a loss for words. Uncertain, he put his hands about himself, trying to think of something to say. When you were in the forest earlier... I noticed you. I believed that a woman could be hurt in those trees. After saying this, he was at a loss for words once more and simply observed her.

She realized something wasn't right. His hands continued to rub against one another, and his face was unnaturally pale, with features drawn as though in fear. Uncomfortably, he looked left, right, and anywhere but at her. Her thoughts started to churn; she couldn't bring herself to accept it. Elyra was his name for her. He had seen her before. That implied that she must be a human.

She looked down at her clawed hands, which were still large and spindly and lacked any beauty. She was aware that her human self did not resemble her demon form. Finding a demon among the trees, he hadn't once doubted that it was her. She looked up once again, bewildered, alarmed. "Dorian?"

He recoiled, turning paler, and retreated a step. For a little period, she had forgotten how awful her voice might sound in this configuration. He did not, however, run. "Elyra, someone—someone—has harmed you." In a last-ditch effort to appear normal, he even made an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. "You must consult a healer. However, it doesn't appear to be that bad, so don't worry. Even yet, he was still unable to bear to look at her. "You'll be all right."

Elyra kept staring at him, and when she finally realized how scared he was attempting to hide it, she transformed into a human and tried her best to act as though it didn't make the suffering worse. If anything, though, this simply served to increase his level of terror, as though what had previously been merely suspicion had now been verified.

He actually retreated a step, but he made another futile attempt to smile. As though in a complement, he now reassured her, "Not—not so terrible as the one your mother was taken with." "I couldn't remain motionless for that one. I ran till I was unable to stop. Once more, he appeared to run out of things to say, for which she could only be thankful.

The realization that he had been courting her despite knowing all this time left her tongue feeling strange. That clarified a lot of his uneasiness. Had he hoped that her father's blood would keep it a secret? It gave a completely fresh perspective to the discourse they had stopped a few days earlier.

With a hint of bitterness in her voice, she said, "And all of a sudden everyone knows my father." "And nobody has thought to tell me until now?" She said, "Well, I am his daughter!" as her voice rose abruptly and wildly, and this time she actually stepped on him. What are you looking for from me? Tonight, I demonstrated that! I went from being half-breed to being damned! What are you looking for from me?

It seemed strange that Dorian's response to her scream was the complete opposite of what she had anticipated. His face softened, and instead of becoming more terrified and running for his life from a crazy monster, he appeared to see simply a woman crying. He appeared to be searching for some consolation when he gazed this way and that. At last, he followed her into the stream, grasped her cold hand, and gave it a clumsy pat.

He whispered, "Not as bad as all that…" and removed his coat to present it to her, this time grinning sincerely. "You're not the kind of woman who could do anything really horrible. Nevertheless, someone has done you a lot! Now that he could force himself to look, he appeared to fully realize how badly she had been wounded, and he looked at her with a look of understandable anguish. "And also half-frozen."

She had never anticipated that a regular human male would discover her secret and treat her the same as any other lady. That Dorian, whom she had only ever played along with, used, and planned to leave when he was no longer suitable for her, should be the one? She attempted to reject his pity by shaking her head.

"I'm doing fine." She attempted to press his coat back to him after removing it from her shoulders. She was more tormented when it became evident that he would not accept it. Did he fail to recognize that she was unworthy of his assistance? For someone who had never thought mud's worth of him, she would never have deserved the tenderness in his eyes at that moment.

She ignored him and staggered toward the bank, her feet clumsy and numb but ready to comply with her demand to leave. "Give me some space." She pleaded for the exact opposite of what she wanted for the second time in as many nights. It was extremely useless when he tried to follow.

After all, he was only human.