Kissed by Light

The half-demon announced her renewed desire to kill just as he arrived. He was also aware that he could stop her in her current state and spare the wretched human's life. But he just wasn't going to do it.

Gramor thought that Elyra's striking movement was so beautiful that it wasn't even a waste of his deteriorating vision. While her other hand swiped sideways in a furious arc intended to gut the man, her claws struck his throat. The first hit went deep, unavoidable, but he avoided the second.

That should have been the end of it, but it didn't—or at least it almost did. Gramor was momentarily frozen as he heard a cry of pain that he knew was coming from Elyra rather than her victim. She stood straight for a moment, as though too shocked to fall, and then she slumped to the floor.

Gramor pushed forward, bringing them closer before Father Malachi—whatever he had done to her—could strike again. It was too late for his instincts to awaken. But Amara had not hesitated, and as he stared in helpless terror, Father Malachi's weapon struck her as well, causing her to fall.

"Then both damned." Father Malachi's elation was cut short when his gloating voice was cut off in mid-breath.

With a strong crack, Gramor's staff struck the man's side. Even though he had swung too quickly to control his power, the punch sent Amara's assailant reeling backwards and forwards, stopping dead in his tracks amidst the rubble of the forest floor.

The silver vampire dropped next to his injured charge without giving him any more thought. "Amara!" In any other time, he might have been astonished by the desperation in his cry. Now he was completely overwhelmed by fear for the witch-child.

She said, "Teacher, I'm fine." She was, in fact, already pulling herself to her feet, even with her hand to her face, where the distinct smell of human blood blended with notes of angel and demon. "I believe it to be merely a knife. Why it hurt Elyra so much is beyond me. She was obviously hurt, though, perhaps with a serious cut.

"Don't worry about Elyra." Gramor started, but he was interrupted by a sharp ache in his back that made it difficult for him to speak. It blazed through him like wildfire and he fell, half atop his charge, half down. With a terrified gasp, Amara grabbed him and held him in her arms.

He was unable to breathe. He was unable to think. He was unable to feel fear because it was overpowered by pain, but he was horribly conscious as Father Malachi's blade tore through his back in a twisting motion before being wrenched free. Abruptly, he recognized the weapon too well after hearing the man's victorious howl.

The ensuing kicks were furious but had no meaning. Gramor's ancient flesh was bruised and torn by the heavy boots that pounded into it, causing the bones underneath to start to give way. He heard his body groan and split under the vicious attack, but the pain from the stab wound overshadowed everything else.

"Oh no!" With a voice that verged on insanity, Father Malachi yelled. "To hell with you all! To hell!

Gramor moved again in response to Amara's continuous cries. His body would heal, so he didn't give a damn about what the idiot had done to him, but he would be damned himself before allowing the witch-child to endure any more pain. With a fierce lunge, he threw his arm upward, his lips peeling back into a snarl more terrible than the demon's.

"Be a teacher!" His voice boomed louder than he had previously believed was possible. He threw Father Malachi away with a quick snap, then fell again, his power gone. After what seemed like an eternity of silent lip movements, he finally managed a feeble, "Amara, run."

Rather, she threw herself over him, her thin fingers gliding over his open wound. As though she didn't need herbs to perform her healing magic anymore, warmth ignited wherever she touched. However, behind her, Gramor noticed Father Malachi moving forward once more, the Sanctified Blade, which he had been wielding for years, still clenched in his palm.

Father Malachi murmured, "I meant this for another demon," in a tone that was considerably more menacing and chillingly deliberate than his previous frantic one. "However, I don't mind using it on a creature like you." There was no misunderstanding this time: he meant to murder the girl, not only use the dagger's power against her.

Using all of his power, Gramor's fingers clenched around her arm. He was unable to keep her safe.

At the same moment as the dagger struck, another figure moved between Amara and Father Malachi. As the blade sank into his flesh, this visitor made no sound of anguish. He appeared to gain energy from it, if anything. He had an angelic voice when he spoke.

"I won't allow you to harm them."

Elyra could never have predicted the rescue. For a brief while, she was positive she had misheard. She couldn't believe Soren stood up for her, even as she forced herself to raise her head and saw him between her and her enemy. Of course, for Gramor and Amara, but not for her.

The blade seemed to be stuck firmly in the angel's chest as Father Malachi strained to pry it free. For the first time, fear slid into his eyes as he let go of his cherished weapon. Elyra pondered absently where he had obtained it before brushing the idea aside. Only an idiot would turn it on an angel if it were a sacred blade.

She watched as Soren's body appeared to absorb the weapon, her strength gradually returning. Warmth gradually returned to her limbs after numbness gradually subsided from her fingertips. She felt stable enough to stand by the time the dagger had disappeared into the angel's flesh.

She didn't. She did nothing except observe. Father Malachi staggered back, his eyes filled with rage and fear. He exclaimed, "You are holy!" as though the angel's disobedience made it even more inexcusable. "Why do you stand up for those who are already damned?"

"You have no right to determine who is damned," Soren said in a quiet, icy tone that was tinged with a hatred typically reserved for her. Hearing it again, Elyra felt a single tremor. However, Father Malachi wasn't a demon, and the angel wouldn't be one either.

As Soren's arm sprang forward, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him into the air, her eyes widened in fear. He growled, sounding less heavenly now, "Hear the words of the gods' sent." "Being a witch is not sinful; burning one is. Being a demon's kid is not sinful; only carrying on their tradition is. And merely hitting a man in the back is sinful, not becoming a near vampire!

He then hurled Father Malachi with force. The man looked as bruised as the others who had fought that day, yet he scrambled up swiftly after hitting the ground with a heavy thud. "Now," Soren remarked in a merciless tone, "you who say you know the will of the gods—run."

Initially, it appeared that Father Malachi might oppose him. Hatred flared in his eyes, a bloodlust so intense that it seemed even the warrior of heaven could not quench it. However, he turned more quickly than Elyra had anticipated and ran into the trees, saving his life.

Unaware of how long she had held her breath, Elyra let it out gently. After a moment, she lifted her head to look directly into the angel's eyes. His face was unreadable as he watched her. Under that scrutiny, she lacked the strength to smile. Rather, she lowered her head once again. "Thank you for saving Amara," she said in a wounded, tired murmur. She had little doubt, though, that he would still kill her.

She was not the only one who was afraid. With her arms thrown wide, Amara stumbled to her feet and placed herself between them. "Don't harm her!" she screamed, her voice growing more desperate. Her face and throat were covered with blood, which gathered at her feet on the woodland floor. Even though she would always have those scars, Elyra was all she could think about.

"Give him a break." Elyra begged gently, not wanting to witness the daughter suffer any more torture, but the angel disregarded her, keeping his eyes on the youngster.

He bent down and took Amara in his arms, holding her as though she were his own. While the other wing hung twisted behind him, his good wing draped over her like a barrier from the outside world. He whispered to Elyra, who was kneeling, "You are like no other I've met, wild child." "You have my blessing, for whatever a fallen angel's blessing is worth."

He then eased back a little and traced the wounds Father Malachi had caused on her face with his fingers. Amara let out a sigh and fell to her knees as well, her anxiety giving way to fatigue. The angel leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Now, I have something for you." It was too soft for even the half-demon to hear.

Amara's face was glowing as he withdrew, and she clenched something in her grasp. Even though the bleeding had stopped, Elyra was aware that Soren's magic was limited by his weakness. The girl would always bear the scars from this conflict.

Then, shocked by the intense resentment in Gramor's gaze, Elyra turned to look at him. With a mixture of wrath and clear gratitude, he regarded the angel. He owed Soren his life and, she suspected, Amara's as well. She was unaware of the girl's significance to him. He now had to show an angel how much he loved her. How could he possibly compete with that?

Elyra dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. She didn't need his problems; she had plenty of her own. Uncertain of why the angel had postponed his blow, she stood up unsteadily and looked at him with silent grief. Those eyes were still unfathomable.

"Will you murder me?" Finally, after an unbearably tight stillness, she questioned. "I won't kill you now that you know."

For a moment, his eyes shifted aside, as though considering his answer. Finally, without exactly looking her in the eyes, he replied, "I came to kill a demon." "This woman has demon blood, but I don't see a demon here."

As he turned to go, he stopped. He spoke again just when it looked like he was about to go. "Woman, I'll keep an eye on you to make sure the demon blood doesn't overpower you. That is what I desire.