Page 17 of Light

Gabriel darted into the alley, bathing it in blue flame as he swung for the creature, slicing its head cleanly from its body. The child stared, round-eyed, as the nasdaqu-ush toppled to the ground. Gabriel laid both hands on the creature, letting the wind carry its remains away.

One large round tear slid down the child’s cheek as she backed into the corner, bumping into stacks of hay.

Gabriel held out a hand to the child, who cried out, pressing hard against the hay at her back. “I won’t hurt you,” he said in her language.

She blinked, peering past him to the wings stretched out to shield her from the cyclone of dirt and debris tearing through her village. Her tears dried, and she held out a small hand, wrapping dirty fingers around his much larger ones.

They moved through the storm, and he asked her to point out her home. It was little more than a shack, but the windows were boarded tightly, and he set her down in front of the door, waiting until she pushed it open before lifting off the ground and landing once more atop a building.

Nasdaqu-ush rarely attacked such small towns, but with all their men fighting the Ottoman Empire at the border, they were unprotected and easy targets.

The wind died, taking with it the immediate danger.

Gabriel leaned against a stone wall, gazing at the aftermath of their terror. In moments, his thoughts drifted to the night before, remembering the way he’d brushed her dark curls aside, fingers trailing lightly over Adalaide’s fair skin as he traced the line of freckles disappearing beneath her shirt.

Dina landed beside him, shaking him from his thoughts. She gave him a knowing look, and he frowned as an ache settled in his chest. Even a battle with the nasdaqu-ush hadn’t been enough to distract him from thoughts of her. He was in trouble.

Chapter 14

Adalaide

It had been three days since Gabriel knocked on her door, and Adalaide was beginning to wonder if the whole incident had been a dream. Her wards were real enough, though, and every time she ran a hand over the smooth skin along her forearm, she remembered his fingers skating lightly over her flesh.

But like the red-haired woman, he had not returned.

If he weren’t just a hallucination, then he, like her father, had not found her worthy of him. She was too different, too strong for a woman, too curious. What did their supposed soul bond mean if even that was not enough to bring him back? And for a creature of Godly import, she was certainly unfit. Her eyes stung at the memory of his rejection.

She swiped at her tears, bending to pretend to admire a pair of jade earrings as a couple passed. When they moved on, she straightened, sniffling softly and steeling herself. No sense crying over a man who may never return. Straightening her shoulders, she pasted a demure smile across her face and nodded to another couple as they approached.

Adalaide set her shopping bags down at the breakfast table and began unpinning her bonnet. She continued working until all her curls were unbound, letting them fall down her back in loose waves. Sighing, she reached for a bottle of port and gave up counting as she let the glass fill nearly to the rim.

After a long day of snubs and snide looks on the promenade, followed by unnecessary shopping to ease her spirits, she wanted nothing more than to down a glass of port, unlace her stays, and breathe.

It wasn’t yet dark, but it would take some time to erect the wards for the evening. Something told her the woman with red hair who had come to kill her would be back soon.

A knock at the door sent her heart into her throat. She stood, dumping her glass into the sink.

Was he back?

The knock came again and she pinched her cheeks, pulling her stays to tighten them as she hurried to the door. “Coming!” she called.

She flung the door open and froze as a woman dressed head to toe in white bowed slightly. “Good evening, Miss Graves. May I call at this late hour?”

Adalaide opened her mouth, but the woman breezed past, not waiting for her reply.

She closed the door, turning to face her guest. “Good evening. May I offer you some refreshments or tea?”

The woman tsked, looking Adalaide up and down. “Yes. I see it clearly.”

Adalaide’s mind stumbled over the words, wondering at their meaning. But humidity hung heavily in the air, and the unnatural breeze ruffling her hair told her at once that this was a witch with powerful magic. Her guard was up in moments.

“It’s quite late. Might we continue this discussion tomorrow? I would be happy to call if you would just leave your—”

“I’ll cut to it,” the woman said. “You’re in danger, and as a member of my bloodline, I have an interest in protecting you.”

Adalaide swallowed, processing her words. “I’m sorry, Miss…”

“I’m Jophiel. Some have called me by other names, but you may address me as such.”

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