Kiss of Light

by Eve Langlais

  A chilling premonition had him rising, stumbling back from the body.

  As her eyes rolled back in her head, the chest rippled. A tentacle whipped from the white robe, ripping through it like paper. The tip of it punching through the flesh no longer covered by armor.

  “Desmond!” Erela screamed his name, and her sword flashed. She swung and severed the tentacle, then several more as they shot from the squirming blob. Erela slapped them away until she could stab down, leaning on the pommel of her sword. Twisting until the corpse finally stopped moving and began to dissolve.

  Even the tentacle in his body. It turned into dust, leaving him with a great big hole in his chest from which blood poured. Yet he felt nothing. Just numbness.

  He sank to his knees, his eyesight wavering.

  Erela extinguished her sword and cried out, “Desmond. No. No.” She raced to his side and kneeled. Cupping his face, she sobbed over him, the hot wetness of her tears on his cheeks.

  The tie between them remained broken because of the damned manacles around her wrists. But Desmond felt Erela’s emotions anyway. They dripped onto his skin. She clutched him as if she could keep him from dying.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. Sorry for not realizing so much sooner. For not saving her. For not having a chance to love her again.

  He closed his eyes, darkness rushing to greet him, and she wailed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You can’t die,” Erela cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. The heat of her anguish didn’t prevent Desmond’s eyes from closing. “I need you.” Words that didn’t stop him from going limp.

  No. No. No. Erela didn’t realize she’d screamed it aloud until Logan grabbed her shoulders.

  “He’s dead, Adara. Let him go.”

  “No.” Moaned long and with pain. She couldn’t let Desmond go. Not when she could feel a spark in him still.

  A spark of life. It just needed some help to stay lit.

  I can coax it with magic. If only she didn’t have these damned cuffs blocking her from the source.

  She screamed, a mighty yell of frustration as she slammed the metal restraints together.

  They shattered. Even the ones on her ankles.

  As if releasing a tsunami held back, magic filled her, rushing in to fill the empty space, a turbulent rush of power.

  Yet despite the euphoria, she felt the link between her and Desmond fading.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she whispered. She put her hands on Desmond’s wound, soaking her palms in blood as she pressed her lips to his and shoved magic at him.

  Her magic at first, but Desmond’s injury greedily sucked at it. Demanded more.

  She needed more. Lips sealed to his, she pulled all the magic she could, inhaled it from around her, from the air, the ground, the mist… She poured it into Desmond. Filled him with power until they both glowed. His, a darkness with a red hue pulsing in time to her golden-white light.

  Even when he took a breath, she kept pushing power into him.

  Please. Please. Please. Erela prayed despite knowing no one listened. Wished for one thing. And one thing alone.

  He inhaled a breath, and then he was kissing her.

  Kissing away her tears.

  Holding her close and whispering, “I love you.”

  Just like she’d never stopped loving him.

  “Desmond.” She burst into tears, relieved and terrified all at once. He held her.

  Held and rocked with her, two hearts once more beating as one. The link between them bright and true.

  He cupped her cheeks. “Arammu.” A soft murmur and a promise in one.

  Erela knew what he asked. What he wanted. It was what she wanted, too.

  But first…

  Standing, she beckoned to Logan, now a man, not a beast.

  He hung his head. “Do you have to?” He already knew what she planned.

  “I never should have tied you to me. I release you,” Erela said, severing their mark, the loss immediately filled by the scorching heat of her Dark Lord.

  And did the wolf appear chagrinned?

  Logan smiled, a cheeky grin and said, “Does this mean no more belly rubs?”

  Desmond growled. But through their tie, she felt his respect for Logan. A man/wolf who didn’t fear fighting. Who was their friend.

  “Are we done here?” Desmond asked, giving the empty angelic robes a kick. The body sucked dry to give him life.

  “Not quite.” Erela headed back to the place it had all began.

  Not the beginning of her problems, but the laws put in place by a race who had no business giving commands.

  She entered the arches to find bodies. So many of them. And still, some fought.

  Hadn’t there been enough death and violence?

  “Enough!” Her single command boomed and resonated. Everyone stopped fighting—angel, demon, vampire, and more.

  They stopped and looked at Erela.

  She might have appeared as surprised as them.

  An angel, a male with curly, platinum hair, gaped with wide eyes. “That’s impossible. You are not pure.”

  Looking down at herself, Erela almost giggled.

  “What is so entertaining?” Desmond asked.

  “I’m glowing.” Without even trying as the magic coursed into her. Thick and plentiful. Enough to do what should have been done a long time ago.

  “I recognize that glint in your eye,” Desmond murmured. “What are you planning?”

  “I’m just going to do what the poem predicted. End it all. The tribunal is no more. Each land will rule itself.” It took a bit of concentration to turn the throne-like seats into rubble.

  It was the being in the cloak, his face that of a beast but his words of a man, who exclaimed, “But who will decide the laws of the realms?”

  “The realms will. Just like the realms will create treaties among each other. No more will outsiders rule us,” Erela declared.

  “But we are wise,” said the curly-haired angel, still dumbfounded.

  “If you are smart, then you’ll heed my suggestion that you rule yourselves and leave us alone.” Erela fixed him with a stare.

  “A Nephilim has no power to command,” said another angel. “She should be killed before she can spread her taint.”

  At that, Desmond took offense. “Touch her, and your wings will grace the walls of my castle as a trophy.”

  “Raphaella—” said curly-hair.

  “Is dead. I suggest you leave before you join her.”

  More than a few shocked glares were aimed at Erela. She didn’t care.

  She had Desmond’s arm around her. His love sustaining her. “I want to go home.”

  And when he said, “Where is home?” there was only one reply.

  “Home is where you are.”

  Which turned out to be a tad more complicated in the end, especially once word of her parentage leaked.

  Turned out Lisandra had been busy. It wasn’t just Erela she’d gone after but all of Marduk’s heirs. Leaving only one living progeny—even if adopted. Because most weren’t ready to hear what happened in the Netherworld.

  However, once the populace did learn of Erela’s role in freeing the realms from tribunal rule, the Babylonians unanimously declared her queen.

  Which led to meetings. And more meetings. And dinners with people she really had no interest in.

  The only person she wanted to see was the one who required pomp and ceremony.

  The Dark Lord, Desmond of Tartarus, the newly crowned King of Ha’el—or so claimed the rumors that emerged of an uprising.

  However, it happened. Desmond finally arrived riding a night-mare and leading another. He wore armor so black it absorbed all light. His hair was lustrous and shone with red hints as he approached the foot of the palace.

  He knelt on its steps and said, with a magic-enhanced voice for everyone to hear, “Erela of Babylonia. Will you be my wife?”

  There was a hushed shock in the city as his words
reverberated. The very idea of an Ifrit and a Babylonian maid, even a half one, coming together astounded.

  Erela stood at the balcony in the tower. Gazed down on him. Smiled.

  “Yes.” Softly spoken, and yet she knew he’d hear. He rose, pushing the magic and rising to meet her.

  Erela met him halfway, the pair of them coming together midair for a kiss. A promise.

  A new beginning.

  Epilogue

  The wedding took place in the borderlands between their worlds. In the very field where they used to have their trysts.

  On one side, the Ifrits from Ha’el stood as witness, lords and ladies alike. Their uniforms dark and somber. Only one demon legion was allowed as an honor guard. They squeezed into their human guises and only leered at the guests. No one got eaten.

  On the other side, eyeing the demons and Ifrits alike with suspicion, the Babylonians, many of them still unaware that angels existed. All of them cautious of the rifts, reports of higher casualties than usual emerging. Lots of angels had died. Had every one of them turned into a monster?

  The wedding gifts were splendid, but Desmond’s outshone them all. He presented not only a night-mare for Erela, but a mated pair of rocs who took roost in the highest towers. The populace tended to watch in awe—and cower in fear—whenever the rocs flew over the city.

  The slow walk across the mown field meant more time to stare at the man Erela would take as husband. It had been a rocky road to reach here, and many hearts were hurt along the way. Logan attended the wedding, as beast not a man, the bowtie around his neck a thing to make her smile and ruffle his fur.

  Titus also came with a date. Stefan. Who wore a sedate gray that took her by surprise. Had he and the incubus finally called a truce?

  When Erela reached Desmond, her heart pounded. How silly for her to fear after all she’d been through. Still, a tremor went through her.

  Was this really happening?

  A surge of warmth through her link brought her gaze to meet Desmond’s. In his eyes, she saw love. His lips moved.

  “Yes, this is happening. About time.” His impatience made her smile.

  She grasped Desmond’s hands and couldn’t have said what happened during the ceremony. Didn’t remember even speaking.

  Nervous, but not about the exchanging of vows. She loved Desmond. But the coming night did scare her. Since the battle, they’d rarely had a moment alone.

  Stolen kisses. The occasional grope.

  Their duties kept them apart.

  But now, they were married.

  Wife and husband.

  Alone in her chambers. With a bed.

  His hand came to rest on her shoulder. He felt her trembling.

  “Arammu.” He whispered the soft word. “Come with me.”

  He swept her into his arms. He went to the edge of the balcony and jumped off, his dark wings unfurling as he called them forth with magic. Erela clung to him, reveling in the exhilaration of flight. Until he dropped her.

  She screamed, and yet still heard him through their link.

  Would I ever hurt you?

  No. He wouldn’t. She opened her arms wide and calmed herself.

  He caught her.

  Kissed her. And she didn’t tremble with anything but desire.

  When he laid her upon the mattress and peeled away her clothes, she saw only him. Felt only his hands. Writhed for his mouth. The strength of him filled her with powerful strokes as her fingers dug into his back.

  His name slipped past her lips when the pleasure took her.

  His heart was under her hand when she went to sleep, no longer fearing her dreams.

  Desmond awoke with a shout, his heart racing.

  “Are you all right?” Erela asked, resting a hand on his chest. His skin was clammy, and his pulse erratic.

  “Make it stop.”

  “Make what stop?”

  His eyes took on a haunted appearance. “Can’t you hear the crying baby?”

  * * *

  The End (dun-dun-dun…yes that’s ominous music)

  Author’s Note: So, Erela/Adara might have had a difficult road, but I’m happy to see she got her happily ever after. And now I’m sure you’re thinking, What about Titus and Logan? Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but that vampire had some kind of spark thing going on with Kyla—and hello, Stefan is back! As for Logan…pretty sure he needs his own alpha tale. Then there’s Erela’s mum. Odd how we didn’t see her. Is she gone like Raphaella claimed, or just hiding? Did the angels leave the realms alone, or will they come back, ready to become overlords? Join my newsletter to find out about upcoming books.

  Looking for more urban fantasy type books by Eve Langlais?

  See EveLanglais.com for more info.