The church was colder than Lucien remembered.
Wind moaned through the cracked, stained-glass windows, carrying the smell of damp wood and dust. Moonlight spilled in crooked lines across the stone floor, breaking into shards of color where the glass still clung to its frames.
Lucien eased the heavy wooden door shut behind them, its hinges screaming in protest. Selahael leaned heavily against him, her steps faltering. Her skin felt too cold. It is colder than any human's, even colder than his own.
He guided her toward the front pew. "Sit," he murmured.
She tried to protest, but her legs buckled. He caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her gently onto the worn bench. Her wings sagged behind her, one bent at an unnatural angle, the other twitching weakly before going still.
"You're worse than you let on," Lucien said.
"I've been worse," she whispered, though her voice trembled. Her golden eyes flickered, dimming, then burning bright for an instant before dulling again. "They… won't stop. They'll follow."
"I know," he replied. "But not tonight."
He crouched in front of her, studying the damage. The tear in her side was the worst, blackened edges around a deep cut that still oozed sluggishly. Demon blade. Poisoned. Her breathing was shallow now, each inhale catching like a broken gear.
She noticed his frown and gave a faint smile. "You're worried."
"I don't worry," Lucien said. "I calculate."
"You're worried," she repeated, softer this time, almost like she found it amusing.
He looked away. "If that poison spreads, you won't last an hour."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the pew. "There's nothing here that can help me."
"There is," he said, though his voice was tight. "It's not… pleasant."
Her gaze fixed on him, searching. "What are you suggesting?"
Lucien hesitated. He hadn't done this in years, not for anyone. But her face, pale under the moonlight, stirred something he thought he'd buried centuries ago.
"My blood," he said finally. "It's strong enough to burn the poison out. It will keep you alive."
Her expression shifted, surprise, suspicion, then something else he couldn't quite name. "Your blood?"
"Yes."
"That's..." She stopped herself, shaking her head. "It's dangerous. Vampire blood changes things. I've heard..."
"You've heard right," he cut in. "It's not just healing. It ties us together. You'll feel what I feel for a while. And I might… see things. Fragments of your memories. I can't control it."
Her eyes narrowed. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you die."
For a long moment, she didn't speak. The sound of wind through the broken glass filled the silence. Her eyes searched his again, and he could tell she was weighing the risk. Finally, she exhaled slowly.
"I don't like owing anyone," she said.
"You won't owe me," Lucien replied. "Consider it… an investment."
A faint smile touched her lips. "You're a terrible liar."
He didn't answer. Instead, he drew the silver dagger from his coat and nicked the inside of his wrist. Dark, rich blood welled up instantly, carrying the faintest glow under the moonlight.
Her gaze locked on it, and he saw the way her body reacted, like every instinct screamed both yes and no.
"This is your last chance to say no," he told her.
Selahael leaned forward, her breath uneven. "Do it before I change my mind."
Lucien extended his arm. She took his wrist gently, almost reverently, before pressing her lips to the wound.
The first pull was hesitant, as though she feared what would happen. But then her body seemed to decide for her. Her hands gripped his forearm, and she drank deeper.
Heat spread through him, sharper than any wound. It wasn't like feeding a human; this was fire meeting fire. For a moment, he thought he could feel her heartbeat against his skin, syncing with his own.
And then it hit.
Flashes, blinding, searing.
A white city floating above clouds. Towers of gold that caught the eternal sun. A vast throne wreathed in flame, no, not flame, light.
An angel kneeling before it, wings outstretched. Selahael, unburned, unbroken.
A voice like thunder. Words he couldn't understand but felt in his bones.
Then the light turned red. The throne cracked. Fire consumed the city, and the sky bled.
Lucien staggered, gripping the edge of the pew to steady himself.
Selahael pulled back, gasping. Her eyes burned gold again, brighter now, and some color had returned to her cheeks. The poison wound smoked faintly, the black edges receding.
"You saw something," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes." His voice was low, guarded.
"What?"
Lucien's gaze didn't waver from hers. "A burning throne. And betrayal."
Her hands tightened in her lap. "Then you saw too much."
He almost pressed her, but the look in her eyes stopped him. There was grief there, and rage, and something heavier.
Instead, he sat back, pulling his sleeve over the healing cut on his wrist. "You'll live. For now."
She tilted her head, studying him. "And now we're bound, aren't we?"
"Yes," he admitted. "Until the blood fades."
"And when it does?"
Lucien stood, moving toward the door. "Then you'll decide whether you still want me around."
She smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You assume I'll have that choice."
Before he could answer, something moved in the shadows outside, a flicker of motion, too fast for any human.
Lucien's hand went to his dagger again. "Rest," he told her, without looking back. "If anything gets through that door, it won't be me they're after."
Selahael's voice was soft but firm. "If they come, they'll regret it."
Lucien didn't doubt her. But as he stepped into the moonlight, he couldn't shake the memory of that burning throne, or the way her voice in those visions had sounded like both prayer and defiance.