Burn For Me

Tempting Alliance

"Forgiveness does not go well with my outfit."

At her sheepish response, he blinked.

"It is unlikely, but perhaps the Crown has made a mistake."

The Guardian lowered her to her feet.

Once she felt the solid foundation of the cathedral under her, she took a few steps back.

“The Crown?” Vesna asked, her hunger momentarily forgotten.

These beings of light rarely, if ever, interfered with the Human Realm. The fact that one has—especially at the behest of their Crown of Light—meant this was serious business.

But the question remained: what did the serious business have to do with her? Then, the answer dawned, and she gasped. Why, of course.

“I get it now. You either want me dead or want my blood for whatever reason. Get in line, buddy.”

She stepped away, weak on her feet as her injuries—clawed flanks, wounding fang marks, torn skin left by enemies too cruel to kill her quickly—burned.

Calling a Guardian buddy must not have been welcome, seeing as his brow twitched.

His wings pulsed once behind him, sending sparks trailing into the dark cathedral air. Embers licked the edges of the stone where he stood, but they did not burn her. Not yet.

Her lips almost twitched.

Poked him in his precious pride, did she?

Oh, well.

The Guardian did not flinch.

He regarded her in silence for a long moment.

Then, he moved.

Not fast, not violent.

But with purpose.

One step brought him closer. Another left only inches between them. His silver gaze, sharp and eternal, locked to hers, now filled with fire and loathing and something else.

God, he was so tall. And smelled of fresh thunderstorm.

But that wasn't what was important. Her hunger remained her first concern. Duh.

“You speak of forgiveness as if it were a gift I offer freely,” he said, voice low. He had a sexy voice, Vesna also acknowledged. All deep and husky. Again, not important. “It is not.”

His hand rose and hovered just beside her jaw, as if measuring whether her defiance was courage or just the last twitch of a dying thing.

Vesna felt her breath catch, which she immediately masked under a fake cough.

“Your blood is not what I want. If I desired your death, you would be ash by now. If I desired your power, you would be chained beneath the weight of Light. I have done neither.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping into something dark and deliberate.

The low timbre of his voice vibrated down the very length of her spine.

“I am here… because the Crown believes there is still something inside you worth guarding. That your survival is not a mistake. That your suffering has purpose. Do not make a fool of his faith.”

Vesna parted her lips to respond, but found herself at a loss of words. Weird. She always had something nice to say. Must be that Guardian presence. Even now, standing before one, filled her with awe and shock.

Licking her lips, she tried again, but his gaze flicked briefly to her wounds. Her staggering stance. The blood seeping through fabric, dark against pale.

“You are bleeding. Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

Vesna tilted her head at him. "You mean please?" Finally, her voice was back.

“I will not repeat myself.” Rigid, cold, and unbowed.

Aaand there went her voice again, along with her stubborn wit.

"Whatever."

Too tired and injured to fight him, Vesna plopped down with a groan of pain. Her injuries cut deep, and she was practically bleeding out at the altar.

The Guardian turned toward the terrified priest, who still clung to the edge of the altar, weeping and mumbling prayers.

“You will leave,” he told him, calm but commanding. “Now.”

Wait, what?

"No!" Vesa shouted, heart dropping to her stomach. Her very hungry stomach. "What are you doing! He's my last chance at a decent meal!"

Too late. The priest fled, faster at her words, robes trailing behind him before he vanished into the backrooms.

Now, they were alone.

The Guardian turned back to her. Torn and snarling and alive. And very pissed off.

“I am not your enemy,” he said.

"Something an enemy would say," she spat.

But the tone… it left little doubt.

I could be.

She wasn't a fool. To challenge a Guardian would result in one's absolute annihilation. But she could indulge one until it left her alone, she now supposed.

A joke here and there might earn her his good spirit, and he might just leave her to her devices.

Feeling her vision swim, she cursed under her breath. Nevermind. Her chin dropped to her chest, and she released a small sound of frustration.

“Good going, genius,” she muttered. “If you hadn't noticed, I'm half vampire. I was attacked. Again. I managed to escape. Again. It’s a recurring theme in my life, and that priest? His blood was the only thing that could help heal these wounds. Human food does not suffice to give me enough strength to fight such pains. Now, I might as well be dead. No thanks to you!”

The Guardian stood over her, the firelight from his wings casting long shadows across the cracked marble, the scorched gold of his armor catching the pale moonlight through the broken dome.

Still, he said nothing.

Then, a slow exhale.

“If you were dead,” he said at last, calmly, “you would not still speak.”

He knelt before her—a Guardian of the Light, kneeling in a desecrated cathedral beside a wounded half-vampire woman bleeding on sacred stone.

But he did not look at her with pity.

Only with relentless, inescapable duty.

“You were hunted,” he said softly. “You escaped. And you are alive.”

He reached behind him. A pulse of light shimmered across his hand, and from nothingness, a small vial of glowing liquid formed—essence of light, a rare healing serum drawn from the Guardian Realm.

It pulsed gently, the color of stars behind clouds, warm and pure.

“This will not sate your hunger. But it will stop the bleeding. It will mend your skin. Not your soul.”

At that last part, Vesna narrowed her eyes at him. Thought her damned and unworthy, did he now?

He held it out to her, not pressing it into her hand—letting her choose to take it.

Letting her decide if she still wanted to live enough to grasp salvation from the hand of the very thing she doubted. Of the very thing that just insulted her.

His silver eyes stayed on her, unwavering.

“I took your meal,” he admitted. “Now I offer you something better. But if survival isn't for you...say so now."

She watched the vial on his broad, pale, but sacred palm. These beings and their insufferable purity antics.

She snatched it plain from his hand. It would take more than such words to stop her from existing.

“Least you could offer,” she grumbled, biting words meant to pierce, and popped the tiny glass lid open. She downed the contents in one gulp and—

Oh. Oh, wow. Wow. The effect was almost immediate. Pure light, pure sensation, spread through her limbs, and her body responded. Her flesh sang with celestial light. Her wounds knit closed like whispers of silk. Skin restored. Blood cleansed. Her soul—fractured and fraying—ignited, even if only for a moment, with something almost divine.

Her eyes widened. Glowed.

The Guardian saw it hit her like lightning beneath her ribs.

She leaned in.

Close.

Too close.

The Guardian remained still, his silver eyes never leaving hers.

“Give me more,” she said, breathless, wild-eyed. Hungry in a way that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with what she’d just tasted.

His gaze darkened. Not with anger.

With warning. She sensed it. She was traipsing a very sharp edge and a steep fall. But the taste of whatever he had given her, she wanted more of it. All of it. Greedy, she thought, but she didn't care.

He leaned in, just a hair—close enough for his starlight breath to fan across her lips.

And Vesna quivered.

“Careful. There are things you do not understand, halfbreed. That was not made for you. It was not meant to touch a soul like yours.”

His jaw tightened.

Vesna licked her lips, her body still singing. "That's a bit rude, don't you think?"

“You are alive because of it. But take too much light into a vessel not meant to hold it… and it will not heal you.”

He rose slowly, wings dragging firelight across the walls behind him, casting towering silhouettes of warrior and sinner.

“It will consume you.”

"I don't mind," she whispered. Her gaze was eager, expectant, almost.

A pause.

Then, “You felt euphoria. Not salvation.”

"That's okay. Not big on salvation, anyway."

He looked down at her, eyes like twin moons—calm, full, merciless.

“There is no more. Not unless you earn it.”

Well, crap.

A slow turn of his body, golden strands of hair catching moonlight like spun silk as he walked away from her—but only a few paces.

“You can crawl through this world feeding like a beast, halfbreed. Or you can rise. Fight. Survive on your own terms.”

His wings flared once behind him, glorious and searing.

Her eyes narrowed. Why did he insist on calling her that? But then again, this wasn't the first time she'd been at the receiving end of such insults. All her life, she'd been chased, hunted, and attacked, because forever ago, her vampire father fell for her human mother and broke the most sacred law in the known world. She was the result of their forbidden union.

It didn't matter what they did. They were gone, leaving her all alone. Having grown up in the streets, Vesna was as estranged to her roots as a human orphan would be.

But the Guardian was here, speaking words like "protection" and "purpose". What did this all mean? Ugh. She was too tired and hungry to even contemplate whatever notion he wished for her to grasp.

Exhausted, "So why have you been sent to me?” she asked.

She slowly rose from the altar, dusting off her clothes.

"Hmm? Surely it’s because you’ve seen how amazing I am? How worthy?” She mocked with a bite to her tone. “Since all of you are always so keen to remind how much I don’t belong in any of your worlds. In any world, for that matter.” And trust her, she wasn’t sad. Definitely not heartbroken at such a constant reminder. Especially from her father's clan, hunting her ever since she learned how to crawl.

You will never be good enough, Vesna. You are only ever as useful as your dead had been, dying to give birth to you. You are filth. Vile. Abhorrent. Dirt beneath our feet. You think you could become part of our family? Silly girl. Better just give up now, hm?

Yeah. She’d heard it all. From A to Z and back ten times.

The Guardian stilled, then turned.

The fire from his wings dimmed slightly—not out of weakness, but as if the light itself listened to her… and understood.

“No,” he said simply, voice deep as a grave, soft as snow. “Not because you are amazing. Not because you are pure. Or clean. Or even worthy. I was sent to you because that is what the Crown demanded of me.”

What did that even entail?

A beat of silence.

"He sees something. Your blood carries both darkness and light, and the balance you do not yet control is detrimental to our world. And so I shall guard you. Until I'm ordered otherwise."

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. The sound was feminine, tingling, but genuine. Her laughter echoed through the cathedral, much to the chagrin of the Guardian.

“That’s a new one.” Vesna placed her hands on her hips. “I mean, I’ve heard pretty creative reasons, but yours takes first place. Brava. Anyway. I’m going to go now. Thanks for the vial of light or whatever, but I don’t need your protection. I can protect myself. Oh and, don’t ever try to interfere with my meal again.” She pinky-waved at him, all sugar-sweet. “Tata.”

With that, she brushed past him, all casual, dismissing a being older than empires like he was some gum stuck to her heels.

The Guardian stood stone-still. His expression, however, did not shift. Not even a twitch.

He didn’t chase her. Didn’t call out. Didn’t warn.

He simply turned his head, his wings stretching just slightly behind him like some silent, divine pulse of disapproval.

A whisper, soft, and terrifying in its calm echoed behind her. “You walk away now, full of fire and pride. But hunger will return. So will they.”

They. The vampires. Vesna halted, but did not turn.

A soft hiss of flame greeted her ears, and she knew his wings had started to smolder the veil once more.

“Walk wisely, Vesna Nightingale.”

With that, the Guardian vanished, like fire swallowed by smoke.

But the air still burned where he had stood.

Vesna found herself at a loss for words again.

With a sharp exhale, she walked the aisle to the front entrance.

The front doors suddenly burst open, and vampires, leaving trails of black smoke where they teleported, barged in.

Their leader at the front revealed a sharp grin.

"Hello, little rabbit."