I cannot believe it has taken me this long to update! I hope you can all accept my deepest apologies, I was stuck in some kind of a writer's block for the very end of this chapter, and I only managed to overcome it this very morning! I shall do my best to be more regular in the near future.

Strangely, I have almost every single part of this story already planned in my head to the very end. So don't worry, I will not leave you in the middle of it ^^ But it might take a bit longer at times :s Sorry u_u'

Anyway, here it is, and thank you for your patience ^^'

Once again, Geralt wonders how, in the big lottery of talents, he has got the one to put himself in such perfect messes. First, a princess he has to kill. Then, a sorceress to whom he has has the delightful idea to magically bind himself. And now… This. A foreign queen. And an angel. A fucking angel. He could swear someone, somewhere, in the gods realm, is mocking him, and laughing extra loud.

And he knows he only has himself to blame. She has wanted nothing from him from the very beginning. Every time he has offered his help, she has rejected it, pushed him away, as much as she could. But he wouldn't listen. No. The big witcher was almighty, couldn't take no for an answer from an apparent damsel in distress. Always the fucking white knight. Won't he ever learn?

And now, what is he to do? How does an angel qualify, in his line of work? She's not exactly a monster. She has helped him fight some. She didn't harm anyone. Not to his knowledge. She has healed him. She has protected him. She has… For fuck's sake, she has sacrificed herself for him!

Or has she? She's not exactly dead. She still has a pulse, and even if she has lost a lot of blood, her injuries seem to have already healed, even if she is now inconscious. One could swear she is only sleeping. So she didn't exactly give her life to save his.

And as soon as this train of thought comes to his mind, he loathes himself for daring to even think it. She might not have risked death, but the pain was here. She took a blow, and a really bad one. He has seen her, gasping for breath, as the blood was most likely filling her lungs. And still, she was trying to protect him, from a knowledge she deemed too dangerous for him. But he was no fucking damsel in distress! He sighed, feeling stupid. She was treating him just as he was treating her. They were both doing this stupid dance of trying to protect the other against whatever danger they thought they knew better.

She has collapsed on the floor after her… transformation of sorts, and he has carried her in his arms to a safer spot in the forest. She has wanted to hide her true nature at all cost, only revealing herself when he has been in danger, the least he could do was to preserve her from the unwanted attention of nosy villagers. He has laid her carefully on the ground and set camp, building a fire to warm the both of them. She has felt ice cold in his arms, and she is pale, so pale. There, by the firelight, she seems deadly peaceful. He can't help but to check for her pulse every so often, to reassure himself that she is still alive. And he can't stop marveling at the two feathery appendages sticking from her back. He has laid her on her back, but he worries now that it might be incomfortable. What does he know to this kind of situation? Despite the common belief, he is no demon, has no set of black wings in the back, and doesn't know how it feels to sleep on it.

She doesn't make the smallest movement, but there is a shiver on her skin. Goosbumps. He can't do anything for her, only wait until she wakes up, but he'll be damned if he lets her get cold. So he grabs a blanket, lays by her side, grabs her in his arms, and puts the blanket around them both. It is a strange sensation, for he has dreamed of holding her like this, against him, but in all of his fantasy, she was not… In that state. She doesn't respond to his touch, and he oddly remembers some fairy tale about a princess on a the verge of death brought back by sincere affection. Well, he has only that to offer. Sleep claims him, and he rests strangely, an angel in his arms.

It's not the ray of the morning sun that wakes her up. Nor the unfamiliar scent. It's the stupid chirping of a far too happy bird. She grumbles. The first sensation is a splitting headache. More grumbling. She calls for her companion.

"Eli… Eli…" It's a very unhappy groan.

He has been awake for some time, now, contemplating her sleeping form from behind, and he would like to rejoice at the sound of her voice, a good sign that she has regained consciousness, but she is calling someone it seems, and he has no idea who that is, or what to do. He only has time to back away slightly when the left wing flaps in the air.

"Eli, my head hurts! Ugh! Did I die again?"

There is a heavy load of annoyance as she shuffles a bit.

"Must have been bad. Sorry. Promise to be more careful." She yawns. The wing goes quiet, folding back neatly behind her back.

"I don't want to run today, she says in a sleepy voice. Let's not. Let's stay here. Maybe they forgot about my whole existence overnight. Maybe we're safe."

She grumbles soundly, pulling the blanket tighter on her shoulder.

"I had the weirdest dream. We lost a battle. You were all gone. Half of you dead. I had to cross the mountains."

There is a moment of silence, which the bird takes as a cue to trill. More grumbling.

"Stupid bird. Stupid sun. I'm a princess. I should be allowed to sleep in."

She sighs, and he doesn't dare move, at a loss for what to do, much more for what to say.

"There was a man. In my dream. He was… Kind. He felt safe. Like home you know? But he had white hair. It was so strange…"

Silence answers her.

"Anyway. Better get up. Ugh. No. I'm going to throw up. Bring me some flowers. Please. No. Don't." She shifts, and comes snuggling against him. There are two white wings against his chest, and a nice, firm rump against his…

"Don't go anywhere. Cuddle with me. I need a hug."

She needs a hug! She's asking for a hug, thinking he is somebody he isn't, while rubbing her lovely ass against his length! Everything is wrong at this very moment, from the hurt he feels in his chest to the erection he starts feeling in his pants, and it only goes worst when she reaches behind her and pats the air. She finds his hand and grabs it, pulling gently until he is indeed cuddling her, and he can all but hear again every single thing in the world laughing at the misery he is in, cuddling the loveliest woman he has met in a long time, who just so happen to not be human, and thinks he is somebody else. And he should say something, but the words are stuck in his throat.

It only takes a moment, though, barely the chirp of a bird, before she jumps in the bedroll, sitting, looking at him with eyes wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open, and he sits up, facing her, feeling once again he should speak, but not finding anything adequate.

But before he can muster any word, she bends double, holding her head, and she swears it's going to explode. She moans in pain, loudly.

"Geralt… I— I'm sorry but— Flowers! Bring me flowers. Quick. Please!"

Actions are definitely more his thing than words, and he gets up, hurrying, picking any flower he can put his hand on, and brings back some kind of a monstrous bouquet. He has no idea what she's going to do with it, but she's in pain, and asking for flowers, so that's all that matters. He holds it to her, feeling a bit stupid for a moment, like he's offering a token of affection to his sweetheart, but she mumbles her thanks and reaches for some daisy, that she brings to her mouth and— chews on it. Flower after flower disappear as she greedily eats them, and he can only watch, incredulous. When she grabs an aconit he feels stupid for having picked those ones, and lifts a hand to her.

"This one is poisonous! He tries to warn.

- I'm immune." She answers, munching.

Soon, the bouquet has disappeared altogether, and she seems better, definitely. Less pain obviously. But she is still very pale.

"Anything else I can do?" He asks, tentatively. She nods, and crawls closer to him.

"Hold me."

He has absolutely no clue as to how this is going to help, but once again, she seems to know what she's doing. So he opens his arms for her, and presses her against him, holding her tight, as she takes refuge in his arms, her arms around his neck. She remains there, silent, for a moment, but slowly the colours come back to her face.

"Thank you." She mutters. He doesn't know what to answer. She shifts in his arms, and he releases his grip, until deep brown eyes are staring back at his.

"I owe you some explanation." She says, sheepishly, and he nods. He would lie if he pretended he didn't feel like his whole world has gone into a whirlwind since the very moment he has set eyes on her, and he's starting to be quite annoyed at not understanding a gods damn thing about it all. But the first question that blurts out of his mouth before he can even think about it, and consider how inappropriate it might be, is:

"Who's Eli?"

She smiles, fondly.

"She is my closest friend. We generally travel together, and we fight together. I'm ashamed to have to confess that she has been holding me together for longer than I can remember."

Eli… Elisheva. Now he remembers. Ilda mentionned her name. She is the one who managed to find her when…

"And what does that make you?" He asks, pointing at her wings. "An angel?

She nods, and gives a shrug. The wings vanish in a golden swirl.

- Half of it actually. My mother was human.

- Merowig?

She frowns, and he sees her tense.

- That woman did not give birth to me.

- Is this the reason why she… Hunts you?

- No, neither is it for King Ahab, as much as it still baffles me. They have managed to find other reasons to loathe me, perfectly valid in their eyes. But it would be too long a story for now.

He nods in understanding and in agreement. He still has a lot to process. He remembers Ilda had mentionned a foreign king who had come to Merowig's help in her search for the young woman, Ahab must be the name.

- The flowers?"

She chuckles.

"It helps with the pain. The blood loss. Low blood pressure, something like that. Happens when I… When I die.

- Does that make you… Immortal?

She nods, and he can smell her embarrassment, mixed with sadness.

"I guess something might kill me, in the end, but nobody has managed to find what yet. Though it was not for lack of trying." She concludes bitterly. But she lifts her face to him, and he sees her blush.

"And… I needed kindness. To heal. I mean— Actual kindness. I bathed in yours when you held me."

He snorts. He is pretty sure nobody would dare to call him kind. Well, maybe Jaskier. If he wanted to tease him. But she lifts her hand to his cheek, and looks at him dead serious.

"I mean it. I'm a being of pure light. I can see souls. I could see yours. Even if by just touching you." He blinks, understanding. That was why she had asked to do so before agreeing to climb on Roach. And he remembers her touch at that moment. The same that she has now. With her hand against his face. A hand he covers with his own, softly drawing his thumb against her fingers.

"Now I know." He whispers. And she nods. And he understands what she doesn't say. It wouldn't be deception anymore. So they're free…

Her eyes flutter shut as their lips meet. This time, they know nothing is going to stop them.

It should be slow and soft, she is still recovering, or she should be. But there is an urgency, here, an impatience born from months of withholding, being so close and so far at the same time. It should be gentle, but her clothes are already in such a state of burnt and torn that he grabs her shirt and rips it, and she answers with a mewl. He'll be damned if it's not the sexiest thing he's ever heard. She presses against him, her small breast squishing against his chest as her tongue drives him mad. She tugs at his shirt and he releases her lips only long enough to pull it over his head. When she's back in his arms it is skin against skin and he thinks he will get drunk on this feeling only. Her fingers lace behind his neck and her lips are back on him in a kiss he gives back quite eagerly.

She is no innocent maiden giving away her maidenhead with tears in her eyes. Life has made it such, and she has dealt with it a long time ago. But there is something with this man that makes her yearn for more. She wants him. She wants him with a longing that could frighten her. Because she wants his kindness, his softness, but she also wants his strength, his violence. She wants everything he can give, and she wants him to take her so. Her clothes are ruined anyway. It takes only a short moment for her to divest of the remnants of her pants, and he doesn't even bother, opening only his so as to free himself. He can feel a small hand closing around him, stroking, and he curses against her lips as pleasure makes him dizzy. His hand travel all the way down to her ass, which he cups, and he lifts her up onto him.

She gives a soft moan as she feels his cock against her entrance.

"Geralt…" she murmurs. "I want you."

And it seems that the world vanishes when he lowers her onto him. She arches her back with a groan of lustful surprise. This feels so good. This feels so right! This feels like happiness and decadence altogether and she hasn't felt like this since…

She stops this dangerous train of thought and focuses on the moment. There is only him. Him. Nothing else. Nothing else exists but the man between her legs, buried deep inside her, giving her such a pleasure she's sure he'll bruise her soul. She lets go of everything as he thrusts into her, her name on his lips. He lowers her to the ground, gently amongst the passion. He holds her thighs and she forgets everything that isn't him as he shows her just how much he wanted her.

They are alone in the forest, nobody can hear her wail his name when she reaches the height of her pleasure, nobody can hear her begging -for what, she doesn't know- when he keeps her there for long enough to threaten her sanity, nobody can hear the desperation of his grunt when he spills his seed inside her. Nobody can see him collapse on top of her, hear their shortness of breath. Nobody can even hear him say that he has got her, that he will never let her go, that she is safe in his arms. Because he doesn't pronounce the words. But there are here, in his heart. And it is scaring the shit out of him.