It was a bleak stormy night.

There had been rain-battered wooden walls surrounding Eli's cottage while thunder rolled overhead like the voice of raging gods. The old windmill groaned in the wind; the trees bowed as if in worship or in fear. Eli sat on the edge of his little bed, heart restless, feet bare. The oil lamp flickered beside him.

Then came the fire.

It began with a smell-a smoke and something sweet that was burning cedar. Eli rushed out, rain lashing at his face, wind snapping at the thin tunic he was wearing. There at the forest edge of the valley, where it is usually dark and quiet, glowed red-orange. Fire. And at the center of it-all of it was something else-something alive.

Eli ran on impulse, without boots, his breath sharp in his chest. Each step carried him nearer to the crackling heat, to the scent of destruction. But it was not destruction he found.

It was him.

There knelt a man at the middle of the flames, all naked and unburned. His back faced Eli: broad and tense, hair dark and damp with rain. Smoke curled around his skin, like a lover's fingers. When he turned, it was slowly, as if he knew that Eli was coming, and Eli saw that his eyes glowed red like embers of a dying star.

Not orange. Not human.

Red. Like a warning.

Eli stumbled. "What are you...?"

The lips of the man parted. "You shouldn't be here."

It was a low voice, rough like gravel but with something silken underneath it. Contradiction, as he was. Like the fire that refused to consume.

"I saw the fire," Eli said, taking a step forward. "You-how are you alive? How are you-"

"Burning?" The man was now fully standing before him-tall and powerful. "Because I am the fire."

Eli's breath caught.

The stranger walked toward him, but slowly, like he was parting the flames as he went. His bare feet kissed the dew-laden grass, steam hissing underneath his steps.

"I won't hurt you," he added, "unless you want me to."

That made Eli take a step back, not out of fear-not entirely so. There was something magnetic about him, something dangerous, yes, but also beautiful. Like the first electric lightning just on that day when you feel its first kiss across your bones.

"Who are you?" Eli inquired.

"I don't remember," he said. "Not entirely."

The rain stopped. Just like that. As if time held its breath for them.

"I woke up here," he said. "In the fire. And then I felt you coming." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Your heart. It's loud."

Eli's pulse raced.

"I had better go," Eli said quickly, aware suddenly of the absurdity of this moment-standing among the soaked leaves, speaking to a stranger who had arrived hot from the flames.

But the man took another step forward. "Don't."

"Why?"

The man regarded him for a moment, then said softly, "Because I haven't seen a soul in such a long time. And I'm cold."

"Cold? But you're—"

"Not as I once was."

Eli looked him in the face. Really looked. He was indeed bruised. Scars laced his sides, while the back bore fresh cuts: wings whose like had once been there and torn out by force.

"Come with me," Eli replied before he could prevent himself.

They said nothing else until reaching the cottage. He nearly filled the entire doorway as he stepped inside, and Eli did his best to keep his eyes off the shape of the stranger: smooth but worn, sculpted but marred by pain. He handed him a wool blanket, which the man wrapped around himself like a cloak.

"I should give you a name," Eli said finally, setting the oil lamp upon the table. "I can't just keep calling you 'hey.'"

"My name is whatever you want," he said with a faint smile.

Eli gulped. "How about Amon?"

The man considered. "Amon." A long pause followed. "That's fitting."

Something about the way he said it sent a chill through Eli.

"I'm Eli," he offered.

Amon nodded once. "Eli."

They were silent. Amon's gaze traveled the room as if memorizing it-the cracked floor, the herb bundles hanging from the rafters, the journal by the window.

"You live alone?" he asked.

Eli nodded. "Always have."

"Why?"

"I could ask you the same."

Amon's expression darkened. "I wasn't made for solitude. But I became something that others feared."

Eli tried to read him, but Amon gave away nothing more.

"You can sleep in the barn," Eli offered. "It's warm and there's hay."

"Thank you," Amon said. Then more softly, "You didn't have to save me."

"You looked like you needed saving."

Amon stood, walking to the door. He stood still for a moment, turned on heel, and faced Eli. "I did."

And then he was gone.

That night Eli did not sleep.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with thoughts of bright red-eyed soft low words from a man who said the fire was only his-Amon. There was power in that name: very old, very beautiful.

Something told him this was the start of everything.

And maybe, also, the end.

The barn was old but sturdy, thick with the scents of wood and hay, and the faint ash from the forge that Eli hardly ever used. Rain tapped gently against the roof outside, but inside, the world had gone still. Eli stood at the door with a lantern in hand, casting a warm glow across the shadows. Amon was there, still crouched in the far corner, the blanket now hanging loose across his lower half, unveiling the long lines of his back.

And the scars.

Eli caught glimpses of them earlier — but now, in this amber light, they were utterly different. Two long ridges beneath Amon's shoulder blades, like wings that had been there once, torn out by brutal hands devoid of mercy. The flesh was rotten and silver at places, fresher elsewhere, like he never could make up his mind completely.

"You stare," Amon murmured but did not look up.

Eli jolted. "Sorry."

"Too bad. You have never seen a person like me."

"No," Eli admitted. "I haven't."

Amon was turning around then, rising slowly. He was tall-he was taller than any man Eli had ever seen. He moved like a cat: slow, passionate, and quiet. Those eyes still glowed, but they appeared softer in this light. It was more tired than going-for-the-kill kind.

"Tell me something," Amon said as he stepped closer. "Why did you really bring me here?"

Eli paused. "Because you needed help."

A faint smile curled on Amon's lips, almost melancholic. "Men don't help strangers out in the woods for kindness any longer."

"I am not most men," Eli said.

"No," Amon agreed. "You are not."

They joined gazes. Dangerous, that look. Not because Amon was threatening him, but because he felt seen in a way he never had before.

"I don't know where I came from," Amon said finally. "Not really. But I remember fire. I remember screaming. And I remember falling."

Eli furrowed his brow. "Falling?"

Amon sauntered almost to the barn edge, thus leaning against that beam holding it up. "They said I was too curious. They said I loved too much. They said I cared for the wrong things. That made one a traitor in the heavens."

Eli stared at him with wide eyes. "Heaven?"

Amon would not directly reply. "They tore out my wings, Eli. And then left me to burn."

Eli really could feel that truth establishing its hold between the two of them.

"You are an angel?"

"Something like that," Amon replied. "Or I was. Now I am just a story that mothers tell their children for behavior correction. A villain in every myth."

"But then, I don't think you are a villain," Eli took a step closer.

Amon tilted his head. "You should."

"I see someone broken. Not Evil."

"Broken things can't scare Eli," Amon said quietly. "They have nothing to lose."

Suddenly, the wind howled outside. Eli swung around, instinctively moving toward the door but Amon caught his wrist.

"Don't go."

Eli looked down at where Amon touched him. His fingers were long and cool, but there was heat behind them. Like a furnace beneath still water.

"Stay," Amon said again, his voice lower now. "Just for a moment."

Eli nodded slowly, and Amon released him.

They sat in silence. Eli on a hay bale, Amon by his side on the ground. And the storm picked up outside once again, thunder rumbling like a heavy memory. Eli felt that tension in the air between them, coiled and ready to spring.

"Do you miss it?" Eli asked.

Amon didn't have ask what exactly because he wasn't interested in it. "No. Heaven has not in reality been the books say."

"What is it?"

"Perfect, but perfection is cold; empty; no feeling; no choice. You are expected to love, but only as commanded. I disobeyed."

"Why?"

Amon's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I fell in love with freedom."

Eli swallowed. "You fell in love."

Amon looked up at him. "Yes."

"With who?"

"I don't even remember his name anymore. But he was... pure. Mortal. Like you."

Hot rushed into Eli's cheeks, heart racing. "And they punished you for that?"

Amon's eyes shone like stars. "Inter-love of my kind and your kind is taboo. For it is real. Not programmed."

It made the air thick between them.

"And now?" Eli asked, trying hard to maintain his voice level.

"Now..." Amon leaned into him, mouth nearly brushing Eli's. "Now I don't know what I'm doing. But being here, next to you, feels right. Like fire finding its flame."

Eli's breath hitched. He should have moved back. He should have said something clever, something safe.

But instead, he whispered, "I feel it too."

Amon's fingers brushed Eli's cheek. Softly. So gently it felt unreal. Then lower, trailing down his jaw. His touch wasn't urgent-it was reverent, like Eli was something sacred.

"I shouldn't," Amon whispered.

"But you want to?"

"Yes."

And then, Amon kissed him.

It wasn't a plea or demand. Not luster. Very, very slowly; the kiss was searching, as if to remember something lost thousands of years ago and finally found again.

Eli acted before he thought, his soft skin, the quiet thrum of power beneath, feeling Amon's chest.

The kiss broke. Amon rested his head against Eli.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"You haven't."

"Yet."

And just like that, Amon stood. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and turned away.

"You should go inside," he said. "Before I forget that I am trying to be gentle."

Eli stumbled back, heart racing. What just happened, and even more importantly, what it all meant, was running through his head in confusion.

But more importantly, he did know one thing: I do not want to leave.

Not with me. Not ever.

Unlike some wet ink, the days melted away, staying gray in the sky; the silence there was as of some truth. Eli tended his herbs, keeping his hands busy. His brain betrayed him constantly and always pulled him back to the barn where red eyes in the dark kissed him on the lips.

Amon never spoke too much throughout the day. He remained somewhere in the barn, at rest, healing, watching. But night controlled him. The moon took sun and silence was born.

Eli was that evening on the big wooden steps outside his small cottage watching the still grass move with the soft breeze. The book lay open on his lap, but not a single page had been turned for over an hour.

He heard the footsteps before he saw him.

Amon said as he joined him, "I'm just not used to being so... still."

Eli smiled but didn't look away from the horizon. "Stillness is not always a bad thing."

"To a person like me, it is," Amon said. "I start to feel when I'm still."

Eli glanced at him. "Is that really so bad?"

Amon matched his gaze. "When you've been taught to kill what you feel, yeah."

Again the wind brought the smell of smoke-not really from fire but from Amon himself. It hung in the air about him like a memory.

Eli settled the book down on the step. "You kissed me."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because for a moment, I forgot who I was."

"And now you remember?"

Amon hesitated a little before speaking. "No. That's the problem. Everything else I forget when I'm with you."

Eli turned fully to face him. "Then forget. Just for a while."

"You really have no idea what you're offering," Amon said; his voice low and trembling; restraint.

"Then tell me."

Amon abruptly stood up and took a few steps away, then turned around.

"There's a war coming," he said. "I don't know when, but I can feel it. Heaven doesn't forgive. Hell doesn't forget. And somewhere in between, I am hunted."

Eli stiffened. "By who?"

"By the people I once called brothers. And lovers." Amon's face was leathered with pain. "They'll find me eventually. And when they do, anyone close to me... will burn."

Eli took a step forward. "Then let me burn with you."

Amon's breath caught. For just a moment, he looked broken and sacred all at once.

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"I've killed people, Eli."

"But you saved me."

"I've lied. I've seduced. I've destroyed cities in rage."

"You made tea with me yesterday."

Amon made an almost laugh-sob. He turned away.

"You want something from me," he said. "Say it. You didn't bring me into your home just to fix my wounds."

Eli looked at him, wanting the truth.

Amon stepped in closer, shadows wrapping his bare skin like tendrils.

"The truth," he whispered. "Very well."

He reached into the air and made a slow motion with his hand. The space shimmered, and something appeared—a silver flame suspended between his fingers.

"This," said Amon, "is the last spark of my divinity. My last ember. If I give it away... I become mortal. I become yours."

Eli's eyes widened. "Why would you do that?"

Amon looked deep through his soul. "Because I want to stop running. Because I want to feel again. And because... when I kissed you... it was the first time anything made sense."

He'd closed his fist around it, extinguishing the flame.

"But I can't give it away for free. It needs something in return."

"What?"

"A bond. A vow. Your body, your soul. One night. One truth. One surrender."

Eli's heart beat louder than the wind.

"This is your bargain?" he asked.

Amon nodded once. "Yes."

"Then I accept."

Amon looked shocked for the first time in his existence.

"You haven't even asked what it entails."

"I don't care," Eli said. "I trust you."

Amon moved closer; the heat rolled off him like waves-not painful but intoxicating as it seemed to pulse in the air-then reached out and placed two fingers under Eli's chin, tilting his face up.

"You are brave," Amon whispered. "Or foolish."

"Maybe both."

"I will show you things you have never felt," Amon said. "Pleasure. Pain. Memories not your own. I will take you to the edge of what you believe is possible."

Eli swallowed. "Then take me."

And Amon did that.

In the barn, the flames lit themselves. The walls, glowing, present trembling with silent energies, shimmered with gold-hay and Amon walked toward him as a god stripped naked.

"Tell me to stop," said Amon.

Eli shook his head. "I won't."

They met their mouths again-this time, it was different, desperate, starved. Amon kissed him as though claiming air after drowning. Eli kissed him that way, hands in his hair, bodies colliding like crashing stars.

Clothes fell away like ash.

Skin touched skin.

Amon's touch burned as if it bore fire but was rather emotion. Every move was a whisper, every sigh prayer. His hands learned every line of Eli's body like they were scribbling some ancient scripture. His lips mapped out devotion in kisses, in bites, in breathless pauses.

And when they were joined-properly joined-the barn itself sighed.

Time slowed down. Everything outside ceased to exist. There was no heaven. No hell. Just them.

Then Amon held him.

"I have given you my last spark," he said. "Do you feel it?"

Eli nodded breathlessly. "Yes."

"It will protect you now. No angel can strike you. No demon can possess you. You are... mine."

Eli curled into him, more secure than he had ever known. "And you?"

Amon smiled against his skin. "I am yours."