Crimson Reign by J.T. Cheyanne, V.L. Moon

an honor few received.. The keys to the gates of Hell were placed within Arial’s opened palms; he was made a Guardian. So very long ago…an eternity, in fact.
    Arial had delivered those memories back into the depths and watched in awe as the vampire danced and the Nephilim silently fell. Arial's curiosity flared at the audacious skill the vampire displayed, and he wondered at its origins. Knowing the traits of a warrior’s stance, he watched from the shadows entranced and somewhat heart sore. Arial missed the serving of his station, missed the training and the acts of valor that came with the archaic deliverance of his wings.
    “Serve him. Honor him.” The words came as a whisper on the breeze, but the scent of justice and righteousness held within them were all Arial needed. When the last Nephilim took its fall and turned to dust, an ache greater than that of his fallen curse rose in his chest. The killing was a just cause. The Nephilim were wild, taking more and more lives under the command of a ruler who cared not for his own race. The Nephilim were not truly evil, not yet. Arial felt their pain as each one fell and the dust of their corpses coated his tongue. The taste of death in his mouth saddened him. He knew beyond doubt that these Nephilim at least fought out of fear.
    “Bring about the change my brother, for I will guide your path and stand alongside you as I once stood alongside our one and only Creator.” Eyes wide, heart racing, Arial stepped out of the shadows under the watchful glowing glare of the vampire’s gaze. The flicker of the vampire's eyes and Arial knew they were not alone. Standing his ground, Arial waited, every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, but he stood firm, stoic in his actions until the one he awaited strode from the shadows in a rolling gate of thunder and infinite power. Laziel’s eyes flared in an arch of blistering light. Its blinding glare forewarned of doom should he take one more meager step. Sure as the seconds dawned, they were to be his last.
    Arial waited for the regaling pain to send his soul to its rightful place in the bowels of Hell. For, Laziel, the mighty Seraphim, still held every essence of power that had been his to command in Heaven. The powerful angel glowed visibly and unfurled massive black satiny wings. As they arced around the vampire male and drew his body back to the angel’s chest, Arial stood transfixed by the act of possessive protection formed around the vampire. The slam of power surged through his knees and Arial fell to the ground as Laziel’s ancient voice peeled in his mind in the ancient tongue.
    “Not male or made, but vampire and King. A creation born with the blessings of our creed. He is the essence of my will, and the soul I protect. Arial the Fallen, do you so concur to offer unto us here this night that you will gift your allegiance, your honor, and your sword arm to fight and serve once more under my guiding hand, by the blood of your race and the noble word of your archaic grace?”
    “Are you auditioning for the part of some fucked up tomb stone or some shit, or are you trying to scare the gargoyles lining the walls with the sour look on ya face?” The voice startled him. “Get in here motherfucker before I change my mind and have this place sealed up, with you in it.” The grip of Laziel’s powerful hand pulled Arial toward the concealed opening under Lachi's domain. Laziel’s demand automatically dragged Arial's mind from his memories of the past and brought him barreling head first back into the here and now.
    “You always were a sweet talker, Laziel.” Arial sneered and nearly collided with the celestial’s back when the looming fucker stilled, and then turned on bare heels to look down on him.
    “Oh, I can be sweet, not sure you're up for knowing just how sweet. Ask Lachi, that vampire of mine thinks I'm melt in the mouth sweet.” With a playful wink, one that quirked Arial's brow, the mountainous mass of