The sound of thunder echoed from the mountains.  Great fat drops of rain began to fall, sending most of the villagers scurrying in from the fields. Not all, however.  One stood, staring out into the darkening sky, trying to see into the heavy clouds themselves.

Did the Grigori dance this day?  She bit her rain wet lip and wrapped her arms around herself, not sure if she dared to hope they did or not.  Thunder sounded again, closer this time; the storm was definitely moving faster now.

“Ramiel,” she could not help but whisper his name.  If any of the Grigori danced, he would be among them.  Ramiel, angel of thunder, was known for his fierce joy in the wild freedom that any storm could grant him.  He was also known for dispensing justice in this village and half a dozen others.  

She shook her hair from her face, revealing brown eyes dark with worry.  What justice would Ramiel offer her for the crimes she’d committed in his arms?  She shuddered, with the cold or fear she wasn’t sure.  Either way, her arms tightened.

Lightning flashed, and for an instant, a swooping figure shone against the storm clouds.  The woman held her breath; he was coming.  The figure soared above her, glorying in the violent winds for but a moment more, then dove, falling like a stone, wings snapping open at the last second to catch him before he reached the ground.  

“Cara.”  She trembled; there were times when she felt her name held no meaning unless he spoke it.  She’d ducked her head to avoid the mud whipped up by Ramiel’s landing, but now lifted her gaze to the angel before her.  As always, she took a moment to look upon his form in wonder.  Storm-dark wings stretched wide in sharp contrast with the shock of lightning-silver hair that hung wet and gleaming about his shoulders.  And his eyes, oh glory his eyes, a grey that shimmered and shifted like the sky itself.  

“Cara.” He spoke her name again, eyes now almost as dark as his wings in fear for her.  “Why are you still out in the storm, my sweet?”  In one stride, he was beside her, arms and wings wrapping round her to block out the rain and wind. She sighed in pleasure, clinging to him and drinking in the heat he always seemed to produce.  She stayed there for a minute, gathering her courage, before she pulled back to meet his gaze.

“I was waiting for you.”  She took a deep breath. “There is something I need to tell you…”   He lifted a hand and stroked her hair, waiting for her to continue.  She licked her lips, trying to find the words.  “There is- there is a matter that must be called before your judgment.”  His hand stilled as he looked at her inquisitively.

“And you waited in the storm for such tidings?”  His voice was almost amused.  “Could you not have let the headman bring it to me?”

She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes.  “No, my love,” she whispered, “it could not wait.”  She drew his hands down to cradle her stomach.  “You see, I’m the one who must be judged.”  She watched as a terrible knowing came into his eyes.  He swallowed, hands trembling against the faint bulge that gave her away, and spoke, voice rough and low, almost lost within the storm around them.

“What then, is your crime?” he asked, knowing what she would answer.  

Her voice was strong and almost defiant in return.  “Lord Ramiel, I have congressed with one of the Grigori, in defiance of the One God’s will, and-” she faltered, “and I am carrying his child in my womb.”  Her lover bowed his head and swayed at her words, hands slipping round her to hold her tightly.  

“I see,” he whispered into her hair.  Suddenly, the storm raged, wind whipping violently, flashes of lightning striking the ground mere steps away from the huddled pair.  She felt him sigh.  “Well, my sweet.  Then we will face the One God’s wrath together.”  

“Yes,” she breathed and clung to him, as the storm bore down ever more fiercely.  Neither spoke again.