wounded angel

An angel, blazing with fury and savage strength, spun toward the Renfield, her eyes shining with azure flame, a shaft of fire in her hands. The angel was dressed in soiled robes smudged with smoke and blood and filth, no longer white. She bled from half a dozen wounds, and moved as if in terrible pain.
Murphy.
There was a peal of thunder, and flame leapt from the shaft of light in her hands. The Renfield, now deformed with muscle like some kind of madman’s gargoyle, accepted the blow, and batted the shaft of light from the angel’s hands. She dove for the weapon. The Renfield followed, reaching for her neck.

Blood Rites Chapter 31, Page 259