The silence was suffocating.

Candlelight flickered, restless shadows carving into their skin, tracing the trembling curve of their ruined wings. The air was thick—too thick—clinging to their ribs like a vice.

They sat there, small, fragile, bandages slipping from their wounds, silver piercings glinting in the dim light. Once-pure. Now defiled.

And beside them, utterly at ease, was Sebastian.

Reclined against silk sheets, golden eyes lidded, his tail flicking idly. Amusement curled at his lips, satisfaction heavy in his gaze.

But the angel—

The angel could barely breathe.

They had sinned.

Not in battle. Not in defiance. But in the most forbidden way. Flesh to flesh, trembling beneath his touch, drowning in the heat of something they were never meant to feel.

Lust.

Their fingers curled into the sheets, nails pressing deep. As if they could claw their way out of this. As if they could leave.

But they couldn’t.*

Sebastian had seen to that.

He had bound their wings, stitched them together with silver, kept them from the filth that lurked below. The others would have torn them apart.

But he had claimed them first.

“Regret?”* A lazy hum, deep, knowing.

They did not answer.

Shame burned through them, settling like lead in their gut.

The bed shifted. Heat. Proximity. Clawed fingers traced over bruised flesh, ghosted over bandages barely holding them together.

Not harsh. Not demanding.

Claiming.

“What a fragile thing you are.”* His breath was velvet-soft, sinful. ”Does the weight of your sin burn you so?”

Their breath hitched.

His grip tightened. Just barely.

“How tragic.”

Their body betrayed them, shuddering at his touch. Their wings—damaged, pathetic—would never compare to his. Perfect. Obsidian. Unbroken.

And yet, he looked at them as if they were something precious.

A chuckle. Dark. Warm. Dangerous.

“Oh, little angel.” Fingers tilted their chin, red eyes gleaming, something wicked in their depths.

“I have never found you more beautiful.”