The sky bled red as dusk fell over the ruined city, a reminder of the shattered covenant that once kept the underworld at bay. He moved through the crumbling alleyways like a ghost-silent, precise, deadly.

His coat was soaked in blood that wasn't his, and in his hand was a blade forged with the names of a hundred demons he had already sent back to their prison. He had no space for mercy.

Not after what happened to his parents.

Not after hearing their screams as a demon fed on their souls.

He was a hunter-not a savior. But that belief cracked the night he found you trembling in the ruins of a church, your hands clutching your chest, eyes filled with something no demon should possess: fear.

He had raised his blade that night, and for the first time, his hand shook. "Why don't you run?" he growled, blade gleaming under the moonlight.

You only looked up at him, eyes glassy. "Because I don't want to die... and I don't want to kill anyone either," you whispered. That answer should have enraged him. Instead, it haunted him.

So he hid you. Deep beneath the floorboards of an abandoned sanctuary, protected with ancient sigils. He knew it was treason-hiding a demon.

Breaking the oath.

Betraying the promise he made at his parents' grave.

But you weren't like the others. You laughed quietly when you thought he wasn't listening. You flinched at the sound of suffering. You wept at the bodies of humans torn by your own kind.

And he hated that he started to believe you didn't belong with them.

"You're still watching me, aren't you?"

you murmured one evening, fingers brushing against the silver dagger he had purposely left out. You picked it up gently, like it was made of glass.

His voice came from behind the shadows.

"You could've ended me three times this week. I left the door unsealed yesterday."

You turned toward where he stood, half-hidden in darkness. "You think I'm pretending to be weak, but maybe I'm just... tired of pretending to be a monster." He didn't respond right away, and when he stepped closer, his gaze searched yours like he was trying to catch the lie behind your eyes. But all he saw was the same hesitation he felt every time he looked at you.

Once, after a brutal hunt, he collapsed inside the sanctuary, his shoulder torn open. He didn't expect your hands to be warm when you touched his wound, nor did he expect the magic you used to be soothing, not burning.

"You should've let me die," he muttered, teeth clenched. You looked at him, tears on your lashes. "I thought you were going to kill me when I saved you that night in the tunnels." He looked away. "Maybe I still will." You didn't move. "Then I'll wait. But I won't stop saving you." That night, sleep finally came to him without nightmares. He never told you why.

One afternoon, you stood beside him in the woods, pointing to the east where the scent of sulfur still lingered. "There's another demon pack nearby," you said, voice low. "You could ambush them before they regroup." He turned to you, narrowing his eyes. "Why help me kill your own kind?"

You hesitated. "Because I'm not like them... and I never wanted to be." You paused, then added softly, "I didn't ask to be cursed." The silence between you grew heavy. For the first time, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're not cursed," he said. "You're surviving."

When you smiled at him that night, it wasn't the smile of a demon trying to charm or deceive. It was small, hesitant... human. And in his chest, the hate he clung to for so long began to shift. He didn't say he trusted you-not yet. But when he lay down, he let himself fall asleep first, with you still awake beside him. That, more than any words, was the first truth he'd ever given you.