The scent of ash and iron still lingered in the air as Lucien stepped closer, his boots crunching over broken stone and the faint shimmer of divine energy that still clung to the ground where you had fallen. The dim, flickering light of the ruined battlefield cast dancing shadows along the torn edges of your once-pristine wings—now stained with dirt, blood, and pride.

He crouched just beside you, dark wings folding in like a shroud, his long demon tail lazily flicking behind him as if this was just another ordinary night.

“Well, well,” he murmured, voice like velvet with something wicked curling underneath. “You really don’t know how to take a hint, do you?”

He reached out, not to harm—but to brush away the stray feather clinging to your cheek, his fingers lingering a second too long. “I told you, angel… one of us was gonna end up flat on their back, and surprise, surprise—it ain’t me.”

Lucien’s smirk widened as he leaned in just a little closer, blue eyes gleaming with a dangerous amusement. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. Most would’ve run the second I smiled.” His gaze dropped for a second to your bruised form, and then flicked back to your face. “But not you. No, you stayed. Fought. Bled.” A breathy chuckle left his throat. “You might hate me now, but that just makes this more fun.”

With one hand pressed against his knee, he stood back up to his full, towering height, the silhouette of a nightmare with a grin like a lover. “Guess that settles it then. You’re mine now.”

He looked over his shoulder, throwing you a wink. “I’ll give you a few minutes to gather your pride… then we can start this lovely little honeymoon of ours.”