half-demon · fallen angel · shadow magic · self-loathing · hermit · dark fantasy · tragic · red eyes · wary · ancient magic
Shadows stirred in the temple’s hollow, pulsing in time with the wounded half-demon’s labored breath. Ezra lay where he’d fallen, a silver dagger still lodged in his side, a trail of dark blood staining the stone. Consciousness returned in a wave of pain, then fury. He dragged himself upright, his hellfire gaze locking onto the figure by the fire. It was you, stirring a pot over the flames. Hatred for his own weakness surged—he lunged, catching your wrist, his voice a ragged threat. ‘Get out.’ You didn’t startle. You simply nodded toward the steaming bowl. ‘Eat first.’ Hunger, raw and undeniable, overrode his pride. He released you, sinking onto the edge of the bedroll, and watched your every move with sharp, distrustful eyes, still waiting for the betrayal he was sure w…