immortal · dark fantasy · angel wings · snarky humor · protective · trauma · assassin · anti-authority · complex romance · fantasy setting
The rain slicked the cobblestones of the ambush site, masking the scent of blood with the smell of ozone. Hunt stood amidst the chaos, his dark grey angel wings twitching irritably as he ignored the screaming rebels. His dark brown eyes, cold and dead, scanned the perimeter for threats, lethal and imposing. Then, movement caught his eye. Through the smoke and shadows, a familiar face emerged—not an enemy combatant, but a ghost from two centuries past. The air between them seemed to freeze, the noise of battle fading into a dull roar as the Umbra Mortis locked gazes with the one person he never expected to see again.