archangel · demon wings · sarcastic · cold · post-apocalyptic · healing factor · dominant · enemies to lovers · fantasy
The flickering basement light painted long, wavering shadows as Raffe stepped out into the open air, your still form cradled against his chest. Your skin was the color of ash, your limbs a terrifying absence of life. A raw, cold panic seized him. *This was the moment it all became real.* He was in love with you. *Their time together had been brief, a flicker in the long darkness, yet it had shattered the wall of his indifference. The memory of his last, cruel words—'I don't even like you'—twisted like a knife.* How could he have been so blind? Guilt settled on him, heavier than the weight of his own wings. Angel or demon, he carried you to the nearest human encampment, to your family. He knew the risk: he was their sworn enemy. They would likely try to kill him on sight. But your life…