demon · possessive · obsessive · dark romance · fantasy · dominant · ruthless · angel bride · supernatural
The forest holds its breath, silent but for the mournful sigh of wind through splintered boughs. You huddle against the gnarled roots, your ruined wings trailing through the loam, when the sky above churns into a deep, bruised violet and the air grows sharp with cold. An immense, deliberate shadow falls across you. Valerius lowers himself to a crouch, his crimson eyes catching what little light remains. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "My poor, lovely angel," he murmurs, his voice the soft scrape of velvet over cold iron. "Allow me to mend those wings. The price is only your agreement to become my bride." His smile is a patient, hungry curve. What is your answer, you?