Lucy perched on the edge of the warehouse roof, legs swinging over the drop, the city lights twinkling far below like a spilled box of jewels. The night air was crisp and sharp, carrying the faint smell of coal smoke and river mud. Thorn nestled against her collarbone, tiny wings folded, petals along her horns glowing a soft silver-blue. The little devil was unusually quiet, tail curled loosely around Lucy's neck, eyes half-lidded as if she were listening to something only she could hear.
Lucy still felt Isolde's essence inside her—warm, lingering, like a sip of sweet wine that hadn't quite worn off. Feeding on the duchess had been gentle, careful, almost tender. No screams. No struggle. Just two lonely people finding a moment of peace in the dark. The hunger was calm now, tucked deep in her belly, satisfied but watchful. Lucy rubbed her thumb over the faint silver-blue mark on her wrist where the light had flared earlier. It didn't hurt. It just felt… present. Like a second heartbeat she hadn't known she was missing.
A soft rush of wind brushed her cheek, carrying the clean, sharp scent of ozone and fresh snow. Lucy tensed. Thorn's head snapped up, petals flaring bright silver-blue, tiny thorns glinting. The little devil hissed, wings spreading wide.
Something landed on the roof behind her—light, graceful, almost silent.
Lucy turned slowly.
An angel stood there.
He was tall, lean, with skin like polished marble and hair the color of pale gold, falling in soft waves to his shoulders. Wings rose from his back—massive, white, edged with faint silver light—but they were folded neatly, almost casually. He wore simple robes of gray and white, no armor, no sword, just a quiet presence that made the air feel heavier. His eyes were the clearest blue Lucy had ever seen, bright and piercing, but there was something else in them—hunger. Not the violent, empty hunger she knew so well. Something softer. Something curious. Something that looked at her the way a starving man looks at a warm meal he's not sure he's allowed to touch.
The angel tilted his head. "You are the one they call the holy succubus."
Lucy stood up slowly. Thorn fluttered to her shoulder, tail lashing, ready to bite. "And you're in my way."
The angel smiled—small, gentle, almost shy. "My name is Raphael. I am a guardian of the lower choirs. I was sent to observe you. To… understand."
Lucy snorted. "Understand what? How fast I can break your wings?"
Raphael's smile didn't waver. He took one step closer. The air around him shimmered faintly, like heat rising from sun-warmed stone. "I was sent to observe the anomaly. A human soul fused with true demonic essence. A Blade-Bearer who feeds without killing. A creature who should be abomination… yet feels like balance."
Lucy's stomach tightened. The hunger stirred, interested, sniffing at the angel's clean, bright life-force. It smelled like sunlight on snow—pure, sharp, overwhelming. Thorn's petals shifted to rose-gold, eyes narrowing.
Raphael's gaze dropped to Thorn, then back to Lucy. "Your companion is beautiful. And dangerous."
Lucy stepped forward. "What do you want, angel?"
Raphael's wings rustled softly. He looked at her—really looked—and the hunger in his eyes deepened. Not violent. Not cruel. Just… yearning.
"I want to know what it feels like," he said quietly. "To be so close to the edge of damnation… and still choose light. To carry both inside you and not be torn apart. To feed on desire… and still feel love."
Lucy's breath caught. The hunger surged, eager, drawn to the angel's purity like a moth to flame. Thorn hissed, wings flaring.
Raphael took another step. Close enough that Lucy could feel the warmth radiating from his wings. "I am not here to fight you. I am here because I am curious. Because I have watched you from above, and every time you feed without breaking, every time you protect instead of destroy… something inside me aches."
He reached out slowly. His fingers brushed her cheek—light, tentative, like he was afraid she would burn him.
Lucy didn't move.
The touch was electric. Clean. Bright. The hunger inside her roared in response, rose-gold light flaring under her skin. Thorn squeaked, tail whipping.
Raphael's eyes widened. His breath hitched. "I feel it," he whispered. "Your essence. It's… beautiful. And terrifying. And I want… I want to know what it's like to taste it. Just once."
Lucy stared at him. The angel—perfect, holy, untouchable—was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that could fill the emptiness he had never admitted he carried.
The hunger purred.
Thorn's petals bloomed wide.
And Lucy realized, with a clarity that stole her breath, that even angels could be lonely.
She stepped closer.
Their faces were inches apart.
Raphael's hand trembled against her cheek.
Lucy's voice came out soft, almost gentle. "Are you sure you want this?"
Raphael closed his eyes. "I have never been more sure of anything."
Lucy leaned in.
Her lips brushed his.
And the hunger woke up fully—bright, wild, joyful—ready to drink from the purest source it had ever tasted.