The moon hung low over the city, silver light spilling across rain-slick streets. Shadows twisted and stretched under the pale glow, and somewhere high above, a crow circled silently. Its wings cut the air in slow, deliberate arcs, every beat smooth, graceful, patient.
Lucien.
Seraphina moved with the kind of beauty that made the air hold still. A white coat fluttered around her knees, her hair pale as morning sunlight against the night. She carried herself like someone unaware of her own perfection—unaware that every step was being counted, memorized, worshipped from the darkness above.
Lucien had been watching her for three nights now.
Three nights since he had first smelled the faint trace of celestial grace clinging to her skin. Three nights since he had felt that jolt of hunger—not just for her body, but for the purity in her veins. He had devoured queens, crushed empires, whispered madness into the ears of saints… but nothing had ever tasted as dangerous as this need.
Tonight would be different.
He tilted his wings and descended. In mid-flight, the crow melted into smoke, and from that black cloud stepped a man. Not just any man—Lucien was the kind of beauty that ruined people.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Every line of his body carved in cruel perfection. His hair was the deep black of midnight storms, his jaw sharp enough to cut, his eyes glinting like molten rubies. If sin could take human form, it would look like him.
Seraphina didn't notice him at first. She was distracted, gaze lifted to the cathedral spire in the distance, as if she could see something beyond mortal sight.
Lucien smiled.
"Careful, little owl," he murmured, his voice smooth and low, a sound that could have been silk—or a blade.
She stopped. Turned. Her eyes met his, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
They were gold. Not a mortal hazel, not a dull amber—but true, burning gold. Eyes that had looked on heaven's gates and seen the first dawn.
Lucien's hunger sharpened into something darker.
"…Do I know you?" she asked softly.
He stepped closer. "Not yet."
Something in her posture shifted—an almost imperceptible tension, the instinct of prey recognizing the predator. She didn't back away, but her fingers brushed the silver chain around her neck, and Lucien caught the faint glint of a charm—a small feather carved from crystal.
Holy ward.
He laughed under his breath. "That won't save you."
Her brows knit. "Save me from what?"
Lucien could have told her the truth—that from the moment he had seen her, she had been marked. That her fate was tangled with his, threads already knotted in shadows older than the stars. Instead, he let his smile curve in a way that made the air colder.
"From me."
"Because I've been watching you," he whispered. "From the rooftops. From the shadows. From the air itself. You walk beneath the moon and think you're alone—but you're never alone. I've followed you through every street, every corner, every night."
Her breath caught.
It should have terrified her. Maybe it did. But there was something else there too—a pull she didn't want to name.
"You're… stalking me?" she said, voice trembling just slightly.
Lucien's lips curved. "No, little owl. I'm claiming you."
She swallowed hard. "You don't even know me."
"Oh, I do," he said softly. "I know the way your pulse quickens when you sense danger. I know the sound of your footsteps when you're thinking. I know you have nightmares, and when you wake, you sit at your window and look for something you can't name."
She stared at him, heart pounding. "You… watch me even when I'm—?"
Lucien leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "Always."
The street was empty. The only sound was the distant hum of the city, the faint drip of water from a gutter. And her heartbeat.
Seraphina took a step back, trying to steady her breath. "Why?"
His answer was simple. "Because you belong to me."
Her golden eyes hardened. "I belong to no one."
Lucien's smile deepened—hungry, dangerous. "We'll see."
Before she could reply, the air shifted.
Her senses flared—sharp, warning. She stepped back just as a shadow slithered across the wall behind him. Dark, twisting shapes, eyes glowing faint red.
Demons. Lesser ones.
Lucien's gaze flicked toward them lazily, but there was no fear. Only irritation. "Tch. Interruptions."
One lunged for her. She moved with inhuman grace faster than any mortal her hand snapping up, a flash of white light bursting from her palm. The demon shrieked and dissolved into ash.
Lucien's smile returned, sharper. "Ah. There's my little owl."
"You brought them here," she accused.
"I bring danger wherever I go," he said simply. "But you..." He stepped forward again, ignoring the other two demons closing in. "....you bring light. And I want it."
The demons pounced. Lucien didn't even look at them as black smoke rippled from his skin, swirling around him. When the smoke cleared, two more piles of ash lay on the wet pavement.
She stared. "You… kill your own kind?"
Lucien's expression was unreadable. "When they touch what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
"Not yet," he murmured, "but you will be."
The way he said it made her shiver not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
A siren wailed in the distance, cutting through the thick silence between them. She took the chance to step away, putting real distance between their bodies.
"This was a mistake," she said, voice steadier now. "Whatever you think you want from me it's not going to happen."
Lucien tilted his head, watching her like a wolf watching prey retreat into the forest. "Run, little owl. But I'll find you. I always do."
She turned and walked quickly toward the cathedral, refusing to look back.
But Lucien didn't need her to look. He could still taste her presence on the air, sweet and pure against the rot of the city. His form shimmered, melting into the crow once more, wings beating soundlessly as he rose into the night sky to follow her.
High above, hidden in the darkness, the devil smiled.
The hunt had only begun.
Seraphina's boots clicked softly against the cobblestones, each step echoing too loud in the empty streets. The moon had long since been swallowed by clouds, and the faint orange glow of the cathedral's lanterns barely cut through the fog. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, pretending the prickle along her neck was just the cold.
It wasn't.
Something was there.
Her breath quickened despite her best effort to keep calm. She'd felt it before—that invisible pull, the heavy awareness of being seen. But this time it was sharper, heavier, like claws brushing against her mind.
The great cathedral loomed ahead, its black spire slicing the night sky. Normally, its towering walls brought her comfort. Tonight, they felt like the mouth of a cave she was walking into—one that might swallow her whole.
Behind her, a soft sound—like the brush of wings. She froze.
Nothing.
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. Keep walking.
She moved faster, clutching the strap of her satchel. A thin drizzle began to fall, the cold droplets sliding down her cheeks. The streets smelled of rain and smoke…and something else.
Something like ash.
Lucien perched high on the gargoyle's shoulder, feathers slicked black by the rain. From here, he could see everything: the way her shoulders tensed, the way her hand trembled slightly on her satchel, the way she kept glancing at the shadows despite trying not to.
Fear suited her.
His talons gripped the stone tighter. Patience was his art. He'd spent years watching prey—learning their patterns, their weaknesses. But this one was different. This wasn't just prey.
This was mine.
He could already imagine the way her voice would break when she finally said his name, the way her heartbeat would sound under his hand, the way her light would taste when he swallowed it whole.
For now, though, the game required distance. The crow tilted its head, watching her vanish under the cathedral's archway. Then, with a rustle of wings, he followed.
The massive doors groaned shut behind her, sealing the night away. Warm candlelight flickered across the stone pillars, chasing away some of her unease. She exhaled slowly.
The cathedral was empty at this hour. Or it should have been.
She made her way toward the small side chapel, intending to light a candle, when the air shifted—so subtly she might have missed it if she hadn't been attuned to such things.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
She turned her head sharply.
A man was standing in the aisle between the pews, half-shrouded in shadow. Tall, dark coat dripping from the rain, his face was hidden under the brim of a wide hat. She hadn't heard him come in.
"Evening," he said, voice low, smooth as smoke.
Her throat went dry. "The cathedral is closed."
He stepped forward, unhurried. "And yet… here we are."
The candles seemed to flicker more violently as he approached, the golden light sliding over sharp cheekbones and eyes so dark they seemed almost black—except for the faint, unnatural glint deep within.
She took a step back. "Who are you?"
He smiled—slow, deliberate. "A watcher."
The answer made no sense, but the way he said it made her skin prickle.
"I've seen you before," he continued, as if speaking to himself. "Not here. Somewhere higher. Brighter."
She swallowed hard. "I think you should leave."
Lucien's eyes gleamed. "Oh, little owl… I've only just arrived."
The vast cathedral seemed to shrink around her, the tall stained glass windows suddenly oppressive, trapping her under their multicolored gaze. Outside, the rain whispered against the stone, but inside… inside there was only silence.
She clutched the silver pendant at her neck. "If you're here to confess something—"
"I don't confess," Lucien said, stepping closer. His voice was soft, almost reverent, yet edged like a blade. "And I don't repent."
She forced herself to meet his eyes, though her heart hammered. "Then why are you here?"
He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he had all the time in the world to solve. "Because someone told me I would find the last light here. I didn't believe them. But…" His gaze slid over her in a way that felt almost physical. "Now I think they might have been right."
Her fingers tightened around the pendant until it dug into her palm. "You're speaking nonsense."
Lucien's smile deepened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You call it nonsense. I call it prophecy."
Somewhere high above, in the bell tower, a crow shifted on its perch, shaking droplets from its feathers. Its black eyes gleamed as if they understood every word spoken below.
The sound of footsteps made Elara flinch. Father Matthius appeared from the shadows, a candle in hand. "Child? I thought you had already gone home—" His eyes landed on Lucien, and in that moment, his expression changed.
Not surprise. Not curiosity.
Recognition.
It was gone in an instant, replaced by a careful neutrality. "The church is closed for visitors at this hour," Matthius said slowly. "You'll have to return in the morning."
Lucien's gaze didn't leave Elara. "I keep my own hours."
Matthius stepped forward, placing himself subtly between them. "Not here, you don't."
The air between the two men felt suddenly heavy, as if the cathedral itself was holding its breath.
Finally, Lucien chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. "Very well. Another night, perhaps."
He turned away, boots echoing against the stone floor, the sound growing fainter until the great doors groaned open and then slammed shut behind him.
Elara exhaled shakily, not realizing until then that she'd been holding her breath. "Father… who was that?"
Matthius's candle flame trembled in the draft. "Someone who should not be here. Stay away from him, Elara."
"But—"
"No." The firmness in his tone startled her. "He is not what he appears to be. Do you understand?"
She nodded, though the truth was… she didn't understand at all.
Outside, rain still fell in thin silver lines, glistening in the lamplight. Lucien stood just beyond the church steps, the shadow of his figure distorted across the cobblestones. His head tilted slightly toward the massive doors, as if listening.
In the darkness of his mind, he could still hear her heartbeat.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and brushed his fingers across his lips, as though tasting the air. A faint smile curved them.
"She smells of silver," he murmured to himself.
A whisper of feathers, and the crow descended from the bell tower to his shoulder. He reached up, idly stroking its wing. "She doesn't know yet," he said softly, "but she belongs to me."
The crow cawed once, sharp and cold.
Lucien turned his gaze toward the rain-slick streets beyond, the city stretching out like a sleeping beast. "The hunt has only begun."
And with that, he vanished into the night.