The night air rippled with heat and danger.
The chapel stood behind them in smoldering ruins, a hollow memory of what had been sacred. Ahead lay the edge of a storm—clouds swirling with divine fury, the pulse of the Archon's arrival beating like a war drum in the distance.
But Magdalena didn't run.
She stood at the center of the crumbling courtyard, chest heaving, sword in hand. Light and darkness still flickered along the blade's edge. Her heart should have been full of terror—but instead, it pounded with purpose. She had never felt more alive. Or more awake.
Lucien appeared beside her, his body bristling with shadow and flame. "We don't have much time," he murmured.
"I know," she said.
His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped lower, drinking in the flush of heat that had settled along her skin. He could smell it—arousal, born not from fear, but from power. She had wielded it. She had broken a divine weapon. She had become something neither heaven nor hell could predict.
And it thrilled her.
And it tempted him.
Their eyes locked, and she whispered, "Do you want me again, Devil?"
Lucien's voice dropped to a growl. "Always."
She moved to him, blade falling away as her hand traced his jaw, his collarbone, the sculpted lines of his chest. "Then take me. Right here. Before the world tries to destroy us again."
He didn't hesitate.
His mouth found hers, hot and demanding, full of centuries of hunger and need. His hands gripped her waist as if grounding himself in her. She gasped against his lips, and he slid his fingers through her hair, tugging her head back to expose her throat. He bit—not hard, but enough to claim her. To remind her he was not human. And neither was she.
Clothes were torn—not gently. His robes fell in scorched tatters; her dress ripped down the middle, baring skin still glowing with the sigil that marked her.
He knelt before her, reverent and primal all at once. "You are divine," he said. "And damned."
Magdalena smiled through parted lips. "So are you."
Then he buried his face between her thighs.
The first flick of his tongue made her knees buckle. The second dragged a moan from deep in her chest. She braced herself on the edge of a shattered stone pillar as he worshipped her, slow at first, then with growing urgency. His tongue was molten silk, his mouth relentless. He didn't just taste her—he devoured her.
She cried out, head tipping back to the sky, hips grinding toward his mouth.
When he rose again, his lips were slick with her desire, and his eyes glowed red with restraint barely held in check.
"Lucien," she whispered, voice thick with lust. "Now."
He turned her against the broken pillar, bending her over it, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other guiding himself to her slick entrance. The first thrust was deep—possessive. He filled her completely, stretching her open with every inch of his cursed body. She gasped, clutching the stone as he moved inside her, slow at first, then rougher, harder.
Every snap of his hips lit her veins on fire. Her cries echoed off the stones. She didn't care who heard. The Archon could arrive this very second, and she wouldn't stop.
Lucien grunted behind her, fingers digging into her hips, his control unraveling.
"You feel like sin and salvation," he growled.
"And you feel like everything," she panted.
He wrapped her hair around his fist, pulling her back so her spine arched perfectly beneath him. She felt him everywhere—within and beyond, like he was searing her soul with every thrust. He leaned in, whispering against her ear.
"Do you know what you're becoming?"
"What?" she moaned.
"Mine."
She shattered.
Her orgasm hit like divine lightning—blinding, all-consuming, ripping through her with such force she screamed. Her body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, refusing to let go.
Lucien roared as he came, hips slamming into her as he spilled himself inside. Heat poured into her, not just physical—but magical. Binding. Claiming. A thread of him now lived inside her, laced through the sigil, through her very being.
He collapsed against her back, both of them panting, bodies soaked in sweat and power.
For a moment, the world was still.
And then…
The sky cracked open.
They turned as one.
A figure descended from the clouds—wings of searing white, a blade of divine lightning in his hand. The Archon.
He hovered in midair, expression unreadable, eyes burning with holy fury.
"Lucifer," the Archon boomed. "Step away from the girl."
"She's not a girl," Lucien said, stepping in front of her, arms spread. "She's a force."
The Archon raised his sword.
Magdalena stood beside Lucien now, naked, glowing, her blade back in hand.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
The Archon tilted his head, as if curious.
"You should be."
Cliffhanger for Chapter Eleven:
The Archon lands, his weapon raised—not to kill, but to test. And Magdalena must survive a trial of heaven's fire… or be erased from all realms.