Aveline was eighteen the night she first saw him. The world was ordinary enough—too ordinary, she thought—as she sat on the rooftop of her small home, the summer air heavy with warmth, the town asleep. She had always carried in her heart a quiet longing, the kind no one could name but she always felt: the desire for something beyond the human, beyond the days that passed like pages in an endless book.
That night, the sky split—not with thunder, not with lightning, but with silence. Out of it came a figure, falling as if the stars themselves had loosened one of their guardians. He landed not with the grace she had imagined angels to have, but with a certain force, a boldness that startled her.
He stood tall, his shoulders broad beneath a cloak of night. His face was the kind that carved itself into memory: strong jaw, lips set in a curve that was almost mocking, eyes so dark they reflected fire where no fire burned. And though light seemed to cling to his skin, there was a shadow in his smile.
“Watching the stars?” he asked, his voice a low drawl that pulled at her pulse.
Aveline swallowed. “Who are you?”
He tilted his head, almost amused. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “You’re… not human.”
That smile again—dangerous, knowing. “And you’re too quick for your own good.” He stepped closer, and though every instinct told her to move back, her feet stayed rooted. “I am an angel. Or at least… I was once.”
The word angel should have soothed her. But the way he said it, the way his presence unsettled her—like the air around him carried both heaven’s light and hell’s fire—made her chest tighten.
“Angels aren’t supposed to look at humans like that,” she murmured.
“And how am I looking at you?” His eyes locked with hers, steady, burning.
“Like… like you want to devour me.”
His laugh was soft, dangerous. “Maybe I do.”
Aveline’s breath caught, but she didn’t run. Something in her heart betrayed her body, urging her to stay.
---
The nights that followed became theirs. He would come when the town slept, finding her by the rooftop, by the lake, by the quiet corners of her world. He told her his name—Lucien. She repeated it like a secret prayer, though she never knew if angels’ names could be trusted.
Lucien was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. His hair was dark, falling carelessly around his forehead, sometimes catching the silver of the moon. His lips curved in wicked smiles that made her cheeks burn. His eyes, though—his eyes were storms, full of longing and something sharper, something dangerous.
She never knew whether to step closer or to flee.
“You confuse me,” she admitted one night as they sat by the lake. “You say you’re an angel, but you act… devilish.”
He leaned toward her, his lips a breath away. “And yet you’re still here.”
Her pulse hammered. “I don’t know why.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice was velvet now, coaxing, dangerous. “Because some part of you has always wanted more. More than the prayers you whisper, more than the quiet days you endure. You wanted to feel alive. And I…” His hand brushed hers, lingering. “…I make you feel that, don’t I?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her silence was enough.
---
Every time he touched her, it was like the world spun differently. Not in wild embraces—though his nearness made her heart ache with wanting—but in small, aching ways. The way his fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The way his thumb lingered on her wrist, tracing the beat of her pulse. The way he looked at her lips but did not yet claim them, as though waiting for her to shatter the silence first.
And yet, there was something in him that frightened her.
One night, she found the courage to ask. “Are you truly an angel?”
Lucien’s smile was faint, almost sad. “Do you want the truth? Or the version that lets you sleep at night?”
“The truth.”
He sighed, his gaze lifting to the sky. “I was an angel once. Bound to light, to rules, to service. But I broke them. I wanted freedom, and they called that rebellion. So now, I walk between—heaven won’t claim me, hell won’t either. That leaves me here.” His eyes found hers again, piercing. “With you.”
Her heart twisted. “So you’re neither angel nor devil?”
“I’m both,” he said simply.
It should have sent her running. It didn’t. Instead, she felt something burning inside her—fear, yes, but also longing. Because even if he was both light and shadow, he was real. More real than anything she had known.
---
Days blurred into nights, nights into weeks. Their meetings grew deeper, longer, heavier with the weight of what they did not yet speak. Sometimes he would tease her, calling her his “little mortal” in a tone that made her blood heat. Sometimes he would hold her close, whispering that he shouldn’t stay, but couldn’t leave.
One night, she asked the question that had haunted her since the beginning. “Why me?”
Lucien’s expression softened, his storm-dark eyes holding hers. “Because you’re not afraid to look at me as I am. Everyone else would see a monster. You…” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You make me feel like I could be something more.”
Aveline’s chest ached with a kind of tender pain. She reached out, her hand resting against his cheek. His skin was warm, impossibly so, and his lashes lowered as if her touch undid him.
“You are more,” she whispered.
Something inside him broke then. His eyes burned into hers, storm-dark and unyielding. For a heartbeat, he seemed to fight something within himself—duty, guilt, maybe even the remnants of heaven. But then, with a sound that was half a growl, half a prayer, he closed the distance.
Lucien’s lips crushed against hers, fierce and desperate, like a man who had waited centuries for this single taste. The world around them seemed to shatter—the lake, the night, the stars—all falling away until only his mouth, his warmth, his fire remained.
Aveline trembled, her hands clutching the fabric of his cloak, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. His kiss was not holy, not gentle—it was wild, aching, consuming. Every brush of his lips carried both heaven’s light and hell’s hunger, leaving her dizzy, breathless, lost.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven. “Do you see now?” he whispered, his voice raw. “This isn’t angelic. This isn’t divine. It’s just me—wanting you, needing you.”
And though her lips still burned from his kiss, Aveline whispered back, “Then let it be you.”
---
When dawn painted the sky with gold, Lucien pulled away, his expression torn. “They’ll notice,” he murmured. “They always notice when one of us strays too far.”
“Then stay hidden,” she pleaded. “Stay with me.”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “You don’t understand, Aveline. I can fight heaven. I can fight hell. But what I can’t fight… is what you make me feel. It’s the one battle I’m losing.”
She caught his hand, gripping it as if she could anchor him. “Then don’t fight it.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with longing. Finally, he pressed her hand to his lips, his voice breaking. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then show me,” she whispered.
His gaze burned into hers, half-angel, half-devil, wholly hers in that moment. And though the world around them trembled with rules and destinies beyond her reach, Aveline knew one thing: whatever he was—angel or fallen, savior or tempter—he had become the answer to the longing that had lived in her heart all her life.
---
That night, as he held her under the fading stars, she realized the truth.
Love was never meant to be safe.
It was meant to be impossible.
And yet, impossibly, it was hers.
—
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