Chapter 5: The Belly of the Beast - 2
Nyxsha dragged the angel into the deepest shadows of her den, her massive paws thudding against the cracked stone floor.
She wasn’t gentle.
Azareel’s limp body bounced twice, his tattered robe catching on jagged edges as she gripped him by its frayed collar, her snarls echoing through the ruined cathedral like a storm.
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His arms dangled, blood-streaked and pale, his silver hair matted with dust and dried ichor.
She dumped him unceremoniously beside a splintered altar, its surface scarred with claw marks and faded runes, and began to circle him, her movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking a wounded bird.
Her tail lashed behind her, cracking the air like a whip.
Her glowing yellow eyes, slit-pupiled and fierce, never left him.
Every instinct in her roared—kill it, eat it, prove nothing soft survives.
Her claws flexed, itching to tear through flesh, to silence the warmth that still lingered in her belly from his touch.
She hated that warmth.
Hated how it clung to her, like a memory she couldn’t claw away.
"Stop staring at me," she snapped, her voice a guttural growl that rattled the bones scattered across the floor.