---
"You… belong to me."
The words were not spoken they were carved into the marrow of her bones. A whisper that burned like fire, a vow that settled deep in her soul as if it had always been there, waiting for him to speak it aloud.
The chamber held its breath.
Dr. Kleiman's hand tightened around Aria's wrist, yanking her a step back from the obsidian sarcophagus. "Aria, move." His voice was taut, urgent.
She couldn't.
The creature before her was not of this world. His presence bent the air, made it heavy, warping it around him. Silver hair spilled over his bare shoulders, framing a face too beautiful to belong to the living. His eyes silver laced with shadow were locked entirely on her, ancient and predatory.
Her two team members clung to the tunnel wall. One had collapsed outright, the other staring in wide-eyed horror at the winged figure unfurling himself from centuries of confinement. The great black feathers, torn in places and edged in silver light, stretched as though tasting freedom for the first time in ages.
"W-who" Her voice cracked. "Who are you?"
His lips curved, but it was not a smile. "Azariel." The name was a dark chord, vibrating in her chest. "The last you will ever need to speak."
Symbols along the stone walls flared with sudden light, runes that had been dormant for millennia bleeding gold and crimson. The ground rumbled, dust sifting from the ceiling. Somewhere deeper in the tomb, a low, mournful hum began to resonate like a choir singing through stone.
Kleiman positioned himself in front of her. "Get out. Both of you!" he barked to the assistants. "Now!"
They didn't hesitate. One scrambled toward the tunnel; the other half-carried the unconscious man. But Aria stayed rooted. The air between her and Azariel pulsed, heat curling against her skin, like invisible chains linking them.
Azariel tilted his head, almost curious. "A guardian?" His eyes flicked to Kleiman for a heartbeat. "How quaint."
Kleiman didn't answer. He struck first a desperate move with the excavation rod still in his hand, swinging it in a sharp arc. The blow never landed. Azariel caught it effortlessly between two fingers.
"You would fight me for her?" The angel's voice lowered, silk over steel. "You are bold, mortal. And foolish."
Before Kleiman could react, Azariel twisted the rod away and let it clatter to the floor. Then his attention returned fully to Aria like a predator disregarding every distraction once prey was within reach.
A tremor shook the ground again, but this one was different. Not from the tomb itself from outside.
Azariel's gaze flicked upward, toward the sand-choked sky far beyond the rock. His jaw tightened, almost annoyed. "They've already noticed," he murmured in a language she didn't know.
"Who's noticed?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He smiled then and this time, it was far worse than his first expression. "My hunters."
The silver light in his eyes deepened, and he stepped toward her. "Come with me now, and they will not kill your people."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "And if I refuse?"
Azariel's wings unfurled further, blocking the chamber's entrance in a sweep of shadow and light. His lips curved, and it was the most terrifying thing she'd ever seen, not a smile, but a promise
"Then I will paint these stones with their still-beating hearts before they even see the sun."
Kleiman stepped forward again. "Over my dead body."
Azariel didn't even glance at him. "That can be arranged."
The runes blazed brighter, the heat in the chamber spiking. The choice pressed on her chest, stealing her breath. Somewhere in her mind, reason screamed to run but something deeper, darker whispered: Stay.
A crack split the ceiling.
Chunks of sandstone crashed down. A rush of scorched wind howled through the chamber. From beyond the tunnel came a sound no human throat could make a thousand voices screaming in unison, breaking the air like thunder.
Azariel's gaze snapped to the sound, irritation flashing in his eyes.
Then he moved.
One heartbeat he was across the chamber. The next his arm was around her waist, pulling her against the heat of his bare chest.
"Wha-"
Black wings swept forward, folding her into darkness.
The last thing she heard was Kleiman shouting her name.
Then no light, no sound, only the crush of his body and the dizzying scent of storm-wet stone and something darker.
Him.
---