The gathering to honor Jacob had been somber, a heavy silence weighing over the celestial halls. Even among the angels, grief had a presence, an invisible force pressing against their chests, threatening to suffocate. Bastian barely spoke a word throughout the ceremony. His expression had remained unreadable, but Anastasia knew the storm inside him raged violently.
Now, back in his quarters, he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The room was dimly lit, golden light from the sconces casting flickering shadows along the walls. Anastasia sat beside him, saying nothing. There were no words that could ease his loss. Instead, she simply ran her hand up and down his back, a small, steady comfort against the hurricane inside him.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. Time felt irrelevant in grief.
Then, without warning, Bastian lifted his head, turning toward her. His blue eyes were darker than usual, filled with emotions he couldn't voice. Pain. Longing. An unspoken plea. His hand reached out, tangling in her hair, and before she could take a breath, his lips crashed into hers.
It wasn't soft or tentative—it was desperate, consuming, as if he needed her to breathe, to feel something other than sorrow. A raw hunger surged between them, an undeniable force pulling them together. Anastasia responded instinctively, matching his intensity. This wasn't just about passion—it was about anchoring themselves to something real, something alive, amid the darkness that surrounded them.
They tore at each other's clothes, hands frantic, bodies pressed together as heat overtook grief. When they finally fell onto the bed, limbs tangled, skin burning against skin, nothing else existed except them. No war. No looming threats. Just them.
Their movements were urgent; every touch, every whispered name was a reassurance: I'm here. I'm not leaving. We're still alive.
And when they reached their peak together, it wasn't just release—it was salvation.
The aftermath was quiet. Their breathing slowed, their bodies still entwined as they lay beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling. Bastian's fingers traced idle patterns on her arm, his expression softer but still burdened. She knew the pain of losing Jacob wouldn't vanish overnight, but at least for now, he wasn't alone in it.
Minutes passed before Anastasia broke the silence.
"Zadkiel told me something," she murmured.
Bastian turned his head, looking at her. "What?"
She hesitated, her fingers tightening over his. "War is coming."
A heavy silence settled between them again, but this time, it carried a different weight—anticipation, inevitability.
Bastian exhaled, rolling onto his side to face her fully. "Then we need to be ready."
She nodded, knowing that after tonight, everything would change. The war was coming, and whether they were prepared or not, they would have to fight.
"But I need to ask you for one thing before we start training. "Bastian whispered looking at her with a serious expression.
"Of course."
Bastian took a deep breath. "Marry me."