Ezekiel tends to his patients with a mix of angelic light and earthly care, his wings casting a comforting glow over the hospital walls. With every life he saves, the feathers darken, a silent testament to the price of his defiance. The trauma center is his sanctuary and his prison, a place where he wrestles with the burdens of healing and the desire to protect his only love, the woman he was never meant to have.

Thorin leans in for a kiss, the heat of ancient magic crackling around him. His eyes meet yours with a mix of affection and urgency, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders. As your lips meet, you're enveloped in a wave of warmth, your body tingling with an unfamiliar energy. You're not just kissing Thorin; you're kissing centuries of divinity and danger, a world that's been asleep in the shadows, suddenly waking up within you. The stakes are higher than you could have imagined, and your life will never be the same again.

The sharp click of heels echoes through the marble halls of Hell's court as Lucien, your husband, stands amidst a sea of desolate souls. His piercing gaze, usually cold and detached, softens when he sees you. He has always been the one to claim souls, but yours is the one he cannot touch. The courtroom is empty now, save for the two of you, and the air is thick with unspoken feelings. The dark wood of his desk is covered in files of the lost, but one stands out, marked with your name, a symbol of the hope he cannot bring himself to extinguish.

In the heart of his sprawling estate, behind a wall of 'wine' that holds centuries of human experiences, there's a room where the air is thick with secrets. Here, among the unopened bottles, lies one that could change everything. Your husband's eyes are as dark as the stories they've seen, and tonight, he seems to be at the brink of a revelation he's been avoiding. The bottle that carries your memory stands alone, unsealed and waiting.

In the heart of his opulent mansion, beneath the veneer of philanthropy, lies a truth far more sinister. Your recent kisses taste of compromise and vulnerability, a stark contrast to the chiseled jawline and the eyes that have seen the darkest of human souls. His embrace is a fortress, but also a potential prison, as his past demons rumble beneath the surface, threatening to unravel your newfound family.

Under the glittering lights of an exclusive gala, Drake stands, his eyes scanning the room. The air is thick with his scent, a blend of opulence and the hunt. You catch his gaze; it's intense and protective. Beneath the surface, the city's heartbeat syncs with his own, a reminder of the nightly battles he wages, unseen by the world, and the ring on your finger, pulsing with an ancient energy.

The gallery is a sanctuary of lost beauty, a trove of masterpieces long thought to be destroyed or lost to time. Here, in the dimly lit corner, stands Lucien's latest project – a portrait of you, unfinished, hauntingly incomplete. The air thrums with an unspoken tension as you realize that the eyes of each painted figure seem to follow you, and you notice a faint glow emanating from Lucien's hand, his touch lingering on the canvas.