1. Chapter

You know that feeling when you bite into something too hot, and it burns your tongue? Or when you drink too much of a slushy and your brain literally freezes? Or maybe when you spot the perfect dress in a shop window, and you just know it’s coming home with you?

And that feeling when you step under a hot shower after being frozen to the bone, and your body slowly melts into the warmth?

Yeah. I haven’t felt any of those tiny miracles for one year, twelve days, and almost six hours.

I used to be just an ordinary college student, with a few big dreams—well, as big as dreams can get for a twenty-one-year-old girl. My days were filled with studying, partying, and every kind of reckless decision imaginable. The holy trinity of getting wasted, flirting stupidly, and spending way too much money.

Sometimes I think back to those times and play the “what if…” game.

What if I had played sports?

What if I had taken a self-defense class?

What if I had learned how to shoot?

The problem with those questions is that they all have the same answer: it doesn’t matter—it's too late.

And they always take me back to that day.

The Day of the Apocalypse

I opened my eyes, and the world began to spin around me. My vision was blurry, as if I were watching the sky in slow motion. Beautiful birds glided high above while I lay in the middle of the road. I had no idea how I’d gotten there.

A sharp ringing filled my ears, muffled screams echoing from afar. When I tried to move my hand, every muscle protested. Something was terribly wrong. My survival instinct condensed into one pounding thought: Get up.

I tried to roll over and sit up, but the asphalt was slick. My hand slipped—and that’s when I saw the blood.

My blood-red nails blended into the crimson pool spreading beneath me. Instinctively, I patted myself down, but found no wounds. Then something dripped from my hair. I touched my ear, and my hand came away sticky with fresh blood.

Shock.

That was all my mind could process. I knew I should get up, but my body refused to obey.

I lay in the blood, trying to gather strength. Yes, I was a spoiled mall girl—had been—but my mother always said,

“A true woman keeps her dignity no matter what.”

Alright, then. Let’s go.

Knees. Hands. Crawl.

I hadn’t even managed to get fully upright when the sky suddenly darkened. As if something had swallowed the sun. Two heavy boots stopped in front of me. Fighting the nausea, I looked up.

And that’s when I saw him.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I had never seen a man so beautiful. Not even at the end of the world. But my gaze didn’t stop on his face—it caught on his wings.

“Are you sure these fragile bodies are the best choice?” one of them asked. His voice was deep and mocking.

And just like that, he lost any chance of impressing me.

The other one stepped behind me, running his hand down my spine—slowly, savoring the moment.

“I don’t mind that they’re weak and defenseless,” he said with satisfaction. “It’ll make things easier. Look how she writhes on the ground. If we wanted, we could kill them all right now—and not even break a sweat.”

I froze.

“But honestly… they’re not all that ugly. This one, for example. Maybe collecting them will actually be fun. And… useful.”

My stomach twisted. I vomited on the demon’s boots.

And then everything went dark.

Present Day

I’m lying down. Awake, but unwilling to move. I know I can’t stay in one place for long. Today’s refuge is an abandoned, water-damaged house, where the makeshift bed of cardboard and filthy pillows is at least dry.

You’d think that a year after the apocalypse, people would have adapted.

Nope.

They just became worse.

Men rule the world now. Most women were taken—by the demons of hell, as the survivors call them. The destroyers of our world.

I was just lucky. A man found me that day and dragged me off the street—not out of kindness, but possession. He was the first to believe he’d saved me.

A few days later, he was killed.

And I was alone again.

That counts as luck these days.

You survived? Then you’re lucky.

Two Days After the Apocalypse

I woke up drenched in cold sweat. My body was slick with it, my head pounding. My nails were broken, my skin cracked.

A man entered, spoke to me, but his words were lost in the shock. When he turned to leave, a heavy clang echoed behind him.

Bars.

They’d locked me in.

I pressed my hands against the metal and felt something wet slide down my face.

Tears.

Present Day

The memory loosens its grip on me. I take a deep breath, reach for my backpack, and pull out a granola bar. My growling stomach always drags me back to the present.

Today I’ll have to search more houses—if I don’t find enough food, I’ll weaken, and then I’ll be an easy target.

I start moving. My usual route: past my parents’ house, just in case they ever come back. They were in Michigan during the attack. I haven’t seen them since. Every day, I leave a small sign in the house—just in case they leave one for me too.

Then comes scavenging.

The stores are empty, but sometimes I find pet food, seeds, or empty bottles. Moonlight filters weakly through the windows as I move through the dark.

The butterfly knife in my hand—useless for fighting, but good enough to scare someone off.

I reach for a shelf—when suddenly, a flash of gold.

In the next instant, searing pain slices through my forearm.

The golden light coils around my arm like a serpent—and pulls. My body slams into the floor.

The glowing whip burns. My skin sizzles. I know this weapon. The demons’ weapon.

My hood falls back, hair spilling loose. The demon towers above me.

And when I see his face, even the thought of death seems beautiful in comparison.

Black hair. Black eyes. Sharp jawline. Muscular body. And that cold, dark power pulsing around him.

A demon.

“Take off the cap,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice.

It’s not a request. It’s a command. A fate.

I don’t move. I clutch my knife tighter.

“I said… take. It. Off.”

He steps closer.

I don’t wait. My knife flashes through the air, slicing his skin. The wound seals instantly—but it’s enough. I twist away, leap to my feet—

Too slow.

He grabs my waist, yanking me back, and lifts me by the throat.

The air disappears.

No oxygen.

“Let me go…” I rasp.

The demon leans in, voice a low rumble by my ear.

“You’ll learn obedience. There’s still a place for you.”

Then I remember the knife.

With one quick motion, I stab backward—into his abdomen. His growl shakes the air, bottles crashing from shelves. His grip weakens.

I knee him between the legs. He doubles over.

I kick again—straight to his nose. Black blood splatters. Black eyes flare.

His wings unfold, spreading wide. He rises.

“And now, princess?” he mocks. “You think a little blade can hurt me?”

One beat of his wings—and he’s right in front of me. He rips the knife from my hand and throws me to the floor. His boot presses down on my back, pinning me.

Air leaves my lungs. My gaze catches on a broken bottle.

If I could just reach it—just for a second.

I play dead. The demon steps back, bending down to check. He tears off my cap, and my long hair spills over the floor. I feel his gaze travel down my body.

My hand moves. I grab the bottle by the neck and swing. Hard.

The beast collapses.

“Seriously? All it took was a fucking headshot?” I pant, leaning over him. “That easy? Really?”

I stare at his body. Motionless.

But I know—

This is far from over.