Chapter 131 My Angel | 024
NOELLE
There's a moment of stunned silence. Then chaos. Azalea launches herself at Azren first.
"Big bro finally locked someone down!" she pipes, punching his arm. "I was starting to think you'd die alone with your creepy angel tattoo."
Azren rolls his eyes, but he's grinning.
Azalea turns to me, her eyes sparkling. "You're so pretty I hate you. Welcome to the madhouse."
Azren laughs, gesturing.
"Uncle Belly and Aunt Cora," he says, nodding to a couple on the loveseat. Belly lifts his glass in salute, and Cora, who looks unfairly beautiful with her pale glass skin, smiles warmly.
"Uncle Ty," he continues, gesturing to a tall, broad man with salt-and-pepper hair standing near the fireplace. "Don't let the calm fool you."
Tyler gives me a small, respectful nod. "Pleasure, Luna."
Luna.
Holy shit.
Azren turns towards two elderly men in matching armchairs.
"Grandpops Mathew and Grandpops Denzel," he says, his voice fond. "Matthew's my mum's dad. Denzel is my dad's. They finish each other's sentences. They also finish each other's fights. Don't get between them."
Denzel raises his glass. "She's prettier than you deserve, boy."
Matthew chuckles. "Much prettier."
I blush so hard my face feels like it's on fire. He introduces me to a couple more people. They're all so gorgeous, it's unfair.
Finally, Azren's arm tightens around my waist. He's still smiling, but something dark flashes in his eyes when he turns towards the last person in the room.
A man standing near the fireplace. He's tall and muscular, with long black hair streaked with silver at the temples. He's...ethereal.
Exactly like Azren, but older.
He doesn't need a label. He's obviously Azren's dad.
Sabrina was right. He's so hot.
Danika latches onto him to whisper in his ear. And my God, the way he lowers his head automatically, dimples popping out...
I can easily tell that he's so in love with her. Even now. I watch as he presses a kiss to her temple, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Eventually, she starts to pull away, squeezing his hand gently as though she's encouraging him. I don't know how bad his relationship with Azren is, but I can tell that it is very tense.
The air in the room changes as he approaches us. Once he's close enough, I instantly get a whiff of dark chocolate, realizing that I'd smelled his scent on Azren's mum. I can't help thinking about how cute that is.
He looks at Azren briefly, and the yearning in his gaze is so raw it steals my breath. There's no coldness. Only... longing. Like he's staring at a piece of his heart he thought he'd lost forever.
Then his eyes shift to me.
The smile that breaks across his face is slow, mischievous, and almost boyish. It's the same crooked grin Azren flashes when he's about to tease me into blushing.
"Noelle, the latest Lakewood," he says, his voice deep and smooth, carrying that same lazy charm Azren gets when he's in a playful mood. "The lady who finally got my son to come home after a decade."
Holy shit. It's been that long?
He moves closer, slowly, as if he's afraid of spooking us both.
"I'm Kaziel," he adds softly, offering his hand. "Azren's father. It's... really good to meet you."
I shake his hand. His grip is warm and firm but gentle. Nothing like the monster I'd half-expected.
Meanwhile, my husband has gone painfully rigid.
Kaziel's gaze darts back to his son, his smile turning wistful.
"Azren," he says. "I'm happy to see you looking... alive."
Azren clenches his jaw.
Then, suddenly, he lets out a mocking laugh. He bows dramatically, one arm sweeping out like he's performing for a court.
"Oh, great one," Azren drawls, his voice thick with sarcasm and amusement. "Maker of my misery. The one who gifted me this charming little curse I carry around like a party favour. To what do I owe the honour?"
Pain flashes across Kaziel's face. It's gone in an instant, masked by that same gentle smile.
He doesn't rise to the bait. He just looks at me again, his gaze pleading.
"Take care of him, Noelle," he says gently. "He's... more fragile than he lets on. And thank you. For giving him something to smile about again."
Azren freezes mid-bow. Then he slowly straightens.
Kaziel finally turns fully towards his son. The room is so silent I can hear my own heartbeat.
His eyes meet Azren's.
They're the same blue, but Kaziel's are softer. Older, too. Full of something that looks a lot like regret.
"We need to talk," Kaziel says.
Azren stares at him. "I've got nothing to say—"
"Please," Kaziel breathes, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "It's urgent."
Azren's hand is shaking around my waist now, and I realize that he isn't entirely unaffected. They both have bleeding hearts. I can tell that they used to be very close.
"Azren," I whisper, nudging him.
He clenches his jaw, annoyance flashing across his face. Then he steers us towards the stairs.
"Your study," he says gruffly.
Relief sinks into me. We both head upstairs together, and I'm itching to ask questions, but I'd rather not piss him off.
"I know you're dying to say something. I know you think I'm being childish. But I really can't move past my grudge because it hurts too much. My grief and my agony found home in him. When I look at him, that's all I feel," Azren says softly, and my heart sinks.
I haven't heard him speak like this before.
"You know you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to, you know?" I say as he reaches for the door of a room and shoves it open.
"I want to. The thing is, as much as I hate him...I miss him too. And I know...he's hurting because of me," he explains, leading me into what looks like a massive study.
On the walls are several photos of the family. But right there on the desk is a photo of a boy who looks suspiciously like Azren. He should be around six. Kaziel carries him in his arms while he kisses his dad's cheek.
The door opens and Kaziel strides in. He gestures at us to sit down. We both do. He settles on his chair and Azren's grip tightens on my hand.
I want to ask him if this is too much for him. But I can clearly see that it is.
The aroma of fried chicken floats up, and my stomach grumbles.
Kaziel smiles warmly. "I'll be quick," he says, and Azren narrows his eyes at him.
"...I'm really glad to see you again. I—" Kaziel stops short, his nostrils flaring. His gaze sharpens, suddenly less wistful and more... alert.
He tilts his head, studying Azren.
"...You're not on your medication."
Azren stiffens beside me. I suck in a breath.
Kaziel leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression turning faintly amused. "I'd recognize that particular brand of chaos anywhere," he adds lightly. "You're vibrating."
Azren scoffs. "I always vibrate."
"No," Kaziel says, his lips twitching. "When you're on your meds, you brood quietly and pretend you're a statue. This?" His eyes dart to the faint tension in Azren's shoulders. "This is you raw and unfiltered.”
I blink.
Azren rolls his eyes. "Wow. Took you less than five minutes to psychoanalyze me. Missed that."
Kaziel's smile deepens. "I missed you rolling your eyes like that. You used to do it whenever I was right."
"You're still annoying,” Azren drawls.
Kaziel chuckles. "I'd be offended if you suddenly became polite."
Azren shakes his head, his mouth quirking despite the tension. "You don't get to sound relieved. You lost that privilege years ago."
"And yet," Kaziel says mildly, "here you are. Unmedicated. Married. In my study. Holding your wife's hand like she's the only thing tethering you to this plane of existence."
"Don't flatter yourself," Azren mutters.
Kaziel's teasing fades, his gaze darting to me.
"She makes you feel," he says.
Azren exhales through his nose. "Congratulations. You cracked the mystery."
Kaziel smiles again. "You used to hate being able to feel.”
"I still do," Azren replies. "I just hate feeling nothing more."
Kaziel glances at me. "You know," he says, "when he was sixteen, he stopped taking his meds for three weeks because he said they interfered with his aesthetic."
Azren jerks upright. "I did not—"
"You wore black for an entire month," Kaziel continues, delighted. "And quoted dead poets at breakfast."
"That was a phase."
"You told your mother pain was your muse."
I choke on a laugh before I can stop myself.
Azren groans. "Why are you like this?"
Kaziel spreads his hands. "I made you. I'm legally obligated to embarrass you."
Azren snorts despite himself. "You didn't make me. You traumatized me."
"And yet," Kaziel shoots back smoothly, "you still have my dimples."
Azren's hand flies to his face. "Absolutely not."
"Oh, absolutely yes. You hate them because you know they always work, making you extra charming and all.”
I watch the way Azren's shoulders drop a little, the bitterness loosening its grip, just for a moment.
"What did you want to talk about?” Azren sighs, his eyelids drooping.
“You look like you’re about to crash. Are you sure about this?” Kaziel asks.
He nods in response.
“Fine. Word has been spreading lately of a new order. Their main aim is to conquer all supernaturals and rule them as one.”
Azren tilts his head. “Sounds like a cult.”
“It isn’t. And their main target is you, my boy.”