Chapter 149 My Angel | 042
NOELLE
The water from the shower runs cold long before I'm done. I stay under it anyway, scrubbing until my skin is raw and pink, the eucalyptus soap stinging every inch I can reach. Cooper's scent is long gone. I made sure of that. But the memory of it clings to me like rot. I can still feel his fingers on my wrist.
I shut the water off with shaking hands.
When I step back into the bedroom in my robe, the bedside lamp is the only light illuminating the room.
Azren is on the floor now.
He's slumped against the side of the bed, his legs sprawled, his bare back to the mattress. His shirt is gone.
His head is tipped back so the column of his throat is exposed like he's waiting for someone to cut it. An empty wine bottle lies on its side a few feet away.
Right now, he’s cradling the half-empty second bottle against his ribs, his other hand fisted in his own hair.
His eyes are open, but they're glassy. He doesn't look up when I move closer.
"You smell clean now," he says, laughing. His head rolls towards me, slowly. "Good girl."
The praise is so hollow, it actually stings.
Even so, I drop to my knees in front of him. He doesn't move. He just watches me with those wet, glittering eyes.
Without a word, I reach for the wipes on the nightstand. My fingers tremble when I pull one out. He catches my wrist before I can touch his face.
"Don't," he rasps. "I'm not a child."
My throat tightens.
"Azren—"
His eyes search mine, waiting for the disgust. It doesn't come because I know exactly what he's trying to do. So, I lean forward and press my forehead to his.
"I'm not leaving," I say.
A shudder rolls through him. His free hand comes up, cupping the back of my neck.
"I'm so tired of hurting," he chokes. "I'm so tired of being this... thing."
"You're not a thing." I slide my arms around his shoulders. He lets me pull him forward until his face is buried against my collarbone. His body shakes harder.
"I don't know how to stop it," he mumbles into my skin. "The cold. The voices. The hunger. It's always there, waiting. And tonight... tonight it almost won."
I stroke his hair, slowly, even though my own hands are shaking.
"Stay with me. Just stay."
He lifts his head slowly. His eyes are red-rimmed.
He reaches for the wine bottle again. His hand shakes so badly he almost drops it. I cover his fingers with mine, steadying him. He takes one long pull, then he sets it aside.
"I scared you," he says. "Earlier. When I told you to get out. When I said your scent was wrong."
I nod. There's no point lying. He swallows hard.
"I'm sorry." His voice trembles. "I was trying to protect you. From me."
I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I know."
He closes his eyes, his lashes wet. I proceed to clean his face fully.
I really don't want to bring this up. But his declining state is scaring me. I am afraid for his sake.
"Azren... what if you drank from me?" I ask.
He freezes, staring at me, unblinking.
Then he laughs.
It's not the soft, sleepy chuckle from earlier. It's sharp, and there's no trace of amusement in it. He gulps more wine in big, unsteady swallows that make his throat bob convulsively.
His hand trembles so hard that the red liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his wrist. He drags the back of his free hand across his mouth, smearing wine there. His eyes are locked on mine.
"You want me to drink from you?" His voice is laced with mockery now. "Are you that desperate to die, Angel?"
My stomach drops.
He leans forward suddenly, the bottle dangling loosely between his fingers.
"I've wanted to die for years," he says, his words soft, but they pierce deep into my soul. "I tried everything. Pills. Blades. Jumping from buildings high enough to crush every bone in my body. Nothing worked. The spirits won't let me go. They like the house they built inside me too much."
He laughs again, bitterly.
"That's why I took you in the first place."
I can't breathe.
He watches my face crumple and keeps going, his voice gentle.
"I knew Haden would lose his mind if I married his golden little prize. I knew he'd come for you. I knew he'd try everything—hunters, assassins, curses, whatever black-magic bullshit he could scrape together. I was hoping one of them would finally be strong enough to finish what I couldn't."
He lifts the bottle again and takes another long swig.
"I don't need saving, Noelle." His eyes are glassy, tears clinging to his dark lashes. "Those are for stray cats and things that can still be fixed."
Tears sting my eyes, clouding my vision. How dare he? How can he speak to me like that with a straight face? Anger and grief war against each other in my chest. Until I finally snap.
"You think this is funny?" My voice cracks, thick with fury. "You think telling me you married me hoping someone would kill you is romantic? Do you really think I would just sit here and watch you drink yourself into a grave because you're too much of a coward to fight for yourself?"
He flinches.
I'm crying now, angry tears rolling down my face.
"You don't get to decide that you're beyond saving. You don't get to decide that I'm just some... some consolation prize you dragged into your suicide plan. I'm here because I chose you. And you don't get to throw that back in my face because you're scared."
My chest heaves.
"I'm terrified too," I choke out. "Every single day I'm terrified. But I'm not running. I'm not giving up. And I'm not going to let you give up either."
He stares at me, the bottle forgotten in his lap. A tear slips down his cheek. But he doesn't wipe it away. I rise to my feet, taking a deep breath. Then I head towards the door.
"You'll get tired eventually, Noelle. Trust me," he rasps, and I glance at him over my shoulder.
"That's for me to decide. If you need me, come find me. Take a shower first. You'll feel better," I say and walk out.
The instant I shut the door behind me, my knees buckle. But I'm determined to pull myself together. I need to be strong for the both of us. The sound of running water puts a smile on my face. It shows that he’s still with me.
While he’s washing up in the bathroom, I head back inside to change the sheets and clean up. He’ll need all the rest he can get. After everything is all set, I move downstairs to the kitchen.
I flick on the overhead lights, blinking against the sudden brightness, and tie my hair back with the elastic around my wrist. There's an apron hanging on the hook by the pantry. I slip it over my head, knot the strings behind my back, and smooth my hands down the front.
For the first time in... maybe forever, I feel like a wife.
I’m about to make food for the man I’m obsessed with while he sobers up, trusting me to be here.
It's such a small, ordinary thing. And it makes me stupidly happy.
I hum under my breath and start pulling ingredients out. Chicken thighs, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, and a knob of ginger that smells really good. I rinse everything under cold water, set a pot on the stove to heat olive oil, and begin chopping.
The knife moves in a steady rhythm. Carrots first, then celery, the crisp snap satisfying. The onions bring tears to my eyes, but I keep smiling, trying not to remind myself of the pain my husband is going through.
I'm slicing the last bit of onion when a cold hand clamps around my throat from behind. It’s definitely not Azren’s hand.
The knife slips, pain shoots through my hand as blood wells to the surface. I gasp, but the sound is choked off by the tightening grip.
Haden's voice purrs against my ear, low and amused.
"Playing house, little wolf?"
My heart slams into my ribs hard.
I jerk, trying to twist, but his other arm wraps across my waist, pinning me back against his chest. The knife clatters to the cutting board. Blood drips onto the carrots.
"You scream," he murmurs, his lips brushing my earlobe, "and I snap your neck before your precious tribrid even makes it down the stairs."
Terror locks my muscles. My lungs won’t work either.
How is he here?
My knees buckle and he holds me up effortlessly, his mouth grazing my temple.
"I've missed this," he whispers. "The way your pulse races under my fingers. The way you tremble. The way you still smell like fear even when you're trying to be brave."
A tear slips down my cheek. He licks it away.
"I'm going to take you back," he says. "And this time, I'm not asking nicely."
I’d rather die. So I open my mouth and scream. The pressure on my neck vanishes, and Azren is suddenly standing right there in the kitchen, a towel slung low on his hips. My knees give out completely, but he’s by my side in a blink of an eye, catching me before I can fall.