Chapter 150 My Angel | 043
AZREN
The moment her knees buckle, I catch her on instinct. Her weight drops into my arms, and I lower her to the floor as gently as I can, her body cradled between my thighs. The kitchen tiles are cold against my bare skin, but I barely feel it. All I feel is her. She's shaking and gasping, her chest heaving like she's drowning. Realization hits right away.
My angel is having a panic attack.
Was it me? Did I do this? Those are the first set of thoughts that flood my mind.
Seeing her struggle to breathe is worse than any possession I've ever endured. I suddenly can't breathe either, my chest compressing painfully.
"Noelle. Baby, look at me," I croak, my hands trembling.
She claws at her throat like she's trying to rip something out. Small, frantic sounds slip out of her. She's choking on her sobs, each sound stabbing at my heart.
I wrap both arms around her, pulling her tight against my chest until there's no space left between us. Her head tucks under my chin, her face pressed hard to the hollow of my throat. I can feel every frantic beat of her heart slamming against my ribs like it's trying to break free and run.
"Shhh," I croak into her hair, rocking us slowly. "Shhh, I've got you. I've got you, baby. You're safe."
Her fingers dig into my sides so hard I know she's leaving crescent marks. They are proof that she's still fighting. So I welcome them.
I keep rocking and talking to her, the way my mum used to comfort me through my panic attacks.
"You're in our kitchen. You were making dinner for us. Remember? You were happy. You were safe. You're still safe. I'm right here. Feel me breathing? Feel my heart? It's beating for you. Only for you."
Her sobs are quieter now, but her body is still trembling. I slide one hand up to cradle the back of her head, my fingers slipping through her hair.
"Look at me, Angel," I say softly. "Just open your eyes. Look at me."
She does... slowly, as though her lids weigh a ton. Her pupils are dilated, tears clinging to her lashes. Her soft cheeks are flushed and stained with tears. It physically hurts to see her like this.
"There you are," I breathe. "There's my girl."
She clutches at me harder, burying her face into my chest like she wants to crawl inside and hide. I can feel her heartbeat slowing, syncing with mine, little by little.
I keep rocking us.
Minutes pass. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. I don't care. I'd stay here for as long as she needs me.
When her breathing finally evens out, I press my lips to the top of her head. And that's when I smell it.
Blood.
It's fresh. And worse, it's hers.
No...
My fangs start to ache, hunger roaring awake behind my eyes. My vision narrows to the cut on her finger and the slow drip of red onto the white tile.
I'm panting now, my chest heaving. She doesn't need this.
I force my eyes shut, clenching my jaw until my teeth grind. The taste of my own blood fills my mouth. I've bitten my tongue so hard I can feel the tear in the flesh. The sting helps. But it's not enough.
Noelle pulls back slightly, her eyes wide with worry.
"Azren?" Her voice is small. "You're bleeding—"
"I'm fine," I rasp. "It's nothing."
She reaches for my face, her thumbs brushing my cheeks. "You're shaking."
I catch her injured hand gently and guide her to the sink. I turn on the faucet with trembling fingers, holding her wrist under the stream of water.
"Hold still," I practically groan.
The red swirls down the drain. I watch it disappear, forcing slow breaths through my nose. In. Out. In. Out.
My whole body hurts just watching the stains disappear. But I refuse to give in.
Her other hand rests on my forearm, steadying me more than I'm steadying her.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to—"
I shake my head again.
"Don't," I slur, my voice thick. "Don't apologize."
I turn off the water, grab a clean dish towel, and carefully wrap her finger. My hands are shaking so badly that I fumble the knot twice.
When it's done, I don't let go.
I cup her face with both hands instead, my thumbs brushing the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"What happened?" I ask softly.
She looks up at me, her eyes shining with fear. It feels like I'm being gutted and left to bleed out.
"It's H-Haden," she stammers, and I frown, feeling my blood pressure spike.
"What?"
"Azren, he was just here."
My mind instantly goes blank, a surge of fury crashing my system because this... this is unacceptable.
....
"You're saying there was no visible movement within the perimeter? And the wards were unaffected?" I ask softly.
Jake stammers when he replies because even through the phone, he can tell that I'm beyond pissed.
"Y-yes, Alpha. There's n-no way Haden could have slipped in. Maybe...she was h-hallucinating—"
"Jake," I rasp, closing my eyes, blood rushing in my ears.
"U-unless he can rift travel too—"
"He can't," I deadpan. "If he could, he would've taken her a long time ago."
"R-right."
I breathe through my nose, my fury feeding the pounding in my head.
"Is there some other possible reason why he could've come to her like that?" I ask, my voice dropping lower.
"Alpha, breathe. Please. I understand that you're pissed, but I want you to calm down," Jake says, and I narrow my eyes.
"Talk.”
“It's possible for him to appear to her whenever and wherever if he's marked her—"
I see red instantly.
"What?"
"It's not what you think! I mean...not with the use of teeth, but with magic."
My head spins. Magic? Haden had the guts to mark her with magic?
"What's the solution?" I ask, holding a trembling hand to my forehead, trying not to let my rage overwhelm me.
"We...uh...have to find out what spell was used and what kind of witch was involved. And—"
"Is the long list of requirements finishing any time soon?" I ask, the words almost a growl, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
"I'll...I'll come over right away," he stammers, and I end the call, pacing back and forth.
Noelle was right after all. That sneaky bastard has a trump card. It doesn't matter. I can just steal it and burn it.
"Az?"
I turn to find my wife sitting on the stool, looking nervous. She's watching me with big, worried eyes.
"Come here?" She says in a small voice, and I falter.
Swallowing hard, I head towards her. She takes my hand when I get to her. Then she gives me a shaky smile.
"Help me with the cooking?" She whispers, and I stiffen.
"Noelle—"
"Please?" She peeks up at me through her thick lashes, and I wince.
How did I get here? I kid you not, I really don't know.
A few minutes later, I'm standing in front of the chopping board with a small plate of carrots. Noelle stands behind me, tying the apron straps. I'm still wearing a towel underneath. I'm practically naked, but she doesn't seem to mind. All her focus is on the chopping board.
I can't believe she's making me do this.
Noelle places her small hands on top of mine.
She's standing behind me, her chest brushing my back every time she breathes.
"Like this," she murmurs, guiding my fingers around the knife handle. Her touch is light and patient. "Don't grip so tight. You're not trying to murder the carrot, honey."
I snort despite myself. The sound startles me. I haven't laughed all day.
My hands tremble again. The blade wobbles over the cutting board.
She doesn't sigh or pull away. She just covers my knuckles with her palms and presses down gently, showing me the rhythm.
"Slow," she says. "See? Let the knife do the work."
The carrot slices cleanly this time. Thin, even rounds.
"There you go." Her voice is soft and proud. "Look at that, Chef Azren."
I stare at the little orange coins like they're some kind of miracle. My throat burns.
She leans her cheek against my back, guiding my hand for another cut.
"You're doing great," she whispers. "Really."
The praise shouldn't hit like it does. It's just carrots. Just a knife. Just her hands on mine.
But my vision blurs anyway.
I blink hard. A tear slips before I can stop it. It lands on the cutting board, darkening one of the carrot slices.
Noelle freezes.
I try to laugh it off. It comes out broken.
"Sorry," I rasp. "I'm—fuck, I'm a mess."
She doesn't say anything at first. She just keeps our hands moving, slow and steady, like nothing happened. Another slice falls.
Then she speaks softly.
"You're not a mess."
Her voice cracks. “You're hurting. And you're letting me see it. I want you to know that I do understand your despair.”
My shoulders start to shake. I drop the knife. It clatters against the board.
I turn and wrap both arms around her, crushing her against me.
She makes a small, surprised sound, then her arms come around my waist.
"I want to apologize again," I mumble into her neck. "But you're probably sick of hearing it."
She shakes her head against my chest.
"Then don't," she whispers. "Just... thank me instead."
In this electrifying moment, I make a decision. I, Azren Lakewood, would do anything for my wife.