Chapter 151 My Angel | 044
NOELLE
The mouthwatering smell of the stew fills the kitchen now. Azren is still shirtless, his towel hanging low on his hips and exposing that dangerous V-line. I’m wearing the apron now. His powerful biceps flex as he stirs the pot with a wooden spoon like he's afraid he'll break it.
I come up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to the warm skin of his back.
"Smells so good," I hum.
He chuckles. "You're the one who made it. I'm just stirring so I don't feel useless."
"You're not useless." I rise on my toes, attempting to kiss the back of his shoulder and failing because he’s too tall. "You're adorable."
He snorts. "Adorable is not the word most people use for me."
I slip around to his side, bumping his leg with my hip. "Most people are wrong about you."
He glances down at me, his dimples flashing. My heart skips a beat at the sight. I've missed that smile more than I realized.
I dip a small spoon into the pot, blow on it gently and then hold it up to his lips.
"Open."
He raises one brow, amused, but obeys. His mouth closes around the spoon. His eyes flutter shut for a second as he tastes the stew.
When they open again, they're softer.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "It’s so good, Angel. Really good."
Heat creeps up my neck. "You're just saying that."
"No." He sets the spoon down, turns fully towards me, and slides both hands to my waist, his thumbs brushing slow circles over my hips. "I'm saying it because it's true. You made this. You should be a chef or something, wifey."
My throat tightens. I blink hard. No matter what I cooked back in my adopted parent's home, they were never satisfied. So hearing this from him makes my heart so full.
He notices and leans down until our foreheads touch.
"Hey," he whispers. "Don't cry again. You already used up my entire supply of emotional capacity for the week."
I laugh and shove at his chest. "Shut up."
He grins, his dimples popping, his eyes crinkled. Relief sinks into me. He's back. My Azren. Not the cold, wrecked version. Just... him smiling at me like I'm his entire universe.
We plate the food together—chicken stew over rice, simple but warm—and carry it to the dining room. He pulls my chair out for me, then he sits close enough that our knees touch under the table.
For a few minutes we just eat in comfortable silence. The food is really good, and every time I glance up, he's already looking at me, like he can't quite believe I'm still here.
Halfway through his bowl, he sets the spoon down.
"Angel," he says.
I look up.
"That scent earlier..." He hesitates, his jaw clenching. "The one that wasn't yours. The one that made me—" He swallows hard. "Made me lose it. Who was it?"
My stomach drops.
I set my spoon down too. My hands feel cold suddenly.
"Azren..."
His eyes sharpen. They are alert and focused now.
"Tell me."
I take a slow breath.
"Promise me first."
He tilts his head. "Promise you what?"
"That you won't flip out. That you won't go on a killing spree. That you'll listen all the way through."
His eyes sparkle dangerously. He looks excited, like a kid being promised a new toy.
The sight makes my pulse jump.
He leans forward with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his laced fingers.
"I promise," he says softly, "to listen all the way through."
I narrow my eyes. "And the rest?"
The sparkle intensifies, his dimples deepening.
"I promise," he repeats, slower, "not to flip out... immediately."
"Azren—"
"Tell me, baby." His voice drops. "Who touched what's mine?"
I exhale.
"Cooper. The guy from class. He... he grabbed my wrist today. And my mark glowed. And he said..." I swallow hard. "He said I'm his soulmate."
For a moment, Azren doesn't move or speak. Then, slowly, his lips curve.
It's not exactly a smile. It's something darker and hungrier. Almost gleeful.
"Oh?" he mutters. "Did he now?"
My heart slams against my ribs.
"Azren—"
He stands so fast the chair scrapes back, and I flinch.
He rounds the table in two strides and drops to a crouch in front of me so that we're eye-level. His hands settle on my thighs gently.
"Tell me again," he says, his voice low and velvet-soft. "Word for word. What did he say?"
I hesitate.
"He said... 'You're my soulmate,' and that he'd waited his whole life to find me."
Azren's thumbs stroke slow circles on my thighs. His eyes are glittering again, thrilled.
"And what did you say?"
"I said no. I said it wasn't possible. I pulled away. Blue got between us, and we left."
He nods slowly. Then he leans in until his lips brush my ear.
"Good girl," he whispers.
I'm relieved for a moment, until I feel the tremor in his hands. He's holding himself back. Barely.
"Azren..." I cup his face. "You promised."
"I did." He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "I promised to listen. I didn't promise not to go hunting."
My stomach drops. He smiles.
"But don't worry, pretty Noelle." He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. "I'll be gentle... at first."
He stands. And the look in his eyes tells me exactly what kind of gentle he has in mind.
Thankfully, Jake chooses that exact moment to come in. He's breathing a little hard, his cheeks flushed from running. Behind him trails a young woman I've never seen before. She’s petite and sharp-eyed, with a cascade of silver-streaked black hair and a leather satchel slung across her body like she's always ready to perform emergency surgery.
She's dressed in dark jeans and a cropped jacket, but there's an old-world elegance to the way she moves.
Jake stops short when he sees us, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, his voice still winded. "Traffic was a nightmare. Some idiot flipped a truck on the bridge. Took forever to reroute."
Azren rolls his eyes.
"You're late because you drive like a grandma," he mutters. "Next time fly. Or grow wings. I don't care. Just don't make me wait."
Jake snorts, unfazed. "Not all of us are arrogant enough to think traffic laws don't apply."
Azren finally glances up, one brow arched. "Traffic laws apply to people who aren't working for me. You're slacking, beta."
Jake grins despite himself, then he steps aside so the woman can move forward.
She doesn't hesitate. Her gaze locks straight onto me. She crosses the room in three graceful strides and stops beside my chair.
"May I?" she asks calmly, holding out her hand.
I hesitate for half a second, then I extend my wrist, the one with the flame mark.
She doesn't touch me right away. She just hovers her palm an inch above my skin, her eyes narrowing as faint silver light ignites between her fingers.
A soft hum slips from her throat.
"Essence binding spell," she says softly. "It’s old magic. Very old. And very clever."
Azren goes still.
"What kind?" he asks, his voice deceptively soft.
The woman glances at him briefly, then back to my wrist.
"The dangerous kind. Both parties have to be on the verge of death for the mark to become visible. Until then, it's usually invisible."
My stomach drops.
"The bond isn't fully formed yet. It's waiting for the trigger."
"How do we break it?" Azren asks.
The woman exhales through her nose.
"We have to find the mark first. It only shows when both bonded souls are close to death. So either we force a near-death experience on both of them—"
Azren's growl is immediate.
"—or," she continues calmly, "we find the witch who cast the spell and make them burn it off before it fully locks. But burning an invisible mark is... tricky. We’d also need someone willing to bleed enough to lure the mark to the surface without actually killing either of them."
She finally looks up at me, her eyes steady.
"And it has to be done soon. The longer the bond sits dormant, the deeper it roots. Once it locks, breaking it could kill both of you."
Silence settles heavily in the air. Azren's hand tightens on the back of my chair until the wood groans.
I reach up and cover his knuckles with my palm. He doesn't relax. But he doesn't pull away either.
"Who cast it?" he asks.
The woman's expression turns grim.
"I can't tell from here. But the signature feels... familiar. Like something I've seen before."
She glances between us.
"One thing is clear though, it’s someone who's been close to you both. Someone who knows exactly how to hurt you."
Azren's eyes slide to me.
We both say the name at the same time.
"Nyxara."
The woman nods. “Then we don't have much time."
I feel sick to my stomach now.
“W-what happens if it locks in place fully?” I ask weakly, waiting for her response like someone awaiting a death sentence.