Chapter 165 My Angel | 058
NOELLE
The pain ignites at the base of my neck, stabbing lower as if someone has just pressed a branding iron to my spine. Azren is in front of me in a blur, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks.
"Angel—Angel, what is it? Talk to me."
I can't. He catches me before I hit the floor, pulling me against his chest, one arm locked around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head.
"Az—" My voice cracks into a whimper. "My back—upper back—it burns—"
He shifts me instantly, turning me so my front is pressed to his chest and my back is exposed. His fingers skim down my spine, gently, until they freeze just below my shoulder blades.
"There's a mark," he says, his voice thick. "It's glowing. I'm sure it wasn't there before."
My stomach drops.
The witch's words repeat themselves in my head. Something about the mark only showing when death is hand.
I swallow hard.
"It's the binding spell," I whisper. My teeth chatter. "Haden's mark. It's surfacing because... because he must be hurt. Badly."
Azren's arms tighten around me.
"He's dying," he says, almost to himself. "Good."
But his hands are shaking.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are wild and red-rimmed, but he's trying so hard to keep it together for me.
"This is going to hurt," he says. "A lot. I have to burn it off before it finishes rooting."
I nod. I already know.
He lifts his wrist to his mouth, his fangs flashing, and bites down hard. Dark blood wells immediately, thick and rich. He presses the bleeding wound to my lips.
"Bite hard," he orders, his voice rough. "Muffle yourself."
My fingers wrap around his forearm. I can feel the tremor in his muscles. I squeeze my eyes shut and take one last shaky breath.
"I'm ready."
Black flames bloom in his other hand, licking up his fingers. The heat radiates instantly, close enough that my skin prickles. He doesn't hesitate. The fire touches the mark, and agony detonates.
I scream, but it's trapped behind my teeth as I sink them into his wrist. Blood floods my mouth, and I bite harder to keep the sound inside.
Azren doesn't flinch.
He holds me tighter, one arm locked around my waist, the other steady at the back of my neck, keeping the flames exactly where they need to be.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you, Angel. Breathe through it. Just breathe."
The pain keeps climbing higher and higher until it feels like my entire body is going to combust. He cradles me against his chest.
"You're doing so good," he whispers. His voice is shaking now. "So fucking good. Almost there. Almost there, baby."
Tears stream down my face, soaking his shirt. My teeth are still buried in his wrist, but the bite is weakening. Everything is weakening. The heat stops suddenly.
Azren drops his hand.
I'm gasping, trembling, my vision swimming. His wrist is still in my mouth. I taste more blood, a healing warmth rushing through me.
He gently pulls his arm away and cradles my face in both hands.
"Look at me," he says softly.
My eyes flutter open. His face is inches from mine, his eyes glassy.
"You did it," he whispers. "It's gone."
I try to speak. Nothing comes out except a sob.
He kisses my forehead, my temples and the corners of my eyes like he's trying to kiss the pain away.
"I've got you," he repeats, over and over. "I've got you. Rest now. I've got you."
My body finally gives up. The darkness rushes in softly, and I surrender to its pull.
The last thing I feel is his arms tightening around me, his lips pressed to my hair.
...
I wake up slowly, feeling like I'm floating. There's no pain, only a watery haze. My gaze focuses on Azren.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, his head bowed. His shoulders are slumped, his hair is falling into his face, and his breathing is uneven. He's fighting sleep so hard it hurts to watch.
My heart squeezes.
I reach out before I can think better of it, cupping the side of his face with shaky fingers. He leans into my touch before he's even fully awake.
Slowly, he opens his eyes. For a second he just stares at me with a soft, breathtaking shimmer in his eyes.
Then he moves.
He's on me in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around my back, pulling me up and into his chest. One hand cradles the back of my skull, and the other locks around my waist. He holds me like I'm his treasure.
"You're awake," he rasps against my hair. His voice is wrecked, raspy and thick.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. My arms wind around his shoulders, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
"I'm here," I whisper. "I'm okay."
He exhales shakily, the sound almost a sob, and presses his lips to my temple.
"Don't ever do that again," he croaks. "Don't ever scare me like that."
I nod against his throat, tears slipping unbidden, soaking into his collar. "I'm sorry."
And I mean it. If I hadn't kept the text message from him in the first place, I wouldn't have ended up walking into a trap.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks.
"You need your medicine first," he says gently.
I grimace. "What medicine? I already drank your blood."
He gives me a small, tired smile.
"That was to burn the mark off. This is to stabilize your system after." He reaches for the nightstand and picks up a small glass vial filled with a murky amber liquid. "Val brewed it while you were out. It'll help with the shock, the blood loss, and the adrenaline crash. You need to keep it down."
I stare at the vial, grimacing.
"It looks disgusting."
"It is," he agrees. "But you're drinking it anyway."
I pout at him. He sighs, but his mouth twitches.
"Don't give me that face, Angel. It won't work."
"It might."
"It won't."
I open my mouth to argue, but he's already tipping the vial to my lips. I swallow reflexively and immediately gag.
"Oh my god—it's vile—"
I try to twist away. He holds me steady, one hand on the back of my neck, the other tipping the vial again.
"Almost done. Two more sips. Come on, baby girl."
I whine, my inner child revolting. My whole body squirms.
"It's disgusting—Azren, please—"
"Two more. For me."
I glare at him through watery eyes. He looks back at me with those stupid, soft, pleading blue eyes, and I cave instantly.
"Fine," I mutter. "But I hate you."
"Liar."
I take the next sip and nearly choke. It burns going down, bitter and metallic.
"One more," he coos, stroking my hair. "You're doing so well."
The final sip is the worst. I gag hard, tears slipping down my face, and shove the empty vial at his chest.
"Never again," I croak.
He takes it, sets it aside, and immediately presses a small wrapped candy into my palm.
"Here. Palate cleanser."
I stare at it. Then at him.
"You keep candy on you?"
"Only for you."
I unwrap it with shaking fingers. Then I pop it in my mouth, and the cherry sweetness cuts through the lingering bitterness. I sigh, melting against him.
He beams. His dimples flash, and my heart does that stupid flip it always does.
I glance around the room properly for the first time. There's dark wood panelling, bookshelves stuffed with old leather volumes, and a massive four-poster bed with navy sheets. There's a faint scent of lavender and cedar. It feels... lived-in.
"Where are we?" I ask softly.
"My childhood room," he says. "Mum kept it exactly the way it was."
I look at him. He's still holding me like I might vanish.
Before I can ask anything else, there's a loud knock at the door. Azalea's voice comes through, thick with tears.
"Azren? Dad's awake."
My breath catches in my throat.
Something happened when I was gone. I can feel it.
Azren goes still. Then he exhales, slow and shaky, and presses one more kiss to my forehead.
"He's awake," he whispers.
He helps me sit up, careful of every movement, then he stands and offers me his hand.
"Come on, Angel. Let's go see him."
I take it without hesitation. But the uneasiness lingers.
Downstairs, Danika is sitting on the wide leather couch, her back straight, but her shoulders are bowed with exhaustion. Azren's father has his head resting in her lap, his body curled towards her like a child seeking shelter. His skin is ashen, almost grey, his lips faintly blue at the edges. The bandage over his side is fresh but already spotting red again.
Danika's fingers are stroking his hair slowly. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she's smiling.
Azren stands a few feet away, frozen.
His father stirs. He lifts one shaky hand towards Azren.
"Son..."
In a blink of an eye, he's dropping to his knees in front of the couch. His father's fingers find Azren's cheek, trembling.
"You saved her," he rasps. "You saved your mother."
Azren squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they're glassy and shining.
"Val," he calls.
The blond healer is standing near the fireplace, his arms folded, his expression grim.
"Why isn't he healing?" Azren asks. "Nyxara has been captured. The curse should be broken."
Val exhales slowly.
"It's not that simple." He moves closer, crouching beside the couch. "Nyxara has refused to break the spell. All attempts have been futile."
Azren's hand curls into a fist on his father's blanket.
"Fine. I'll handle—"
His dad grabs his hand to stop him with surprising strength.
"T-there's something you don't know," he croaks, and Azren freezes.