Chapter 179 My Angel | 072
NOELLE
I stiffen in Azren's arms, not pulling away. "What did she say?"
He exhales shakily, his burning forehead resting against my temple.
"Haden... he's an anomaly. Just like me. Except, his blood carries the kind of ancient potency that can seal the veil. It's strong enough to fix the fractures permanently."
Hope rears up weakly in my chest, but something in his tone kills it before it can grow.
"But he's missing," I whisper. “Isn’t he?”
Azren's grip on me tightens.
"No," he says, his voice unsteady. "Scratch that. He's not missing. He has the ability to switch bodies. Just like Nyxara."
I pull back enough to look at him, blood draining from my face. "He can... what?"
Azren's eyes are glassy with pain, the runes on his chest still glowing under the cold spray.
"He's been jumping from body to body. That's why we can't track him. We don't even know who he is right now."
My mind spins. "Then how are we supposed to find him? How are we supposed to get his blood if he can just—"
"We can't," Azren cuts in. "We can't... get our hands on his blood. Not anymore. We can only use his essence now. But to extract that, we need—"
He stops mid-sentence.
His body suddenly goes rigid against mine. His breathing changes, becoming ragged.
"Azren?"
He looks sick. Really sick.
His eyes widen slightly in warning. With what little strength he has left, he gently but firmly pushes me back, sliding me across the wet tiles away from him.
"Az—?"
He doesn't make it far.
His shoulders heave. He turns his head just in time as he throws up, the sound raw and painful, echoing horribly in the bathroom.
I gasp, shocked. "Azren!"
He trembles hard, another wave hitting him. He braces one hand on the floor, coughing and retching, his whole body shaking under the cold water.
"I'm sorry—" he chokes out between heaves, his voice cracking. "I'm so so sorry, Angel—"
My lower lip trembles as I move towards him without thinking, reaching for him.
"It's okay," I whisper, my voice shaking. "It's okay, baby. It's not a big deal. Please don't—"
He weakly lifts a hand, stopping me before I can touch him.
"Don't," he begs hoarsely, another violent heave rolling through him. "Please... just give me a minute. Please look away."
My heart shatters.
I want to hold him. I want to wipe his face and tell him I don't care about the mess, that I only care that he's hurting. But the pain and shame in his voice make me hesitate.
"Okay," I croak. "Okay... I'm right outside."
I force myself to stand on shaky legs and step out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me. The moment I'm alone in the bedroom, I clamp a hand tightly over my mouth.
I can still hear him.
The painful, wet sounds of him throwing up. The low, torturous groans between each wave. The way his breathing keeps catching like every heave hurts more than the last.
My knees buckle. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, hugging my arms around myself as silent sobs shake my shoulders.
This is my fault.
I pushed him too hard yesterday.
"I'm sorry," I whisper into my palm, tears dripping between my fingers. "I'm so sorry, Azren... Please be okay. Please let me help you. I can't watch you hurt alone."
Inside the bathroom, another harsh retch echoes.
I squeeze my eyes shut, crying harder, helpless and terrified.
My strong, terrifying, beautiful husband is falling apart.
And all I can do is sit here and listen.
...
The sounds eventually stop.
For one long, terrifying minute, there is only the steady hiss of the cold water. No retching. No groans.
My heart slams against my ribs.
"Azren?" I call, my voice trembling. "Honey?"
He doesn't answer.
Panic sizzles inside me. I shove the bathroom door open and rush in.
He is slumped sideways on the wet tiles by the toilet, half-conscious, barely holding himself up.
He seems to have crawled all the way there.
His eyes are half-lidded and unfocused, his breathing strained. The runes on his chest still glow an angry red, but they're weaker now, like they are draining the last of his strength.
"Oh gods... Azren!"
I drop to my knees beside him, whimpering. I do not sob out loud. I cannot. I am too focused on him.
Grabbing the handheld shower head, I gently spray the cold water over his body, washing away the mess with careful strokes.
My hands shake as I unbutton the rest of his soaked shirt and peel the wet fabric off his burning skin. He makes a weak, pained sound when I touch him, but he does not resist.
"Stay with me, love," I whisper, my voice thick with tears.
He is not fully conscious. His head lolls heavily as I struggle to pull his pants and boxers down his long legs.
He is so big and so heavy, and the wet tiles make everything slippery. I have to brace my whole body against him, my muscles burning, just to get him upright enough to finish undressing him.
Once he is naked, I bathe him properly. I towel-dry him as best as I can, struggling with his dead weight, nearly slipping twice. My own clothes are soaked, my arms aching, but I do not stop.
I wrap him in the first robe I find, and then I half drag him out of the bathroom and to our bed. I tuck the sick bucket on the floor beside him, just in case.
Then I pull the covers over his still-too-hot body and brush the wet hair from his forehead.
Only when he is finally settled do I step back.
I stand there in the middle of the room, dripping wet, staring at my husband.
I'm in utter disbelief.
Before this morning, the sight of vomit, of body fluids, would have disgusted me. I would have gagged and lost my senses.
But right now, all I feel is a fierce, protective love so strong it hurts.
I do not see any mess. I see my husband. My Azren. The man who calls me his quiet, his peace.
I square my shoulders, wiping the last of my tears away with the back of my hand.
"I'm your wife," I whisper to the quiet room, my voice steady despite the tremble in my chest. "And I will take care of you. No matter what."
I change into dry clothes, grab a cool cloth for his forehead, and climb carefully onto the bed beside him. I curl against his side, one arm draped over his chest, and press a soft kiss to his burning shoulder.
"I'm here," I murmur against his skin. "I'm not going anywhere. Rest, baby."
...
Azren's fever refuses to break. No matter how many cool cloths I press to his forehead, his skin stays scorching hot.
The runes on his chest still pulse with that angry red light, and every breath he takes sounds labored.
I spent the last hour on my knees in the bathroom, scrubbing it clean the way I used to when I was just a cleaner. Now the tiles gleam, but my hands are raw and my heart feels even heavier.
He is not getting better.
I sit on the edge of the bed and lift a glass of cool water to his lips. "Baby, please... just a little sip."
His eyes flutter but don't open fully. I tilt the glass gently, but the water just slides down his chin. He is too weak to swallow. A small trickle runs down his neck and disappears into the robe.
Tears sting my eyes again.
A loud knock on the bedroom door echoes through the penthouse, making me freeze.
"Luna? It's Jake."
I've never been so glad to hear his voice.
I rush to the door and yank it open. Jake stands there, looking tense, with an elderly woman beside him. She has the same strong bone structure and warm grey eyes as Jake. She must be his mother.
"Thank God you're here," I breathe, stepping aside so they can enter.
Jake doesn't waste a second. He strides straight inside, his mother following calmly behind him. The moment Jake sees Azren, he pales.
"Fuck... Alpha," he mutters, dropping to one knee beside the bed. "What the hell happened?"
I hover behind them, twisting my hands. "The runes... the veil thing. He's in so much pain. Can't we do anything? Please. Tell me there's something."
Jake's mother moves closer and gently places her hand on Azren's forehead. She closes her eyes for a moment, then she sighs softly.
"He is so strong," she says, her voice warm but heavy. "An ordinary alpha would have died from this kind of pain the moment it hit."
I feel the blood leave my face. "Died...?"
She nods sadly. "Unfortunately, there is nothing we can give him to ease it. He has to ride it out."
He has to bear this pain by himself, it's so unfair.
I crawl onto the bed and wrap my arms around Azren, pressing my face into his burning neck. He stirs weakly, one hand twitching.
Jake clears his throat. "Alpha asked me to bring my mother here for a reason. He wants us to help you access your wolf power faster."
I lift my head, my eyes wide.
My restoration gift.
The Light of Return.
Everyone keeps saying it is special. If I can reach it... maybe I can help him.
I look at Jake's mother, then at Jake, then back at my suffering husband.
"Let's do it," I say, my voice steady despite the tears still drying on my cheeks. "Whatever it takes. I'm ready."