We sit in silence as we eat our meal, the tension so tight it feels like the air itself might snap.

  The crackle of the fire is too loud. The scrape of utensils against stone is too sharp. Even the rhythm of his breathing feels like a warning.

  Azrael keeps his gaze fixed on his food, posture rigid, shoulders set like he’s bracing for something that never comes. He is calm in the way a blade is calm. Polished. Controlled. Dangerous, not because he is threatening, but because he is always holding something back.

  And I cannot stop thinking about what I saw today.

  The tattoo.

  The brief glimpse of black ink along his ribs. The way he moved too fast, as if the sight of it was a weakness I could exploit. The way the script looked almost like the symbols in his book. Not identical, but close enough to make my skin prickle with certainty.

  What is it he doesn’t want me to know?

  Why hide it from me?

  My thoughts circle, hunting for meaning. The prophecy. The book. The translation I spoke without understanding how I knew the words. The way the parchment felt like it recognized me.

  Maybe the passage really isn’t about me at all.

  Maybe it’s about him.

  Maybe it’s about Azrael’s curse.

  Maybe it even holds the key to breaking it. And somehow I am connected to it all.

  The thought grips me, sudden and fierce.

  I want to help him.

  He is, after all, trying to help me.

  At first, I didn’t really believe him. Not fully. I told myself he was manipulating me, that this was some twisted game meant to keep me obedient. But after feeling my wolf move through me like a tide, after realizing how close I came to losing myself completely, I can’t deny it anymore.

  He wasn’t exaggerating.

  I am dangerous.

  Not because I want to be.

  Because something inside me doesn’t always care what I want.

  Frustration burns hot beneath my skin. Why does he hide so much from me? Why does he insist on guiding me like I’m a fragile thing, when I have survived every sharp edge life has thrown at me so far?

  I am not porcelain.

  I am not a doll.

  And I am done swallowing questions until they rot inside me.

  “Your tattoo,” I say.

  Azrael glances up, and for a fraction of a second, irritation breaks through his carefully blank expression. It’s brief. Controlled. But it’s there.

  “It’s like the writing in the book,” I continue, voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. “Right?”

  He doesn’t answer. Just lowers his gaze back to his food, as if I’ve spoken into the wind.

  I feel my jaw tighten.

  “I recognize the symbols,” I press. “They’re similar. Not the same, but close. I couldn’t get a good enough look.”

  “Lirian,” he breathes, low and warning.

  My pulse kicks harder.

  “Does it have something to do with your curse?” I push, unable to stop myself. “Are you trying to figure out a way to break it?”

  “Lirian,” he says again, firmer now.

  I lean forward, the firelight painting gold along the sharp lines of his face. “I could help you. If you let me look at it, maybe I can translate it. Like I did with that line.”

  “Lirian.”

  “I know you think you have to do this on your own,” I say, voice rising despite my attempt to keep it calm. “You don’t. You just have to let me in.”

  “Stop.”

  The word lands like a slap.

  I barely recognize it as it leaves his mouth.

  I don’t know when it happens, but suddenly he’s on his feet, towering over me, fists clenched, breath heavy. Power radiates off him in palpable waves, thick and pressing, like the cave has narrowed and the air has turned to stone.

  “I need you to stop.”

  My throat goes dry.

  “But I just want to…”

  “No.” His voice cuts sharp through the space between us. “Enough.”

  For the first time since he dragged me into this place, I truly see him.

  Not the calm, patient teacher.

  Not the quiet guardian.

  Azrael.

  His size. His strength. The way every muscle strains with restraint, veins standing out beneath his skin, power coiled tight and leashed by sheer will.

  He is power itself, and he is terrifying.

  And yet beneath all of it, I sense something else.

  My wolf already knows.

  She does not warn me.

  She does not flinch.

  He is pretending.

  Pretending to be unbreakable. Pretending he doesn’t need anyone. Pretending he has accepted a life of solitude and silence like it doesn’t hollow him out from the inside.

  It’s a lie.

  Underneath the rage and control, he is afraid.

  Afraid to let anyone close.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Afraid to let anyone see him.

  Well, I’m not afraid.

  I rise slowly, deliberately, until we are inches apart. Close enough that my breath brushes his skin. Close enough that I can smell everything on him.

  Anger.

  Hesitation.

  Fear.

  “Azrael,” I say softly. “Let me help you.”

  I lift my hand and place it gently against his chest, over his heart.

  It beats steady beneath my palm. Too steady. Like he’s forcing it to behave.

  “Let me in,” I whisper.

  He jerks away as if burned.

  A low growl tears from his throat as he retreats toward the fire, putting as much distance between us as the cave allows. His eyes are bright, fierce, and for a heartbeat I think he might shift right there.

  I freeze, stunned.

  I don’t understand.

  He is relentless about helping me, guiding me, protecting me. But he won’t accept the same in return. Why? Does he not trust me? Does he think I’ll betray him? Is he afraid of getting attached, knowing I might leave the moment my wolf allows it?

  Maybe he isn’t wrong.

  But still.

  I wouldn’t betray him.

  So why won’t he let me in?

  I should stop. I should let it go.

  But stubbornness has always been stitched into my bones.

  And the truth is, I’m tired of being the only one exposed.

  “I know you’ve never had anyone to lean on,” I begin, softer now, trying to reach him instead of cornering him. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. And I want to help.”

  I close the distance again.

  He glances up as I approach, then turns his gaze back to the hearth, jaw set like stone.

  “Please,” I whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  His breath comes heavier now. I feel it in the tension that locks his muscles beneath my touch, in the sharp twitch of his jaw as his teeth grind together.

  “I said no,” he growls, low and warning.

  “But I just want to help,” I murmur, and my voice nearly breaks on the last word.

  Something inside him snaps.

  Not into violence.

  Into emotion.

  The ocean of everything he keeps buried surges violently to the surface, spilling out as fury. Fire lights his eyes, wild and unrestrained, and for the first time I see something feral beneath the control.

  I pushed too hard.

  Dug too deep.

  Forced him to face something he has kept locked away for far too long.

  “I said no, Lirian,” he barks. “What don’t you understand about that?”

  He yanks his arm away from my grasp, the rejection sharp and physical.

  “You may have been able to do whatever you wanted before,” he continues, voice hard, “but I am not some servant you can toy with. Manipulate.”

  Panic flares hot in my chest. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Focus on your own issues,” he snaps, cutting me off entirely.

  Then he storms out of the cave.

  Leaving me standing alone, my thoughts twisted and tangled in confusion.

  I guess he really doesn’t trust me.

  The realization hits hard, like a brutal shove that sends pain ricocheting through my ribs. Did he think so little of me? Is that truly the impression I give off?

  For a long while, I pace the length of the cave, turning the encounter over and over in my mind. Wondering if there is a way I could help him without him knowing. If there is some way I could be there for him without crossing the line he guards like a wound.

  Every path my thoughts take leads to a dead end.

  He is still gone hours later.

  I try to stay awake, telling myself I’ll wait for him to return, but exhaustion crashes down on me like a tide. My thoughts blur. My limbs grow heavy. Eventually, the only solution left is the one I don’t want.

  Sleep.

  I sleep deeply, not a single thought stirring in my mind. No dreams. No nightmares. Just darkness and rest.

  The faintest sensation of fingers brushing my hair away from my face pulls me slowly toward consciousness. I almost think I imagined it.

  Then a voice, low and careful, reaches me.

  “I’m sorry, Lirian,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

  Strong hands rest on my shoulders, warm and steady.

  Exhaustion still weighs heavy in my limbs, but I force my eyes open. Firelight flickers weakly through the cave, casting shadows along the stone. His face is half-hidden in the dim glow, but I know him instantly by scent alone.

  Azrael.

  The air fills my lungs, and with it comes an unexpected sense of calm.

  Even in the low light, I can see it written across his features.

  Regret.

  Remorse.

  I blink again, trying to clear the haze from my vision. Outside, it is still night.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep.

  He shakes his head. “No. It’s not okay. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.” His voice tightens. “I’m sorry.”

  I push myself upright, rubbing my eyes. “I should have respected your boundaries,” I admit quietly. “You asked me to stop, and I didn’t.”

  He exhales slowly, tension easing just a fraction. “I know you were trying to help.” He hesitates. “Let me make it up to you.”

  Curiosity stirs, and I raise my brows.

  “There’s something I’ve never shown anyone,” he says carefully. “It’s special. A secret.”

  My heart gives a small, sharp beat. “Yes?”

  “There’s something about this cave,” he continues. “Meet me in the bathing room.”

  Before I can respond, he turns and disappears into the shadows of the cave depths.

  It takes a moment for my legs to cooperate. I move slowly, nearly blind, following the faint sound of water and light. As I round the corner, soft fragments of illumination spill across the stone.

  When I step inside, my breath catches.

  The moon has aligned perfectly overhead, its silver light pouring through the opening in the ceiling. Where it touches the walls, bioluminescent threads awaken, glowing and pulsing as if alive. The cave shimmers, alive with light, like stars woven into stone.

  Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it.

  Azrael gestures toward the hot spring. “Enjoy this moment.”

  “How have I never seen this before?” I ask, awed.

  “It only appears when the moonlight strikes just right,” he says. “It lasts less than half an hour.” He pauses. “Get in.”

  He turns his back, giving me privacy.

  I slip free of my clothes and step into the water. Warmth sinks into my muscles, easing the ache I hadn’t realized was still living in my bones. The light dances across the surface, shimmering over my skin like liquid moon.

  Azrael starts toward the exit.

  “Wait,” I call softly. “Join me.”

  He stills.

  The request clearly unsettles him.

  “Please,” I add. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  Slowly, he turns back. Hesitation lingers in every movement as he undresses, first removing his shirt. In the moonlit glow, the markings across his skin seem almost alive, tracing ancient patterns that shimmer faintly.

  My breath catches.

  He pauses, looking at me.

  Heat rushes to my cheeks and I turn away.

  Moments later, the water stirs as he enters, settling on the opposite side of the pool.

  We sit in silence, exposed in ways that have nothing to do with skin.

  No words feel necessary.

  I rest my head against the stone edge, watching the lights ripple above us. When I lift my gaze again, he is watching me.

  Not my body.

  Me.

  Reading my expression, my thoughts, my heart.

  I offer a small smile. He returns it.

  For a moment, he studies me in silence, his expression unreadable.

  “You seem quite at home.” he says quietly.

  The words catch me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze dips, just briefly, before lifting to meet mine again. Something softer settles into his eyes.

  Almost wonder.

  “You’re glowing.”

  Confusion flickers through me. I glance down instinctively, breath hitching.

  My skin is faintly illuminated, a pearly shimmer radiating from me, brighter than the bioluminescence along the cave walls. It pulses gently, alive, as if responding to the water, the light, the moment itself.

  I stare.

  Then a laugh escapes me, quiet and stunned. “I do that sometimes,” I say with a smile, like it’s nothing at all.

  But it isn’t nothing.

  Azrael holds my gaze, mirroring my expression.

  Something tightens in my chest.

  Something hopeful.

  Dangerous.

  We stay like that for a time. Then the glow begins to fade as the moon drifts onward. The light dims, the magic receding until only candlelight remains.

  Azrael rises from the water, dressing quietly. Before leaving, he glances back once more, a soft, unreadable smile crossing his face.

  And as his footsteps fade, one thought lingers, heavy and undeniable.

  Whatever just shifted between us, it cannot be undone.