TO TAME THE BRUTAL LYCAN BEAST-Chapter 79: DON’T DIE ON ME

VALORIA WILDEROSE

I sit impatiently, waiting for Azrael.

I can’t stop thinking about what happened tonight—the turn of events that led to Ronan turning to ash, with so many questions swirling in my mind.

Like, how did he become a Lycan when it should be impossible?

Lycans are superior beings, nothing close to werewolves, and yet he became one right in front of me.

What are the experiments he was referring to? What did Azrael do to Ronan? Where did he go?

I’m torn between being scared and worried, which puzzles me.

Why would I ever be worried about the King of Lycans, who has tormented werewolf kind for years?

He’s my enemy. My mission is to kill him, and yet I can’t stop this feeling of worry, especially with the way he left, like he was going to do something he shouldn’t.

So many things are going wrong.

Ronan is dead, and yet I feel a relief that fills me with guilt—relieved that he met the worst possible end and that he will never torment me again. Relieved that I got to see it up close.

I bite my nails, deep in thought, and then the door swings open.

My gaze moves swiftly to the doorway—Azrael standing in the frame silently, a mess, disheveled, with dried blood all over him.

I stiffen, rising to my feet almost instantly.

"Y-You’re back," I whisper, expecting something from him—an explanation of where he’s been, or maybe a scolding for leaving and disobeying his instructions, anything at all.

But he moves in quietly, shutting the door behind him.

"Wh-Where were y-you?" I ask.

He ignores my existence, as if I’m not standing in front of him. He walks past me, taking slow strides toward the bathroom door.

But then he pauses before he can go in, standing still like a statue, eerily, all of a sudden.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. The chilling silence all around us doesn’t help the situation.

Is he mad at me? Does he hate me now that he’s realized how weak and pathetic I am... just how insignificant my family views me as?

I panic internally, imagining the worst, suddenly desperate to hear him talk to me.

I take a step toward him and feel something wet and warm beneath my feet.

I look down, finding a trail of blood on the rugged floors, following its path to his feet—more of it pooling beneath him.

Something deeper than fear shackles me at the very moment I realize it’s coming from him.

"Azrael?" I take another step closer.

Unexpectedly, he falls backward onto the hard floor with a rough thud. My eyes widen, and my legs run faster than my mind, falling to his side the next moment.

I notice his eyes are closed, his face contorted in pain and agony, his skin burning to the touch and flushed.

"Azrael! Can you hear me?" I call to him, but he doesn’t respond, grunting instead, thrashing on the floor.

I rise up, sliding my hands underneath his shoulders and pulling him toward the bed.

He’s unnecessarily heavy and trembling too much for me to successfully get him on top of it, so I settle for leaning him against the bed frame, with a pillow to his back in an attempt to make him comfortable enough.

Sitting upright, I have a better view of his body, searching for the wound. I notice the large blotch of blood on his chest. Pulling aside his jacket, I rip the buttons open.

His chest is revealed, and then the wound.

It’s his scar—the very one I’ve seen on more than one occasion—and it’s raw, pulsing and bleeding as if it’s been recently inflicted, with black veins stretching out from it.

It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen. Too horrifying. I stagger back just from looking at it.

Suddenly, he begins to react explosively, thrashing more violently, yelling out in agony as his entire being is engulfed in pain.

The walls shake and tremble from his howl. I fall backward again, trying to figure out what’s going on.

He begins to claw at himself, scratching into his flesh, arms, and body, inflicting harm on himself to escape the pain he’s experiencing.

"Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!" I yell, but he doesn’t listen, doesn’t respond, like his entire consciousness is somewhere else, far away.

He falls to his knees, pulling at his hair, suddenly bleeding from his eyes, ears, and nose. Whatever is happening is getting worse.

I panic again.

I throw caution to the wind and throw myself at him, bracing myself for pain if any will follow.

All I know is that I want him to stop hurting himself, stop being in so much agony that makes him so miserable.

My arms wrap around one arm in an attempt to stop the self-harming. I squint my eyes and hold tight. I expect to be tossed against the wall or ripped apart like Ronan was.

I’m a fool, wishing for death for the most stupid reason. Yet it takes a second, and he stops.

The wailing fades, and he pauses, as if somehow my begging had finally reached him—wherever he is.

"Please stop hurting yourself. Whatever it is... it’s going to be okay." I have no idea why I’m saying what I’m saying, but I do, clutching tighter, speaking to him as if he were myself weeks ago when I was still living in hell.

Blank, hollow blue eyes look at me finally—rather, they turn to me, but are out of focus, looking at something else that isn’t really there.

His other hand reaches forward slowly. A gentle finger caresses my face, tugging the hair behind my ears, cupping the side of my cheek almost lovingly.

And then a small, sweet smile, delicate and longing, graces his lips.

"Venus," he whispers, as if the words alone would shatter his moment.

I freeze at the name, realizing he’s not seeing something, but someone.

"Venus, Þū eart mīn heorte lufu." Foreign words, in a foreign tongue, uttered with unimaginable sweetness, escape his lips, leaving me speechless for a moment. And curious.

"Azrael... who are you looking at?"

He doesn’t respond, but his small smile remains until the spell is broken. His eyes close again, and his body goes limp before he crashes onto the floor.