I was happy with Azazel's reaction. He truly seemed pleased by the thought of me staying at his side.
Then my eyes caught something new: six claw marks etched across his arm. I hadn't noticed them before. As I traced them with my gaze, fragments of memory stirred—knowledge of the beast power levels of this world.
Level 1 was the weakest; level 10, the strongest. Beyond that lay something rarer still: transcendence. Each level earned added a century to one's lifespan.
And when a male and female mated, a sacred bond was formed. It manifested as a living mark on their bodies. The female bore the form of her mate's beast, while the male carried hers. More than a symbol, it was a vow: I belong, and I am belonged to.
Through this bond, the male could grant his partner the years he himself had earned. The highest levels promised lifetimes long enough to watch whole forests rise and fall.
Almost without realizing it, I reached out and touched Azazel's scars. My fingers lingered over each line, searching for meaning in the battles that had carved them.
He didn't move. He barely breathed. The silence between us was heavy but not awkward—more like quiet respect.
"Six…" I murmured under my breath.
Azazel looked aside, uncertain, but he didn't pull away. In his eyes flickered pride, not arrogance—just the weight of victories won.
Then a loud throat-clearing cut through the moment.
The healer had been silent until now. She regarded us with a knowing look, lips curved in amusement.
"You two lovebirds can flirt more comfortably at his house," she teased.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Azazel turned away, biting back a smile. The healer chuckled, then ushered us to the door.
Outside, dusk had already fallen. The horizon burned in shades of amber before fading to shadow. Azazel took my hand and led me through the quiet village. Most homes were already closed, the world settling into night.
His home stood a little apart from the others, larger and quieter, surrounded by bushes speckled with yellow blossoms. The doorway had no door—just an open threshold, as if nothing needed hiding.
Inside, everything was simple and neat. A hay bed rested along the wall, an unlit firepit lay near the entrance, and clay pots were scattered across the floor—each worn with use.
Azazel turned to me with a soft smile. "Welcome, Ophelia. Are you hungry? Thirsty? You've eaten nothing all day… unless you count that yellow fruit—yellow ball, I think—when we met."
My stomach answered with a loud growl.
I lowered my gaze, embarrassed. "Yes… I'm starving," I admitted softly.
His smirk deepened. "I've got fruit. No meat today—I didn't hunt. But tomorrow—" he lifted a finger as if swearing an oath, "—I'll bring you a fat wild pig. Just for you."
I nodded shyly and sat on the hay bed. He disappeared briefly, returning with a basket of fruit—two ripe, one green, and one already turning. I picked the ripe ones, peeled them, and bit in. Sweet juice flooded my mouth, delicious and comforting.
By the time I finished, night had wrapped the village in deep blue silence. My body grew heavy with drowsiness. I stretched out on the hay bed, pulling a light pelt over my waist.
The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was Azazel watching quietly, moving closer.
Azazel — Point of View
I watched her sleep, her face serene, as though she'd finally found safety.
Then my eyes caught the tear in her thin white clothing—just enough to glimpse the curve of her chest.
Heat flushed through me instantly. My ears burned, my body restless. I tried to look away, to think of anything else… but I couldn't.
The stir inside me grew sharper, harder to control. Flustered, I turned away abruptly and fled outside. I ran to the lake, desperate for the cold water to cool the fire rising in me.