Hazel's breath caught in her throat as Azrael's words echoed in her mind, lingering like a haunting melody that refused to fade. "Forever." The weight of those words pressed heavily against her chest, the gravity of her new reality sinking in deeper than she had anticipated. The mark on her neck, still warm to the touch, felt like a brand, a reminder that she was no longer the princess she once thought herself to be. She was bound to him in ways she couldn't escape.
As Azrael's fingers slowly withdrew from her skin, she flinched, the chill of his absence replacing the warmth of his touch. She was acutely aware of the distance now between them, though the air around them still buzzed with tension—a dangerous, almost electric charge. The room, once still and quiet, now felt too small, suffocating in its silence.
Her eyes darted to the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with wide, uncertain eyes. She barely recognized the woman before her—the delicate princess who had once dreamed of a life beyond the palace walls, now reduced to a pawn in a game she didn't understand. The dress she wore felt like a shackle, its heavy fabric a reminder of the role she was forced into. But it was the mark on her neck, glowing faintly beneath her skin, that terrified her the most.
Azrael stood behind her, his presence looming like a dark cloud. She could feel his gaze on her, an almost predatory intensity that made her skin prickle with unease. There was something in the way he watched her—something hungry, something unyielding. It was as though he was studying her, waiting for something she couldn't quite place.
"I told you," Azrael's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried weight. "You belong to me. And I am not a man who shares." The air between them seemed to grow thicker, the words hanging like an unspoken threat.
Hazel's heart raced, her body stiffening at his words. The sharpness of his gaze made her skin crawl, yet something inside her stirred—a forbidden desire she couldn't name. It was a strange, conflicting feeling. She wanted to run, to escape the cage he had trapped her in, but at the same time, there was something magnetic about him that held her in place, like the pull of an invisible force she couldn't resist.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice trembling, but firm. It wasn't just the physical distance that bothered her. It was the emotional chasm between them, the impossibility of understanding this man, his motives, or his twisted sense of ownership.
Azrael's lips curved into a dark smile, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. He didn't need to answer her question. He didn't need to explain anything. His very presence was an answer in itself—an answer that terrified her more than any words could.
"I'm here because you are mine, Hazel," he said, his voice low, his tone laced with dark promise. "You were never meant to be free. Not in this life. And especially not now."
The coldness in his words was biting, but beneath it, she sensed something else—a dangerous heat, simmering just beneath the surface. It was as though his words had unlocked something primal in him, something that reached out for her, something that sought to claim her, not just in body but in mind and soul.
Her body tensed as his figure moved closer, his boots making no sound on the soft carpet as he approached her. She didn't want him near. She didn't want to feel the intoxicating heat of his presence, the way his very aura seemed to envelope her. But even as she took a step back, her heart beat faster, her body betraying her. She couldn't help the way her pulse quickened at the thought of him so near.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Azrael's voice was a low murmur, like a secret shared between the two of them. He was standing so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. The warmth of his breath stirred her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. "The pull. The darkness that runs through your veins now. You can't deny it."
Hazel closed her eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming presence of his words. She couldn't—wouldn't—acknowledge the strange ache in her chest, the sensation that he was right. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she willed herself not to react. But the more she tried to resist, the more the strange yearning inside her seemed to grow.
"You want to fight it," Azrael continued, his voice dark and soothing, like velvet laced with poison. "But you can't. Not anymore. I see the way your body reacts when you're near me. The way your heart races, the way your breath hitches." He paused, letting the silence linger between them, thick with unspoken truths. "You want me, Hazel. You may not understand it yet, but you want me just as much as I want you."
His words cut through the air like a knife, leaving a jagged, raw edge behind. Hazel felt her body betraying her again, the heat rising in her chest, spreading through her limbs. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms as if that would ground her, keep her from succumbing to the feelings swirling inside her.
"I don't want you," she spat, the words leaving her lips more forcefully than she had intended. She turned her face away, refusing to meet his gaze. The anger she felt toward him was like a shield, a desperate attempt to protect herself from the truth—the truth she couldn't face, the truth she didn't want to acknowledge.
Azrael's smile grew, his amusement evident as he tilted his head slightly. He was enjoying this—enjoying her struggle. It was as if he reveled in her resistance, as if the fight itself made the victory sweeter.
"You don't have to want me," he said softly, his voice a low growl. "You will. In time, you will crave it, and when you do, I will be here."
He reached out then, his hand brushing against her cheek with a tenderness that was almost jarring. The contrast between his touch and his words made her insides twist, the warmth of his skin sending an involuntary shiver through her body.
Hazel flinched, her mind fighting to hold onto the anger, to maintain some semblance of control. But it was slipping away, like sand through her fingers.
"You're wrong," she whispered, her voice small, as though the words were meant more for herself than for him. "I'll never crave you."
Azrael's eyes darkened, and in that moment, he was a shadow—a predator circling its prey. He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. His fingers were cold, but the heat in his eyes was undeniable.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," he murmured, his lips brushing just above her ear. "You're mine now, Hazel. And soon, you'll know exactly what it feels like to be consumed by me."
The air around them thickened, charged with the weight of his words. Hazel's pulse thundered in her ears as the room seemed to close in on her, the walls closing in, pressing her closer to him. There was no escape from him, not now. And, deep down, she feared that she didn't want one.
As his lips ghosted across her neck, just where the mark of the Devil now burned, Hazel felt her body betray her once more. The heat of the moment, the darkness that wrapped around her, was like a drug. And she hated herself for wanting more.