The room was still. Azrael hadn't moved. He hadn't spoken a word since Isabella straddled him. His hands remained gently on her waist, firm but not forceful. Isabella could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, the tension in his muscles held just beneath his skin.
She wanted to ask him again—how he knew her name, what exactly he wanted from her—but the words lodged in her throat. Her breath was shaky, her fingers trembling where they rested on his shoulders.
Azrael studied her face as if memorizing it. Not just the shape of her lips or the color of her eyes, but something deeper. Something that made her feel exposed.
"You're afraid," he said softly, not as a question, but a truth.
"I'm not," she whispered.
"You are. But not of me."
Isabella swallowed. His voice was low, barely audible, but each word vibrated through her. It wasn't fear—not really. It was the chaos of unfamiliarity. Of being seen, truly seen, in a way that bypassed everything she usually hid behind.
She leaned back slightly, her knees still resting beside his thighs. "Why am I here?"
His eyes didn't leave hers. "Because I wanted to see how long you would stay."
Isabella's breath caught.
"And now?" she asked.
"I don't want you to leave yet."
The air between them thickened with unspoken things. Questions. Promises. Warnings.
He lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair from her face. His fingertips barely grazed her skin, but it was enough to set fire to her nerves. She closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to lean into the touch.
Azrael's voice came softer now. "You're exhausted. You need to sleep."
"I can't sleep next to a stranger."
"I'm not asking you to," he said, standing up suddenly, catching her by the waist before she could fall forward. He lifted her effortlessly and placed her gently on the bed.
"I'll be right here. You can take the bed. I won't touch you unless you ask me to."
He moved to the chair by the window, his back to her now. Isabella stared at him, stunned by how quickly he retreated. How calm he always seemed. She wrapped her arms around herself, lying down slowly on the bed, facing his silhouette.
"Why do you keep helping me?" she asked, voice barely audible.
A long silence stretched before he answered.
"Because something about you... interrupts me."
She didn't understand what he meant. But she didn't ask. The room was too quiet now, and her body too heavy to keep pressing for answers. Her eyes closed without her permission.
And sleep found her.
---
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting golden lines across the floor. Isabella stirred, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The ceiling above her wasn't hers. The sheets smelled of cedar and smoke.
Then she remembered.
She sat up quickly, the blanket falling from her shoulders. Her eyes darted around the room.
Azrael was gone.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, heart thudding. But before panic could rise, the door opened quietly.
He walked in holding two cups of coffee, his coat already back on. He looked composed, collected—his dark hair slightly tousled, like he had been walking against the morning wind.
"You're awake," he said simply, handing her a cup.
She took it with trembling fingers. "You left."
"Just downstairs. I didn't want to wake you."
She sipped the coffee. It was exactly how she liked it. She hadn't even told him.
"I should go," she said.
He nodded. "I'll take you."
They left the hotel in silence. The car ride back to Emily's apartment was quiet, too—soft music playing in the background, but no words between them. Isabella kept glancing sideways at him, wondering who—or what—he really was.
When they pulled up, he didn't reach for the door or try to touch her.
"Will I see you again?" she asked, surprising herself.
Azrael looked at her, his gaze unreadable.
"You already know the answer," he said, and then, he was gone.
---
Emily opened the door in her pajamas, hair wild, eyes narrowed.
"Where the hell have you been?" she hissed.
"I'm fine," Isabella said quickly, brushing past her.
Emily followed her inside. "You didn't answer your phone. You disappeared. Do you even know that guy?"
Isabella turned to face her. "I don't. Not really."
Emily folded her arms. "And you spent the night with him?"
"I didn't do anything. We just talked. He got me a room so I could rest."
Emily raised a brow. "And he slept on the floor?"
"No. On the chair."
Emily gave her a long, unreadable look. "That doesn't make it less weird."
"I know," Isabella whispered, dropping onto the couch. "But it didn't feel wrong."
Emily sighed and sat beside her. "You're scaring me, Bella."
"I'm scaring myself."
They sat in silence. Outside, the world carried on. Inside, something had shifted.
---
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit study filled with old books and the scent of parchment, a man stood before a blazing fireplace. His back was turned to the door.
"He's getting involved," came a voice from the shadows behind him.
"I know," the man replied.
"She's not one of us."
"That's what makes it dangerous."
"Should we intervene?"
He turned slowly, revealing sharp features and eyes that glowed faintly red. "No. Not yet. Let him make his mistake."
The other voice didn't speak again.
Only the fire crackled in the silence, whispering secrets no one dared speak aloud.
---
Back at the apartment, Isabella lay curled up in bed. Her thoughts were a storm. Azrael's face. His touch. His silence. The way he looked at her like he knew every thought she was too afraid to say out loud.
And the fact that she wanted to see him again terrified her more than anything else.
But she also knew something else now.
This wasn't over.
Whatever it was between them... it had only just begun.
---