The journey resumed under the gray morning sky, the air thick with the lingering chill of the night before. Celeste sat stiffly beside Azrael in the carriage, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Though the attack had passed, an unshakable unease remained within her.
She stole a glance at Azrael, who sat with one arm draped over the back of the seat, his expression unreadable. His crimson eyes were hidden beneath heavy lids, as if he were lost in thought. Or perhaps, planning.
The weight of his presence was undeniable. It pressed against her like an unseen force, making her acutely aware of how small she felt beside him.
"Are you cold?"
His sudden question made her flinch. Celeste hesitated, unsure how to respond. She was cold, but admitting it felt too much like accepting his concern.
Before she could answer, Azrael reached for his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, the warmth of the fabric settling around her like a protective barrier. She stiffened at the gesture, but the heat was comforting, carrying his scent—dark spice and something deeper, something ancient.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Azrael only hummed in response, his gaze still fixed beyond the window.
Moments later, the carriage slowed to a halt. Outside, Rylan's voice cut through the silence. "We'll be passing through the border soon, Alpha."
Azrael nodded and turned to Celeste. "We'll stop for a short rest."
She followed him out hesitantly, stepping onto the damp earth. The road stretched ahead, leading into a dense forest with towering trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The shadows between them were deep, almost unnatural, as if something unseen watched from the depths.
Gemma approached, offering Celeste a small piece of bread and dried fruit. "You should eat," she advised, her tone softer than before. "It'll help."
Celeste took it with a small nod, though her appetite was nonexistent. She felt too aware of the unfamiliar figures around her—Azrael's warriors, all watching, all waiting. Their gazes weren't cruel, but they held a quiet, unspoken reverence for their king.
She stole another glance at Azrael, who stood a short distance away with Rylan, speaking in low voices. The Beta's posture was rigid, his silver eyes sharp with tension.
"They're tracking us," Rylan murmured. "I don't know how, but they won't stop."
Azrael's jaw clenched. "Let them come."
Celeste turned away, pretending not to hear. But deep down, a fear settled within her. Whoever was following them—they weren't done yet.
And she had a feeling this journey was only just beginning.
The carriage rattled along the uneven road, its wheels crunching against the gravel as the dense forest loomed on either side. The flickering lanterns inside cast soft, golden light against the dark interior, illuminating Celeste's delicate features as she sat across from Azrael, wrapped in his cloak. She kept her head slightly bowed, her fingers gripping the fabric like a lifeline.
The silence between them was thick, filled only by the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the earth. Celeste dared to lift her gaze, finding Azrael watching her with an unreadable expression. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim carriage, sharp and assessing, yet not unkind.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, creating eerie whispers that made Celeste shiver. She pulled the cloak tighter around her small frame. Azrael noticed.
"Are you cold?" His voice was low, smooth, carrying an almost unnatural calm.
Celeste hesitated before nodding slightly. She was always hesitant to answer, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Afraid of him, though he had yet to harm her. He sighed, then, without a word, shifted closer. The movement made her flinch slightly, but he simply reached for the blanket beside him and draped it over her lap. The warmth seeped into her skin, but her heart still pounded.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Azrael only hummed in response, his gaze flickering out the window. Something had changed in the air.
The horses whinnied uneasily. The steady rhythm of hooves faltered.
Rylan's voice called out from the driver's seat, sharp and alert. "Something's watching us."
Azrael tensed, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade. Celeste's fingers curled around the blanket as a wave of unease settled over her.
"Wraiths." Azrael's voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of that single word sent ice down her spine.
Before Celeste could react, the carriage shuddered violently. The horses neighed in terror, the entire vehicle swaying as something unseen struck it with force. A cold, unnatural presence seeped through the wooden frame, clawing at her very soul.
The carriage came to a jarring halt.
Outside, eerie, distorted figures flickered in and out of the darkness—wraiths with hollow eyes and elongated claws, their bodies barely solid, shifting like living shadows. Their presence drained the very warmth from the air, frost creeping along the edges of the carriage windows.
Azrael wasted no time. In one swift motion, he pulled Celeste to him, shielding her with his body. "Stay close," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. She stiffened but obeyed, clutching his cloak as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.
Rylan drew his sword outside. "Orders, Alpha?"
Azrael's crimson eyes gleamed, his voice a low, lethal growl. "No survivors."
The wraiths lunged.
The carriage door was wrenched open, and in a blur of motion, Azrael was gone, stepping into the night with effortless grace. The battle erupted in a whirlwind of steel, shadow, and unearthly shrieks. Celeste barely had time to process it before Gemma appeared in the doorway, urgency in her eyes.
"Come with me, my lady," she urged, reaching for Celeste's hand.
Celeste hesitated, her pulse racing, but she couldn't disobey. As Gemma pulled her from the carriage, the night swallowed them whole.
And behind them, Azrael stood at the heart of the chaos, his power unfurling like a storm, crimson eyes burning with an unholy fire.
The air outside was thick with the scent of blood and death. Celeste could barely see through the darkness as Gemma led her a few steps away from the carriage, her grip firm yet protective. The cries of the wraiths echoed through the trees, their unearthly wails sending shivers down Celeste's spine. She clutched Gemma's arm tightly, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
From where they stood, she could see Azrael—a shadow in the moonlight, crimson eyes burning like molten fire. He moved with deadly precision, his sword cutting through the wraiths as if they were made of mist. Each strike sent a ripple of power through the air, and for the first time, Celeste realized just how terrifyingly strong he was.
One of the wraiths broke past the others, its hollow eyes locking onto Celeste. A high-pitched screech tore from its throat as it lunged toward her, claws outstretched.
She froze.
She couldn't move, couldn't think—
Then, in a blur of movement, Azrael was there.
He grabbed the wraith mid-air, his claws digging into its shadowed form. The creature let out a choked scream as he crushed it with his bare hand, its body dissolving into nothingness.
Celeste gasped, staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. His expression was unreadable, his breath slightly uneven, as if he had acted on pure instinct. He turned to her slowly, and for a moment, there was silence between them.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was quieter than before, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous simmering just beneath the surface.
Celeste shook her head quickly, though her body trembled. Azrael's eyes flickered over her before he let out a breath, tension visibly leaving his frame. He stepped closer, and without a word, he pulled her into his arms.
Celeste stiffened.
He was warm. Warmer than she expected. His strength surrounded her completely, his scent—a mix of fire and something darker—filling her senses. She wasn't sure what to do, her hands hovering uncertainly over his chest, but he didn't let her go.
"You are mine to protect," he murmured, his voice softer now. "No harm will come to you, Celeste."
Gemma and Rylan exchanged glances nearby, though neither of them spoke. They had never seen their Alpha act this way before.
After a long moment, Azrael finally released her. He turned to Rylan. "Are the rest of the men safe?"
Rylan nodded. "A few injuries, but we handled it."
Azrael's jaw tightened. "Good."
He glanced at the overturned carriage, then back at Celeste. "We'll continue on foot until we find a safe place to rest."
Celeste swallowed hard. The idea of walking through the darkened woods after what had just happened terrified her. Sensing her distress, Gemma gently took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "You're safe, my lady," she said softly. "Azrael won't let anything happen to you. Neither will we."
Celeste looked at her, the warmth in Gemma's expression unfamiliar but strangely comforting. Slowly, she nodded, though her hands still trembled. Gemma gave her a small, reassuring smile before stepping aside as Azrael moved forward.
Without another word, Azrael bent down and lifted Celeste into his arms, holding her close as he carried her through the moonlit forest. She let out a soft gasp, her fingers gripping his cloak, but she didn't protest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady sound of his heartbeat lulled her into a fragile sense of security.
As they moved deeper into the shadows, Celeste rested her head against his chest, exhaustion weighing heavy on her. And for the first time since this journey began, she allowed herself to close her eyes, trusting the demon king who carried her into the night.