Azriel's Point Of View
The heavy oak door of Mason's apartment clicked shut behind me, sealing the quiet hallway from the chaotic, fear-drenched room I had just stepped out of.
My jaw set instantly into a hard, unforgiving line. The sharp, burning memory of Seraphina's small hand hitting my chest… and the scent of her skin when I leaned in to bite her earlobe, was still humming in my veins.
But beneath that dark, possessive spark was an ugly, dull ache in the center of my chest, one I refused to name. It sat there like a stone, heavy and stubborn, refusing to dissolve no matter how many times I tried to reason it away.
I hated seeing her worried. I hated the tiny, desperate flutter of her pulse under my thumb, the shadow of fear dulling those defiant eyes. It made my chest contract in a way I had no desire to analyze. Anything that caused my Little Ember to look like that needed to be erased. Permanently.
