Azrael's POV
*****
The Bloodoak family.
He's watched them from the shadows for the last nineteen years. Watched how the Alpha King and Luna Queen raised their children. Watched how said children stepped into the academy and both threaded different paths.
All this time he's kept a strict rule. NEVER interfere. Never interact. Never reveal himself.
He had never seen a reason to break this simple rule. Until that night—
Celeste.
Her screams when she ran through the forest reached him. Those Vein Beasts would've killed her—and he couldn't let her die. Not when the High One needed her.
So he saved her. No... he slaughtered the beasts. 'Saving' her would've involved him going out of his way to make sure she was okay. She was alive and that's all that mattered.
When he reported the incident to the High One, he was given a new directive that would prove particularly difficult:
Enrol in BloodOak Academy and keep a closer eye on Celeste.
Only there was one problem with that.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do for you... Mr..." The school's admissions officer, a wolf, scanned her eyes through a notebook before raising her head.
He sat in front of the desk, black sunglasses covering his eyes despite how dimly lit the office was.
"Azrael." He blurted, expression deadpan. "Azrael Vaelmont."
The woman gave him a once-over before nodding. "Right. Mister Vaelmont. Currently, we don't have any reservations or... Space for new students. The school year already began three weeks ago."
She traced her finger through the book, her eyes leaving Azrael for a moment.
That moment gave him enough time to look around the office.
There was no one else. White papers and books were stacked on a shelf close to the wooden door behind him. The room was painted white. Murals depicting scenes from throughout the years during the century-old war hung on the walls.
A war he wasn't present to witness.
The bloodshed. The pointing of fingers from both sides—witches and humans against wolves. Two decades later and it seemed like ancient history.
But it happened. And the academy, like many others around the world, wasn't trying to hide it.
"Next semester." The school's admission officer set the notebook aside, resting more properly on her chair. "We won't be having reservations till next semester. Three months from now. But before that, I can take note of your details and make sure you get one of the first slots."
Azrael blinked slowly at her underneath his glasses.
There was no way in heaven or hell that he'd wait three months. The High One specifically ordered him to stick close to Celeste as soon as possible.
Whatever means necessary.
An offer which wouldn't have been passed without reason...
"That's... Quite unfortunate." Azrael clasped his fingers together, taking a good look at her. And a good sniff.
Short. Glossy pearl white skin and almond-shaped eyes. Dressed like someone from this era's twentieth century, with brown hair tied into a bun.
The evening sun peeked through the window behind her, casting rays of rectangular-shaped orange light on the table, highlighting her petite silhouette.
On the wall behind her, a CCTV camera was mounted. There were three others in the room.
Doesn't mean he couldn't still do something—
"I heard tonight would be the time for your school's annual Lupine Mating Ball." He pretended to clear his throat, leaning closer from across the desk.
The woman arched her brow. "Yes. What about it? Are you... What are you anyway?"
A small smile curled his lips as he rubbed the silver ring on his right middle finger. It had a crimson sigil which glowed faintly, pulsing with power from the High One.
"Just a witch." He muttered, gaze flicking back to the woman. "I like keeping my scent and magic hidden. A habit I picked up from my mother."
The woman didn't seem convinced.
Little did she know that as she stared at him, scrutinising and sniffing like a bloodhound, he was already prying into her mind.
Layer after layer, he skimmed through the surface-level thoughts, peeling into the things that defined her.
Single mother of two. Name is Benedicta Wormwood. Passed the time every night reading novels and trying to grow the social media accounts her kids helped her set up. Didn't really have anything interesting he could dissect other than that.
But it didn't matter. The mere fact that he was able to read her thoughts without taking off his sunglasses meant this would be a walk in the park.
"Well," the woman coughed, breaking the tension. "If you can hide your true nature, that means you must be a very skilled witch already. You'll make a good fit in our academy."
While she said that out loud, he heard her real-time thoughts:
'He looks like he should be twenty-one at least,' her mind whispered. 'But goddess, there's something about him. Could he be one of those old witches? Why is he seeking admission here?'
Quaint...
'And by Selene... He's hot.' she swallowed. 'That jawline. That skin tone. I bet he's packing muscles underneath that suit—fuck, Benedicta! He's over a decade younger than you. I can't—'
"Miss." Azrael decided he'd heard enough, slowly raising his right hand.
His fingers caught his sunglasses, taking them off like he was hesitating. Yet his mind was already made up.
"Please, tell me you can make room for a reservation." His voice became soft, like a honey-tipped blade. "Miss Benedicta..."
The glasses dropped, revealing his eyes. They glowed eerily like coal in a fire, burning with his natural power of compelling which only the most powerful or protected could resist.
Benedicta gasped, lips parting. "How... How do you know my—"
"Give me an answer, miss." Tilting his head, he pushed the ability. "Please. I really need this."
The pleading words were merely a way to mask what he was truly doing from the cameras. If it were any other setting, just a word would be enough to bend her.
Slowly, he felt her crack. Her eyes softened, shoulders relaxing as she nodded once. "Of... Of course. There's a reservation. I'll make space for it right away."
With a calm smirk, he folded his arms in front of his chest. Benedicta went into action quickly, typing on her laptop and signing some papers with a determined expression.
"Any guardians I should take note of?" She questioned, her voice almost devoid of any feelings of her own.
All that was left was the desire to do what Azrael wanted.
"No." He shook his head. "Just me. That's not a problem, right?"
She blinked once, as if there was something she wanted to say. Like her mind was trying to claw its way out of his compelling.
Wolves. Always so stubborn.
"It's not a problem, mister Vaelmont." She wrote a few more things before passing a logbook to him. "Please, sign here. I'll send you your schedule, dorm room and everything you need after you make the—"
He handed her a blank cheque without a word, putting his glasses back on.
"Get on with it then."
.
.
When he walked into the mating ball, he was alert. Sharp. Subconsciously caressing his ring—the one thing keeping his "witch" disguise active.
It didn't take long to catch that familiar scent. The one he's tracked for years and got close to two weeks ago.
Obviously, over the years, her scent and perfume choices have evolved. Yet that sweet hint of spring—like vanilla and lilies—still lingered.
As he walked past the rows of tables, fake laughter, and mixed smells of witches, wolves and alcohol however... He felt something off.
There was something different about her scent. Something stronger that made his blood ignite. Heightened his hunger in a way he hasn't seen in centuries.
And then he saw her. Getting on her feet, she almost instantly locked her violet eyes on him.
Her lush black hair with silver streaks fell down her shoulders, shielding her neck slightly. Time froze. Instincts that he's kept tamed all these while—resurfaced like a corpse dug up.
His ring burned. His power snarled.
Every carefully built restraint inside him shattered. Because whatever she was…
She was his. He could feel it.
This girl... Celeste.
"Mine."