Chapter 7: The Belly of the Beast - 4
"Do you want to be crushed?" she snapped, her voice rumbling through the den. "I roll in my sleep. I twitch. I spasm. I bite."
Azareel looked up, his eyes half-lidded, a faint, gentle smile curving his lips despite the pain etched into his face. "Okay."
She glared, her ears flattening.
"What do you mean ’okay’? That’s not—" Her words stumbled, her growl faltering as his warmth seeped into her skin, a quiet presence against the cold stone and colder memories.
"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking on the word, raw and pleading. "Just for tonight."
Her growl died in her throat, choked by something she couldn’t name.
His warmth was barely there—small, fragile, like a candle flickering in a storm—but it was there, real and undeniable.
It stirred something in her, something she’d buried beneath centuries of blood and rage.
Her claws retracted, her tail curling tighter around him of its own accord, as if her body had made a choice her mind refused to acknowledge.
She turned away, burying her face in her pillow of bones, the sharp edges pressing against her cheek.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice muffled, thick with defiance. "But if you get flattened like a wet fruit, that’s your problem. Not mine."
Azareel nodded against her leg, his breath warm and steady.