Chapter 8: The Belly of the Beast - 5
Azareel stirred, letting out a soft, content hum, and— he snuggled closer, his cheek nuzzling her hip as if she were a oversized pillow.
Nyxsha froze, her claws unsheathing, her fur puffing out like a cat struck by lightning.
Then, with a roar of pure indignation, she launched him.
Her tail flicked with violent precision, sending Azareel flying across the cathedral.
He spun midair like a tattered scarf, limbs flailing, and crashed face-first into a pile of cursed relics with a muffled thump.
A heavy bone candle teetered off a ledge and bonked his head with a dull clunk, rolling away as if embarrassed by its own involvement.
Dust billowed, and for a moment, the den was a chaos of clattering bones and Nyxsha’s furious panting.
Azareel sat up, dazed, blinking through a cloud of dust.
His torn tunic hung off one shoulder, and a shard of a melted prayer mask clung to his arm.
He brushed it off, unbothered, and looked at Nyxsha with that infuriatingly gentle smile.
"Thank you for being my blanket," he said, his voice sweet and sincere, as if he hadn’t just been yeeted across a room.
Nyxsha’s jaw dropped, her snarl morphing into a strangled choke.