The warmth by my side stirred me from my rest. It wasn’t like the comforting heat of Diarmid’s presence or the pack’s protective aura. This warmth was different—ancient and almost magnetic. My pulse quickened, and I struggled to open my heavy eyelids.
When my vision cleared, my breath hitched. Standing beside the window, his side turned toward me, was the hooded figure.
Panic surged, but before I could scream or call for Diarmid, the figure shifted slightly, his profile illuminated by the faint light streaming through the glass. My eyes widened.
His face was strikingly handsome yet unnervingly intense. Dark, sharp brows framed piercing hazel-green eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. His cheekbones were high and defined, his jawline sculpted and shadowed by a hint of stubble. He had full, stern lips, and his presence radiated an ethereal authority. Despite the danger, there was something about his features that felt almost... familiar.
I gasped, and the sound seemed to shatter the moment.
"Arwen..." Diarmid's voice broke through the silence, strained and sharp with alarm.
I whipped my head toward the sound just as I heard a loud crash—glass shattering somewhere nearby. The door to the office burst open, and Finn, Brigit, Rhyian, and Roisin stood in the doorway, their faces frozen in shock.
The hooded figure turned then, fully facing me. I braced myself for the eerie, featureless visage I had seen before. But this... this was different. His hood fell back slightly, revealing dark, tousled hair that fell just above his ears, perfectly framing his striking face.
My heart thundered in my chest. "Who... who are you?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
The figure’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt as though he was looking straight into my soul.
“I think you already know,” he said, his voice low and resonant, a velvet sound laced with ancient authority.
Before anyone could react, he stepped backward, fading into the shadows of the room. By the time Diarmid lunged forward, the figure had vanished, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the chaos he had ignited in his wake.
Diarmid spun toward me, his blue-grey eyes frantic. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?” His hands gripped my shoulders as he scanned me for any sign of harm.
“I-I’m fine,” I stammered, though my body trembled from the encounter.
Finn stepped inside, his eyes darting around the room. “How did he get in? We’ve doubled the patrols—this shouldn’t be possible.”
Brigit and Rhyian exchanged uneasy glances, their usual playful demeanor replaced with somber concern.
“That wasn’t the same hooded figure,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.
“What do you mean?” Diarmid’s gaze snapped back to mine.
“He looked... different this time,” I explained, my voice shaking. “I saw his face. He didn’t look like the creature from before.”
“Then who was it?” Finn asked, his tone grim.
I looked toward the window, my mind racing as the figure’s words echoed in my ears. I think you already know.
“I don’t know,” I lied, swallowing hard. Because the truth—the truth was far too terrifying to admit.
The air in the room felt heavy, like a storm brewing just out of sight. I sat on the edge of Diarmid’s bed, the book Mom had given me cradled in my trembling hands. Its worn cover seemed to pulse with unspoken truths, and the story of Talisa and Azrael echoed in my mind like a warning I couldn’t quite decipher.
Brigit stayed close to me, her protective arm looped through mine, though her usual playful demeanor was absent. Finn stood rigid by the door, his sharp gaze fixed outward as though expecting the hooded figure to materialize once more. Diarmid was next to me, his hand splayed protectively across my back, anchoring me to him as if his presence alone could shield me from the unknown.
The faint crunch of tires outside sent my pulse racing. A vehicle screeched to a halt, and car doors slammed, the sound reverberating like gunshots.
I looked up at Diarmid, my eyes silently pleading. “Let me meet them outside,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest.
“No,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “They’ll come to you. You don’t leave this room.”
I bit my lip, frustrated but unwilling to push him further. The weight of his worry hung between us, unspoken but palpable.
The hooded figure’s words clawed at my mind.
“I think you already know.”
My stomach twisted painfully as the thought I’d been avoiding bubbled to the surface. Azrael… it has to be him.
Before I could dwell further, the door swung open. Finn moved aside as Michael strode in, his golden aura flickering faintly like a warning flame. Rafail followed closely behind, his sharp features locked in an expression of grim determination.
“Arwen,” Michael said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. He crossed the room with purpose, his glowing eyes scanning me as if searching for signs of damage.
Diarmid didn’t move from my side. His grip on my waist tightened slightly, a silent message: I’m not letting go.
Michael’s gaze shifted to him. “Tell me everything,” he demanded.
Diarmid leaned forward, his tone steady but laced with an underlying fury. “The hooded figure returned. It wasn’t the same as before. It showed itself to Arwen—fully. Its face… it wasn’t human, but it wasn’t like the last time either.”
Michael’s eyes flicked to me. “What did it do?”
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling as I answered. “It… it spoke to me. It said, ‘I think you already know.’”
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
“What else?” Rafail’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and demanding.
I hesitated, my hands gripping the book tightly. “When I looked at it… I felt something. Familiarity. And its face…” My voice faltered, and I opened the book to a page depicting Azrael, his piercing gaze captured in intricate detail. “It looked like this.”
Michael stepped closer, his expression darkening as he studied the image.
Finn swore under his breath. Brigit let out a soft gasp, her hand tightening around mine.
“Azrael,” Michael murmured, the name carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.
“Why would Azrael appear now?” Rafail asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “But if it really was him… why wouldn’t he just tell me who he is?”
Michael’s golden eyes narrowed as he turned to Diarmid. “What exactly happened before it disappeared?”
“It didn’t seem hostile,” Diarmid said, his voice tense. “But it was too close to her. Too… familiar. And when I tried to get to her, it vanished like smoke.”
Michael frowned, his gaze distant as though piecing together a puzzle. “If it’s truly Azrael, then this isn’t an accident. His appearance is deliberate.” He turned back to me, his voice softening slightly. “Arwen, did you feel anything else? Anything unusual?”
I hesitated, unsure of how to explain the overwhelming warmth and comfort that had radiated from the figure, so unlike the cold, menacing presence from before. “It didn’t feel threatening,” I said finally. “It felt… like it was protecting me.”
Michael’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a look with Rafail.
“Whatever this is,” Diarmid said, his voice cutting through the tension, “she’s not facing it alone.”
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His hand moved to cover mine, his touch steady and grounding.
But even as I leaned into his warmth, the hooded figure’s words echoed in my mind, relentless and unforgiving.
“I think you already know.”
If Azrael was truly reaching out to me, then the storm brewing around us was far from over. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what it meant.
Michael’s question cut through the tense atmosphere like a blade.
“Did something happen, Arwen?” His golden gaze pinned me, unwavering, as if he could see through my soul.
I hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. My fingers tightened around the edges of the book on my lap, the story of Talisa and Azrael an unspoken anchor. Slowly, I nodded.
“I… I talked to Nick,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
The room seemed to freeze. Brigit’s hand on mine stilled, and even Finn, always steady, looked momentarily caught off guard. Diarmid stiffened beside me, his grip on my waist tightening ever so slightly.
Michael’s expression darkened, a mix of concern and urgency flashing in his golden eyes. “You talked to Nick?” he repeated, his tone measured but sharp. “When?”
“In my dream,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “It felt so real, Michael. He was standing by the oak tree—the one in this book.
Michael’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“He looked younger,” I continued, my mind racing as I relived the dream. “Not like the last time I saw him—before he disappeared. He… he looked like the Nick I remember, before everything changed.”
Diarmid shifted closer, his presence grounding me. “What did he say?” he asked, his voice low and protective.
I took a shaky breath. “He said he’s not in the same time—or place—as us. That he’s… trapped. He looked at me like he was desperate, Michael. Like he needed me to help him.”
Michael exchanged a tense glance with Rafail, his expression unreadable but heavy with thought. “Did he say where he is?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “He just said he’s… ‘fucked up,’ his words, not mine.” A hollow laugh escaped me, but it sounded foreign, even to my own ears. “And that he needs to get out of there.”
“Did he mention anything about the hooded figure?” Michael pressed.
I hesitated, the memory of Nick’s frantic tone flashing through my mind. “No. But…” My voice trailed off as the hooded figure’s words resurfaced, haunting me like an unanswered question. ‘I think you already know.’
“But what?” Diarmid urged, his eyes locked on mine.
“I think he’s connected to all of this,” I admitted. “The hooded figure, Nick… and Azrael.” I swallowed hard, my voice barely holding steady. “It’s all tied together, Michael. I can feel it.”
Michael’s expression hardened, his golden eyes flickering with intensity. “If Nick is reaching out to you, it’s because he believes you can help him. And if Azrael is involved…” He paused, his voice growing heavier. “Then this is far bigger than we thought.”
“What do we do?” Brigit asked, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.
Michael turned to Diarmid. “Keep her close. No one enters or leaves without you knowing. I’ll need to reach out to the Circle and consult with Miel. Rafail, you’ll assist me.”
Diarmid nodded, his arm tightening protectively around me. “She’s not leaving my sight.”
I bit my lip, torn between gratitude and the suffocating feeling of being caged. But as I glanced at Michael, his expression unreadable but resolute, I knew there was no arguing.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me. “If Nick is out there… if he’s waiting for me…” My voice faltered, but Diarmid’s hand on mine gave me strength. “I’ll find him.”
Michael’s gaze softened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You won’t do it alone,” he said firmly. “We’ll find him together.”
But even as his words hung in the air, a gnawing fear clawed at my chest. Nick was out there, somewhere, waiting. But what would I find when I finally reached him?
As soon as Michael and Rafail were gone and the Circle’s warriors stationed themselves, I couldn’t wait any longer. My heart raced as I stood by Diarmid, hesitating for a moment before speaking.
“Arwen” his deep voice called, steady but undeniably tired.
I stepped closer to him. Diarmid was seated by the window, his silhouette outlined against the fading sunset. He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern when he saw my expression.
“Arwen?” he asked, his voice gentle but cautious.
I swallowed hard, stepping closer. “There’s something I need to tell you. About me…my family…and Azrael.”
Diarmid’s posture straightened immediately, and his gaze locked onto mine. His usual calm façade faltered slightly, replaced by a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “Go on,” he said, his voice low.
I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands trembling. “You already know I’m not just human, but it goes deeper than that. My bloodline—our bloodline—comes from Azrael.”
His eyes widened slightly, though he didn’t interrupt.
“I’m his descendant,” I continued. “And my family… We've been protecting something for generations. THE legacy tied to Azrael and Talisa—ancient secrets passed down to safeguard the balance between life and death. But it also makes us a target.”
Diarmid stood, pacing slowly, processing my words. “And this is why the hooded figure sought you,” he muttered, half to himself.
I nodded. “It’s why Michael has always been so protective. Why my mother gave me the book about Talisa and Azrael—it wasn’t just a story; it was a warning.”
Diarmid stopped pacing, his piercing gaze meeting mine.
I shook my head, tears brimming in my eyes. “My family, Michael—they’ve been there. But now…” I hesitated, looking up at him. “Now, you’re part of this too and Im sorry.”
He crossed the room in two swift steps, his hands gently cupping my face. “ Don't ever say you're sorry.You should’ve told me sooner,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “But I’m here now, Arwen. I’ll protect you, no matter what it takes.”
For the first time, I let the weight of the truth lift slightly, leaning into the comfort of his words—and his presence.
The night was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but. I lay on my side, staring at the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, my mind swirling with everything that had happened—the hooded figure, Nick, Azrael. Sleep felt impossibly out of reach.
Beside me, Diarmid shifted, his warmth a constant reminder of his presence. I tried closing my eyes again, hoping the weight of exhaustion might finally lull me into dreams, but it was no use.
"Try to relax, hun," Diarmid's deep voice murmured softly, startling me not just by breaking the silence but by his use of the endearment.
My heart skipped a beat. “I’m trying…” I whispered back, my voice barely audible.
He turned to face me, his arm brushing against mine. “How about we talk about something?” His tone was casual, yet there was an undercurrent of concern.
“Okay,” I agreed, rolling to my side to face him. His eyes gleamed softly in the dim light, unwavering as they held mine.
“Hmm, who is he?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
I frowned. “Who?”
“The guy mentioned back at the university. The player,” he clarified, his voice steady but his gaze sharp, like he wasn’t about to miss any detail.
“Oh…” I blinked, caught off guard. He’s talking about Clayton—and Jaimes. My breath hitched slightly at the thought of Jaimes, memories threatening to surface, but I quickly composed myself.
“Well?” he pressed, his tone calm but undeniably curious.
“Clayton,” I said hesitantly, “was just a guy who tried flirting with me during our second semester. He was persistent but harmless, really.”
Diarmid’s brows rose, his lips quirking in a faint smirk. “Harmless, huh?”
I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Yes, harmless. And completely not my type, by the way.”
“And the other one?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.
I hesitated, biting my lip. “Jaimes,” I whispered, his name tasting bittersweet on my tongue. “He…he was different.”
Diarmid’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he studied me. “How different?”
“He was my first boyfriend,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “But it wasn’t just that. He…he made me feel safe, and I thought I loved him.” My throat tightened, and I averted my gaze. “But it didn’t last. He’s…gone, dead.”
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Diarmid didn’t press further, sensing there was more pain beneath the surface than I was willing to reveal.
His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You’ve been through more than anyone should, haven’t you?”
I nodded, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”
“And you’re stronger than you realize,” he said softly, his fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.
I didn’t respond, but the warmth of his words lingered long after. For the first time in hours, my restless mind began to quiet, soothed by the presence of the man beside me.
The morning felt quiet yet heavy, as if the air itself carried the weight of the recent days. After tossing in a sleepless dream, I woke to find the space beside me cold and empty. Diarmid was on the couch, his tall frame slightly cramped but calm, his chest rising and falling with rhythmic breaths.
Not wanting to disturb him, I slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door softly and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply.
Pulling out my phone, I opened my chat app and fired off a quick message to Josh and Leroy.
Me: Morning, you two! Hope everything’s good on your end. Miss you guys. I’ll update you later. 💕
I tried calling my parents next, hoping to hear their voices and reassure myself that they were safe. The call went straight to voicemail. My heart sank slightly, but I quickly composed a text instead.
Me: Hi, Mom and Dad. Just checking in. Let me know when you’re free to talk. I love you. Please stay safe.
The small act of reaching out brought a bit of comfort, but my chest still felt heavy. Shaking the thoughts away, I moved to the sink and started freshening up.
Once I was dressed, I grabbed my phone again and tapped on Spotify. My fingers instinctively searched for BTS, and soon the soft, familiar chords of their music filled the air. The melody wrapped around me like a warm blanket, bringing a faint smile to my lips.
As I combed my hair and hummed along to the song, I let the music distract me from the turmoil in my head. Memories of lighter times with Nick, Josh, and Leroy played in my mind—dancing around to this very song, laughing until our sides hurt.
I finished getting ready and stepped back into the room. Diarmid stirred slightly on the couch, his head turning toward me, his eyes blinking open.
“You’re up early,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.
“Could say the same for you,” I replied, smiling faintly.
“Wasn’t going to let you face the day alone,” he said, stretching with a yawn.
The sincerity in his words warmed me, but I quickly looked away, pretending to busy myself with my bag. "Well, you should’ve stayed on the bed. That couch looks like it’s punishing you.”
“I’ll survive,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze steady on me.
BTS’s song transitioned to another track, filling the comfortable silence between us. For a moment, it felt like nothing else existed—just the two of us, wrapped in a fragile morning peace.
“Ready for breakfast?” he asked finally, breaking the moment.
I nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”
And as we stepped out into the day, I couldn’t help but wonder how many more mornings like this we’d have, balancing between the chaos around us and the quiet connection growing between us.
“So, what’s our game plan?” Roisin asked, breaking the morning calm as we all sat around the garden table for breakfast. His voice was steady, but there was an undertone of curiosity and determination.
I took a bite of my garlic bread, savoring its warmth, and sipped my coffee, its aroma grounding me. Diarmid sat close, one hand gently resting on my back, his thumb absently tracing soothing patterns.
“Well, since we have backup from heaven,” Rhyian chimed in with a mischievous grin, her voice lilting as she batted her lashes toward one of the heavenly warriors stationed nearby. The poor warrior stiffened, his stoic expression faltering for a moment before he looked away.
I stifled a laugh, biting the inside of my cheek to keep it in, but Brigit couldn’t help herself and let out a loud chuckle. “Rhyian, give the poor guy a break,” Brigit teased, shaking her head.
“What? It’s called multitasking,” Rhyian said with mock indignation, flipping her hair. “Anyway, maybe we can head to the university to, I don’t know, recharge or clear our heads.” She waved her fork in the air as if this was the most logical suggestion.
The idea hung in the air for a moment, and I glanced at Diarmid, whose hand on my back stilled ever so slightly.
“Freshen up? Or put yourselves in unnecessary danger?” Diarmid asked, his voice calm but edged with protectiveness. He took a sip of his coffee, his sharp blue-grey eyes scanning everyone at the table.
Rhyian shrugged nonchalantly. “We can’t stay cooped up here forever. Besides, it’s been quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Maybe it’s time to stir the waters a little.”
Diarmid frowned, clearly not convinced.
“I kind of see where Rhyian’s coming from,” I interjected softly, earning everyone’s attention. “It’s not about stirring the waters but... returning to something normal, even briefly. The university is familiar. It might help us think more clearly about what’s happening.”
“Or it might make you a sitting target,” Diarmid countered, his tone firm but not harsh.
“I’ll be with all of you,” I said, meeting his gaze. “And with the warriors around, it’s not like we’ll be unprotected.”
Brigit leaned back, her arms crossed. “She has a point, Diarmid. If they want her, they’ll try again whether we’re here or there. At least at the university, we can gather information or see if the hooded figure makes another appearance.”
Finn nodded in agreement. “It’s a risk, but staying here doesn’t eliminate the threat. It just delays it.”
Diarmid let out a low growl of frustration, his protective instincts clearly battling with the logic of the argument. His hand on my back tightened slightly, as if silently telling me he wasn’t happy about the idea but wasn’t going to outright refuse.
“I’ll consider it,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “But only if every single precaution is taken. No one—and I mean no one—wanders off alone.”
Rhyian grinned, clearly satisfied with the compromise. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
I exhaled a little, relieved that Diarmid didn’t outright shut the idea down. As the conversation shifted to logistics, I glanced at the warriors standing guard nearby. Their presence, while comforting, also reminded me of the weight of the situation.
This wasn’t just about returning to something familiar. It was about moving forward, cautiously but resolutely.