I want to try

The moment Celeste's fingers brushed against Azrael's, something shifted—subtle but undeniable. It wasn't magic, not the burning surge she'd felt before. It was something quieter, something older. Like an echo through time awakening in her bones.

Azrael looked at her then, really looked, as if the simple act of holding his hand had broken a barrier neither of them could name.

The camp had fallen into a hush. Only the occasional rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of dying embers broke the silence. Celeste sat near the fire, her knees tucked to her chest as she stared at the flickering flames. She could still feel the weight of Azrael's gaze on her, even though he had stepped a short distance away to give her space.

Her fingers tingled from that small touch—his hand brushing against hers. It had seemed so simple, so normal… yet the sensation hadn't left her. It lingered, almost like a mark. She glanced down at her hand, half-expecting to see a glow, or a symbol, something strange etched into her skin.

But there was nothing. Just warmth.

She wasn't sure what it meant, but deep in her chest, something stirred. Something that had long been dormant. It wasn't fear. Not this time.

It was recognition.

"Celeste," came a soft voice.

She looked up quickly. It wasn't Azrael. A young woman stood at the edge of the camp, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. She looked no older than Celeste, though there was a maturity in her aura that made her feel older. Her auburn hair fell in gentle waves down her back, and her expression was calm but guarded.

Celeste blinked in confusion. "Who…?"

"I'm Amara," the girl said gently. "Beta of the Northern Pack. Azrael sent me to watch over you while he checks the perimeter."

Celeste didn't move. She could still feel her shoulders tense, her body reacting on instinct. But there was something about Amara's presence that wasn't threatening. In fact, it was oddly soothing.

Amara didn't come closer. She crouched a few feet away, keeping her voice low. "I'm not here to overwhelm you. Just thought you'd like someone to talk to."

Celeste hesitated, then gave a small nod. "I… don't know what to say."

"That's alright." Amara smiled. "We don't always need words."

They sat in silence for a moment before Amara glanced toward the fire. "You're brave, you know. Coming into a world like this—ours—and not running."

"I feel like I'm always running," Celeste murmured, her voice cracking.

Amara's smile faded, and she nodded solemnly. "Then maybe it's time you found people who'll run with you. Or better yet, people who'll help you stop."

Celeste looked up at her. "Is that what Azrael is doing?"

Amara shrugged. "Azrael doesn't trust easily. But he trusts you. That means something."

Celeste's chest tightened. "But I flinch when he touches me. I… I can't help it."

"That's not weakness," Amara said firmly. "It means you've been hurt. And anyone worth being around will understand that. Healing takes time."

A rustle came from behind the trees. Amara stood instantly, her stance defensive, but relaxed when Azrael stepped through the brush, followed by two figures.

Celeste tensed again, pulling her knees in tighter. Strangers.

One of them, a tall man with storm-grey eyes and a scar across his cheek, nodded in her direction. "So, this is the girl?"

"Enough, Lucan," Amara said sharply, giving him a warning look. "She's not your concern."

Lucan raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just curious."

The other figure stepped forward—a woman with inky black hair and piercing blue eyes that reminded Celeste of snowstorms. Cold, unyielding, but beautiful. Her voice was calm but firm. "We'll be traveling with you for a while. It's best if we know who we're protecting."

Azrael crossed his arms. "You'll show her respect. Or you'll leave."

The woman held his gaze for a beat before bowing her head slightly. "Of course, my King."

Celeste looked between them, her heart racing with a mixture of unease and curiosity. These people—his pack—they weren't what she expected. They weren't monsters or creatures from nightmares. They were warriors. Loyal, fierce, and strange… but not cruel.

Lucan gave her a casual salute. "Name's Lucan. Beta of the Western Territory. That's Sera." He jerked his head toward the woman. "Alpha of the Ice Lands."

Celeste nodded hesitantly, unsure how to respond.

Azrael came to her side, kneeling beside her. "They'll be staying nearby while we move. You don't have to interact with them if you're not ready."

"I want to try," she whispered.

Azrael blinked, surprise flickering across his features.

"I'm tired of being afraid," she added softly. "I want to try."

A proud smile ghosted across his lips. "Then we'll take it one step at a time."

As the fire burned low and the wind carried whispers through the trees, Celeste felt something shift inside her. The pack wasn't just his. They were hers now too, in a way she didn't yet understand.

And perhaps, somewhere in this strange new world of demons, wolves, and ancient bloodlines, she would find something she'd never had before.

A family.

A purpose.

And maybe… herself.

The morning dawned gray and misty, the sun hidden behind thick clouds that cast the forest in silvery hues. Celeste stood at the edge of the camp, watching the fog curl between the trees like ghosts whispering secrets only the old woods could understand. The others were still waking, but she'd been up for hours, plagued by uneasy dreams and the haunting echo of the stranger's voice from the night before. Something about him—his presence, the gentleness in his eyes, the way he'd looked at her like he knew her—had stirred something deep inside her. A memory just out of reach. A feeling she couldn't place.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers gripping the sleeves of the cloak Azrael had draped over her shoulders. It still held the warmth of his body, the faint scent of smoke and something darker—something purely him. But even his scent, so familiar now, couldn't calm the tremor in her chest.

Behind her, footsteps crunched softly over the frost-tipped leaves. She didn't turn around—she already knew who it was.