The brisk night air carried a sharp chill as we arrived at the local club. The flashing red and blue lights of police vehicles painted the area in an eerie glow. I hadn’t expected to be here, standing in the aftermath of something so gruesome.


    Diarmid was already in his element. His presence commanded attention, his calm yet firm demeanor radiating authority. I stayed close to him, observing as he walked up to the head of the police, a tall man with a sharp jawline and graying hair.


    “Mr. Ivankov,” the officer greeted, tipping his hat slightly. His voice carried a tone of respect that surprised me. “We’ve kept everything as contained as you requested.”


    I blinked, looking up at Diarmid. “You have connections here?” I whispered under my breath.


    Diarmid’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. “I have connections everywhere, Arwen,” he replied, his tone casual but laced with purpose.


    The officer continued, “The scene is as we found it—bodies completely drained, no signs of a struggle. It’s like they didn’t even see it coming.”


    Diarmid nodded, his sharp gaze scanning the perimeter before turning back to the officer.


    “I need full access to the crime scene. My associate and I will handle the rest.”


    “Understood,” the officer said, stepping aside.


    Diarmid turned to Roisin, who was already moving, his keen eyes sweeping over the scene as he discreetly searched for anything that might explain what had happened. His movements were precise, calculated, and completely unnoticed by the officers bustling around.


    I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the bodies, each one lifeless and pale as if every drop of vitality had been sucked out of them. The sight made my stomach churn, and I looked away, focusing on Diarmid instead. He was already deep in conversation with the officer, his tone calm yet commanding as he asked questions.


    “What time did the first reports come in?” Diarmid asked.


    “Just after 11 PM,” the officer replied. “We initially thought it was a brawl gone wrong, but when we found the bodies…” He hesitated, his expression darkening. “It’s not something you see every day.”


    Diarmid’s jaw tightened. “And the club’s surveillance?”


    “Already pulled the footage. We’ve handed it over to your guy for review,” the officer said.


    Diarmid gave a curt nod. “Good. Make sure nothing gets leaked to the public. We don’t want unnecessary panic.”


    As they continued talking, I felt a light touch on my arm. It was Roisin, his expression serious.


    “I need to check the back rooms,” he said quietly. “Stay with Diarmid.”


    I nodded, watching as he slipped away, his movements smooth and unnoticed.


    Meanwhile, my mind wandered to Finn, Brigit, and Rhyian. They were at the werewolf territory that had been attacked, likely dealing with the aftermath of something equally horrifying. I felt a pang of worry for them, but I knew they could handle themselves.


    “Arwen.”


    Diarmid’s voice brought me back to the present. He was standing beside me now, his gaze softening as it landed on me.


    “You okay?” he asked, his hand brushing against mine briefly.


    I nodded. “Just… trying to process all of this.”


    He studied me for a moment before his attention shifted back to the scene. His expression hardened again, the leader in him taking over.


    “Stay close,” he said, his voice low but firm.


    I did as he said, trailing behind him as he moved further into the club. The air inside was cold and heavy, the smell of disinfectant failing to mask the metallic tang of blood that lingered.


    Diarmid paused near the bar, his eyes narrowing as he studied something on the floor. I followed his gaze and saw faint drag marks leading toward a back door.


    “Roisin,” Diarmid called softly.


    Roisin straightened, his jaw tight. “Whoever—or whatever—did this wasn’t in a hurry. The precision suggests they knew exactly what they were doing.”


    Diarmid exchanged a grim look with him. “We’ll regroup with Finn and the others after this. We need to compare notes.”


    I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were missing something—something important. And as I stood there, surrounded by the aftermath of unimaginable violence, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was only the beginning.


    After comparing notes with Michael and Rafail’s team, the tension in the room had only thickened. Everyone was busy dissecting every piece of information, forming theories, and planning their next steps. I stood off to the side, feeling utterly useless. My eyes naturally sought Diarmid’s, and when our gazes met, his concern for me was evident. He raised an eyebrow slightly as if asking if I was okay.


    I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile before quietly slipping out of the room. Outside, I noticed that the number of guards around the property had tripled. Their presence was a stark reminder of how serious the situation had become.


    I made my way to the garden at the back of the estate. It was a quiet, serene space, a stark contrast to the chaos inside. A few guards were stationed nearby, including one of the first warriors sent to us—Russ, a tall, imposing figure with a watchful gaze. He nodded in acknowledgment as I walked past, and I gave him a small nod in return.


    For a few moments, I allowed myself to stare at the flowers, my mind drifting to anything but the danger surrounding us. But then, something shifted.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The air grew unnaturally still, as if the world had paused. No sound, no movement—just an eerie silence that pressed down on me. My heart quickened as I looked around, realizing that even the leaves on the trees had stopped swaying.


    And then, a gust of wind blew directly in front of me, kicking up leaves and dirt. From within the swirling air, a figure emerged, walking toward me with deliberate steps.


    Azrael.


    The Angel of Death looked exactly as I remembered him—tall and imposing, his dark hair and sharp features like something out of a painting. His piercing eyes held an otherworldly intensity, the kind that could see straight through to your soul. He wore a long, flowing coat that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, the edges of it almost blending with the shadows around him.


    “Arwen,” he said, his deep voice smooth yet haunting. “It’s been a while, child.”


    I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or mocking me, but his expression held a calmness that only made him more unsettling. He stopped a few steps away, studying me with the same penetrating gaze that had unnerved me the first time I saw him.


    “Azrael,” I whispered, barely able to find my voice. His presence was as overwhelming as ever, and I felt frozen in place.


    “I… I didn’t expect to see you again.” He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.


    “What do you mean? Are you expecting me dead?” I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.


    “Oh no,” he said, his tone soft but laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “That’s not what I mean. I mean your soul—your beautiful soul, Talisa.”


    At the mention of Talisa, my heart skipped a beat. The name felt heavy, familiar, and foreign all at once. I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, but I couldn’t find the courage to speak.


    Azrael’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes holding an ancient wisdom that made me feel small and insignificant. Yet, there was something else there, something almost protective.


    Azrael''s piercing gaze never wavered as I asked, my voice barely above a whisper,


    "Why—why do you call me Talisa?"


    He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely calming. The faintest hint of a smile played on his lips, though it was laced with something bittersweet, almost melancholic.


    "Because," he said, his voice soft yet carrying the weight of millennia, "Talisa is who you once were, child. And perhaps, who you are destined to become again."


    I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. My mind raced, trying to make sense of his words.


    "I don''t understand. I''m Arwen. That''s all I''ve ever been."


    Azrael''s expression softened slightly, and he tilted his head as if studying me further.


    "You carry her essence, her spirit. It is undeniable. The very core of your being resonates with hers. You are her, reborn, even if you do not yet remember."


    I took a step back, shaking my head. "No, that''s impossible. I''m just... me."


    "Just you?" Azrael echoed, his voice tinged with amusement. "Oh, Arwen, you are so much more than you realize. The threads of fate are not easily severed, and yours have been interwoven with Talisa''s since the beginning. Her memories, her power, her purpose—they all lie dormant within you, waiting to awaken."


    His words sent a wave of unease through me. Memories? Power? Purpose? I couldn’t even comprehend what he was suggesting.


    "Why are you telling me this now? What do you want from me?"


    Azrael’s gaze grew intense, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "Because the time will come when you must choose—whether to embrace who you truly are or to deny it. That choice will shape not only your destiny but the fate of countless others."


    I stared at him, my heart pounding. "I didn’t ask for any of this," I said, my voice cracking.


    Azrael inclined his head slightly, as though in understanding. "Few ever do," he said quietly. "But it is not the burden you carry that defines you, Arwen. It is how you rise to meet it."


    For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as his words settled over me. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Azrael began to step back, the shadows swirling around him.


    "Wait!" I called, panic lacing my voice. "What am I supposed to do?"


    He paused, his figure almost fading into the darkness. "Listen to your heart, Arwen. It remembers more than you know."


    And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the stillness of the garden, the weight of his words pressing heavily on my chest.


    I was left speechless. My head hung low as tears welled up, blurring my vision until I could no longer see my hands trembling in my lap. Azrael’s words echoed in my mind, each one heavier than the last, their weight pressing on my chest like an unbearable burden.


    I stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts. The cool night air wrapped around me, but it did little to soothe the turmoil raging inside. I wasn’t aware of time passing until a loud, guttural growl echoed from somewhere far away, piercing the silence.


    My head shot up, the sound jolting me from my daze. My heart raced, instinctively alert, and I quickly wiped my tears with shaky hands. I looked around, expecting to see the garden, the guards, or even the house. But I was no longer there.


    The garden was gone. The familiar surroundings had vanished as if wiped clean by some unseen force. Instead, towering trees stretched high above me, their dense canopies blocking most of the moonlight. Shadows danced between the trunks, and the soft rustle of leaves stirred in the air.


    I am in the middle of a forest!


    Confusion and fear tangled in my chest as I turned in circles, trying to make sense of what had happened.


    “This can’t be real,” I whispered, my voice trembling.


    I took a hesitant step forward, the dry leaves crunching beneath my feet, the sound unnaturally loud in the eerie stillness.


    The growl came again, closer this time, low and menacing, vibrating through the air. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I wasn’t alone.


    I swallowed hard, my breath quickening.


    "Diarmid," I whispered, hoping against hope he’d somehow appear. But there was no answer, only the haunting stillness of the forest.


    I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself, my instincts screaming to run. Yet, something deep within me stirred—a faint flicker of strength, a voice that told me to stand my ground.


    Whatever this was, wherever I was, I couldn’t give in to fear.


    Not a moment passed before I saw him—Diarmid, emerging from the shadows, his presence commanding and fierce.


    In his full Lycan form, he was a sight to behold: towering and powerful, his fur a deep shade of midnight black that seemed to absorb the faint light filtering through the trees. His piercing golden eyes locked onto mine, glowing with an intensity that sent a wave of relief washing over me. His form was massive, muscles rippling as he moved with both grace and raw power, every step radiating authority and protection.


    "Diarmid," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope.


    He let out a low, guttural growl, his gaze scanning the area as if assessing any potential threat. Then, his eyes softened as they returned to me. He took a cautious step closer, his massive frame both intimidating and comforting all at once.


    I didn’t know whether to run to him or stay rooted in place. “I... I don’t know where I am,” I stammered, my voice barely audible.


    Diarmid’s growl softened into a rumble, and he crouched slightly, his enormous pawed hands resting on the ground as he tried to make himself appear less threatening. Even in this form, I could feel his concern, his need to protect me.


    He tilted his head, “-are you hurt?”


    “I’m fine,” I managed to say, though my voice shook.


    “But... something’s wrong. Azrael—he was here, and then...” I glanced around, the forest’s oppressive silence pressing in. “I don’t know how I got here.”


    Diarmid’s form tensed, his ears flicking as he picked up on something I couldn’t hear. A growl, sharper this time, rumbled from deep within his chest as he rose to his full height, a predator ready to strike.


    I moved closer to him instinctively, his sheer presence grounding me in a way nothing else could. Whatever danger lurked in the shadows of this forest, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: Diarmid would let nothing harm me.