Deadly Nightshade MXMXM

XXXI

Azrael woke up with a heaviness pressing down on him, a sense of exhaustion that went far beyond just physical fatigue. The events of the previous night clung to him like a dark cloud, but there was something else too—something strange, a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and a whispering sensation at the back of his mind, like someone watching from within him. It was unsettling, yet not entirely unfamiliar. He felt off, as if his body wasn't his own, as if something was slowly unraveling inside him.

He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the unsettling sensation lingered. His muscles ached, and there was an eerie stillness in his thoughts. Walking over to the mirror, he looked at his reflection, scrutinizing his own face. His skin looked pale, as if the life had been drained from it overnight. His eyes... there was something dead behind them. A cold emptiness, but also a simmering anger he couldn't quite place. He stood there, staring at himself, trying to shake off the strange sensation.

Whatever this was, he didn't have time for it.

Azrael dressed quickly, pulling on his clothes with mechanical precision. His movements were stiff, his mind unfocused. But as he stood there, ready to leave his room, he felt a flicker of something else—something darker, more primal. He shoved it down, suppressing the growing heat that was starting to bubble in his chest.

As he descended the stairs toward the main hall, the air shifted around him. Pack members were already bustling about, their daily routines carrying on like clockwork. Conversations hummed, bodies moved, and yet, as he stepped into the room, it felt like everything stopped. The hall grew quieter, heads turning toward him one by one. Eyes followed him, lingering for too long, and he felt the weight of their stares boring into him.

Azrael's fingers twitched at his sides as the tension in the room grew. A low growl almost rumbled from his throat. His heart raced, not from fear but from something deeper, something angry and ancient inside him. The whispers started—barely audible at first, but unmistakable.

He could feel it, the judgment, the derision, the whispers behind his back. They were talking about him, laughing at him. His vision narrowed, zeroing in on a group off to the side—a cluster of omegas and betas, standing together. The same omegas from the night before, Aiden and Lyle, and now two female betas were with them, whispering, smirking, casting glances his way.

Azrael felt the heat rise in him again, that same violent urge from last night clawing at his insides. He didn't care if the twins had told the pack about their bond or not; in this moment, the disrespect was unbearable. They didn't treat him like one of them, like someone who belonged. Instead, they looked at him like he was something beneath them.

Something in him snapped.

He wasn't going to be the runt anymore. Not the weak one. Not the outcast. The thoughts burned through his mind with the intensity of a wildfire, and with every passing second, the anger building inside him reached a boiling point. He'd had enough of the whispers, the judgment, the sneers. He was done being looked down on.

As he walked past the group, he heard it—a snicker. The sound was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting the fury that had been smoldering within him.

Azrael turned, his eyes locking onto the group, his pulse hammering in his ears. The laughter stopped abruptly, but the damage was done. He could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin, could feel the wild, uncontrollable rage rising up, pushing him to the edge.

The omega, Lyle, smirked, clearly amused by whatever private joke they were sharing at his expense. Azrael's fingers twitched again, the primal part of him roaring for release. He could sense the tension in his own body, the raw energy that wanted to lash out, to tear something apart.