Deadly Nightshade MXMXM

XXXIII

Azrael stared at Ren, the silence in the room only broken by the faint sound of the boy's trembling breaths. His heart twisted painfully at the sight before him—Ren's small frame shaking, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. It was too much. Too familiar. Too raw.

For a moment, the fury he'd felt at the twins and the tension in the air faded into the background. All that mattered was the boy in front of him. Ren's desperation reminded Azrael too much of his own past, of the days when he wished for someone—anyone—to stand between him and the cruel reality he had to face.

Ren had barely emerged from one nightmare, only to be thrown into another. And Azrael, despite everything, couldn't let that happen again.

Moving slowly, Azrael sat beside Ren on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under their weight. Ren flinched as he sat, and Azrael cursed inwardly at the fragility in the boy's reaction. He could feel the tension in Ren's small body, the way he curled in on himself, almost as if he expected another attack.

"It's okay," Azrael muttered, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He wasn't used to this, comforting someone else. He wasn't even sure how to be gentle anymore. "No one's going to hurt you here. Not while I'm around."

Ren's eyes darted to him, searching for the truth in his words, but the boy still trembled. His lips quivered, and Azrael could tell that he was teetering on the edge of collapse. Azrael sighed softly, trying to shove down the roughness in his voice, knowing his usual demeanor wouldn't help in this situation.

"Look, I'm not good at this. I don't even know how to help you right now, but you're safe, okay? I promise."

Ren didn't respond, but his shaking seemed to slow. They sat like that for a long while, Azrael letting the silence fill the space between them as Ren's tremors gradually subsided. It was as if the storm inside the boy had passed—at least for now.

Azrael turned slightly toward Ren, watching him, studying the vulnerability in his expression. "How old are you, Ren?"

Ren hesitated, blinking as if trying to remember the answer. "I-I think I'm 14," he said quietly. His voice cracked, and he quickly glanced down at his hands. "I'm not really sure... I don't go out much. The days kind of blur together."

Azrael frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ren's breath hitched as if the question had triggered something painful. "I've never really been outside the packhouse," he whispered. "I don't even know how long I've been there... or how old I am for sure. All I know is that they—" his voice caught, and he swallowed hard before continuing, "—they told me I was 14."

Azrael felt a pang of sorrow pierce through him. The boy in front of him was just a child, yet the weight of the world had been forced upon him far too soon. And the more Ren spoke, the more Azrael recognized the same helplessness he had once felt—being used, controlled, and never having a say in your own life.

Ren's voice grew quieter, trembling as he spoke. "There was this Alpha... he'd come to the packhouse. He'd make me call him Alpha or Master, and he'd..." Ren's words trailed off as he closed his eyes tightly, a tear slipping down his cheek. "He'd hurt me. A lot."

Azrael clenched his fists at his sides, his anger barely contained. He knew what it was like to live in that kind of hell, to endure unspeakable pain while the world turned a blind eye. His heart ached for Ren, but beneath the sorrow was a burning fury—a need to protect, to save this boy from the horrors he had suffered.

Tears welled in Azrael's eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to let himself crumble. Not now. Not when Ren needed him. A single tear managed to escape, sliding down his cheek as he turned away for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. The memory of his own past rose up like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him, but he pushed it back down. This wasn't about him right now.

"I'm sorry," Azrael whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm sorry no one was there to stop him. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Ren looked up, startled by the softness in Azrael's voice. "It's okay," Ren muttered, his voice barely audible. "It's... over now."

But Azrael knew better. It wasn't over. The scars of what Ren had endured would never fully heal, just as Azrael's hadn't. But that didn't mean Ren had to face the rest of his life alone.

"I'll protect you, Ren," Azrael said firmly, his voice stronger now, a hint of steel in his tone. "No one's going to hurt you again. Not while I'm here."

Ren's eyes softened, the fear in them slowly fading as he leaned slightly toward Azrael. For the first time in a long time, the boy allowed himself to feel a sliver of safety, of comfort.

And in that moment, as Azrael wrapped a protective arm around him, he realized something profound. Maybe he couldn't save his own innocence, maybe his soul had been tainted by his past. But he could protect Ren's. He could be the guardian he had once needed.

No matter the cost.