CHAPTER 65: CHAPTER 64: ARROGANT SKULL OF YOURS.

"You letting a girl cloud your mind, son?"

The voice cut through the room like a whip, powerful yet deep with that familiar cruelty.

Azrael’s stomach twisted. The words hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

"I thought I taught you better," his father continued, every word echoing across the walls, like judgment itself. "But here you are,staring at the moon like some weak-hearted boy, letting emotions dull your instincts."

Azrael’s jaw tightened, eyes flashing briefly with light. He wanted to speak, wanted to throw those words back but years of control he had thought of himself held him still.

The man stepped forward, the sound of his boots against the floor echoing, softly. "Do you know what happens to wolves who let love weaken them, Azrael?" His tone dropped, cold, hinting Azrael about how exposed his thoughts are to him. "They die."

The last word hung heavy, sinking into the silence like lead.

Azrael finally lifted his head, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching this time.

The air between them shifted, like water on electric, like the quiet before a storm.

His jaw flexed, his blue eyes burning beneath the dim light.

"You really think emotions make me weak?"

His tone was low, calm, but it was the kind of calm that could tear through stone.

He took a slow step forward, shoulders squaring, his presence darkening the air around him.

"No," he said, voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "You just never had any to begin with."

His father’s expression flickered, but Azrael wasn’t done.

"Maybe that’s why Mother couldn’t stand you," he spat, his voice rising now, venom lacing every word. "Because even when she was dying, you stood there like a statue, cold, heartless, pretending that made you strong."

"Strength isn’t about turning into a monster, Father," Azrael said, voice low but firm, every word soaked with defiance. "It’s about not becoming you."

The words hit like a slap, sharp and brutal, echoing in the charged air between them.

For a moment, silence stretched. Then his father’s lips curved not into a smile, but something colder, darker. His voice cut through the air like knife dragged against stone.

"You sound just like her," he said. "Pathetic. Weak. Always preaching about heart and mercy like it ever saved anyone."

He stepped closer, his aura swelled, pressing against Azrael’s chest like invisible chains.

"You think your mother’s love made her strong? It killed her," he hissed. "And it will kill you too, if you keep letting that softness rot your blood."

Azrael’s jaw tightened, his breath deepening as heat spread through his veins.

His hands curled into fists, knuckles white, trembling not from fear, but from the effort it took to keep himself from lunging forward.

If only the moon goddess could just grant him a wish, to murder this fool of a father.

His father’s eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

"That anger in your eyes," he said, almost amused, "that’s the only real thing about you."

Azrael’s jaw clenched. His pulse thundered in his ears, the rage clawing its way up his throat. He could taste blood from how hard he bit his tongue to hold it all in but restraint had its limit.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze and met his father’s eyes, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the room as he said.

"You know what’s funny, Father?" he began, a cold smirk twisting his lips. "You talk about power like it fills the emptiness inside you, but it doesn’t. It just hides how miserable you are."

He took a step closer, the moonlight slicing across half his face.

"I’d rather die a failure than become the monster you are."

The words landed heavy, but Azrael wasn’t done.

He couldn’t stop now, not when his wolf is at his peek.

"No wonder the moon never blessed you, even the gods know lonely filth when they see it."

"I learned from you, Father, what not to become."

His father’s aura flared, water rippling violently from his hand, but Azrael kept going, voice colder, steadier.

"You’re the kind of man the world forgets on purpose."

"Mother’s mistake was believing there was still something human in you."

He paused, eyes glinting.

"You broke her long before death did."

The sound of the slap cracked through the air, sharp and vicious.

Azrael’s head jerked to the side, a faint smear of red at the corner of his lip. For a heartbeat, silence ruled the room.

Then he laughed, the sound of it was low and dangerous.

And when he turned back, that smile on his face wasn’t one of pain.

It was satisfaction. He has never felt satisfied in his entire.

Azrael barely had time to brace himself before his father’s hand came down again, harder this time, and landed perfectly across his jaw.

The force snapped his head to the side, blood spraying from his lip.

Before he could even catch his breath, the air around them shifted, cold and sharp.

Water surged from his father’s palm like a living serpent, twisting in the air before slamming into Azrael’s chest.

The impact was brutal.

He was thrown backward, crashing into the doorframe with a sickening crack and he was damn sure his bones are broken. He crumpled to the ground, choking on blood.

For a second, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, and his own pulse pounding like war drums.

Then,in a blur.

His father’s figure moved faster than his eyes could follow. In an instant, he was standing before him, the floor slick with water.

Azrael tried to lift his head, but a powerful hand gripped his collar and hauled him upright like he weighed nothing.

The man’s face was a storm, cold fury in human form, eyes glowing with that dark, with divine power that only old alphas carried.

Water coiled around his arm, hissing, ready to strike again.

Azrael’s leg barely touched the ground.

His breath came shallow, blood on his tongue, but his gaze, it never left his father’s.

Not once.

His father’s grip tightened around Azrael’s collar, dragging him closer until their faces were inches apart. The older man’s breath was sharp, laced with fury.

"You dare stand before me like an equal?" he hissed, voice dripping with contempt. "You’ve forgotten your place, boy."

He threw him backward again, but before Azrael could fully hit the ground, a brutal fist met his stomach, once, twice, again, each blow heavier than the last.

"Let me install some sense into that arrogant skull of yours," his father snarled, punctuating every word with another hit.

Azrael’s body folded from the impact, the breath leaving his lungs in a strangled groan. Pain tore through him, hot and pulsing. His knees hit the floor, blood splattering from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

His wolf stirred violently beneath his skin, a wild, uncontrollable force clawing to break free. The full moon was near, its pull already maddening, and his father knew it. He was doing it on purpose.

Azrael’s vision blurred, veins standing out against his neck and temples as he clenched his fists, trying but failing to suppress the animal within. His chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, every muscle shaking with strain.

Another hit came, sharper, sinking deep into his gut. Azrael groaned low, the sound guttural, his eyes flashing red and blue for a fleeting second.

Then...

With a single, desperate motion, he lifted his hand and sent his father flying backward with a violent surge of power, water exploding from his palm like a tidal wave.

The man crashed into the far wall, stone cracking beneath the force. The sound of splintering echoed through the room, water cascading to the floor in waves.

For a heartbeat, silence. Only Azrael’s ragged breathing filled the air.

Then his father stood, slowly, and wiped the side of his lips, smearing away a thin trail of blood with the back of his hand.

A cold, vicious smile curved his mouth.

"You want to fight now?" he said softly, almost amused.

Azrael straightened, shoulders squared despite the bruises already darkening his skin. He looked like nothing had touched him from the already healing wound, but his chest heaved, and the tension in his body trembled on the edge of collapse.

His fists clenched at his sides, so tight that blood seeped from where his nails dug into his palms. His wolf was too close now, growling furiously, demanding release.

He met his father’s gaze with eyes that no longer looked fully human.

And the air between them shifted.

Azrael’s father tilted his head slightly, that cruel half-smile deepening as the air grew colder around them. The still water that coated the stone floor began to ripple again, each wave pulsing with the man’s growing power.

"Look at you," he said darkly, voice low, mocking. "You think standing straight makes you strong?"

He took a slow step forward, boots slicing through the water, every movement radiating dominance.

"Strength isn’t just about control, boy. It’s about owning what breaks you."

Azrael didn’t move. His chest rose and fell in heavy rhythm, his eyesflickered from blue to red as the beast beneath his skin snarled to be set free. His father’s power pressed against him like a storm, but still, he didn’t look away.

That defiance, control, just that made his father’s expression harden into rage.

A lot of wolf would have broken free by now but no, azrael stood still in control like his miserable mother. Over his dead body would he allowed his son become stupid enough to get himself killed just like his mother.

Without warning, the man’s hand shot out. A flash of silver gleamed in his palm.

Azrael’s eyes widened in disbelief for the first time.

"You..."

He didn’t finish. The moment the silver met his skin, the sound that ripped from his throat was brutal and terrifying.