CHAPTER 66: CHAPTER 65: WHY HIDE PERFECTION?

The metal burned through his flesh like molten fire, searing deep until smoke rose where it touched. His knees buckled as pain exploded across his body, not just on his arm where the silver sank, but through every nerve, every vein, like acid flooding his blood.

The burn spread faster, leaving behind a scent of scorched skin and iron. His breath came in ragged gasps as his wolf thrashed violently inside him, clawing at the surface, desperate to escape.

And the silver made it worse, it twisted the bond between man and beast until all that remained was agony and chaos.

"F–Father..." he gritted out, his voice breaking between his teeth.

His father’s grip tightened on the silver, pressing it deeper into Azrael’s shoulder until the hiss of burning flesh filled the room and he collapse on the floor and screamed in agony.

"Out of all the things I could’ve done to make you lose control..." the man said softly, almost like he was musing. "You didn’t expect this, did you?"

Azrael’s scream tore through the air, raw and guttural. The veins in his neck stood out, his body trembling violently as the pain consumed him. His wolf howled inside, a maddened, tortured sound that rattled the walls.

His father leaned closer, his words a low whisper against his ear.

"You think you can control that thing inside you?" he said, voice like venom. "Then let’s see how you handle your monster after this."

"You can’t fight me," his father hissed. "You can’t even fight yourself."

The pain was unbearable. Azrael could feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribs, the sound deafening in his skull. His vision blurred between flashes of blue and red.

The scent of blood filled the air, thick and metallic.

Every breath Azrael took burned. Every second the silver stayed buried in his flesh stripped another piece of his control away.

And through it all, his father watched, calm, cold, almost fascinated, as his son’s humanity began to fracture under the weight of his own monster.

His father’s lips curved, the faintest hint of satisfaction twisting across his cold face as he watched Azrael tremble under the pain. The scent of burnt flesh hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint ripple of power still pulsing from his hand.

Then, almost lazily, he released his grip. The silver burned faintly on Azrael’s skin, leaving behind a deep, raw wound that refused to heal.

"I think I’ll leave you to your monster then," his father murmured, voice low, cruelly calm. "Try and make peace with it... if it doesn’t tear you apart first."

Silver is a moon’s cruel purnishment to torture wolves generallly, to make them lose their mind, but old Alphas the ones born before mercy existed learned to command it.

Their bond with their beasts had gone beyond control, they no longer feared their darkness.

They became it.

"Only the old ones can touch silver without screaming," they say. "Because they’ve already made peace with their monsters."

Few Alphas survive long enough or strong enough to achieve that control.

And those who do... pay a price.

Every time they use silver, a piece of their humanity dies with it.

That’s why most fear it, but men like Azrael’s father wield it proudly.

He doesn’t just use silver to hurt.

He uses it to remind others that pain obeys him.

When silver touches a wolf’s skin, it feels like molten acid sinking deep into their veins. It scorches their flesh, tears through their nerves, and poisons the bond between man and beast.

Wounds made by silver don’t heal fast, sometimes they don’t heal at all. They scar deep, reminding the wolf what they truly are cursed.

And the worst part?

Silver doesn’t just cause pain. It brings chaos.

It shatters control, over power, over rage, over the wolf within.

Once silver seeps into a wolf’s system, their emotions spiral. The beast beneath the skin claws for freedom, wild and bloodthirsty.

Only the strongest or the most heartless, can command it. And if they dared to fight it, it’s going to get them killed. So the only way to survive silver, is to make peace with it. Make peace with your monster.

That’s why only the older Alphas dare use it. Their bond with their wolf is already corrupted beyond repair. They can channel silver’s energy without losing their minds, because they’ve long lost their souls.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Azrael’s father’s mouth before he left the way he can.

The mark of the silver still glowed faintly on Azrael’s shoulder, veins around it pulsing violently as if alive.

Then the pain struck again, deeper, sharper and his scream broke free, raw and unrestrained.

It wasn’t just pain anymore. It was the wolf.

His claws burst out, sharp and black against trembling fingers. His body jerked as his veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, light and shadow clashing in violent rhythm. His eyes flickered, blue to red, red to blue over and over, unable to settle, the conflict between man and beast tearing through him.

And then, with one final, shuddering breath, Azrael tilted his head back toward the ceiling and screamed.

The was terrifying, the sound of a man losing his last grip on control, and the beast beneath his skin answering the call. And worse, Azrael’s is fighting it.

.

.

.

The club pulsed with bass and flashing lights, bodies moving like waves under the strobes. It was Rhydric’s club, The Veil, his territory, his creation, his empire.

He stood by the dartboard, a dart in his hand. The crowd’s noise was a blur behind him, more like he didn’t care.

"Bro, are you even human?" Theo groaned from behind the bar counter, watching another dart sink dead center. "I swear, you’ve got some serial-killer precision. Blink twice if you’ve murdered someone before."

Rhydric didn’t answer. Just reached for another dart.

Ian chuckled from the couch, swirling his glass lazily. "Theo, if you keep talking, you’ll be the first body he hides."

Theo turned, offended. "Excuse me, I’m too good-looking to die. Besides, he’d need emotion to kill me. You ever seen that face? Ice could melt before he does." When he said the ice part, he pointed at himself.

That earned a faint glance from Rhydric. Nothing more.

"Oh, look at that!" Theo gasped dramatically. "Eye contact! Holy hell, Ian, I think he just proposed."

Ian smirked. "Nah, that’s just his wersion of saying ’shut up.’"

Before Theo could throw another word, laughter from the dance floor caught their attention.

Eryx was there, shirt half unbuttoned, surrounded by girls like he’d been born in a music video. One of them giggled as he leaned close to whisper sweet sins into her ear. And worse the fool was blushing so hard, falling for Eryx’s bullshit.

Theo nearly choked on his drink. "Look at him, man! Eryx out here giving birth to sin. Someone get that boy a leash before he starts a cult."

Ian’s lips twitched. "He already did. They call it his fan club."

Rhydric threw another dart. Bullseye. Again.

Theo shook his head, exasperated. "Of course you’re ignoring him. You’d probably look at that chaos and call it ’inefficient mating behavior.’"

"Accurate," Ian murmured.

Theo groaned, slamming his drink down. "I’m surrounded by statues. One’s made of marble, the other of sarcasm." He pointed his glass at Rhydric. "Bro, you run a club full of half-naked women and neon lights, and yet your vibe is ’cemetery in winter.’ How is that even possible?"

Rhydric said nothing, eyes locked on the board.

Theo grinned. "What do you even do for fun, huh? Count air molecules? Scare ghost?Meditate over tax receipts?"

"Silence is fun," Rhydric muttered finally, low and smooth.

Theo froze mischievously. "He speaks!" He turned dramatically to Ian. "Quick, get a camera. This might never happen again."

Typical Theo,always dramatic.

Ian chuckled under his breath. "Careful, Theo. Keep talking, and he might find silence again by killing you."

Theo raised a finger. "You’re both terrible people. And emotionally unavailable."

"That’s what women like," Ian replied dryly.

"That’s what you tell yourself when you get rejected," Theo shot back.

Ian smirked. "Still better than your dancing. The last time you hit the floor, I thought you were having a convulsion"

Theo clutched his chest. "How dare you insult art. My hips have rhythm."

"They’re stiff." Ian deadpanned.

That earned a low, rare chuckle from Rhydric. Barely there, but enough to make Theo pause mid-retort.

God not again.

Theo blinked. "Did you just laugh?!"

Rhydric didn’t look up. "No."

Theo gasped dramatically again. "Holy...he laughed! Someone write this down! Date, time, location...mark the prophecy!"

Ian groaned. "Theo, stop trying to make history out of his boredom."

Theo raised his glass, grin spreading. "Hey, I’ll take what I can get. The guy’s colder than a snowstorm in hell. If I got a sound out of him, I’m framing it."

Just when Theo lifted his glass again to toast his "achievement," properly like he hasn’t done that already, a familiar voice cut through the music.

"Well, well, isn’t this my favorite group of emotionally constipated men," Eryx said, sauntering toward them with that stupid grin that could probably start wars. His shirt was still half open, a girl’s lipstick mark staining his collarbone.

Theo squinted. "Bro... you look like sin and a bad decision had a baby."

Eryx smirked, completely unbothered. "And yet, somehow, women still choose me." He leaned on the counter, grabbed Theo’s untouched drink, and downed it without asking. "Cheers."

Theo stared at the empty glass, deadpan. "That was mine, you demon."

"You weren’t drinking it," Eryx said with a shrug. "I just saved you from hydration."

Ian groaned. "You two sound like toddlers fighting over a toy."

Theo turned to him. "A toddler doesn’t walk around shirtless collecting phone numbers, Ian."

Eryx shot back instantly, "Don’t be jealous, Theo. Not everyone can pull off charisma."

Theo scoffed, spreading his arms dramatically. "Charisma? That’s not charisma, that’s desperation in a nice shirt."

"Nice shirt?" Ian murmured. "He’s not even wearing it properly."

Eryx looked down at his open buttons, then grinned. "That’s the point. Why hide perfection?"