Daughter of oblivion: Claimed by four alpha(s)-Chapter 45: Azrael caught off guard by Athena’s boldness

Chapter 45: Chapter 45: Azrael caught off guard by Athena’s boldness
Athena’s breath caught when she heard the quiet sound of his footsteps again, slowly drawing closer. Her body tensed, but she didn’t move, her pride refusing to give him the satisfaction of retreat.
Azrael closed the space until he stood just behind her shoulder, that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. The air between them shifted, charged, heavier. She could feel his presence more than she could hear or see him, like the gravity of him pulled her in against her will.
"You know," he said, his tone softer now, almost conversational, though every syllable curled around her spine, "I’ve been wondering about something."
Athena forced herself to glance back, her chin tilting just enough to meet his gaze. "And what’s that?" Her words came out low, clipped, as though each one had to fight its way past her heartbeat.
His eyes lowered, not to her lips, not to her hands, but to the crown of her head, the strands that framed her soft features. A faint smile touched his mouth, subtle, unreadable. "Your hair."
Athena blinked, caught off guard. That wasn’t what she expected.
Azrael’s hand lifted slowly, unhurried, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. But she didn’t move, so he took that as an approval. His fingers brushed the ends of her white strands, featherlight, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch even when she said nothing, but couldn’t help himself, curiosity got the best part of him.
"It’s not just white," he murmured, his voice dropping to something closer to reverence than curiosity. "It catches the light,silver here, then again almost blue there. Like frost under the moon."
Athena swallowed, hard. Her instinct was to snatch her head away, to bat his hand down and snap at him for crossing the line. But the gentleness of his touch... the way his tone wrapped around her, unforced, unpracticed... it stilled her. She found herself staring at him like a fool.
Her lips curled into a half-smirk, shaky but defiant. "You always talk this much about people’s hair?"
"Only when it’s unforgettable," Azrael replied without missing a beat. His fingers slipped away, but not before catching one last strand, letting it fall against her shoulder.
Athena exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. She turned to face him fully, the space between them barely a whisper now. Her eyes narrowed, though the quickened rise and fall of her chest betrayed her composure. "You’re either trying very hard to flatter me... or you really don’t know when to stop."
Azrael leaned a fraction closer, enough that she could see the dot of white in his blue eyes, it looked almost silver, the sharp clarity of his gaze. "Who says I want to stop?"
The words hadn’t even finished leaving his lips before he shifted forward, closing what little distance remained. Their chests didn’t touch, but the air between them thinned so much that they’re practically breathing in the same oxygen. Athena’s pulse hammered in her ears, louder than the silence of the music room.
Azrael’s hand rose again, deliberate, and slid around to the back of her head. His fingers brushed against the thick braid resting down her back. With a slow, almost reverent movement, he tugged it forward over her shoulder, letting it fall against the front of her chest.
Athena stiffened, her breath catching. "Azrael," she started, but her voice faltered the moment his eyes locked with hers.
That stare icy blue, sharp as steel yet shimmering with an intensity that felt almost alive, snared her. It wasn’t just looking at her; it was holding her, like he was unraveling her along with the braid in his hands.
"Don’t do it," she whispered, though the word trembled as her heart skipped to the point of pain.
Foolish organ, always running marathon at the wrong time
Her voice lacking the weight she intended.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, his long fingers began working the braid loose, slowly, with the kind of patience that could undo anyone’s resolve. The weave fell apart strand by strand, each motion deliberate, as if he were memorizing the texture of her hair, the way it slipped like silk across his knuckles.
Athena’s thoughts tangled worse than her hair had. She wanted to step back, to shove him away, to tell him this was over the line. But gods, those eyes. How could anyone look like that, so impossibly striking, like the ocean itself had bled into his gaze?
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. All she could do was stand there, caught between resistance and surrender, while her braid slowly unraveled.
Azrael noticed. Of course he noticed. He caught the way her stare lingered too long, the way her composure cracked at the edges. His lips twitched faintly, into a smirk. But he didn’t call her out, didn’t mock her. He just kept going, unraveling the last strands with unhurried precision.
Finally, the braid gave way completely. A cascade of silvery-white waves tumbled down past her waist, brushing against her thighs as the weight of it settled.
Azrael’s fingers stilled, resting lightly against the freed strands. He didn’t move back. His gaze traveled from her loosened hair, flowing like a waterfall of moonlight, back up to her face. His stare lingered there, unblinking, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected.
And for the first time in a long time, Azrael forgot to breathe.
Athena, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his focus, found her throat dry. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it almost hurt, and all she could think was, how could someone be this fine?
The room felt smaller now, suffocating in the most dangerous way, as if the walls themselves leaned in to witness what neither of them dared to say aloud.
Athena swallowed hard, fighting the urge to say something, anything to break the tension. But his gaze held her in place. It wasn’t just a stare; it was possession, curiosity, hunger, and something she couldn’t name all tangled together.
Gosh her heart is in a mess.
Finally, he spoke. Low, husky, the kind of voice that always manage to send shivers down her spine no matter how much she braced herself.
"...Breathtaking."
Athena froze, heat flooding her cheeks before she could stop it. She searched his face for mockery, for a smirk, for that arrogant edge she could latch onto to roll her eyes and dismiss him. But there was none. His eyes burned with something too raw, too honest.
God the kind of butterflies dancing in her tummy, is enough protein to cook a big pot of soup.
He tilted his head, a lock of his ocean-patterned hair slipping across his forehead. "I thought I’d seen beauty before," he went on, every word unhurried, "but this..." His fingers trailed through the loosened strands, letting the white waves slip like water between them. "...this makes everything else that once looked beautiful to me, look dull."
Athena’s breath hitched.
What the hell is he saying?
"You shouldn’t look like this," Azrael continued, his voice softer now, almost as if he was speaking to himself more than her. "You shouldn’t..." He broke off, his jaw tightening, like he’d revealed more than he meant to. He actually didn’t mean to say that much, but he lost every single sanity he had left, the moment her sliver hair fell over her face. His hand stilled in her hair, but his gaze never wavered.
Athena’s lips parted. Her instincts screamed at her to scoff, to shove him away, to say something sharp and savage enough to cut through the intensity he was weaving around her. But her throat locked up. Because the way he was looking at her, it wasn’t the way boys looked at pretty girls in passing. It was deeper, sharper, like he was memorizing her in real time, like she had somehow caught him off guard in a way no one else ever had.
Azrael finally exhaled, a slow, shaky sound that betrayed the composure he usually carried like armor. His thumb brushed a stray strand from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The faintest smile ghosted his lips as he bit his lips.
"You have no idea, do you?" he murmured, voice so low it was almost a whisper. "No idea what you do to people."
Athena’s chest tightened painfully, her breath shallow. Her mind screamed at her to move, to step back, to laugh, anything. That’s the only way to stop the madness going on right? but her body betrayed her, rooted to the floor, her eyes locked helplessly on his.
For the first time since she stepped foot into this academy, she felt like she wasn’t the one holding the upper hand. And that terrified her more than she’d ever admit.
Athena’s pulse thundered in her ears, every nerve screaming under the weight of his words.
No idea what you do to people.
Something in her snapped, not in anger, not in fear, but in defiance of the very effect he had on her. She refused to stand there trembling like some glass doll under his gaze. If Azrael thought he could unravel her with stares and whispers, then maybe he needed to see just how wrong he was.
So instead of stepping back, Athena did the unthinkable. She closed the distance.
One deliberate step forward. Then another. Until the space between them vanished and her chest brushed against his. She tilted her chin upward, her blue eyes locking onto his electric ones, unflinching.
"Maybe I do know," she said softly, her voice low, steady, though the quickened rhythm of her heart betrayed her.
Azrael stiffened, his composure faltering for a fleeting second. His lips parted slightly, as though she had caught him off guard for the first time.
’Maybe not the first time though. This girl, Athena, always manage to shock him.’ He thought as the memory of the cafeteria flash across his memory.
Athena didn’t stop. She reached up slowly, boldly, and with the lightest touch of her fingertips, she brushed a strand of his ocean-patterned hair away from his face, mirroring the gesture he had done to her moments ago. The simple act felt charged, almost reckless.
Her smirk curved, in amusement. "You talk too much," she whispered, her breath grazing his skin. "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know what you’re doing."
Azrael’s hand, still tangled loosely in her white hair, tightened unconsciously, as if grounding himself. His chest rose and fell deeper than before. He could feel the softness of her boobs pressing against his hard chest. His gaze burning hotter, sharper. For once, he had no immediate retort, no sharp edge of arrogance to slice through her boldness.
Athena smirked in her head in victory.
She tilted her head slightly, her lips a dangerous inch from his ear as she tiptoe. "Careful, Azrael," she murmured, her silky voice wrapped in danger. "If you keep staring at me like that, people might think you’re the one who can’t breathe without me."