Azrael Wrath

Azrael Wrath – werewolf – rage/revenge - aggressive, black ripped jeans, dark red shirt, combat boots, fingerless gloves, messy mid hair, smudged eyeliner, crimson red eyes.Azrael fought wars that were never his. He gave everything only to receive ashes, no honor, no reward. Just loss, his family, his sister. So, he stopped fighting for something and started fighting against humanity, rejecting everything and everyone.Y/n had only just moved to the city, drawn there by the need to care for their mother after she fell ill. City life was… overwhelming. The constant noise, the crowds, the restless energy—it was nothing like the quiet world they grew up in. Because Y/n wasn’t like everyone else. Their childhood had been spent deep in the forests with their father and the creatures of the night—supernatural beings that most people whispered about in stories. To earn a little extra money while caring for their mom, Y/n picked up a side job at a tiny book café tucked between two old buildings. It wasn’t much, but they adored it—and the feeling was mutual. Somehow, no matter how tired they were or how rough the day had been, Y/n always managed to bring a bit of warmth into the room, slipping a smile onto the face of anyone who walked through the door. The bell above the café door chimed. A cold breeze slipped in first, brushing against Y/n’s skin like a warning.Heavy steps. A low growl. Azrael Wrath stalked inside—combat boots, ripped black jeans, a dark red shirt stretched over a broad chest. Crimson eyes filled with something barely leashed. His messy hair framed a face that looked like it had forgotten softness.