Chapter 76
SEVENTY-SIX
The last time I saw Raziel, he stood barefoot on the cliff behind our childhood stronghold—wind tearing at his hair, a flask dangling in one hand, and goodbye written in his eyes.
My only full-blooded brother. The only one who carries the same fire in his veins, the same curse etched into bone. Bastion and Cassiel are bound to me in war and bond, but Raziel… Raziel is blood of my blood. The shadow to my flame. The one piece of family I could never replace.
“I’m not coming back,” he said, not looking at me.
“I figured.”
“I’m done with the blood games. With Father. With the court.”
I only nodded. “Then why tell me?”
At last, he turned. His smile was faint but real, like a ghost of the boy I’d once known. “Because you’re the only one who wouldn’t try to stop me.”
I stepped closer. “And because I’m the only one you trust to keep your secret.”
His eyes burned with banked embers, but his flame was different. Older. Wilder. A wildfire refusing to be contained. “If you ever need me,” he said, clapping my shoulder with the finality of a benediction, “you know where to find me.”
Then he walked into the mortal realm and never looked back.
And I kept his secret. Until now.
Hellbound Hollow hums like a living thing, dim and thick with the press of bodies, whiskey, and smoke. The air buzzes with low music that creeps along the edges of my nerves like something serpentine, coiling tighter the deeper I move.
Cassiel and Bastion follow behind me, sharp-eyed but silent. They know this isn’t their approach to make. This is mine. My task. My risk. My brother.
The crowd shifts around me as I walk, and I keep my pace measured, careful—as though I’m approaching a sleeping dragon and praying it decides not to wake.
Raziel doesn’t look up right away. He stands behind the bar, drying a glass with slow, deliberate movements.
Fluid. Unhurried. His long fingers work the rim of the glass like he has all the time in the world.
Like the storm we’re dragging with us doesn’t exist. But I know better.
He knew we were coming the second our boots crossed into the city. Maybe before.
His presence saturates the place.
Raz doesn’t dress like a god anymore. Black denim.
A soft, worn shirt rolled at the sleeves, forearms traced in runes I’ve never seen before—lines that crawl like they’re alive.
His hair falls loose around his shoulders, black streaked with silver not from age, but from power that refuses to be dimmed.
His jaw is shadowed with stubble, his face carved in hard, ageless lines.
And his eyes—dark hematite, gleaming, depthless. They pin everything they touch.
There’s stillness in him that unsettles even the drunkest patrons. Not the stillness of peace. The stillness of a predator in the breath before it strikes.
Beautiful. Unholy. Our kind always are. But where Bastion carries divine fury in his veins, and Cassiel cloaks himself in the hush of death, Raz is restraint coiled so tightly it sings. Calm because calm is efficient. Until wrath becomes necessary.
Finally, he lifts his gaze.
His mouth curves, just barely. “Well,” He finally says. “If you’re here, there must be trouble. You’re not here for drinks.” His voice is low and smooth, neither warm nor unkind. Just knowing. Always knowing.
He sets the glass down, folds the towel with neat precision, and leans against the bar like he’s got nothing else worth his time.
“So. What’s this about, little brother?”
He hasn’t called me that in centuries.
My throat tightens, but my voice holds. “Zepharion took her.”
His expression doesn’t flicker—but I know him too well. I see it in his eyes, the sharp focus of a blade being honed. The stillness around him hardening into ice.
“Who?”
“My mate.”
Silence.
“Our mate,” I correct, forcing the words out. “All three of us. He stole her. Bound her. And plans to finish the bond under false rites by nightfall.”
Raz exhales through his nose, the sound not quite a sigh. More like a curse held behind his teeth. “I promised myself I’d stay out of Hell’s politics,” he says flatly. “You know that.”
“I do.”
His gaze narrows, metallic and cold. “Then why are you here, D?”
“Because we wouldn’t be unless we needed you.” I drop my voice lower, let him hear the truth in it. “Unless I needed you.”
He stares at me, measuring, dissecting. Then he sets the glass down and folds his arms.
“Tell me.”
“Her name is Lillien,” I say, stepping closer. The words taste like iron. “But that’s not the name she was born with.”
Raz tilts his head, sharp as a hawk. “Go on.”
“She was raised in the mortal world. Hidden there. Her parents smuggled her out before Zepharion could claim her. There was a contract. Blood-written. Ancient. They knew what he would do. So they hid her in plain sight—left her with mortals. She didn’t even know she was a demon until recently.”
“And that’s when you found her,” Raz says.
Bastion rumbles from behind me. “Or she found us.”
Raz’s eyes return to mine. “So what’s her real name?”
I hesitate. Names are power. Names are truth. But this is Raz. He won’t misuse it.
“Isarienne,” I whisper. “Her true demon name is Isarienne.”
The sound of it thickens the air. Ancient, electric. Heavy with stormcloud weight.
“She was meant for him,” I say, my voice sharp as flint, “but she bonded with me. With us. A real bond. Unforced. Alive.”
“And she bonded with us too,” Bastion adds, steady. “Cassiel and I. And we bonded to Deimos.”
Raz’s gaze flicks over them. “I know. I can see it.”
Cassiel inclines his head. “We did it to strengthen our claim. To keep her grounded. So she wouldn’t unravel.”
Raz snorts, sharp and cutting. “Bullshit.”
Bastion bristles. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t bond just to protect her,” Raz says, calm but razor-edged. “You bonded because the three of you already had threads binding you. Deny it all you want, but those ties aren’t new.”
Cassiel answers first, quiet but steady. “You’re not wrong.”
Bastion shifts uneasily. “We didn’t plan for it.”
Raz’s eyes cut back to me. “And you, brother?”
I hesitate, but only for a breath. “We’ve always been more than warbound.”
Raz hums, satisfied. “About damn time one of you admitted it. Not all bonds are romantic. Some of the strongest never are.”
I nod once. “We still need you.”
“What for?”
“There’s a collar on her,” I say. “A choker. Magic woven so tight it bleeds her strength dry. Preparing her for the false bond. If Zepharion succeeds, she’ll be his puppet. His queen. We need to break it.”
“And you think I can?”
“I know you can.”
Raz leans back, eyes narrowing. “You went to Father first, didn’t you?”
I scoff. “He stayed neutral. As always.”
“Coward.”
“Manipulator,” I counter flatly.
Raz smirks faintly. “Semantics.”
He crosses his arms again, jaw hardening as he thinks. Shadows ripple faintly across his skin, restless.
“If I step into Hell again, I could lose everything I’ve built,” he says at last. “Lucifer will sense me the second I cross. If he finds me—”
“I know,” I cut in. My voice cracks sharper than I intend. “I know the risk. I know what I’m asking.”
He studies me. And for once, I let him see it. The frayed edges. The desperation. The bone-deep ache I’ve hidden beneath iron and fury.
“I wouldn’t ask,” I murmur, low and raw. “If I didn’t need you. I need my brother.”
Raz exhales like it hurts. “Now you’re being manipulative.”
“I know.”
“Pulling the brother card. That’s low.”
“I am your brother.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like you.”
A rough laugh escapes me, humorless but real. “But you do.”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Gods, you were always the worst at this.”
“Raz—please.”
He stills. His eyes lift to mine.
“Say it again.”
I swallow hard. “Please. Help me. I’ll owe you.”
The words taste like blood, like pride broken on my tongue. I never say them. Not to Raz. Not to anyone.
But for her… I will.
Raz’s grin is slow, sharp. All teeth. “Never thought I’d live long enough to hear my baby brother beg.”
I don’t flinch. Because it’s true. I am begging.
His laughter fades, leaving silence. And in that silence, something behind his eyes shifts. The buried storm rises, old and untamed.
Raz taps the bar once. A single, sharp sound. It carries like a seal. A decision.
“All right. I need a night to close things out here. Tell no one.” Raz flashes a crooked grin, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I will help you.”
He says it simply, but the words split something in my chest.
His hand lingers on a dusty decanter. He doesn’t turn. “After,” he adds, glancing back over his shoulder, “once you have your girl, once you’re safe… come find me.”
My chest tightens. “You’ll be gone.”
“I’ll leave a trail,” he says, softer now. “You’re the only one who’ll know how to follow it.”
“Raz…”
At last he turns, and for one fleeting moment I see him—the brother I remember. Chaos-wrapped. Heart-scarred. Steady as iron.
“I’ll move the bar again. Change the name. Maybe cut my hair.” He smirks faintly. “But I’ll wait. For you. For her.”
I nod, because words are useless against loyalty like that. Against love buried in exile and centuries. “I’ll find you,” I promise.
“I know.” He nods at the others. “Go.”
And we do—because we must.
But as the door shuts behind us with a hollow click, something inside me clenches tight.
And I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever hear it.