Chapter 22
SIMONE
It's strange to think it's been three years since Az took me from that ravine in Hell. Three years since I woke up in a cave, disoriented and afraid, with a beautiful stranger telling me I couldn't leave. A thousand days of captivity that somehow transformed into... whatever this is now.
I smooth my hands over the midnight blue silk spread across my worktable.
The fabric catches the light coming through the tall windows of my design studio—my favorite room in this gothic manor Az built for me.
I've spent countless hours here, sketching and sewing and creating. It started as a way to fill endless days, but it’s become something more—a reclaiming of who I was before Thomas, before Abaddon, before Hell.
“You're almost finished, aren't you?” I whisper to the dress, pinning the final pieces of delicate silver beading along the sweetheart neckline.
The design reminds me of the stars I used to see when I visited my grandparents' house in the French countryside.
They weren't the best grandparents, but I loved that farm anyway.
Az takes me flying sometimes now, his massive indigo wings carrying us over territories I once feared. There's something about seeing Hell from above that makes it less terrifying. More like a painting—beautiful in its own strange, terrible way.
Three years. Mon Dieu.
I set my needle down and stretch, my back aching from hours hunched over my work.
My fingers brush against the small stone hanging from a silver chain around my neck—a piece of black tourmaline Az said his mother gave him.
He didn't tell me much about her, and I stopped trying to ask after a while, burying my head in the sand. Now he's just Az. Just… mine.
I stand to examine my handiwork, pleased with how the dress has taken shape. I designed it for myself—something elegant but comfortable for the romantic dinners we have nightly. Even after being involved for well over a year now, we still date.
“Let's see how you fit,” I murmur, carefully lifting the dress from the table.
In the adjoining dressing room, I slip out of my simple linen shift and into my creation. The silk slides cool against my skin as I ease it up over my hips, my shoulders. I reach behind to fasten the hidden clasps, and—
“Merde.” The dress won't close properly around my middle.
I frown at my reflection. I've been eating well, yes, but not excessively. I turn sideways, examining my profile. There's definitely a subtle roundness to my belly that wasn't there before. Nothing dramatic, but enough to make this perfectly tailored dress uncomfortably snug.
“Just what I need,” I mutter, frustrated. “Another fitting.”
The door opens without a knock—Az never knocks anymore—and I catch his reflection in the mirror as he enters. His eyes darken immediately at the sight of me in the half-fastened gown, skin exposed down my back where the dress refuses to close.
“My little fairy,” he purrs, crossing the room in long strides. “You've outdone yourself.”
“It doesn't fit,” I sigh, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice. “I must have miscalculated my measurements.”
Az comes to stand behind me, his hands settling on my hips. He studies my reflection, his expression shifting from appreciative to something more intense… more focused.
“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the clasps.
I nod, lifting my hair out of his way. His fingers work deftly, managing to secure a few more closures before the fabric pulls too tightly.
“I'll have to let it out,” I say, frowning. “I don't understand. I used the same pattern as the red dress from last month, and that one fits perfectly.”
Az doesn't respond, but I feel his breathing change. His hands move from the closures to my waist, then slide forward to rest lightly against my lower abdomen. His touch is gentle but deliberate, exploring the subtle curve there.
I meet his eyes in the mirror, confused by his strange expression until—
“Oh,” I whisper, realization striking me like lightning. “You don't think that I'm...”
Az turns me in his arms, his gaze searching mine. “When did you last bleed?”
I blink rapidly, trying to remember. Time moves strangely in Hell—days blur together without proper seasons, only the subtle shifts in the color of the sky marking the passage of days. But it has been... a while.
“I don't know,” I admit, my voice small. “Two months? Maybe three?”
Az's face transforms with certainty, a smile spreading slowly across his features. “You're with child, Simone.”
The room tilts beneath me, and I grip his arms to steady myself.
Pregnant. After all this time, after believing that part of my life was over—that my body was somehow broken after what Thomas did.
“Are you sure?” My voice sounds distant, hollow in my own ears.
Az nods, and there's something almost reverent in his expression. “I know the signs. The slight fullness here…” His hand caresses my belly. “The change in your scent, your occasional fatigue in the afternoons.”
I hadn't connected those things. Hadn't wanted to, maybe.
“A baby,” I whisper, my tongue feeling numb.
Az guides me to the small chaise in the corner of the dressing room, helping me sit. He kneels before me, his large hands cradling mine, and for once, he looks almost vulnerable.
“Are you pleased?” he asks, uncertainty threading through his voice.
The question breaks through my shock, and suddenly I'm drowning in a flood of memories from thirteen years ago—Thomas' rough hands, the stairs, waking in a hospital to the knowledge that my baby was gone.
“I lost a baby once,” I tell Az, words spilling out before I can stop them. “Before. When I was human. I mean, when I thought I was human. I… He…”
Az's expression darkens with anger, and I know it's not directed at me but at whoever hurt me. “Will you tell me about it, little fairy?”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach just at the thought. Frantically, I shake my head. “I can't. Not now. Not when we…”
“Shh,” he soothes, his hands gentle on my wrists. So different from Thomas' touch. “You'll tell me when you're ready.”
“I never thought I'd have this chance again,” I say instead, extricating one hand from his hold so I can touch my stomach.
Az watches the gesture, his eyes softening. “You're pleased, then?”
Am I? The question echoes in my mind. This isn't how I imagined motherhood—in Hell, with a fallen angel's son who abducted me and held me captive, who still keeps secrets from me. And yet...
“I think I am,” I answer honestly. “But I'm also terrified.”
Az rises from his knees and settles beside me on the chaise, pulling me against him. His arms around me feel like safety, like home—a concept I've been redefining since I arrived here.
“Nothing will harm you or our child,” he vows, and there's a power in his voice that makes me believe him. “I will tear apart anyone who tries.”
I believe that too. Az may have many secrets, but his protectiveness has never been in question.
“What will our baby be?” I ask, suddenly curious. “He'll be a Cambion from my side, but what about you?”
Az tenses slightly, and I know I've stumbled close to one of his many secrets. “Powerful,” he says finally. “Our child will be powerful.”
I sigh, letting it go for now. One day, he'll trust me with the whole truth. I have to believe that.
My thoughts drift to Abaddon, to Lana and Jessica, to the team I trained with what feels like a lifetime ago. Do they ever think of me? Or did they write me off as a casualty of Hell?
“What are you thinking?” Az asks, his lips brushing my temple.
“About my friends in Purgatory,” I admit. “If they remember me.”
His arms tighten infinitesimally. “Would you go back to them if you could?”
I consider his question carefully. Would I? Leave this manor, this life we've built, the safety Az provides? Return to endless battles against manifestations of sin, to training and fighting and constant vigilance?
“No,” I answer truthfully. “That's not my life anymore.”
Az relaxes against me, and I realize he was genuinely concerned about my answer. It's these moments—when I glimpse the vulnerability beneath his overwhelming confidence—that make me love him despite everything.
“This is my home now,” I say, placing my hand over his where it rests on my stomach. “Our home.”
And as strange as it would have seemed to me three years ago, I mean every word.