88. Levi
LEVI
He didn’t sever it. While I am shaken to my core with gratitude and relief, I am equally suspicious.
The transformation, while painful, felt like waking up a part of myself that had always been there.
Something I always, innately, was and merely lacked the awareness of it.
Using my voice to command, or casting my will, feels as natural and intuitive as drawing breath.
My eyes take in the sight of my beautiful mate, now sound asleep beneath me, our bond alive and well, humming its satisfaction like a harmonious cord resonating between us.
Drawing my hips back, I gradually slide my length out from her precious sheath.
Her sleep-softened features grow tense, lips forming a soft pout as if mourning the loss.
I press a final, lingering kiss to her burdened brow before dragging the duvet up to her shoulders.
“You are everything to me.”
I turn, finally rising to shift off the bed. With his head perched on one fist as he remains seated, fully nude, cock hanging flaccid between his partly splayed thighs, Azrael casts his gaze over me as I stand before him.
“I think that perhaps that just may have been the most beautiful thing I have ever borne witness to in all the years I can still recall.”
I study his somber expression as silence falls between us.
“Why?”
Why hide our bond rather than sever it?
Azrael’s chest rises as he draws in a slow, deep breath before finally lifting his gaze to mine.
“She’s an impulsive creature. I couldn’t in good conscience?—”
My voice hardens as he dances around the real answer.
“You will tell me why, Azrael.”
Azrael’s eyes dance between each of mine as they gradually begin to glisten with emotion. His admission is spoken on a whisper.
“Because I never had any intention of actually completing the rituals.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Then what the fuck was the point of all this? You vowed upon your blood and?—”
The realization hits me before I can even finish speaking the words.
“That’s why your neck won’t fully heal. Why your incorporeal soul won’t return to your body.”
He wants to die.
He’s using their vow—sworn on his blood and magic—to kill himself.
Emotions I shouldn’t have are suddenly a crushing weight on my chest. A heavy and harkening shadow of what I felt when my mother took her own life.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t feel this way.
So why can I not breathe?
My claws are forgotten until they scrape my chest as my hand curls into a fist, unconcerned for the blood that follows.
Azrael stands, looking thoroughly shocked by my reaction as he attempts to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, what?—”
I weave a way. “Don’t touch me.”
Azrael’s jaw snaps shut. The pain in his eyes bright and visceral—a mirror to my own.
And suddenly, despite my immortal transformation and all my newfound power, I feel more human and more vulnerable than I have in nearly twenty years.
“This whole time. You were manipulating us. Using us. And still, you made us fall?—”
The words are cut off at my throat by my rising emotion, threatening to swallow me whole. Words that, in another reality, would be too soon to speak. Words that he doesn’t deserve.
Azrael’s expression tightens as his jaw works—an attempt to keep his emotion at bay. Two, fat, heedless tears tremble before making their descent as he breathes the words. “I didn’t expect... this.”
Gradually, I nod, fighting my own tears. “And now?”
Unfathomable pain—pain that, despite the events of my life, I know nothing about—shadows Azrael’s eyes before briefly slipping shut and sending more tears spilling over the edge.
“You don’t understand…”
The pain in my chest tightens further as I attempt to force my heart to harden against him. Against this insufferable pain. Everything I’ve attempted to avoid my entire life is now meeting me in this infuriating, selfish god.
Every impulsive ounce of my anger is torn between killing him again and throwing him out.
Neither of which I can do.
I cast a glance at Violette, sleeping peacefully in the same position I left her.
The helplessness of this situation stokes the flames of my ire.
“You don’t deserve her.”
He nods, chewing on his cheek to tame his tremulous lower lip.
“I know. Just one of many, many reasons why I was never going to claim her.”
I refuse to care.
Refuse to feel a single fucking ounce of concern for him.
I do anyway.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I begin to pace the length of the room, willing myself to calm. Forcing breath into my too-tight lungs as I attempt to come up with a plan that will protect Violette.
“You will still come with us to Selcarim.”
I shoot him a glare, half expecting him to argue.
Instead, he tips his head in assent. “And you will still take my blood before we leave.”
Cutting words rise to my lips, but his words incinerate them.
“If you wish to ensure that you will be able to protect Violette against every potential threat—against her father—you will take my blood, and you will give me yours.”
I give him an incredulous look. “You said it might not even do anything.”
He arches a brow. “But what if it does?”
A possibility I can’t reject.
“You will not speak of your deception. At least not until after her father is dead. She needs a clear head.”
Azrael remains silent for several moments, watching me pace. “Shouldn’t she remain clear-headed when she accompanies you to kill your own enemy?”
I wave my hand to dismiss the idea. “She doesn’t need to be there. I can do it alone.”
Azrael swipes away his tears as he rolls his eyes, giving me a look like I am still very much a human, and just as much an idiot.
“I’m sure she’ll be so pleased. A brilliant way to begin your union, excluding her from the get-go.”
I grind my teeth. “Fine... And what of your enemies? Are they as duplicitous as you?”
Azrael’s frown returns, though he manages to keep it from quivering.
“No... I have no enemies.”
I scoff just before he adds, “None that I care to slay, at least.”
He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “If I am to complete that particular ritual, I will have to confront Persephone and Mors.”
I stop pacing to meet his gaze as a nonsensical tendril of jealousy coils through me. “Well, considering that’s not a life-threatening task, you will tell her the truth beforehand. And then she can decide whether or not she wants to try and convince you to complete the tasks.”
Azrael gives me a sad, pitying look as though I’ve missed the point.
“Even if I do, I would still have to sever your bond in order to live.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You really do think you’re so clever, don’t you.”
Azrael rears back. “I... I don’t know what you mean.”
“Azrael, I was there.”
He hesitates for a moment, and I don’t find the surprise I expect.
“Your vow to Violette mentioned nothing of severing any bond. In fact, you’ve done exactly what you’ve vowed to do.”
The words—that moment, that trauma—is forever seared into my mind.
Azrael’s expression is unreadable. “I think I know what I did and didn’t vow?—”
I close the distance between us, bringing us eye level post-transformation. My face is only inches from his as I taunt him with his own words.
“I’ll take care of the bond so long as you allow me to court you in full syrith tradition.”
Truly, I owe Somnus a greater debt than I can ever possibly repay. One that I internally vow to try and repay.
I huff a derisive laugh, shaking my head. “Go to bed, Azrael.”
Azrael’s throat dips as the glittering in his eyes returns. My recalcitrant heart pinches tight with emotion, everything within me urging me to hold him in my arms. To tell him I forgive him, and plead with him to give Violette and me a chance to inspire him to live.
Instead, I give him my back and crawl in bed beside Violette. I can’t bring myself to look at him for fear my resolution will crumble. The door quietly snicks shut. Fear grips my heart that he will just leave. Forsake the rituals and just wait for the life-determining magic of the vow to kill him.
I will the lights off, and stare at the ceiling as I attempt to breathe away the anxiety tensing my muscles.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye, and I shift to see Azrael’s shadow sitting in the chair across from the bed.
Now when I see him, it isn’t with fear or apprehension.
It’s relief.