14. Raia
RAIA
“Oh, Lucen... I’ve never been anywhere so beautiful.
” I pause to gape up at the palace Lucen just folded us to.
Discomfort and the distinct sensation of not belonging tighten in my chest. I grew up in a slum, and an utterly illogical scene plays out in my mind where somehow, some way, someone in this palatial restaurant will surely recognize that I am a mere pauper masquerading in a fancy dress.
Surely, they will throw me back out into the street from whence I came.
Lucen, entirely unaware of my internal battle, wears a grin as though pleased with himself. “Well, there’s plenty more of that to come, sweetling. My family and I frequent The Basileion, but truly, this is only the beginning.”
My eyes slip shut as I draw in a deep breath of cool night air.
I belong here.
I am the daughter of a god.
I am a goddess, for Akash’s sake. If anyone belongs here, it is I.
Facts work no magic over my illogical imagination.
I also can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. This kind of lifestyle was everything that my mother and I could have ever hoped for. Everything that she deserved, considering her soulbound was a god and a king.
I wish so badly you could be here.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft voice.
“Lucen.”
Lucen goes rigid beside me. We both turn, and Lucen attempts to guide me behind him, but my eyes lock with...
Jealousy fists my heart the moment I lay eyes on her.
She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Her dark skin somehow glows beneath the moonlight, coupled with dark crimson eyes that—somehow—aren’t even remotely off-putting, but instead radiate warmth; feline in shape and framed by exquisite cheekbones.
Full lips are painted red and set within a sharp yet elegant jawline.
Her head is shaved—the sleek look only adding to her ethereal beauty.
A gilded collar decorates her long neck, pointing towards petite breasts that suit her lithe frame.
The only thing that reassures me is that there is no jealousy on her face. Lucen’s expression, however, is more displeased than I’ve ever seen it. “Widow.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but we have a problem.” She pauses, her long-lashed eyes meeting mine. “Hello. I apologize for the intrusion. I’m Widow.”
I bow my head in greeting, awkwardly, because I’m unsure how people of this caliber greet one another. A corner of her mouth tilts in amusement, but it isn’t mocking. “I’m Raia. Lovely to meet you.”
Lucen clears his throat. “I apologize, sweetling. Widow is a colleague of mine... Would you mind if I have the maitre’d seat you while I have a word with her in private?”
If they don’t cast me out first.
A nearby coo catches my attention, and my eyes briefly scan the vicinity before landing on Horus, perched at the edge of an alcove a few dozen yards away.
Along with his sheer size, the collar of white at his neck makes him stand out in the dark, and distinguishes him from the few other ravens loitering nearby.
My precious shadow of solidarity.
His presence emboldens me to straighten. Soothes the panic rising. I manage a nod. “Yes... Sure. Whatever you need.”
By some miracle, no one seems to detect my former poverty. The waiter is unnervingly polite. He’s only just delivered a much-needed bottle of red wine when Lucen returns. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes is pasted on his face as if it’s supposed to be reassuring.
I force myself to swallow back my fear and discomfort.
Shove away the urgent whisperings of my intuition.
Still, the fragile hope that had only just blossomed in my chest is already wilting like a potted plant in some forgotten corner.
Every question I ask Lucen is met with short, vague responses followed by a deflecting question.
I don’t want to argue or ruin the evening—and certainly not in front of the numerous people who stop by to shake Lucen’s hand, or the numerous patrons that sneak glances from behind the rim of their champagne flutes as they watch us from their tables.
“Lucen, I see you’ve finally decided to bring along some charming company.”
The dark velvet voice causes Lucen to grow rigid.
His smile falls, eyes lifting to someone standing behind me.
An intense, hair-raising magic—god-magic—whispers over my skin; it seems to writhe against mine—the sensation is gentle but foreign.
Like a stray cat winding around a stranger’s leg.
I blame that for the unfamiliar tension in my chest squeezing so tightly it pushes the breath from my lungs.
Our intruder steps parallel to our table, drawing my gaze up, up, up to a pair of amber eyes that are somehow both startlingly bright and feather-soft, framed by long dark lashes.
His features are too perfect—modelesque—outside of the slight bump in the center of his nose that suggests it’s been broken a few times.
His sculpted form is clearly discernible from beneath the immaculately tailored, albeit strangely fashioned, suit—a style I have only ever seen depicted in textbooks about Terranean cultures and customs.
Akash almighty, why can’t I breathe?
His gaze is too discerning. Too penetrative. Too keen.
A dazzling grin splits his carved, square jaw. “What might a gentle soul such as yourself be doing in the company of such a scoundrel?”
My heart is pounding—though I cannot fathom why.
Does he know who I am?
“Have we met?”
Lucen’s discomfort is palpable. Each word feels like the spoken equivalent of a nut being crushed with a steel cracker. “Raia, this is Azrael. More commonly known as the Vassileon realm’s God of Death.”
I have to force my expression to remain neutral to mask my shock. Vassileo’s God of Death is an infamous one. Dangerous. Vulnerable to his whims, desires, and temper.
Azrael’s grin turns hollow as he redirects his attention towards Lucen and seems to pointedly add, “And endings. As much as people like to forget.”
Lucen’s smile is more of a wince. “Azrael is a... deeply valued client of mine and my family’s.”
The brief silence darkening our table passes like an eternity of suffering.
“There you are.”
A breathtakingly beautiful female with horns and bat-like wings appears at Azrael’s side, dressed in little more than a shimmering napkin, and drapes herself over one thickly muscled arm as if she were the coat and he, the hanger.
They paint the perfect picture.
And I am instantly repulsed.
Though Azrael doesn’t look pleased to see her despite her astonishing beauty.
“Larae, this is Raia and Lucen.”
She smiles, dipping her head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure.”
My magic is quick to inform me that this female is not his soulbound. The clear, distinguishable line between Azrael and his soulbound’s tether, while it isn’t strong, tells me that they have indeed met and spent enough time in one another’s presence to solidify it.
And yet, here he is.
With another female.
Hatred is not a strong enough word to describe my feelings towards this God of Death and Endings.
Perhaps that is why my heart pounds like a war drum.
A montage of bloodshed illuminates my mind’s eye as I envision inflicting every fathomable torture upon Azrael.
As if he can sense where my thoughts have drifted, Azrael’s eyes drift back to mine, brows knitting together as they narrow and form a question.
“I’m afraid I have some matters to attend to, and we’ll have to call it an early night, my dear.”
The words are directed at her, though his gaze remains on me. I am quick to break the connection, returning my eyes to the comfort of Lucen.
“Oh, what a pity,” Larae says.
Azrael offers us a polite grin. “Tragic.”
The rest of the evening, my mind and fury insist on returning to Azrael. I blame it on a lifetime of insecurity caused by my absent and uncaring father rejecting my mother and me.
Thessaly, even post-mortem, tempers my mood.
So quick to judge, he would say. Only youth and inexperience would make such presumptions.
I bet his cock is as perfect as his face, he would add.
Shut up, I growl to myself as I will my nightgown over my freshly showered body.
Emotion suddenly clogs my throat.
Fuck, I miss you.
I’m right here, darling. I never left.