49. Violette
VIOLETTE
After repairing my boudoir’s mirror, I dress in one of my black silk gowns.
Boasting a high collar, the chest gapes wide and provides a delicious display of my breasts.
The rest of the fabric hugs the dip in my waist before falling to the floor in two separate sheets that reveal the pale expanse of my hips and thighs.
So very similar, if not a little more modern, to what I was wearing that night with Azrael in his carriage.
The style has become something of a uniform for me, but I don’t allow myself to draw any significance between the two.
After willing my lashes to lengthen and curl, I decorate my lids with a delicate wing of eyeliner, before applying a rosy balm to my lips.
My hair lies in bold, loose waves.
I can only pray that Azrael will be pleased to see me, despite our last interaction, when he found me naked in Lucen’s arms after explicitly warning me away from him.
Steeling my nerves, I turn away from the mirror and will the elegant pin he created for me between my thumb and forefinger. My heart flutters and my stomach swoops as I prick the tip of my index finger and summon all the thoughts of him I’ve been suppressing for the last fifteen-odd years.
Black and gold vapors begin to pour from a seam in mid-air, stretching and widening until a seamless doorway opens to reveal his palace in Hell.
A wave of heat slams into me as I step through.
Lining the front of Azrael’s palace—or at least what remains of it after a goddess from my own realm, Bellorum, split Azrael’s realm in twain not so long ago—are dozens of nephilim, the infamous guardians of his realm.
They boast curling black horns larger than mine, feathered wings of varying shades, and dark tattoos that bind them to Azrael’s service and endow them with much of their power.
Their black and gold armor glints beneath the heat of too many suns—five.
The nearest nephilim cast me wary glances. Only one steps forward.
“State your business.”
Briefly hesitating, my eyes scan the palace remains.
It looks as if dragons crashed into it—much of it lying in rubble, scorched beyond repair, with giant claw marks carving through several giant, broken pillars. Though part of it appears to be in the process of being rebuilt.
“I wish to speak with Azrael.”
“And you are?”
“Raia Lunessa Violette Vale.”
My heart leaps at the sound of his voice—that soothing velvety baritone—speaking a name I haven’t heard in over a decade. Standing only a few feet from him, after all these years, my mouth is suddenly dry.
The nephilim bow as I turn on my heel to find Azrael standing a few feet behind me.
I’d nearly forgotten the immense power that radiates from him, just as breathtaking now as it was then. A tingling, vibrating sensation coupled with what I can only equate to something like the mild panic experienced when standing too near the edge of a cliff without one’s wings.
Thankfully, the sensation subsides quickly as my magic adjusts.
The nearly seven-foot god is as striking as I remember him. Broad, muscular, and dressed in a finely tailored suit from a human realm, I’d wager. That familiar, penetrative, bright hazel gaze glitters with interest as he takes me in from head to toe in a way that makes me feel too exposed.
Concern tightens his features. “You’ve changed your name…”
A history I’d rather not revisit. I clear my throat as I attempt to maintain a composure I don’t feel. “I go by my middle name now. Violette.”
He studies me for a moment. “And this is what you prefer?”
“Yes... I apologize for showing up so abruptly. I wasn’t sure how else to contact you, and the last time?—
“You kept my pin.”
He smiles gently.
I will the note into my hand—the note that appeared in one of my darkest hours, that gave me hope, and that I have carried with me all these years.
It has become my most precious of treasures.
“And this.”
It had to be him.
Even as I think the words, my intuition rejects them.
His brows knit together as he reaches for the note. He frowns, reading it before looking back up at me, giving a slight shake of his head, and making my heart sink a little with disappointment.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize it.”
Gods, I feel so fucking foolish. Of course Azrael didn’t send me a note. He has far more pressing matters to deal with than a brothel whore.
Most obviously, his own damn soulbound.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I train my features neutral and will the note away. The regret at even having come here is crushing. Just as I’m about to summon another portal open, and profusely apologize for having ever bothered him, Azrael offers me a sad smile.
“It is beautiful though. I wish someone would send me a letter saying as much.” He extends his hand. “Come. Let’s get you out of the heat.”
The moment he folds us away, and we arrive inside Azrael’s palace, the view outside tells me we are no longer in his Hell realm, Vassileo.
This place is far too beautiful.
Futuristic yet endowed with an old-world sort of beauty that is reminiscent of nature.
Naturalistic elements that are so very similar to those of my own home.
An orchestra of stringed instruments sings softly through the room, and I can feel the hum of appreciation resonating from the lush green flora lining the walls.
My gaze fixates on the view of the city’s skyline outside, watching with no small amount of awe at the myriad beings flying alongside winged vehicles; ships, even, boasting vast sails. Green foliage and waterfalls run down the length of several buildings so high they puncture fluffy clouds.
The words come out a little breathy. “Where are we?”
Azrael’s expression turns thoughtful, eyes taking in the resplendence before us. “Ourinessa.”
The name tickles the back of my mind, before that night in the carriage begins to replay in my mind.
‘Oleander, please take Ms. Vale anywhere she asks and ensure she returns home safely. Make yourself available to her in my absence—and if she needs a place to stay, please provide her with the keys to my estate. I need to return to Ourinessa earlier than anticipated.’
Oleander is swift to reply. ‘As you wish, my lord.’
“So this is your home when you need a reprieve from Hell, or grow bored of pretty daemonesses?”
Like Larae. Why I remember the name of the female on his arm the night we met, I have no fucking excuse. My cheeks flush at the last part, instantly regretting the admission. Azrael huffs a sardonic laugh. “Hell isn’t merely a place, seraphim, and pretty daemonesses can’t save you from it.”
His response surprises me.
Oh, darling... It's a reality I know well.
The urge to console him ushers me closer, but his gaze returns to the window and the realm beyond. “I live here, partially. Ourinessa is part of my domain.”
Having heard and read so few good things about Azrael, the infamous death god that rules one of the cruellest Hell realms in existence, I expected him to be a sadistic megalomaniac when I first met him. Since then, he has done
“I had no idea.”
Tension dims his smile. “It’s better that way.”
“Much of it is inhabited by the living, but a distant region is reserved for those who have not yet chosen to reincarnate.”
He pauses for a moment, worry knitting his brow. “Though it is... leaking.”
I rear back. “Leaking?”
Leaking what?
“Souls.”
My brows leap, and my jaw drops.
It must have something to do with Vassileo being destroyed.
I’m almost afraid to ask, but, as per usual, curiosity overcomes it.
“Where are they going?”
His gaze gradually returns to mine. “To Akash.”
The air in my lungs whooshes out of me.
“Do they eventually reincarnate again?”
He huffs a ghost of a laugh. “Even I don’t have an answer to that.”
Sacred fuck.
“What can be done about it?”
Expression unreadable, he studies me for a moment. “Nothing, apparently. It’s history repeating itself. Or... entropy.”
Wearing a mask of indifference, he gives a shrug, but his sorrow is palpable, and I have that urge again to reach out and console him somehow... though I do have one selfish question.
“Are you able to discern the souls of animals that have passed?”
Thessaly, I already know, would be in Mors’ domain, Avernus.
I assume the same for Horace, but maybe he came from outside of Bellorum...
Azrael quirks an eyebrow. “Did you have a familiar?”
“He was a guardian of sorts... A raven. Horus.”
He offers me an empathetic smile. “Close your eyes, and summon an image of him in your mind.”
My eyes slip shut as I visualize the first time Horace parroted back, Love you more.
The backs of my eyes burn just as warm fingertips brush my temple.
My heart aches, already sensing the answer he’s about to give me.
When Azrael’s fingertips leave me, I open my eyes to find his bright amber gaze filled with apology. He gives a soft shake of his head. “I’m sorry.”
The disappointment in his response is subtle; expected.
“I had a familiar once. Cerberus.”
Empathy fists my heart. I don’t dare ask what happened to him.
Azrael’s throat dips, voice soft. “I miss him dearly.”
Grief hangs between us, heavy and palpable. Eventually my eyes wander to our surroundings. Namely the sculptures lining the pale marble and gold-veined walls depicting the same female in various states of undress.
Intuition tells me there’s only one person it could possibly be...
“Who is she?”
“Persephone. My soulbound.”
I knew it.
Stifling the wildly misplaced jealousy burning in my chest, I shift to face him.
“Oh? Have you two made amends and reunited?”
Why isn’t she here?
Azrael offers me a tense smile.
“No. She has chosen a life away from me. And that is something that won’t ever change.”
Akash-all-fucking-mighty.
First his realms, and now his soulbound.
I’m also beginning to think soulbound are some kind of karmic debt, destined to torture one another.
My heart aches with empathy for him, even as my own tether to Levi flares with pain and I get the sneaking sensation that my bargaining chip is useless.
Azrael’s gaze grows distant, and the mask of charisma that usually surrounds him slips to reveal the world—weary exhaustion beneath. The space surrounding him begins to warp and shimmer before a pair of black horns and a set of enormous, dark, feathered wings appear behind him.
Why does he hide them?
His gaze darts to mine, horns and wings disappearing beneath a glamour once more as he gives me an amenable smile.
“So to what exactly do I owe this pleasure?”
Here’s to hoping that the Lord of Hell is altruistic.
“I came to offer you a bargain, but…”
His expression remains placid. “I have no interest in bargains.”
As I suspected.
Fuck me and my impulsive ideas.
Azrael moves to lean against the back of a settee, one ankle crossing the other as he drags his fingers through his swept-back darkest brown tendrils.
“What is it that you need?”
The words feel like glass shards against my throat.
“Well, I was going to offer my help in finding your soulbound in exchange for your help in severing my soulbond.”
Concern causes Azrael’s brow to dip into a deep V. “Why would you ever wish for such a thing?”
The answer to that reverberates through me like a stake to the heart.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not fucking cry in front of the God of Death.
My lower lip quivers in protest.
Azrael’s expression morphs in an instant, face crinkling with compassion.
“Oh, darling…”
Before I can blink, he folds in front of me, staring down into my face and studying me as if he can see the weight of the world that causes my chin to tremble.
When I divert my watering eyes, his forefinger curls beneath my chin and tips my gaze back towards his. “Tell me.”
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I manage to whisper.
“He’s been through a lot... Perhaps damaged beyond repair. He will not take a mate.”
Azrael’s brows knit together in a sinister line.
“Who is he?”
Sniffling, I roll my eyes. “No one you know. A human. On Terrenea.”
Azrael gives a humorless chuckle. “Stubborn creatures.”
“Indeed.”
“Shall I kill him for you?”
Pain flares immediately down our tether, and I fervently shake my head. “No.”
Azrael pauses for several moments as though deliberating something. That penetrative gaze of his seems to pierce me to my very soul. When he seems to reach some sort of conclusion, he releases my chin and approaches a bookshelf where a number of various instruments sit.
My eyes slip shut, tears streaming.
All I want to do is lie down and die.
Drawing in a deep breath, I open my eyes to find Azrael standing in front of a curious-looking globe perched on a small pedestal.
With a single digit, he caresses its surface, and it briefly glows before dimming.
He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment before his gaze passes over the instruments lying beside it as his voice drops to a thoughtful murmur.
“For as long as I’ve lived, I swear I’ve seen just as many soulbound reject their mates as I have those who’ve accepted them. It does not guarantee happiness. Only karma. I can only wonder what led us here.”
I am so tired of this life.
What’s the fucking point?
Azrael’s gaze snaps back to mine as he returns to stand in front of me. “Do not think such things, little seraphim.”
Bittersweet emotion surges in the wake of his tenderness.
The memory of the last time he called me that is still vivid.
Sniffling, embarrassment heats my already reddened cheeks.
“You can read thoughts?”
“No, but I can sense death... and one’s desire for it.”
Guilt settles somewhere on my chest.
“And I am intimately familiar with such things,” he adds.
My gaze returns to his. One of Azrael’s large hands lifts. Then hovers in the vicinity of my face, waiting to see if I will turn away.
I do not move.
I do not breathe.
His large, warm palm gently cradles my jaw. Despite the fact this male is not my soulbound, something in his touch manages to soothe my aching soul. Azrael’s thumb slowly caresses the apple of my cheek as his eyes hold mine.
“Perhaps, I am interested in a bargain with you after all.”