64. Levi
LEVI
Hope is a song taking flight in my fluttering heart.
After our shower together, and thus the sharing of our pasts, the change in Violette’s receptivity towards me is night and day.
The harsh words and lethal gazes I had earned have been replaced with something precious and new—like a newly sprouted seed.
And I’ve never been fucking happier.
One might even say there’s a pep in my step. Though in reality they wouldn’t because I’m entirely too self-restrained and stoic, but internally, I have all the pep as I do a quick sweep of my house while Violette gets dressed. Even if I am fully expecting to find Azrael making himself at home.
To my surprise, my house remains Azrael-free.
I grin in anticipation of Violette telling him to get fucked so we can go on our road trip.
My intuition tells me it won’t be so simple, but I promptly shove that thought away.
When I return to my bedroom, Violette smooths her hands over a far simpler black, form-fitting but modest dress.
Another relief. As undeniably stunning as she looked in Azrael’s dress, I don’t want her wearing anything he gives her.
Violette gives me a reserved smile. “Ready?”
I take a moment to study her and the resurrected wall I’m detecting, but nod. Soon enough, Vi. You’ll see that you can trust me.
“For you? Always.”
Her brow relaxes slightly, and I have to fight the urge to pull her against me; I sense that overwhelming her or forcing myself upon her would be unwise. So instead, I nod.
The moment Violette’s delicate hand glides over my shoulder, her magic washes over me, making the hairs on my arms and neck rise.
The world around us folds in on itself, and for all of a blink, everything goes black before it unfolds, and we’re standing in Winnow and Gideon’s living room.
The sensation is dizzying, but I’ve jumped out of so many planes and helicopters that it only gives me a mild and fleeting nausea.
As it passes, I scan the room, only to find Azrael’s shadow sitting with one ankle resting over a knee, arms spread over the back of the couch like he owns the fucking place.
The sound of laughter reaches us from Gideon’s kitchen, and we turn to find Azrael, wearing what I can only assume is Winnow’s frilly pink and white apron over his finely tailored suit and two equally frilly oven mitts.
Gideon and Winnow are seated in the high stools at his countertop, giggling.
Since when does Gideon giggle?
Already facing us, Azrael spots us first, and a grin lights up his face.
“What fortuitous timing! I was just about to take the roast out of the oven.”
What is this fucker so happy about?
Gideon and Winnow turn in their seats to follow his gaze. Both of them give us knowing looks—as if it’s obvious we’ve been fucking.
Even though we haven’t. Yet.
Violette lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, praise Akash! You were able to fix his head!”
Winnow winces. “Not quite... It’s glued on.”
Violette’s face slackens with disbelief. “Beg your pardon?”
I don’t bother to mask my snort of laughter. “With what? Gorilla Glue?”
Winnow gives me a horrified look. “I’m not a savage. I used medical adhesive from our first aid kit, plus a little magic.” She frowns, voice dropping to a dismal murmur as her eyes bounce apologetically between Azrael and Violette. “It was the best temporary solution we could find.”
Violette isn’t nearly as pleased as I am. In fact, she looks pissed.
“But why?”
Heaving a sigh, Winnow’s face scrunches up as she tries to formulate some explanation. “Well, apparently…”
Her eyes dart towards Azrael’s specter, still man-spread on Gideon’s couch. Its features only hint at a face, but there’s a distant glow where the eyes should be. And it’s staring directly at me.
I’ve never felt like a victim or prey before in my life, but admittedly, capturing the attention of the phantom of a death god isn’t exactly comforting. But for some reason, the only thing I truly fear from him is taking Violette for himself.
Winnow clears her throat. “There’s some sort of... dissonance.”
Violette’s brow tenses. “Pardon?”
“He doesn’t want to go back inside Azrael’s body. We think that’s why his head won’t stay attached. Thankfully, Azrael still has some slight range of motion, and so long as nothing bumps into his head, it should stay in place.”
She pauses.
Gulps.
“We hope.”
Violette’s distress is palpable as she shakes her head. “But why in the hellish fuck not?”
Winnow squirms uncomfortably, and Gideon drapes his arm around her waist, tugging her into his side. Her eyes return to Azrael.
“I think that’s a question for a death god.”
Azrael’s movements are slightly rigid, as though his head would topple onto the floor if he moved any faster. He has to angle his entire body so that he can direct a glare at his ghost—or whatever it is—on the couch before returning to Violette.
“My governance begins and ends with death. The soul, post-mortem, only. And as you can see, I am very much still ante-mortem.”