113. Levi
LEVI
Ionce found the idea of achieving orgasm at the same time to be romantic.
Something to strive for even. However, not in the middle of a crowded tavern as I’m shoveling the first bite of stew into my mouth.
Distantly, beneath the bone-trembling force of my climax and what I can only describe as an explosion in my chest, and the din of raucous noise surrounding us, I hear Azrael’s garbled groan as though he too is achieving orgasm.
I cast a shield around us to prevent any on-lookers from witnessing me, and presumably Azrael, from soiling ourselves.
With cum.
My eyes are squeezed shut from the force of this entirely misplaced and unexpected euphoria but the light glowing from beyond my eyelids has me peeking them open to observe a radiant light glowing from our chests.
Even when this intrusion passes, my entire body is humming with the lingering effects.
Azrael, still glamoured to have this ridiculous mop of blonde hair, grips the table as his chest heaves.
“What. In the. Sacred. Fuck.”
My voice is muffled beneath the buzzing in my ears.
I can feel in the root of my soul what caused this catastrophe, and I’m not certain how I feel about it. Am not certain I’m even willing to acknowledge it.
So I ask the next most important question.
“Did you just cum in your pants?”
Azrael’s jaw works.
“I believe the word explode might be more apt, but yes. Irreparably. The only way I’ll ever be able to fully cleanse them of my ejaculate is by incineration.”
After willing away the evidence of our disgrace, Azrael and I eat our stew in shameful and perturbed silence. It isn’t until we pay and get up to leave that he finally speaks. The guilt on his face pains me. As if he needs to hear the words even more than I do.
“I need you to know I wouldn’t have taken such a liberty without speaking to you first..."
Gradually, I nod. “I know.”
Though they are the same person, the differences between them are somehow palpable.
Even within the first moment of meeting Lazarus, there was something different about him. Perhaps what they say about too much power corrupting the soul is true. There is something so much softer and sweeter about Azrael.
Dare I say, I prefer him this way.
Azrael’s amber eyes frantically pingpong between each of my eyes as if searching for proof beyond my words that I believe him.
So I lean in and press my lips to his. “And even if you did, I would be overjoyed for Violette and I to be soulbound to you.”
His Adam’s apple dips as though working back a swell of emotion. “I would give almost anything for it... but not at the expense of your trust.”
Leaning back in, I nip at his throat, scraping my fangs against the delicate flesh.
“I trust you, soulbound.”
It’s just this interloper I don’t trust.
Said interloper has a protective cocoon of his magic surrounding him and Violette on the bed.
I shut the door behind Azrael and push my magic against it.
The cocoon dissipates to reveal Lazarus protectively curled around Violette, who is sound asleep.
I will a barrier around her head so she remains undisturbed before speaking.
“You could have asked.”
Lazarus arches a haughty brow that makes me want to punch him in the fucking face.
“I merely enhanced what was already there.”
My brows knit together as my anger begins to simmer—mostly because I know it's true. Whether or not it’s from the vow they made, and the mark it left, for a time, or perhaps even from before, we have no way of knowing.
But thanks to Azrael opening his mind and memories to me, I know that the former wasn’t intentional, and that the latter is entirely probable.
From the moment Violette entered the room of that restaurant more than a decade ago, it was as if some cord between them had flared to life.
I witnessed the memory of it as though I’d experienced it myself.
“You broke my trust.”
“And mine,” Azrael adds.
Lazarus stares blankly at between the two of us for several moments. “You’re right. I apologize.”
I am almost stunned by the swiftness of his apology. My eyes narrow as if to perceive any note of sarcasm or deception.
Lazarus lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling for a moment as a great sigh leaves his chest. “You know I am impulsive. You know what I have been through. I’m not reminding you of it to excuse myself of fault, but... just to give you context.”
His head turns towards me, specifically. “Would you have acted any differently?”
We both know the answer.
I would have done exactly the same thing in his shoes.
Perhaps even worse. Like severing any other soulbonds connecting Violette to anyone else.
And I’m forced to remind myself that, even when Azrael was...
Azrael, and not Azrael and Lazarus, he still didn’t actually sever mine and Violette’s bond when he so easily could have.
The meaning behind his stare tells me he hasn’t forgotten it either.
“Fine.”
The tension in his body bleeds away.
“I still want to punch you in the face.”
He huffs a laugh. “I might let you.”