125. Lazarus
LAZARUS
It’s thoroughly unsettling to share space with someone who knows everything.
It’s an intimacy I’ve never experienced before.
And what adds to the discomfort of it is not only that I share almost none of the closeness Azrael developed with Levi that lead up to sharing his—our—mind, but also that I know very little about him.
Unless I were to use my magic and intrude—something that would be far more difficult to do now that he has power that nearly rivals my own.
Power I also know next to nothing about because he hasn’t displayed it, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s hiding it on purpose.
This reasoning is all secondary to the fact that I shamelessly sucked his cock when I was still a mere shadow.
My cheeks heat at the memory.
I do not appreciate it.
This male flusters me.
And I do not wish to share Violette with him, or anyone.
As if summoned by my thoughts alone, Levi steps out onto the balcony beside me.
And for some reason, my heart begins to thump a little harder.
I need to get out of here.
“You’re different.”
My brows knit together. I do not look in his direction. Lest he see the blush staining my cheeks. “Pardon?”
“From Azrael, I mean. You’re the same in many ways, but you’re much more... reserved.” He says the word as though trying to put it politely.
I finally allow my gaze to slide to his, training my expression to one of utmost boredom. “Perhaps my mortal half is more easily swayed by your staggering charm.”
Levi holds my gaze, brows hardening, and I feel a prickle of his elusive magic surge to the surface. “So it’s true..."
I quirk a derisive brow. “Your charm?”
His lip curls like I’m an idiot. “No. That Azrael is fucking mortal.”
Oh, fuck.
I am an idiot.
My neutral expression dissolves into one of strained remorse. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it so flippantly?—”
Jaw clenching, Levi turns away to face the view beyond the transparent dome surrounding Sinsól. His voice drops to a timbre softened by despair. “I already knew intuitively. I just had... hope.”
Hope.
For some inexplicable reason, I find myself desperate to console him. “I’m going to give him half of my—our—magic back, and he’ll be immortal again. It’s nothing to fret over, I assure you.”
The words feel like a lie even to me. Levi turns his head to meet my gaze. Based on the look in his eyes, one might think I’d just given him a lead weight to use as a liferaft.
The subsequent tether that has manifested between us after binding Violette’s soul to mine flares with pain—a combination of not only my need to reassure him, but his agony at the thought of potentially losing Azrael to an inevitable end should he remain mortal.
This is followed by a heedless whisper within my mind: if he can love Azrael so fervently, surely he could feel the same for me. Despite my reservedness.
My lip nearly curls.
Be gone with you, wayward fantasy.
I don’t need, nor want, him to love me.
All I need or want is Violette.
And putting my heart in the hands of two people is nothing short of irresponsible—as life has proven, a soulbound does not guarantee love or loyalty.
Yet, here I am, incapable of stopping my body from leaning ever so slightly nearer to him. Swallowing thickly at this abominable sensation, I manage to steal a small, singular step in the opposite direction as I rub my brow between thumb and forefinger.
“So what’s stopping you?”
The question causes me to straighten and return to his gaze. “Would you have me burst in on him in his private bathing chamber?”
With a single look that requires no words, Levi tells me that he would indeed have me do exactly that, and that my mental faculties must be monumentally challenged for doubting it.
But my hesitation isn’t for the sake of privacy.
It’s because my intuition is telling me that when I attempt to return my magic to Azrael, it won’t work.