134. Azrael
AZRAEL
Ican’t find it in myself to be angry with Violette. I understand why she did it. I betrayed her by creating such a duplicitous vow in the first place, and if the roles were reversed, I would be willing to do whatever is necessary to prevent her annihilation.
Yet, here I am, about to betray her and Levi further.
My knuckles rap gently on Mors’ and Persephone’s front door as my heart drums a wild beat in my chest. Barking erupts from the other side of the door. Grief is swift to lance my heart as memories of my dearest friend return.
Cerberus.
The door swings open to reveal Mors and an exuberant great dane with a harlequin coat. The great dane brings a much-needed grin to my face.
That is until my eyes return to Mors and my brain can truly process what I’m seeing.
My grin flattens, replaced by lip-curling repulsion at Mors’ ensemble: a backwards hat, sneakers, khaki cargo shorts, and a linen button-down shirt that isn’t even tailored—clearly two sizes too large at the waist, but tests the limits at his broad, muscled chest, shoulders, and biceps.
I am... aghast.
“What in the hellish fuck are you wearing? You look like a forty-year-old frat boy. Spoon my fucking eyes out, why don’t you?”
Mors chuckles, stroking his dog’s head, and not looking surprised in the slightest to see me. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”
I arch a brow. “Has anyone ever told you that you have good taste in fashion?”
Our lips twitch with barely suppressed grins.
There’s a certain youthful lightheartedness to his energy that wasn’t there before.
The Mors I knew for eons was somber, at best. And he certainly wouldn’t be dressed in sneakers and a backwards baseball hat like some youth.
Akash, if this plan works... please, please, please don’t let me make such abominable fashion choices.
Mors steps to the side, permitting my entry to their boho-chic Montauk beach house. It smells like fresh basil, lemon, and fresh ocean air. A large, wet snout thrusts beneath my hand in demand for pets, and despite the sadness welling in my chest at Cerberus’s memory, I am putty in his paws.
Squatting, I stroke the sides of his head and ears, and pat his ribs as he proceeds to merrily adorn my cheeks with slobber. My broken heart gives a little pitter patter of love.
“Zeus, no licking.”
Zeus huffs, but scuffles backwards to sit on his haunches, stifling his affection.
Mors watches me, concern knitting his brow. “You look so downtrodden..."
Standing, I shove away my building anxiety for what I’m about to ask, and eye him with both curiosity and confusion. “And you look so... American.”
Mors chuckles. “When in Rome..."
I huff a dry laugh. “At least there, you’d be dressed properly.”
Mors rolls his eyes, though a grin still decorates his face. Persephone’s voice echoes from deep within the house. “Is that Azrael? Is he ok?”
Mors shuts the door behind us, eyes briefly flicking over my neck, chest, and hands looking for signs of the shifting shadows that decorate Lazarus’ skin–the only way to tell the difference between us by sight alone.
“If you mean, is he still dying, then no. His magic has returned.” He pauses for a moment, studying me. “Though he doesn’t look thrilled about it.”
Mors shoves his hands into the pockets of those blasted khakis–equally ill-fitting to house gladiatorial thighs.
He nods towards a sunken living room boasting enormous cushy off-white linen couches and a magnificent view of sand dunes, and the Atlantic Ocean beyond.
“Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
The question takes me by surprise, but the earnest expression on Mors’ face reveals no hint of deception.
Yes, you can actually.
I manage a smile, dipping my head in thanks before descending the few steps leading to the couches. “Sparkling water. Chilled, please.”
With Zeus trotting after him, Mors disappears down a hallway of ashwood flooring punctuated by towering potted plants as I flop down on one end of a couch, facing the ocean.
A gray and white Maine Coon cat is perched on a carpet pedestal in the sun.
It lifts its head to briefly cast a lazy backwards glance at me.
Well hello.
Bored with me already, his tail gives a lazy flick and he lays his head back down.
My eyes scan the house and its effects.
This feels weird.
Domestic, I realize.
Is this what life would be like if I were to marry Violette?
A pretty house in the suburbs, a dog, a cat, and...
I shake my head, dispelling the thought. Violette would never live in the suburbs.
Mors reappears a moment later, carrying a tray with glasses and a carafe of sparkling water. Persephone arrives shortly behind him wearing a long flowy dress.
Waddling.
Her breasts, once a small palmful, are notably larger.
A gust of wind blows in from the open windows, momentarily plastering her loose-fitting dress to the front of her body and revealing her tight, round abdomen.
Sacred fuck.
My lips part in shock and awe as emotion fists my heart so fucking tight I fail to draw breath.
Persephone’s hands curve protectively around the base of her belly as she gives me a cautious smile. “Azrael..."
Mors waits at the foot of the steps, tray in one hand as he offers the other to Persephone to guide her down the steps.
“You’re pregnant... ,” I say dumbly.
She huffs softly, as her hand slides into Mors’ and she shuffles down the steps. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”
Mors offers me a knowing, compassionate smile. “We’re five months.”
The swallowing back of my emotion is audible. My words reduced to a breathy murmur. “Lazarus–”
At Mors’ arched brow, I clarify. “The other... me... hadn’t mentioned it.”
Mors shrugs. “Time..."
Passes differently here, he doesn’t bother to finish.
For several too long moments, I find myself speechless, and a helpless bystander to the oscillating emotions storming through me.
My mind travels back to Tempus, when he revealed to me and Persephone the fate of our union, and the ender of worlds to whom she would give birth. My eyes return to Mors. Sweet, gentle, giant Mors... That isn’t to say he isn’t one of the most powerful gods in all of creation.
But of course he wouldn’t be the father of damnation.
Longing fills my chest so swiftly, it steals my breath.
After Tempus, I never dared allow myself to wonder what having children would be like. To have a family. To experience such... union. Much less desire such a thing.
But for this fleeting moment, I do.
I imagine Violette, spread out beneath me and accepting my seed for the purpose of creation.
I imagine her stomach swelling. Her pretty cheeks rounding.
I imagine massaging her sore feet. Doting upon her. Cooking for her and our growing child inside her. Lavishing her in every ounce of love and luxury I have to offer.
I imagine holding her hand, soothing her sweat-soaked brow as I tell her how proud she has made me. How grateful I am for her and the child that she has given us as her womb contracts with agonizing pain, and our child enters the world.
I imagine holding Violette in my arms as our youngling suckles from her breast.
And then images of my child destroying the world begin to bleed in.
A delicate hand slides over my forearm, pulling me out of my daydream turned nightmare. “Az... are you alright?”
It’s only then that I realize tears are streaking down my face.
Worry etches the soft lines of Persephone’s expression.
My gaze flicks to Mors who looks equally concerned.
Zeus stares blankly at me with wide eyes, seated directly in front of me less than a foot away, tail swishing against the floor, as if barely managing to restrain himself from leaping into my lap.
The sight breaks the tension and the sound that breaks free from my chest is both a laugh and a sob. Zeus barks in reply, getting to his paws and thrusting his head under my arm as I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my emotion.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Persephone and Mors exchange a look, before she returns her gaze to mine, hand rubbing the length of my forearm in reassurance.
Tears line her eyes, chin wobbling as she speaks. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel this way.”
My jaw tenses as I force myself to draw in steadying breaths, and finally, I can manage some semblance of... grace. Whatever fragment of doubt I’d felt at not following through with this plan has burned to ash.
My eyes dance between each of them, trying to pour every ounce of sincerity into my gaze. “Congratulations, darlings. I am... immeasurably happy for you.”
Their brows tighten with pity.
Akash almighty.
My gaze collapses to Zeus and I continue to stroke his coat. “Truly.”
Persephone’s hand moves up my arm to my shoulder, rubbing soothing circles.
“I’m sorry that things didn’t work out differently, Azrael. Please know that it’s not because I didn’t want them to. Despite all the times I ran or hid from you, it wasn’t because I didn’t want you. It was just because of..."
She pauses for a moment, the word sounds bitter on her tongue.
“Fate.”
The fist in my chest eases its grip. Shoulders I hadn’t realized were rigid, relax.
Not merely for her apology, though some old, bitter part of me finds closure in those words, but because I finally surrender.
“I came to ask a favor of you..."
My eyes lift to Mors. Persephone glances up at him. His brow tightens further as if he can’t possibly fathom what I could possibly want from him. Gaze sliding to Persephone, I add, “Two, actually.”
They remain silent.
“Avernus..."
Mors’ domain.
“I need to visit it.”
Mors’ gaze narrows. “Why, might I ask?”
Sigh.
“The River Oblivion.”
Persephone gasps. “Azrael, are you insane?—”
“Yes.” My harsh tone transforms Mors’ handsome, relaxed features contort into a scowl, and for a fleeting moment, for the first time in many millenia, I see the slumbering monster beneath his calm exterior peek an eye open in warning.