135. Azrael #2
Before I can contemplate her misplaced hostility, out of thin fucking air, three towering and heavily muscled males appear behind her a small distance away.
The male beside me, who presumably rescued me from the river, curses as he directs his attention to his violent friend. “Go speak with them, please.”
She casts me one last glance before turning towards the three approaching males, gazes shifting from her to me—and morphing their demeanors entirely.
One of them has a crown resting on a head of somewhat shaggy brown hair and is dressed in fine clothing, though the sleeves are rolled up to reveal tattoos covering the length of his hands and forearms. Enormous bat-like wings protrude from his back.
His expression–marred by a scar that runs over one brow, cheek, and cuts into his top lip—contorts into a scowl at the sight of me.
The male next to him wears a look of hostility that surpasses the armed female in front of him. Neatly groomed blonde hair, shorn close to his scalp. Shirtless, and dressed in only a pair of fighting leather trousers, scars pepper the length of his torso and arms.
Marginally taller, the male standing behind the both of them, is the only one who offers me something of a neutral expression though he examines me with wariness.
Outside of his black hair and darker eyes, his features are so similar to the blonde in front of him, that it leads me to assume they must be closely related.
Burn scars creep up the length of his throat and jaw, causing the tight smile he offers me to look sinister as they come to a halt in front of Mareina. “Azrael.”
Azrael...
Is that my name?
It doesn’t ring a singular bell.
Frustration and panic erupt inside me. Why am I so fucking lost?
Attempting to mask my inner turmoil, I manage a tight smile. “Hello.”
Who are you, how did I get here, and who the fuck am I?
The teary-eyed female presses a hand to my shoulder. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this but, that water you fell into–it erased your memories.”
I stare blankly at her for a moment before lifting my gaze to who I assume is her partner when he curls one arm protectively around her shoulders. He nods in assent.
What in the hellish fuck?
Despite my shock and disbelief, I have no argument, and there is no other possible explanation, but...
My eyes narrow. “You said I’d hit my head.”
She gives me an apologetic look. “I panicked.”
Frowning, distrust seeps into me. “And how exactly did I end up in this river?”
“I shoved you,” the female brazenly admits.
Tension tightens my muscles as my anxiety and distrust increases as I take a step back. “Why?”
“Because you were going to do something very foolish, and very permanent.”
“Like what?”
“Killing yourself.”
A chill creeps into veins.
What? Why?
“No..."
“Yes, Azrael.”
My eyes narrow, dancing between the two of them. “Who are you?”
“My name is Persephone, and this is my soulbound, Mors. We’ve known each other for eons.”
Eons? That’s a painfully long period of time...
“How?”
Mors and Persephone exchange a look, communicating something I fail to interpret. Persephone lays a hand on his chest as though to silence him. “This is your brother.”
My eyes narrow. Even if I wanted to argue with them, I can’t. I can’t even recall what I fucking look like. “My brother?”
“Yes.”
I glance down at my hands. My skin is significantly darker than his. Distrust creeps in.
“Is that so?”
Frustration tightens Persephone’s features. “Not in blood, but by power and domain.”
I look at them, blinking. “Pardon?”
“You are both gods of death.”
Something inside me seems to revolt at the words even as some distant part of me recognizes it as truth.
“Death?”
She nods.
This is ridiculous.
My eyes flick to the group of people who loathe me for some reason, and impulse has me marching towards them.
“Hi. Hello. Quick question. Who am I?”
While the rest of them seem unsure how to respond and flick dubious glances towards Mors and Persephone, the blonde one is swift to speak. As though delighted I’ve asked, he offers me a sharp grin, revealing an impressive set of fangs. “A turd?”
I’m caught so off-guard by the child-like insult that a surprised huff of genuine laughter escapes me. The female next him rolls her eyes even as playfully swats at him, stifling a grin despite her harsh tone. “Malekai.”
Malekai’s hand catches hers, holding it in place on his chest, and pulls her against him before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. That’s all it takes for the battle-hardened exterior she exudes to soften.
The crown-adorned male on the other side of her, however, doesn’t seem to share their humor. His scowl deepens.
“You’re a god of death. From a neighboring realm.”
My eyes jump to the male with the burn scar on his neck and jaw... and now that he’s standing in full view, I see it creeps all the way to the fingers of one arm.
So it’s... true?
“My name is Ataraxus. You saved my life. Twice, actually. Once, when I was a child, and again more recently.”
I am... stunned by his words.
Am I good person?
My gaze slides back to the female and her other two mates. Their hard stares would suggest otherwise.
Am I a lothario?
With a wince, I manage to force out the question as I study the scornful female.
“Have we... slept together?”
The males closest to her growl in unison as she slaps a hand on each of their chests to prevent them from launching towards me. “No, we have not slept together. You?—”
Mors steps forward, cutting her off. “If I may, Mareina, my beautiful daughter…” He seems to enunciate these words for my benefit.
“Before we rehash the past, I think it would be in all our best interests if Azrael came and stayed with Persephone and me for a while. And once he’s gained his bearings, and some of his memories have returned, you’re welcome to discuss any unsettled disputes. ”
Mareina’s expression flattens but she remains silent.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Mors turns to face me and Persephone, hovering to my left.
“Shall we?”
Persephone slides her hand over his forearm, stepping towards him before turning to face me.
I sense no malevolence from either of them, but I’m still uncertain.
My gaze slides to Ataraxus, the only person who might have my best interest at heart if our shared past is to be believed.
His expression remains stoic, but he dips his head in encouragement.
Fuck, I feel like a cornered animal.
“I don’t have any family who would... help?”
Gods, I hate the word.
Persephone speaks with such relaxed, matter-of-fact confidence, it’s hard not to trust her. “We are your family. Perhaps not in blood, but in shared history. In domain. We care for you greatly.”
We care for you greatly.
The simple declaration summons a knot of emotion in my chest, my throat, and I’m not sure why. Until a sudden realization of a possibility stops it in its tracks.
My gaze bounces between them. They did say we’ve known each other for eons, and if we aren’t family in blood...
“Have I slept with... either of you?”
Persephone snorts a laugh as Mors’ head tips back with laughter–warm and resonant. The mere sound of it causes a little of the tension in my body to bleed away. Even Malekai huffs a laugh from behind them. “You’re gonna get punched in the face one day if you keep asking everyone that question.”
Persephone’s grin crinkles the corners of her eyes, lifting the aura of heartbreak that had previously burdened her. “No, we haven’t. You needn’t worry about your chastity around us, darling.”
Mors offers me his hand.
My eyes dip between us.
He wants to hold my hand?
Some instinct guides my hand to his and I... shake it.
Mors’ head hangs as he chuckles. Persephone giggles. “Don’t let go, darling.”
Persephone’s bright, reassuring gaze stares up at me, just before the world around me shutters into darkness before snapping wide again to reveal a lush, verdant garden and an enormous spotted dog that promptly thrusts its wet snout beneath my hand, wagging his tail as if he’s happy to see me.
A melange of feeling spreads through my chest.
Cautious hope.
Relief.
Dare I say, excitement.
And another sensation that takes me a moment to recognize what it is.
I feel... free.