139. Azrael
AZRAEL
Longing settles in my chest as I stare out at the placid ocean surrounding us on Mors’ sailboat.
It’s a warm and sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.
Persephone lounges on the foredeck across from me, absently rubbing her pregnant belly as she reads a weathered-looking paperback with the illustration of a cowboy embracing a pink-haired demoness on the cover.
I feel at peace, and while I have no memory to tell me why, I sense that this is a feeling I haven’t had in quite some time. If Persephone’s words are to be trusted, and I truly was suicidal until my dip in the river, this seems all the more plausible.
Yet, something is missing.
Scanning the sparkling blue, I feel as though I’m waiting for someone—perhaps a mermaid—to appear.
Sensing my wandering thoughts, Persephone peeks at me from over the edge of her book. “How are we feeling, darling?”
“Very well... It’s beautiful here.” It isn’t a lie. I feel exceedingly well. It’s just this strange tickling sensation in the back of my mind that I can’t quite put into words.
She watches me, not entirely satisfied with the answer.
Mors’ head pops up from beneath the surface of the water, speargun in one hand, and a large striped fish in the other.
Setting them on the rear platform at the back, he hauls himself up the ladder and onto the boat.
Amusement tilts my lips as I watch lust hood Persephone’s eyes at the sight of water sluicing down Mors’ towering, heavily muscled form.
Even with his wings willed away and looking relatively human, he’s as striking as his soulbound.
The outline of his large, flaccid cock can clearly be discerned beneath the swimming trunks plastered to his body. Persephone may as well be salivating in response with how openly she wears her desire.
Mors bends to collect the fish and speargun. Upon straightening, he catches the need in Persephone’s eyes. The look he gives her is downright devilish. “Is my queen hungry?”
Sacred fuck, you could the sexual tension in the air with a butter knife.
Before Persephone can reply, I interject. “I’m going for a swim.”
All the way back to shore.
Persephone and Mors’ features tighten with concern, earlier lust dissipating.
“Are you sure that’s safe? What if you get carried off on a current?”
I huff a laugh. “There’s nary a breeze, darling. What current?” I toss a glance towards their house. “Besides, we’re within swimming distance of the shore.”
Before they can argue any further, I dive into the water.
Something in my chest eases the moment the cool water embraces me, and I feel that much closer to whatever—whoever—it is I sense is missing.