Chapter 9

Azazel

Hours after Zoe had gone,I toweled off from my dip in the hot springs in the depths of the cave, my entire body still wired, still not willing to calm the fuck down. The impression of her skin against mine was branded onto me, the feeling of her coming apart under my touch making my brain go haywire. Every time I thought I had a handle on it and could think orderly thoughts again with my composure back in place, the fresh memory of her taste would hijack my senses, and I’d recall—in excruciating detail—how she’d shuddered against me as I ground into her.

How her fucking wings had felt under my fingers.

Those damn, beautiful, impossible wings, the most obvious sign of how much she’d changed. Looking at them felt like both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they were a reminder of the humanity she’d lost, the identity that had been taken from her, all those memories that had been stolen by her transformation. And it filled me with sadness knowing that even once she would remember everything, the human Zoe I’d fallen in love with would forever be gone.

On the other hand, those wings were bloody magnificent. I’d never been one to indulge in wing kink, but with hers? I could think of a dozen ways they could play a prominent part in the bedroom.

And beyond that, they stood for the potential of her new identity, for the way she’d triumphed over death, for how—against all odds—she’d escaped a fate that would have truly taken her from me forever. Before, she’d been an anomaly as a human living in Hell, always branded as weak despite my best efforts to shield her with my power, but now she was on more equal footing with the rest of us.

Sure, she held a lower place in the hierarchy, and many angels—and demons—would still outrank her, but she was already far stronger than she’d been as a human, and she could grow into even more power over time. It was entirely possible she would one day end up in the higher echelons entirely due to her own efforts.

And I would support her every step of the way.

I was just pulling on my pants—one leg at a time, contrary to what I’d told her—when the memory of how she’d spelled out her flagrantly erotic fantasies seized my brain and caused me to stumble. My body grew tight, the hunger I’d just slaked moments ago roaring back to life.

Hell, when she’d said that, it had taken all of my considerable control not to tear her clothes off her right then and there and make all of those fantasies a reality.

When I’d bargained for an honest answer to a question, I could have asked about details as to why she’d thought I’d read her mind, in order to narrow down how that sliver of memory had surfaced. But in the end, I didn’t care about that. It was inconsequential, as long as more pieces of her memories rose up from the depths, hinting at a progressive loosening of whatever had kept them buried deep all those years.

No, it had been the question of what had put that lovely blush on her face after I’d mentioned that she could make it up to me. I knew her well enough to understand that her expression in that moment had indicated some rather unprofessional idea, considering that our meetings were officially held under the pretense of me training her.

And that had made all my demonic instincts sit up in attention, ready to lure and tempt and coax out the truth.

Before, I hadn’t been sure whether she’d be open to more direct advances from me. I, for my part, would have been ready to go, no questions asked, no hesitation. After eight years of waiting, I had a lot of pent-up need, and I would have all too gladly tumbled immediately into an intimate relationship with her, picking up right where we’d left off.

But for her, it was different. She didn’t know who I was, whereas I carried the awareness of who she was to me, who I used to be to her, like a festering wound across my heart. To her, I was a stranger, and I couldn’t expect her to fall headfirst into making out with a male she barely knew.

Which was why I’d been careful in my approach, trying not to push too hard for fear of scaring her off. I’d known she was attracted to me from that first meeting the other day, when I’d smelled her arousal as we’d sparred. It had been enough to force me to step back and take a break, lest my control slipped and I derailed my meticulously laid plans by showing her exactly how much I wanted her.

Her being physically drawn to me did not mean I could plow forward and assume she’d go along with it—not when her mind might still lag behind in that attraction, might still be hung up on the fact that, theoretically, I was a stranger. And especially not as long as she didn’t show clearer signs of admitting to that attraction.

She’d probably been convinced that it would be inappropriate if she told me she liked me as more than a fight instructor.

I’d needed to give her an opportunity to bring it up, to open the door for her to confess to her wanting me, and that moment of her fantasies about “making it up to me” had been the perfect chance to do so.

Not that it had prepared me to actually hear her talk about it.

Skin heating at the memory of her detailing her erotic ideas, I stopped buttoning my pants over my yet again painfully hard cock.

Here we go again.

With a sigh, I took myself in my hand and quickly sought relief.

As I’d done countless times over the past few hours.

What had sustained me for years and years in her absence suddenly wasn’t enough anymore, not after I’d touched her again, after I’d tasted her lips, felt her push into my caress, seen her shatter with pleasure, open and trusting, drawn to me the same way I was to her.

The peace from the releases I attained never lasted long, as if my body would only be satisfied once I shared this pleasure directly with her.

Once done jerking off, I cleaned myself—yet again—and finished dressing before the next wave of sensual memories might commandeer my mind once more. Leaving the cavernous room with the hot springs behind, I followed the tunnel to the smaller cave where I’d set up my lair, the crystals along the walls illuminating the naturally rounded corridor.

I didn’t need sleep, but Naamah had nonetheless procured a large cushion that acted as a bed so I’d have a place to rest or relax while passing the time. I couldn’t very well travel back to Earth or Hell in between my meetings with Zoe. Every time I went outside this cave and moved through Heaven, the risk of being found out increased. The glamour from having brought my angelic side forth while suppressing my demonic heritage held up well and would withstand simple scrutiny—as was evident in the fact that Zoe wasn’t showing signs of suspicion that I might be more than an angel—but I’d rather err on the side of caution and not put it to the test unnecessarily.

All it would take to expose me would be one stubborn angel who might demand to know exactly who I was and what I was doing here. My cover as the angel Aziel would only go so far. If someone were to dig deeper and request to speak to my superior angels from my territory in order to find out what I was doing over here, I’d be in trouble.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I settled onto the cushion. It would be long hours still until my next meeting with Zoe, and I was glad for someplace to stretch out my legs.

Even if all I did was stare at the ceiling and imagine all the ways I could coax Zoe’s memory to fully return.

“Hello?” Naamah’s voice floated through the tunnel and into my lair. “Are you decent? All private activities finished?”

I heaved a sigh and sat up. “Come in,” I called out.

She appeared at the opening of the tunnel a moment later, raising her brows at me. “So how’d it go? Better than yesterday?”

I rested my arms on my bent knees. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, leaning against the wall with one shoulder. “Just ‘yeah’? Did you make progress?”

With all the power vested in me, I tried to keep the grin from moving onto my face. My power failed me.

“Oooooh.” Naamah pushed off the wall and came closer. “Does that mean what I think it means? Did you do more than fighting?” She wiggled her brows.

I shrugged, my grin turning smug. “We made progress.”

“Of the horizontal sort?” She held back what could have been an amused noise. “Although, to be fair, it could be vertical as well, no? It really depends on the situation.”

I hung my head, realizing that she and I were far too much alike. I’d said almost exactly that to Zoe at one point, after all.

“Just a kiss,” I said. “And a little more. I’m pacing myself.” I sent her a look and added in a low voice, “She hasn’t been with anyone up here.”

Understanding shone in her eyes. “I’m glad for you. I’d had that impression, but I wasn’t sure.”

Naamah had only stepped into Zoe’s life a few years ago, so there had been a time at the beginning, after Zoe’s ascension, when Naamah hadn’t been her friend yet. And while Naamah had assured me that she hadn’t noticed Zoe being with anyone in recent years, there’d always been the possibility that she’d had a lover earlier. Zoe might have told Naamah many things, but whether she would have always disclosed the more private things like trysts had been a matter of doubt.

I’d known that it might have happened, that Zoe could have found someone she liked and taken them to her bed. And while the very idea of it burned me like acid, I wouldn’t have held it against her. I wouldn’t have judged her for it, not when she’d had no reason to refrain. She didn’t remember—neither me, nor us, nor the promises we’d made to each other.

I knew that she would have felt bad once she regained her memories and realized she’d unknowingly been with someone other than me, but I would rather have cut out my heart than make her feel guilty for something that wasn’t her fault.

Knowing about it would still have hurt me, which was why I’d been prepared to never ask her.

The relief I’d felt when she’d told me, of her own volition, that she hadn’t had a lover had been indescribable. The rush of it had made me lightheaded, had healed parts of my heart that had been cracked in anticipation of hearing her say what I never wanted to know.

“On that note,” Naamah said, an ominous twinkle in her eye, “you know what that means, right?”

“That I can breathe easy and she won’t beat herself up later for having been with someone else, even if it was unintentional?”

“No, silly.” She rolled her eyes. “It means that she’s basically a virgin.”

I groaned and covered my face with my hands.

“A blank canvas, if you will,” my mother went on, without regard for my mental pain.

“If your next sentence is to the effect that I can paint her any way I want, I will throw you out of this cave.”

Her chuckle was irritatingly unrepentant. “Think of all the ways you can show her the ropes.” She paused, tapping a finger against her mouth. “Although, you might want to wait to show her actual ropes, you know. Best not to barge in with the kinky stuff until she’s more comfortable with you.”

I stared at the ceiling and prayed to Hell for patience.

When Naamah was done giggling, I said, “I’m well aware of all of that, thank you. It’s why I’m taking it slow with her.”

“Hm.” She sat on a flat rock opposite my bed. “And how’s it going with her memory?”

“Better than I’d thought possible. There were several instances today where she said something that clearly stemmed from her suppressed memory—and she was the one to initiate that.” I raised a brow as I met her gaze. “It wasn’t me this time reenacting a scene from our past.”

“But she doesn’t remember fully?”

“No.”

Her look was thoughtful. “So it’s just more and more pieces of her memories coming loose from whatever wall keeps them contained. Pity she’s not human anymore, at least with regard to this. Otherwise, you might have just been able to go into her mind and see if you could break the wall down.”

“Well, that’s a moot point.” As an angel, her mental shields were adamantine. “And even if entering her mind was at all possible, I wouldn’t presume that it’d be easy to dismantle the sort of containment keeping her memories bound. There’s no telling if that would not cause unforeseen damage.”

“True.” She sighed and looked to the side. “Mental work is complex.”

And if anyone had experience with that, it was her.

“All I can do,” I said, “is encourage the cracks in the wall that are occurring naturally and hope it will eventually be enough to break all of her memories free.”

Maybe the more I subtly re-created scenes from our past, the more it would trigger those flashes of remembering, until perhaps all of those pieces would one day connect to a whole.

Naamah crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knee and supporting her chin in one hand. “It could be that she needs a stronger catalyst for the entirety of her memories to return.” At my raised brow, she added, “Reenacting scenes from the past is all good and well, but I would focus on those with the most emotional impact. I suspect that’s where the key might be. Memories are nothing but feelings frozen in time. People will forget what you said or did, but they’ll always remember how you made them feel.”

I considered her words.

“If what you’ve told me of your love is true,” Naamah continued, “and I believe you when you say it is, then what she felt for you may well have been the strongest emotion she’s ever experienced, and it will have underlain her entire identity, will have colored her perception of life and of herself. So all those memories that are right now bubble-wrapped inside her? They’ll be wound up tightly in her love for you. Her feelings will thread through all of her recollections. Pull on the right string, and it will all unravel.”

“I just have to find the right string.”

My mind already ran through all the possibilities of shared memories with emotional impact, trying to find those I could feasibly re-create without arousing suspicion.

“I’m sure you will,” Naamah said warmly. After a pause, she added, “I saw your father the other day.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

She hummed in assent. “Yep. And you won’t believe where—he was coming to see Zoe.”

I shot up from the bed, my heart a drumroll in my chest, my blood infused with equal parts rage and fear. “Why? Why would he come to see her?”

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “From what I could glean through my network later, he seems to have visited her a few times over the years. Zoe’s never mentioned him, which makes me think it’s not that important. I don’t know what his endgame is here, or if there even is one.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is one,” I muttered.

If Azrael took the time out of his busy day to come see a specific individual, there had to be significance to it. I’d never thought he would stay in touch with her after her ascension. What possible reason could he have for that?

“We’ll keep an eye on it,” Naamah said, breaking into my brooding thoughts.

I shoved those questions and worries about my father’s presence in Zoe’s life into a back corner of my mind, to be analyzed and ruminated on later, and focused on my mother instead.

“What was it like?” I asked her, my voice pitched low. “Seeing him again.”

She’d never mentioned running into him before, which was no wonder, considering how rarely present he seemed to be in Heaven.

“Are you concerned for me, my darling son?” She angled her head to the side, regarding me with an affectionate smile.

“Always,” I said, my voice rough.

Her smile grew. “I love you, too.”

Such simple words, yet they held the power to squeeze my soul until it bled.

“Seeing him again…” she said after a moment. “I’d thought it might be difficult. As it turns out, it wasn’t.” A brilliant smile adorned her face, and she shrugged. “There was a time when he was all I wanted. But my mind was dark back then, dark and treacherous. He brought me light, and for a time, I thought he might save me. So I clung to him like a shipwrecked sailor would cling to a raft. Only, he wasn’t my raft. He couldn’t save me. When he left, I lost myself in the dark again.”

I suppressed a shudder at the visceral memories of how deep that darkness had been for her.

She looked into the distance, but her expression was serene. “While I once thought I needed him to be my light, I now find I am quite well without him.” She faced me again, her smile calm and confident. “I am my own light now.”

My chest ached with gentle happiness at seeing her this content, this settled into her own self.

Leaning forward a bit, she lowered her voice. “Now, if I were petty, which I am not, it would bring me no small amount of satisfaction to see him dumbfounded that I am happy and doing well without him, not even looking at him twice. To watch him struggle with the realization that instead of falling at his feet and begging him to be with me, I am thriving on my own. To see the longing on his face when he looks at me and the way I glow.” She leaned back, a sly smile on her face. “But I am above petty. I am an angel now, after all.”

One corner of my mouth tipped up into a half smile. “Of course.”