Chapter 7

Istepped out of my bathroom, freshly showered and fully dressed, ready to fly to my meeting with Aziel, as my gaze fell onto the chest of drawers in the corner, where I kept my clothes and personal belongings. On an impulse, I went over there, pulled out the lowest drawer, pushed aside tunics and leggings, and let my hand glide over the box that came into view.

I opened the lid and gingerly picked up the neatly folded, large black fabric inside. In almost reverent manner, I unfolded the item of clothing.

Even though it was torn, I could still make out the shape of the tunic it had once been, the size and design hinting at a large male as the owner. Old wrinkles were still visible, as was the blood specking it here and there.

I’d woken up wearing this. After I’d been made an angel, I’d opened my eyes to a new life, with no memories of my old, covered in a makeshift dress created with this ripped tunic…and a scent that had felt like a caress for my soul.

I pressed my nose into the tunic and inhaled.

A scent that had long faded.

My chest drew tight with the keen sense of loss of something precious.

Azrael had never explained how I’d come to wear this piece of clothing that was so very obviously not mine, despite my many questions. He had to know.

I’d once asked Bifiel what she was wearing when she’d woken up as an angel after her ascension, and she’d stared at me like I was a brainless worm. “Nothing, of course,” she’d said. “I woke in a bed, covered with a sheet, and there were clothes for me to put on. Which is standard practice for all angels-made.” Her tone had clearly communicated that I should know this.

My fingers brushed over the black fabric of the tunic. Someone had put this on me—after my ascension. My human body would have been left on Earth, the transformation to angel crafting a new physical body directly from my soul. So someone who’d seen me as a newly made angel had not only taken the care to cover me, but also used his own tunic for it. Talk about giving someone the shirt off one’s back.

There was a story there, and I had an inkling that it was important.

If only I could fucking remember.

I sniffed once more at the tunic, chasing that elusive scent, but all I smelled now was the box I stored it in and whiffs of dried blood, which was too generic a scent to glean anything from.

I couldn’t even recall what the original fragrance had been. I only remembered that it had felt like comfort.

One more caress of the single thing left over from my past life, and then I set it back inside the box and returned it to the drawer.

* * *

I landed outside the cave,shook my wings, and then folded them before magicking them away.

In the beginning, right after my ascension, it had taken considerable effort to learn how to do this. My wings had been out for days at a time because I hadn’t been able to make them vanish, and I’d kept bumping into doorways and furniture because my brain had apparently been overwhelmed with accounting for the presence of large appendages at my back.

My balance had been off, too, and I’d stumbled around like a baby giraffe learning to walk. It was a good thing I healed fast as an angel, because the number of bruises I’d acquired during that time had been staggering. And just when I’d gotten used to the weight of wings on my back, I’d managed to make them go away and had stumbled yet again because my balance was off once more.

It really was so weird that the wings could be insubstantial enough to dematerialize, but when they were visible, they had real weight to them.

Making the wings disappear was a matter of focus, but also one of faith. I had to believe they would vanish into thin air if I wanted them to, and I had to concentrate on pulling the part of my energy that flowed through them back into myself, thereby retracting the wings, in a way.

Realizing that they could indeed simply dematerialize at a thought and therefore weren’t as permanently corporeal and tangible as my legs, for example, also had its drawbacks—there had been a time when I’d been quite anxious about them spontaneously disappearing on me while I was flying. Because if it was focus and belief that made them come and go, what if my concentration faltered while they were out? What if I suddenly stopped believing they were there during a flight?

Needless to say, once that fear had slunk in, that very thing had actually happened.

Finding myself abruptly wingless while up in the air a couple of times, I’d plunged to the ground, screaming bloody murder all the way down. Those moments had shown me just how hardy and unbreakable angels were. Much like when my flight instructors had pushed me off high buildings in order to teach me how to fly and I’d crashed down repeatedly, those moments when my faith in my wings had faltered had left me bruised and hurting, peeling myself off the ground with a groan. What would have killed—or, at the very least, seriously maimed—a human had only given me scratches and a broken bone here and there.

Except that one time, when I’d unluckily fallen onto the spire of a building and the metal rod at the top had skewered me in the chest. I’d hung there like a pierced insect from a human’s collection, and it had taken another angel to pull me off the rod and fly me down.

I rubbed over my breastbone, right where that damn metal menace had speared me. Years had passed, but I swore I could still feel a phantom twinge of the long-healed injury sometimes.

Well, at least I’d gotten really good at tolerating pain. That should be an advantage during combat.

Which brought me back to why I was here.

I took a deep breath, gathering my nerves, then walked around the spray of the waterfall and into the cave.

As promised, he was there waiting for me.

As soon as my gaze locked onto him, all my senses homed in on his presence. A sigh whispered through my soul, as if the mere sight of him, of being near enough to feel his energy, was a balm to some sore spot in my very essence. A tight knot loosened in my chest, and I breathed easier.

He’d turned at my entering the cave, storms gathering in those stunning eyes of his. His black hair glinted with wetness in the light of the crystals along the walls, as if he’d just walked underneath the spray of the waterfall himself, one dark lock curling waywardly over his forehead.

I had the sudden urge to push that strand away, let my fingers run through the silky-looking mass of hair, and feel him lean into my caress.

As if I’d done this before, as if that action was as familiar to me as breathing.

I’d probably dreamed of it, one of many details of my dreams that I couldn’t consistently recall in my waking hours. Because while I always knew that I’d had a dream, the specifics of what I’d dreamed about would often elude me after I’d woken.

Inwardly, I smiled. If anything about Aziel seemed familiar now, it wouldn’t faze me anymore, not since that realization about my visions. It all just made perfect sense.

“Chaya,” Aziel said in greeting, his power trembling. It felt like a great beast barely held in check, restrained from pouncing by some mighty leash.

“Hi,” I said, a sudden influx of nerves making me give him a shaky wave that probably looked completely awkward. “About yesterday… Um, I wanted to apologize. For storming out and…for what I said.”

“I didn’t read your mind,” he said quietly.

“I know! I know. That was just a misunderstanding. A glitch in my thinking, if you will. I’m sorry for what I implied. And for leaving you standing here when you took the time to come and meet me. That was unfair.” I worried my lip between my teeth. “So, are we okay?”

The slightest smile played upon his mouth. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you can make it up to me.”

My stomach did a dizzying flip. “How?” I asked while all sorts of ways to make amends to him paraded through my mind, one filthier than the next—all of them causing my lady parts to tingle with excitement.

Not that I had much experience to go by, but I had fallen into the unending abyss of reading human romance novels, which did a fantastic job of showcasing the intriguing variations of two—or more—people pleasuring each other. And now all I could think about was the most depraved interpretation of “making it up to him” that I could come up with.

I blamed it on the mafia romances I’d read.

My face blazed, an incongruent mix of embarrassment and arousal flushing my system with heat.

“Win against me,” he said and handed me my sword.

“Oh.” I deflated like a punctured balloon.

He paused, quirking a brow. “You look disappointed.”

“No, no.” I coughed. “Not at all. That is a very good way of making amends, yes. The logical thing to do, since that is what we’re here for. The fighting. The training. The sword swinging.” I waved my hand, causing the blade to make a large circle in the air.

Aziel evaded the roaming sword with enviable ease, giving me the side-eye.

“The sparring,” I continued. “The wrestling. The fighting?—”

“You mentioned that already.” He stopped my still-swinging sword by grasping the blade between his thumb and forefinger, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Right, yes. Anyway, we should absolutely do all of that.”

I might have foreseen that we were most definitely going to do quite a bit of the other stuff as well, but I wasn’t going to push for it to happen if he didn’t initiate it. I’d done some thinking about this whole vision issue, and I’d come to the conclusion that knowing what would happen in the future posed a bit of a problem. Because what if knowing about it changed the way I’d behave in a given situation, which in turn would affect the course of the future?

I simply didn’t know enough about prophetic powers and timelines and fate to know for sure that the future was set in stone. Would those visions I’d had come true no matter what? Or was the future fluid, subject to change and dependent on many moving pieces like free will and other factors?

Exhibit A: Not everything from that dream yesterday had actually come true. Mysterious Stranger had said a few more things in that scene that Aziel had not said yesterday. Did that mean the future was changeable, flexible?

If that was the case, then my knowledge of those visions could give me a false sense of security in knowing the future, could make me act differently than if I had no clue about what would happen.

If I now acted boldly on the “knowledge” that Aziel and I would get together romantically and sexually, could it maybe affect the future in a negative way? Could that change the course of events?

Because I knew enough about myself to understand that, normally, without the assurance of those visions, I wouldn’t dare be openly flirtatious with this gorgeous male right from the start. I’d be cautious, doubting whether he was even interested in me, and more than likely, I wouldn’t recognize his interest unless he hit me over the head with it.

I was kind of bad at interpreting social cues like flirting.

Which meant that if things progressed normally, it would be Aziel who’d make the first move, because I sure as fuck wouldn’t. He’d have to declare his intent very clearly; otherwise, I wouldn’t dare presume that he liked me like that.

“Are you thinking about your strategy?” Aziel asked with a twinkle in his eye, startling me back to the here and now. “Or are you trying to remember how to wield a sword?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. For someone who would one day end up kissing every inch of my body, according to one of my dreams, he displayed an awful lack of wanting to get on my good side right now.

“Maybe I’m just contemplating how best to eviscerate you,” I snapped—and froze.

I’d said almost those exact words before. The memory came back just now, rising up from the haze of oblivion. Another dream. It had to be. I’d spoken those words in a dream, and now I’d just said them in reality without actively having recalled the vision.

Aziel had grown eerily still, his energy hanging almost suspended in the air like a bated breath. “A fillet knife would do,” he said after an achingly long moment of tense silence between us.

And every single word in that sentence rang with the recognition of having heard it before—because in my dream, he’d said exactly that in response to my statement.

My heart pounded so fast that I grew dizzy.

A spark of delight lit his eyes, his features softened by some tender emotion. “But make sure it’s forged in…Heaven.”

I swallowed hard. “Noted,” I whispered, echoing another part of my dream.

Dully, an ache started behind my temples, the pain throbbing in sync with my quickened pulse.

Again, there was a slight variation to the vision I’d had. In my dream, Mysterious Stranger had said “forged in Hell.” Before I could ponder that change, Aziel spoke again and interrupted my thoughts.

“Come on.” He drew his own sword and beckoned me forward. “Beat me.”

“Well, that’s entirely unfair.” I gripped the handle of my sword tighter. “You know I can’t possibly win against you yet. You’re supposed to train me first.”

And I honestly doubted that even with extensive combat training, I’d ever be able to defeat him in a fight.

“Fine.” He cocked his head, his dark lashes half obscuring his thundercloud eyes. “Let’s make it more even, then. If you manage to draw blood, you win. If I disarm you, I win.”

I eyed his body, analyzing every patch of skin not covered by his armor. There really weren’t many spots where I could easily cut him, mostly just his upper arms, his hands, or maybe the inside of his forearms where the straps of the vambraces connected. His face or neck, if I could get to it. A strong enough strike would pierce even his protective gear, sure, but considering I lacked the brute force to execute such a blow, I’d have to go for the parts where his skin showed and hope to get a quick slice in.

It wasn’t impossible, but it would be hard.

“Do you need an incentive?” he asked with a touch of humor in his tone. “Besides earning my forgiveness, that is.”

“Maybe,” I grumbled.

He gracefully twirled the sword in his hand, and the flex of muscles in his forearm distracted me something fierce for a moment. “Naamah told me you’ve been wanting to watch human movies. If you beat me, I’ll personally set up a TV in here and let you watch some.”

My whole body buzzed with excitement. A TV! The stuff of legends!

“Okay,” I said, raising my sword, “let’s do it.”

“But”—Aziel lifted his index finger—“if I win, I get to ask you a question, and you’ll have to answer honestly.”

“Pfft, what kind of a bet is this? You could ask me all sorts of questions anyway. There’s no need to bargain with me for that.”

His eyes glittered, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “There is if I want a truthful answer. Otherwise, you’ll just weasel your way out of an honest reply.”

I feigned a gasp and laid my free hand over my heart. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Are you saying you’ve been entirely honest with me this whole time?”

“Why would I lie?” I gave him my best innocent look.

“Why indeed?” he murmured, regarding me with what, in other circumstances, I might have interpreted as affection. “One question, an honest answer.”

“What’s the question?”

He laughed softly, and my knees threatened to go weak at the sight of it. Heaven help me, but he was the most stunning male I’d ever seen. His laugh was so beautiful, so delightful, I wanted to bottle up how it made me feel so I could dose myself with it in times of desolation.

“You’ll find out if I win,” he said with a wink.

I weighed my choice. The chance at a TV versus the risk of having to truthfully answer whatever he asked me. Decisions, decisions…

I chewed on my lower lip, then took a deep breath and shrugged. Eh. I’d take my chances.

“All right.” I gave him a firm nod.

He smiled. “Good.”

The telltale whisper of magic over my skin spoke of the binding agreement we’d just struck. We were both magically bound to honor the terms of our bet now.

I charged him, remembering to account for my shorter size and lesser strength. He easily parried my strikes, and because of his farther reach, I wasn’t even able to get close to his body with my blade. Instead, I’d have to rely on speed and agility to more or less dance around him, waiting for a gap in his defense to open up that I could use.

“Watch your footwork,” he said in between strikes. “You’ll need to move faster.”

I huffed out a breath as I evaded a blow that would have almost smacked the sword out of my hand. “Like it’s that easy.”

“It is.” Another swipe, forcing me more into defense. “Physically, it’s all there. You’ve got what it takes—you’re an angel now. It’s your mind that’s giving you trouble.”

I had to retreat a step with every blow, barely able to block his attacks. My boots crunched on the pieces of gravel littering the cave floor.

“You still think in terms of human strength and speed,” he said, mercilessly driving me back. “You’re moving slowly because you don’t believe you’re capable of more, perceiving your body bound by human limitations.” He shoved me into a huge stalagmite, the only thing keeping him from touching me my raised sword pushing against his. Leaning in, something unfathomable darkening his eyes, he said roughly, “But you’re not human anymore. You’re an angel. So act like one.”

The heat of his body and the prickling force of his power robbed me of breath for a second. It was unnerving because it seemed like I knew his intimate touch, knew what it would feel like to have his naked body pressed against mine, to have him move inside me. There was a familiarity, caused by my dreams, that defied the fact that I’d just met him. He should have been a stranger.

But he didn’t feel like one.

Focus.

I gritted my teeth. He wanted me to act like an angel? Okay-dokay.

With the push of a thought, my wings extended from my back. At the same time, I shoved forward with my innate power, driving Aziel back a step. A quick flap of my wings and a well-aimed jump, and I was on the other side of him just as he turned, my sword swinging for his upper arm.

He parried at the last second, obvious surprise widening his eyes, his lips parting as his gaze tracked to my wings. His breath left him on a startled laugh.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, his praise feeling like a physical caress.

We circled each other, his attention flicking to my wings again and again, something like awe lighting his eyes.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I darted closer, launching a swift attack. He sidestepped my charge, our movements fluid and yet again graceful like a dance.

I scoffed. “One might think you’ve never seen a pair of angel wings before, the way you stare at mine.”

He executed a deft maneuver that forced me to hop out of his way with the help of my wings. “Oh, I’ve seen a lot,” he purred. “Yours are simply the most beautiful ones I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Heat rolled up into my face. Smooth talker. “All angel wings look the same.” Except for those of the archangels, of course. “How can mine be more beautiful, then?”

The clang of metal echoed in the cave as our blades crossed again, back and forth in a quick succession of strikes.

His gaze seemed lit from within. “Because they’re attached to you.”

My heart skipped a beat, my steps faltered, and I nearly lost my grip on the sword’s hilt at his next blow. Another nimble move supported by my wings saved me, putting several feet of distance between us.

Aziel nonchalantly tossed his blade in the air and caught it again, looking entirely too comfortable and not at all like this fight cost him any effort.

“Well,” I said from my safe distance, “I showed you mine.”

He cocked a brow.

“Let me see your wings.”

Having them out would give me quite a bit more of a target area. I might just be able to get a slice in on one of the upper arches, drawing blood.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “As you wish.”

With a soft susurration, his wings appeared—and took my breath away.

Sparkling white, silver lightning arcing over the feathers, they were spellbindingly beautiful. And I’d seen many a pair of wings in my time up here, so there was no reasonable explanation why his should register as more stunning than others’, especially since, from a purely objective viewpoint, there truly wasn’t much difference in appearance to other angels’ wings.

And yet, I couldn’t help feeling like these were special.

My gaze flicked to his face, drinking in the ethereal beauty of his features, the way that spark of laughter in his eyes made appreciative joy bubble up in my chest.

I guessed it really did matter whom those wings were attached to.

“Well?” he asked with amusement lacing his tone, circling closer. “What’s your verdict?”

A grin rolled over my face as I pivoted with him, my sword at the ready. “They’re pretty.”

He paused, his power vibrating. “They’re not pretty,” he said after a moment, his tone deliberate, his focus on me sharp enough to cut the air. “They’re?—”

“Magnificent harbingers of death.” The words had risen up from the depth of my mind, spilled from my tongue as if in a trance, as if pulled out by necessity to complete some foretold destiny.

Because I’d heard them in yet another dream—only, he’d been the one to speak them, not me. Further proof that the future as seen in my visions was malleable.

Aziel stilled, the casual swing of his sword pausing in midair. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, a warm smile spread over his face, while the usual dull throb of the headaches accompanying one of my visions coming true crept up on me. I winced at the pain pulsing through my head, closing my eyes for a second.

Which was a huge mistake.

The next instant, I found myself backed up against the wall, my sword clattering to the ground from the moment of vulnerability that Aziel had used to disarm me with a well-placed strike to my hand. The tip of his blade hovered an inch from my chest, poised to lance forward and pierce my heart.

Which would stun me for several minutes.

Wide-eyed, I stared at him, my right hand smarting from where he’d struck it to relieve me of my weapon, my wings pressed tightly between my back and the cave wall. My heartbeat resembled the mad gallop of a herd of startled unicorns.

“That wasn’t fair,” I blurted. “I was temporarily incapacitated, and you just?—”

“Used my opponent’s momentary weakness to press my advantage?” His eyes glittered.

“Well, if you put it that way,” I gritted out, “it does sound like the smart thing to do.”

His smirk really had no right to be so sexy. He lowered his sword and sheathed it, then stepped closer and grabbed my right hand. A spark of electricity traveled out from where his skin touched mine, followed by a soothing wave of his power.

The pain in my hand vanished.

I glanced down at where only a smear of blood on my skin remained of the injury he’d dealt me.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

The air between us fairly crackled with a charged heaviness.

“Now,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice sinking into my bones, “about that question of mine.”