3. Josephine

CHAPTER THREE

JOSEPHINE

I tossed and turned as darkness swallowed me whole. Chanting echoed through the void. Faceless figures in black robes circled, their words unintelligible but still somehow full of sinister promise. The blade glinted, poised to strike.

My heart raced. I tried to run. To move a single muscle. But they had me trapped on that cold stone altar.

A thunderous crack split the air. Wind whipped my hair. Shadows danced, coiling around ankles like hungry serpents.

Then he appeared. Tall. Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Green flames in his eyes roared like a furnace as he strode forward. Power radiated from his broad shoulders, the strong column of his neck, the harsh line of his jaw.

With a wave of his hand, the crowd of robed men went flying back. He never broke stride. Another flick of his wrist and they went silent. The dagger dropped to the ground.

"Mine," he growled, voice like gravel and silk.

Strong arms scooped me up. Lips claimed mine in a searing kiss. The world spun away...

Warmth. So much warmth. Hands ghosted over my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. A low chuckle rumbled through my bones. Pleasure coiled in my core, building with each teasing touch. I arched into phantom caresses, chasing the feeling.

"That's it, little dove. Let go."

My eyes snapped open. Twin green flames burned in the darkness, a wicked grin spreading in the eerie light. The same green fire seemed to burn in the glyphs etched into the skin of his muscled arms and chiseled chest, with more disappearing into the waist of his slacks.

"Interesting dreams?" Azrael raked his gaze over my body, lingering on the flush I felt creeping up my neck.

I jerked away, but he was faster. He moved like liquid shadow, rolling to pin me beneath him. One large hand trapped my wrists above my head. The other traced lazy patterns on my hip.

"Now, now, little dove. Is that any way to say good morning?" His smirk took on a mocking edge, but his eyes gleamed with hunger.

"Don't call me that," I snapped. I struggled against his grip, but it was futile. The man—reaper—was a solid wall of muscle.

Reaper. As in taking souls, guiding them to the great beyond. Beholden to demons, apparently.

Demons with ties to terrible fiancés.

I'd been over it again and again as hours passed in the dank cave. Pacing. Feeling the walls for some sort of exit or window or anything but solid stone. Finally collapsing on the surprisingly comfy bed.

The deception had been perfect. By design, I supposed, but still perfect. The perfect gentleman, the perfect amount of overlapping interests. Perfect looks. Conversation. Outings.

Six perfect months before the perfect proposal. A little soon, sure. But Alain was... perfect. Who would tell him no?

I'd shed my wedding dress when my chest felt too tight and my lungs fought against working. Tears had flowed freely in the dark. By the time they dried and turned itchy on my cheeks, a cold sort of disgust had replaced all feelings I had for Alain's fucking perfection.

Azrael arched a brow, flames simmering in his eyes. "What should I call you then?"

I clamped my mouth shut, glaring daggers at him. Useless, surely. He had flames for eyes and could conjure anything he wanted from thin air. I was at his mercy, and we both knew it.

"Come now, surely you can give me that much." His fingers danced higher, skimming my ribs. "I did save you, after all."

The reminder doused my anger. Saved me from a marriage to a monster. Saved me from an eternity of torture and agony. He didn't deserve the entirety of my anger. Not when he could have easily left me on that altar for whatever horror Alain intended.

"Tell me your name," he murmured. His lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Let me hear it fall from those pretty lips."

My skin tingled where he trailed higher and higher. My heartbeat quickened as his pointer dragged along the upper edge of my bra. I gritted my teeth and tried to think past the distracting scent of smoke and spice that clung to him.

"Should I call you my captive?" He raised that arrogant eyebrow again. "My prize?"

"Jo," I whispered, hating how my name gasped out like a confession. "Josephine."

"Josephine," he repeated, rolling the syllables on his tongue like fine wine. I shivered at the low rumble in his voice and the slow smile spreading over his face. "Beautiful."

His grip on my wrists loosened. He dragged his knuckles across my cheek, down my throat, and over the swell of my breasts.

"Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He nipped at my earlobe, his sharp teeth scraping the sensitive skin. "Such a good girl for me already."

Fury and indignation flared to life in my chest, burning through the fog of desire that had enveloped me. I shoved at his chest, channeling my outrage into a wordless snarl.

Azrael chuckled, reluctantly releasing me as I scrambled to the edge of the bed. He lounged back with an arm propped under his head, flaming eyes raking over me like a predator assessing its prey. The way he looked at me sent heat coursing through my veins, and I quickly grabbed and pressed my dress to my body.

I almost threw it away immediately. Alain picked that dress. Alain, who intended to use me as some sort of blood sacrifice to the demon who claimed me.

But the choice was between Alain's dress and betrayal, or standing nearly naked in front of the reaper who stole me away.

"What do you want?" I demanded, stepping into the dress and tugging it up my frame.

"Josephine, Josephine," he purred. That delighted smile still clung to his face. "I have duties to attend, Josephine."

"So, go." I turned my back on those flaming eyes and tried to hide my shiver at the sound of my name on his tongue.

"No, that won't work at all," he tsked, and I could practically feel the weight of his stare boring into me. "You will accompany me."

"Accompany you?" I scoffed. I spun back to face him, hands clenched at my sides. "Why would I do that?"

In a blink, he stood before me. Towering. Dominating. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my lower lip. "I know this is difficult for you to accept, Josephine. But the underworld is a dangerous place for a lost soul. You need me."

I did need him. I hated to admit it, but he had the keys out of the place. I had little hope of sunny salvation outside of the cavern—in the freaking underworld, of all places—but there was no surety without travel.

Azrael stepped back, the same thumb he'd brushed against my lips now tapping against his lips as he surveyed me. A low hum left his throat as he scanned me from head to toe. "Hmm."

With a snap of his fingers, my dress dissolved into wisps of smoke. I yelped, arms flying up to cover myself, but new fabric was already materializing. Black silk draped from my neck and crossed over my breasts before wrapping around my lower back and spilling down my legs. High slits in the skirt offered glimpses of my bare legs and the killer heels that would break my ankles if I tried to move.

"Much better," he purred, eyes gleaming.

"Absolutely not!" I hissed. I ran my hands down my sides, trying to make the layers of the flimsy material cover more. "I am perfectly capable of dressing myself."

Those damnable eye-flames seemed to dance with amusement. Another snap, and a massive wardrobe materialized against the far wall. "As you wish."

I wobbled on my heels toward the wardrobe, muttering every step of the way. I yanked open the double doors, and let my head fall between my shoulders with a frustrated sigh. "You can't be serious."

Corsets, sheer gowns, and scraps of lace that barely qualified as clothing filled every available inch. All black. All sinful.

"You are so easy to unravel," Azrael said from behind me, smoky chuckle vibrating against my mostly bare back. His hands covered mine as he closed the wardrobe doors. "Try again, little dove."

Gritting my teeth, I reopened the wardrobe. This time, my own clothes hung neatly inside.

My fingers shook as I ran a hand over the jeans and blouses. Sensible shoes sat in neat little rows at the bottom. For some reason, seeing my things tucked into the fancy wood made the reality of everything settle deep in my bones.

This wasn't some extended fever dream. It was real.

And I was dead.

Wordlessly, I rolled my shoulder to bump my reaper away. I didn't look behind me to see where he went as I tugged my hair out of the updo I'd worn for the wedding and reached for my own clothes.

The denim felt as luxurious as the silk from moments ago, and my soft tee settled against my skin like a hug. I slid the borrowed shoes off my feet and swapped them for my trusty black boots.

Finally dressed in something I recognized, I took a deep breath and straightened my spine.

I found Azrael lounging in a plush leather seat, now dressed in a trim black suit with the top buttons of his shirt undone. The flames in his eyes flared a fraction as I took him in, but his expression betrayed nothing.

"Shall we?" He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

"Thank you," I said grudgingly as I slid my hand into his, "for the clothes."

I swallowed my squeak when he tugged me forward and into a spin. I rocked to a stop with his arms around me like we were about to begin a waltz. Heat bloomed under the palm resting on the small of my back. The hand holding mine raised my arm, and he bent down to brush his lips against my skin.

"You are quite welcome. But I will admit, Josephine," his smile was positively wolfish as he drew out the syllables of my name, "your body was made for the black silk."

I groaned and started to pull away. The arm around my waist tensed, holding me against the hard planes of his body. Then his lips crashed into mine.

A gasp parted my lips, and his tongue swept in. He tasted like a bonfire in the woods at midnight, and I found myself melting against him. My hand slid from his grasp, only to settle against the hard muscle of his chest.

Azrael pulled me tighter against him with a growl. The world twisted and blurred somewhere in the deep background, but I was too focused on the heat of his body, the hand sliding into my hair, the fingers digging into the meat of my ass, to care.

More. I wanted more. I wanted to banish the kisses I should have been sharing with Alain on our honeymoon. I wanted to chase away the pain and humiliation of learning my betrothed planned to kill me for his own selfish gain.

Besides, why shouldn't I lose myself in the stranger who'd saved me?