Angel's Awakening

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOURAzazel stared out the window but remained unmoved by the spectacular Hudson River view. The sun set with a fiery intensity that matched his inner turmoil. There was only one thing on his mind. Two days since the unplanned reunion and he'd thought of little else. Across the room his cell phone vibrated on the table. He ignored it. The golden-haired bastard on the other end could wait. Azazel swished the dark amber liquid around in the tumbler he held. Any other night a couple of fingers of Malort would set him straight. Not tonight.

In the fading light an unusual pattern of silver hovered outside on the terrace. He smiled and slipped on the coat draped over the chair by his side. Another blink and she was there. Like a whisper of wind she landed and folded her indigo and silver wings behind her with a gentle snap. The swooping motion filled the air between them with the salty scent of the ocean. Her scent. She wore pants again. Thanks be to Levi Strauss and whoever invented denim. Azazel eyed the curve of her hips in the tight fitting jeans. His inner demon rumbled appreciatively at the white tank top which showed off her ample cleavage. Settle down. This was no time to turn into a leering i***t.

“Welcome.” He offered his hand and Charouth took it. Despite her exposed arms and the chilly February evening her hand was warm. Another one of those celestial benefits he no longer enjoyed. “Looks like you’ve come from someplace a lot warmer.” The fresh scent of the sea clung to her skin.

“Just catching some waves with the Aussies. Trigg Island is beautiful this time of year.”

Charouth hung back, admiring the wall of windows. “It's breathtaking. Sunrises and sunsets must be incredible.”

“They are. You just missed a good one.” He gestured for her to step inside, suppressing a shudder. “Kinda cold out here for me.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She followed him into the living room. Her head swiveled, taking in the spacious apartment. High ceilings. Few interior walls. Open floor plan. Floor to ceiling windows in every room.

“It's so airy. Did you design it yourself?”

“No, but an angel lived here before me. He still stops in from time to time.”

“Let me guess. Luc?” Her nose wrinkled as though she smelled sour milk.

Azazel grinned. “Who else?”

“I can't believe you're still friends with him. He's so obnoxious,” said Charouth.

“We’re like an old married couple. Can’t live with him. Can’t kill him.” Not that he’d ever want to. Lucifer saved his ass in Hell more times than he could count. He owed him more than he’d ever be able to repay.

Her back stiffened, a sure sign this wasn’t a social visit. Remembering the good old days would have to come later. He knew what she wanted. Answers. That’s what he’d want. Azazel hoped he could give her the right ones. This wasn’t all on him though. Hell, he had some questions of his own that needed clearing up. Like what had she been doing all this time? Were rumors of her and another Elite true? Demons loved gossip. Especially when it involved the holier than thou sheanar.

She wandered the first floor, looking at some of his recent finds. She paused by the horn of a Magon demon displayed in a glass case. He rubbed his shoulder. That hadn’t been an easy hunt. Somewhere in the deepest regions of the Netherworld an eight-foot tall behemoth roamed around missing a horn and cursing Azazel’s mother. Lucky for him he didn’t have one.

“Where’s the other one?” She pointed at the missing space in the case.

“Still attached, unfortunately.”

The distance between them unnerved him. For five hundred years they'd been inseparable. Then, he was whisked away to endure tortures no one should experience. Now, Charouth stood before him making small talk like they were a couple of strangers.

She wound her way over to the kitchen area, wings rustling as she adjusted and readjusted them to accommodate the unfamiliar space. Spectacular. He never tired of looking at them, stroking them. Glossy and smooth. Like they were brand new. Come to think of it, they did have that freshly grown look. What the hell? His inner demon grumbled. Whatever caused her to have regenerated an entire new set of wings would have to answer to him.

“Wine?”

“Red, please.”

She perched on a stool, wings relaxed, tips brushing the floor. Silver threads woven into their midnight blue caught the light every time she moved. Which was often. The longer the silence stretched between them, the more she twisted on the seat. He set the wine in front of her and reached out to touch her hand. She pulled back. Too much. The inner demon bristled at her rejection but remained quiet. A little afternoon bare-knuckled sparring with one of Zarek’s pets let him release some of his tension so that he could face whatever went down this evening with a clear head.

“What’s this all about?” he asked. The question came out sharper than expected, but this awkward silence, exchanging pleasantries things was bullshit.

“I'm not trying to be difficult. I just don't know what to say.”

“Say whatever. I don’t care if it’s the right thing. Just say what you feel.”

“I'm in shock.” She fidgeted with a wayward feather. “You were supposed to be dead.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I don't care. Just tell me the truth. What happened to you?”

He poured himself another couple of fingers of Malort. “I never expected to leave you for so long. When Luc and I went to the Netherworld I thought it would take a year or so, ten at the most. As soon as we got there everything went to kabu. We ended up on the wrong side of a Fallen revolt. They locked us up.”

Charouth gasped. Took a gulp of wine. You didn't need a PhD to imagine what happened in a Netherworld prison.

“How did you survive?”

“Wits. Cunning. Deception. Ruthlessness. The usual currency of Hell.”

“How did you escape?”

No one was ever released from prison in Hell. No probation for good behavior. You either escaped or suffered for eternity. No grey area. “Zarek.”

She sucked her teeth but said nothing.

“I know. He's a bastard. He's also the bastard that saved my life. If not for him, Luc and I would still be there. Still suffering.” Shadows of ancient torment rose to the surface. Oh, not this. Not now. He pushed them back. Not ever.

“A sobering thought.” She reached for the bottle on the table and poured herself another glass. “So how long have you been back? You don't carry the same stench as Zarek.”

“The mid-1800s.”

She scowled. Stood up and turned her back to him. Uh oh. Not good. “I see.”

“What?” He couldn’t see her face, but the bite to her voice told him more than enough.

“Maybe it was a little sooner. The Gauls...no French...the French were revolting.

“And you didn't think to find me? If only to let me know you were alive?”

“Darling, I couldn't get anywhere near you when I returned.”

“Why not?”

“Gods! You don't...I can't...”

“Why. Not.” She still had her back to him.

“You know what Hell does to us. I was there for two thousand years. No breaks. Constant torture. It changed me. I...I was a monster when I came back. Humans told horror stories about me that would make your skin crawl. I couldn't come to you, Charouth. If I came for you I would've killed you.”

She whipped around to face him. “No.”

“Believe me. I was out of my mind. I would've ripped you into so many pieces even Remiel couldn’t put you back together.”

“And you've been that way for two hundred years?” Her accusation cut him, as deeply as if she'd sliced him with her trademark weapon.

“No. No, I'm okay now. Mostly. There are still some lingering affects.”

“Like?”

Insomnia, nightmares and the frequent need to spill blood. He had gotten off easy. Others weren’t so lucky if they ever managed to escape Hell. “For gods sake. Quit it already. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I deserve to know what happened.” She glared at him. Her mouth twisted, but she remained silent.

Damn, this was not anything like what he'd imagined. What had he expected? Was she supposed to forget the past few millennia and fall into his bed pretending nothing happened? An absence of a couple of hundred years and sure, that could’ve played out. A hundred year separation here and there? No big thing. It was expected, needed even. He and Charouth never took that kind of break. Both their bosses kept them plenty busy. Sometimes for decades at a time. Could he really have been stupid enough to think they could pick up where they left off? i***t! Azazel raked a hand through his black hair. What happened to his midnight goddess? Something changed her. The open and trusting Charouth he left behind was replaced with one full of suspicion and disgust. Rage simmered in his gut.

“What happened to you?” he demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“This isn't you. Not the you I remember. You're distant. You flinch when I reach for you.”

Her eyes widened. She seemed visibly disturbed.

The impossible crossed his mind. “There’s someone else.” Why didn’t he think of it earlier? She thought he was dead. She’d moved on and couldn’t tell him. With her power and beauty she could’ve had a god for a companion. No reason to wait for his miserable PTSD self to get straight. Well, if he wasn’t the one warming her bed, who was?

She flopped back down on the stool and cradled her head in her hands.

“Who is he?”

“There's no one, Az.”

“Bullshit.”

“Honestly. I care for no one right now.”

“But you did.” Couldn’t let well enough alone. Had to keep digging the failure hole.

“I tried. It was a while ago.”

“Who?”

She looked away. Refused to meet his gaze.

“Who the f**k was he?”

Her shoulders slumped. Defeat. Surrender. What or who had beaten her down so? This woman bowed to no one but her Masters. “Graph.”

His heart clenched in his chest and red seeped into his vision. Gods dammit. He knew it. Way back when he and Char first met he knew there was something more than friendship between those two. They were always a little too close, a little too comfortable with each other. The shifty angel just waltzed into his place the second he disappeared.

“When?” The bastard must have taken advantage of her at her weakest. Pathetic.

“We were off and on for a thousand years or so. Why are you so upset? It’s not as though you were around.” Her hands twisted together. She still couldn't look him in the eye. “I know what you’re doing. Stop it. Jealousy doesn’t become you. Graph and I...” She sighed. “Graph and I are done. For good. We just don't love each other that way. Not the way you’re supposed to love. Not the way I loved you.” She got up again and started pacing around the kitchen. “I waited you know. I swear to you I waited. For a thousand years I waited for a word, a hint that you were still alive. Then I heard the rumors about you in Hell. No one comes back from that. What could I do?”

“Wait some more comes to mind.” Selfish. Impractical. Didn’t matter. His higher brain functions flew right out the door when it came to Charouth.

“For how long? I was really messed up. And it’s not like I could walk into Hell and demand Satan give you back. Besides, I needed support when I got out of stasis. I was weak, scared. Graph was there for me. By the time Graph and I hooked up no one fathomed you were still alive.”

“What? Why were you in stasis?”

“Renegade sect of the Order started the witch trials in Germany. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She shook her head, hand-waving the incident away as if it was nothing. An angel in stasis was an angel so badly hurt he needed to return to pre-corporeal form and regenerate from scratch. What had the Order done to her to cause that much damage? Azazel made a mental note to move the Order higher up on his hit list.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you seem to think I was supposed to wait for you forever. You realize how foolish that was.”

Of course he did. Didn’t stop him from thinking it. She gulped some more wine.

“Yeah, Graph and I got close. I will not feel bad about that. I needed him. He loved me.”

“And what about now? He still got a thing for you?”

“I don't know,” she spat. “You want to know so bad? You ask him.”

Jealousy. Such a stupid emotion, yet right now with his vision tinted red he was powerless against the rage that threatened to push him into full on demon mode. He felt the skin in his hands tighten and stretch in preparation for the deadly claws itching for release.

What she did during his lockup was none of his business. Especially since she had good reason to think that he was dead. Something within him told him that she’d had another. That she no longer belonged to him alone. He was her first. Her only. Love. s*x. He taught her everything. Before him, she’d only known the pure love of Creator and Sire. After, the Creator was the last thing on her mind as she writhed beneath him in the throes of passion. Azazel was the one to awaken her desire. He kindled her passion and she’d loved him back with intensity so fierce it blinded him to all others. She gave him her body, but more importantly she gave him her trust. Her heart. Her soul. No one before compared. What he called love before was a joke. He and Graph would have a talk and set the record straight.

She paced while fussing with a leather bracelet on her left wrist. It looked familiar.

“What’s that?”

She stopped. Stared at her clothing.

“On your wrist.”

“Nothing.”

“Bull.” He spat out his disagreement. “Graph give that to you?”

“No. For gods sake! Why are you so obsessed with him? You spend too much time around these humans with their stupid petty emotional crap.”

She ripped off the bracelet, flinging it onto the table.

“Don't you recognize it? It’s yours. Not the exact one you wore, but a close replica.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

He’d f****d up. Again. Could this reunion get any worse?

“You know why Graph and I could never stay together? He knew that I still loved you. My head thought you were dead, but my heart still had hope. He hated that. Told me he couldn’t stand being in your shadow. He couldn’t take knowing I wanted you every time he touched me. He made me choose. And now I’m alone.”

He picked up the piece. Inspected it. Mighty fine copy. Whoever made it knew his or her way around leather well. The quality was outstanding. So she chose him even when she thought he was dead. She wanted him even when her best friend offered her love for an eternity. The dictionary needed another definition of i***t. One with his name and photo. Hell continued to screw with him centuries later but this time he wasn’t going to back down and bend over. She all but admitted she’d have him back. Starting now he was going to do everything in his power to make that happen. He lifted his head to apologize and found the room empty. Charouth was gone.