Page 28 of Grave Revelations

Azazel’s dark glasses hid whatever emotions he was feeling as he said in a flat voice, “You asked me for privacy, to allow you to keep your thoughts to yourself, but I can’t turn it off. Gabriel would have left you alone and given you all the space you needed. But I suspect you know what it means to remember a part of you who died and to no longer be that creature.”

Rebecca set her fork down and reached for his sunglasses. He didn’t flinch as she lifted them from his face and set them on the table.

When their gazes met again, her breath caught. His eyes were drowned in sorrow.

She grabbed his hand.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I can’t be what you want. I can’t be him.”

The ember in her chest flared to life. She reached for it.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “Don’t call for me when I know you don’t want anything to do with me.”

She blinked. “That burning in my chest. You feel it?”

He squeezed her hands tighter, at odds with his pained words. “It’s our soul. The part of me that lives in you.” Her fingers slackened, shock racing through her, and his grip tightened. “Can you not feel that you share it? That it’s not yours, butours?”

Her throat was scorched dry as she whispered, “I thought it was my magic.”

“Magic lives in seraph blood. Born of us and passed to our offspring.”

“But… You said I was the last Nephilim. There are many witches.” She lowered her voice, glancing around at the other patrons sitting nearby.

Azazel ignored them, but his voice, a deep rumbling sound, dropped another octave. “Witches are the diluted line of Nephilim. To be a true offspring of seraphim, one must possess pure blood. In it, all four elements will be present.”

Rebecca pulled her hand from his, rubbing it over her face. “I don’t understand.”

“Have you eaten your fill?”

She looked down at her empty plate. Only a few crumbs remained. Sipping from her glass, she set it down. “Yes.”

He stood, sliding his sunglasses back on his face, and held a hand out to her. She took it, and they moved between tables toward the exit.

“Disculpe,” someone called behind them.

Shit. She had no money with her and nothing to offer for the food. Rebecca was considering making a run for it when Azazel turned, saying something in another language to the server. The man’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

Azazel turned back to her, ushering her out the door.

“What did you say to him?” she whispered.

“I told him to put our bill on room three-seventeen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s room is that?”

“Olivia Rodrigo.”

“What! I was in the room next to Olivia Rodrigo, and you didn’t tell me!”

His lips lifted a fraction. At the exit, he stopped, grabbing three bottles of water from the counter.

As they stepped out into the crisp air, Rebecca slid on her coat and gloves and took the water bottles, stuffing them in her pockets.

“I thought you might have chosen the first empty room you found below the fourth floor.”

“I know. You still think of me as a demon.”

She bit her lip. It wasn’t that she truly thought of him as a demon, but… “Why aren’t you evil if Satan is?”

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