Page 13 of Grave Revelations

She whipped her head around, scanning her surroundings, but saw nothing. Not waiting for more encouragement, she moved to the door and pressed it open, reveling in the warmth that blanketed her. No one was behind the counter.

“Grab something now before they return,” the voice whispered.

She darted her gaze left and right, noting the utter stillness of the space. Lifting to her tiptoes, she strained to see into the back of the store and turned, spinning for the shelves, and began stuffing pastries into her pockets.

Pockets full, she ran from the shop, stumbling over cobbled stones before flinging herself against a wall tucked into the shadows. She reached into her pocket, pulled out several mashed pastries and bit into them, hardly chewing before she swallowed. The ache in her stomach was a bottomless hole, and she crammed food into her mouth, filling her cheeks.

“You’ll need blankets,” Azazel breathed along the collar of her coat. “And water.” She continued stuffing her mouth with bread, moaning as spices assaulted her tongue. “You’ll make yourself sick, Rebecca.”

His teasing tone only infuriated her. What didheknow about being hungry? She’d only had a power bar and one meal over the last few days. Demons or fallen—or whatever he was—didn’t have to worry about hunger.

“Your human side needs food. Your seraph side doesn’t. Open yourself up to the idea and discover what’s possible.”

Was he reading her mind?CouldAzazel read her mind? She grimaced. There were too many thoughts tumbling around in there that she didn’t want anyone to have access to—least of all him.

The loud clang of metal hitting stone made her jump, and she looked up in time to see a brown and tan tabby pad out of an adjacent alley. She pursed her lips.

If the words whispering along her jaw were any indication of his location, Azazel was close, even if she couldn’t see him. Cats were a sign that no demons were nearby, as they instinctively knew when one was near. What did that mean?

A phantom nudge of her shoulder had her looking left. Rows of laundry hung from a second-story window, drying in the evening air.

She stared up at the tattered bedding and frowned. Another nudge, more insistent, bumped her.

“I see it,” she seethed.

A sound she could have sworn was his dark laugh ruffled her curls.

She stretched her head back, looking up at the sheer white wall, wondering how he expected her to get up there and pull the bedding down. A light wind blew her hair back from her face, curling around her fingers.

Her heart rate increased as a cold sweat broke out along her back. “I can’t. I can’t use magic.”

“Why?” the wind asked.

“It’s killing me. It will kill me to use it.”

“Ridiculous.”

The word gave her pause. Had the witches been wrong? Did the use of her magic have no effect on her lifespan? The weakness she’d felt before hadn’t been her imagination, though. It had taken healers to restore her. And Azazel had already said he was waiting to claim her until she died.

Perhaps this was a trick to hasten her demise.

“If I wanted you dead, would I have saved you from Elizabeth?”

“Youcanread my mind!”

Darkness pooled in a corner under the clothesline just across from her. “You could read mine if you tried.”

Before she had time to process his words, Azazel formed the solid shape of a man, fully nude, and stalked toward her.

Rebecca backed up, hitting the wall in the cramped space.

He knelt before her and laced his fingers together. “Climb up.”

She gaped down at the creature kneeling at her feet. “Get up,” she breathed.

“Put your foot in my hand so I can give you a boost.”

“Can’t you just fly up there and get it for me?”

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