Page 9 of Christmas Trouble

Nobody wanted to stop that group. In fact, several people ran out the door and into the cold.

Real snapped his gaze around until he found the group of people circling something or someone. He shoved his way through the group, not caring if people stumbled or fell. Most of the smarter ones moved out of his fucking way.

Real only stopped when he caught sight of Azrael sitting on top of a man three times his size with a gun pressed to the guy’s temple.

The heartbreakingly beautiful young man wasn’t focused on the crowd of people around him, but rather on the man beneath him.

Azrael’s free hand was toying beneath his down jacket. And even though Real couldn’t see it, he knew the blade was there just as surely as he knew that Azrael wasn’t present.

The boy was lost somewhere inside of his head.

Real should have never agreed to let Azrael come to Colorado. This was his fault. The teenager was too vulnerable—although if Azrael had been asked, he would have said otherwise. Azrael didn’t believe that his past was affecting his present.

Real knew differently. He knew firsthand how much a person’s past could determine their future.

Real sighed and stepped forward.

It was going to take some finesse and downright power to fix this without either of them getting hurt, but Real would risk everything to keep Azrael safe.

And then, as always, Real would let Azrael go.

When strong arms caught Azrael from behind, rage filled him.

The gun in his hand was knocked away from the robber’s head.

Azrael’s finger squeezed the trigger.

The gun fired.

And a bullet lodged into the floor.

People screamed, bolting for cover. The room blurred, and now the only things pressing on Azrael’s mind were escape and kill—in that order.

The blow that knocked the gun away had turned his fingers numb, but Azrael didn’t take time to process anything other than getting the fucker to release him.

Azrael slammed his head back into the much bigger man who had had the nerve to grab him from behind.

His hit missed.

As if the guy holding him had anticipated the move.

Okay, so the fucker had experience.

With his free hand, Azrael pulled his knife and jabbed it back, but the guy easily sidestepped.

It didn’t matter! Azrael was going to kill someone today.

The man’s voice muffled through his red haze, and some part of Azrael’s brain cautioned him that the person could be an innocent bystander, but he figured whomever it was should have known better than to get involved.

What if it is a cop?

“Az…”

Finally the warm murmur of air along with the shortening of his name caused Azrael’s heart to slam against his ribs.

Azrael knew that voice.

It was Real.

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