Page 65 of Azrael

I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.One less battle to fight.“Tell Charming the arrangements are set,” I instructed.“And make sure everyone knows we’re not to be disturbed until morning.”

Gator’s mouth twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile.“Already done.Club’s clearing out for the night -- just the usual security detail staying.The old ladies are taking Mazida over to my place now to get her settled.”

Zara pulled away from me slightly.“I should go say goodnight to her.”

I nodded, releasing her but following close behind as we made our way back to the main room.It had emptied considerably in the few minutes we’d been gone.Mazida sat with Charming’s old lady, the two women speaking quietly.When she saw us approach, Mazida stood, her expression softening as she took in her daughter’s flushed face and slightly swollen lips.

“You are going?”she asked Zara.

Zara nodded.“Gator’s offered you his spare room for tonight.It’s safer for you there, and more comfortable than here.”

I watched the exchange between mother and daughter with interest.In the short time since their reunion, they’d already reestablished the rhythm of their relationship -- the subtle dance of concern and independence that defined them.

“You will be all right?”Mazida asked, her gaze flicking to me with an unreadable expression.

“I’ll be with Azrael,” Zara said simply, as if that explained everything.And maybe it did.

Mazida studied me for a long moment, her dark eyes assessing.I met her gaze steadily, letting her see whatever she needed to see.Finally, she nodded once.

“Allah has strange ways of protecting his children,” she said.“Even through the Angel of Death.”

Coming from anyone else, the words might have been an insult.From her, they were acceptance -- perhaps even gratitude.I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgment.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Zara said, leaning in to hug her mother.“Get some rest.”

The goodbyes were quick after that.Gator approached to escort Mazida to his place, offering his arm with a gentlemanly flourish that seemed at odds with his rough appearance.Charming caught my eye across the room and gave a single nod -- permission to go, assurance that everything was under control for the night.

I placed my hand at the small of Zara’s back and guided her toward the door.Outside, the compound had settled into its nighttime routine.Security lights cast pools of yellow across the gravel, and men with guns patrolled the perimeter.The increased security was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for -- extra bodies on watch, the strategic positioning at key points around the fence line.

My bike stood where I’d left it.I swung my leg over the seat and waited for Zara to climb on behind me.Her arms wrapped around my waist, her chest pressed against my back, her thighs hugging mine.The engine roared to life beneath us, a deep, throaty growl that matched the want building inside me.

The ride to my --our-- home took less than three minutes, but it was long enough for the vibration of the engine and the press of her body to reignite what Gator’s interruption had dampened.I parked in the small carport and killed the engine, but neither of us moved immediately.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” she said softly, her cheek still pressed between my shoulder blades.“I kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong.”

I twisted to look at her over my shoulder.“I always come back.”

She slid off the bike, her movements fluid despite the fatigue I could see in her eyes.“Until you don’t.”

I followed her to the door, watching as she unlocked it with the key she’d worn on a chain around her neck while I was gone.Inside, the house was exactly as I’d left it -- sparse, functional, but with touches of Zara’s presence that had transformed it from a place to sleep into something that might be called a home.A throw blanket over the couch.Flowers in a mason jar on the kitchen counter.Books stacked on the coffee table.

She turned to face me as I closed and locked the door behind us.In the dim light of the single lamp she’d left on, her eyes looked almost black, pupils dilated with desire and relief and the remnants of fear.

“You brought my mother back,” she said again, as if still trying to convince herself it was real.

“I told you I would.”

“I know.”She took a step toward me.

I crossed the distance between us in two strides.This time when I kissed her, there was no restraint.My hands found the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion.Her skin was warm beneath my palms as I ran them up her sides, feeling the slight curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts in the simple black bra she wore.

She was just as impatient, tugging at my cut, pushing it off my shoulders to the floor.Her fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt with practiced ease, revealing the tattoos and scars that mapped the violence of my life.She traced one of the longer scars with her fingertip, her touch featherlight.

“New?”she asked.

“Old,” I replied, capturing her hand and bringing it to my lips.“Just reopened during the extraction.It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Her eyes darkened with concern, but I didn’t give her time to dwell on it.I swept her into my arms and carried her to the bedroom, laying her on the bed with more gentleness than most would believe me capable of.She looked up at me, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her lips parted in invitation.

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