Page 46 of Azrael

He collapsed beside me, careful not to crush me with his weight, one arm thrown across my waist in a gesture that felt both possessive and protective.Our breathing gradually slowed, our heartbeats returned to normal as we lay together in the quiet aftermath.

I turned my head to look at him, finding his gaze already on me, watching with that intensity that never seemed to dim.He traced idle patterns on my stomach, raising goose bumps despite the warmth of the room.

“What are you thinking?”I asked, my voice sounding loud in the silence.

He considered the question, taking his time as he always did.“That I’d like to keep you here.In my bed.”

The simple admission hit harder than a flowery declaration might have.From Azrael, it was probably the highest form of love, the most precious gift he could offer.

“I can take care of myself,” I reminded him gently.“If that’s why you want me here…”

“I know.”His fingers continued their path across my skin, dipping into the hollow of my hip, tracing the curve of my waist.“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep you safe anyway.And it’s not entirely why I want you in my bed.”

I understood then what he wasn’t saying -- that this mission was about more than club business.It was about removing a threat, about making the world safer for those he cared about.About me.

“Come back to me,” I said, turning to face him fully, my hand coming up to cup his cheek.“After this task is completed.Come back to me.”

Something flickered in his eyes -- a promise, a determination.“I always finish what I start, Zara.”

It wasn’t quite an “I love you.”It wasn’t quite a promise to return.But from Azrael, it was enough.For now, it was enough.

I nestled against him, my head finding the perfect spot on his chest, just above his heart where I could hear its steady beat.His arm tightened around me, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of my head.Outside, the world continued to turn, oblivious to the bubble we’d created in this room, on this bed.

Tonight, in the arms of a man who dealt in death but held me with surprising gentleness, I found a peace I hadn’t known I was seeking.And as sleep began to claim me, I realized that somewhere along the way, without intending to, I had fallen in love with the Devil’s Boneyard’s Angel of Death.

Chapter Thirteen

Azrael

The Tel Aviv market churned with bodies as I weaved through the evening crowd, my senses on high alert.Sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, casting long shadows across the stalls of spices, electronics, and cheap souvenirs that lined the narrow passageways.Stripes and Samurai flanked me, their vigilant eyes scanning each face we passed.None of us spoke.We didn’t need to.After years of handling the Devil’s Boneyard MC’s most delicate problems, we had developed an understanding that went beyond words.Tonight’s meeting wasn’t one I looked forward to, but then again, being the Angel of Death rarely involved pleasant social calls.

“Three o’clock,” Samurai murmured, his chin barely moving as he indicated a man watching us from behind a display of knockoff designer sunglasses.

I gave a slight nod, acknowledging without looking directly.“Probably one of the Russian’s people.Let him watch.”

The weight of my SIG pressed against my lower back, a constant, comforting presence.I didn’t plan on using it -- gunfire in a crowded market would be messy and complicate our already delicate situation -- but I’d learned long ago that peaceful negotiations often required the quiet promise of violence.

Stripes’ thick accent cut through the din of haggling vendors.“I do not like this place for our meeting.Too many people.Too many variables.”

Despite his age, the old Russian moved with the agility of a man decades younger.

“That’s exactly why Viktor chose it,” I replied.“Hard to set up an ambush when you can’t tell which random tourist might be working for the other side.”

We’d been in Tel Aviv for three days now, setting up the groundwork for a negotiation that, if successful, would secure the release of my mother-in-law.

“There,” Samurai said, nodding toward a stall displaying imported electronics -- everything from counterfeit AirPods to tablets of questionable origin.

Behind the counter stood Viktor, his pale eyes scanning the crowd with the dispassionate interest of a predator assessing which prey was worth the energy to hunt.His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm on the folding table in front of him, the only outward sign of impatience.

“Azrael,” he said as we approached, my road name falling from his lips with practiced precision.He didn’t offer his hand, and I didn’t expect him to.“You’re late.”

“Market was crowded,” I replied, not bothering to point out that we were exactly on time.Power plays were part of the dance.

Viktor’s gaze flicked to Stripes, recognition dawning in his eyes.“Mikhail Petrov.I’d heard you were dead.Your call was unexpected.”

Stripes shrugged.“I left that life behind.”

A smile that never reached Viktor’s eyes briefly touched his lips.His attention returned to me.“You’ve made quite the name for yourself, Samir -- or do you prefer Azrael now?The Angel of Death.Very dramatic.”

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