Page 7 of Azrael

“My name is Zara Colton,” she said, looking up at me with those blue eyes that didn’t match the rest of her features.“And I’ve been searching for you.”

My hand instinctively moved back toward my knife.“How do you know who I am?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted.“Not until just now.They call you the Angel of Death in some circles.Azrael.The one who punishes men who hurt women and children.”She gestured to the groaning men on the ground.“I’ve heard the stories, but I needed to see for myself.”

“You got yourself attacked on purpose?”I asked incredulously.

She looked away, her jaw tightening.“No.That was… unfortunate timing.But perhaps fortunate too, since it led me to you.”

“Why?”The question came out harsher than I intended, but strangers with agendas made me nervous, especially pretty ones who knew things they shouldn’t.Wouldn’t be the first time a man was betrayed by a woman.I didn’t trust people blindly.

Zara looked back at me, and something in her expression shifted, a vulnerability showing through her composed facade.“Because I need your help.My mother is missing, and I believe you can help find her.”

The rain continued to fall around us, washing the blood from the concrete into the gutters.In the distance, the siren grew louder, then faded as it turned down another street.One of the men at our feet groaned and tried to roll over.I placed my boot on his chest, pressing down just enough to keep him still.

“This isn’t the place to talk,” I said finally.“Can you ride?”

She nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.“Yes.Although it’s been a while.”

“Then let’s go.The club will want to hear whatever it is you have to say.”I gestured toward the alley entrance where my bike waited.“After you, Zara Colton.”

She moved past me, her steps uneven but determined.I gave one last look at the three men before following her.They wouldn’t be the only ones remembering this night.So would I, though for entirely different reasons.Something told me that the woman walking ahead of me was about to change everything, and in my experience, change was rarely for the better.

I stepped toward Zara, noting how she swayed slightly despite her tough facade.Up close, I could see the bruise forming at her temple and the way she cradled her left arm against her side.Tough as she might be trying to act, she was hurt.I reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to back away if she wanted to.She didn’t.

“Let me see,” I said, my voice low as I gently took her arm.

She winced but allowed me to push up what remained of her sleeve.An ugly gash about three inches long ran along her forearm, still seeping blood.

“Deep enough to need stitches?”I asked, examining it in the dim light.

Zara shook her head.“I don’t think so.It’s not that bad.”

I pulled a bandana from my back pocket -- clean enough to serve as a temporary bandage.I wrapped it around her arm, tying it just tight enough to slow the bleeding without cutting off circulation.

“Thanks,” she murmured, watching my hands work with a curious intensity.

“Don’t thank me yet.We still need to get out of here.”

I didn’t miss how she gritted her teeth against the pain, but I respected her enough not to comment.I walked beside her, close enough to catch her if she stumbled, but not touching her.Rain continued to fall, softer now but persistent, soaking through her torn shirt and plastering her dark hair to her scalp.By the time we reached my bike, she was shivering.

“Here,” I said, shrugging off my leather jacket.It was wet on the outside but still dry and warm inside.“Put this on.”

For a moment, I thought she might refuse, but then she took it with a small nod.The jacket swallowed her, the sleeves extending well past her fingertips, but at least it covered the worst of her torn clothing and offered some protection from the cold.

My bike gleamed under the streetlight, water beading on its polished surface.I straddled it first, then held out my hand to Zara.

“You said you’d ridden before, right?”I asked as she approached.

“Yes.”She took my hand.Her palm was smaller than mine but calloused in places that suggested she wasn’t a stranger to physical work.

I helped her onto the back of the seat, steadying her as she settled in.“Hold on tight.The streets are slick, and so is the bike.I don’t want you sliding off.”

There was a moment of hesitation before I felt her arms wrap around my waist, her front pressed against my back.The intimacy of it wasn’t lost on me, but this wasn’t the time or place to dwell on how her body felt against mine.I started the bike, and the engine roared to life, vibrating beneath us.

“Ready?”I called over my shoulder.

Her answer was a tightening of her arms around my middle.I eased the bike into first gear and pulled away, moving slower than I typically would.

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