Page 123 of Wicked Believer
“There’s only one person I callsir.” I step onto the mat, lifting my eyes to his in challenge.
“Did this work on him?” He huffs, that skeletal face flashing again. Am I imagining that? I can’t be. He quirks his scarred brow at me. “The bratty submissive bit?”
An embarrassed flush fills my cheeks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smirks, his eyes falling to my collar. “I think you do.” He watches me, his irises such a piercing, almost white shade of blue it feels like he could see into my soul.
Maybe he can . . .
He is Death after all.
I feel his power like it’s sucking up all the air inside the room. Where Lucifer’s is more of a devious, fleeting caress—a controlled, licking, lapping, teasing—Azrael’s is more ... all consuming.
Like if I allowed myself to get lost in it, it would suffocate me.
I’ve never experienced its equal.
But if he’s not an angel and not a demon, then ...
Whatishe?
I’m almost impulsive enough to ask him, but before I can manage to get any of the words out, he says, “Eyes on me,” and without warning, my feet are knocked out from under me.
I tense, prepared for my back to slam down onto the mat, but what feels like a large pair of cool invisible hands catches me, holding me suspended about a foot away from the floor.
Azrael stares down at me, shaking his head.
“Hey, celestial paws off, asshole!” I snap.
Azrael quirks a brow. “Suit yourself.”
Abruptly, I drop to the thin mat and let out an annoyed groan. It smarts worse than I expected, considering I was only a few inches from the floor. The training room is hard wood over concrete. Azrael doesn’t move from where he stands over me.
He definitely has the ego of a fallen angel. Or somethingelsemaybe.
“You’re weak. No surprise there.”
“Gee, thanks, asshole.”
“It’s Death or—”
“Sir,” I finish for him. “I remember.”
Those cold irises seem to bore into me.
He offers his hand, but I shove it aside, stumbling to my feet as I level a pissed-off glare at him, doubling over to catch my breath.
His eyes narrow in kind.
“Lucifer’s little siren,” he purrs, shaking his head as he advances.
I put out my hand to stop him from coming any closer, but abruptly, he uses it to yank me upright. I tumble forward so that the heat of his mouth brushes next to my ear.
The moment I level out, my other hand accidentally connects with his chest as I try to steady myself, and all my base instincts come alive.
Predator meet prey.
