Page 9 of Breathe
He must have been nuts to think that Real was his soulmate.
Soulmate…
That was a fucking joke.
Soulmates didn’t hook up with other people.
Soulmates didn’t cheat.
And that was something Azrael would never forgive Real for.
He closed his eyes. He suddenly wanted to leave this place, but he had to get the information first, and he wanted to spend a few days with Apollo.
It was anger that was trying to send him running. Or it could be hurt. Because being there at Dave’s reminded him of Real, and thinking of Real brought up their past.
It brought up the fact that Real had fucked someone else. The hookup had happened over a year ago, but Azrael still felt the sting of betrayal.
The fucked-up part was that he and Real had spent Christmas together since then.
And Christmas had given him hope that they might have a chance together. He would never forget when Real had shown up at Dave’s holiday get-together in Colorado.
Being with Real during Christmas time had Azrael holding onto that memory of them together long after he should have let it go.
He had held onto the belief that Real would not fuck anyone else after their time spent together over the holiday.
He had been so wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Azrael did have his pride.
He could have excused the one hookup prior to Christmas, but all the hookups after that?
Hell fucking no.
And it didn’t matter that he didn’t have a commitment from Real. It didn’t matter that Real and he were not in a sexual relationship. It didn’t even matter that Real didn’t want him in that way.
What mattered was that he felt betrayed.
And he needed to get over it. He needed to move the fuck on. They were nothing, and that was fact. So, it was none of his business how many people Real fucked.
But no matter how many times he reminded himself of those facts, Real sleeping with someone else bugged the shit out of him.
Sudden footsteps crackling on the tile made him smile. Apollo had probably followed him out here—so much for going to bed.
“This is my favorite time of the night,” Azrael said, his voice soft, eyes on the sky.
“Mine too,” a rough, deep voice said.
It was Real, not Apollo who spoke. It was Real who settled his big, muscled frame next to him on the roof.
Azrael steeled himself, gathering his thoughts and slamming a lid down on his emotions.
He struggled to breathe.
From the corner of his eye, Azrael caught sight of the tattoos covering Real’s left arm in a deep-sea panorama. He had seen the man without his shirt, and the word Alpha was tattooed in black right below Real’s belly button. Alpha was fitting and suited Real’s sharp jaw and dark hair. His firm lips were set in a cool, straight line as if the world were more of an irritation than anything.
Regardless, all of Real with the mouthwatering ink etched over rippling muscles was stunning.
