Page 51 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

He holds up three fingers for me, his dark blue eyes stern in their intensity, and it takes me a moment to realize he wants me to do something on the count of three. He inclines his head towards the window, and I approach on wobbly legs. Gesturing for me to move the drapes on the count of three, he mouths the words:

Three!

Two!

One!

I yank the drapes open as the beast comes charging at the glass, its giant maw gaping open as it slams into the window just as Azazel uses his magic to seal the metal plate to it. The creature screams in agonizing pain as it crashes to the ground, yet it quickly recovers and skitters away into the night.

Azazel wraps me in his embrace, crushing me to his chest as my limbs tremble with fear.

"Will it come back?" I whisper, and my voice doesn't sound like my own. It's terrified.

He pulls back to look me in the eye, holding my face between his hands as he brushes a crimson strand from my cheek. "Not tonight. But others might."

"What was that thing?"

"A soulstealer. They can't get through metal—it burns them—but there's no telling where it will find a way in next time." He takes a deep breath, his eyes softening. It's so at odds with his hardened exterior. "You're not safe in this dilapidated shack."

"But where will I go?".

"I'll build you a metal fortress," he pauses. "I won't leave you unprotected."

Gripping his shirt, I shake my head. "I don't have any more metal."

"I'll get some."

"You can't go out there!" I shriek, clinging to him.

He chuckles. "In the morning."

"You'll stay with me tonight?" I peer into his eyes, lost in the deep blues.

"Yeah, I'll stay." He presses his forehead to mine and places a tender kiss on my brow when he releases me.

Azazel uses magic to light the torch on the wall. It fills the room with a soft glow as he reaches into his bag he has near the door, pulling out a canteen and taking a swig before passing it to me. The bottle is metal, with a warm, silver-plated finish. Bringing it to my lips, the water is cool and refreshing, settling my panic for a moment. Sharing a bottle with him feels intimate, and I can't say I hate it.

He gestures to the trunk near my bed. "There are some pajamas in there."

"How do you know that?"

"I sent them."

"You're the one who sent me the trunk full of clothes and supplies?" I ask, feeling a little choked up. "When I was ... recovering?"

Why did he tell me not to trust him when all he's done is given me reason to trust him?

Azazel nods before he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tanned skin and tattooed chest. Swirls of ink coil in patterns that seem to move, like the lake full of souls I flew over. The sight is breathtaking, and I can't help but stare.

"Azazel..." I whisper.

His gaze never leaves mine as he reaches for his belt, undoing it with one hand and throws it aside. "Yes?"

It's all I can do not to run my fingers along his chest and back. "Thank you for taking care of me."

He smiles, and it's so at odds with his hardened exterior. He takes the canteen from my hands and sets it aside before he wraps me in his arms. "You're welcome, Morte. I think it's time you call me Az. It's what my friends call me."

Heat envelopes me, and I let out a strangled sound, feeling as lust-ridden as I'd been at the tavern. Only this isn't manufactured lust. It's the real deal. Or at least, it's an adrenaline-fueled breakdown after fearing for his life.

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