Page 63 of Alastair

Realizing I was still clinging to him, I quietly cleared my throat and stepped backward. Instantly, I missed his warmth, but I’d already made things awkward by letting him go. Heaviness pressed down on my chest as I put even more of a gap between us.

Lazarus watched me for a moment, then gave a small nod. The hurt in his eyes faded. A cold indifference then took its place. “Don’t concern yourself with this matter. I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it? What do you mean?”

“Reseal the bond,” he said, and although his eyes gave nothing away, the swallow in his throat sure did. “Anything you feel for me now will disappear.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the heart with a pair of celestial-steel knuckles. It was a pain no amount of my healing magic could ease. “So that’s it, then? What about you saying you couldn’t let me go? That you couldn’t fight it anymore?”

The middle of his brow crinkled. “Do you want me to fight it?”

“What I want clearly doesn’t matter.” A tremor rippled in my throat. “You still have your orders.”

“I do.”

“I’m angry at myself for thinking even for a moment that this meant something.” Bitterness laced my tone. “You’ve been Uriel’s obedient dog for so long that you’re incapable of making decisions for yourself.”

His frown deepened. “I—”

“Here’s an order for you to follow,” I spat at him. “Go fuck yourself.”

I released my wings before flying up to the second-story balcony leading to my room. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me, my body shaking as I stood in the sunlit bedroom. I knew I was overreacting but couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

I was too hurt. My pride was wounded.

Briefly, I thought Lazarus felt what I did: the stirring of something strong building between us. We had been denied our connection for so long, and although my head was still processing everything, gods, I’d been willing to see where that bond could take us. Meanwhile, he was willing to toss it away so easily.

Lazarus would always choose his duty. Over himself. Over me.

The fates really were cruel… but not nearly as cruel as the male they’d chosen for me.

Chapter Ten

Lazarus

“Why the long face, angel boy?” Clara asked as she stood beside me on the back terrace. The smell of apple wafted from the steaming mug in her hands.

“Is that apple cider?”

“Yep. My own recipe. This island weather won’t stop me from enjoying my favorite winter beverages.” She took a drink before offering me the mug. “You want some?”

“Not after you’ve tainted it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can get His Highness a new cup untainted by my womanly germs.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Voices came from the open window behind me, followed by Michael’s booming laugh. Raiden had cooked dinner, and everyone now sat in Baxter’s dining room. Well, everyone apart from me and the witch.

“Suit yourself.” She lifted the mug back to her lips.

“Why are you out here?”

“Thought you might like the company.”

“What gave you that idea? In the time we’ve known each other, I’ve been nothing but unfriendly toward you.”

“I have a sense about people,” she said. “Despite your surly attitude, I’ve always gotten the sense there’s more to you. You hide from everyone. Call it witchy intuition or whatever.”