Page 34 of Grave Revelations (Prophecies of Angels and Demons #3)

Chapter 33

Azazel

Azazel dug his fingers into his chest, trying to reach the fading ember inside. She was dying. Dying. And he was stuck in this God-forsaken realm.

He wrapped his fingers around the chair to Samael’s left—crude onyx and blue with a right-side-up triangle bisected by a line—and tore it from the stone, hurling it against the wall.

“Release me, or so help me, I will end you!” he roared, chest heaving.

Samael sighed dramatically as though he were a doting father to an unruly child. “Mahazael, get your brother under control.”

Mahazael, formerly Sariel, rose from his throne, raising placating palms. “Brother, you can save her. Accept your place and go to her.”

Azazel balled his clawed fingers into a fist and punched the Second Prince of Hell in the face. He paced away, not waiting to see if Mahazael would respond. Another stabbing tear in his chest sent him to his knees.

“If she dies, we will be separated for all eternity,” Azazel said, dropping his head into his hands. “Please. Let me go to her.”

Samael stood, the chain that followed him dragging behind slow footsteps. “You can go to her right now. If,” he said, circling Azazel, “you accept your place.”

Azazel stared at the crumbling stone throne in the room's corner. Rebecca’s pulsing life- force dimmed.

“Yes. I accept.”

Samael’s deep booming laugh reverberated off the walls as the throne righted itself, sliding over stone and stopping beside Samael’s.

The ember pulsed once more, weakly. She was calling out to him through their bond, but he hadn’t answered. He slammed his fist into the earth.

The throne glowed a bright, blinding blue, and the triangle at its center pulsed once as Azazel felt himself dragged to it. He skidded into the chair, power rolling over him, slithering into every facet of his being. Millions of souls, feeding the energy of this realm, pounded into him, no longer a dull trickle. No longer siphoned through his brother.

He stiffened as the energy reverberated along his very being and into the chair. A conduit. Storage for when he chose to use it. When the process was complete, he launched from the throne, thought of the place he wanted to be, and flew through the portal to Earth.

He glared around the room, taking in dozens of yellow eyes blinking at him. In the center, stretched out across an altar like some sacrificial lamb, was his other half.