Page 121 of Wicked Believer

He doesn’t answer as he continues to circle me like he’s taking in the full measure of my worth and he’s unimpressed by what he sees.

“Looked your fill yet?” I cross my arms, the bit of fear and the remaining adrenaline at the sight of all that ash raining from the sky coursing through me.

He comes to a stop, his cold eyes still watching me. “No.”

I blush, looking away quickly. I don’t have time for this.

“I need to go make some calls. Use Apollyon’s resources to try and help. I need to—”

“I already told you, it’s too late for them,” he says, like he feels nothing for the billions of people who are now displaced, in danger, or worse, dead. “If you want to help them, your time is best spent here.”

I eye him skeptically. I don’t know why I choose to believe him, but some base, primal part of me tells me he wouldn’t lie to me.

I can’t say the same for Lucifer.

“So, you’re my new trainer then?” I ask weakly.

“More of a watchdog,” he grumbles.

“And what’s youractualname?”

“Azrael.”

“Azrael?” I repeat.

Something in my mind clicks into place.

Azrael. Angel of—

Death.

My spine runs cold.

He reallyisDeath.

I stagger a little, the ground beneath me suddenly unsteady. “Are you ... one of Lucifer’s siblings?”

He chuckles like I’ve just said something amusing. “Not even close.” He stalks around me then, watching me the same way I’m watching him.

If looks could kill—and maybe his can?—I’ddefinitelybe dead right now, based on how he’s glaring at me, but then I remember how unexpectedly gentle he was when he cradled me in his arms, allowed me to fall apart against him before he used his powers to cloud my memory, and I can’t help but wonder if ...

No. No, of course not.

Though he’s definitely as beautiful.

I swallow, sinking into the distraction his presence provides from the chaos around me.

Holy smokes.

A thin white scar cuts through his right eyebrow, severing it in two, and I’m almost ballsy enough to ask him how he got it, but then I open and close my mouth a few times, like my brain can’t seem to find the right words, until finally ...

“We already have an Az,” I mutter lamely, my thoughts turning to the drunk party-girl antics he witnessed the other night.

My face flames with heat.

I don’t like the idea of this guy seeing me that way. And that’s twice now he’s seen me at my worst.

Three if you count—