Page 76 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Sixty-Three

Lucifer

As soon as Charlotte and I are offstage after finishing our quaint little intro speech to appease all the guests, I make a beeline to Azrael.

I don’t need to see him to know he’s there, lurking in the wings.

I make certain he and I are alone, and that Charlotte is out of sight—unable to see us both from where she’s too busy with Sophie and the other members of our team fussing over her makeup as they prep her for our next onstage appearance in two minutes—before I reach out and grab Azrael by his invisible throat.

The outline of his large body flickers a few times before he comes into full being.

I will fucking throttle him for getting inside Charlotte’s head like this.

I slam him up against the nearest stage wall, baring my teeth, until he resumes his corporeal form. I slipped one of the museum’s stagehands a few thousand dollars to ensure my microphone was turned off whenever I’m offstage.

A bloody good investment.

“If you think I’m going to allow you to steal her from me easily, think again, lover .” I sneer the final word with all the derision I feel for him, a mocking gesture of what he used to be to me.

“That was never my intention,” he growls back.

I release him quickly as one of the museum staff comes trudging by.

Even I cannot strangle out of him whatever semblance of life somehow animates the Angel of Death, though right now I wish to, quite frankly.

Whatever this bloody onslaught of temptation is that he’s thrust upon my future wife, I will never forgive him for it.

Yet another reason he’ll have to hate me.

It’s hardly my fault I couldn’t love him in the way he deserved.

We were both abundantly clear from the start what we could and couldn’t be to one another. And though neither of us knew it at the time, I was bloody destined for someone else, obviously.

What I once felt for Azrael could never hold a candle to my devotion to Charlotte. Even if I do sometimes question what might have been different if my blasted Mother hadn’t molded Charlotte with the sole purpose of her being my future queen.

“Then why?” I hold Azrael’s cold, infinite gaze as if I can will the almighty Death to bow to my command. There once was a time I could, I’m afraid.

“I think you know,” Azrael says.

My eyes darken. “Enlighten me.”

And then he kisses me until I’m certain my lungs are no longer capable of consuming air.

Until I am reminded of all I was before Charlotte’s love ruined me.

Her love has made me soft in ways that could be life-threatening for us both.

“What the fuck was that?” I snarl as his lips leave mine, my surprise sounding more like anger than what I actually feel.

The doubt he’s created in me.

But neither of us are given a reprieve to answer that as Imani, Mia, and one of the stage managers come barreling up behind us.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Mia demands, before Imani can get a word in edgewise, though if either of them saw what just happened between Azrael and me, they give no indication of it.

Imani lifts a brow, and I scowl at her. I have half a mind to fire Mia right then and there for using that kind of tone at me, along with whatever petty human jab caused her to sow a seed of doubt about my loyalty to Charlotte.

The same kind Death has just now sown inside me.

The insolent little fuck.

“I thought she was with you.” I cast a surreptitious glance toward Azrael.

“She told us she was looking for you .” Imani’s eyes go wide. She exchanges worried looks with Mia and the museum’s stage manager. The museum employee mutters a few words into her headset, and chaos erupts in the gallery room that’s currently serving as backstage.

I know where Charlotte’s gone off to before we’ve even fully begun to search for her.

I close my eyes, sighing long and low. Her friend.

That’s what her quaint internal speech was all about.

She intends for her first true act of independence to be a heroic one.

I snarl . Bloody fuck.

I round upon Azrael. “Find her. Bring her back to me,” I growl as if he is still mine to command. For the first time since my brother stripped my abilities from me, I feel what it means to be well and truly powerless.

And I hate it. I hate that I must ask this of him.

I fucking hate it so bloody much that as soon as I have a hold of that insignificant Holy Lance, the real one, I will use it to torture Michael for the rest of eternity.

As soon as this whole charade is over, regaining what my brother has stolen from me will be my first and highest priority. Along with reclaiming Charlotte’s heart, of course.

My Father’s Armageddon can wait until I’m well and goddamn ready.

Azrael’s eyes go wide at the dominant tone of my command, but he doesn’t try to resist it. “I can’t, Lightbringer. If I were to leave your side ...”

My siblings and everyone present would know exactly how vulnerable Michael has made me.

If it weren’t for the trick, the distraction I have up my sleeve.

I attempt to snag Azrael by the throat again, but this time he’s ready for me, using my weight against me so that suddenly our positions are flipped.

I chuckle and lean into where he clutches me like I am still the one with the upper hand.

“If you truly mean what I think you do with that little kiss, Azrael, then allow me to make one thing abundantly clear.” I draw as close to him as I’m possibly able.

“You will choose her over me. Always. Starting now and for the rest of time. For infinity. She is all that matters, that is my one and only ask of you. Do I make myself clear?”

Azrael releases my throat as he swallows. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.

A feeling of satisfaction courses through me.

Death is under my command once again.

At least when it comes to this.

“Good,” I growl. “Then go find our girl, Reaper. Consequences be damned.”