To my surprise, an incredibly handsome man steps out of the darkness I was just about to brave, his hands resting loosely in the pockets of his black slacks. His brown hair is a couple of shades darker than mine, and his eyes are more green than gray.
“W-who are you?” I stammer, automatically taking a step back. The backs of my legs hit the bed’s edge, and I stumble, awkwardly planting my ass on the mattress.
The man sighs like my question bothers him. I think it’s a reasonable one. “I am… the son of a fallen angel. You can call me Az.”
“Az,” I repeat, testing the short name. “Where am I? What am I doing here? Is this where you live?”
The man—male?—smirks, his lips curling sinfully. “So many questions, Simone,” he says with a low purr.
My hair stands on end, my hands itching to go to throwing stars I don’t have on me. “How do you know my name? What do you want from me?”
Az moves closer, sauntering to a chair by the low table that used to be covered with food. He looks at the mess I left behind, then picks up a grape I somehow missed, popping it into his mouth. Infuriatingly, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to answer me.
“I heard your friends calling you by that name,” he finally says, his stunning eyes steady as they hold mine prisoner. “It’s a beautiful name.”
I shudder at the sensual whisper. This man is a walking seduction. Sex on legs, as Jessica would say.
I shake my head, trying to break the spell he has me under. “When did you hear them call me that?”
Az stretches out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Some months ago now, I suppose. To those born in Hell, time holds little meaning.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to decipher everything he’s saying or, more importantly, not saying.
“So you’ve learned my name some time ago. And now you… helped me after I was attacked?”
My fingers reach for the burn on my cheek, but Az just shakes his head once, sharply, and freezes me in place.
“Something like that,” he replies with a small smile. Though it doesn’t show his teeth, it feels distinctly predatory. “You were disoriented. Stumbling around. Hungry, thirsty. Weak.”
Every word feels like a thrown rock, and I flinch through the description. I should be dead. It’s a miracle I survived. Or… was it Az?
I clear my throat, my hand stroking the silky duvet underneath me. “Well, thank you for bringing me here. And leaving all thatfood.” I watch with mounting trepidation as he tilts his head. I think he knows what I’m about to say. “But could you perhaps help me find my way back to Abaddon now? My trainers will be worried.”
“Your trainers,” he echoes impassively.
“I… Yes,” I say awkwardly. “Surely you know them? The Fallen of Abaddon?”
Now his smile reveals even, white teeth. “Oh, I know them. Tell me, Simone.” He leans back and steeples his fingers across his stomach. My gaze goes there involuntarily, and I’m mortified to find myself staring at the bulge tenting his slacks.
Oh my god.
“Did you hear what I asked?”
Quickly, I lift my eyes to meet his. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you really want to return to Purgatory, little fairy,” Az replies with a wide, knowing grin stretching his lips.
I blink at him. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my home now.”
He shudders dramatically. “Bland food, bland angels, bland mortals. Everything is gray and?—”
“Bland?” I ask wryly.
Az gives me a slow smile before nodding. “Exactement.”
“You speak French?” I ask, surprised and just a little delighted. Since I was brought to Hell, I’ve only heard it from myself.
“Naturellement,” he replies, inclining his head. It makes his hair fall to the front and caress his unlined forehead. A small part of me feels jealous. It’s the only part of the dreamer Simone that survived, with the majority of my parts no longer trusting my choices in romantic interests. “I speak every language you can think of.”
