Page 257 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
Ask him what happened between him and my mother.
Did my mother truly die of a broken heart, or was it something more nefarious?
And did he have anything to do with it?
How could he have not even had the integrity to attend his owl soulbound’s ascension?
Why didn’t he want to raise me himself after her death?
Would I have truly been such a burden?
“I need to kill him myself.”
The ensuing anxiety pulls me out of bed to pace, as it does Levi who rises shortly after.
Shadow Azrael’s features soften. “And so you shall, sweet seraphim. I’ll just be there to ensure your protection and success.”
Wearing a concerned expression, Azrael studies me as he draws in a deep breath.
“In the meantime?—”
Shadow Azrael interjects. “We only have two days to prepare.”
Two days.
Hellish fuck.
My heart leaps into my throat.
That’s so soon...toosoon.
“We can’t both be called Azrael. It’s hardly pragmatic. And we’re at an impasse because neither of us wish to relinquish our right to the infamous forename, and we don’t have middle names or a surname, so we agreed to allow you two to decide.”
I heave a sigh. “I can’t fathom calling you anything other than Azrael.”
Azrael looks pleased.
A soft grin teases my lips. “Or darling. Or angel. Or pet.”
He practically preens.
Shadow Azrael, on the other hand, glowers. “That’s hardly fair.”
My grin withers. “I suppose it’s not, no, but it’s hard not to experience a little cognitive dissonance, regardless of the reality of the situation.”
Shadow Azrael’s gaze slides to Levi as if seeking support.
Levi’s face remains impassive even as he provides a suggestion. “There’s a Latin name with a similar meaning...Lazarus. It’s also befitting, considering in religious texts, he was brought back to life.”
Shadow Azrael seems to ponder this, only looking mildly displeased. “All the more reason he should take the name, considering it was his body that rose from the dead.”
Azrael grumbles something unintelligible.
Shadow Azrael rolls his eyes. “But if you really insist on being such a petty bitch about something as trivial as a name, then I suppose it will suffice.”
It’s almost comical for Azrael—all nigh-seven feet of him and his rippling muscles oozing easygoing, yet disarmingly charming charisma—to be referred to as a petty bitch.
Azrael’s grin turns feline. “Thank you, darling. I knew you’d see reason.”
