“You’re not here to make war,” he whispered in my ear, hands pressed against mine hard enough to hurt. “Find the part of you that is drawn to him. Be gentle, coax it out.”
My magic was thorns, lashes, blades. It wanted to bite and tear and rend everything in my path.
Underneath it, a small coil of magic so small I might’ve overlooked it peered back at me, almost hopefully.
I let the thorns and blades slide away and reached out to it, beckoning gently. Against the dark fire, it seemed as wispy and pale as a phantom, but it brightened as I drew closer, allowing it to slide through my fingers.
“There it is,” Azazel breathed.
I opened my eyes. My hands were lit with bright white fire, but it didn’t burn like the darkness.
The wounds on Lucifer knit and scarred under the blood, his wing twitching as muscles bound themselves back together.
I couldn’t let my concentration waver for a single second. The white fire leaped gleefully from the fingertips into Lucifer’s battered body, but the dark fire was only a step behind, raring to be unleashed.
Lucifer’s ragged, gurgling breaths slowly eased into a steadier rhythm.
Azazel didn’t release me until the white healing fire had stopped racing through the fallen angel, rushing back into my hands when its job was done.
The pressure left my hands and I exhaled, suddenly dizzy, and slumped against Azazel. He slid an arm around my waist, holding me upright.
Tears of relief and exhaustion pricked the backs of my eyes. I stroked Lucifer’s side with my fingertips, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of a body no longer threatening to go cold.
Before Azazel picked me up and carried me from the room, I leaned forward and rested my face against the small of Lucifer’s back, giving praise to any deity who would listen.
He was still alive.
Azazel closed the door behind us quietly, the lines of tension gone from his face. I reached up and touched the corner of his mouth as he carried me through Blackchapel, smoothing away one of the remaining lines.
“You could’ve healed him,” I said quietly. “Don’t tell me you don’t have that power.”
“I do, and I did.” Azazel turned his head a fraction so his lips touched my fingers. They were still bloody, but he either didn’t care or didn’t notice. “I kept him from breathing his last before I fetched you.”
“Before you almost lost control.” I swallowed back my anger before I could spit any more vitriol.
Azazel’s eyes were shadowed. He brought me out to a balcony, the clean air washing away the copper scent that still lingered in my nose. “Yes.”
His soft agreement wiped away my anger. “But Lucifer was dying,” I whispered.
The Watcher settled me on the balustrade, his hands on my hips, still standing between my parted knees. His brow was furrowed. “There is a void inside me,” he said.
“Vyra told me. You gave part of your soul to keep her safe.”
Azazel nodded slowly. “It wasn’t without consequence. There are times… times when it becomes hungry. For sex, blood, fighting… and it’s almost impossible to fight it. It wants something to fill it, but it can never be filled. And it doesn’t matter who it hurts. My own sister- or my oldest friend- could lay dying in front of me, but when the hunger takes over… it doesn’t matter. It brings every primal instinct to the surface, and takes every drop of willpower I have to push them back down.”
“Like a Nephilim.”
“Somewhat,” he said, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind my ear. “The Nephilim have an inherent rage. They’re nearly unstoppable when they’re taken over by their inner monster. What I have is just an endless hunger that’s always bent on consuming what it wants. It’s a weakness, not a strength.”
I couldn’t be angry with him even for delaying our arrival to Lucifer. Azazel had given a part of himself to keep someone he loved from harm. “Does this mean… I should stay away from you?”
“Perhaps that wouldn’t be a terrible idea,” he mused. His eyes were as distant as the stars when he gazed out at the misty fields. “If I were no longer around you, nobody would lay dying while I fought my own baser desires.”
Hearing an affirmation spoken aloud hurt more than I’d expected. I toyed with a silver button on his shirt, not looking up to meet his eyes. “But if you were no longer around me, you’d still have the hunger regardless, wouldn’t you?”
Azazel’s fingers slid under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I would. So there’s really no point in staying away from me, is there, Melisande?”
It was impossible to tell if it was Azazel or the seduction of the void speaking… or maybe they were one and the same. “No point at all.”
He blinked, and jerked his eyes away. They’d taken on an almost hypnotic quality, holding me in his thrall like a snake-charmer.
“Which is why you must understand your magic. I never believed I would be the weak link in the chain.” He scoffed bitterly. “Yet here we are. I’m subject to the whims of a hole in my heart that would allow my best friend to die. If I’m… incapable of doing what needs to be done, then you must be the one.”
“Azazel.” I grabbed his hand from under my chin, lacing my fingers through his. “Have you ever tried filling the hole?”
It was a ridiculous question, true. Most of the scholars on Old Earth believed the soul was a finite thing. If you tore a soul into pieces, was it multiple souls? Could each of them grow into a new one? Or was it only ever a single shredded remnant of what once was?
It was the only hope I could think of.
“By obeying its hunger? No. Satan already has a grasp on me. I’d prefer not to let him have what
