Azagoth by Larissa Ione

Author:Larissa Ione [Ione, Larissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: grim reaper, 1001 Dark Nights, Larissa Ione, Paranormal, demons, Erotic romance, Demonica, angels
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Inc.
Published: 2014-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Azagoth didn’t know how long they laid on his couch, bodies tangled together as they caught their breath, but eventually, Lilliana, her head on his chest, began to trace lazy circles on his abs. The intimacy of it—of all of this—left him in a state of awe and, truth be told, anxiety. Somehow, she was drawing emotion out of him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how damaging that could be.

“Azagoth?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you volunteer for this job?” Postcoital drowsiness permeated her voice, and he experienced a flicker of male pride that he was responsible. “To lose your angelic status and live among demons?”

He shrugged, knocking one of the pillows off the sofa. “Someone had to do it.”

“Bullshit.” Her fingers skated over his rib cage in an almost playful sweep. “I might be young, but I know that no one sacrifices freedom without a good reason.”

He tucked one arm behind his head and gazed up at the wood-beamed ceiling. “Didn’t you read everything you could find about me before you decided to become my mate? Surely you had an entire term devoted to me in history class.”

“Three terms, actually.” She drew the number 3 on his sternum. “You’re quite the historical figure. The first term was devoted to your life as an angel known as Azrael and the events leading up to your expulsion, and the second and third terms were devoted to your life as Azagoth.”

“I got three terms?” He grinned. “Nice.”

But damn, the name Azrael brought back memories. And how odd was it that he preferred the memories he’d made as Azagoth over those that went with his Heavenly name?

“Yes, well,” she said, “the history I learned painted you as an entitled playboy who chose to lose his wings because he’d rather rule an empty kingdom than follow others in paradise.”

It figured that historians would twist the facts to fit whatever agenda they had. Angels were no more scrupulous than humans when it came to molding the truth into fact-based fiction.

“Then what’s the point of asking why I chose this life if you already know?”

“Because only a fool believes everything they read or are told.” She dragged the backs of her fingers up his sternum, and pleasant tingles followed in their wake. “So what’s the real story?”

He supposed he owed her the truth, given what she was committing to. It was just so strange to owe anyone. He was the one who usually held all the I.O.U.s.

“I did it because I was tired of feeling,” he said simply, because that’s what his long-ass story boiled down to in the end.

Pushing up onto one elbow, she frowned down at him. “Feeling what?”

“Everything.” He kept his gaze glued to a rough-cut beam overhead. “Did your history classes teach you that I was an empath?”

Her brow shot up. “But you were an interrogator with the Internal Corruption Investigation unit. Empaths aren’t allowed. How can you torture people if you can feel everything your subject feels?”

“At the time, no one knew I was an empath.

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