But first?—
I reach for him, fingers threading through his dark hair as I pull his mouth down to mine. The kiss tastes like goodbye and eternity both, desperate and hungry and completely reckless. For one heartbeat, he remains rigid against me.
Then his control shatters.
His arms crush me against his chest, kissing me back with equal force. Like he's trying to memorize the shape of my mouth, the way I gasp when his teeth catch my lower lip. The celestial chains across his shoulders flare bright enough to see through his shirt, burning against my palms.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks, salt mingling between our lips. I don't apologize for them. Don't pull away.
"I love you." The confession breaks from my throat raw and honest. "I love you, Azrath."
His forehead drops against mine, breath shuddering. "And I love you, little flower."
He steps back, the warmth of his touch vanishing like smoke. The change in him is immediate—shoulders straightening, jaw setting into the hard lines of infernal authority. When his hand moves, shadows gather around his fingers like obedient servants.
The blade materializes from nothing, black steel that seems to devour light altogether. Covenant sigils spiral along its edge in burning script, ancient words that make my teeth ache to look upon. The weapon hums with power that raises the hair on my arms, a sound like distant thunder trapped in metal.
My breath catches. This isn't the ceremonial dagger he used for our original contract—this is something else entirely. Something that whispers of finality.
"Azrath?" My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
He raises the blade with deliberate precision, bringing it to rest just beneath my jaw. The metal kisses my skin—cold as winter stone, sharp enough to part silk. My pulse hammers against the edge, each heartbeat a reminder of how fragile flesh proves against infernal steel.
Shock floods my body like ice water. The careful distance he's placed between us. The formal weight in his posture. The way hisgolden eyes hold no recognition of the woman who shared his bed mere hours ago.
This isn't symbolic. This is collection.
"I will now collect on this contract." His voice carries across the garden with the authority of cosmic law, each syllable carved from granite. "The price of your life is your soul becoming mine. You, my mate, are bound to me now. For every day your heart beats, it is mine. The breath you breathe is mine. Your life... your soul... is mine. On this, I collect."
The blade presses deeper against my throat without breaking skin. My lungs seize, refusing to draw air as the weight of his words settles over me like a shroud.
Fire erupts.
Infernal script blazes to life around us in a perfect circle, flames that burn without heat but sear themselves into my vision. The ancient words spiral upward, weaving through the air in patterns that hurt to follow. Power crashes through my body—not pain exactly, but force so overwhelming it threatens to tear me apart at the seams.
I gasp, back arching as heat floods my chest and spreads outward like molten gold through my veins. The ground trembles beneath my feet. Every flower in the garden bows as if pressed down by invisible hands, petals scattering on winds that taste of sulfur and starlight.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I believe this is death. That I'm dissolving, becoming nothing more than ash and memory.
Then the surge stabilizes, settling into my bones like it belongs there.
The blade dissolves between one breath and the next. The fire fades to ember-glow, then nothing. I remain standing, swaying but whole, lungs working frantically to replace the air I forgot to breathe.
My palm suddenly burns—a brand of heat that makes me cry out. I look down to see fresh sigils etched into my skin, silver lines that match the ones forming across Azrathiel's chest where his shirt has burned away.
The mark pulses once, twice—then settles into steady warmth.
My fingers fly to my throat, pressing against skin that should be torn open, searching for wounds that aren't there. The flesh feels warm, unmarked save for the phantom memory of cold steel.
"I thought I was supposed to die," I whisper, voice cracking on the words.
Azrathiel steps forward, the rigid formality bleeding from his posture like water from cracked stone. His eyes soften, gold flecks catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the garden's canopy.
"Claiming a life does not require ending it." He reaches toward me, then stops, hands hovering as if he's afraid I might shatter. "A soul can be taken into possession and bound—not extinguished."
My heart shudders behind my ribcage as understanding dawns. "Bound how?"
"Under covenant law, your life now belongs to me." His voice reverberates as if coming from ancient scripture, but his expression remains gentle. "Every breath you draw, every beat of your heart—mine to command, mine to protect."