My hand trembles, every muscle tensed as I move the blade closer, the silence broken only by my ragged breaths. With one last gesture, I put the blade back to his throat, where it belongs, and I’m about to whisper his final new name.
“But you wanted me to!”
He screams, and I stop, the spell I’m under lifting a little. He actually screams. The Professor doesn’t scream. He’s too cynical for emotions. Yet, he does it this time. I look at him for thefirst time with a semi-clear mind, and I see it. A broken man, just as broken as I am. No, that is not accurate. A man who does not understand what the fuck is going on, just like I don’t understand.
There is a hint of confusion in his eyes, but also something else. Every time the Professor looked at me in the past, there was always a barrier up, like he was denying me from truly understanding what was going on in his brain. But this time, I see everything. And above it all, I see the defeat. He’s accepted whatever this is.I’m the one who didn’t.
I drop the knife on the kitchen island, useless now. Suddenly, I’m tired. Too tired to fight him, too tired to listen to him and way too tired to understand. The adrenaline that was keeping me together just seconds ago is now flowing out of my body and all I want is to see him gone so I can go back to my wine, get shit-faced drunk and spend the rest of eternity in my bed.
I take a few steps back, moving to the counter and grabbing the wine bottle.
I don’t need to talk to him. I don’t need to listen to whatever he has to say. All I need is my house, my bed, and a world where Azrael isn’t present.
“Seriously? You almost killed me and now you’re pretending I’m not even here?” His voice cracks. “You’re not even going to askwhyI’m here?”
“I really don’t care. Just make sure you replace my door.”
“Stop this.”
Oh, the audacity. How dare he? I look at him, but that defeated expression doesn’t sit well with me, so I look away.
“I’m trying, but you just don’t want to leave.” I answer, while grabbing my wine, because yes, I’m not above pretending I’m just bored if it keeps me safe.
“Bullshit. At least tell me you are done. That I fucked up because you felt something. Fuck, tell me something, anything.Just don’t run away,” he demands, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.
His voice is almost pleading.
I open my mouth, trying to say something, but no sound comes out. How am I supposed to tell him, when I’ve prohibited myself from admitting it in my head?
After what feels like eternity, I gather the strength to say my final piece.
“You fucked up, Azrael. Yoursomethingruined my job. So no, thank you. I’m out. Out and done. Rule one.” I’m not even sad, or mad, or enraged. My voice comes out monotonous, and I can feel the numbness invading my body once again.
It’s over, I’ve done it. I’ve given up.
I take the bottle and start walking to the door, ready to immerse myself in my self-proclaimed pity party again. The bottle is half full, and I’m half alive.
“Go home, Azrael,” I say over my shoulder, with a hand on the doorknob.
But does he do what he is told? Of course not.
“Fuck it.” That’s all I hear before my body is pressed to the door.
His hand catches my wrist and presses his body against mine. Everything I’ve pushed down for weeks resurfaces in a tidal wave and I can feel it deep in my core.
“You’re breaking the rules,” I try to argue, but my body betrays me, moving closer to him until there’s no space left between us. I want to push him away, to bite, to do anything but this, but even my brain hates to admit how much I need this.
“No, little ember,” he whispers next to my ear. “I’m rewriting them.”
And for one breathless moment, we stand at the edge of the abyss, one built on brilliance and brutality and every goddamn emotion we cannot name.
CHAPTER 22
VICTORIA
He bites me.
My shoulder, my neck, my fucking jaw—every inch of skin he can reach, while still pinning me to the doorframe. I’m not supposed to moan or move my body closer to him, but I do both.