Bastien nodded, pulling out the small leather book from his back pocket. “The first time we met the Sleeper, he gave me a list of ingredients to alchemize a spell for Tobias and Lynette. But one of the ingredients of the spell was a poison that I was unfamiliar with. Apparently, it was a concoction created by the original Alchemist, Annora. Her knowledge has been lost to the Reviled since the schism.”
Azrael frowned, staring down at the massive tome. “I didn’t want to mention it while the Sleeper was around, but Wilhelm asked me to retrieve that abacus from the vaults. She seemed desperate for it when we spoke.”
“Wilhelm is an ambitious woman,” Bastien replied. “She wants to see the Reviled reputation restored, and that artifact may very well provide leverage that she desperately wants. She must be seeking ways to help the Reviled carve themselves from obscurity.”
“She’ll have my full cooperation,” I interjected. “Now that I am to take Sancha’s mantle, I find myself in a position to bring about real change. I hope I’ve made it clear where I stand in this asinine feud. I would be glad to see it buried in my lifetime.”
“Your people will not join you in that notion,” Bastien countered.
“Some will not,” I agreed. “But most will follow when they see that it is the will of the Source. Most would rather die than turn their back on their faith.”
“Do you think it will work?” Azrael asked Bastien. “This spell given by the Sleeper?”
Bastien scratched his chin. “I find it far more convincing with Annora’s compendium to back it up. To be quite honest, I’ve exhausted all other fronts. If this Sleeper is who he claims to be, then I would be a fool to doubt his knowledge.”
“But what if he isn’t?” Azrael questioned.
“Then this poison may work as originally intended.”
The statement hung over us like a miasma, thick and heavy.
“I trust you, Bast,” I said, tracing my fingers down his arm. “If you deem this is the best chance we have, then I say we go for it. Besides, there’s nothing stopping us from trying it on Lenny first, right?”
He grinned at that, shaking his head. “That’s sick, even for you. But you’re right. It could be her penance for the damage she wrought.”
Azrael did not share in our morbid humors.
“And if she does not wake?”
For once, Bastien did not have an answer. His jaw clenched tight, the heat of his gaze falling to the scar on my chest. He reached for it then, gently tracing a cool finger across the heated flesh. A shiver rippled down my spine. Despite the deep exhaustion that permeated my bones, the flames of desire still stirred within me, stoked by his touch.
I took his hand in mine, leading it slowly up to my face where I planted a soft kiss on the palm of his hand, then pressed it to my cheek. His golden eyes watched me then, a hunger building beneath the cautious composure as the tether between us sprang into existence, drawing him closer. His breath stuttered as he slotted into the space between my legs, my thighs quickly pressing against either side of him to keep him ensnared as long as I could.
“You need to recover,” he said, though he didn’t sound so convinced himself.
“My body is healed,” I replied, nuzzling my cheek against his palm once more. “And this is doing wonders for my spirit.”
Azrael shifted in his spot beside me, and I glanced over, finding him watching with wide, violet eyes. Pulling away from Bastien’s touch, I leaned closer to Azrael, pausing just before our noses collided.
“If you’re conflicted, Bastien, you could always watch.”
Bastien froze in place, his lingering stare dragging over the two of us. He didn’t protest, so I ran my fingers through the hair on the back of Azrael’s head before pulling him into my kiss. I felt the sharp twinge of a fang as his lips parted, hot breath mingling with my own. Even after battle and bloodshed, he smelled of pine and earth. A hand wrapped around my hip, the other resting firmly on my knee.
I broke away after a moment, breathless in the heat of the moment, to find Bastien in a chair, facing the desk. His arms were folded across his chest, legs spread wide. When we made eye contact, he gave me a short nod, and I knew exactly what he was asking.
“Azrael,” I said, turning back to the man seated beside me on the desk. The lightest rumble coming from his chest made it sound like he was purring. “Would you like to put on a little show?”
Recognition clicked behind his violet eyes, and he nodded, his grip on me tightening.
“Right then. Curtains up.”
Azrael was far more excitable than I anticipated.
As the tether between us materialized, his mouth drifted from mine almost immediately, planting gentle kisses along the slope of my neck. Did he know that was my weakness? Maybe I’d somehow communicated it through our connection without realizing. Or maybe he was more intuitive than I gave him credit for. Either way, as the sharp scrape from his fangs ran across the sensitive flesh of my collarbone, I jolted, heat quickly pooling in my core and my cock straining against my undergarments.
“Gods,” I muttered, running fingers through waves of his lavender hair as he continued his work. Looking up, I watched Bastien as he snapped his fingers, a shower of green sparks falling to the floor as a decanter floated into view from the table across the room, followed by a short glass. He poured himself a drink, not once taking his eyes off me.
Azrael’s fingers worked the buttons of my tattered vestments, peeling away the layers till he reached the unblemished flesh underneath. His attention drifted then, kisses migrating down my chest to settle over one of the stiffened peaks. He bit down gently, sending a shockwave of sensation through me, and as histongue lapped the same space, that heat in my core started to boil, my cheeks growing flushed.
