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CHAPTER9
Ahouse of cards, just like Micah said. Only, unlike how his supportive brother meant it, the relationship he had with Becca must’ve been a true house of cards.
Flimsy.
No foundation.
Why else would she have run away like that?
No.
No.
Raze refused to fault Becca for her reaction. The only one to blame was him and how he never should’ve kept the truth from her in the first place. Then, after making it seem as if what they had was nothing but a quick fling, was he really so surprised that she didn’t take the prospect of being stuck with his selfish angel ass for the rest of eternity all that well?
Yeah, right.
Raze gave her ten minutes. Ten minutes to be alone, to gather her thoughts, to, as she put it, “get some air”. He felt pretty generous giving her those ten minutes, and if it was really only eight before he threw open her door and chased after her, who was really counting?
He raced toward the elevator, jabbing the button repeatedly until it finally arrived on the thirteenth floor. A pair of British vampires—leftovers from the vampire emissary from London who decided to stay in the City of Sin a few weeks longer—took one look at Raze, then politely exited the elevator so that the bristling angel had the car all to himself.
Since the thirteenth floor was closer to the ground than it was the penthouse, he went down. He figured it was the same way Becca would’ve gone, too, and if he needed to take flight, he could always launch from the sidewalk as easily as he could from the rooftop once he released his wings.
A part of Raze hoped that she would be right outside, waiting for him to come after her. He tried not to be disappointed when he was unable to spot her blood-red hair among all the tourists milling about, gawking at the skyscraper of a hotel. Even though they weren’t officially bonded yet since he hadn’t claimed her body and soul, Raze could still follow the tie between them to go after his soulmate. It was the same way he was able to always track her down anywhere in the casino during one of her shifts. He instinctively knew where she was.
She’d gone east. Hoping he could overtake her without resorting to his wings, Raze headed off in the same direction.
He’d gone about ten steps when, out of nowhere, the bond just… disappeared. Trying desperately not to dwell on just what that could mean, he shoved his trembling hands in his pockets, pushing past all the tourists meandering their way down the Strip. It was dark out, but like New York, Las Vegas never truly slept. Neon lights, headlights, flashing lights… he was able to see exactly where he was going.
There was no sign of Becca anywhere, no matter how far he went.
Raze’s aura flared when he caught the hint of sulfur. Two street lights pop-ped as he stormed by them, his celestial aura catching them in the crosshairs. Glass shattered on the pavement behind him, but Raze didn’t give a shit.
Though Las Vegas definitely had its days when it reeked, the scent of rotten eggs was so much worse—though maybe that’s because Raze knew exactly what caused it.
Brimstone.
Becca was missing, and the path she had taken out of the hotel intersected with a bloom of sulfur lingering in the hot air.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened—or an angel, either.
Raze stopped short, spinning around. With his angelic senses, he could just trace Becca to this spot. She might’ve gone a few steps further, but her innate aura lingered just under the sulfur. Worse, he recognized the nerves that tainted her essence.
Something happened.
Something not good.
Without even giving them the order, his wings burst from his back; good thing that he’d tracked Becca to an alleyway where no one else dared to tread or he might have clipped anyone standing nearby with them. He was alone, but that wouldn’t be the case for long.
Whatever happened to Becca, he’d get her back.
Unless—
“Raziel.”
Raze turned again, facing what had been a brick wall—an empty spot in front of a brick wall—only moments ago. As he did, he flared his wings at the familiar, cultured voice.
No one ever called him by that name; at least, not to his face. To use an angel’s true name inferred that you held power over them. As the years passed, Raze refused to answer to anything except his chosen nickname. Even though it was common knowledge that his angelic name was Raziel, unless they wanted to risk his wrath, they stuck with Raze.
