Leaving her to play sentry, I headed back toward the campfire and found a spot to curl up. The ground was hard and cold, and damn, how the heck was I ever going to get to sleep? Heat pressed against my back, curling around me and slipping over my waist.
Azazel.
A mournful howl painted the night somewhere to the east. My body tensed and the phantom pressure of Azazel’s arm around my waist increased a fraction.
It’s all right. We’re safe. They won’t venture out of the warping.
I’d heard tales of such a place, fantastical stories of creatures that defied both science and magick, but they were just tall tales because no one had ever met anyone who’d physically been into that part of the Outlands. No one even seemed to know exactly where it was. Azazel was spinning a yarn, like the ones he’d whispered to me in our cave home years ago.
I turned my head slightly toward him. “The warping isn’t real.”
A low chuckle. Many wish it wasn’t, and only a fool would venture into the haze surrounding that place. It has no fixed location but is a place displaced, and right now we must skirt it to get to our destination. But we have several safe routes, so there is no need to fear.
My mind and body were too hungry for sleep to feel fear, and the tension seeped out of my muscles.
Sleep. You will need your strength. I will keep watch over your friends.
Yes. Azazel didn’t sleep. He didn’t need to. Which brought me back to the question that I’d never asked for fear of losing him. I bit it back now out of habit, but it rang clear as a bell in my mind.
What was he? What was Azazel?
Will you dream of me?
His whispered words followed me into slumber, into the dank cave we’d called home, and into a memory that still brought a flush of shame to my cheeks.
The boy lay with his eyes closed. He was angry and upset with me because I’d made him feel bad for being corporal. The man he’d killed had been beating a dog, but still, murder was murder. He refused to see it that way, calling it vigilante justice. The dog had bled to death not long after the man had gasped his last.
Azazel lay silent beside me now. He said he wasn’t upset with me, that my cutting words didn’t matter, but they did. I knew they did. We’d been fighting more and more recently, and he’d taken to sleeping on the other side of the cave on more occasions than not. Although when I woke up in the night, he’d be beside me, his forever warmth wrapped around me like a blanket. I’d be afraid to move. Afraid he’d realize I was awake and withdraw again.
“Azazel, I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper.
His chest rose and fell in a sigh, but he didn’t answer.
I reached out and placed my hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up beneath my palm. “Hey, you could accept my apology, you know. You’re meant to be the older, wiser one, remember?”
The corners of his mouth lifted sardonically. “You’re no longer a child, Anya. You’re old enough to pick your words more carefully.”
My cheeks heated because his jibe reminded me of the changes to my body, the curves that had appeared overnight, and the pain of the curse that had started months ago.
“Fine. I’ll be more careful.”
He opened his eyes and speared me with fire. “I did what was right.”
I swallowed hard and nodded because that dog, that poor dog, had a right to live too. On impulse I reached up to caress his cheek in apology. His breath exploded from his lips in a sharp exhalation, and then his eyes fluttered closed. Physical contact that people took for granted was a rarity between us. My chest tight, I trailed my fingers across his forehead, stopping at the base of his horns. They’d grown over the past month, from nubs of around three inches to almost twice the size. They curved away from his face, smooth, beautiful, probably lethal. My fingers ached to touch them, to know what they felt like, and on impulse I did just that. Tentatively, reverently, I ran my fingers over their bony ridges.
Azazel’s body tensed and a low moan escaped his parted lips. Something inside me leapt at that sound, pouncing on it like a cat chasing a dapple of sunlight. I curled my hand around the horn, caressing its length and running my thumb over the blunt tip.
A growl vibrated in Azazel’s chest, low and hungry and deliciously terrifying. Heat pooled in my belly, unfamiliar yet strangely compelling.
His eyes snapped open and this time there was only darkness, obsidian and devastating. My breath hitched and my heart stuttered. This was something new, something primal, something I wasn’t ready for. His hand whipped up to grab my wrist, and he wrenched my hand away before vanishing in a swirl of shadow.
He appeared across the cave a moment later, his back to me, shoulders heaving.
I’d done something wrong. “Azazel?”
“Don’t ever do that again.” His voice was alien, harsh and guttural, and real fear skated up my spine to grip my scalp with lethal talons. “Promise me,” he demanded.
I’d hurt him. I’d hurt him by touching his horns, and it had felt good to me. My stomach roiled with nausea. “I promise.”
“Anya? Anya, I’m hungry.” A small hand patted my cheek and sweet breath ruffled the hair at my crown. It was a familiar tiny hand, one I’d woken up to find tangled in my hair on more than one occasion.
Gemma patted me again. “Anya.” Her tone was soft and plaintive.
“Okay, okay, I’m up.” I yawned and opened my eyes, buying time to figure out what the heck I’d be feeding them for breakfast.
“Gemma, you want a biscuit?” June held up a cloth bundle. “I packed some of your favorites.”
“The oaty ones?” Gemma’s face lit up in anticipation.
“Yep,” June said.
Gemma scampered off toward the big sister offering to feed her.
I mouthed thank you over Gemma’s tousled head and June shot me a smile. I loved these kids, but if it were left up to me to remember to feed them three meals a day they’d starve. The whole maternal thing just wasn’t in my genes. June, on the other hand, was a natural. Neddie followed Gemma over to June, but Stefan remained curled in a ball. That tyke would sleep forever if allowed.
At fifteen, June was the oldest of the kids. Then Stefan, who was ten, and finally the six-year-old twins, Neddie and Gemma.
Helgi threw some dried beef my way. “Chew on that and get your arse in gear. Vesper seems to think we can make it to the Furtherlands by nightfall if we move all day.”
“What about fuel?”
“Half a tank,” Helgi said. “But with you guys in the air we should be golden.”
I pulled back my hair and straightened my clothes. Azazel wasn’t nearby. Now that he was free from Illyrian’s enchantment, I’d have sensed if he were, so, where was he? My heart lurched with panic. What if he was gone again?
“Anya? You all right? You’ve gone all pale.” Helgi scrutinized me with hawk-eyed regard.
“I’m fine. Just tired.” I glanced across at the mercs standing near Vixen, passing around a water bottle.
Azazel would be fine. He could handle himself. “Where’s Vesper?”
Helgi jerked her head to the east. “He said there’s a watering hole that way. He took the rest of the water bottles to fill up.”