Azrael's Nemesis

Chapter Five

“I told you not to bring her here! She’s not ready! How do you think I felt when you kidnapped me?” A voice, beautiful and musical, pulls me out of the dark.

“I don’t think you minded when I had you pinned against the wall less than twelve hours later,” the man—ghost—angel—replies, smug and unrepentant.

“You insufferable jerk!”

“I stay away from the more questionable stuff.”

“Your mate just woke up. Have fun explaining everything to a daughter of three gods,” a deeper masculine voice cuts in, amused.

“Shut up, Lucifer! Are you begging to keep your streak of celibacy going?” the woman snaps back.

…Lucifer? Not the cartoon villain. The actual Lucifer?

“Both of you. Out.” Azrael’s voice is sharp, commanding. Two sets of footsteps retreat, followed by a door slamming with enough force to rattle the frame.

“I know you’re awake, sweetheart.” His voice draws closer, smooth as silk, rough as gravel.

I push myself upright, brushing off the dizziness. My eyes lock with his, and he stiffens under the glare I throw at him.

“All right, wise guy. You’re going to tell me where I am and how to get back home. Then we part ways and live happily ever after—separately.”

His mouth quirks, half amusement, half challenge. “Well, princess, you’re on Mount Olympus. The Greek gods’ version of heaven. The true heaven—where God and most angels reside—is elsewhere. When God created the Grecian gods to assist Him, He placed them here instead. And boom—Mount Olympus.”

I want to laugh in his face, but I don’t. Because I know he’s not lying. Somehow, I just know.

“As for going home,” Azrael continues, “you can’t. Not unless someone here takes you back. And no one will. So here’s my proposal: we eat, get your strength back, and then I’ll take you to the Garden of Eden. After that, I’ll tell you everything you’ve been denied your whole life.”

“No.” My voice is sharp. “Tell me now.”

His jaw tightens. “This isn’t negotiable. You need food in you. And I’d prefer you stay healthy. Besides, I’m an excellent cook.”

I let out a sharp breath and swing my legs off the bed. My knees buckle. Before I can hit the floor, Azrael is there—strong arms, steady hands. He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t leer. He just lifts me as if I weigh nothing and carries me through long, echoing hallways and down a sweeping staircase.

The kitchen is warm and golden, lit by a chandelier overhead. Marble counters gleam, herbs hang drying near the window, and the faint smell of basil and garlic lingers. He sets me gently on a stool at the island and goes to the fridge.

Not willing to feel weak, I push myself up and pace a slow circle until the blood steadies in my legs. If Azrael notices, he doesn’t comment. When I’m confident again, I hop onto the counter, legs swinging.

He lines up ingredients—cheese, tomatoes, pasta sheets. Lasagna. Of course.

“Let me help,” I say.

Azrael glances at me, then nods with a small smile.

We work side by side, our movements awkward at first, then strangely natural. He chops, I toss greens for a salad. The silence stretches until finally he speaks.

“Since you’re being good, I can tell you now—if you’d like.”

“I’d very much like,” I answer, flicking a cucumber slice into the bowl.

He slides sauce over noodles with practiced precision. “It started with God. Every Greek god and angel was created by Him. Decades ago, His sister—Mother Nature—had a daughter. She was nearby at the moment of conception and poured part of her own energy, her very soul, into the child. That made the girl hers as well.”

I glance at him warily. “And this matters to me because…?”

Azrael chuckles, layering cheese. “Because after seeing His sister so happy—and His niece thriving—God decided to do the same. He directed energy into you when you were conceived by your parents, Hermes and Athena.”

My jaw drops. My brain seizes. Naturally, my mouth blurts the stupidest thing imaginable.

“So… what, I’m Dionysus’s half-sister now? Am I supposed to start drinking wine for breakfast?”

Azrael bursts into laughter, deep and unrestrained. His shoulders shake; tears prick the corners of his eyes. “You find out you’re the daughter of gods, and that’s your first response?”

I shrug, deadpan. “Valid question. I could make being a party goddess work.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Not quite. But yes—you’re connected to Dionysus. And to others. That’s what happens when divine threads overlap.”

“So basically,” I say, stabbing a fork into the salad, “I’m stuck in the middle of a giant, dysfunctional family reunion.”

Azrael leans back, smiling at me like I’m both impossible and inevitable. “Exactly. And the fact that you’d call the gods dysfunctional proves we’re made for each other.”

I roll my eyes, but warmth creeps up my neck anyway.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me briefly. The contact is steady, not overwhelming. “But yes,” he murmurs near my ear, “you’re related to more than you realize. Every heavenly being, in one way or another.”

I pull back, smirking. “Now that is awesome.”