Death Bringer Novel

Chapter Seven

Grace woke in the morning to a pale watery light streaming through the bedroom window, sitting up she looked over to the chair that Azriel had sat in and panicked when she discovered it empty. It took her a second to hear the hissing noise in the other room.

She had to shuffle to the end of the bed to slid out of it, she padded barefoot to the door. He was in the kitchen, stood at the stove and by the smell of the room, burning things.

Azriel was swearing under his breath, the hob was on and fat was spitting from the frying pan he was holding. He wasn’t in his usual navy shirt and black jeans, instead he was in a grey tshirt with wing slits and tracksuit bottoms.

Grace stood for a while, fixated on the wings that seemed to flare and move as he did. They where magnificent. When she'd glanced at them before they'd looked black but every so often the light would catch them just right and specs of dark blue would be illuminated.

She could look at them forever. As a child she remembered touching one of them, how soft the feathers were. She thought about how she'd like to stroke them again.

Then he almost caught his shirt on one of the gas rings and she decided she really should intervene before he hurt himself.

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Azriel didn’t hear her enter. With his back turned to the rest of the room and his concentration solely on not burning the entire apartment block to cinders, she snuck in behind him.

“What on earth are you trying to do?” her voice was amused as she took him in, but she startled him that much that he almost flipped the eggs he was trying to cook out of the pan.

“Making breakfast,” he offered with a grin. She laughed at him, coming up beside him and nudging him out of the way with her hip. He stood staring at her.

She was smiling. She was smiling at him. She looked better for getting some sleep, less hollow, the light in her eyes was back. Her hair had dried in curls on top of her head and looked a little bit like a birds nest, but he decided that it was best if he kept that observation to himself.

“I’ll fear for both of our lives if you continue trying to cook like that,” she laughed. His grin widened and took a step back, leaning against the counter opposite the stove.

She was dressed in the navy pyjama bottoms and black hooded jumper he’d leant her last night. The jumper was huge on her tiny frame and the slits in the back didn’t fall where they would on him. Through the slits he caught glimpses of her pale skin, of the dark bruises splattering it. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Once she’d finished cooking the breakfast he’d almost ruined, she plated it up for them and handing him his, sat on the counter to eat. He tried not to study her, but he was so worried about her not eating enough.

Human bodies were so delicate, so breakable and she looked like she might fall apart at any minute.

“About yesterday,” she said, pausing to chew. “In the bathroom…”. Azriel shifted uncomfortably and guilt flashed across his features.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were changing already and I should have knocked…” he rushed, the words coming out in a jumble. She held up a hand and shook her head at him.

“That’s not what I meant, I was talking about what you saw,” she gestured broadly at her body with the same hand. “He can’t hurt anyone else now,” she said quietly. “That’s why I was in that cell.” She folded her hands into her lap.

The images he'd been trying so hard to banish from his mind flashed again, her lying there, the blood on her chin and on her wrists. How she'd looked at him.

He found that he'd suddenly lost his appetite. Stepping a little bit closer, he reminded himself that she was okay. She was still studying her hands, the bandages on her wrists. He wanted to comfort her but not quite sure how to make this better.

“Is he..?” If he wasn’t dead, Azriel was ready to head there and finish him off. To touch any woman like that was abhorrent and the violence required to leave bruises like the ones that covered Grace was unthinkable. But that man hadn’t picked any woman, he’d hurt Grace.

He’d hurt the girl that had held her hand out to him that night in the hospital, he’d hurt the girl he had cradled against his chest when her mother died, he’d hurt someone that had already been through so much. That, Azriel decided, would be one life he wouldn’t mind ending for her.

“I killed him,” Grace answered, she sounded tired but she didn’t sound weak. This tiny human was strong, she was resilient, he reminded himself of how much she'd survived and found comfort in it. He had such fierce instincts to protect her but she had protected herself in his absence.

“Do you regret killing him?” Azriel asked softly. She took another bite of food, considering her answer.

“Not for a second.”

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After breakfast Azriel ventured outside to get some clothes for her, preferably ones without huge holes in the back. She’d spent half of the morning sat with a blanket around her shoulders because she was cold, she didn’t complain. Grace didn’t even mention how cold she was but the shivering gave her away and he'd almost growled at her for not telling him.

She'd told him to stop being a "Mother hen," mother only knew what that meant.

He’d mostly bought items that he knew would dwarf her, jumpers that would’ve probably been too big for him had he not had to dress around the wings. For some reason he'd also got her pink fluffy socks, she seemed insistent on walking barefoot but surely that'd make her cold too? He was determined that she'd be warm.

Maybe he’d feel less guilty then. He’d do anything to undo the years he’d left her alone, to undo the pain she’d experienced without him. He didn’t think anything would ever make him feel better about that.

Azriel didn’t suspect anything was amiss, not until he got to the apartment door and found it open wide.

He dropped the bags in the hall and searched every corner for her. Panic rising in his chest for every second he couldn't find her.

Not again. He couldn't have lost her again.

There wasn't much for him to search but he did, even knowing deep down she wasn't there, he still checked. Blind with panic, it took him a while to see it.

A small white rectangle lay on the kitchen counter. Picking it up he recognised the elegant scrawl in blank ink.

The note read:

“Brother,

I was sent to collect what you could not. I see why you hesitated now, pretty isn’t she?

Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.

Luke”

For the first time in Azriel's existence he was truly afraid.

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