“Yeah, he’s the boss up here.”
“Wait… there’s a Cherub that outranks you? Cupid has a boss?”
Another of those soft chuckles leaves him as he pulls on fresh clothes. “TheCupid, and yes. Everyone has a boss. I told you, I just work in PR.” A loud, amused exhale pushes from my nose as he turns towards me wearing a purpleFly Guyt-shirt.
It makes so much sense now.
“Micah isn’t a Cherub, though. He’s an Archangel.”
My face must give away my shock, because Az’s lips pull into a tight line. “Seriously, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to come with me.”
“He won’t… I dunno, smite me or anything, will he?”
Az snorts, leaning into my side as I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “No. He’ll be irritated I brought you here withoutasking for permission… and he’ll be irritated we’re showing up with no appointment…”
“Sounds like he’s always irritated,” I mutter, and Az lights up in a smile as he hugs my waist.
“Hey, youdoknow him, after all!” We both chuckle as he releases me, sitting on the bed to slide on his shoes. “If we go together, he will recognize our soul match, and I think he’ll be more likely to see reason once he does.”
“Soul match?”
Az nods. “Cherubs—and Angels—can view souls to gauge how good or not-so-good they are. Their character, values, inner belief system… it’s all on display. That’s what tells me if two souls are appropriately matched, and how I decide whether to shoot.”
“What did you see when you first looked at me?”
He smiles then, a happy, relaxed one that nearly splits his gorgeous face in half. “A bright, beautiful soul that likes to help others and, at the time, had a terribly suppressed bisexual side.” He laughs at my grimace.
“You could see that, huh?”
“It’s why I was so hesitant to get involved with you… although we know how long that lasted.”
I pull him into another hug and nuzzle my nose into his hair, inhaling his sweet cinnamon scent. “You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I don’t need to view souls to know yours is blinding.”
His only response is a sniffle as he buries his face in my neck.
Okay.
Alright.
Azrael is gorgeous, right? But he’scute.
Sweet and innocent and absolutely fucking adorable, with those giant eyes and pouty lips, and those corkscrew curls that hang over his crinkly, anxiety-ridden forehead.
Cute,cute.
So, forgive me for not realizing that archangels are not, in fact, cute.
They are goddamnterrifying.
Micah is a beast of a man, easily seven feet tall, with a wingspan that’s double that. And archangels, apparently, don’t wear fucking shirts, because why would they? His pale, almost shimmery, skin is basically just spray-painted over marble-carved muscles that have no business being so defined.
Maintaining those abs must be a full-time job, becauseholyshit!
Lilac purple eyes crackle with lightning—actual lightning—as his nostrils flare.
The condescending tilt of his head, loaded to the brim with judgment, does a fantastic job of making us feel utterly worthless. He stares down the bridge of his perfectly sculpted nose, pushing out his chest and causing his imposing figure to become even more threatening.
“What is the meaning of this, Azrael?” he bellows, his voice doing this weird multi-dimensional thing that sounds like there’s three of him speaking at once. “A human is inmy realmand paraded into my office without my knowledge or permission? You are young and foolish, child, butthis?”
