Chapter 112: Chapter 112: SHE CAME FOR A FUCK

AZRAEL

It’s not the first time a concubine desperate to spend the night has snuck in to tempt me, but it will be one of the many firsts that I will send her away.

Fed up, I raise the sheets of my bed, prepared to send them away on the pretense of not being in the mood for anything.

Rather than the face of anyone else in the entire world, Valoria stares back at me, waving the second they’re lifted.

“Hi,” she whispers softly like a tiny mouse caught stealing cheese.

I blink twice and then again just to be sure my fatigue and obsession with her doesn’t have me hallucinating. But no matter how many times I blink, she’s still here.

“What the fuck?” I half yell, staring back at her.

She’s wrapped within the sheets like her little nest while dressed in the tiniest off-white lace nightie, staring back at me wide-eyed and smiling nervously.

I’m different shades of confused and speechless.

“What are you doing here, hiding underneath the sheets?”

“Late-night drop-in?” I hear the disbelief in her own answer, and even without it, I don’t buy it one bit.

“It’s almost 3 a.m. Either you’ve got something to say to me or you’ve finally lost it.”

She pouts.

“Here I was hoping you’d be ecstatic to receive a surprise. I’ve been waiting under here since 11 p.m. waiting for you. You can at least show me some kind of excitement. I mean, you’re the one that said you have some sort of fancy for me. Or did I read into that wrongly?” Her next tactic is guilt-tripping.

All of which leaves me more confused.

“What on this green earth are you ranting on about?” I ask, still trying to figure out what’s going on right now, and the familiar scent of ethanol permeates my nostrils, alerting me of its presence on her breath and all around her.

Just like that night she stumbled in.

Suddenly it makes sense. I lean closer and inhale that sweet floral scent overpowered by the alcohol.

“Have you been drinking again?”

Perhaps she has a habit of seeking me out to torment me once she’s let go of every ounce of restraint and shame she clings onto in her sanity.

She’s getting back at me for everything I do to her during the day in her own small, annoying way.

“Yes!” she confirms with a giggle. “But I’m not drunk-drunk, just a bit tipsy. I started losing my nerve when you didn’t show up on time, so I took a sip of the wine I brought. A sip then turned into half a bottle.”

I raise a brow now.

“Why do you need nerve to be here?”

Why would she want to be stuck between my sheets in the first place? To the best of my knowledge, she prefers sleeping in a bed miles away from me.

I watch her giddy smile fade and her cheeks tint. Her bluish-green eyes dart frantically everywhere else, avoiding mine nervously.

She hesitates and then slowly summons up her refined courage.

“Sleep with me.”

I look at her for an extra second, blinking my eyes twice.

“What?”

“I want you to sleep with me, Azrael,” she repeats it, bolder this time.

It’s not a hallucination or a fault in my ears. It doesn’t feel like a fever dream either, or an aftereffect of my curse.

Slowly, I put more distance between us, rising from the bed, a haze hovering around my head making it impossible for what she’s said to sink in yet, leaving me confused and numb.

“Azrael? Are you okay?” She sits up, watching me with concern, but all I do is look at her, piecing everything that’s unfolding together.

It’s not some shape-shifting witch but Valoria. My Valoria—vibrant, crazy, wild yet timid—sitting right in front of me.

“Let me get this straight. You came here for a fuck?” I ask again to confirm. Surely there’s a mistake somewhere, a miscommunication.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that crudely, but yes.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me right now. Is this a prank? Where’s the hidden camera?”

I would have sensed one by now, so I can already confirm that there isn’t one hidden in the shadows recording this moment for some black market reality TV show.

She frowns, offended by my constant questioning.

“I’m not joking. I’m serious.” So she says.

But it still isn’t adding up. I have a sixth sense nagging at the back of my mind that there’s something she isn’t saying—words hidden beneath the sex part she’s using to blindside me.

I draw closer to the side of the bed she’s on, staring her right in the eyes so she can’t lie to me.

“Tell me what’s really going on here. You’re repulsed by me, remember? You’d probably rather sleep with a pillow than with me.”

“That’s not entirely true.” She bites her lips nervously, avoiding my eyes again. Then she shakes her head, realizing I’m not going to back down until I hear it.

“I’m too embarrassed to say it.”

“Well, you’ve already sneaked into my bed to have sex with me. I’d say you’re on a roll.”

“Fine,” she scoffs, folding her hands below her chest, grumbling underneath her breath.

This time her full body is turned away from me, hiding herself entirely before the words are forced through her lips in a barely audible whisper.

“I need to get you out of my mind and focus on other things that are more important, and the only way to do that is getting you to… fuck me,” she confesses, breathless at the end. Thanks to the booze, she’s able to let most of it out.

“Wait. You’re thinking about me?” I stare back, speechless now too.

That annoying throbbing ignites in my chest at her unexpected answer, pulsing loudly in my ears all of a sudden, filling me with an aching, overwhelming discomfort that I can’t seem to figure out.

Except for the fact that looking at her makes it worse, triggers a silent craving to fill this void growing in my chest with something.

“That’s not what’s important.” She brushes it off too fast.

Bringing me back to the fact that whatever she’s thinking about me, she wants it gone… forgotten.

The throbbing ache twists into a bitter, sinking feeling too fast, hurting even more. A dull pain nothing comparable to that of my curse, yet equally annoying and nauseating.

I frown.

“You must be desperate to get me out of your head if you’re coming to me for sex.” The words come out colder than I want them to.

“You’re always looking for an opportunity to sleep with me. I’m placing one right in your fucking lap. We don’t need to argue about this too. Unless you don’t want to anymore,” she argues, trying to bring logic into all of this.

As if logic has been able to explain any of my symptoms. If it could, I would have resolved it long before now.

I don’t respond, annoyed despite the prospects of sex.

How long has it been since I’ve been able to sink myself deep into a woman and satiate my desires?

Not in weeks—the longest I’ve gone in centuries. And it’s not because the desire itself has subsided. No.

It’s ever dangerously growing, consuming me bit by bit, taking over every inch of my sanity with thoughts and images of her naked body.

Her hard nipples that stiffen from the cold and her slender, soft body.

Overwhelming me with an animalistic desire to pin her down and take her roughly.

It’s so much that I can’t help but be offended by how lightly she takes how much I crave her, like a starved mad beast.

“Do you still want me?” she asks with a hint of worry after I don’t respond.

The slight tinge of displeasure in her eyes kills me over and over again. How dare I refuse to reply?

“Yes.”

“Then sleep with me, Azrael. Fuck me.”

I sigh, feeling the weeks of self-control—tightly woven and wrapped together for her safety, for my sanity—come undone all at once.

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