his face during the ordeal, didn’t know what he looked like while he had to endure—once more—Lucifer’s derision and the jeering of the court. But I remembered, with crystal clarity, what he’d been like right after. Curt, snappy, furious.
With me?
I bit my lip, my eyes burning.
Breath stinging in my lungs, I turned. I couldn’t think about this now. Getting out of here was the more pressing issue at the moment. I’d deal with everything else when I found my way to safety.
Feeling my way along the wall, I walked until I hit the dead end. Once again, I used the blood from my open wounds to draw the sigil in the pitch-black. This time, I closed my eyes before the flash of light blinded me.
Warm air whispered over my face, bringing with it the scents of cinnamon and orange. I plastered myself to the wall inside the corridor and squinted into the light spilling in from the room beyond the new doorway, my dagger at the ready.
A big private chamber, colorful drapes hanging from the walls and ceiling, creating the impression of being inside a tent. Plush rugs covered the ground, their swirling patterns of green and blue like the play of light on the ocean floor. An open doorway gaped in the opposite wall, half concealed with curtains, another room visible beyond. I could just make out more rugs and what looked like an easel and art supplies.
Cautiously, I stepped into the room, my pulse pounding in my head. Movement drew my gaze to the corner to the right, where more curtains hid what appeared to be a bed. A soft whoosh indicated the magical doorway closing behind me.
Crap. If whatever was in here posed a threat, I wouldn’t be able to just run back into the corridor.
I readjusted my grip on the dagger and snuck over the rugs as carefully as my injured ankle allowed. Maybe I could make it past the bed without drawing attention.
I was almost to the doorway leading into the next room when warm breath brushed my neck. I froze, fear blanking my mind, and I lost valuable seconds to my burgeoning panic. When I whirled around, dagger raised, a hand grabbed my wrist and held it effortlessly immobile.
Inches from me stood a female demon, my arm in her grip, her power a cascade of energy over my skin. Auburn hair framed a face of the lightest brown, her features familiar, her eyes…her eyes the color of the ocean rushing onto white sandy shores.
“You smell like him,” she said in a husky voice. “My boy.”
My eyes widened. “Who?” I asked with a squeak, even though the answer to my question already crept up on me on icy feet.
She drew in a deep breath, a smile lighting her face. “Azazel.”
All breath left me in a rush.
My voice a whisper, I spoke the name that rose in recognition, “Naamah.”
Chapter 20
Azazel’s mother regarded me with open curiosity, impossibly alive.
Stunned speechless, I could only stare back.
They’d lied to him. They told him she died, and for two thousand five hundred fucking years, Lucifer and Daevi and who knew how many others kept Naamah’s continued existence a secret, let Azazel and Azmodea believe their mother was gone.
Why?
The sheer, naked cruelty of it chilled my soul.
“Who are you?” she asked, stroking my cheek with her free hand, the other still holding my wrist. “You taste fragile.”
“Zoe,” I breathed. “I—I’m bonded to Azazel.”
I didn’t know if she’d understand if I explained about the marriage thing, but surely putting it in terms of a bond like Lucifer and Lilith had would make sense to her.
“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes mapping my face. “You carry his scent in your skin.”
She abruptly let me go and turned away, humming under her breath. Letting her fingers glide over the drapes on the wall, she strolled into the next room, the loose gown she wore billowing around her hips.
Baffled, I followed her. She was standing at the easel, mixing paint on a palette. The canvas held a work-in-progress, a painting of bold strokes and vibrant colors reminiscent of expressionism. Humming, she added more color, her back turned to me.
I watched her for a few minutes, waiting for her to acknowledge me again. When she remained focused on her work, I ventured softly, “Excuse me?”
She stilled, slowly pivoted on her heels and pinned me with a look. “Who are you?”
I exhaled a shaky breath, my heart breaking in understanding.