Azrael sat behind his desk in the counseling center, finishing the weekly schedule and assigning the next round of souls for his angels to reap. With no clients present, the décor matched his own style, with black marble floors, charcoal walls, and onyx leather furniture.
He’d woken early, despite staying out late with Deirdre, and he’d arrived at the office long before any of his angels showed up.
Deirdre…
Simply being near the seductive vampire had unleashed a side of him he’d forgotten existed. And the way it felt when she touched him…
His phone pinged with a notification, drawing him from his thoughts before he could get himself worked up again, and that was a good thing. He’d already played their evening over in his mind this morning and had to take care of himself in the shower.
He peered at his phone, and the name of his next client popped onto the screen. Joey Sinclair’s time on Earth had expired, but the stubborn bastard refused to let go. A billionaire hedge fund manager in charge of even more people’s billions, to say he was a control freak was an understatement. Azrael expected Joey to remain in denial for at least a decade, which was why he’d taken him on as a client rather than assigning him to one of his reaper counselors.
He rose and grabbed Severus from its spot in the closet. The scythe’s magic hummed in his hands, and he drew it inward, using its power to whisk him into the angelic plane, where he could simply picture where he wanted to go, and he’d arrive on Earth in an instant.
In a cloak of magic, he landed next to Joey’s bed in his mansion. The man lay alone in the room, hooked up to several hospital-grade machines, which were keeping him alive. A feeding tube went in through his nose, and two bags of fluids dripped into his bloodstream through IVs. His spirit clung loosely to his body, pulsating softly with Azrael’s presence.
“What are you doing here? It’s not my time,” his spirit spoke, while his body remained still.
“I’m afraid it is your time, my friend. I’ll be taking you to Purgatory now and preparing you for the transition to the spirit world.”
Panic laced his voice. “But I still have things to do. I have money to manage. I haven’t…”
Azrael swiped his scythe against Joey’s body. The magical instrument never harmed the flesh; it severed the soul from the physical form, freeing it from its restraints.
Joey gasped, his spirit standing next to Azrael as the heart rate monitor let out a long, steady beeeeep. “No,” he whispered. “This can’t be happening.”
Azrael rested a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone dies.” Well, that was true for mortals, anyway. “Denial is a normal stage after death. I’m here to help you through it.”
Joey scoffed and raked his gaze down Azrael’s form. “Oh? The Grim Reaper is a therapist too?”
“I am. My name is Azrael, and I’ll guide you through your grief.”
“Grief?” He puffed out his chest. “I’m not grieving; I’m pissed. I had a plan. I…”
Azrael felt for the guy as his brow crumpled and remorse set in. It happened to them all, this brief bout of clarity before the denial returned. “Would you care to share your regret?”
His posture deflated. “I never told Elizabeth how I felt.”
He wasn’t surprised Joey shared so easily. Counseling the dead was what Azrael was created to do, so they almost always opened up immediately. Getting them to accept their lives were over was the hard part. “Who is Elizabeth?”
“My lawyer. I fell in love with her years ago, but I’ve been so focused on my work, I kept putting off starting a relationship with her.” He looked at Azrael, and a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m forty-two. I had all the time in the world.”
“You had all the time Fate gave you.”
“No.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “No, I have to see her.”
And we’re back in denial. The spirit tried to get away, but Azrael caught him by the waist with his scythe and whisked him into the Underworld, where he couldn’t do any damage. A soul left to roam the earth could wreak havoc on the living once he figured out how to manipulate objects. In Purgatory, they were easily subdued when they got ornery.
They arrived in Azrael’s office, and the décor morphed into a scene resembling a high-rise office with a white linoleum floor and drab green furniture. A stock ticker hung on the wall, displaying the happenings of the NASDAQ, but Azrael flicked his wrist, making it disappear. Joey would never leave denial if he was constantly watching the stock market. Money didn’t exist where he would eventually be headed.
“You’re free to roam the premises.” Azrael sank into the chair behind his desk and pulled up his calendar. “Your first counseling session begins tomorrow at eleven a.m. in this office. Unless there’s anything you want to discuss now, you may go.”
“You have to put me back. That’s what I want to discuss.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. There’s a coffee bar to the right when you exit the building. You’ll find other spirits there. The company of others in the same circumstances can be therapeutic.”
Joey grunted and stomped out the door.
In the old days, Azrael would attempt to begin counseling the moment the spirit entered Purgatory. Over the ages, he’d learned those in the beginning of denial needed time to sort through their emotions on their own. Tomorrow, after he’d acclimated to the new environment, Joey would be ready to begin the grieving process.
Azrael rolled the tension from his shoulders, his body relaxing as his office returned to its all-black Angel of Death façade.
The biggest regret spirits usually had was not fully experiencing love while they were alive. Azrael would never understand that regret. He had experienced love, and he’d lost her to time. Whoever said, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all,” was full of shit.
His mind drifted back to his time with Nora. Sure, the fifty years he spent with her were the best years of his life, but for an immortal, fifty years was nothing more than a drop of water in a never-ending sea of monotony. It had pained him to watch her grow old and die, and when she passed, she took a piece of him with her, leaving a hole in his heart that would never be filled. No way in hell would he go through that again.
“Good morning.” Jessie stood in the doorway looking sheepish and holding two paper cups from the coffee shop. “I brought a peace offering. I hope you’re not too angry with me.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He should be furious. “You knew it was speed dating night when you convinced me to go.”
“Yeah…” She strode into the room, her heels clicking on the black marble floor, and set one cup of coffee on his desk before perching on the edge and sipping her own drink.
“And Eve and Aphrodite? Even Lucifer? They were in on it too?”
She grinned. “I had to get you back out there, Boss. It’s hard to help clients through their grief when you’re depressed yourself.”
“I’m not depressed.” He uncrossed his arms and grabbed the cup she had offered him. He took a sip. The coffee was black and strong, just how he liked it. “I’m not angry either. If I’m being honest, I’ll admit I ended up having a good time last night.”
Her smile widened. “That’s good to hear. You didn’t seem interested in any of the potential dates, and you booked it out of there as soon as it ended. I was afraid I’d be facing your wrath this morning.”
He chuckled. “You should be, but one of the women did pique my interest. And I succumbed to that one-night stand you prescribed.”
“Ha! I knew you got laid. You’re positively glowing.” She set down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. “Which one? Tell me all about her.”
“It was Deirdre, the blonde vampire.” His lips curled into a smile of their own volition at the mention of her name.
“The one in hot pink? I have to say, if you were going to choose any of them, I expected you to go for the goth witch with the black lipstick. She seemed more your type.”
“She exuded doom and gloom, and I get enough of that here. There’s something about Deirdre. She’s undead, but she’s so full of life.” Was that a flutter in his belly? If so, he needed to squelch that shit before it flitted up to his chest. He’d been relieved when Deirdre had insisted he leave before dawn. Truth be told, after the spell she’d cast on him with her wiles, he’d still be there if she would have asked him to stay. But maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing…
Jesse arched a brow. “And when are you going to see her again?”
“I’m not. Neither of us is looking for a relationship, so we agreed it would be a one-time thing.”
“Uh-huh. I’m not buying what you’re selling, Boss. She had an effect on you. I can tell.”
Jessie had no idea. “You’re right. She did exactly what you wanted her to do. She reminded me how to have fun, and she helped me relieve my stress. Happy?”
“Hmm. If you say so.” She rose and took her coffee from the desk. “But if that’s all she was to you, why have you added pink to your office decor?” She brushed her hand across a hot pink miniature coffin on the corner of his desk before turning and striding out the door.
Azrael tilted his head and gazed at the casket. About four inches long, it was tapered at the end like a classic Dracula-style coffin but in Deirdre’s signature color. That wasn’t there before Jessie arrived, was it? Surely she put it on his desk to mess with him.
The counseling center offices were designed to change their décor based on what the soul needed to see. The same was true for the angels who occupied the offices when their clients weren’t there. Why on earth would he need a reminder of Deirdre? He already couldn’t get the woman off his mind, but that was because she had awakened a sexual desire in him that had been dormant for far too long.
It was purely primal. Nothing more.
As the days passed, however, his thoughts of the vivacious vampire became more insistent. Sure, the memory of their escapade between sheets hardened his dick day and night, but he found himself thinking about more than her hotter-than-hellfire body. Long before they made it to her apartment, they had fun. She was adventurous and confident. A light in his world of darkness and grief.
He ventured topside three days in a row, enjoying the buzz of activity rather than avoiding it. He even met a few reapers for dinner one night, something he hadn’t done in…well, he couldn’t remember how long.
Now, as he stood at the top of the hill in the park, gazing at the moonlit sky above, he smiled. Spinning in a circle to be sure no humans were around, he unfurled his wings and took to the sky. His magic would make him appear as a bird to any wandering eyes, and he swooped over the city, retracing the path he’d taken with Deirdre.
The cool breeze in his feathers and the moon above were glorious, but his flight wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as it was with Deirdre in his arms. He lowered to the ground and sat in the swing. She’d asked him to leave that night, even when he’d offered to stay. What made him think she would want to see him again, he wasn’t sure, but he had felt a connection with her. She must have felt it too.
He needed to see her again, and he had a feeling he knew exactly where he could find her Wednesday night.
*.*.*.*.*
Deirdre stood in front of a bookcase, reading the titles of the books, examining the artifacts on the shelves, and looking at anything and everything except the woman sitting in the pale yellow chair. Thick white carpet squished beneath her shoes as she stepped toward an iron mask positioned in a stand at eye level. Reaching out a hand, she brushed her fingers along the rivets protruding from its seams.
“Don’t touch that.”
She jerked her hand back and turned toward the woman. “Sorry. Is it antique?”
“I’ve had it for three hundred years.” She picked up a pen and a notepad and wrote something on the page.
Deirdre looked at the wall behind an ornately carved oak desk. Dozens of framed certificates filled the space, touting Dr. Laura Monroe’s experience. She cast her gaze back to the shelf and picked up a book titled The Psychology of Vampires.
“Please put that back and have a seat, Deirdre. You never know what kind of magic another supe’s possessions might contain. You could have cursed yourself.”
She returned the book and tentatively sank into the chair. “I doubt you’d keep a cursed artifact on display in your office. You’re a therapist.”
“Most adults know to keep their hands to themselves.”
Deirdre crossed her legs and studied Dr. Monroe. Her dark brown hair was styled into a pixie cut, and a muted shade of peach lipstick complemented her umber skin nicely. After writing something else on her notepad, she smiled sympathetically, showing fang.
“What brings you in for therapy?”
She shrugged. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Why the hell was she here? She didn’t have any issues. Her life was one adventure after the next, and now she was in a brand-new city, L fucking A of all places. It was probably the only city in the country more exciting than New Orleans.
“What thoughts were you having when you decided to make an appointment?”
Deirdre inhaled deeply. “I guess I just wanted somebody to talk to. I haven’t made any friends here yet.”
“I see.” Dr. Monroe’s pen scratched across the paper.
“What are you writing?” Deirdre leaned forward, trying to make out her upside-down cursive.
“Just taking notes to jog my memory on our next session. What about work colleagues? Do you talk to anyone there?”
“I’m a web designer. I work from my apartment.”
“Do you talk to anyone from your former home?”
Deirdre chewed the inside of her cheek. She really did not want to get into this with a stranger, but ever since that smokin’ hot dark angel came into her life, talking about how the dead needed therapy, she couldn’t shake the idea that it might be good for the undead as well.
“I had a roommate in New Orleans. She married a god and became a goddess herself, so I don’t see her much anymore. When you live as long as I…as we…do, people don’t stay in your life very long.”
Dr. Monroe tilted her head. “The right people do.”
She scoffed. “I’m sure Kat will visit me when she can. She’s a good friend, but she lives in Seattle now. Everyone else I’ve ever known can suck it.”
The pen made that damn scratching sound on the paper again, and Deirdre lowered her gaze to her lap.
“I’m sensing you have a hard time letting people in. Do you have any idea why that is?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because everyone I’ve ever cared about has either died or left me high and dry.”
“Who in particular? Mortals dying is something we vampires have to grow accustomed to, or we’ll go insane with grief.”
When Deirdre didn’t reply, she continued, “You’ve been undead how long?”
“About two hundred years.”
“So you’ve already grieved the loss of your human family. Who else do you miss?”
“I don’t miss anyone. The man who turned me promised to make me his mate. Five years and three dozen mistresses later, he took off to France, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Ah. I see. And relationships since then? How have those worked out?”
“I’ve had plenty of relationships. I haven’t found anyone worth keeping around more than a few weeks, but I date. I have fun.”
“I never doubted your ability to have fun. Hot pink isn’t an easy color to pull off, but you do it splendidly.” She jotted down another note. “Have you dated since you arrived in L.A.?”
“I went to speed dating at DeLux Café last week. Does that count?”
“If you believe it does, yes. Did you meet anyone you liked?”
An image of a naked Azrael flashed behind her eyes, and she smiled.
“You did,” Dr. Monroe mused.
“I did, but I can’t see him again.”
“Why not?”
“He was too…” Hot, beautiful, kind, perfect. “He’s not my type.”
Dr. Monroe inclined her chin, silently urging Deirdre to elaborate, but there was nothing more to say. Azrael had made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything more than a fling, as had she. Even if she wanted to see him again—which she did not—he didn’t want to see her.
She held the doctor’s gaze, refusing to speak for as long as possible, but when Dr. Monroe didn’t waver, Deirdre continued, “I liked him too much. I always end relationships before they can get serious, but with Azrael, I’m afraid I wouldn’t want to end it. There was something about him, you know? He was so…introspective. Is that the right word? I don’t know, but it felt like he knew me even though we’d just met. Like he could see into my soul.”
Her brow rose in surprise. “Did you say Azrael? The Angel of Death?”
Deirdre lifted her hands. “I know. He’s not the type of man a vampire should get involved with. We did sort of cheat death, after all.”
“On the contrary.” She set her pad and pen aside. “Deirdre, I sense you have abandonment issues after your sire left you alone.”
She laughed cynically. “Ya think?”
“What better man to get involved with than an immortal with a steady job and a reputation for longevity?”
“His longevity is a good quality.” Another image flashed behind her eyes. He was long, all right. Thick too. Yum.
“Our time is up for today.” Dr. Monroe rose and motioned toward the door. “Perhaps you should consider seeing him again.”
Deirdre stood, shaking her head as she strode toward the exit. “Oh no. That’s not happening.”
“Not even on the advice of your therapist?”
“I appreciate your expertise in the psychology of vampires, but when it comes to relationships, I know what’s best for me. Thanks for listening.”
Deirdre made her way out of the building and onto the sidewalk before pausing and curling her hands into fists. She definitely did not need to see Azrael again. What she needed was a new flavor of the month to get her mind off the hotter-than-the-tarpits-of-hell angel, and she knew just where to find one.
Azrael wouldn’t be setting foot anywhere near DeLux Café on speed dating night, so that was exactly where she’d be on Wednesday.