She eventually found her way back to the main room. Most of the women had cleared out, likely entertaining other guests behind the curtains. Azazel was reclined on one of the chaise lounges, absentmindedly rolling his Calling Stone between his knuckles like a coin.

Without hesitation, she rushed toward him.

He shot up at the sight of her, a hint of concern flashing across his face. “Azalie, what took you so long?” he asked, but she ignored the question, grabbing his sleeve.

“Azazel, did you feel that?” Her words gushed out.

He frowned. “What? Azalie, calm down. What are you talking about?”

“That power surge,” she hissed. “Did you feel it?”

Azazel looked nonplussed, momentarily unsure of how to respond. "I think I felt something, west of here, a moment ago. But what’s wrong? Why are you so panicked? Did you feed?” He brushed her hair back to inspect the injury she had. It was completely healed, leaving no trace that it had ever been there.

“Yes, I fed,” she said, swatting his hands away. “Azazel, what about that power shift? It wasn’t just a fluctuation. Something’s wrong. It felt dark, like nothing I’ve sensed before.” Her words were hurried, heavy with anxiety.

Azazel sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. “Azalie, it’s nearly a full moon. La Madre isn’t here; I’m sure it’s them probably preparing for something.”

Azalie shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “No, they don’t cast west. And this wasn’t her magick. It felt... dangerous. We—”

“We have to go home,” Azazel interrupted, finishing her sentence with a knowing look.

“No, Azazel.” Her voice sharpened with her growing frustration. “We have to investigate. That power surge is—”

“Is not our problem,” he cut her off again, this time more firmly.

Azalie’s expression darkened. He groaned a frustrated sigh and pulled her off to the side, hidden behind a large column. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the hum of distant conversations.

“Azalie, we were given orders—specific ones, to do nothing. That also includes investigating whatever weird power shifts you’re sensing.”

“So you admit that it’s unusual,” she shot back.

Azazel glared at her. “Yes, fine, it’s unusual. But we can’t act on it. Not this time.”

“But why?” She complained in a whispered voice. “That doesn’t make any sense! We could easily solve this whole crisis. Why has Father stripped us of our duty?” She couldn’t contain the bitterness in her words.

Azazel let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want us involved,” he admitted, his tone impatient. “But I know we’d be fools to disobey him, especially with Astaroth here.” His voice dropped even lower as he hissed the name.

Azalie held her tongue. As much as she wanted to argue, Azazel was right. With Astaroth watching them like a hawk, there was little room for error—or rebellion.

“Stop that,” Azazel suddenly said.

“Stop what?”

He grabbed her chin, gently pulling her lower lip free from her clenched teeth. “Stop biting your lip. You do that when you’re hungry.” His eyes searched hers, concerned. “I thought you said you fed.”

“I did,” She replied, pulling her face away. “It was about the normal amount—roughly a bottle’s worth.”

Azazel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Eight ounces? You only had eight ounces?” He instinctively reached for her head, checking again to make sure she had really healed, and it wasn’t just the trick of the light. 

She pushed his hands away. “Yes, only eight. I’m fine,” she insisted, annoyed. “I healed, didn’t I?”

His frown deepened. “Azalie, you need more than that.” His voice was still low, but there was an edge to it—one that made her bristle. 

She glared at him, hands on her hips. “Why would I need more if we’re not even supposed to be working?”

Azazel opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden voice behind them made him freeze.

“Having a chat?” Astaroth’s monotone voice cut through the air. 

Azalie’s body reacted instinctively, her muscles tensing as she prepared to strike. But Azazel caught her wrist in an instant, the force of it making him wince slightly, though he masked the pain with a cough. Astaroth didn’t seem to notice the brief exchange.

“Yes, Astaroth,” Azazel said smoothly. “I was just making sure Azalie’s head injury had fully healed.”

Astaroth’s gaze lingered on them both for a moment before he spoke. “If all is well, we should be on our way, no?” He inclined his head with the question, yet the unspoken command was clear.

Azazel nodded. “Just a moment. We’ll meet you by the carriage.”

Astaroth eyed him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well,” he said before turning and walking away.

The moment he was out of earshot, Azalie let out a breath. “He tried to read your mind,” she whispered, horrified.

“And you almost punched him into next week,” he hissed, releasing her wrist. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Azalie’s fists clenched at her sides. “I didn’t hear him approach,” she muttered, still shaken. “It was instinct. Did you hear him?”

“No,” Azazel admitted, his brow furrowing. “But I’m certainly not going to punch the person without confirming who it is first.”

He had a point.

Azalie exhaled slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just stressed.” With everything that was going on, she felt she had good reason to be a little paranoid.

“Stressed over Father’s no-work order?” Azazel asked, his tone gentler now.

Azalie hesitated. That wasn’t the real issue at all. But she wasn’t ready to admit what was truly bothering her—not even to him.

“Yeah,” she lied, forcing a small smile. “Maybe that’s it.”

He chuckled quietly, thumbing her bitten lip with a familiar ease. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “I was stressed out, too.”

Azalie chewed her lip again briefly, her mind still on the unsettling power surge. “Azazel, shouldn’t we at least tell Father about what we felt?” The pain from the surge had vanished, but a strange disquiet still lingered, a nagging instinct that she couldn’t ignore. If they weren’t going to investigate it themselves, someone else had to.

Azazel shrugged, casually dismissing her concern. “If we felt it, then he definitely felt it too. If Father thinks it’s worth checking out, he’ll send someone. For now,” he started kneading the tense knots in her shoulders and neck before he continued, his voice softer, coaxing, “you just need to relax. You’ve been gone for nearly a month. You deserve a little respite. It'll be good for you.”

A small, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as she leaned into his touch like a cat. She tilted her head to the side, letting him work on the knots there as well, the tension slowly unraveling. “Fine,” she said, voice laden with reluctant satisfaction. “But I’m still going to complain about it until we’re back to normal assignment work.”

Azazel chuckled again. “That’s my Azalie,” he teased, pulling his hands away, extending his elbow for her to take. “Right then, Astaroth is more patient than Dante, but his patience isn’t endless. Best we not test it tonight.”

With a gentle nod, Azalie took his offered arm, her fingers resting lightly on his elbow. Together, they wound their way back through the brothel, the static of the women’s chatter forming a dull backdrop. They passed through the center nave without attracting a single glance. It was clear that these humans couldn’t see them while wearing the rune stone.

Continue to next part.