Page 18 of Love, Rekindled

Jayla pasted an apologetic smile on her lips and stepped toward the counter. “It’s short notice,” she murmured.

“Yes,” the male instantly latched on to the ready excuse. “Yes, it is short notice. And I’m very busy.”

“I understand,” she sympathized, ignoring Azrael’s narrowing gaze. She was an expert on the headaches endured by a hotel owner. And how to earn their cooperation. “This is a beautiful lodge. Did you build it yourself?”

Siros’s expression remained wary, but he eagerly answered. “My mother did. She’s a brownie.”

Jayla ran her hand over the smooth counter. She didn’t have to pretend her admiration for the wood that had been cut and polished to reveal the lovely grain. This wasn’t the prefab stuff used by human builders.

“That explains the beautiful craftsmanship.”

The male preened, a faint flush of pleasure staining his cheeks. “Yes. She traveled throughout the world to find the perfect lumber and hand-cut each plank herself.” He glanced down as if seeing through the floor. “The foundation was carved from ironstone my mother mined and brought here, piece by piece. We survived three earthquakes that destroyed the other buildings in the village.”

“Impressive.” Jayla leaned forward, her tone soft. “As a fellow hotelier, I realize this is a terrible imposition, but if you could find space for just one day, I would be forever grateful.”

The male grimaced. “One day?”

“One day, I promise.” She didn’t bat her lashes, but she did give him an inviting smile. “Preferably a sunproof room.”

He hesitated. “Perhaps I have something suitable,” he grudgingly conceded, refusing to glance in Azrael’s direction as he rounded the counter and headed toward a door across the lobby. “Follow me.”

Jayla kept a short distance from Siros, just in case there were any unpleasant surprises. She felt the cool rush of Azrael’s power as he closed in from behind, protecting her back. She clenched her hands, startled by the intensity of her reaction to his proximity. It was as if having him near made her suddenly realize that her hard-earned independence was no longer enough. An aching awareness that she hungered for a connection that dangled just out of reach.

Jayla followed Siros through the door and down the stone steps to the small cellars, trying to ignore the sensations battering her. The air was cold enough to frost the stone walls and make the floor slick. On the plus side, when the male shoved open a wooden door to reveal their room, it was scrubbed clean with a wide bed and no windows.

“Perfect,” Jayla murmured, walking into the shadowed space.

“Is there anything else I can offer?” the demon asked.

“Perhaps blood,” Jayla requested. It had been several hours since she’d fed. “Do you have any bottled?”

“I can have it delivered,” he assured her.

She reached out to lightly touch his shoulder. “Your generosity won’t be forgotten.”

The male blushed before turning to scurry back down the hall. Azrael closed the door with a lift of his brows.

“Impressive, but not what I expected from an assassin.”

“Brute force has its place, but I prefer diplomacy whenever possible. Not only does it avoid any risk to myself, but when I walk away, I’m not leaving enemies who plot to stab me in the back.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’m not an assassin. Not anymore.”

The large male leaned against the door, his gaze sliding down her slender body. “Why not?”

Jayla glanced away. It wasn’t a question she wanted to answer. “It was time for a career change.”

“A career change?”

“Yes.”

“It was more than that, wasn’t it?” he gently prodded.

Jayla forced herself to meet his searching gaze. “Why do you say that?”

“I know you left the Anasso centuries ago.”

Jayla stiffened in surprise. “How?”

“I wasn’t spying on you,” he assured her as if worried she would be bothered by the idea that she was being secretly stalked. The truth was, the wound deep inside her might have been eased if she could have sensed he was near. “But I did keep track from a distance,” he admitted.

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