Page 12 of Love, Rekindled

Azrael flinched, not surprised by the stark desire to assure her that everything about her was his business. This was another reason why he’d never allowed himself to get close to her. He’d known exactly what would happen. The scar over his heart burned with regret.

“Since I have need of that particular talent, it is very much my business,” he added in smooth tones. “At least, temporarily.”

She narrowed her eyes, turning the conversation away from herself. “It is my turn to ask why.”

Azrael had known the question was coming, but it was still an effort to force the words past his lips. “My sword has been stolen.”

She blinked as if wondering if she’d misheard him. “The sword that contains your soul?”

“That’s the one.”

“How could you allow it to be stolen?”

Azrael was thousands of years old. He’d traveled the world as a mercenary, killing for profit and acquiring a ruthless reputation along with a massive amount of wealth. He’d indulged in temptation and witnessed unspeakable horror. But for the first time in his very long life, Azrael felt a surge of embarrassment.

“It wasn’t really a matter ofallowingit to be stolen,” he muttered.

“Didn’t you take precautions to make sure it was safe?”

He clenched his hands in annoyance. Not with Jayla, with himself. Although, there was no need for her to rub salt in the wound.

When he’d awakened to discover the sword missing, he’d been stunned. His first thought had been that he’d misplaced the stupid thing. It wasn’t like he constantly carried it around with him. And if he were being honest, after so many eons, he’d grown…careless. There was no other word.

It wasn’t until he’d found the note that he realized the true danger.

“No one should have been able to touch it,” he told her.

She studied him with open curiosity. “No one?”

“That was my belief,” he admitted. “From the moment I woke as a vampire, there has never been anyone who could force themselves to lay a hand on the weapon. I even offered huge sums of money to the demon who could take it from me. It’s as if the sword itself repels any hand but mine. That’s why I didn’t bother to keep it locked away.”

“If no one can touch it, then how was it stolen?”

“It would appear that one creaturecantouch the sword,” he admitted in harsh tones. “The one who cursed me.”

Understanding slowly spread over her face. “The fey.”

“Yes.”

She considered the implications of his explanation. “Why would they steal it?” she asked the obvious question. “And why now?”

Azrael reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulling up a folded piece of parchment. “The thief left this.”

Jayla took the note and lifted it to her nose, her brows arching. “Sage,” she murmured in surprise. “A Sylvermyst.” She continued sorting through the scents clinging to the parchment. “A male Sylvermyst,” she added, sending Azrael a baffled frown. “I thought they fled this world with the dark lord several millennia ago.”

The Sylvermyst were fey creatures who’d worshiped the dark lord. They’d not only committed unspeakable evil for their twisted master, but they’d also attempted to enslave other fey.

“A few returned after the dark lord was destroyed,” Azrael told her, referring to the epic battle that had occurred a few years ago.

Jayla opened the note, reading the words written in blood. “Revenge delayed, but never forgotten.” She lifted her head, her expression still confused. “The creature waited centuries to steal the sword, and that’s what he left? It seems…clichéd.”

Azrael shrugged. “Sylvermyst were never considered the brightest bulbs in the pack.”

She rolled her eyes as he added another cliché. “Are you saying they’re a few threads short of a sweater? Fell out of the stupid tree?”

Heat sparked through him at her teasing. Dear goddess, she was a magnificent female. “Exactly.”

“Hmm.” She tilted her head to the side, her raven hair spilling over her shoulder. “That doesn’t explain why you kidnapped me.”

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