Azrael Santi Novels & Stories

Sylvia I didn’t have a chance to catch up with Azrael until later that night. He joined me in the wings of the Nightwhispers’ own ceremonial hall, decked out in formalwear in his pack colours, purple and black, as I was dressing for my part in the Luna confirmation ceremony.

Both of them are now looking like they were about to pounce and slit each other's throats. Selene feels his slight stubble as she runs her fingers past his jaw to his neck. "Do you think I have time to play with you?" Azrael asks coldly. He was ready to tear her throat, it's just that he need to know how did she manage to suddenly appear in his territory.

“ A pet for the dragons, can she handle us though?” His hands goes higher and I bite my lip harder. Santino’s hand on my left thigh massages the inside of my thigh and Maximo spreads my thigh adding more space between my legs. “ I guess we will find out, for now. I will try not to burn her alive.” Maximo growls before he puffs some air on my face and disappears before my sight. Santino lets go of me too and sits back on his seat, he looks out at the vast land they own.

After Marcos left, they both retired to their separate bedrooms. Xavier was about to lie down on his bed when he remembered something. He left his room and went to Chiara's bedroom. He knocked on the door and waited for her to open it. She opened the door dressed in a white cotton singlet and pyjama pants. The singlet was molded to her upper body and he realized she was not wearing a bra. Her nipples dotted the singlet and he could see the swell and curve of her firm breasts.

She let the betrayal coat her like ash. And then she got up. Washed her face. Put on his favorite sundress. And went to church. Because it was Thursday. Because the quarterly audit was in six days. Because if she was going to burn the whole damn thing down, she needed to know what kind of kindling it was made of first. The sanctuary still smelled like guilt. Even after the candles were snuffed out and the choir robes were pressed and packed away, it lingered—in the carpet, in the wood, in her throat. The smell of devotion gone sour. Of secrets soaked into the upholstery. Of her own obedience rotting in real time.

Break the rules and we kill you, why sugarcoat it? Before Hexton can get another word out, one of the competitors steps forward, frantically unzipping the back of her bodysuit and pulling her headpiece off revealing her face to a shocked crowd. She’s new to The Tournament and goes by the codename Azrael, named after the Angel of Death because that is exactly what she is. She prefers to give people painless deaths, allowing them to just go peacefully in their sleep. I feel perhaps Hexton invited her this year just to shake things up. The fact she gives people such painless deaths indicates an amount of compassion many of us don’t possess, which doesn’t make her suited for this type of thing a