“Yeah, and it’s a universal one called men.”
He grinned. “May I point out that we males think much the same about you females?”
“When you’re not trying to get into our pants, you mean?”
His grin grew. “Even when we’re trying to get into them. So who’s trying to get into yours?”
I crossed my arms. “No one.”
“That is a problem, I agree.”
I snorted and whacked his arm. “That’s not what I’m annoyed about.”
“Then what’s upset you? You were fine when I left to get the car. What happened in the five minutes it took me to get back here? Did the wiring attack again?” He hesitated, his brief glance shrewd. “It’s to do with your reaper, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I banished him – justifiably, I might add – but I wish I hadn’t.”
“Then unbanish him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Why not indeed. I hesitated. “What he did – it was bad, and it’s something that can’t be undone.”
“Was it worse than me starting a relationship with you to get a story? Worse than Lucian killing your mother, then bedding you for information?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, then stopped. Put like that, the answer was actually no. Even if Azriel had a tendency to keep secrets, he’d never been anything less than honest about his intentions or his priorities – and his priority had always been, first and foremost, his duty to secure the keys for the reapers. All else was secondary.
I might be furious with him, might feel betrayed by his actions, but he’d always warned me he would do whatever he deemed necessary to get those keys. Or die trying.
Why would he think my life – or rather, all my future lives – were any less expendable?
He wouldn’t. As the hostile reaper had pointed out, duty was all to a reaper. It rose above everything, even family and love. He might care for me, but that would not have stopped him from doing what needed to be done in order to finish his mission.
The only thing that had stopped him was me. I’d sent him away, thereby forcing another to take his place. I’d made him fail, and he was now paying the price.
I scrubbed a hand across suddenly stinging eyes and swore yet again.
“So,” Jak murmured. “Not as bad.”
“No.” I hesitated. It felt a little weird discussing this with Jak, of all people. And yet, he was also the one person who would understand betrayal, even if from the other side. “But I don’t know if I can move past —”
“Relationships are hard work,” he interrupted. “They’re all about give and take. If Azriel did the latter rather than the former, the question you have to ask yourself is, are you willing to walk away? Or is whatever lay between you special enough to work on a fix?”
Yes, it is. I stared at Jak for several heartbeats. “When the hell did you start doling out such astute relationship advice?”
He smiled. “I’ve had more than my fair share of broken relationships, remember. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s because I haven’t actually got one.” A lie, but I wasn’t about to admit my feelings to Jak before I admitted them to Azriel.
“Then I suggest you do so – and before the gulf between you gets too wide to traverse. Besides, running away from a problem is never a good idea.”
Which was an echo of what Aunt Riley had said to me when I’d first woken in hospital after being dragged back from death.
I hadn’t wanted to listen to her back then. Hadn’t really wanted to listen to anyone – not even when my own intuition had suggested that banishing Azriel was the worst possible move I could ever make. I’d been far too angry.
But somewhere between waking this morning and now, my brain cells had finally started functioning again. The truth of the matter was, despite the pain and the hurt, despite the sense of betrayal, I needed Azriel in my life. I just had to hope that it wasn’t already too late to get him back.