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I grimaced again. “Is he still willing to train me?”
“Do you still want to go?” There was a glint in her eyes I couldn’t quite place.
“Yes! Absolutely. That is, if he’ll have me.”
“Oh, he will,” she murmured with a smirk. She added at a normal volume, “He’ll be there tonight, same place, same time.”
“Great! Thank you.”
I would have some apologizing to do, and somehow manage to explain what had happened without giving away the fact that I’d had a dream about it—about him.
Because if I was reluctant to tell Naamah about these dreams and my theory, then it went double for Aziel. I could just imagine his face if I told him I’d had a vision of him with the dagger and all that.
In all my time up here, I hadn’t heard of an angel with prophetic powers, and while that didn’t necessarily mean it was entirely impossible, it definitely meant there weren’t any precedents for this. I could probably ask Naamah if she knew of any other angels with foresight, but I had the feeling that bringing this up right now would give her too much information. Naamah was astute, and I could just imagine her putting two and two together and figuring out that it was related to what had happened yesterday.
As for Aziel, I had no idea how he would react if I told him this theory—because at this point, it was just a theory. I didn’t have proof beyond the events of one single dream becoming mystifyingly true. So, before I told him of a wild theory that might as well be total unicornshit and have him likely think I was making things up, I’d have to see if more of my dreams eventually came true.
And since all of those dreams featured Mysterious Stranger, I’d have to spend a lot of time with Aziel.
My cheeks warmed at that thought, my heart fluttering in my chest like a bird trapped in a cage. Before, I’d looked forward to training with him because I’d wanted to finally get better at combat in order to climb up the ranks, but now the anticipation making my stomach fizz and my pulse race had nothing to do with the prospect of gaining more privileges and everything to do with the breathtaking male who’d be waiting in the cave for me.
My unfounded anger at him last night had temporarily overlain the attraction I felt toward him, but as I’d come to realize that he couldn’t possibly have read my mind, all the small things that made up my rapidly growing interest in him had pushed back to the surface.
The way his forearms flexed when he handled the sword.
The fluid grace with which he moved, confident and powerful, with natural, predatory ease.
The velvet touch of his energy, with a delicious hint of darkness underneath.
The timbre of his voice.
The way he seemed to see me whenever he looked at me.
His smile, and, oh—his laugh!
Just remembering that gorgeous sound and how it had transformed his already beautiful features into something out of this world, not to mention the unvarnished, genuine light of mirth in his eyes, made my chest constrict with deep longing.
And now I knew why his energy had felt so familiar, why I hadn’t been able to shake the impression that there was some kind of connection—because there was, through my dreams.
My stomach did a cute little flip, and my breath caught.
“That look on your face,” Naamah drawled, “is that for Aziel?”
“What?” I flinched, drew up straight, and surreptitiously schooled my features into something that hopefully wouldn’t betray my besotted musings.
“I’ve never seen you with that expression before,” she said with an amused smile. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on him?”
“Who—me? Him?” I laughed awkwardly and was about to fumble for a good lie when a vibration disturbed the air behind me, and I noticed Naamah’s gaze tracking to a point over my shoulder.
All warmth fled from her eyes. Her features froze in their current expression, her power giving a single, biting pulse.
I whipped around and did a double take at the sight of the angel who’d facilitated my entry into Heaven.
“Chaya,” Azrael said in greeting, then his gaze fell on my friend behind me. Infinitesimally, his eyes widened. His throat worked as he swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was gravel-scraped. “Naamah.”
“Azrael,” she said tonelessly.
A beat of silence, heavy with things unspoken.
