Chapter 11: His Angel: Chapter 11

Out on the deck, Isaia paces while Leandra leans against the rail, sage dress rippling, her hair a black storm whipping loose. My chest tightens. Not sharp, not burning, just a dull pinch.

He’s coiled, shoulders taut, pacing like a caged beast, and she’s steady—unmoving, elegant—until she turns, green eyes cutting into him. Her hand lifts, brushing his arm—light, familiar—and he stops, leaning into it, just a breath.

The pinch deepens, a quiet twist I can’t shake. There’s a rhythm between them, a hum that’s real and beautiful.

Her palm slides to his chest, resting over his heart, and my fingers curl against the glass of orange juice I’m holding, chill biting my skin. My throat knots—not rage, not heat—just a flicker of something green, watching them together.

Footsteps echo behind me, and I turn to find Alexius looming in the doorway, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, a cigarette dangling from his lips, cold authority radiating even in the haze. His blue eyes flick to the deck, then me. “Spying, huh?”

“Observing.”

He smirks, stepping closer, lighting the cigarette. “Same difference.” Taking a drag, he nods toward them, Isaia leaning beside Leandra now, shoulders brushing. “It’ll take some time getting used to.”

“Used to what?”

“Their bond…or whatever the hell it is they have.”

“What is it that they have…exactly?” My voice holds steady, chin lifting.

Alexius exhales, smoke spiraling, his gaze cutting to the deck, lingering. “Fuck if I know.” He leans against the wall, one hand in his pocket, casual but sharp. “No one really knows. I’m not sure even they know. It’s just,” he shrugs, “there.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh, it bothers the shit out of me. I want to stab my little brother in the eye half the time.” He pushes off the wall and slides in next to me, gazing out at them. “But they need each other. She steadies him. He grounds her. Gives her what I can’t.”

“And what’s that?”

“Balance.” He glances at me. “You know who we are. What our family does. My position. Being my wife comes with certain…challenges, expectations. Risks. And my little brother seems to provide some equilibrium for her. How, why, I don’t know. But it is what it is, and as much as I’d like to dissect it, to understand it, I’ve learned that in our world, you don’t question the things that keep you tethered to sanity. And if he’s that for her, I’ll be damned if I ruin that.”

I sigh, slanting my head as I stare at them. “Well, I hate it.”

Alexius laughs. “Of course, you do. I’d be worried if you didn’t. At first, I hated it so much I kept my distance from Isaia, afraid I might kill him. Fuck knows, I’ve thought it about it a thousand times.”

“How’d you get past it?”

“By realizing that taking him from her would cause her an immense amount of pain, and as her husband, I’m not in the business of hurting my wife.” He turns his back to the deck, leaning against the glass. “What Leandra and I have is—fuck—it’s fire, blood, everything.” He pauses, staring blankly. “It’s a dangerous, wild, beautiful, raw energy that burns fiercely.”

“And Isaia?” I prompt, my gaze still fixed on the intertwined silhouette of the two on the deck.

“Hmm.” He leans his head back against the glass, staring at the ceiling. “I guess my little brother’s the rain to her. A gentle calm.”

I snort. “He’s everything but that. I think he’s right up there with all the fire and blood you mentioned.”

Alexius chuckles. “With you, yeah. With you, he’s a motherfucking tempest. The men in this family burn for their women. We set the world on fire for them. And that’s the difference between their bond and ours.”

I brush the rim of my glass against my lips. “He doesn’t set the world on fire for her.”

“Nope. Only for you.” Alexius places a hand on my shoulder, power emanating. “And the moment you realize that, this—” he waves out toward them “—won’t matter to you because his fire is yours, and no one else’s. Just like her fire is mine.”

“As simple as that, huh?” I glance at him, his eyes a hypnotic blend of iron and ice.

“As simple as that.” He pushes away from the glass. “I have some calls to make. Tell my wife to come straight to our bedroom when they’re done. All this talk about fire and bonds makes me want to fuck her.”

I gasp and gulp simultaneously, choking air and orange juice, cheeks flushed.

Alexius smirks, and then I see it—that same cocky swagger Isaia flaunts like it’s a goddamn talent.

“Jesus, it must run in the family,” I quip, my eyes rolling involuntarily as I watch him saunter away, his chuckle echoing back at me.

Alexius is many things, but for now, he’s the man who gave me a glimpse of some perspective on something that could have turned ugly. Jealousy always does.

Turning away from them, I take a deep breath, knowing he’s her rain. But to me? Isaia Del Rossa is my fire, and I’m done fighting the burn.