PROLOGUE
Azazel was cuddling the glass in front of him. Only vodka, no ice, no lemon because he wanted the liquor to burn his throat, making him forget everything else.
The club was closed for the night, and even if someone was still present nameless members of the staff, cleaning the floor and putting away glasses and bottles the demon-like mutant was left alone. He knew he was being watched. He knew his look and his tail always brought him unwanted attention the rare times he was seen in public, or semi-public places, but Sebastian Shaw knew better than to let curious people too close to his assassin. So at least in the closest thing Azazel ever had to a home he had the freedom to be around when he wanted, and no one dared to come too close to him. Especially not when he was in a mood, like the one he was experiencing that night. And without Emma, the only one able to read him, to even attempt to invade his privacy could have been lethal. People feared him, other mutants feared him, and Azazel liked that.
He was used to being alone, forced to learn since he was just a child that no one had time to waste on a freak, forced to learn how to survive alone in a world that hated him.
He found comfort in the coolness of the glass pressed against his lips, the transparent liquor quickly burning its way inside him, trying to delete Azazel's overpowering emotions.
The red-skinned demon was tired. He just wanted to sleep after a whole week of missions and too much blood on his hands, but he knew that night he was going to stay awake. Away from his room, their room in truth, their empty room.
His hold on the glass tightened so much that the glass broke in thousands of little splinters and Azazel welcomed the pain. Different from the one brought by his emotions, more familiar to him. He could deal with physical pain; he healed from wounds that would have killed lesser men, but he had no idea how to handle emotional agony.
Azazel closed his eyes, and that was his last mistake. His walls broke and his too-sharp senses gave him the exact measure of his current state. The real root of his turmoil.
Whisperers of pleasure. Two bodies together. One with white flawless skin, demanding his pleasure. His hands caressing and covering the tanned skin of the other. His fingernails leaving scratches and marks. The dominant one moving, thrusting inside the warm softness. Broken words. Lips claiming and kissing the other's man mouth, showing too much familiarity in the action.
Legs parting, the body under the forceful one opening for the other's invasion, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Janos. His Janos, so open, so close to his climax. His rich brown eyes closed, his lips red because of too many kisses and bites. His Janos with another man. Giving pleasure to someone else.
No. Azazel knew that was a mistake. Azazel knew he should stop watching those images in his mind, but he couldn't.
Like he couldn't stop thinking about Janos as his. Even if they never shared those words, even if they never admitted their feelings to each other. It was easier this way, it was easier keeping their silence.
It hurt less, when Sebastian demanded Janos' presence in his rooms. When other men looked at him like he was a banquet and all were free to have a taste.
It was easier to deny that his heart, the heart of a demon, could feel love for someone. Because Janos deserved more than what he could give to him.
In a world where mutants were going to take their rightful place above the humans, the dark-haired young man could finally have everything he wanted - and Azazel was sure that he wasn't what Janos needed.
But he still could do something for the quiet young man who owned his worthless heart in his hands without even know it.
He could find a way to give him his freedom and keep him safe until that moment. Until the moment Riptide would have been free to walk away from everything with the one he freely chose.
And if in the meantime the Master of the Winds was going to grant Azazel his time and his body, Azazel wasn't strong enough to let the possibility pass.
He stood and left the club, taking the bottle with him, a small pool of blood the only visible sign of his loss of control.
He just wanted some fresh air and to be away from everything for a little while. Then he would have been ready to wear his mask all over again.
To be again the ruthless killer, the cold and controlled soldier Sebastian Shaw was ready to send everywhere, knowing he would have taken back whatever their leader was after.
Azazel always loved the cold. He was born during a winter night, when the snow covered with its whiteness all the dirty in the world.
The wind was playing with his hair, and his long tail was finally free to swing without restrictions. The Black Sea, at night, in winter. Azazel couldn't think about anything more beautiful and wild.
When he had been a child, he had hated his mutation. But now, now that he was able to control his power, he was glad to use it to see places around the world that would have been otherwise unavailable to someone like him.
The bottle empty now, forgotten on the rocks, and yet his mind was alive like always. He bore a sad smile on his face.
Azazel envied the stupid humans able to forget about their problems, able to shut heir minds and live their lives like nothing bad happened in their world. And suddenly he was mad at himself to think like that.
All too soon Azazel realised it was time to come back to the club before someone realised he was gone.
He didn't have any guard duty that night. He never had after a long mission, but that didn't mean he was allowed to wander around.
Shaw was very clear on that point, since the first time their path crossed.
The word wasn't ready yet to know about mutants. The humans didn't need to have time to prepare themselves. So Azazel had to stay hidden, his existence known only by his leader and his victims.
Azazel appeared in his room with a little puff of red smoke.
It was always strange to come back there after a mission. The red-skinned man was used to never share his personal space.
He never had a place to call his when he was growing up, so since the first moment he was able to lock a door, knowing that no one could have been inside his territory, he did so.
Then Riptide entered his life and everything changed. He never had a friend before, so in the beginning he didn't have any idea what to do with him. That and the linguistic barriers that made it almost impossible for them to talk would have pushed everyone else away, but Janos was adamant and unnerving in his desire for them to be friends. And in the end he won.
Now, coming back to that room wasn't like coming back to his room anymore. There always was something belonging to Janos left.
Small things, or big things, that didn't matter. That time it was Janos' pajamas, neatly folded on a pillow. That dark and smooth silk in contrast with the white of the pillowcase, but what hit Azazel hard was Janos' scent.
It permeated the room, like a promising ghost. A tempting whisper of something that wasn't there. And Azazel shivered.
The room was cold - cold and empty. It always seemed cold to Azazel when Riptide wasn't there, even if he knew that was just his mind. The room had the same temperature of any other room, of that he was sure, but still, it wasn't the same. And for the second time that night, Azazel cursed himself and his weakness.
He undressed quickly and slipped under the blankets. He wrapped his tail around himself and closed his eyes, waiting, while Janos' light scent kept him company.
After a long time, the door opened softly, and silently. Janos entered the room like he was afraid to disturb its owner.
In moment like that, the young Latino wasn't able to think about the room as his too. It was simply wrong, in his mind, to go there still smelling of another man.
It didn't matter that it was something he didn't have any control over. His mother tried hard to teach him the difference between something right and something wrong, and above all she tried hard to teach her too quiet and too strange son was a sin was.
In the eyes of God, to sleep with a man was already a huge sin. To sleep with a man cheating on the one you love, was worse.
He went to the bathroom as fast as possible. Hoping, against any hope that Azazel could be asleep, not knowing when he really came back to him. Not knowing how many hours he spent with Sebastian.
He knew that was impossible, but still he hoped. And once in the bathroom he locked the door behind himself.
After the hot water washed away the external evidence of what he did all night - and after he refused to look at himself in the mirror, combing his hair with his long fingers - he was ready to face what remained of the night.
He knew that in the morning no one would talk about what happened. New duties, new missions and no weakness allowed. Those were the rules and both he and Azazel knew well what would happen if they broke them.
Azazel felt the blankets rise and a too warm body slip under them, trying not to disturb him. The red-skinned man hated that.
He wanted to feel Janos, to hold him and be sure he was ok. He hated the walls he could feel the younger man was putting between them.
His eyes were sharp enough to know that his skin was almost as red as his own. Once again his lover used scorching hot water. To punish himself for something that wasn't his fault. And once again the demon waited for Janos to fall asleep. Because his beautiful Riptide was going to look for his warmth once asleep.
With his mind asleep, his body would have been free to look for the comfort he needed but didn't know how to ask for.
Azazel didn't have to wait for too long before he found himself with an armful of a shivering mutant.
In a few hours Riptide was going to be again the strong and powerful master of the winds. For now, fast asleep in Azazel's arms, he was just a young boy used once again, and needing the comfort and safety that his lover could give him.
The older mutant wrapped his tail around Janos' body, knowing well how strangely fascinated his lover was with that part of him, and slowly rocked him all night.