Azriel's Point Of View
The lollipop between my lips rolled lazily as I tilted my head back against the couch, my free hand drumming an impatient rhythm against the armrest. The taste of artificial cherry was cloying, sickeningly sweet, but it was better than the alternative… gnashing my teeth in frustration.
My gaze flicked to the clock above the fireplace for the third time in five minutes. 11:47 PM. Lucian was late. Again.
A familiar irritation prickled beneath my skin, the kind that came from being kept waiting by someone who should know better. I'd been sitting here for nearly an hour, watching the minutes crawl by, my patience wearing thinner with each tick of the clock.
