"f**k," said Azrael.
I flinched.
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he shook his head again.
"f**k," he repeated.
It wasn't any funnier the second time around.
"I messed up," I admitted.
"That is a... succinct way of putting it. Did you tell her what you were?"
"I mean... with words? No. But..."
His eyes narrowed.
"But what, Gwenhwyfar?"
I winced. He never called me that unless he was really pissed.
"My Aspect came upon me."
"f**k! Gwen! We've talked about this!"
"I can't f*****g control it, for... for f*****g f**k's sakes!"
(No Blasphemy up Above - you get a snotty talking to from one of the Saints, usually Saint Gregory, and he is tedious beyond belief. Though it's almost worth it when you're watching him lecture a furious Seraphim on appropriate language.)
Azrael put his
