You had foolishly thought that his absence was something that you would grow used to. That every time he left for a mission, it would get easier to handle, that the fear that held you with a white-knuckle grip would ease, would lessen to something more manageable. But you had not grown used to it. The anxiety almost seemed to get worse every time. 

You sighed, trying to shake the anxious feeling. He’s fine. 

You wandered back inside and into Azriel’s room, slipping one of his oversized sweaters on, and you sighed at the warmth. His scent–the scent of home–engulfed you, and a very small part of you grew calmer. It felt like you had a small part of him close to you. His scent alone helped your racing thoughts slow, even just a little. 

Fuck, you missed him. You missed waking up next to Azriel, the warmth of him in bed, and his swirling shadows cooling your skin. You missed his massive wings cocooning the two of you in your own little world. You had been mated for only a year, and the quiet isolation of the last few months in Velaris had been paradise. The only downside was when Azriel would have to leave, your giggles and whispers and moans stifled into lonely silence every night he was away. You wished Feyre or Nesta were staying with you, if only to have someone to share the anxiety with. Someone who understood your fears. 

Your stomach growled a few hours later, reminding you that worrying and loitering in Azriel’s room all day would not make him return faster. You had been pacing for the last hour, and wouldn’t be surprised if there was a path burned in a straight line from where you repeated your steps over and over again. They should’ve been back by now. 

You stepped out into the hallway and made your way slowly through the home, towards the kitchens. A glance at the darkening sky through the window made you frown. They should’ve been back already, but there was no sign of any of them making their return from the Illyrian Mountains. 

You ate absentmindedly, not even registering what you were eating, and made your way to the sitting room near the entrance of the home, a book in hand. Azriel had recently recommended the novel after finishing it. You were excited to read it, along with the annotations that he had surely left on the margins just for you. The thought of your small tradition made you smile, and you settled in, knowing it would be a long, restless night. 

You opened the front page, and the doors burst open, slamming against the wall and forcibly bouncing back. 

You startled, standing quickly as the book fell off your lap and tumbled to the floor. Rhysand burst into the room, the rage pulsating off him in palpable waves, dark tendrils of his power roaming around him. His cheeks were tinged red, and it spread down his neck. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, the skin of his knuckles pulled taut and paling. 

He was angry. No, more than angry. Fury coated every inch of him, and your thoughts immediately jumped to Azriel. Where was he? 

“Rhys! What’s wrong?”

His furious eyes snapped to you. “Fuckers,” he growled. 

“Rhys, what happened? Where’s Azriel?”

He huffed out a sigh, and it seemed like he hadn’t even registered your question. “I don’t know what else I can do,” he said, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. He paused, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “We found more females.”

He didn’t need to elaborate further. The clipping of Illyrian females’ wings was a persistent issue, with seemingly no progress made despite the years of effort put in by your mate and his brothers. Your heart sank. 

You knew Azriel would not take it well. He took it as a personal slight, an abomination done by his own race against their own people. He felt a protectiveness and obligation to the females in those camps, and you knew how much he hated leaving the war camps each time, leaving behind every female, and knowing that despite decades of attempts, their fates had already been sealed in the eyes of the Illyrians. All because they were females. 

“Where is he?”

Rhysand seemed to momentarily forget his anger and his violet gaze met yours. His expression softened. “He winnowed into your room.”

You nodded, mind already slipping to him, and you tugged gently on the thread between the two of you. 

You looked Rhysand’s exhausted face and took a step towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Go home, Rhys. Feyre must be worried about you.”

He looked at you, exhaustion and something akin to gratefulness in his eyes, before he nodded. 

“He needs you,” he said quietly before winnowing away. 

Everything else that was not Azriel faded from your mind as your quick steps took you up a flight of stairs and into the long hallway. There had been no answering tug on the bond, and your heart sank into your stomach, like a rock being thrown into a lake. You stopped at your door, taking a deep breath before opening it. 

You stopped short and took in the lone figure of the male before you. His shoulders were slumped, his hair messy. His wings drooped down, the bottom edges skimming along the floor, and his shadows swirled at his legs and feet, sluggish and lethargic. 

He had probably heard you come in, and his shadows surely knew it was you, but he didn’t make a move to turn and face you. It had been a difficult mission, indeed.  You stepped up slowly behind him, hands raising and hesitating for only a moment, before you laid them gently on his tensed shoulders. He didn’t flinch away, just took a shuddering breath. You stepped closer, burrowing your face in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades and wings. 

You inhaled deeply, his scent of mist and cedar invading your senses, and the bond was sated enough by just having him there with you. He was here. He was safe. And although he might not be alright right now, a part of you was selfishly grateful to the Mother that he came back to you. 

It was a few minutes in silence and stillness before he raised a scarred hand and interlocked it with the one resting on his shoulder. His broad hand engulfed yours, and he squeezed softly. You didn’t say a word, knowing that he needed the silence, the space to think. He wasn’t someone who could be pushed into talking; you had learned that the hard way. So you gave him his time. You remained there, standing behind him, holding him close, letting him hear your breathing, feel your heartbeat as you pressed your body against his back. 

It was a long time before he finally made to turn around, prompting you to unwind your arms from around him. His face came into view, devastatingly handsome, and his hazel eyes shone with tears that he was trying to hold back. 

He forced a smile on his face, but it was sad and almost pathetic. It was practically a grimace. Your heart shattered in your chest at the sadness, the desperate anguish leaking from him. 

“I’ll kill them,” you said. It was impossible. You could not take on every Illyrian male; you both knew that, but the sentiment was very serious. You would if you could. 

He huffed out a laugh, the sound breathless, but it made the tightness in your chest loosen. 

“You can barely land a punch on me during training, love,” he said, voice low and gravelly. 

“I pull my punches,” you said. “I would never want to hurt that gorgeous face.”

He chuckled, and you lifted your hand to cup his sharp jaw, thumb running over his cheekbone. 

“I would if I could,” you said. He gave you a look–one that said that he would do the same. “I know Rhys is doing what he can, but I wish we could do more. Save more of them.”

He didn’t say anything, probably feeling as helpless as you did. His hands grasped your waist, pulling you in closer, and he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You would have normally teased him for such a brazen display of male possessiveness, but you didn’t this time. You had no idea what he had seen in those camps, but you could guess the horrors those females went through. If he needed to hold you close and sniff you a little to reassure himself that you were here, safe with him, you’d let him. You’d let him do anything he needed. 

He leaned his face up, nose nuzzling against your jaw, and he pressed a kiss there. He moved up, pressing another one to your cheek, and gently made his way to your lips. It was a soft kiss, reassuring, but deep, and it made your chest tighten and your head light, like it was floating. It was a kiss of love and comfort, and you could taste the gratitude in it. He didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night. 

“I could hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love.”

The first time you had awakened at Azriel’s side, you thought your heart could have combusted from your chest. You knew the male for a while, having lived in Velaris for most of your life, and a deep friendship had blossomed between the two of you over the prior year. You knew he was kind, loyal, and pretty. By the Cauldron, he was the most beautiful male you had ever seen. 

So when the bond snapped, you had genuinely felt blessed. It took a few weeks for you to accept the bond; you had wanted to get to know him on a more intimate level, although if Azriel had his way, he would have had the mating ceremony right then and there in the streets of Velaris. 

But you had wanted to take your time, so the first time you awakened next to him, after finally accepting the mating bond, the frenzy dulled at least for a brief moment, you thought you would die from happiness. And every time since then had made you feel the same way. Your mornings with him were sacred to you. You fell asleep with the anticipation of seeing him in bed with you when dawn approached. 

Mornings with him were peaceful. He always woke up before you, no matter how hard you tried to beat him. Most mornings, when he would drag you to early training, he would rouse you from sleep with gentle strokes against your jaw and temple or soft kisses to your cheeks and lips. 

Your favorite mornings, though, were the ones when he would let you sleep in, content to bask in your warmth and the comfort of your enormous bed. And when you finally awakened, his smile would shine bright, the hazel of his eyes catching in the morning light, a dazzling display of browns, golds, and greens. He’d tell you about what life was like with Rhys and Cassian when they were all younger, how boisterous and unruly and untamed the three of them had been in their youth, and you would giggle along to whatever wild story he shared with you. 

But peace didn’t last forever. 

Azriel had been alive for over five hundred years, and a lot of that time had been pleasant and fun, but a lot of it had not. Nightmares still haunted him, tendrils of horrors deeply buried in his subconscious. They lay mostly dormant, but now and then, when he was particularly on edge, they reared their ugly, unrelenting heads. He would awaken, screams rousing both of you from your slumbers, and his throat would feel raw from the guttural sounds. 

The first time it happened was a few months after your mating ceremony. The two of you had spent three months drunk off the mating frenzy, and the months that followed were so blissfully happy that you had both let your guards down. 

You hadn’t known it at the time, but there had been trouble brewing in Hewn City, a captured spy sitting in the dark dungeons and your lover tasked with dealing with him. Azriel never resented Rhysand for the things he was tasked to do. He knew that his job was essential for the safety of the Night Court, for the safety of his family, for your safety. So he did what he needed to do without complaint and you had never really given it a second thought, but after that night, you knew better. 

You fell asleep in his arms, naked bodies pressed tightly against each other, and you relished in his warmth. After a very thorough fucking session, you were completely wiped out, and you both fell asleep quickly. 

Your eyes snapped open. It was dark outside, the night sky still littered with glowing stars, and the chilly night air gently blew the curtains on your balcony. The wards kept out the cold, and you briefly wondered what woke you up. A moan from beside you made your lips twitch in amusement. Azriel. 

Was he having a sex dream? You breathed out a low giggle, turning over to face him, but the small smirk dropped from your face almost immediately. His skin was clammy and sweaty. His eyebrows were furrowed and breathing jagged as he moaned again, and you instantly knew that it was not one of pleasure, but of pain. 

You sat up in concern, a hand coming up to rest on his tattooed chest.  

“Azriel?”

He groaned, squirming in place, and his shadows swirled around him, gently wrapping around your wrists and pulling you closer. You could not hear them, not the way he could, but you knew exactly what they wanted from you. They were asking you to comfort him, to help him. 

You gently shook his shoulder. “Azriel. Please wake up.”

“No,” he mumbled out, still asleep.

You shook his shoulder harder, and that time, his eyes snapped open. He moved in a blur, faster than you had ever seen him move before, and pinned you down to the bed, a hand wrapping around both of your wrists almost painfully. Truth-Teller was in his other hand, the sharp edge held against the delicate skin of your neck. You hadn’t even seen him move to grab the dagger. 

You froze, afraid that any slight movement might dig the edge of the dagger into your skin and cut flesh. His shadows swirled around his ears, and you tugged at the golden thread between the two of you. His eyes cleared and then widened. He moved away from you, dropping Truth-Teller to the hardwood floors, and he sat back in his haunches, face frozen in shock. 

He mumbled your name as you sat up. 

“Azriel,” you said, moving slowly towards him, extending your hand to gently lay on his shaking arm. 

He continued to stare at you for a few moments, his breathing harsh, and then the tears came. He let out a choked sob, his scarred hands shaking violently as he brought them up to cover his face. The fear in your chest was not due to having a knife at your throat mere minutes before, but at the state of your mate. 

You moved to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing his head to rest on your chest. He sobbed harder, mumbling out a choked apology. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and he stayed there for what seemed like hours before he was able to calm his tears, his breathing, and finally speak to you.  

After that night, you knew how heavy everything weighed on his shoulders. How he would still see the faces of the people that he had to torture and kill, no matter how many times he told himself that it had to be done. You knew the guilt he carried. The trauma he still had from his childhood. You knew all of it, felt all of it through the bond that he had tried to shield from you, but you didn’t let him. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

Azriel never resented Rhys for what he had to do, but a small part of you did. You never said it, but every time Azriel would wake up in a pool of his own sweat, his dark hair sticking to his forehead and his chest rising and falling erratically, a small spark of indignation would flicker in your heart for him. 

The tears seemed endless during those nights. Whether it was the guilt gripping Azriel tightly around the neck as he was forced to look into the eyes of every life he had taken and watch the life drain out of them, or the vivid and tactile feeling of the fire engulfing his hands, so real that his wails of pain brought tears to your eyes every time. Those sounds haunted you. The sobs and screams, broken and long-lasting. 

His name was a prayer on your tongue, a repeating sound, although you knew it would be hours before any words tore through the iron walls surrounding his mind. You would hold him, arms sliding across his back, tightening around him, and bring him closer to you until you cradled his head on your chest. Your fingers threaded through his dark, damp, and sweaty hair, and you would slowly rock him. Sometimes, he would mutter choked, slurred words that sounded like apologies, and tears would sometimes escape from your traitorous eyes, though you tried to never let him see that. You would tug on the bond, a soft and gentle reassurance that you were there, that you would always be there, and that you accepted him no matter what. No matter what he had done or had been through in his past. You accepted every part of him, and you loved him. 

When the nightmares finally ebbed away and left the love of your life a shell of a male, empty and sad, you would dry the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs and wipe the snot away with the hem of your shirt and smile softly at him. Sometimes he would fall asleep soon after, exhaustion weighing heavily on him, and you held him tightly against you, unable to fall back asleep, until dawn began to break. Other times, you would draw him a bath, sliding in behind him, and you would hold him, and wash him, and bring him any comfort you could. 

It was usually hours before he returned to you, but you waited patiently for him every time. He would never talk about it the same night. He would often open up the following morning, or the following night, or if the nightmare, the memory, was especially egregious, he would spare you the details and not speak about it at all. But you didn’t mind. 

You would never stop comforting him, offering him your unyielding love and support. You would hold him for as long as you could, as long as it took for the terrors to leave him and he’d be yours again. 

“No doubt in my mind where you belong.”

Rita was full that night, teeming with people from all walks of life. You sat in a booth, separate enough from the inebriated crowd, but near enough that you felt close to the action and could see your friends dancing in the crowd. Emorie had dragged Nesta and Gwyn to the dance floor. The water nymph had looked uncomfortable when she first got there, but after two drinks, she had let loose enough to have fun. You were happy for her; she deserved to have some fun. 

Feyre and Rhysand sat at the other end of the booth, huddled close together and staring so intently at each other that you would have found it a little creepy if you didn’t know they could communicate mind to mind. 

Azriel shifted from beside you, his watchful eyes scanning the crowd and assessing the environment. He knew how to have fun, but there was always a part of his brain–the Spymaster part–that never really seemed to turn off. You slid your hand into his, squeezing it tightly. 

He looked at you, and his lips twitched up in a soft smile. 

“I think Cassian wants you to go dance with him,” you teased, and you both glanced over to his brother standing in the crowd. He was waving towards the table, and when he noticed Azriel’s eyes on him, he gestured for him to join. He hovered near Nesta, who had pointedly ignored him when he tried to dance with her and continued dancing with Emorie and Gwyn. The other patrons gave him a wide berth, not that he noticed, or seemed to care. His dance moves were awkward and haphazard, and you noticed at least three separate people dodging to avoid an elbow or wing to the face. 

“No.”

You laughed, grabbing your drink from in front of you and downing the rest of it. 

“Oh, come on. You should go have fun.”

He rolled his eyes. “Love, there is a reason Nesta refuses to go near him when he’s dancing. It’s not only embarrassing but dangerous.”

You both watched as Cassian’s wings flared out, the edge of one hitting a male on the back of the head. You both snickered with each other. 

“Well, one of us should have fun,” you said, standing up from beside him. He pouted at you, his perfect bottom lip jutting out, and you leaned down to give a teasing lick to the flesh. He growled lowly in his throat, and you giggled, stepping quickly away from him as he tried to grab your hips. 

“I’ll get you for that,” he rasped out as you walked backwards from him. 

“I’m counting on it, Shadowsinger,” you smirked, turning away and making your way to your friends on the dance floor. 

You maneuvered through the crowd, narrowly avoiding writhing bodies and Cassian’s hand trying to grip your arm. You squeezed through, finally reaching the girls and smiled at Gwyn as she twirled around. 

“Your mate is a menace,” you said to Nesta and she rolled her eyes. “I think he’s injured like five people."

“I don’t know that male.” You all laughed, the warmth from the dancing bodies surrounding you, and the alcohol making the room hazy. You began moving, your body thrumming with the beat of the music, and you felt Azriel’s heavy gaze on you and you let out a low giggle. These were some of your favorite nights spent having fun with friends. 

Hands gripped your hips from behind, and you froze. You didn’t know those hands. Azriel’s grip was familiar to you: the size of his hands, the swirls of silky shadows that would slither over your wrists, the pressure was always perfect. But the hands that gripped you now were wrong. 

You stepped away and turned quickly, before stiffening at who stood before you. 

Alric. 

Your ex-boyfriend, Alric, who you had dated for months before leaving him when you caught him with another female. Oh, Cauldron boil you. You had avoided the male for close to a year before meeting Azriel and he had not crossed your mind since. And now he showed up? 

Nesta and Gwyn stepped in close behind you, ready to help you in whatever you needed and you sent a prayer of thanks to the Mother for blessing you with friends like them. 

Alric smiled widely at you, his eyes hazy. 

“Long time no see,” he breathed out, and the reek of alcohol and mirthroot swirled around you. You fought the urge to gag.

Nesta stepped in from behind you, standing firmly at your side, and glared at the man in that frightening way she had. You were surprised he barely reacted. From somewhere behind her, you saw Cassian’s attention fixed on your group, his wide smile now gone. You shot a quick glance at the group’s table a level above, finding Azriel gone. The tug in your chest gave you an indication of just where he was heading. 

“Do we know you?” Nesta asked, her voice icy. 

“What? She didn’t tell you about me?” he slurred back. 

You felt his presence before he even appeared there. There–those hands were right. They were the only ones you ever wanted to touch you. Warm, and rough, and his. Azriel.

“Is there a problem?” His voice was low and dangerous, and it sent shivers down your spine. 

“Aw, moved on already?” Gods above, this male really didn’t know how to read the room, not an ounce of self-preservation. Azriel was rigid beside you, and the anger emanated from him in waves.

“What happened?” Alric continued. “We were so good together. I thought we really loved each other, had a future together.”

Your voice finally seemed to return to you then. 

“Could have fooled me when I found that female in my bed,” you said, measuring your words. The anger simmered beneath your skin and you fought the urge to punch him in the face. Azriel’s hand tightened slightly at your hip, in comfort and reassurance.  “That’s all in the past, Alric. You should leave me alone now.”

“You told me you wanted to marry me.” The male almost pouted and heat rushed up your neck and pointed ears. Embarrassment flooded you because you had said it, but you knew better now. It was the naivety of a girl being in love for the first time. Of someone who didn’t know there was better out there. But now you did know. A quick cursory glance showed no judgement from your friends, just annoyance at the audacity of the male. 

“My mate said she wanted you to leave.”

Alric looked at Azriel then, eyes widening slightly before looking back at you and letting out an incredulous laugh. “Holy shit. You have a mate?”

Azriel bristled from beside you, not liking his teasing, mocking tone one bit. He looked the Fae male up and down, knowing he could easily take him in a fight. There would be no doubt. He took a step forward, wings widening and shadows swirling, and he towered over Alric. And at the first glimpse of those shadows and the look of pure wrath on Azriel’s face, it seemed that sense finally returned to the male and he realized just who was standing in front of him. 

“Holy shit, you’re the Shadowsinger.”

Azriel didn’t respond, only raised an eyebrow. 

Alric gulped, taking a step back. He risked one last glance at you, and raised his hands in surrender. 

“I don’t want any trouble.” He nodded at you, eyes troubled and you said nothing as you glared at him. He looked at the people around you–your favorite people, your family–and made the smart choice for once, turning his back and walking away. 

You huffed out a breath of relief, turning towards Azriel and burrowing your face in his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against the warmth of his chest. 

You broke away glancing around towards your friends. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you mumbled, clearly embarrassed. 

Cassian chuckled. “It was getting boring around here. Now we get to tell Mor and Amren about how Azriel scared the shit out of that asshole!”

You chuckled at Cassian's easy smile, and he winked at you. You smiled back at him, grateful for your friend and his incredible talent of diffusing uncomfortable situations. 

“You’re okay?” Nesta asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, but I think I want to head home now.”

She nodded, giving you a quick goodbye hug, and Azriel ushered you towards the exit. The air outside was brisk and chilly, but it felt good against your overheated skin. Azriel pulled you into his arms, carrying you tightly against him before launching into the night sky. He didn’t say anything as he flew you home, but the soft tug on the bond comforted you as you laid in his arms, face burrowed in the crook of neck as he glided gently home. 

You landed on your balcony, making your way inside and you sighed. You looked back at Azriel, who trailed behind you into your room and smiled at him. 

“Thank you for tonight. For defending me.”

He walked up to you, pulling you close by the waist. “You’re mine,” he whispered. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Always. Did Alric make you think I’m not?”

He rolled his eyes. “Seeing him touch you, finally seeing the male that broke your heart…Fuck, I wanted to kill him.”

You scoffed, raising a brow. “Jealous?” You were teasing him, but he remained serious. 

“I didn't like the way he was looking at you. Or spoke to you…” He paused, and you remained silent, sensing that there was more that he wanted to say. He sighed, his hands tightening around your waist before he continued. 

“I hate thinking about the fact that you were with other people before me. The idea that you wanted to marry someone else that’s not me. And I know that we didn’t know each other then, and it’s unfair and ridiculous for me to feel this way but it makes me think about you not being with me. It makes me think about the fact that maybe you shouldn’t be with me.”

His eyes shut tightly, and his voice strained to get the words out. You reeled back, shock and sadness coursing through you. 

“What?”

He stayed silent for a moment and you pulled at that golden string that bound your souls together. One of his hands raised to his chest, rubbing the skin above his heart and you gave a harsher tug. He opened his eyes and this close, the greens and golds in his eyes shimmered behind unshed tears. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice coarse and tight. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

“And you think Alric is who deserves me?” It was a rhetorical question, but confusion laced the words. What had brought this on? You had imagined the night going much differently; you imagined his jealousy turning possessive and passionate, not…this. 

“No!” he said emphatically and you would have chuckled at his indignation at the mere thought, if you weren’t concerned for him. “You deserve so much better than that asshole. You deserve the world. You deserve better than me.”

Your hand settled at the nape of his neck and you pulled him down towards you until you could press a deep, reassuring kiss to his lips. 

He whispered your name, but you continued, unwilling to let him think so lowly of himself. You would not allow him to do so. Not this male, your mate, the one being you loved more than anyone or anything else.

“Azriel, no one deserves me more than you do. I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. And my choice will always be you. There’s only one place I belong and it’s with you. And you with me. Nothing and no one will ever change that. You're my soulmate. You are my perfect match, Az, I was made for you and you for me.”

He took a deep breath at your words and smiled. It was a genuine grin, wide and beautiful. You loved this smile, the one that seemed to be reserved for only you. His hands lowered to your hips, and the silky tendrils of shadows swirled up your legs and arms, tickling your sensitive skin. He pressed another long kiss on your lips, and you reveled at the taste of him, the sharp and strong and sturdy lines of his body pressed against you. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips. “So much. From the moment that we met.”

“Really?” you teased back as his lips began trailing down your jaw and neck. 

“Mmhmm,” he murmured against your neck, hands traveling further down to your ass and hoisting you up to his massive height. 

You giggled. “I know the bond snapped for you then and all that, but we didn’t even know each other.”

“No, but I felt your soul,” he said, laying you back on the soft mattress. His chest pressed against yours, and you arched toward him, craving everything he was going to give you. His lips trailed down your sternum, stopping only when the neckline of your shirt interrupted him. He reached behind you, loosening the ties of your top until he could pull the fabric away, exposing your chest to him. 

“I knew that I would love every part of you, even the ones I hadn’t known then. And I was right. You are my mate. My perfect match,” he said, echoing your words, and his kisses didn’t stop, moving to where you craved him. His mouth wrapped around a nipple and you arched towards him, a soft moan escaping and he smiled against your skin. 

“I will spend the rest of my existence trying to be the male you deserve.”

His mouth trailed lower then, down your navel and then his hand found its way past the hem of your pants. His touch cut off the words that you were about to say, but you didn’t need to, because he knew. He knew that you already thought he was that male, even if he didn’t believe it himself. He knew that you loved him unconditionally, and there was no other place he belonged other than wrapped around you. 

“Go to the ends of the world for you, to make you feel my love.”

“It’s an easy one,” Rhysand said, looking at you before turning his gaze to Azriel. “I don’t expect any opposition. It’ll be as good a time as any to get her out there.”

You smiled at Rhys, pride filling your chest that he thought you were ready to go out into the field. Granted, it was an easy mission and there would be no one to actually fight. Just get in, get the artifact from the abandoned ruins, and get out. And he was also sending you as an added attachment to Azriel, who could probably handle it by himself. But still–progress was progress. 

“No,” Azriel said. Your eyes snapped to him. He was staring at Rhysand, and you knew that he was purposefully avoiding your gaze. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. 

You glared at your mate, who was still avoiding your stare, and you could have sworn you saw Rhys wince from the corner of your eye, and he quietly made his way out the door, knowing this was something you and Azriel needed to discuss alone. 

He was silent for a moment before he sighed, turning his gaze to you. He took a steadying breath, like he had to steel himself, like he knew an argument with you was brewing. 

“It’s too dangerous.”

“How so? Rhys said there would be no one else there, it’s a quick in-and-out. And you’ll be there with me. It’s not like I’m going alone.”

He whispered your name, a desperate tone lining the edges of his voice, but you did not yield. 

“Az, I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady. You were ready. “I know you get scared and overprotective, but I promise you that I’m ready. You know I am.” 

He glanced away from you, mulling the words over in his head and you knew from the contemplative look on his face that you had almost convinced him. 

You gave a soft tug on the bond between you, and he looked back at you. “Please,” you pleaded softly. It wasn’t that you needed his permission–you were almost as stubborn as he was, and you both knew that he couldn’t stop you even if he tried, and if he did manage to do it, there would be hell waiting for him. But his approval, his blessing, to know that he believed in you and have him standing by your side would be worth more than gold in your eyes. 

He sighed, his head hanging down in resignation, and you knew you had won. He looked back at you, uncertainty and concern still shining in his eyes, but he nodded. “Alright.”

You smiled at him, delight filling your chest, and from the way he smiled back at you, you knew that he sensed it, too. You took a step closer to him, grabbed his hand, and squeezed in gratitude. 

“You do exactly as I say. You don’t go rogue. We get in and get out. Understand?”

He shifted then–the change in your mate brazen and he went from loving, soft male to the no-nonsense spymaster, austerity returning to every aspect of his being. A part of you wanted to writhe in arousal. Seeing him like that, serious and focused, did things to you. It brought back memories about that one night three months prior, when he had taken you to his recently cleaned dungeon, and a rather fun, unhinged roleplaying session had taken place.

You shook the thought from your head, and he raised an eyebrow at you, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking of. Your face heated, but you remained composed. 

“I will. I won’t disappoint you.”

He sighed, taking a step towards you and pressed his lips against your forehead. “You’ll never disappoint me. I just need you to be safe.”

“I will be. I’ll be with you.”

The massive stone building was ancient. The ruins of the enormous temple were so old that pieces of it were crumbling. It was silent, not even the chirping of the birds or the buzzing of insects filled the area. It was as if life itself ceased to exist in that place. A shiver moved down your spine, and you squeezed Azriel’s hand. 

“In and out,” he said, and you nodded. 

The inside of the ruins was even worse. Overgrown weeds covered most surfaces. You imagined that the discolored walls had once been a stark white, a shining pillar of beauty, but left abandoned now looked like a muddy street in a busy town. Dirty. The stone chipped away there as well, and you both walked in carefully, fully aware of pieces of stone that occasionally rained down to the ground from the caved-in ceiling. 

But it was there. The chalice. 

The golden cup glistened in the sunlight that filtered through the collapsing ceiling, and it looked…wrong. Not a speck of dust or debris touched the gilded surface, as if it had just been placed there, despite the rumors that it had been waiting there for hundreds of years. You glanced around, no sign of anything being amiss. There were no tracks, nothing seemed to be disturbed. The only thing out of place was that damn cup, perched on a stone pillar in the center of the chamber. 

Azriel took a step forward, his arm outstretched towards you, keeping you where you stood. 

“Something’s not right,” he muttered, looking around as you had. His shadows dispersed, filtering through the space, searching for things that you and Azriel might not be able to see, but they returned to their master after a few minutes. 

“You think that something might happen once we grab it? Like some kind of booby trap?” you asked. He glanced back at you, serious and contemplative as he nodded. 

“Let’s grab it and you can winnow us out right after,” he said, after a few moments of thought. “You can take us further than my shadows can.”

You nodded and you both approached the center of the room. He stood near the pillar, one hand outstretched towards the golden cup, the other firmly in your grasp. 

He glanced at you.  “Ready?”

You nodded and his hand wrapped around the chalice. You pictured the dense forest far away, the furthest point you could get you and Azriel to, and imagined the world folding into itself, taking you to that place. 

But nothing happened. Azriel looked at you and you looked back at him, a slight panic in your eyes. 

“It’s not working,” you said. He straightened, and called his shadows to walk through them, except his shadows were also gone. All of them. Like some sort of shield came over the two of you when he grabbed the chalice, rendering your magic completely useless. 

He squeezed your hand, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did, he would seem calm. But the slight cinch of his brows and tightening of his jaw gave away his panic. He pulled you towards the entrance of the ruins quickly, making quick work of leaving. 

The ground beneath your feet shook, making you latch tightly to Azriel to keep your balance. A deep rumbling and the sound of stone grating against stone resounded from behind you. You both turned, watching as a hidden door on the far wall of the dilapidated temple rose, opening a dark chamber behind it. You couldn’t tell how large it was, it was eerily dark and the sunlight only illuminated a few inches into the doorway.

Azriel pulled you to the entrance–the exit–quicker, but the deep growl that came from that darkness made your heart jump to your chest and he stopped short, looking back to assess the danger. Maybe you could run, you were close to the exit, but what if the creature was faster? 

A male walked out. No–not a male. Not fae, or human, or Illyrian, or any matter of creature you had seen before. It looked like a corpse. Sallow, dry skin stretched over bones and muscles and tendons grotesquely and it was impossibly large. It towered over Azriel and its double row of razor sharp teeth sent chills down your spine. 

Your hand was still clenched tightly in Azriel’s and you tried to winnow again, but to no avail. 

“Cauldron fuck,” you whispered at the sight before you. “What is that thing?”

Azriel took a step forward, Truth-Teller already in his hand and his siphons glowed bright. 

“Run,” he growled, pushing you behind him and towards the only way out. 

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You turned and bolted, Azriel right at your heels. All you had to do was make it out the exit and Azriel could fly you both out of range of that thing. 

It gave chase, and reached Azriel quickly, too quickly, and you turned as you watched him fight the creature. He was strong, and fast, but the creature was all brute strength and the slices Truth-Teller made to its legs and abdomen didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

You wanted to call out to Azriel, but didn’t want to distract him. 

He called out to you, his attention turning to you for only a moment as he tossed you the Chalice. “Run! Go!”

“Not without you!” You refused to leave him. And maybe you were stupid for not listening, but you knew that if you ran and something happened to Azriel, you would never forgive yourself. 

He blocked another attack from the creature, his arms straining with the effort to keep it away. 

“Just go!”

The creature lunged for him, and you grabbed the small, thin sword strapped at your back, and rushed towards the fray. Azriel met your eyes for a single second, an incredulous rage shining in them, but you ignored him as you swiped at the creature, drawing black blood from a wound in its arm. It snarled at you, giving Azriel a chance to stab it right in the chest. Except nothing happened, it only seemed to make the creature more angry and it turned towards the Illyrian. 

It was fast. Faster than any creature you had ever seen before. You saw its large mouth open, that double row of sharp teeth oozing a pale green excrement and it was almost in slow motion as you watched it lean down towards Azriel. Your mind blanked, not a single thought running through it except ‘not him, not him, not him”. You jumped in front of Azriel, moving faster than you had ever before, and that jaw, strong and sharp, snapped shut on your forearm. 

Azriel roared in rage, taking the sword from your hand, which now hung limp at the other side of that maw, and he ran it clear through the creature’s neck. The black blood sprayed on your face and chest, the tight bite still clamped shut on your skin. 

Maybe you were in shock, but you didn’t scream. You had expected a sharp pain, but all you felt was an intense, crushing impact. The pressure was immense, and even as its head was severed from its body and the creature died, the mouth remained latched on your arm. 

Azriel ran towards it, grabbing the jaw in both hands as he tried to pry it apart. It loosened slowly, and that’s when the pain hit you. You screamed as the large teeth dislodged from your arm and Azriel threw the head to the ground. 

“What the fuck?!” he yelled at you, eyes wide and panicked, but it sounded like he was underwater. There was a ringing in your ears, so loud that you hardly registered any other sounds. Not his panicked screaming, not his heavy breathing, not even your own groans of pain as he finally removed that creature from you. 

You looked down at the wound and bile rose to your throat. The puncture wounds–too many for you to actually count–went down to the bone, exposing the muscles and tendons and that cracked, white bone deep in your arm. A part of you was surprised that the appendage was still attached to your body. 

The scent hit you next, acrid and rotting, and it was an effort to not throw up then and there. The pale green saliva of the creature coated your skin and you could see it mixed in with your blood in some of the wounds. Your arm began to heat up, too quickly, and it was searing within seconds. 

You whimpered in anguish and began shaking violently as the pain began radiating to every other cell in your body. 

You moaned in pain, ‘It’s burning!”

His eyes were stricken, movements frantic as he gathered you in his arms and ran out of the ruins, not waiting to see if anything else would escape from that secret, dark chamber. His wings spread, wide and vast, and he launched into the air, his arms cradling you tight to his body. After flying at full speed for a few moments, his shadows returned, finally out of range of whatever matter of shield had overcome the two of you in that place. 

You considered trying to winnow, but the burning pain in your arm was getting worse, spreading up towards your bicep and you couldn’t stop the scream of pain that you released. Your uninjured hand gripped the golden chalice tightly, holding it securely in your lap. He hesitated at jumping through his shadows, afraid the jump would be too much for you.

“What the fuck?! Why would you do that?! Why?”

His voice carried through the air as he flew home and he sounded so far away, even if he was right next to you. Your ears were clouded, your vision began to turn spotty, and the pain in your arm, now creeping towards your shoulder, was the only thing sharp enough for you to fully focus on. Regardless, you looked at his face, his beautiful face that was twisted in horror and worry and he looked like he was going to be sick, but he was still the most gorgeous male you had seen. 

“For you,” you mumbled as the edges of your vision began fading. 

You fought the urge to fall asleep, feeling as if you would fade away if you were to close your eyes. You were lucid enough to realize that the saliva probably held some sort of venom, and could feel the sharp pain radiating from your shoulder. But you didn’t care. It was worth it. It would always be worth it. He would always be worth it. Azriel would be alive and well, breathing and not in pain. If you weren’t able to fend off his nightmares completely, then you’d make damn sure you kept anything else away that could possibly hurt him–protect him from anything you could. 

The world went black, despite your best efforts, and you heard a loud wail before completely losing consciousness. You weren't sure if it came from you or Azriel, but once the darkness claimed you, it didn’t matter anymore. 

When you awakened, the soft light of dawn was filtering through your thin, balcony curtains. Your upper body was stiff, the wrapping around your arm tight. The sharp pain had faded and your fast healing was already helping the wound along, although you estimated at least a week until you were completely fine. 

You turned your head, finding Azriel sitting on the bed beside you. He was leaned up against the headboard, asleep, and the hand closest to you laid gently on your head, fingers intertwined with your hair. 

His shadows swirled around his head, whispering into his ears once they noticed you move and he quickly woke up, gaze snapping to yours. He gasped your name and he moved quickly, leaning down to hover over you, his gaze sweeping up and down as if to assess you. 

“Are you alright? Are you in pain?” he spoke quickly, barely breathing between questions and your heart gave a gentle lurch at the worry emanating from him in waves. He looked exhausted. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes, his hair was a mess, and the beginnings of a beard were starting to show on his chiseled face. You couldn’t recall ever seeing him with facial hair before. 

Guilt began to gnaw at you, knowing that it was you who made him frantic like this, but also knew that you would do it over again if it meant he was safe. 

“You’re starting to get a beard,” you mumbled, voice scratchy from disuse. He looked at you, disbelief and mild annoyance in his eyes. You grinned at him, although from the slight pull in your arm, you knew it may have looked more like a grimace. 

“Hello, there,” you continued and he sighed, closing his eyes, and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice tight and you had the sneaking suspicion that he was clenching his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. “I thought I lost you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Shadowsinger,” you said, joking, but he leaned back, opening his eyes to look at you. They looked suspiciously shiny. 

“Don’t ever do that again. Ever. Do you understand me?” His tone was serious, more solemn and harsh than he had ever spoken to you and the witty remark dried up on your tongue. 

“I can’t promise you that,” you said, and he shook his head, leaning away and sitting beside you on the bed. He reached to the table next to you, silent now, and brought a glass of water to your lips. You leaned up, drinking the liquid and he then poured a tonic into your mouth before giving you more water. 

Once you had your fill, he placed the glass back on the table and faced away from you. His wings dragged behind him, one resting lightly on your leg and the weight of it brought you such comfort that you wanted to cry. He was here. You were here. You were both okay, and he was safe here with you because you saved him. 

“Az,” you whispered and his shoulders shook as a sob escaped him. 

You tried sitting up, groaning in pain as your wound pulled. He quickly turned around, gently pinning your shoulders to the bed to stop you from moving. 

“Don’t,” he said simply, the tears running down his face. Your eyes began to burn as tears built up.

“Azriel?” you asked. 

“You have to. You have to promise me that you will never do that again,” he pleaded with you. He pulled at the thread between you and the despair, horror, and the distressed anxiety he had felt over the past three days came flooding in, making you sob. 

“Please,” he begged.

“I can't,” you sobbed. “I’d do it a million times over if it means you’d be safe.” That time you let your own emotions flow to him–the horror that had flooded you the second you noticed that creature leaning towards him, the love that encompassed your entire being and drove you to jump in front of it. 

“I would die for you, Azriel.” He inhaled sharply at that, tears continuing to stream down his cheeks and you grasped his hand tightly in yours. “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone and your life is worth it to me. And I don’t care if you don’t see it that way. Because you know 

you’d try to do the same if it was the other way around, that you’d go to the ends of the world to keep me safe.”

Your hand raised, drying a tear from his cheek. 

“You fucking unbelievable, stubborn female,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. He leaned his forehead on yours. “I can’t live without you. I refuse to live in a world without you in it, so please, for my sake, please try to not do that again.”

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips again. “I refuse to live in a world without you, either, you Illyrian baby.”

“Selfish brat,” he muttered, voice full of affection. He leaned away, grabbing both of your hands and pressing kisses to the back of them. “Let’s both agree to try to stay as safe as we possibly can. Can you agree to that?”

“Hmm, fine. It’s reasonable enough,” you said. He shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead and laid back down next to you, careful not to jostle you too much. 

“You’re my world,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “I’d burn down the world for you if I needed to.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him you’d do the same for him, but the tonic he had given you was making you so drowsy, and you were already half asleep and unable to form a coherent thought. He cradled you against his large frame, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lulling you the rest of the way to your sleep.

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