cat

Azriel’s mouth fell shut, a flicker of surprise, and then guilt, crossing his face.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “I know about those. I know you are the one that told Rhys I couldn’t handle it. But this time, Rhys came to me, and I said yes. You don’t get to decide this time.” It wasn’t entirely truthful, but you wanted your words to stick. You wanted him to feel guilty, to regret keeping you from the field. 

You had been training for a year, and while you had started later than the others, you would like to think you had proved yourself. You had proved yourself. Azriel wouldn’t have agreed to train you as a spy if you hadn’t, but now he wanted to be difficult, to delay your transition into the field without any real explanation, and you were tired of it.

“It’s too dangerous,” he tried again, voice quieter but still hard with anger.

“Everything we do is dangerous,” you said, exasperation making your voice heavy. “It’s our job. It’s what I signed up for. You made sure I knew that on day one.”

“It’s an Illyrian rebel camp, and you are going in alone—”

“I’m not going inside the camp,” you cut him off. “I’m spying. The whole point is to stay undetected, like you trained me.”

“You are just a priestess.”

His words made your heart drop, a buried insecurity once again unearthed. “Right,” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because that’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it? The broken and bloody priestess you carried out of Cesere.”

The regret was clear on his face as he said softly, “I didn’t mean that.”

An ache spread from your core to your bones as his words rang through your head. The two of you had grown undeniably close over the last year. You knew that your feelings were morphing into much more complicated ones for the shadowsinger, and you had convinced yourself that he might see you in the same way—or, at the very least, he respected you as a friend and as a spy. 

Everytime he touched you, or even spoke to you, a swarm of butterflies erupted inside you. Now, those butterflies were dead, and lying heavy in your stomach.

Something akin to desperation pulled taught in your chest, making your breath falter, but you ignored the strange feeling and you swallowed your hurt. “You did,” you said quietly. It had been a long time since you worried that Azriel still saw you as the pitiful priestess in distress, but now those worries were back ten-fold, they were confirmed, and you felt sick.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” you bit out. “I’m going on this mission.”

~ ~ ~

You lost track of how many drops of water had dripped against the stone beneath you. You were fighting to stay awake, but you couldn’t remember when you stopped counting. The steady dripping was like a sword against stone at this point, after spending endless hours tied up in this cave, with the drops and the skittering of rodents the only sounds to keep you company.

You tried to refocus on the dripping again, but the light echoing of every drop was like an anvil against your head. The rhythm of the drops seemed to be off too, as if they were competing with one another to fall. You dragged your gaze up to your wrist hung over your head, rough rope rubbing the skin raw, and a trail of blood trickling down your arm, onto your shoulder, and likely onto the stone below. The competing drops, most likely.

Azriel was right. You were just a priestess, who decided she wanted to play spy, and ran headfirst into danger to impress her High Lord. Rhys had tried to dissuade you from the mission, too, which you failed to share with Azriel. Rhys had asked you a research question, and when you probed him for more information, you pushed him to send you on this mission until he acquiesced. Convinced him that your knowledge of Illyrian culture and folklore (an embarrassing and inexplicable research obsession you garnered after Azriel rescued you) made you the best person to go on this mission, next to an actual Illyrian. You were tiny, and would be able to slip in and out of places with ease, and you would be able to recognize any abnormal practices in the camp. You would know where to hide, when to move, how to stay hidden and collect the intel Rhys needed.

You weren’t sure how they found you. You had barely stepped a foot inside their territory, only just finding your first scouting position, when a male plowed into you from your perch in a pine tree, knocking you flat on your back into the snow. Two more males had materialized from the shadows, and dragged you through the bitter cold snow until you reached this cave, deep in the Illyrian Steppes. 

You were freezing by the time you reached the cave, and your body was shivering relentlessly from the damp and cold clothes plastered to your body. What you would do for those clothes now, as you hung from your arms, your chest and legs bare, save for the scrap of underwear they had left intact. You hoped you died before they removed it.

You were certain your leg was broken—shattered, most likely. You had lost feeling in it awhile ago, but you had no way of truly knowing how much time had passed. Your head was pounding, and it felt like sand was sloshing around inside it with every movement you made. Your body was painted with dried and fresh blood, thanks to the fresh cuts they added every so often.

This was the longest they had left you alone. Every second that passed by filled you with more trepidation. You kept waiting for them to cross another line, to finally finish you off, to realize you weren’t going to tell them anything and to just get rid of you.

Your body was so heavy. You had long ago given up on holding yourself up, to try to alleviate the pressure of the ropes on your wrists. Your ankles were bound too, and your toes barely grazed the stone beneath you as you slowly swayed back and forth. 

You flinched as something brushed against your ankle, a chill instantly going up your spine. Mother only knew what was in these caves, what was waiting to feast on your carcass.

Your vision started to swim again, the rocks before you tilting as consciousness finally abandoned you.

~ ~ ~

You awoke in a panic, your body all too aware that someone was there, and they were touching you. Adrenaline took over your body as you thrashed and screamed, refusing to just lie there and make it easy for them.

Hands cupped your cheeks, and your eyes snapped shut as their fingers slipped through the mixture of tears and blood on your skin. “Sweetheart,” the male said, and the breath whooshed from your lungs. You knew that voice.

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s Azriel.”

“No,” you sobbed, refusing to give into whatever cruel hallucination your mind had cooked up. They must have drugged you while you were unconscious, pumped you full of Mother only knew what.

He brushed the hair from your face, and your mind was screaming at you to give in, to let yourself have this final moment of peace, with the male you loved and would never get to see again. Your fear was too powerful, though, your last shred of hope that you could survive this too potent.

Another set of hands were at your wrist, their touch like acid in your wounds. You screamed as they pulled at you, the rope rubbing against your raw wrists. You were so desperate, desperate to do anything to make them leave you alone. Your screams turned to sobs, and suddenly your body was falling forward, and your arm fell to your side. The male caught you before you could hit the ground, your body going limp against his. He smelled like cedar, and salt, and for a moment you found yourself relaxing in the comforting scent.

Your other arm soon fell to your side too, and your hands burned as the blood rushed back into your fingers. “Y/N,” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “Open your eyes. Please.”

A comforting warmth flooded your chest, and your eyes slowly fluttered open. A blurry Azriel was holding you up, his face mere inches from yours. A heavy fabric was draped over your shoulders, making you flinch away from whoever stood behind you, but that only pushed you further into the other male’s arms.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. “It's just Cassian. You’re freezing, love.”

You hadn’t noticed the shivers racking your body until then. Black wisps brushed your face and neck, and their familiar touch made you crumple.

“Azriel?” you sobbed, body limp in his arms as you looked up at him.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. It’s me. You’re safe now, I promise.”

He pulled the cape Cassian had draped over you around your shoulders, effectively covering your bare body.

A million things were rushing through your head, a million things you wanted to tell him, but all that you could get out was a sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice firm.

“I should have listened—”

Azriel shushed you, his finger gently stroking your face. “Stop. This wasn’t your fault,” he repeated softly.

Panic seized you as you realized you were just sitting here, waiting for those males to come back. “Those males—”

“Rhys has them,” Cassian answered, his voice dangerously low. “We’ll take care of them.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened. “Take her home,” he told Cassian, voice dipped in lethal rage. You immediately tensed. “Madja is waiting.”

“No,” Cassian said, and relief flooded you. As much you trusted Cassian, you couldn’t fathom another male touching you, carrying you all the way back to Velaris. Azriel was…He was the exception. His touch made you feel whole, and safe. He was your anchor. But the thought of anyone else made bile rise in your throat.

“Excuse me?” Azriel growled, his chest rumbling beneath where your head had lolled.

“No,” Cassian repeated. His voice was a little warped, and your head was growing heavy. “You take her home. Rhys and I will handle those males.”

“They deserve—“

“I know,” Cassian placated. “I know they do.” His voice was so far away now. Adrenaline had abandoned you, and you were in Azriel’s warm arms, and your exhaustion was slowly stealing you away.

“You need to take her home,” you thought he said, but it was so difficult to focus, to be certain that your reality was not meshing with your dreams. “Go home, and take care of your mate.” A dream, then.

~ ~ ~

You were certain your skin was melting from your bones when you awoke. Your scream that filled the room sent a chill through your core, a direct contrast with the scalding of your skin. You couldn’t understand where you were, who was touching you. Everything was mush, and pain, and terror. Your brain had tricked you, fooled you into a false sense of relief by showing you Azriel, and then yanked him away. You were still in that cave, still a captive to those sadistic males.

Except the hand on your forehead was far too small and delicate to belong to one of those brutes. Their skin was soft and cool against your own, and gently forced your head to lay back, cold porcelain meeting your neck. “You’re in Velaris. In the House of Wind,” a delicate voice murmured. Female. The voice was female. “You are safe,” she cooed, and your terror slowly abated, dulling into a sickening anxiety that left you trembling.

You slowly realized you were in a bath, the water a murky green color that continuously flooded the wounds littered across your body.o Every movement you made sent the water sloshing against your skin, and you forced yourself to stay still as you met the female’s eyes. Madja.

Your eyes stung as you stared at the familiar healer, whose ministrations and focus did not falter. “Madja?” you croaked, your throat raw and sore.

“Yes, dear,” she affirmed gently, lifting your arm from the water to probe at your inflamed and oozing wrist.

“Where is Azriel?” you practically whimpered.

“He’s just outside.”

“I need him.”

She glanced at you. “You are not dressed, love. He did not want—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need him. Please get Azriel.” Your volume rose steadily as you yelled desperately, another flare of pain searing through you, “I want Azriel!”

“I’m right here.”

Your eyes darted behind Madja, Azriel standing there in the doorway. His eyes were pained as he took you in, and your body went limp as soon as you saw him. A sob broke free from your mouth, your body shuddering uncontrollably.

He immediately rounded to the other side of the tub, crouching down next to you.

“Shadowsinger,” Madja warned.

“Can I touch her?” he asked, voice cracking. You whimpered through your sobs as she pressed a balm against the wounds circling your wrist.

“Just her face,” she relented.

Azriel’s hand immediately cupped your cheek, and you leaned heavily against him. “It hurts,” you whimpered, eyes falling shut.

“I know,” he murmured. “It will be better soon.”

You sniffed, hesitantly meeting his eyes again. His normally bright hazel eyes seemed muted, exhaustion and worry dulling them. “Is this real?” you whispered, voice so small and vulnerable. You wanted to curl up in a ball, and hide away forever. You wanted to erase these last few days from your memory, or however long you were strung up in that cave. You wanted to go back and listen to Azriel, to not let your pride and anger push you into something so rash.

“Yes,” he assured, his voice soft and gentle. He brushed some hair behind your ear, the strands damp and clinging to your face. He glanced at Madja, then picked up a cloth hanging over the side of the tub. He dunked it in the water then ringed it out, before gently bringing it up to your face. “This will sting a bit,” he warned softly, then dragged the cloth across your forehead.

It did sting, but the discomfort was drowned out by the excruciating burns that consumed the rest of your body fully submerged in the water. You sucked in a breath as he brushed over a tender part of your forehead, and he murmured soft apologies as he continued cleaning it. You could only imagine how you looked at that moment, how disheveled and broken you must have been. Just like that horrid night in Cesere.

“I’m sorry you had to save me again.”

Azriel froze, his eyes wide as they met yours. “Why–” he spluttered, then shook his head. “I will always come for you,” he promised, his voice a bit desperate. “Why would you think—”

“I should have listened to you,” you rasped, chest heavy with guilt and shame.

“Shadowsinger,” Madja cut in, preventing Azriel from answering you. “Keep her calm,” she scolded. “And hold her hand now. This is going to be painful.”

Your stomach lurched, and you looked at Azriel in panic. He dropped the cloth in the water, then gently picked up your hand, wrapping it in both of his. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured, squeezing lightly. “I’m right here, okay?”

Madja coaxed you to sit forward, the water falling from around you as your shoulders broke through the surface. She held you up with one hand on your collarbone, and Azriel went rigid as he stared at your bare back.

“What is it?” you asked quietly, fear running through you. His eyes snapped toward yours, immediately softening.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the top of your hand, careful to avoid your injured wrist. “Madja is going to take care of you. Don’t worry.”

Madja held a purple vial in her free hand, and she gave no warning before pouring its contents over your back. Your body fell into Azriel as you screamed, the liquid like lava as it seeped into your wounds. Madja dropped the vial, and she let Azriel hold you up as her hands fell over your back, the heat of her magic exacerbating the scalding across your skin.

You were sobbing into Azriel, and one of his hands moved to cradle your head against his chest. “Make it stop,” you begged.

“I can’t,” Azriel choked out. “She has to do this, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Just another minute,” Madja murmured, her voice apologetic.

You were shaking by the time she was finished, and you felt near delirious from the agony still flaring across your back, every throb agitating the wounds that must have gone farther than you realized. Azriel was pale as he watched you, his face stricken.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, and you couldn’t understand why he was apologizing. You couldn’t think about much beyond the pain you were drowning in.

Madja gently coaxed your head from Azriel’s chest, pressing another vial to your lips. “This one won’t hurt,” she promised, slowly pouring the fruity liquid in your mouth. You swallowed hard, watching her in a haze.

You glanced at Azriel again, who looked a bit blurry, his face becoming distorted. “What—”

He shushed you gently, brushing your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just get some rest. I won’t leave you.”

You didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to leave him again, to be left vulnerable, but before your panic could sink its claws in too deep, darkness blanketed over you. It was soft, and cool, and comforting, and you thought maybe you could stay there, just for a little while.

~ ~ ~

“It’s my fault.”

“Az–”

“It is. You didn’t see her back, Rhys.”

A beat of silence, then, “Can I—”

“No,” Azriel growled. You felt guilty for listening to their conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes yet, lethargy still weighing them down. “There are two gashes down her back, right where wings would be. You know what that means. It was intentional. They knew she was important to me.”

“Or,” Cassian said gently, “They knew she belonged to Rhys’s circle.”

“They could smell me on her, Cassian! I should have known better—”

“Az,” Rhys cut him off quietly. You held your breath as the room went silent, your heart rate picking up.

The bed dipped at the edge, and the touch of familiar scarred knuckles lightly brushed across your cheek. “Hey,” Azriel murmured, his voice far more gentle than it was seconds ago. You guiltily fluttered your eyes open, the light of the room making you squint. “You’re awake?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you rasped, your voice a mere whisper.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand settling on your hip that was covered by the duvet. A black duvet, that was definitely not your purple one. You slowly took in the room you were in, lavishly big with books and weapons adorning the walls. The bed you were in was far too large for your frame, but it smelled like cedar, and you knew exactly who this room belonged to, even if you had only ever caught glimpses of it before.

Your eyes fell back on Azriel, and he looked more than worse for wear. He looked like he was hanging on by a thread, his eyes limned with exhaustion and his face taught with anxiety. You slowly pulled a shaky hand out from the covers, reaching for his hand beside you. You weakly squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. “It hurts,” you admitted, voice still a weak rasp, “but it’s better.”

Azriel didn’t smile, but he squeezed your hand back, and it made your heart clench.

“Y/N,” Rhys said from the foot of your bed, startling you from your bubble with Azriel. Embarrassment and shame flooded you as you met the eyes of your High Lord, and your eyes quickly started to sting. An apology was about to spill from your mouth, but before you could, Rhys said, “I’m so sorry.” He sounded anguished, and guilty, and you couldn’t fathom why.

You shook your head lightly, a frown pulling at your lips. “Why?”

“I never should have sent you on that mission. It was too dangerous, with too many unknowns, clearly, and I’m sorry.”

“But, I’m the one—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Azriel cut you off, voice hard. “They had an aerial patrol unit we didn’t know about. So while you were focused on avoiding anyone on the ground, they likely spotted you from above within minutes of stepping foot in their forest.”

Your face burned with even more shame. “I didn’t even think about—”

“Neither did we,” Cassian said, stepping up beside Rhys. “We should have, but we underestimated the camp’s efforts, their numbers.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “There’s a lot more of them than we anticipated, but they were anticipating us. They knew Rhys was suspicious of them. It wasn’t your fault, it was ours.”

You took in his words, struggling to accept them. You looked at Azriel, fighting back the tears still threatening to break free. “But you warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

“I was just being selfish,” he murmured softly. “I didn’t want you anywhere near Illyria, but had I known, had I received tangible intel that this was waiting for you, I would have warned you. I would have gone with you.”

He brushed away a tear that fell down your cheek, murmuring softly, “It wasn’t your fault, love.”

Then why did it feel like it was your fault? No one ever knew what you would find on a mission, what you would run into. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but your own to anticipate an attack, to map your enemies’ moves, and you failed.

The door creaked open, and Madja’s kind and gentle face appeared in the doorway. She smiled at you, granting you a reprieve you were quickly growing desperate for. “We should change your dressings,” she said, moving toward your bedside, completely unfazed by the three males hovering over you. You, however, only just realized that you were laying there bare, aside from the gauzy white fabric bound around your chest and torso. You wished this bed would just swallow you whole.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Rhys said softly, then guided Cassian out the door.

Azriel lingered though, hesitating to leave your side. He glanced at Madja, and your face went hot as you thought about your bath earlier, about how you screamed and cried for him to help you. “I’ll be fine, Az,” you said quietly. His eyes darted back to yours, clearly not believing you. 

“When was the last time you ate, Shadowsinger?” Madja hummed as she aligned vials and balms on your bedside.

Azriel didn’t say anything, and alarm flitted through you. “You haven’t eaten?” you asked him, shuffling a bit. “Azriel—”

“I’m fine,” he assured, glaring at Madja.

She scoffed. “You haven’t left her side since you brought her to me last night.”

“Az,” you chided softly, guilt flooding you. “Please, go eat something. I’ll be fine with Madja.”

His shadows pulsed haphazardly around him, his eyes clearly conflicted. Eventually he sighed, and stood up from your bed. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he promised softly. Madja gently shooed him out of the room, and you felt empty and conflicted once he disappeared. 

Your mind was swimming. You could barely piece together a general timeline of the last few days, let alone come to terms with whatever complicated feelings you had toward Azriel. It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered. You were just a broken priestess that would never be worthy of an Illyrian warrior. 

As if your heart wasn’t bruised and battered enough, Madja rubbed salt in your wounds by humming, “That boy loves you.”

Her words hurt. They were meant to comfort, to soothe, to tease—to distract you from whatever pain you were in as she slowly sat you up in bed—but instead, they only prodded at your already tender heart. She stuck another knife in your chest as she said, “I shooed him out because you seemed a bit suffocated, but you need to lean on him.”

“Respectfully,” you said quietly, voice lacking any true bite, “it’s not your place.”

She started to gently undo your bandages, the cool air on your raw and mangled skin making you hiss. She didn’t seem the least bit offended by your words, and simply hummed with a far too knowing voice, “Love heals.”

~ ~ ~

A few days passed, and you had effectively isolated yourself from everyone. At least, as much as you could. Your friends still brought you food, checking in every so often, and reluctantly leaving after you promised you were fine and you just wanted to rest. Azriel never returned, though. He was never one who brought you meals. You couldn’t deny the ache in your soul that throbbed everytime one of your other friends’ faces appeared in your doorway. If you weren’t surrounded by the scent of him from being bundled in his bed, the ache would likely be unbearable. You didn’t know where he was staying while you took over his room.

An oily anxiety was slowly accumulating in your stomach, trickling into your veins to spread throughout your body. Madja took you off the sleep tonics yesterday, and sleep had evaded you the entire night. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that cave. Every little sound made you flinch, made you grit your teeth and brace yourself for those males to return, to finish what they started.

“You look like shit,” Nesta drawled as she shut your bedroom door behind her, making you jump. You sat up slowly, resting your back on the mountain of pillows that had accumulated along the headboard. Rhys continued to ply you with gifts, flowers and blankets and pillows now littering Azriel’s room. You could probably move to your own room now, but you selfishly didn’t want to leave.

“Thanks,” you grumbled.

She sat your food tray on the bedside table, a bowl of steaming soup and buttered bread sitting neatly on the wood. She assessed you with cool and calculating eyes, her brow furrowed into a hard line. “Before you kick me out,” she began, “Madja said your bandages need changed, but she can’t come by tonight.” She started pulling gauzes and balms out of the drawer. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“No,” you said quickly. Nesta stilled, side-eyeing you. “That’s not—I can do it myself.”

You didn’t want her to see. You didn’t want anyone to see. It was bad enough Azriel had seen you thrashing and screaming in that bath, had seen the wounds across your back—you couldn’t handle anyone else seeing the remnants of your failure.

“Y/N—” she started to say, voice unusually gentle, and it made you recoil.

“I’m fine, Nesta,” you said. You were fairly certain you would never be returning to training with the Valkyries, that you would be resigning to your life as a researcher in the library, but showing her your wounds, your weakness—it felt like the final nail in your coffin. You weren’t ready for that.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shut the bedside drawer with more force than necessary. “Fine,” she said, voice clipped. “That’s utter bullshit, but fine. As you wish.” She turned her back to you, heading toward the door. “Tell the House if you change your mind.”

The harsh slam of the door made you jump. Guilt mixed with the anxiety in your veins, a muddy mixture that would likely cement inside your heart. 

~ ~ ~

Searing pain jolted you from sleep, lava running down your back. A sudden hand on your shoulder made you scream, undiluted terror mixing with your pain, and defeat took over you as you were yanked back to that cave. You had never left. None of it was real. You were still there, they still had you tied up, and were—

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice pulled you from your spiral, splashing ice cold water on your terror, blurring the memory you were trapped inside. “You’re safe,” he cooed. “You’re with me.”

Your eyes slowly focused on his figure, his wings flared out a bit and shadows pulsing with tension. His eyes were wild and frantic, and he slowly sank down on the bed beside you as he realized you finally recognized him. 

Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t control the sobs that broke free. Azriel shifted closer, his hands shakily cupping your face to wipe away your tears. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He brushed a hand over your hair as you cried, his shadows nuzzling against your neck. 

The ache in your soul dulled under his touch, and more tears fell down your cheeks as you leaned into him, desperate to cling to the male you had been longing for the last few days. Despite the shame and mortification you felt every time you thought about him having to save you again, him having to hold you together while Madja treated you, you couldn’t stop wanting him. You couldn’t cut the tether you felt binding you to him.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured gently, concern evident in his eyes.

“What?” you rasped. You sucked in sharp breath as another bout of pain washed over your back, and you remembered why you awoke in the first place.

Azriel’s hand shifted to your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your side. His breath faltered at whatever he saw, making your heart race. “Sweetheart,” he choked out. “Your bandages are falling down.”

You face heated in embarrassment, and you wished your stupid pride had just let Nesta help you earlier, and Azriel didn’t have to see you as a fucking mess again. “Why didn’t Nesta make them tighter?” he said, voice growing angry. “And there’s no balm—”

“I did them,” you cut him off, avoiding his gaze.

“What?” he asked, voice going soft. 

“I told her I could do them,” you said. “How did you even know she—”

“Why wouldn’t you let her help you?” he asked.

You bit your lip, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I didn’t want her to see,” you whispered.

Azriel paused. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly.

Your hackles instantly raised, and you sat up to meet his gaze, the covers falling around your waist and your back barking in protest. “Really?” you asked, voice incredulous. “I was captured within an hour on my first field mission alone. Rhys didn’t even want to send me on that mission, but I convinced him. I should have known that they would have an aerial patrol—me. That was on me. I should have anticipated—”

“Stop,” he ground out. His eyes were pained and angry as he met your gaze, making you swallow whatever words you had left. “It was not your fault. Maybe there were things that could have been done better, maybe you did make some mistakes, but ultimately, I failed you by keeping you from the field, and by failing to realize—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath, and then said, “No one blames you. Missions go wrong, and sometimes it will be your fault. It’s inevitable that you will make mistakes, but this one is not on you.”

You wished you could believe him. You wished that his words could erase your fears and insecurities, but you would be a fool to ignore the mound of evidence staring you in the face, that littered your skin.

Azriel sighed, as if he realized he wouldn’t be changing your mind tonight. “Let’s get you some clean sheets and clean clothes,” he said. “I’ll get Nesta or Feyre to help with your bandages.”

“No,” you rushed out, making Azriel freeze. “Please, don’t get them. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he argued. “Your wounds aren’t covered which is why you woke up in pain.”

That made you falter. “How did you know that?”

Azriel blinked, hesitation flickering in his eyes before they shuttered again. “My shadows.”

Your chest went tight. “They’ve been watching me?” you squeaked out.

Azriel looked slightly guilty when he answered, “I just left a few with you, in case you needed something. That’s all, I promise.”

Well, you certainly hoped they didn’t tell him about the tears you shed throughout the day, or the sleepless night you had beforehand, or the pitiful attempt you made at putting the damned bandages around your torso. “Okay,” you sighed.

“Come on,” he coaxed, helping you up from the bed by your arms. You were immensely grateful Madja had helped you bathe yesterday. He helped you into the bathroom, letting you sit gently on the stool beside the bath. He crouched down in front you, making himself eye level with you. “Your back needs to be cleaned and properly bandaged,” he said quietly. 

Your lip trembled as you thought about anyone else touching you, seeing you so vulnerable. It made you nauseous. “Can’t you do it?” you asked, voice embarrassingly small.

His eyes widened a bit, and his hand fell to your knee. “Of course, I can,” he said softly. “But do you want me to?”

“Please,” you begged. “I can’t—I don’t want anyone else to—”

His thumb brushed your knee, making your words die off. “Okay,” he murmured. “That’s fine, love. I have no problem helping you.”

“Then why did you disappear?” you asked, immediately regretting the words.

His eyes snapped to yours. “I didn’t—” he fumbled, shaking his head softly. “I didn’t think you wanted to see anyone.”

“That didn’t stop everyone else,” you grumbled.

“You had to eat.”

“Then why didn’t you bring me meals?”

Azriel stared at you, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t know how to face you—but I’ve always been here. I haven’t left the House.”

“Face me?” you asked.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his wings rustling slightly as he stood up. He moved toward the sink, wetting a cloth before returning to you. “Those gashes on your back have meaning,” he said softly, eyes swimming with guilt. “They are exactly where wings would be, exactly the kind of wound that would be left behind if wings were removed. They obviously knew you were…” He hesitated, and you couldn’t fathom why. “You were important to an Illyrian.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. You didn’t understand why he felt he was personally responsible for those wounds, why he would be the reason for them. You also didn’t know how they would have known that, unless they guessed you were a part of Rhys’s court. You still found yourself saying, “I don’t blame you.”

He averted his eyes, squeezing the cloth tighter. “And I don’t blame you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, realizing neither of you would believe the other. He moved behind you, then tugged at the hem of your camisole. “Can I take this off?” he asked gently.

Your heart started racing, and your mind was yanked back to that cave, where you were strung up with your chest bare to those wicked males, and—

“Hey,” Azriel murmured, his face in front of yours again. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. Your hands were trembling in your lap, and embarrassment made your throat tight.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped.

“No,” Azriel said. “Do not apologize.”

You sniffed. “Just take it off and get this over with please.”

“Y/N,” he said softly. “That’s not how this works.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to let me see it again.”

A tear escaped from your eye, and you felt so defeated as you looked at him. “I don’t want anyone but you to touch me right now.”

Azriel’s face was a mixture of pain and reverence, and you didn’t know where to go from here. “You know I would never hurt you,” he finally said, voice quiet.

You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I trust you, Azriel. That’s why I want your help. I just, I don’t know why—”

“Let’s try this,” he murmured. “You take off your shirt, and my shadows will cover you, and I can clean your back.”

Relief flooded you. “Okay,” you agreed.

“Yeah?” he hummed. He moved behind you again, and you worried your lip between your teeth. “I won’t look until you tell me to.”

You sucked in a breath, toying with the silk hem. You removed the fabric from your body with a little difficulty, your shoulders and back screaming at you as you stretched the raw wounds across your skin, but you managed to get the material over your head and toss it on the floor. As promised, his shadows clouded over your chest, effectively covering your skin. “You can look,” you mumbled. 

You heard him shuffle behind you, and goosebumps skittered across your skin when he brushed your hair over your shoulder. “Ready?” he asked softly.

You nodded, and the warm cloth pressed to your skin. Azriel didn’t linger in any one area, cleaning your bloodied skin quickly and expertly. He then reached for a tin on the counter, and you heard him unscrew the lid. “This is the healing balm,” he told you quietly. His fingers gently lathered the balm along the edges of your wounds, his touch as light as possible to avoid inflicting any pain. His touch was soothing, and the balm quickly eased the pain radiating up and down your back. Your chest was flooded with the most comforting warmth, and you caught yourself leaning into him as the tension eased away.

He swapped the tin for the roll of gauze. He handed you the end of the roll, the cotton material soft between your fingers. “Hold this in place for me,” he murmured.

You did as he asked, pressing the gauze firmly against your chest. Azriel wound the gauze around your chest and torso with quick precision, never touching anywhere he shouldn’t. The material was snug against your skin, and you knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He smoothed the end of it out, securing it in place, before gently squeezing your hip. “Done,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you whispered, heart near bursting. 

He pulled a clean shirt over your head, it smelling like cedar and salt. It was clearly one of his, and you didn’t know when he had time to grab one for you, but you practically melted into the soft fabric.

His shadows dissipated, and he smiled at you softly as he rounded the stool. He offered you his hand to help you up, then shifted to brace your lower back as you walked back to your bed. The sheets were swapped for fresh and clean silk ones, and you were sure you had the House to thank for the courtesy. Azriel pulled the covers up and over your shoulders once you laid down, his hands lingering briefly over your shoulders before he pulled them back to his sides.

The moonlight filtered in through the drapes, streaks illuminating the bed and bits of his skin that weren’t covered by his sweats and tee, a reminder of how late it was. “I’m sorry for waking you,” you mumbled, sleep quickly creeping back in.

“Don’t be,” he hummed. “Get some sleep.”

He took a step back, a small smile briefly pulling at his lips before he turned around. Panic sunk claws into your chest, and you blurted out, “Azriel.”

He immediately froze, and turned back to look at you. “Please stay with me,” you begged, voice wobbling.

“Of course,” he agreed easily, moving toward the sofa under the window.

“Lay with me?” you blurted, face burning from your request but something inside of you just needed him close. You needed to feel him next to you. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t comprehend why you so desperately wanted to cling to him, but you were too exhausted to fight it.

He looked almost boyish as he stared at you with wide eyes. “Are—are you sure?” he stumbled out.

“If—if you don’t mind.”

Azriel’s response was to quickly slip under the covers next to you, turning so that he faced you and his wings draped over the edge of the bed. His warm arm brushed against yours as he shifted around, and you realized this bed was barely big enough to share with an Illyrian warrior. He didn’t complain, though, and you selfishly didn’t want to risk him leaving you, so you kept your mouth shut.

You were facing each other, heads resting on separate pillows but only inches separated you. He was so warm, and he smelled so good. You had caught yourself indulging in his scent far too many times at training, your friends had even caught you once or twice, but this time it brought you a comfort you had never felt before. It made you feel safe. You felt like you were home when you were wrapped in his scent. It’s why you were still holed up in his room after days of him avoiding you.

“Can you tell me a secret?” you asked, voice low.

Azriel hummed softly. “A secret?”

You bit your lip, focusing on the collar of his shirt where his tattoos poked out. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You’ve seen me at my worst, twice. It’s mortifying, actually.” A sad huff of a laugh escaped you. “You’re too perfect in comparison.”

Azriel let out a surprised, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not perfect. Not in the slightest.” He glanced at his hands, whether it was intentional or subconscious, you didn’t know. It killed you that he saw the evidence of him surviving the cruelty of others as his flaw.

“You don’t need to be self-conscious, though,” he continued, his breath lightly fanning your face as you shifted closer. “I know what I said the night you left, and I am so sorry.” His voice was low and thick as he continued, “I’ve never doubted you. I only said that, because I was desperate to keep you here. I’m sorry.”

Before you could reply, before you could question him or accept or reject his apology, he shifted back to your question. “I’ll tell you a secret, though,” he hummed. “I’m scared that one day, the mating bond will snap, and my mate won’t want me.”

It was like a red-hot knife was stuck in the center of your chest, hearing him talk about his future mate. You swallowed your jealousy, your pain and longing, and rasped, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, and you fought back the acid burning at your throat. You wished you could go back and never have asked him the stupid question. “What if I’ve kept it from them?” he asked, voice sounding fragile.

His question only twisted the knife. This was an entirely new form of agony. “You’ve met them?”

Azriel’s eyes were soft as he said, “Yes, love.”

Your stomach churned. You pushed yourself back, sitting up frantically. “I shouldn’t be making you share a bed with me then. Gods, Azriel—”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you gently to lay back down. “Please,” he murmured, “Just listen.”

You closed your eyes a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat before returning your gaze to him, hoping he didn’t keep ripping at your bleeding heart. This was not how you saw the rest of this night going. “What if me keeping this bond from her, nearly got her killed?” he asked, voice weak. “What if the scent of her bond to me, painted a target on her back, that she was completely unaware of as she walked into enemy territory?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you pieced together the meaning of his words, as you pieced together fragments of your rescue and healing that you had dismissed as hallucinations. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “This isn’t funny. This is not funny, Azriel!”

You pulled your wrist from his grip, mind swimming and heart racing. His eyes flashed with hurt, and you realized you were reacting exactly how he feared. You were playing out his worst fear he had just confided in you with—but it’s not that you didn’t want him. You didn’t deserve him.

“It’s not possible,” you choked out, voice thick with your tears. “I cannot be your mate. This is a cruel trick. I am just a broken and battered priestess, and you—”

Realization dawned on Azriel’s face, and your words died in your throat as he pulled you to his chest. “You are so much more,” he murmured into your hair. “I have known for a while, been suspicious even longer—since we met really.” Someone had stolen the breath from your lungs. “And while I have doubted that I was worthy of you, I have never doubted you. I’ve spent this year of our training questioning the Mother, asking why she would stick you with me as your mate, but I’ve never considered myself anything less than blessed.”

You pulled back from him, and you took in this male who—who was apparently your mate. The male you had longed for and had stifled away your feelings for as some silly crush, when in reality, they were anything but. His hazel eyes were bright in the darkness of your room, shining with vulnerability and a hesitant hope. One of his hands still rested gently on your hip, and the touch felt like a stream of electricity connecting the two of you together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes fell away from yours, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t—I wasn’t even certain until a few months ago. At that point, you trusted me. I couldn’t—” Azriel was stumbling over his words, and it made your heart clench when you noticed his cheeks were dusted with pink as he shifted into a beam of moonlight. 

“I couldn’t take advantage of that trust. I didn’t want to ruin it, but I still did. I—I was too overprotective. I kept denying missions that Rhys offered, because I was scared, and he told me I couldn’t let the bond control me—control you—but I was terrified of something happening to you. It made me ill to think of someone hurting you, or worse, and then that’s exactly what happened anyway. If I had kept myself in check—”

“Azriel,” you interrupted him gently, and his mouth fell shut. “I understand.”

His thumb brushed your cheek gently, and your eyes fluttered shut. “This was probably the worst time to tell you,” he murmured guiltily.

You caught his wrist, fingers gently wrapping around the scarred skin. “It’s not,” you whispered. “It actually makes me feel a little less insane for how much I want to cling to you.”

He chuckled lightly, brushing some hair out of your face. “You have no idea. I’ve been sitting in the hall for days, just in case you needed me.”

You shuffled closer, your heart practically glowing. “Really?”

“Yes,” he murmured. 

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell to his lips, and you didn’t really think before you pressed your own against his. He kissed you back immediately, his soft lips melding gently with yours. You arched closer to him, desperate to be closer to him, but the movement pulled at your back, aggravating the healing muscles, and you sucked in a sharp breath that made you break away.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked frantically.

You nodded, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.” You moved to keep kissing him, but he gently held you back.

“We can wait, love,” he said softly.

You sighed, leaning your forehead against his chest. “We probably should.”

He smoothed a hand over the back of your head. “Madja is already angry with me for leaving your bedside. I don’t need to make it worse by tearing open your wounds.”

You smiled softly, then said, “She told me love heals.” You looked up at him. “Did she know?”

“Probably,” he hummed. “I was a mess when I brought you to her. It wouldn’t have been hard to guess.”

Your smile widened, and you burrowed against his chest, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric covering his heart. “I think she was right,” you said into him. “Having you here—it’s the best I’ve felt since before everything happened.”

That familiar warmth bloomed in your chest, and you reached inside to sink your fingers in it, letting the love and adoration weave through your fingertips. Now that you finally could recognize it for what it was, now that you knew the source of that warmth, you sent your own love back down the glowing thread that reached from you to the male next to you.

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, his body going rigid before relaxing again. “Was that you?” he asked breathlessly.

You nodded shyly, your face still buried against his chest. “You’ve been making me feel that for a while—I just didn’t know it was you.”

His arm squeezed you to him, his hold firm and comforting. “I love you,” he breathed.