M a y 2 0 2 6

The scuff of a boot against the wood floor broke the quiet.

Nesta entered, carrying a half-finished drink of her own. She didn't say a word at first. She merely leaned against the edge of the counter, crossing her ankles. Elain kept her eyes on her glass, her hands moving automatically.

Neither of them spoke for a long minute.

Finally, Elain glanced up, offering a fragile, practiced smile. “It’s nice to have you here today,” she said, her voice soft, a gentle melody against the distant noise of the party. “I’m glad you came.”

Nesta shrugged lightly, staring down at her drink. “Yeah. Better than I expected.”

Elain’s smile widened just a fraction, relieved by the lack of vitriol. “You got such lovely gifts.”

Nesta nodded. A small, almost imperceptible softening passed over her sharp features. It was true; she hadn’t expected to receive anything this year. “And Azriel’s gift was thoughtful,” Elain added, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave as she took a small sip of her amber drink. “Now you can read at night, too. Without straining your eyes.”

Nesta’s gaze sharpened instantly. The casual air vanished, replaced by the lethal focus of a predator that had just caught a scent.

Nesta had noticed. She had spent the entire day watching. She had seen the microscopic glances exchanged across the crowded sitting room. She had noticed the way Azriel had practically melted into the shadows near the doorway rather than joining them. Most of all, she had noticed how intensely aware Elain and Azriel were of each other—an invisible, taut wire strung between them, vibrating without a single word being spoken.

It was a puzzle Nesta hadn’t quite solved yet, and she despised unsolved puzzles.

“Are you upset?” Nesta asked bluntly.

Elain blinked, her fingers freezing around her glass. “What do you mean?”

“Because he didn’t give you a gift.”

The reaction was instantaneous. A fierce, hot flush of scarlet rushed up Elain’s neck, blooming across her cheeks.

“No,” Elain said, the word coming out a little too fast, a little too breathy. “Why would I be? I didn’t get him anything either. Why would I expect him to give me something?” She forced a laugh that sounded like brittle glass. She turned back to her drink, her movements suddenly frantic. “And besides, you’ve gotten close. You live in the House of Wind now. You train together, and he’s up there all the time. You two are practically hugging each other when you say goodbye.”

Nesta raised a single, elegant brow. She didn't miss the sharp spike of defensiveness, nor the subtle deflection.

“Are you jealous?” Nesta asked quietly.

Elain looked up sharply, her brown eyes flashing with a rare spark of anger. “What?”

Nesta shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Maybe jealous isn’t the right word.” Her gaze drifted toward the brightly lit doorway leading back to the sitting room. “You’re close to everyone in this house, Elain. You smile at them. You talk to them with an ease that frankly makes me nauseous. But it feels like you can’t even breathe the same air as Azriel. Especially not, when Lucien is in the same room.”

Elain’s expression froze into a mask of pure ice.

Nesta stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, relentless murmur. “Is that what you want? To hug him freely? To talk to him? To smile at him without worrying about this shit of mate situation?”

The words landed brutal. The mention of Lucien—and the unyielding, golden thread of the mating bond—was a strike straight to the heart.

Elain’s face darkened, a dangerous shadow crossing her features that looked terrifyingly. “Stop it, Nesta.”

“So I struck a nerve.”

“There is nothing like that between us.”

“I didn’t say there was.”

“Then stop implying it!” Elain snapped, her voice rising just enough to carry over the hum of the house.

Nesta studied her carefully, her own mind whirring. Nesta wasn't dumb. She had eyes. She could tell that Elain felt absolutely, suffocatingly uncomfortable around her mate. Whenever Lucien spoke to her, Elain shrank back, her posture stiffening into a defensive posture. And yet, Elain hadn't formally rejected the bond.

Why? Nesta wondered.

A dark thought crossed her mind. She wondered if the reason Elain was keeping Lucien at arm's length without completely cutting the tie had to do with Rhysand and his annoying, endless political games. Lucien was somehow a crucial piece on the Night Court's political chessboard. Had Rhysand subtly pressured Elain to keep the line open? Had Feyre? Nesta kept the thought to herself, choosing not to speak it out loud, but the bitter taste of it lingered.

She knew the truth of what was actually happening. She had seen how Elain's eyes were magnetically, helplessly locked to the brooding Shadowsinger the exact same way his hazel eyes were locked onto Elain. They were pining for each other, desperately and painfully, right under everyone's noses.

“I mean, he’s a good male,” Nesta mused, breaking the silence and swirling her drink again.

Elain rolled her eyes, turning her back completely. “Nesta.”

“Probably better than most males in this room. Certainly quieter than Cassian.”

“There is no ‘thing’ to discuss.”

“Then why are you so terrified of the idea?”

Elain didn’t answer. She gripped her glass so hard her knuckles turned white.

The silence stretched, long and agonizing, until Nesta’s expression softened into something genuine. Something rare.

“You know you’re allowed to love whoever you want,” Nesta said quietly. “You don't owe the Cauldron—or anyone else's politics—a damn thing.”

A strange, breathless laugh escaped Elain. It was short. Bitter. A sound that belonged to a woman who had seen the underbelly of fate and hated it.

“Love is for humans,” Elain said, her voice flat.

Nesta frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means fate matters more for fae,” Elain replied, finally turning around to face her sister. There was a profound, ancient sadness in her eyes. “Choice is a human luxury. Here, the magic decides. The bond decides.”

Nesta snorted, a sharp, ugly sound. “Tell that to Feyre and Rhysand.”

Elain’s small, sad smile vanished entirely. “Feyre got lucky. Her heart and her bond chose the same male. Do you think the universe is always that kind?”

Nesta leaned forward, her voice a sharp whisper. “Do you hate Lucien that much?”

Elain said nothing. She didn’t have to. The heavy, suffocating silence that filled the space between them was answer enough. It wasn't hatred for Lucien, it was resentment for the chains around her neck.

After a long while, Nesta let out a heavy sigh, the tension draining from her shoulders. “When we were human... you talked more. You used to tell me things.”

Elain looked at her, a wry, melancholy twist to her lips. “You aren’t exactly an open book yourself, Nesta.”

“Fair.” Nesta drummed her fingers against the marble counter, searching for a way to pull them both back from the edge of the abyss. “Do you at least talk to your wraith friends?”

Elain immediately corrected her, a fierce protectiveness entering her tone. “Nuala and Cerridwen. And yes, they’re my friends.” She tilted her head, observing the slight shift in Nesta's posture. “The same way Gwyn and Emerie are yours.”

Nesta’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Do you mind that I have friends now? That I'm not entirely miserable?”

The question seemed to genuinely surprise Elain. Her shoulders dropped, the defensive walls crumbling just a bit. “Why would I mind?” Her voice softened, returning to its natural, gentle warmth. “I’m happy for you, Nesta. Truly.”

Nesta remained silent, unaccustomed to receiving unconditional kindness without a catch.

“When we were human,” Elain continued softly, looking out the dark window toward the lawns of the River House, “none of us really had friends. When our father had money, people only wanted to use us to climb the social ladder. And when we lost everything... those same people laughed and talked behind our backs.” She looked back at Nesta, her eyes bright. “But now? All three of us have people we trust. People we can talk to without fear. I think that’s beautiful.”

Nesta looked away, unable to hold Elain's gaze because, damn it, she was right. She thought of Gwyn’s fierce determination, of Emerie’s quiet strength. She thought of the version of herself that existed at the top of the world, laughing in the snow.

An easier version of herself. A happier one.

And looking at Elain, Nesta wondered if her sister had a version like that, too—or if Elain was still keeping her true self hidden away in the shadows of the greenhouse, waiting for permission to bloom.

Deciding she had let the mood get entirely too depressing, Nesta reached out and nudged Elain’s shoulder with her own. “You know, regardless of fate... you do still have eyes.”

Elain narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “And?”

“And Azriel is a very attractive male.”

Elain gasped, her face flushing all over again. “Nesta.”

“I’m just saying. Annoyingly handsome. All that brooding mystery.”

“Nesta, stop.”

“And have you seen—”

“Nesta Archeron!”

Nesta threw her head back and laughed, a loud, clear sound. “What? I’ve seen him training with Cassian. No shirt. In the mornings. It is objectively hard to miss, Elain.”

Elain looked around the kitchen as if she was searching for shadows, her face turning a violent shade of scarlet. “You are courting his brother!”

Nesta grinned wickedly, leaning in. “Who says I’m not seeing both of them?”

Elain’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror. Her jaw literally dropped.

Nesta burst out laughing, a genuine, delighted sound that filled the kitchen. “I’m joking! In Mother's name, Elain, look at your face.”

“You are impossible,” Elain groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“No, I’m observant.” Nesta reached into a crystal bowl on the counter and popped a winter berry into her mouth. “And objectively speaking, the Shadowsinger is spectacular to look at. As if you’ve never thought it.”

Elain kept her hands over her face, remaining suspiciously, damningly silent.

Nesta pointed a triumphant finger at her. “Exactly! I knew it.”

Elain dropped her hands, glaring, though the corners of her mouth were twitching. “You are terrible.”

“If I weren’t currently avoiding Feyre,” Nesta continued, her smile flattening slightly as a familiar chill settled into her chest, “I’d have these conversations with her. She’d thoroughly enjoy analyzing the psychological implications of your pining.”

At that exact moment, the soft whisper of slippers signaled approaching footsteps.

Feyre walked into the kitchen, a stack of empty dessert plates balanced in her hands. The moment she entered, the air in the room shifted, the easy banter between Nesta and Elain dying instantly. Feyre stopped, looking between the two of them, her blue-grey eyes lighting up at the obvious tension and the bright flush on Elain’s face.

“What are you two doing in here?” Feyre asked, a knowing smile already tugging at her lips.

Nesta didn’t hesitate for a single second. She grabbed her glass, stepped past her youngest sister without making eye contact, and said smoothly, “Talking about Elain’s massive crush.”

And with that, Nesta promptly walked out of the kitchen, her cold departure leaving an abrupt silence in her wake.

Elain froze, staring blankly at the empty doorway. “What?”

Feyre’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. She set the plates down on the counter with a loud rattle. “You have a crush?”

“I do not,” Elain said immediately, her voice squeaking.

“Who is it?” Feyre practically bounced on her heels, crossing the kitchen and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Tell me. Is it someone from the Court? Is it—”

“I don’t have a crush, Feyre!”

“Oh, come on, you can tell me,” Feyre nudged her arm, her eyes sparkling with absolute delight. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Rhys.”

“There is nothing to tell!” Elain cried, gripping her amber drink tightly as if she could use the crystal glass as a shield.

She unlocked the back door and then secured it behind her. A pot of coffee hummed to life as she turned on the ovens and began pulling breads from the proofer. Muffins were baked late in the day, bread was fresh each morning- most of her recipes required a long, slow proof. She stared at the half finished spring recipes and pulled out a bit of croissant dough for testing. She had time to play this morning as the staples baked. 

A knock at the backdoor and she jumped up from her stool. She walked to the backdoor, a smile spread across her face as she saw his silhouette. She quickly let him in and he wrapped her up tight. He smelled like antiseptic wipes and sterilization- his hospital smell. She loved and hated it at the same time- she wanted to smell him, but she also knew that this was part of his routine to not bring illnesses home to her. The day he’d said that, she’d fallen a bit harder. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and she settled against him. Good. He felt so good. 

“Evening.” 

“Morning, Lainey. I’m going to go up and shower- you need any help?” 

“No- just glad you’re home safe.” 

“Me too.” 

Another kiss, a quick squeeze and he disappeared back outside to run upstairs. What had started as an agreement that he’d help with her PT and OT had turned into half of her things at his place and more than half of his things at hers. Their first date ended with him asking if she was willing to split time between their homes- not quite under one roof, but more often than not they stayed at the same home each day. Part of her was terrified at how quickly things were moving and another part of her thoroughly relaxed as he held steady. As he did not change. As he was just the man that she had fallen in love with slowly and now that they’d admitted it, he leaned in. He leaned fully into them. And she had never experienced being cared for in this way- so wholly, so completely- no reservations, he was just there. 

She thumbed through her notes- most of which had been abandoned after her accident, the pistachio citrus croissants still haunted her. Even though Azriel had assured her that recent attempts were improving, he agreed with her when she said that they were not sellable yet. Azriel didn’t coddle her- it was something she had not expected, but it endeared him to her even more. He was what she needed, in ways that she had never expected. 

She let out a sigh and scribbled more notes next to her recipe- what she was going to try to change this time. Then she began to play. She moved back and forth between the ovens as her morning stock baked, returning to the recipe between timers. The newest version of the croissants moved to the rest rack just as Nuala and Cerri let themselves in. Quick nods and then they went to work. She still struggled with too much conversation- her mouth struggled to keep up with what her mind wanted her to say. She missed her friends, but she understood why small talk should be saved until after the rush. She wondered for a moment if Azriel warned them about how hard today might be. 

“You need to eat.” 

“Az, I will. I don’t have time–” 

A breakfast sandwich pressed to her lips and she glared up at him. He hadn’t showered. He had made her breakfast. And with that knowledge she took a bite and then took the sandwich he offered. She leaned into him and just settled there, her body relaxed in the way it only did when she was with him. Quiet. They both craved the quiet after the hours of constant noise that their jobs required. The bell twinkled and she pulled herself upright. 

“Wake me when you come up.” 

“Az- you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

“I want to hear about how today goes and your latest try with the croissants. I’m not working tonight- I’ll be fine. Please- wake me.” 

***************

She crept into the apartment in the early hours of the evening. Her day had been exceptionally busy- mostly catching up with regulars. Telling the story of what had happened, catching up on their lives, remarking on how the scar would be a ‘cool story’ for her kids someday, and most of them saying how much they missed her. After the lunch rush finished- she’d spent hours baking. Hours more than she was supposed to be at work right now, but it had felt so good to be in her place again. Doing the things that she loved was a privilege and she loved this bakery. 

Azriel laid sprawled across her…their…bed- he’d thrown off the duvet at some point during the day and her eyes wandered the expanse of his back, his uniform black boxer briefs the only clothing he bothered to wear. She slipped off her clogs and placed the newest experiment on the counter. She desperately wanted to take a hot shower and hoped it would push the exhaustion away. She looked up and was met a set of groggy hazel eyes. 

“Evening, Lainey.” 

“Good Morning.” 

“You’re exhausted, but you look happy. Go shower- I’ll make you dinner.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

“Quiet tonight?” 

“Please.” 

She pulled him in for a kiss, the relaxation washed over her. He picked her up and carried her to the tiny bathroom- the only thing they hated about her place as opposed to his. She longed for the deep bath and a soak that could only happen there, but they both knew she was too tired to travel over to his place tonight. A disastrous night a few weeks back had taught them both that lesson. 

He turned on the water, checked the temperature and then slipped from the bathroom. There was so much she wanted to say- so much she wanted to share, but it was too much. Everything was too much. She stepped into the steaming water and a groan left her lips, the tension leaving her body. She heard the dryer kick on and grateful tears sprung to her eyes. A warm towel. What would this man not do? When she got done and turned the shower off, his hand appeared with the outstretched towel and she let out a contented sigh. 

She wrapped herself in warmth- she wished it was him. They’d just not found the time and for the first three weeks of this arrangement- he had soundly said that Thesan would kill him if her recovery was put at risk by his libido. So she hadn’t tried to persuade him, she wanted so badly to persuade him now. She stepped out into the studio and grabbed the pajamas he’d laid out- the smell of pasta floating through the air. If she had to guess it was her favorite dish that he made- his fast meals being one of the first things she’d noticed about his domestic skills. 

“I thought…I thought…I opened a bottle of the nebbiolo we bought last week. To celebrate your first day back in the bakery.” 

“Not against doctors orders?” 

“Thesan will never know and you’ve been discharged from their care.” 

“What about your care?” 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lainey. I’m right where I want to be.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Months After

He sat in the staff locker room, head in his hands, someone else’s blood all over him. It had been a bad shift, a horrible shift even. On a normal night shift- he would walk out exhausted. Right now, he was not even sure that he could walk out. He still had to shower and return his scrubs and change and get home. Fuck. He glanced at his cell phone and quickly typed out a message. He was already an hour late and at this rate he was still several hours from being able to be around Elain. He refused to take this shit home to her. 

Home. It had been over a decade since someplace felt like home, someone felt like home. He’d feared that this would be too much for Elain- that she would say she wanted space. He’d give it to her. God, he’d give her whatever she asked of him. He should probably see a therapist about how her injury affected him. There had been a handful of times that something had stuck with him and it rolled over into his work day. In the past it had been domestic violence cases that tore him up the most. Another head injury had come in tonight and the patient didn’t survive. They’d done everything they could and he could still hear the anguished cries from the patients family. Every time he closed his eyes- he just saw Lainey and it was killing him. 

He heard the door open and close, but he didn’t look up. There were only a handful of people that might disturb him- all of whom knew what he was struggling with. When the coffee was held in front of him, he finally looked up. Monday. Elain’s day off from the bakery and as he met her eyes he let out a shaky breath.  

“Thesan let me in. I showed him your texts. Az…Azriel let’s get you clean. Let’s get you home.” 

“I can do it. It was just a lot today- you don’t…I can’t bring this home…I’ll get myself together and be home soon.” 

“It’s nearly noon, baby. Let me help. Once I get you home, we’ll get you some food, sleep. It’s been a really long 4 days, but you don’t have a shift again until Sunday. Will you let me help?” 

He looked down at his phone again. Missed messages from her, missed messages from Thesan. He was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep, his mind had just been turning over the last shift for hours. He finally nodded and she stepped forward, immediately pulling at his scrub top and he forced himself to his feet. The lack of food hit him and he swayed in her arms. He’d call his therapist as soon as he got home. He couldn’t keep going through shifts like this. Where so many injuries brought him back to that day that it had been her. 

She stripped him down and he felt shame wash over him. Her hand cupped his cheek and he forced his eyes back up to hers. There was so much blood on him still, so much. And as much as he wanted to sink in to her, he knew he shouldn’t. 

“I’m going to go grab Thesan. If you pass out on me, there’s nothing I can do to stop you from hurting yourself. Sit. Be right back.” 

He nodded, felt her leave and just settled against the lockers. He always struggled at the end of a four day shift, but this was the worst it had been in years. When he heard the footsteps again, Thesan gave him a smile and he tried to glare at him and failed. 

“You got you a good one, Az. She’s running downstairs to get you some food. Jesus Christ- what happened last shift?” 

“Motorcycle versus semi. He was still alive when he got here, but…he didn’t have a helmet. His head, his face. There was blood everywhere.” 

“And you saw her on that gurney again.”

“Yeah. I’m calling Amren once I get home. I thought…I thought I was through the worst of it. I’ve not blacked out like that in years. When she came in- I thought it had only been a few minutes since I texted her.” 

“Are you still between places?” 

“Yeah. I don’t sleep as well without her. And her family was in town this weekend so…” A look from Thesan and he let out a groan. “I know. I just can’t bear the idea of asking her to move into mine when that means 4 am treks down to the bakery.” 

“So renovate hers or find a place closer to the bakery. There’s some new luxury apartments going up near there- that would be great for you two.”

“She’s not going to let me do that. She’s stubborn.”

“And she hates seeing what a long shift does to you. When…when Callum and I were getting serious, we went through something similar. He surprised me with the apartment we own now. He’d done all the research, figured out how far would be ideal for both of our commutes. It helps that Callum’s career is also lucrative, but…you could do the same.” 

He stared as the water slowly went from pink to clear. Thesan stood nearby, keeping a steady eye on him. They’d done this hundreds of times, even if it was something neither of them wanted to admit. Some shifts were too hard to handle alone and some showers were a catharsis for their souls. He pressed his hands against the tile and let the sobs come. She was alive. She was safe. It was not her on that gurney. It was not HER on that gurney. 

“Let’s get you dried off and home, Az. She’ll take care of you.” 

“I’m supposed to take care of her.” 

“God damn it, dude- you do. But you’re the one that needs it today.” 

******************

He recognized his sheets and let out a groan. A quick look at the clock let him know it was nearly 8pm, he’d slept the entire day away. Damn it. After Elain had gotten him food and he’d forced himself to call Amren’s office- he’d passed out. He thought Elain would wake him up around 5 so that they would have some time before she passed out for the night, apparently he’d been in really rough shape this morning. 

He glanced over at his wardrobe and just shook his head. There was no point to put on anything more than what he was wearing. He’d be curling up with Elain soon enough and between their body heat, he would be sweating in a matter of moments. He padded down the hallway and could smell what woke him up- she’d made her famous quiche. He walked up behind her and pulled her into his chest. 

“Hey. You sleep good?” 

“You should have woken me up earlier.” 

“Absolutely not. I don’t know what happened, but you were out of it by the time I got you home. You needed this rest.” 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He wanted to get them back to her place, but based on her being in pajamas- she was not going to want to leave. She needed to be asleep soon to get to the bakery the next day. He hated days like this. He absolutely hated days like this. 

The scent of vanilla and spun sugar in the river house’s kitchen was entirely innocent. Elain was entirely innocent.

Azriel, however, was currently burning alive in his own personal hell.

He sat at the long oak table, a whetstone in one hand, Truth-Teller in the other. He hadn't polished the blade in an hour. He couldn't. His shadows, usually so alert, so quick to whisper warnings of political unrest or enemy movements, were currently clustered near the hem of Elain’s dress, practically panting.

Vulgar, he thought, a dark wave of shame rippling through his chest. He was a spymaster. He was the shadowsinger. He should have been focusing on the intelligence reports piling up in his study.

Instead, he was completely, utterly down bad.

Elain hummed a soft, lilting Velaris tune, dusting a wooden cutting board with flour. She was wearing a new dress. She’d claimed Nuala and Cerridwen had tailored it for the upcoming summer solstice, but Azriel was convinced the half-wraiths were trying to murder him.

The bodice was modest enough, covering her collarbones, but the fabric was spun so tightly against her skin it was a sin. It hugged the sweet, sloping curve of her waist before flaring out over hips that looked agonizingly wider than they had last season. Every time she reached for a mixing bowl, the fabric stretched taut, accentuating the perfect, heavy roundness of her ass.

That magnificent ass. He’d spent centuries believing his preferences lay elsewhere, but Elain had effortlessly corrupted him, turning him into a male entirely enslaved by her backside.

Azriel’s throat went bone-dry. His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his dagger.

He imagined walking up behind her. He imagined his large, scarred hands gripping those deceptively wide hips, pulling her back against his groin until she could feel exactly what she was doing to him. He wanted to hook his fingers into that tight fabric, rip it down the center seam, and bury his face between those soft, pale cheeks. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to hear the sweet, breathless gasp she would make when he slid two fingers inside her, finding her already wet for him while the bread was still rising in the oven.

A drop of sweat rolled down his neck. Calm down, he told himself, the Illyrian beast inside him roaring at the restraint. She is a lady. She is sweet, and gentle, and not yours. "Azriel?"

Her voice was like silk, cutting through the heavy haze of his depravity.

He forced his expression to remain a mask of cool, unbothered calm, though his wings twitched tight against his back. "Yes, Elain?"

She turned around, wiping a stray smudge of flour from her cheek, entirely unaware that she had just spent the last ten minutes driving a centuries-old warrior to the brink of madness. She looked up at him through her lashes, those big, brown doe eyes wide and full of absolute trust.

Gods above.

Azriel’s mind fractured. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head as a violent surge of lust hit him straight in the gut.

Those eyes. Those beautiful, innocent, wide eyes.

A filthy, dark image flashed in his mind, vivid enough to make his vision blur. He imagined her. He imagined his thick, aching cock sliding past her lips, stretching her mouth out as she swallowed him whole. He wanted to grip her soft golden-brown hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, to tilt her head back and look down into those exact same doe eyes while they watered from the sheer, unforgiving size of him. He wanted to see her blown-out gaze looking up at him, completely wrecked by his thickness, choking beautifully as he claimed her mouth, marking her throat with the rhythmic thrust of his hips until she was entirely marked by him. Until he was entirely done by her.

His cock throbbed painfully against the leather of his leathers, straining so hard it ached.

"Do you think Rhys and Feyre will like the blackberry tarts?" Elain asked softly, gesturing to the neat rows of pastry on the counter. "I used the honey from the night market.“

Azriel swallowed hard, his voice dropping an octave, thick and gravelly. "They will love them.“

"Are you alright?" She took a step closer, tilting her head. Her breasts, pushed up by the tight bodice, swelled temptingly. "You look a bit flushed. Is it too warm in here?“

"I'm fine," he choked out. If she came any closer, if he caught the scent of her arousal, he was going to lose his mind. He was going to throw her onto the floured table, push that tight dress up to her waist, and take her until they both forgot their own names.

"If you're sure," Elain smiled, a sweet, radiant thing that made him feel like the vilest creature in the Night Court for the thoughts running through his head. She turned back to her baking, her round ass shifting deliciously under the tight fabric as she reached for a dish towel.

Azriel gripped the edge of the table, letting the rough wood bite into his palms, praying for the mother to grant him strength. He was a patient man. He had waited centuries for many things.

But looking at Elain, he knew his restraint was ticking down to its final, agonizing seconds.