🦢🩰🎀✨

"Cauldron!" Your head lolls back when a loud moan parts your lips. Your entire body is shaking, trembling under his large frame, always on the brink of unconsciousness as he keeps pounding into you. Fast, but deep, making you feel every inch of his hard length, making sure you will come a sixth time this night. He’s long not done with you, although you already begin to see stars.

But you can’t complain. Never. Not when it comes to Azriel and how he makes love to you - how he fucks you. It’s always about you, always about your pleasure. Always about making you come at least three times before he allows himself the pleasure. You are his priority. Always. And making you come is his greatest joy, and his goal every single night you make love.

He can be gentle, he can be soft, when he wants to and when you want him to. 

Not tonight though. Tonight you need him exactly how he likes to fuck. Hard. Rough. Merciless. But nevertheless, passionate and deep. Making you feel everything.

His glorious length is stretching your walls so much, you feel a hint of pain. But the exact amount of pain to still make it feel pleasurable and to remind you that you won’t be able to walk like a normal fae for the next few days. But you would never want him to stop. If this night could go on forever, so shall it be.

Azirle has set a harsh tempo, your legs thrown over his shoulders, toes brushing his wings, as he thrusts into you, his eyes not once leaving your face, lips slightly parted, all his muscles taut, and a thin film of sweat coating his tan skin.

With every passing moment, you find it harder to look at him, to keep your lids open when your eyes begin to roll back in your head, and a hazy fog of bliss fills your brain.

“Who’s making you feel so good, huh?” Azriel bends further over your, one scarred, callused hand stroking up your chest, kneading your breast before he curls his fingers around your throat.

Your mouth may be open, lips parted from all the ragged breaths swooshing in and out of your lungs and the moans and soft cries he draws from you, but your brain struggles to form coherent sentences, and to tell your mouth to speak. 

You gulp down air, hoping for your mate to be patient enough to give you this little time to catch yourself. “You – Gods!” You cry out in pleasure, eyes closing, as he hits that one spot so very deep inside of you. “You do!”

“My name!” Azriel’s voice has dropped to a low growl and your eyes blink open, landing on the glorious, breathtaking male, that is your mate. Damp strands of hair fall into his forehead, glazed with sweat, eyes darkened by desire, lips swollen from all the kisses you have shared this night.

“Azriel!” Your back bows off the bed. “My mate. My husband.” 

It’s always his undoing. Calling him your mate, will always unleash some primal force within him that makes him want to claim you as his even more. Even harder. 

He lowers your legs to the mattress, before sitting you both up and hoisting you onto his lap. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop, within an instant, he begins to continue the merciless rhythm from earlier, now only taking you from a different angle. 

One that makes you feel even better. And this time you truly begin to see stars. Azriel’s broad hands keep you upright, as he tries to chase your lips. But your head lolls back, his name and soft curses mingling with moans. 

You fail to kiss him back, only able to return his gesture with an open mouthed, sloppy brush of your lips, no longer able to control anything as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you, satisfaction crashing into you so hard, you feel like you are floating. 

It’s too much, but at the same time it’s absolute perfection. The way he makes you feel. The way he loves you so much. They way your souls belong to one another.

>>>>>>

♥︎ Part One ┃5k

Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

♥︎ Part Two┃5.2k

You and Azriel are struggling with the aftermath of your heated argument. Unfortunately, you both cope in very different ways.

♥︎ Part Three┃8.5k

Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

♥︎ Part Four┃7.3k+

You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

♥︎ Part Five┃7k

A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

♥︎ Part Six┃Soon

Current Word Count: 33,036

Asks, Discussions, and Thoughts: #awsf? tag!

Cassian rolled his eyes and crossed bulging arms over his chest in a display of annoyance. He stood tall enough for his head to brush against the roof of the makeshift tent the Illyrians of Windhaven had erected on the edge of their camp. It stood just a few steps away from Rhys’ cabin, shielding a low stump atop which a comically small crystal rested for them to inspect.

“What did he say it was?” Rhys asked as he circled the stump with a pensive expression.

“He thinks it is a relic of the gods that ruled over Prythian before the age of the Fae,” Azriel explained calmly, hands crossed behind his back with his wings neatly folded. He was the picture of professionalism. Ever the spymaster.

Y/N smiled at him and felt her nose crinkle with delight at the smile he gave in return. His lips curled barely noticeable, but the secret lay in the spark that set his eyes aglow. It was the smile he reserved solely for her. It was accompanied by a tug of the bond.

“It could just as well be an ordinary crystal,” Cassian intervened. “I say we take it with us and ask Helion to have his librarians take a look at it.”

“What if it’s an ancient weapon though? We could accidentally set it off,” Y/N said, looking from Azriel to Cassian and back. “Did Devlon say how he got it up on the log without touching it?”

“He used sticks.” Azriel’s face twisted into a grimace as though to express his discomfort with the Illyrian warlord’s simple methods.

Cassian snorted at that. “Elegant.”

Rhys sighed, running a palm down his face. “Azriel, could you try having your shadows lift it? I fear Cassian might be right and Helion’s libraries are our best shot. I don’t want to spend the rest of my day here because of a shiny rock.”

Azriel gave a single nod, and at once, shadows swarmed in from every direction to draw tight around the crystal.

One of the shadowsinger’s brows quirked up. “It’s surprisingly heavy.”

Y/N felt her forehead crease with worry as she watched the shadows begin to rise with the object they’d circled—their movements slow, sluggish even.

“Be careful not to drop—”

But before Rhys could finish his sentence, Azriel’s shadows shuddered as though they’d been hurt, and the crystal fell from its encasing.

Y/N lunged without a second thought, and as her fingers wrapped around the cool, smooth surface of the cylindric crystal, the last thing she heard was her name—twisted with panic as it fell from her mate’s lips in a call to rattle her bones.

-

A low roar rang through Y/N’s head as she pulled open her eyes, squinting against the blinding beams of the setting sun.

Had it not been noon just now?

And had there not been a tent?

There was dirt beneath her palms as she pushed to her knees, sharp pebbles pressing deep into her skin. Every bone in her body was aching, a slight sense of nausea sitting in the very pit of her stomach.

As she lifted her head to look around, everything seemed normal enough. There was Rhys' cabin behind her, sitting right on the border of a war camp that had just moments earlier been bristling with life. She could still hear faint voices, but something seemed ... gloomier than usual.

Turning her head, Y/N found only empty space where Azriel, Rhys and Cassian had stood just a moment ago, and at once, her heart picked up its pace. There was no sign of the tent. No sign of her friends.

No sign of her mate.

"Azriel?" she heard herself call into the eery silence of approaching nightfall.

Had that crystal knocked her out? Surely, her friends wouldn't have just left her there if that had been the case—Azriel wouldn’t have left her. Something had to have happened.

It took a few tries to force her body back on her feet. Her knees were wobbly, dizziness washing over her in waves, and just as she was about to call out for Azriel again, she spotted something gleaming on the muddy mountain ground.

The crystal.

She knew better than to touch it again, pulling the sleeve of her fighting leathers over her hand as she reached out to carefully pick up the crystal to push it into the depths of her pocket.

Whatever was going on, it had started when she touched the crystal—she was sure of it.

The shockwave must've knocked her unconscious somehow, but that did not yet explain what had happened to Azriel and the others.

A lump of worry sat in the pit of her stomach, though she got momentarily distracted as a voice sounded behind her and her heart gave a startled leap.

"Can I help you, girl?"

Turning, she found a large Illyrian male, arms the size of tree trunks crossed over a broad chest, and thick brows tugged deep into his face. He looked grim in the way he scanned her from top to bottom.

"You haven't by any chance seen the Shadowsinger anywhere, have you?" He stared at her, unmoving, unblinking, so she cleared her throat, and continued, "Or perhaps the General? The High Lord?"

His eyebrow quirked at that. "And what business might you have with the High Lord, woman?"

She bristled at his tone. She was used to the Illyrian disregard towards anything female, but ever since she'd been mated to Azriel and frequented the camps accompanying Cassian or the Valkyries, most had gotten used to seeing her around.

"That is none of your concern," she said. "I was merely asking whether you'd seen him. He was here just a moment ago. Along with the General and the Shadowsinger."

"There you go with that word again," the Illyrian said, tilting his head with a mildly condescending glint in his eye. "What might a shadowsinger be?"

She stared at him.

He stared back.

As she turned her head, she assured herself that they were, in fact, in Windhaven. Perhaps she’d been transported to some other camp somehow?

But no, that was definitely Rhys’ cabin behind her.

Had this male spent the last five hundred years in a cave? How was it possible for him to not know of Azriel?

Surely, he was mocking her.

"I shall go look for them myself," she muttered, turning to head for the heart of the camp. "Perhaps Devlon knows where they went."

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around her arm, its grip tight enough to bruise her skin even through her leathers.

Turning abruptly, she found herself face to face with the stranger.

"Who do you think you are to speak of Lord Devlon in such a way?" the Illyrian growled so close to her face that she could smell meat on his breath. "I don't know how you got into this camp in the first place, but unless you intend to get on your back, spread your legs and work on popping out a few half-breed soldiers, I suggest you hurry back to where you came from. High Fae have no business in Illyria."

She stared at him. "I beg your pard—"

"Galen,” a new voice called from behind the stranger, who in return twisted his neck to see who had called for him. “What do you have there?”

Galen’s face never lost its scowl. “I caught a High Fae female snooping around.”

Laughter rang across the clearing—growing nearer by the second—and it was that moment that Y/N decided that it was best to not stick around.

With a skilled kick of the knee—a move Cassian had taught her—she sent Galen’s body curling into a ball as his hands flew to his loins with a pained groan falling from his lips.

Before his friend had a chance to catch up with her, she turned, and she ran.

-

Breath was tearing in and out of her lungs as Y/N jumped behind a nondescript hut at the corner of the camp, praying to the Mother that her pursuers had lost her trace by now.

It had taken every bit of the knowledge she’d gathered over the past decades to navigate the camp and lose the growing group of angry Illyrians attempting to catch her. She did not want to entertain the thought of being caught, as it had dawned on her by now that for some reason, they had no idea who she was. There was no telling what they would do without the protection of her name.

She held her breath as she observed Galen and his fellow warriors taking a route that led them to the centre of the courtyard and therefore a bit further away from her hiding place. A sigh fell from her lips.

Her relief, however, was short lived, as she soon noticed a figure moving from the corner of her eye—a figure close enough to capture her.

But when Y/N spun around with her dagger lifted in defence, her knee still digging into the dirt, she saw herself faced with a boy no older than eight or nine.

"By the Mother," she hissed, lowering her dagger, though she didn't yet sheathe it entirely, for fear the large Illyrian brutes would return any moment to snatch her. "Don't sneak up on people like that or you will catch an accidental blade to the gut one of these days."

The boy didn't say anything. He observed her with interest flickering in his eyes, though the rest of his face remained perfectly neutral, his arms crossed behind his back.

His hair was as dark as that of most Illyrians, shaggy in the way the strands dangled before his deep brown eyes. But other than most Illyrian children she'd seen over the past few decades, he was smaller, paler, his wings folded neatly behind his back, though somehow ... thinner than she'd come to know.

She cleared her throat. "Listen, I would be immensely grateful if you didn't rat me out."

His eyes flickered to something behind her then, but when she turned, she saw nothing, and when she peeked around the corner of the hut once more, the commotion in the courtyard had cleared, the booming voice of her pursuer growing more and more distant.

"I heard you ask for a shadowsinger," the boy said quietly, and it was the first time she heard him speak. His voice was calm, though there was a rasp to it that suggested disuse.

"Yes," she said, her heart leaping with hope. "Have you seen him?"

The boy looked at her, and for a moment it almost seemed like his eyes carried all the wisdom in the world—wisdom far beyond his age, and grief he shouldn't yet know.

"What is a shadowsinger?"

She sighed, slumping back against the wall of the hut when she concluded that the boy would most likely not slit her throat. This situation was a mess, and she was starting to grow tired of it.

"You'd know if you'd seen him," she muttered. "He commands shadows. They follow him around, circle his limbs, that sort of stuff."

It was silent for a while, but when the boy spoke again, his tone had changed, a note of curiosity bleeding into his words.

"I didn't know that's what they called someone who could do that."

She offered him a small smile, but when she noted a shadowy tendril curling its way up her arm, she bolted upright, her back suddenly straightened from the hunched position she'd kept.

"Are you doing this?" she asked, watching as the shadow detached itself from her to scurry across the muddy ground towards the boy's feet.

When she looked at him, he gave a single nod, his chin now lowered a fraction as though bashful.

"So you are a shadowsinger, too!" she smiled. "That's a rare and powerful gift you have there."

The boy hummed, the tip of his boot kicking at a pebble as he took his eyes from her for a moment. "My father says it's nonsense."

"Then your father is a moron," she said, grimacing when she realised what she'd said. "No offence."

She thought she could see the slightest twitch of his lips, but it was gone faster than it had appeared, and he swiftly slipped back into that seriousness that seemed much too heavy for his age.

"My mate is a shadowsinger as well," she offered. "He's the spymaster, right hand to the High Lord. He's one of the three most powerful males of this court."

The boy tilted his head. "He's who you're looking for?"

She nodded. "I think I ... I might have hit my head and passed out, and now I can't find him anywhere." She cleared her throat as she hugged her knees, the dagger now forgotten on the ground beside her, the mountain wind blowing the hair from her face. "I'm starting to get worried something bad might have happened."

He seemed to contemplate her words for a moment. "I could help you find him."

She looked at him. "You'd do that?"

He gave another single nod. "I could ask the shadows to tell me where he is."

Her shoulders sagged a bit with relief. She knew the power of shadows, knew their infallible ability to locate.

"That would be—" but she didn't get to finish her sentence, as the last of her words got stuck in her throat when the boy lifted his hands to gather a dark cluster of shadow before him.

She stared at him then, at the dark eyes, at the tilt of his mouth, the soft round cheeks, the shaggy black hair covering his forehead. There was a freckle just beneath the corner of his left eye, and as her gaze flickered back down to his bandaged hands, the world seemed to tip to its side.

She noticed his lips moving, a puzzled look on his face when she only stared at him.

She blinked, shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you're okay."

"Oh ... yes, yeah." Running a hand through her hair, Y/N turned to check if they were still alone. "I, uhm," she cleared her throat as she turned back. "I'm sorry ... what happened to your hands?"

At once, the shadows scurried away as the boy moved his hands back behind his back, chin dipping even lower as he avoided her gaze.

For a long while, she thought he wouldn't answer, but finally, "I burned them."

She blinked again, taking a deep breath through her nose against the growing dizziness.

There was no way.

This was a coincidence. It had to be.

"What is your name?"

The boy looked at her as though contemplating whether it was safe to tell her, and when he spoke his name, it felt as though the very ground gave in beneath her feet.

"Azriel."

-

She'd touched the crystal. All she'd done was touch the crystal—there was no way she'd somehow travelled back in time.

Over 500 years back in time.

It explained why that Illyrian had never heard of a shadowsinger. Why he did not know her. Why the tent was gone.

Somehow, she’d fallen out of her time.

Her breathing quickened then. Because what if this was permanent? What if the crystal only worked once, or only worked to send you back in time, not forward? What if she'd be forever stuck in this reality?

What if the only way she’d ever see her mate again was by watching his eight-year-old self grow into the man he’d become?

"Lady?"

She blinked at the boy before her, and her heart gave a painful twist. Those were Azriel's eyes looking at her with mild concern, Azriel's hands that had been burned by cruel brothers not long ago. She was looking at the tortured child version of her beloved mate, knowing everything that had already happened to him, everything that would happen to him before things finally got better, and her heart was breaking.

"Yes," she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I was just ... thinking."

He watched her, observing, quiet.

"Did you want me to find your mate?"

"Oh ... no, that's okay. I just felt him tug on the bond, so he's fine." Curiosity entered his eyes at the mention of the mating bond, so she changed the subject before he could ask further questions. "Would you like me to take a look at your hands?" she asked with all the gentleness she could muster. "I'm a healer, you see. Maybe I can help."

He didn't say anything, but something within her face seemed to make her seem trustworthy enough and so after a long while, he hesitantly pulled his hands from behind his back.

"They're ugly," he spoke as though in warning as she began to unwrap the bandages.

Her brows twitched together. "Now, that's nonsense."

Beneath the bandages lay blistering, burned skin—raw flesh torn by flames and twisted into angry red welts.

"They're not ugly," she said quietly, her voice thick as she took gentle hold of his left wrist to steady his hand as she hovered her palm over his without touching the wounds. "They've just been through a lot. You're incredibly brave, you know?"

She met his eye briefly, and she saw then that a part of him wondered whether she knew the true cause of his injuries without him having told her about them.

Sending warm, healing light to glow from the palm of her hand, she focussed on mending his flesh, on soothing his pain and fixing what had been torn so viciously. When she was done, his skin still lay twisted by the scars she knew so well, but at least his open wounds had been healed.

She repeated the procedure with his other hand, and when she was done, she observed his expression.

Baby Azriel stared at his open palms before turning his hands to stare at their backs too, taking in the healed expanse of his injuries.

"Thank you," he finally said, curling his fingers into fists. "They don't hurt anymore."

And yet, she could tell that he still hated the way they looked. She could tell from his face, despite his best efforts to hide his grief behind a well-practiced mask. She could tell because she knew him.

Taking his hands in hers, she offered him a smile. "It'll take some time for you to learn to live with it, Azriel. But it's not impossible. Let your scars be a reminder of your bravery. Let them show all that you have survived."

He looked at her, nodding slowly.

As she held his gaze to properly convey her words, she suddenly realised something.

Of course.

Lifting her hands, she unclasped the locket Azriel had gifted her upon their mating ceremony, and suddenly everything seemed so ... clear.

Baby Azriel's eyes flickered to her hands as she offered him the cobalt blue locket on a chain. He seemed a bit unsure of what to do with it, and so Y/N offered him a smile.

"I want you to have it," she spoke gently. "It's been dipped in magic, bewitched to protect whoever carries it. It will keep you safe."

Baby Azriel hesitated, though she could see in his eyes what those words did to him. How much he longed for protection, for safety. "Won't you miss it?"

She looked at the locket with softening eyes, thumb brushing across the gem.

"Very much," she spoke quietly before lifting her gaze back to him. "But you need it more than I do. I am already protected—my mate protects me every day. I don't need it anymore." She lifted her hands to carefully drape the thin chain around Azriel's neck. "You deserve to be protected, Azriel. You deserved to be loved. Don’t ever forget that."

It was with those words that she slipped her hand into the pocket of her leathers to wrap around the smooth surface of the crystal.

-

Rhys' hut was bright with warm gleaming faelights, laughter and chatter droning from the inside as she approached. She wondered how much time had passed since her accidental excursion to the past.

She thought about knocking, but before she raised her knuckles, she peeked through the window by the door, and her heart promptly sank.

They were all there—Rhys, Cassian, Azriel—and they looked as they did in her time. Broad bodies lounged in cushioned armchairs, fighting leathers covering every inch of their bodies. But there was something different to them, something ... lighter.

Cassian's wings were missing the scars they'd sustained in Hybern, and Rhysand's eyes were brighter. They were missing the heavier undertone they'd taken on during Amarantha's reign. Azriel's fighting leathers were void of Siphons, as were Cassian's, and she could tell even from a distance that he still carried the locket beneath them—the thin silver chain peeking from his leathers on the back of his neck.

And then there was the small but important detail that all three Illyrians carried females on their laps that most certainly weren't their mates.

Cassian was tongue-deep in the throat of a beautiful Illyrian woman, his hands roaming the ample curves of her hips, fingers digging into her flesh to pull her closer while Rhys laughed at something the blonde girl on his lap whispered into his ear.

It was the sight of another's lips on Azriel's throat that had her blood boil with anger despite herself.

She knew this was the past. Knew that this was their youth, that he hadn't even met her yet. But that didn't change the fact that she didn't want to see him with someone else.

The female was Illyrian, too, but from the large gash in her right wing, Y/N could tell that she'd been clipped already. Her hair was as dark as that of most Illyrians, falling in luscious waves almost all the way down to her ass, and when Y/N watched scarred fingers tangle in the strands—scarred fingers she herself had healed—, she finally took a step away from the window.

There was no reason to torture herself, after all.

The bright side was that the crystal actually did allow for her to travel forward in time, though by her own calculations—assuming that the boys were somewhere in their mid to late twenties in this current timeframe—it only allowed jumps of some 15 to 20 years at a time, which promised a tedious process given that she'd still have to skip a little over 500 years to return to her own time.

"Can I help you?"

She spun around at the low voice coming from behind her, and swallowed thickly as she met a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Azriel stood looming before her, his face carefully neutral, his stance casual yet alert. He kept his wings folded neatly, shadows circling their claws.

"Oh, uhm," her eyes flickered to the side in search of an excuse. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just ... leaving."

Azriel's eyes flickered to her feet and as she followed his gaze, she spotted shadows gathering beneath her shoes, black puffs of night circling her shins, only visible due to the faelight streaming from the hut's windows.

"Do I know you?" Azriel asked.

When she lifted her head, she found his eyes already on her. She knew him well enough to spot the curiosity in his gaze, no matter how well he'd gotten in hiding his expression since she'd met his eight-year-old self. A mate could tell.

"I doubt it, I'm just visiting from Velaris," she said, smiling.

Azriel gave a hum, eyes flickering to his shadows by her feet again. "It's just that my shadows seem somehow drawn to you. They told me you were standing outside the door."

"Oh, well," she cleared her throat. "That's sweet of them."

This time, when Azriel looked her in the eyes, she felt exposed. Like he'd be able to tell if he were to look too closely. Like he'd be able to recognise the one his soul was tethered to, even if another 300 years would pass before they were destined to meet.

"What's your name?"

Y/N opened her mouth, not knowing what she would say, since she couldn't risk telling him her real name. But she didn't get far, as the door soon opened to flood the night with warm light and reveal the girl with the clipped wings, her lips pouty as she searched the darkness for Azriel.

When she spotted the two, her eyelids lowered considerably, lips curling seductively as she trailed her attention down Y/N's body. "You didn't mention we'd be getting more company, Az. Not that I'm complaining." She tilted her head and offered a smile, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she did so. "I'm Willa. Are you going to be joining us?"

"Oh," Y/N gasped, feeling her cheeks heat at Willa's implication. "Oh, no I ... I was just leaving, actually."

The Illyrian shrugged before turning to go back inside, though not without a few last words purred over her shoulder.

"Hurry up, Az. Otherwise Cass and Mel are going to be done before we even start."

Y/N cleared her throat as the door shut, once again dimming the light to a soft glow.

"I'm sorry for interrupting." She had to force the words from her mouth, bile rising in her throat at the thought of what would go down as soon as she left—what Azriel would do, and who he would be doing it with. "It was nice meeting you, Azriel."

Azriel's gaze lay heavy on her—heavy and assuring and so full of interest that part of her wanted to tug on the bond just to see what would happen.

"Likewise," Azriel said, eyes still on her as she turned to leave. "Though I'd be interested to hear how you know my name."

She froze at that. "I think Willa mentioned it."

Azriel tilted his head, eyes narrowing a mere fraction. "Willa called me Az."

"Well, I ... guessed the rest," Y/N said, lifting a shoulder as she carefully began walking backwards. "Like I said, it was nice meeting you."

Before she’d reached the line of trees that bordered on the camp, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her pants, and as her fingers closed around the cool crystal, she hoped that Azriel—whose gaze she could still feel boring into her back—would assume that she'd simply winnowed away.

-

The sun was bright in the sky this time around, and cautious optimism took a hold of Y/N as she once again neared Rhys’ cabin, the soothing weight of the crystal in her pocket.

The state in which she’d find Azriel and the others would determine whether she could truly only jump 20 years at a time. It would determine the effort it would take to return to her own time.

Like the last time, she could hear voices coming from the hut, though they weren’t inside.

It was just as Cassian and Azriel rounded the corner that she managed to jump behind a nearby tree. They looked older than they had last time. Some scars had appeared on both their wings, but with a slow sinking of her heart she noticed the locket dangling from Azriel’s neck.

Still too early then.

She was just about to shove her hand in her pocket to touch the crystal, done with this tedious business, when she heard the mention of her own name.

Looking up, she spotted Cassian now lounging on the stairs leading up to the cabin, rolled up mirth root lodged between his lips as he grinned up at Azriel, who stood with his arms crossed and his feet wide.

“What are you, twelve?” she heard her mate ask, his voice as low as ever, though there was a distinct note of amusement in his tone.

Cassian snickered, taking the mirth root from his lips for smoke to plume before his face. “What? Given that you’re so convinced she’ll turn out to be your mate, I’m just trying to make sure that you don’t have an eternity of sexual frustration ahead of you. Cauldron knows you’ve had enough to last you a lifetime.”

Azriel snorted. “Thanks, brother.”

Cassian grinned. “So?”

Even from her hiding place, Y/N could hear Azriel’s sigh. “So what?”

“So, are you sleeping with her?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Because you’re suddenly so shy about sex?”

“Because I don’t want her thinking I go around bragging about intimate details.”

The Lord of Bloodshed groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “I didn’t ask you to draw a picture of the position. It’s a yes or no question.”

Silence settled for a moment, and Y/N watched Azriel’s shoulders growing tense, until—

“No.”

Cassian looked up at that. “No?”

From her position behind the tree, Y/N could only see Azriel’s side profile, but it was enough to see his jaw clench. “No, we haven’t had sex yet.”

Amusement flickered across Cassian’s face. “Well, it seems she might just be the only female in all of Prythian that can withstand your charm, brother.”

Azriel seemed to hesitate. An unusual picture.

“It’s just …” he stopped, clearing his throat as he watched his left foot dig the tip of his boot into the soft earth of the ground. “I’m worried she might be … disappointed.”

Y/N flinched as Cassian threw back his head and barked laughter into the skies.

“The shadowsinger,” Cassian chuckled. “Insecure about his sexual prowess. Who would have thought the day would come.”

“Well, it wasn’t important before,” Azriel snapped, to which Cassian lifted a brow. With a sigh, Az continued, “You know what I mean. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and so I want it … I need it to be good for her.”

Y/N smiled to herself, well aware of how entirely unfounded Azriel’s worries would turn out to be. She’d never realised her mate had troubled himself with this.

Cassian took a deep breath through his nose. “Well, I’m gonna go ahead and say that—should you truly end up being mates—the bond will probably take care of it.” Face twisting into a grimace, he added, “And even if not, judging by the past 300 years that I’ve had the pleasure to share a bedroom wall with you, I doubt you have any reason to worry.”

Azriel clicked his tongue, an exasperated expression on his face, and before she could stop herself, Y/N snorted a laugh.

At once, Cassian and Azriel’s demeanour changed entirely. Rising to their full height, tension crept into their shoulders, eyes firmly locked on the little cluster of trees she was hiding in.

Her heart dropped as she watched them share a look, and when Azriel sent his shadows rushing for the treeline with only the slightest wave of his hand, she quickly buried her hand in her pocket.

-

This time, when she woke up, there was no headache. There was no dirty ground, but the soft panelled flooring of a makeshift Illyrian tent. There were warm palms cupping her cheeks, a voice calling her name.

“My love,” it said, a distinct note of worry shaking the words. “Please open your eyes.”

She did as he’d asked, and as soon as she met Azriel’s gaze she knew for a fact that she’d made it. She was back.

Before she could open her mouth, Azriel had already scooped her into a tight embrace, palm cupping the back of her head as he pressed her against his body, muttering a quiet thanks to the Cauldron into her hair repeatedly.

As she raised her gaze to look at Cassian and Rhys, she was met with all the more concern.

“By the Cauldron, you gave us a good fright there, sweetheart,” Cassian muttered, the usual ease missing from his tone.

“What happened?” She asked as Azriel loosened his arms to instead focus his attention on scanning her for any obvious injuries. When he did not find any, he took gentle hold of her hand.

“Can you get up?”

She gave a nod.

“What happened?” she asked again.

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look.

“You vanished,” the High Lord said finally, and as though in reaction to his words, she felt Azriel’s grip tighten on her hand.

“You caught the stone and then you were gone,” Cassian added. “Good thing you’re back now—Az nearly tore down the camp.”

A crease appeared between her brows. “How long was I gone for?”

It was Azriel’s calm voice that spoke now, though she knew that he’d slipped back into his mask of composure. The bond told her of his true emotions—of his rapidly beating heart and the panic he’d endured.

“Three hours.”

She ran a palm down her face.

“Can you tell us where the crystal took you?” Rhys asked as he knelt down next to the crystal she must have dropped upon her arrival.

Y/N gave a gentle scoff. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

It was then that she felt a featherlight touch on the side of her neck—Azriel’s fingers skimming the bare skin that an hour earlier had been adorned with the locket he’d gifted her upon their mating ceremony.

As she met his gaze, she could see the question sitting there, and when she lifted her hand to catch his own between her palms, she offered a soft smile.

“I gave it to someone who needed it more than I did,” she whispered so only he could hear. “He deserved to be protected. He deserved to be loved. And I didn’t want him to ever forget it.”

It took a short while for her words to settle in, but finally the crease between Azriel’s brows softened with realisation, and his eyes flickered to the scarred hand she held safe between hers.

“Of course,” she thought she heard him breathe as he shook his head in mesmerisation. “It was you.”

You’d been hesitant about attending the long-haul mission when you learned it would just be you and the guys, but Azriel and his brothers consciously accommodated you right from the start. Before the various dinners and galas, Cassian would train until the very last moment to avoid making you feel rushed. He’d come in 15 minutes before the time to leave, throw on a suit and make some snippy joke about his exhaustive beautifying process. Rhys would be in and out of the room, ensuring all arrangements were taken care of, then savour his time getting ready which actually was exhaustive.

Azriel? He always had reports to go over that kept him strictly in the room. Kept him where he could sink into the luxury of watching your routine unfold.

Fools envied those who found mates for the companionship, the physical intimacy, the assurance of partnership. That’d been what Azriel ruminated on when he watched Rhys love Feyre, Cassian love Nesta. A fool indeed, because he’d never even considered this side of things.

It put entire fantasies in his head. How it would feel to have this routine with you—where you were his. He’d be watching it all happen from his bed. You’d be this comfortable in his room. Take up space in his life. A life where this was his to claim.

Even Mor—all his years of aching for her—any overlapping missions, and she’d kept him from seeing this side of her. There was truly no instance where he’d been let in this way. No relationship or lover where he got to see and learn it.

He’d been memorizing it. It was always a bath first that you’d come out of smelling intoxicating. Gleaming skin beneath a thin dressing robe that ended above your knees. It took a while for you to feel comfortable sitting in the shared room in just your robe, but it took Azriel even longer to be normal about it. To rid himself of thoughts about what stayed on underneath it, or what wasn’t on at all. He didn’t miss the blush that coloured your cheeks when you’d come out, from the heat of the bath or the awareness of your undress. A blush that Azriel matched when he’d look elsewhere, trying to avoid discomforting you, to avoid letting Cassian or Rhys notice his attentiveness.

Next was the dressing table component, where you were currently seated. Your robe sinfully inched up your legs when you lifted your arms to fuss over your hair. Arranging pins into various places. The focus in your eyes he’d catch in the mirror made the thoughts eddy out of Azriel’s brain.

So, so pretty.

A pinch between your brows as it slowly fell into place right. It took a week before you began comfortably playing your symphonia during the routine. Quietly, even though Rhys insisted it didn’t bother anyone. Azriel shuffled his papers, listening to the music that you faintly hummed along to. A breath of feminine exasperation left you that drew his eyes up—you were done with the hair. Tired from the effort.

Azriel bit back a smile at the labour of it all.

His favourite part was next—the cosmetics. Face creams first. A little perfume oil roller down the length of your pretty throat. Intention behind every brushstroke on your skin. Precision in shading beneath cheekbones. He shamelessly looked up to catch the part where you smiled at your reflection to set the rouge on the apples of your cheeks. Looked away again.

Kohl smudged into your lash line. Smaller brushes to sweep pigment on your eyelids. You didn’t notice his glimpses, too focused on the accuracy. A miniature comb you applied to your lashes, brushing upward and coating them black.

Your most beautiful feature, those hypnotic eyes.

He listened carefully for the click when you opened your lip rouge. He glutinously watched you apply colour to your sensuous mouth.

What he’d give to feel that motion he witnessed, the drag forward and back across your lips beneath the pressure of the rouge. The plush he could see—could practically feel. Colour he could envision smudging prettily with his thumb.

He cast his gaze down again. A composing deep breath, nearly shuddering.

Rhys cleared his throat, making Azriel’s head snap to him where he was sitting at the desk. He’d been getting dressed. Azriel didn’t even notice he’d sat down. A hateful smirk pulled the corners of Rhys’s mouth up. Azriel glared, returning his focus to his reports.

You admired your completed work, checking the presentation from various angles. Azriel would stare at the angel in the vanity too if it weren’t for his bastard brother making silent insinuations to his side.

He was spared when Cassian entered the room, looking at you, and releasing an inflated sigh of relief. “Thank God. We can let you out into the public again.”

You laughed mirthfully. “I’d say the same about you, Cass, but you could use a little work.”

He only approached you, crowding your space. “Can I get some of that?” he nodded to your products.

You laughed again, scooting for him to unceremoniously squish at your side on the tiny bench. You dolloped something onto your fingers, twisting to smear it onto his face, grinning.

“Azriel wants some too,” Rhys chimed in.

His heart faltered.

You glanced back, meeting Azriel’s gaze, brows high. He had to clench his jaw to keep down any reaction. Your beauty stunned him, and whatever Rhys was playing at, whatever you were going to do—

He was too startled by the suggestion to think to deny it. Too late, he realized, his silence implied agreement.

Somewhat bashfully, you rose in answer, product in hand.

Azriel remained frozen as you approached him. Both his brothers watched, but all he could care about was the homecoming he felt when you sat next to him on the bed.

Did you have any idea how profoundly personal it felt?

That feeling of Déjà vu befell him again—whatever version of this domesticity existed in another life where this was his. You were indeed on his bed, more bare than not. About to touch him like he was all yours.

That part bore the most truth, in this life and whatever other lives he was getting visions of.

You sat close enough that the skin of your knee tested his focus. It was just moisturizer that you’d squeezed onto your fingertips, but God did it feel like something precious, or maybe it was the sense of reverence you put into anything you touched. He held his breath as you raised your hand and gently smudged the cream across his cheekbones.  

Azriel felt like a teenager all over again, heart soaring at the tenderness.

Eyes focused, you leaned closer. Your other hand came up to gently cradle his face, thumbs stroking the product more intently into his skin. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart as you stroked across his cheek a third time. Warm and soft. Azriel savoured the proximity. How even more devastating you looked up close.

“There,” he felt your breath softly puff onto his cheek. You retracted your hands, bracing yourself on his bed.

“Thank you,” he muttered lowly. The two of you remained for a beat. This time, Azriel didn’t try to hide his stare.

You finally broke it, seeming to recall the intrusive observation of your viewers. You rose, heading to the bathroom.

He couldn’t care less about his brothers’ prying eyes. Not with your warmth still sinking into his skin.

So, so familiar.

When the bathroom door finally opened, he snapped out of his thoughts. You’d changed into your gown. Your eyes found his immediately, chin marginally dipping under his gaze. He noted your slight shiver, and he allowed himself to wonder if you too felt the strange air. Charged with false nostalgia.

You only shook it off, smiling at him.

He felt it prickling again as he drank in the sight of you. Like flashbacks from another future. Something in his chest tightened. Likely the injury of tasting this domesticity already setting in, it seemed.

He only smiled back.

He’d figure it out later.

~  

You’re standing in your bathroom as he cries into your shoulder, your breaths intertwined. His knees are weakening and it’s getting harder to hold his weight as he leans on you.

Your arms are loosely encircled around his neck and you collect every bit of strength you have in you to hold him up. You can feel the moisture from his tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, hear the gasps of breath spilling from his mouth. You can’t help but cry with him.

When you slowly glide a hand up the back of Rafe’s head, stroking his hair, he cries harder, his body thrown off center even further after being touched so gently. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you in closer.

Rafe’s chest is burning, his hand still aching from nearly punching the life out of your ex-boyfriend. His legs are giving out and he realizes just how much he’s bearing down on you.

“Shit,” he grumbles, angry at himself for hurting you. “Sorry.” He straightens, pulling back just a bit, your cheeks touching.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice sounds just as fragile as the atmosphere between you. You’ve never wanted to take care of someone more than you do right now. “Let’s go to my room.”

You keep all the lights off as you pace upstairs. When you reach your room, Rafe sits on the edge of your bed, sniffling.

You watch his darkened figure angrily swipe at his tears. You settle beside him, your heart stinging, the side of your thigh pressed against his.

“I…” Rafe’s voice is hoarse. His heart is racing. He’s failing at choking down his sobs. “I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you say. You watch him helplessly, eager to do whatever you can to ease his pain, to make him more comfortable.

You wipe one of your own tears away and rest your hand on his shuddering back, feeling how damp the cotton of his shirt is, surely from sweat.

You can’t get how he looked leaning over Ty out of your mind, the way he struck him over and over. When his friends pushed him up against the wall, he looked so angry and lost.

“Are your pajamas in the other room?” you ask.

Rafe nods. You rush away towards the guest room.

He feels completely powerless to his own body. He’s lost every bit of composure he thought he had. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, sitting in your room, crying this hard in front of you.

He should’ve known being around you long enough would wear him down. His mother may be gone, but the weight of losing her never will be, and every time he looks into your eyes or feels your skin on his, he remembers that he’s carrying that weight everywhere he goes.

When he’s in this state, he takes whatever he can get his hands on to get wasted enough to forget. But he doesn’t have anything to numb his agony.

You return holding Rafe’s sweats and t-shirt and see him hunched over your bed, his head in his hands. You sit next to him again, his clothes bunched up against your chest. His breaths are short and uneven.

“I can help you get changed,” you say, words faltering between your tears. “And I can ramble or I can be quiet or whatever you need to fall asleep.”

Your chest aches even more at the desperation in your own voice. It reminds you of being ten years old, standing at Rafe’s bedroom door, offering to do anything just to carry a piece of his pain for him.

He rejected you then. He’s rejected you a thousand times since. But tonight, he lowers his hands from his face and turns his head just enough to catch your gaze.

“Okay,” he murmurs, throat thick with tears.

He remains sitting as you stand and lean over him to bunch the bottom of his shirt in your hands.

You pull the fabric up over his torso and he lifts his long arms for you. Your eyes are better adjusted to the dark now, allowing you to see the way his chest is rising and falling as he breathes through his cries.

In any other scenario, undressing him like this would feel suggestive, but the intimacy between you is innocent. You’re helping a friend in pain. At least, you hope he considers you a friend now.

The cotton of his pajama shirt is soft between your fingers as you draw it over his head. He finds the strength to pull his arms through the sleeves and then shuffles to unbutton his jeans. You help him take his jeans off and replace them with his sweatpants.

Rafe still doesn’t get why you think he deserves your unconditional kindness. But then he remembers what you said downstairs. You said he’s good. When was the last time someone called him good?

It’s been years since he thought something positive about himself. But maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever good you see in him really is there.

He pushes himself up to his feet to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall and you quickly change into your pajamas in the dark and get ready for bed.

When Rafe comes back into your room, his strides are slow and his shoulders are hunched as he settles into your bed.

“Do you need ice for your hand?” you whisper. “Or some water?”

“No,” he responds. He shifts, head resting on your pillow, and swallows hard, never having had a harder time saying what he wants before now. “Just… come to bed.”

It’s jarring. The same man who’s spent years averting his gaze the second you walked into a room, who found the quickest way to end every conversation you tried to start, doesn’t want to be apart from you for even a minute.

You sink into the mattress next to him, bodies turned towards each other. His breaths continue to hitch with his cries. It’s like he’s letting out all the tears that he’s repressed tonight.

You find his hand and stroke it gently, fingers running over his swollen knuckles.

One of the last times someone tried to help Rafe was when the paramedics arrived on the side of the freeway. They were asking him if anything hurts. If he could slowly get out of the car.

The rain was falling from the dark sky in hard, heavy drops and he had to shout for them to hear him. He kept telling them to check on his mom. They told him someone was already with her. He told them they should all be checking up on her and not him because he was fine but she wasn’t breathing.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. After a moment, he answers.

“It never gets easier,” Rafe says, his tone teetering on whimpering. His grief is still eating him alive. It never stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your tears hot against your cheeks. “Did you… ever get any help? Anyone to talk to?”

“No. At the beginning…” His mind flashes through how much the therapist he saw after it happened reminded him of his mother. Since he was ten, all he’s done is run from every reminder. “No. I couldn’t.”

You inch closer to him, holding his hand tighter, your legs tangling together.

“How about your family?” you ask.

Rafe can’t do this.

“Distract me,” he whispers. “Please distract me.”

You scramble to find something, anything to talk about. You think back to the start of the summer and the hopes you had before your ex started tormenting you both in and out of your relationship.

“I haven’t been off the island as much as I’d like to,” you begin. You press your hand against his chest to feel his heart, gauging if your words are helping. “I was thinking to go into the mainland some more this summer.“

You start to talk about how you’ve daydreamed about seeing what kinds of things the world has to offer across the water.

Rafe shuts his eyes, letting your sweet voice permeate the air, filling him with a quiet warmth like it always does.

You chase away the demons when you speak to him like this. You short-circuit the painful thoughts that rush through his head. You blur the terrifying images he sees. And it’s so much better than any drug he could ever take.

Slowly, you feel the pounding in his chest recede into softer, further apart thumps. His breaths are still sharp, but his sobs aren’t as hard. You comforted him like this when you were kids and it grants you a sense of pride that you can still soothe him.

Minute after minute, Rafe’s crying loses its intensity, and finally, he dozes off with your hand pressed against his sternum.

Your eyes gently flutter shut. The sound of his deep breathing alleviates you after what may have been one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You fall asleep feeling the pulse of a boy who lost his innocence too soon.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply. He drifts into consciousness feeling rested for the first time in ages.

You’re facing him, your hand cupped around his, his knuckles up to your lips as you sleep. He watches you in awe.

At some point in the night, he remembers shuffling awake and feeling your lips press against his sore hand, kissing him and calming him in your dazed state.

Rafe looks at the way your eyelashes curl over your closed eyelids. You were so patient with him, letting him cry as hard and as long as he needed to.

Can he actually do this? Can he have you in his life in a real capacity, instead of just inside this arrangement to keep you safe? Can he let you in while keeping something so painful from you?

You still don’t know the whole of it. He never wants you to. He’s not sure what to do, so he slowly shifts out of your soft bed.

It’s a few minutes past nine when you make your way downstairs. Rafe is sitting in the front room. You had hoped he’d stay in bed with you this time.

“What time are you meeting the lawyer today?” he asks once he sees you.

“Ten.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. He told you he wouldn’t leave your side and he’s not breaking his promise.

You nod, staring at him. It feels like there’s distance between you again. Does he regret last night?

“How are you?” you ask quietly, leaning against the wall.

Rafe’s eyes flit to you. When he sees the sorrow in your expression, he tells you the good instead of the bad.

“Had a good sleep,” he tells you. He looks away again. “Thanks for…”

“Of course,” you say once you realize he won’t finish his sentence. “Any time.”

Rafe rubs his knees, his hands running over the denim of his jeans, remembering how you took them off for him last night. It’s embarrassing to think about how he broke down in front of you.

“I need to go home,” he says, “to shower and get some clean clothes. I’ll come back.”

You watch him leave and you lock the door behind him. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable after everything last night. You try not to let it get to you. But it gets to you. Because it’s Rafe and his effect on you has always been to impossible to avoid.

You arrive at the lawyer’s office in your car with Rafe in the driver’s seat. You asked not to take his bike simply because driving out in the open like that was daunting. Your nerves are sitting heavy in your stomach. It still feels unbelievable that Ty has gone so far that you had to get the law involved.

Rafe asks you if you want him in the office with you. You do.

You settle across the desk of the kind-faced lawyer, your hands clasped tightly together. She tells you how sorry she is about your circumstances and that your court date has been set for a week from today.

She explains the process of getting a permanent protective order and goes through the evidence you have. Rafe looks over at you every so often, his chest pinching from how worried you look.

“Do you have any questions?” she says.

“The police told me that if he violates the order, I should report it,” you say. “Is there someone on the case I can call? Or should I go to the station? Or the courthouse?”

She shakes her head in disappointment, looking genuinely sympathetic of your situation.

“What happened?” she asks. “I can relay it to the police. You don’t have to worry about going to them. I’m here to make this easier for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “He ran up to me last night, yelling about how I went to the cops. I think he was going to…” You look at Rafe, your lips twisting. “I think he was going to hurt me but my friend stopped him.”

You wonder if friend is a generous title for what Rafe is to you. Or maybe not generous enough.

“He knew you went to the police last night?” she says. “I called them before our meeting. Your ex-boyfriend was informed of the temporary order this morning.”

Your body flushes. Ty didn’t know about the court order last night. But he knew you went to the police.

“He was probably following me yesterday and watched me go to the police station,” you realize, eyes darting to Rafe again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see him. Did you?”

“No,” he says. He was extra vigilant yesterday. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“The parking lot wasn’t that full,” you stammer. “I didn’t notice a car following us or anything. How did…”

It hits you. Maybe he hasn’t been tailing you like you thought. Maybe he’s had another way to know where you were without having to be there.

“What if he’s… tracking me somehow?” you ask the lawyer. “That’s illegal, right?”

“Yes,” she tells you. “He’d be criminally charged.”

You look down at your lap. Just like yesterday, fear makes you feel like you’re leaving your own body.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. It’s the only thing you have with you constantly. He could’ve put something in it. You stare at it in your shaking hand.

But why did you find footprints in front of your house a few nights ago when a tracking device would have told him that you were at a party down the street? What reason would he have to be creeping around your empty home?

Unless it isn’t in your phone. It has to be in something else you own. Your mind is racing. Your car was parked in front of your home that night. You walked to the party. Maybe Ty thought you skipped out on it. That you were home alone.

The footprints never made sense. Until now.

“Could it be somewhere in my car?” you ask her.

You struggle to keep your composure as the lawyer talks you through what would happen if they find something and link it to him. Depending on the judge, it could mean jail time.

You thank the lawyer when you leave, taking her advice to drive your car to the police station and have an officer search it.

It all happens so fast. You watch two cops inspect your car. You hear one of them mumble “I think I found something” to his coworker. Your stomach drops.

Rafe is standing next to you the entire time and when he sees the small, white box dropped into a plastic evidence bag, he has to step away for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger and disbelief.

There was nothing, nothing you could have done to deserve any of the shit this creep put you through. Learning that he was aware of your every move for who knows how long makes Rafe’s skin crawl. Beating the shit out of him last night wasn’t enough.

You’re silent when you leave the station. Rafe keeps looking over at you as he grips the steering wheel.

You’re gazing ahead, your stare distant, your body curled like you’re trying to make yourself smaller so nobody can see you.

He’s livid that the cops didn’t think to investigate further. You had to come to the conclusion yourself that your ex was tracking you.

“It’s their job to figure this kind of shit out, but you had to do it for them,” he mutters angrily. “And they seriously told him to stay away from you just this morning?”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. You’re in a fugue state. Your heart is racing. It’s hard to breathe. Your skin feels cold.

“Did you eat?” Rafe says.

You shake your head no.

“You need to eat.”

“So do you.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he says with a huff.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” you say absentmindedly. Your words are so simple, but they make his stomach go numb.

You approach a red light. Rafe taps his thumb against the wheel. He needs to make things better.

“We’ll pick some food up, alright?” he says.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you see you missed a call from your dad, it’s what pulls you back into reality.

“I have to call my dad back,” you mumble. You rub your forehead in frustration. You can understand why Rafe always wants to be distracted. It’s so much easier than dealing with a scary, painful reality.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to. But he knows he doesn’t. Finally, you accept that Rafe isn’t just looking out for you only because he feels like he needs to. He wants to.

“He’s not going to believe that we’re…” you trail off.

In this second, Rafe decides having you in his life is worth reliving any echos of the past. He’ll just bury the truth deep enough that he’ll forget it exists. He can do it.

“Friends again?” he says.

You meet his eyes and when your lips pull into a small smile, so do his. You don’t have to wonder if he’s still stuck in the idea that this will only be temporary anymore. It’s a ray of light in the darkness that’s become your life.

A car honks impatiently behind you and Rafe looks ahead to see that the light turned green. At the same moment he groans “shut up” to them, you mutter “relax”, and you both chuckle at your shared frustration.

Rafe pays for the takeout and when you arrive home, you sit at the kitchen island together to eat. You don’t have much of an appetite, but you take as many bites of your lunch as you can to gain the courage to call your dad.

“I think I can do it,” you say, picking up your phone. Rafe nods and watches you with softened eyes as you put the phone on speaker. After a few rings, your father answers.

“Hi,” you say. You take a deep breath. “First of all, I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry. But I ended things with Ty after you left and he’s been taking the break-up really badly. I… had to get a restraining order yesterday. I know it sounds crazy-“

“What? Are you alright?” your father asks.

“I am.” Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “I found a lawyer. And Rafe’s been helping me through all of it. I’m with him right now.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes,” you say. You’re not sure what your dad may say about who he knows to be your estranged childhood friend, so you rush to your next sentence. “Can you come home?”

“Of course. I just told your mom to start looking for flights,” he responds. “Are you… a restraining order? How - what has Ty been doing?”

You suddenly don’t feel as capable to speak as you did minutes ago. Retelling it yet again feels agonizing. You look at Rafe in desperation. He holds his hand out to you and you pass him your phone.

You watch as Rafe speaks to your father, addressing him as sir, reassuring him that you’re not alone or hurt. He walks back and forth through your kitchen as he speaks.

You watch his tall figure pace in front of you. He has the sense to give your dad a watered down version of the past few days. He mentions how Ty has tried to get into contact with you and the tracker the cops found, but he leaves out things like last night’s fight.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” your dad eventually says with a worried sigh. Rafe’s eyes find yours.

“It’s no problem,” he responds.

After your father says the earliest flight they could find would have them arrive home at eleven p.m. tomorrow, he tries to reassure you, telling you it’ll all be fine.

You hang up and go back to trying to eat. Rafe sits beside you.

Curiosity starts to prick at Rafe. If you’re really going to be friends again, he’ll see your parents around more often. Your dad sounded appreciative on the phone, but maybe he was just being polite. He’s not so sure they like him.

“Do your parents ever ask about me?” Rafe asks.

“They used to,” you say. “But I asked them to stop a long time ago.”

His eyes remain focused on you. He’s waiting for details.

“I just said we grew apart,” you add. “I didn’t want to tell them you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Rafe looks away in shame. The fact that you haven’t told them what really happened reminds him of what he heard the day you were in Sarah’s room. You never let anyone say anything bad about him. She always knew you liked him.

Rafe’s heart-rate quickens at the idea of you having those kinds of feelings for him. While his sister probably only said that because she’s under the impression you’re dating, the thought of you feeling the same thrill he does when you touch won’t leave his head.

It feels good to imagine you liking him like that. And he’s used to chasing whatever feels good, so he’ll allow himself to feed the delusion.

“I’ll be different,” Rafe says. “I won’t act like that anymore.”

You smile. Things don’t feel as cold as before. Not even close.

“Good,” you say. “I don’t know how we can be friends if you do.”

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks when he smirks, relieved but not surprised that you’re being so compassionate.

The sight of his smile makes your problems feel a hundred times lighter.

After the takeout containers are empty and in the trash, Rafe cocks his head as he looks at you, more nervous that he thought he’d be to propose this.

“You said you wanted to get off the island,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you say with a laugh.

“Now.”

You recognize Rafe’s family’s boat bobbing in the gentle water when you reach the docks after a quick drive to the marina. The afternoon sun is hidden by clouds, adding gusts to the warm summer air.

Rafe is quick getting the boat ready for departure. You sit on the bench behind the helm, watching him start the boat and navigate into the dark blue sea.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound being the rippling water and humming motor, you stand beside Rafe, seeing the coast in the far distance.

“We don’t have to dock anywhere if you’re cool with that,” you tell him. “Honestly, it feels really good to be out here.”

“You don’t want to go to the mainland?”

“No,” you tell him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. “This is better.“

You step out to the bow, leaning over the point of the boat. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you as you stand ahead of him. In this moment, finally, he’s not in the past. He’s living in the here and now.

You look back at him every so often, the smile on your face so beautifully genuine that it makes him swear he’ll do whatever it takes for you to smile like that as much as possible.

It’s nearing sunset when you get back to the docks. It feels so easy to be with Rafe. It’s like you’re kids again, no discomfort or sorrow or anger between you, just two souls that don’t need to second-guess if the other wants to be there.

“I’m exhausted,” you say as you both enter your house.

“From what?” Rafe teases, watching you reset the security system as he shuts the door. “I drove the whole time.”

“Does it have to be a competition of who’s more tired?”

“Yeah. It does,” he responds, stepping close to you as you punch in the numbers.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” you say with a happy shake of your head, turning to face him.

“What’s that mean?” Rafe asks, his tone low and amused.

“It means you always wanted to win at everything.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin to look up at him, taking in the way his windswept hair has fallen over his forehead. You want to brush it back.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” Rafe asks.

He lifts his arm to lean against the wall, tilted over you. Your eyes drag over the planes of his handsome face, wondering if it’s just you that feels like you’ve been angling towards flirting with each other all day.

“About you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, squinting in a self-assured way.

Just a few nights ago, it still felt odd having him in your home, standing right here, but now, it feels natural. Rafe slipped back into your life, nearly effortlessly. You’re sure it’s because you’ve always held a place for him in it in case he ever wanted to come back.

“You’re just as protective as you were then,” you say. “No. More protective, actually.”

You don’t think the Rafe you knew before the accident would have ever resorted to violence. But you don’t tell him that.

“You’re honest,” you say, a grin on your face. “And fun. And I think you have a ridiculously strong sense of responsibility. How am I doing?”

Rafe looks down, his tongue jutting beneath his cheek as he huffs a chuckle.

“Only for you,” he says solemnly.

“What?”

“I only feel a sense of responsibility for you,” he says. He gazes at you again. “Before you came asking for help, I really didn’t give a shit about anything.”

You almost have to steady yourself. Your playful smile drops, your lips parted even though you can’t think of anything to say.

You stand in the moment together, facing each other, eyes locked.

A few nights ago, he snapped at you, saying that you don’t know him. But you think you do. Because the way he’s staring right now, almost slack-jawed, looks like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time.

You’re frozen, but if he makes a move, even leans forward an inch, you know you’d close the distance.

He doesn’t, though. So, you step back.

“I need to shower,” you say with a short laugh. “I smell like the sea. Do you wanna have dinner after?”

Rafe nods, offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You replay the day in your head as you shower. Mostly, you replay the moments you caught Rafe looking at you. You knew you always had love for him in your heart, and over these past few days, you can’t deny that it’s grown stronger.

And you wonder, and hope, that maybe the friends thing isn’t an official title. Because you want more.

You change into fresh clothes in your bedroom and head out into the hallway. When you round the corner, Rafe is coming up the last few steps of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him to stand only a foot away for him. You place your hand on the bannister, mostly just to have something to do while your stomach flutters.

He stares down at you, the smell of your shampoo now committed to his memory. He’s been overthinking downstairs, aimlessly striding around, unsure if you feel the pull between you too, but so damn willing to take the risk.

Maybe you’ll shoot him down. But not knowing for sure actually hurts at this point.

“What?” you ask with a smile. “You okay?”

Rafe’s eyes search your face.

“I…” he begins. Rafe steps forward, mainly to see if you tense up and move away. But you don’t. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About what?”

“When we kissed the other night.”

The air goes thick, your throat suddenly dry. You remember how intoxicating it was kissing him. How it was just a tactic to chase away his friends. How hard it was accepting that it was all for show.

“I have to know,” he rasps. “Did you feel anything or was it just me?”

Your eyes fall to his lips. You’ve gotten used to things not feeling real by now, but not in a good way. This is like you’re living in a dream.

“It wasn’t just you,” you find the courage to say.

It’s all Rafe needs to hear. He leans forward. His lips brush against yours. Your breath catches.

You’re floating in the feeling of him on the cusp of kissing you. Finally, he closes what little distance remains, capturing your lips softly, gently, alleviating the years of pain you both held for so long in a way words never can.

His mouth is hot, his hands skimming over your hips as your lips weave together. Your heart pounds even faster when you feel his tongue dip into your mouth, running over yours.

You pull him in closer by his shoulders, impatient. Rafe can’t stop his groan when he feels your torso curve against his. He needs this. He needs you. A fire in him has been set alight and he’ll go as far as you’ll let him.

“Can we go to your room?” he mumbles, his nose nudging yours, the weight of his words not missed by either of you.

“Yes,” you whisper. You begin to step backwards, pulling him with you.

You settle on your bed, the hallway light spilling into the room, and lie on your back as he hovers on top of you.

Your kisses are growing deeper and hungrier. Rafe can’t believe this is happening. He feels nothing but fortunate right now, and he hasn’t felt like luck has ever been on his side.

He dips to kiss your neck and you run your hands through his soft hair, realizing your breaths have become short and eager. It feels so right to have him on top of you like this.

Rafe’s lips are soft as he trails kisses over your skin. Your arms hook around his body, drawing him in closer, allowing you to feel him growing under his jeans.

He stills for a moment in case it’s too much for you, but you roll your hips beneath him, and the fact that you want him as badly as he wants you makes sparks erupt through him.

One arm holds him up while the other moves over your side, fingers hooking below the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he huffs against your neck as he starts to drag his hand up under your shirt. You nod and your skin blooms in goosebumps when he reaches your chest, gently palming you.

He sharply inhales as he feels over your bra, starting to rock against you.

“Am I going too fast?” Rafe whispers. He couldn’t forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, even for a second.

“No,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

His lips find yours again as he caresses you. Your hand trails down his firm body and when you close your fingers around his length over his jeans, he kisses you harder.

“How’s this?” you ask when you pull back, starting to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” Rafe says shakily. “That’s good.”

He captures your lips in his again as you touch each other so tenderly, both your chests heaving.

You feel his hand drag down your stomach and rest on your inner thigh, gently squeezing. The anticipation, the thirst you feel for him is overpowering.

You arch your back, inviting him to touch you where you need him most. When his palm grazes between your legs, the feeling makes him twitch in your hand.

He brushes against you with languid, sweet movements, kissing your lips over and over again. Slowly, his fingers go to the band of your pants.

“Yes,” you whisper before he can even ask.

When Rafe feels you completely, no barrier in the way, it’s like he’s drunk. Moans spill from your mouth as he caresses you, his fingertips moving with gentle glides. Everything about you is perfect, down to the sounds of pleasure you make.

You shift to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper, feeling him buck up against you. You finally wrap your hand around him and he groans.

You kiss each other over and over, lips moving eagerly while your hands move slowly. When you start to stroke him faster, he follows your pace.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths now and you finally let go, writhing beneath him as you meet your peak. Rafe is shuddering seconds later, euphoric in the climax you’ve given him.

You’re blissed out, skin covered in sweat as you lie next to him. You feel so weak and tired and happy, resting your head on his shoulder.

You wake up in darkness. You search for him next to you, but he’s gone.

When you go downstairs, you find Rafe sitting in the kitchen. Your eyes meet and you smile, albeit a little nervously about what just happened upstairs, about how you took your friendship to a new level you can’t come back down from.

“Another observation I’ve made,” you start to joke, “you always leave me to wake up alone. How long was I asleep?”

He cracks a smile, but you can see it’s disingenuous.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Rafe responds. The faraway look in his eyes tells you otherwise. You come closer, standing across from where he’s sitting.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t.” Rafe shakes his head. It’ll reopen a wound in him and cut open a new one in you. He should never tell you.

But your words from earlier ring in his head. You called him honest. And he’s not. He’s a liar. And now he’s derailing.

“Do you…” you begin. “Should we not have done that? Do you regret it?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t…” Rafe looks away. “Don’t push. Please.”

Normally, you wouldn’t. You never have. But you feel painfully vulnerable. What you just shared was so meaningful. At least, to you it was. Why is he closed off again? Why do you deserve this?

“What’d I do?” you ask, your voice starting to tremble.

Rafe stands from his seat, raking his hand through his hair. He was sure he was strong enough to repress this. He’s always been an expert at escaping reality.

But being around you weakens him. He’s starting to panic, starting to feel his blood go hot.

Giving into his physical impulses upstairs made him lose any power he had left. He’s in love with you. He knows that for a fact. But how can you love someone while you also blame them for the worst thing that ever happened to you?

“I… I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” you ask. “What’s wrong?”

“I never… I can’t tell you.” Rafe’s breaths get shallower. “I can’t tell you.”

You step in front of him, your hands softly resting on his chest.

“You can tell me anything,” you say.

“We can’t do this,” Rafe mutters.

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your heart breaks all over again. “Don’t go back to treating me like this. Please.”

“We can’t do this,” he repeats.

He’s losing it. He can’t leave the house. He’s here to keep you safe. But he doubts he could even drive right now if he had the opportunity. And he has no substances running through his veins, dampening the pain.

He has nothing.

“Why?” you ask, dread filling you, tears starting to form. “Why? Whatever it is, we can talk about it and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Why?”

“Because it already happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Your tone is frantic now.

“It already happened!” he shouts.

Rafe’s stomach twists with self-hatred when he sees you falter, your eyes widening with shock. He startled you. He’s scaring you, just like your ex does.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. His hands find your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Let’s forget it, okay? Let’s have some dinner and forget it.”

But you’re already crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“What already happened?” you ask. You’re not sure if it’s just anxiety crawling up your body or a painful sense of intuition. But something tells you that whatever he has to say will shatter you.

“Rafe,” you say. “Please tell me.”

He drops his hands. You’re begging now. He’s infuriated that he couldn’t just keep it together. The loss, the heartbreak, the regret fills him all at once.

“We were…” He looks away. He can’t bear to see your face when he says it. “We were in the car because of you.”

(to be continued)

Drained of your energy, you carelessly ignore it. Chalk it up to the bad feeling you got every time you went back to those gods forsaken war-camps.

Beyond their terrible ways and nearly tyrannical leaders, your own mate's history there was enough to make you want to burn it to the ground. To scorch and salt the Earth so nothing could grow there for a hundred years as proof of the pain.

So, feeling weary, you crawl into your bed. Your eyes find Azriel sleeping beside you, silent as always, and you trace the delicate features of his face in the dark. Even in his sleep, his shadows, lazy and slow, greet you as a slumber begins to wash over you. The lull of dreams comes quick.

As does morning. But come morning, Azriel isn't there.

Not the most unexpected thing; there were early morning trainings frequently enough. However, Azriel loathed each time you were sent to monitor over those war-camps. He bristled silently each time you left and rejoiced in that quiet, tender way he did best when you came back home to him. A mission in Illyria usually guaranteed a morning in bed with your lover.

Today, the sheets are cold.

You frown as you push yourself up, the sheets pooling at your waist. Faintly, at the back of your neck, you feel it once again. The tickle. Frown deepening, you reached your hand up to scratch at the back of your neck absentmindedly. Your eyes fall on the door.

Like a mystical tug, you feel compelled to search for the Shadowsinger — slipping out of bed silently, the tiled floor is warm from the morning sun beneath your feet. You pull the door open an inch, wondering just where your mate has ambled off to this morning.

As you step through the door, drawn by your mysterious compulsion, you don't turn back to check behind you.

And even if you had, your eyes would glaze over the large Illyrian, still bundled up in your sheets, turning over in his sleep.

—

You find Azriel out on the balcony, not in training as you had suspected.

He's facing out towards the city, his hands braced on the marble, his strong wings held proudly behind him. Interestingly, his shadows have forgone him this morning. Not one of them is in sight. You sidle up to him, feeling more yourself already just seeing him.

"Abandoning me in bed this morning?" You begin, playfully. You reach out to loop a hand through his arm. "I thought you had promised me—"

Your words come to an abrupt halt as Azriel shifts before you can touch him, his arm pulled out of reach.

In fact, as he notices your presence and turns to you, he takes an entire step backward. His handsome face screws up, a frown set on his brow.

"Don't." He says severely.

Your chest pangs with hurt. Your eyebrows crowd together in your confusion, concern beginning to melt into your blood.

"Az?" You say tentatively. You want to step closer to him, to cradle his face in your hands like you do whenever he has that crushed expression on — but a greater part of you fears he may retreat from you again.

"Don't call me that." He say, voice lower. His head dips, turned away from you to hide his face. Your concern swells, a thousand alarms ringing inside your mind. The back of your neck tickles again.

"Azriel," You try again desperately, fighting to keep your voice even. "What happened? What's going on?"

Confusion paints every thought in your mind as it whirls and searches, hunting desperately for the cause of your mate's sudden iciness. Was it something you had done? Was it taking another mission to a place you knew he so despised you going to?

The Fae before you doesn't say a word.

"Azriel," His name comes out a plea, unable to help yourself. It only scratches deeper into your soul when he maneuvers again, quicker than you, purposefully evading your touch.

"Stop." He instructs, the word nearly a growl. His voice is alike to the bark he uses for talking down to unruly war-camp Lords. It's nothing like the soft, sweet tone you're so accustomed to. It makes his words sting even more. "Your touch disgusts me."

You reel back at his words, a sharp inhale shooting to your lungs. What? You could feel your mouth opening and closing, no words coming to fruition. Behind your eyes, you can feel the itch beginning. You will your tears away, confusion still the dominant emotion swirling inside.

"I—" You stammer. "I don't understand."

Azriel snorts, unamused. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, looking more intimidating than usual as he draws to his full height. He keeps his eyes on the ground but the expression on his face looks... bored.

"I've had a revelation."

Another ache resounds through your chest. Why is he being so cryptic? Since when... had disgust been something Azriel had ever associated with you? You shiver at the prickle that rolls down your neck. It's as though you had gone to bed and your mate had been switched in the night.

"Az, you're scaring—"

"Stop calling me that." He snarls, interrupting you. You jolt in surprise, your feet taking a step back. With the way he's leering over you, a hint of anger —anger you've never seen directed at you before— creeping into his face, something akin to fear grows within you.

Azriel is stronger than you and far more deadly. A fact that usually provides comfort, for the first time, only grows your unease.

"Don't you want to hear my revelation?" He asks, his growl barely reined in. He smiles down at you but it's not soft in the way you know. It's cruel.

You take a step back. Something is wrong— terribly, entirely and utterly wrong with the love of your life. Panic begins to bubble up, like waters rising in a sinking ship.

You need to find someone else. You need Cassian, need Rhys, need anyone else here to help because you are the worst person to help. Every word he says cuts deep to bone. You can feel your heart bleeding within your chest.

It has to be a trick.

That was all you could think. Your mind was stumbling over the sentence over and over, almost delirious in how it clung to the thought tightly. It must, it must —you hoped it was. Begged it to be.

You take another step back, ready to dash through the house and call for help — but Azriel takes another step toward you. Your fear spikes, looking up his snarled face, the power within him radiating off in waves.

"I came to realise that I don't—"

"—y/n?"

A voice cuts in. There's someone else on the balcony with you. Thank the Mother, you think to yourself, whipping around to find Cassian in the doorway. He's got a furrow in his brown, concern written all over his expression.

"Cassian," You breath his name in a sigh of relief. You step back again, hyper aware of how Azriel seems to take the exact same amount of steps as you, following you to the door. Your panic flares away, your breaths coming fast and short.

"Cassian, thank gods—" You begin.

"What's happening?" He interrupts urgently. His eyes are on you alone, never flickering across to Azriel out on the balcony. "Why are you— did you have another nightmare?"

"Nightmare?" You repeat, eyes wide as you stare at him in concerned bewilderment.

You're about to point out the very large intimidating Male staring you both down when Azriel speaks again.

"I said," He drawls out the word and your head snaps back to look at him. You fail to notice that Cassian doesn't even turn at all.

"I've had a revelation, my dear."

It all sounds so terribly sarcastic, such a far cry from your stoic, sincere mate. You cringe, already feeling how his next words will be made cut you down.

"I don't want you anymore."

"—what can you see?—" Cassian's voice speaks from beside you, fuzzy and out of focus. You stare at Azriel, your heart beginning to hum and fizzle, a thousand fissures breaking upon the surface.

An anguish so deep in your bones rattles through your body — and across the House of Wind, your real mate wakes up with a gasp at the feel of it.

"What?" You croak, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel.

You can feel Cassian's hands on your shoulder, shaking you, but you can't— you won't look away. Something deep within you compels you to watch him break your heart and shred your soul. The back of your neck singes with heat.

"—What is it you're seeing?!—" Cassian's voice dips in and out. His hand sweeps your hair back, looking for any ailments causing this. He finds it in an instant. "Holy Cauldron, your neck. Oh, that's so not good. Rhys!"

He bellows for the Highlord right as Azriel, the real Azriel, bursts in through the door — following the taut agonizing pain in his chest, that connects you two together. His eyes snag on you and Cassian, out on the balcony, and his brother turns to him but you do not.

"Azriel," Cassian warns. "It's a Vesania Sigil."

Azriel pays him no heed, even as the words echo through him with a darkened dread. His stomach turns, bile threatening.

A Vesania Sigil— his knees nearly threaten to buckle beneath him.

A Vesania Sigil is a sinister curse, placed on people to drive them to the brink of insanity, minds scrambled to exhaustion.

In all the times Azriel has seen them in his long lifetime... they have all been on dead Fae, driven to the point of taking their own life. His shadows burst into a frenzied storm.

Your eyes are fixed somewhere out of the balcony, a glaze to them that tells Azriel you're seeing something different than he can. Softly, as gently as he can, he strides out and Cassian steps back to let him. Azriel steps down onto the balcony beside you, slowly, delicately reaching out to touch you.

You startle, head snapping around to see who's touched you. Except when you drag your gaze up and meet his face, you flinch hard. Azriel feels misery twist deep into his heart, some buried fear within him coming true before his eyes.

You take a step back, stumbling as you do. Then your head turns back out to the balcony—then back to him, back and forth.

"W—What?" You stammer out.

It takes Azriel only one second to realise why, and to feel the agony as he does; you're seeing double.

When you had said he's everything to you, you had truly meant it. He is both your greatest love and... your greatest fear.

Azriel can feel Rhys' arrival somewhere behind him, can even hear Cassian's concerned voice filling him in but his entire focus is locked onto you. You've stumbled back again, falling painfully on your backside, barely catching yourself on your hands but something— someone on the balcony keeps frightening you.

Something in Azriel screams; how can he fight an enemy he cannot see or touch?

He's on his knees before you in an instant. You're beginning to tremble, silent tears on your cheeks and Azriel's heart wails as you look upon him with a face for a fear. He can't tell what you're seeing but he just needs you to see him.

"My love," He says, voice quiet as to not spook you. You whimper at his words and something shrivels up inside Azriel's chest. He continues, noting how your eyes flick rapidly between his face and something over his shoulder. You shuffle back, too hesitant to trust him.

"My love, my moon," He murmurs, gently reaching out for you. His shadows zip forward, soothing along your skin. You flinch back again but Azriel holds strong, nudging forward until he's touching your skin.

You wince and screw your eyes closed and Azriel can feel the fear, the tormented pain that pours down the bond. He can see it now, this close, the seal that's burning against the skin of your neck. A fiercely protectiveness anger burns in his gut and he vows to tear apart whoever did this to you, limb by limb.

"I don't know what you can see," He say, soft as he can. He lifts his other hand and cradles the other side of your face. Your eyes peek open. "But it's not true. None of it."

Your lips are quivering, lashes sparkling with how they catch your tears. Azriel feels sick to his stomach again; he could do a thousand battles with countless weapons but this is something he's entirely powerless against.

"Azriel," Rhys speaks up from behind, voice cautious. Azriel ignores him, his thumbs stroking softly over your face.

"It's not real." He says with more urgency. Your eyes dart over his shoulder again and a whimper slips out your throat, your body tensing. Real, raw pain scratches it's way down the bond.

"Azriel, I can get it off her." Rhys voice again. "You just need to keep her still."

Azriel nods, but doesn't turn, doesn't take his eyes off you for a single moment. His heart squeezes and cracks, a thousand shards littered through his ribcage when you finally speak. Your glassy eyes have lost a little of their glaze, fixed on your mate in front of you with a desperate plea.

"He—" You begin, sucking in a harsh breath. Your breathing is too fast, your heartbeat too. "It- it fucking—it looks just like you."

"It's not." Azriel assures in an instant. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours, trying to be the picture of calm for you even as his heart warbles in agony at your pain. "It's not me."

Your eyes shift over his shoulder again and Azriel moves this time, blocking your view. "Don't. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me."

Silently, Rhys kneels at your side, his violet eyes blazing where they’re fixed on your neck. Undoubtedly, this was not such a personal attack but something to harm the inner circle. As darkness begins to swirl from Rhys' fingers, orbiting the sigil, you begin crying again, fresh tears spilling down your chests as little gasps wrack your frame.

"It—" You gasp, suddenly focusing desperately on Azriel now that you know who's who. "It— gods, it sounds so much like you."

"It might, but it isn't me." Azriel promises. He aches when your hands suddenly shoot up, eyes screwed shut as you clamp your hands down over your ears — like whatever you could hear was causing you physical pain. Rhys mutters something under his breath, his hands still working.

"Eyes on me.” Azriel urges, knowing you can hear him. You whimper and pitch forward, forehead bowing to your knees. His hands fall away as your head begins to give tiny shakes, side to side. His shadows swarm your shoulders, unsure how to help.

“Don’t—“ For the first time, Azriel’s voice falters with a wobble. He tries not to think of the countless warriors who have fallen beneath a sigil this strong and mentally roars at Rhys to move faster. “Listen to me, my love. Listen, listen to my voice, please.”

Your breathes are ragged, staggering inhales as you press your head between your knees. You entire body shakes and Azriel dares to steal a glimpse at the back of your neck — the intricate rune imprinted on your skin shimmering black as it slowly seals.

"Keep," Rhys grits out, his concentration still focused on his power. "her still."

Azriel's hands dart out, already apologising at how he has to force your head out of hiding. You gasp and sob, pulling back to resist but Azriel holds tight, his hands holding your face as tenderly as he can.

He pushes forward, crowding in, until his forehead rests against yours. He summons everything he can within himself, every ounce of devotion he holds for you and send its down the thread in his chest til everything burns white hot.

"Look at me, my love. Show me your eyes. Listen to my voice." Once the silent stoic type, Azriel lets everything that comes to mind fall out his mouth.

Your eyes crease open, flush with tears, and you shudder against him but Azriel feels it. The push back. The press of your skin against his, trying to get closer, trying to get to safety. Rhys curses for a moment, his dark magic still swirling and Azriel resists every urge to howl at him to hurry.

"Tellmetellmetellmetellme," You chant in a whisper, half delirious. You're flicking between his hazel eyes, your hands still half over your ears, body still wracked with quivers.

Tell me. Azriel's soul feels marred at the reveal of what is taunting you and he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, drawing your attention to him.

"I love you," He says, voice sounding close to wrecked. "I love you and you're mine. I'm yours and you're mine."

You shudder violently, eyes crushing closed, right as Rhys pulls away with an exhausted sigh. It's gone. Azriel hears Rhys' voice in his mind but it's not even needed — not with the way you suddenly slump forward into him, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"It's okay, it's gone," Azriel murmurs lowly, gathering you up in his arms as much as he can. He can feel your body shaking against him, sobs still forcing their way up your throat. His wings wrap around you, an inky cocoon of safety, sealing you off from the world.

"It's gone," He repeats, his arms circling around you. He can feel the pitter-patter of your rabbiting heart, feel the remains of fear that hang around your system. Every cell in his body yearns at this injustice, the fabric of the mating bond sending his protectiveness into overdrive. But more than the urge to hunt and maim whoever harmed you is the overwhelming need to make sure you're safe.

"You're safe now, I swear. It wasn't real." His assurances continue softly, his body instinctively beginning a slow rock to soothe you. You sobs slow to cries, your hands twisted tightly into his sleep-shirt. "I love you. I love you."

By the time your breathing evens out and your hiccuping cries slow, it's some time later. Your face has been buried in Azriel's chest and when you finally dig it out, Azriel's heart disintegrates once more at your blotty skin, your tired eyes.

You don't even have to ask.

"Vesania Sigil." He says quietly, hazel eyes burning into your face.

You can feel his writhing worry through the bond, like a caged tiger, fiery hot and licking at your heels. You give a little sniffle. Open your mouth to speak and find not one word in your throat.

Azriel's moving deftly before you can think, his strong arm looping beneath your knees to scoop up you against his chest. You let yourself be coddled, thankful to the way he curls himself around you entirely, wings hiding your view — only a flash on the ceiling to be seen. You're not sure you can face the others just yet.

The door your bedroom opens as he nears and Azriel kneels on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs maneuvering you both up til he's rested up against the headboard. Pure exhaustion like nothing you've felt before creeps up from within you.

Yet even so, you feel your heart twinge. It's been chafed raw today. Your hands slither and squirm, til they're wrapped tight around Azriel's middle and he hums protectively, his wing draping over you like a blanket.

For a moment, there is only weary, tired silence.

"Tell me?" You ask in a whisper, your voice so, so small. Azriel aches at the pain in your voice, sending every assurance down the golden thread between you.

"You're mine," He says, voice hushed and yet doused in his love.

"I'm yours." You echo, voice a little stronger than before. He can feel the way you tug on the bond, as if checking its still secure— still unbreakable. "And you're mine?"

Azriel folds himself even closer and tugs back on the bond strongly. His scarred hand glides up to bury itself in your hair, massaging slow and sweet. His nose nuzzles in against your hairline, his lips pressing a kiss wherever they find skin.

Feyre giggled from where she dipped into her third drink of the night, but Nesta sat quietly, a look of mild interest in her eyes as she locked them on Y/N.

An uncertain expression had entered the face of Azriel’s mate. "What's what like?"

Mor huffed. "What's he like. Azriel. The sex." Her eyes seemed aflame with a mixture of wine and the warm glow of Rita's faelights as she stared at her friend as though expecting her to sprout horns any moment now. "Is it good?"

Feyre sighed, though she couldn't quite keep the amusement from bleeding into her words. "Mor, that's an incredibly invasive question."

"And also unnecessary," Nesta added, her voice calm as she stirred the very tip of her finger around the clear contents of her glass. "We didn't see them for almost six months when their bond snapped. Of course it's good."

"But I'm so curious." Y/N smiled into her drink at the deep sigh Mor exhaled. "It's Azriel. The man's been a mystery for more than 500 years and now we finally have an agent on the inside."

"An agent?" Feyre asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you know what I mean." Mor waved a dismissive hand, her eyes never leaving Y/N. "I desperately need some details."

-

"Arch your back for me."

The soft fabric of the sheets brushed against her skin as Y/N stretched out her arms and let her body glide to the mattress in a slow arch from where she kneeled before him. She could feel the rough skin of scarred hands on her, broad palms pushing down the length of her back to follow the curve of her spine before retreating to hold her hips as though they'd been carved from the most precious of gems.

Her cheek lay pressed to the pillow, her hands twisted into the sheets, and when she felt featherlight kisses on the base of her spine, her back arched further down.

"You're so beautiful like this," Azriel breathed into her skin as his knee appeared between her legs to nudge them further apart. She felt him then, hard and heavy against her centre, and she shivered when he pushed forward to run his length through her folds once, twice, three times.

She sighed his name, closing her eyes at the heavy drag of him against the most sensitive part of her body, and when he finally nudged at her entrance, she did her best not to thrust her hips backwards.

Azriel hooked his hands into the flesh of her ass, grip firm enough to leave red marks, firm enough to sting in just the right way, and when he loosened his right hand, she knew what was to come.

His palm made sharp contact with her skin, and she couldn't help the quiet moan that passed her lips when he repeated it and her body gave a slight jolt.

He gripped her tighter then, pulling her apart. His voice was quiet when he spoke, deep enough to fog her mind with his words.

"Ready for me, my love?"

She was certain he felt her overwhelming need for him pulsing through the bond, because the breathless "yes" had barely just left her lips when he buried himself to the hilt with a single long thrust. She curled her fingers harder into the sheets and the moan that tore through her had Azriel's hands on her tighten even further.

As he ground into her with one harsh snap of his hips after the other, and as she moaned her pleasure into the pillows, she relished in the thought of finding his fingerprints glowing on her skin later.

-

"Don't close your eyes. Look at us."

When she pulled open her eyes, the world lay on its side and the picture that revealed itself to her brought heat to even the last inch of her body.

She'd been wondering why Azriel had relocated the huge, golden mirror that Feyre and Rhys had gifted them for Solstice, but as her gaze caught on the delicate golden edges now, she understood.

She caught her own gaze, and the version of her that was caught inside that magnificent mirror seemed delighted at the fact. She lay on her back, her head turned to the side, her legs wrapped around Azriel while he kept his own face buried in the side of her neck she couldn't see.

She licked her lips at the image. At the sinful roll of Azriel's hips, burying himself again and again in slow thrusts that had her mind swim. At the way majestic wings flared behind him as his hand held her thigh and his chest rubbed against hers with each move.

Her stomach gave a delicious pull when Azriel lifted his head to meet her eyes in the mirror, his own gaze darkened with hunger, his pupils blown wide.

"Look at you," he murmured, his lips close enough for her to feel them move against her cheek. "See how beautiful you look when you take me?"

He punctuated his words with a harder thrust, and her lips fell open at the jolt her mirrored counterpart gave, at the sounds she made, and the way Azriel's hips met hers again and again. The way each muscle in his legs, in his back, in his arms worked beneath tanned skin, it was ... breath-taking.

"Look at this," he now all but whispered as he hooked his hand beneath her knee to lift her leg higher and press it further towards her chest. She dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders at the change in depth, and when Azriel angled his hips slightly to the side, she could see the way his thick length glided in and out of her. He glistened with her arousal, his movements smooth, and she whimpered at the sight of his intrusion.

Azriel lowered his mouth back to her neck and drew her skin between his teeth.

"Keep watching, my love," he murmured into her, and as his hips snapped firmer against her, she didn’t take her eyes off the mirror once.

-

"You're in no position to tease, baby. Remember that."

A shiver ran through her body at the lips that hovered just barely above her breast. His low words washed over her nipple in warm puffs of air, and her thighs pressed together tightly in an attempt to create some friction.

"Azriel," she whispered, a plea evident in the way she spoke his name. She lifted her chest, but Azriel mirrored her movements and lifted his head a bit further, always keeping the distance between his lips and her skin.

She pulled on her restraints, but the shadows that kept her wrists locked to the pillow above her head didn't budge.

Azriel hummed, his wings tucked in closely, his eyes never leaving her face. He was careful not to touch her, his arms digging into the mattress on either side of her shoulders to keep his body hovering over her.

"Yes, my love?"

She couldn't keep the grin from her face as she sent all her desire shooting across the bond, accompanied with echoes of her moans, and flickering sensations of the pleasure she knew Azriel could draw from her.

When he shuddered against her, he finally lowered his mouth to the soft flesh of her breast, though it was only to give a sharp pinch of his teeth that had her jolt.

"Touch me," she pleaded.

A corner of his lips curled into a smile, and she watched closely as he lifted a hand only to weave his fingers through her hair.

She gave a frustrated huff. "Not like that."

Azriel tilted his head, and when he didn't say anything, she knew that he was waiting for her to specify.

"I want your tongue on me," she said, her voice breathless. Tension reached to her very fingertips as Azriel finally lowered his face far enough for his tongue to dart out and kitten-lick her nipple.

Her eyes fluttered at the sight, a full-body-shiver rolling through her at the brief, wet touch.

"Gods, you're such a fucking tease, I swear to—"

A grin flashed, and then finally, finally Azriel lowered his mouth to her breast, licking, and biting, and sucking her until her head swam and her arms shook from his mouth alone.

"Do you want me to fuck you, my love?" he hummed against her, his eyes locked with hers as he once again bit the sensitive skin of her breast, and, Cauldron, the image was sinful. Dark strands of hair fell into his face, his sole attention on her.

"Yes—Gods, yes."

She could only just refrain from whining when Azriel sat back on his feet and took all the warmth with him. He tilted his head as he trailed his eyes along her bare body.

"Open your legs for me, then."

-

"Come with me."

She hadn't heard him approach, the room filled with noise as the crowd of court visitors chatted and drank its way through the evening. She felt fingertips trail down the back of her arm until his hand found hers and he interlocked their fingers. Goosebumps arose in his wake.

"What's wrong?" she asked, having heard the urgency in his tone. When she turned, however, Azriel's heavy-lidded gaze told her the purpose of his proposal.

She smiled and put down her glass to lift her now free hand to cup his face, her thumb running along a sharp cheekbone. "Now?"

Azriel's eyes fluttered at her touch and when she let her thumb slip lower to trail along the curved lines of his lips, he pressed a kiss to the pad of her finger.

"What brought this on?"

"Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?" She noted a spark in Azriel's eyes, his hand tightening in hers. "As breath-taking as it is, I've spent the majority of the night going through all the ways I could get that dress off you as soon as possible."

It was true, the seamstresses of Velaris had outdone themselves this time. Heavy, flowing fabric bunching at her hips, a plunging neckline, a tall slit up the side for her leg to see daylight. The entire thing had been covered in diamonds barely big enough to see, though certainly big enough to catch the light and sparkle as though she'd been clothed in the night sky itself.

She couldn't help the grin that tugged the corners of her lips higher. "Careful. You'll make a girl blush."

The grin on Azriel's face mirrored hers, and when she turned to steer for the exit, she kept his hand in a firm grip.

They’d barely managed to find an empty office—Rhysand’s empty office, to be exact—before Azriel’s hands were on her. 

"I changed my mind," he all but growled against her lips as he backed her towards the desk in the middle of the room. "Keep it on."

Her hands made quick work of his pants, her breathing already laboured when Azriel lifted her onto the sturdy wooden desktop and pried her legs open wide enough to step between her thighs. Nimble fingers bunched the fabric of her dress on her hip, and suddenly he was pushing into her, his groan as sinful as the shudder that ran through his wings.

“Fuck.” He buried his nose in her hair, his raspy tone enough to have her moan as he cursed softly. “I love being inside you.”

All she could do was hold on to his shoulders, her lips whispering delicious moans right into the shell of his ear as he took her for all she was, the desk creaking beneath her with each of his pounding thrusts.

She noticed then that they hadn't closed the door all the way, and when Azriel shifted a wing just an inch to the left, her eyes locked on the wide-eyed form of a faerie standing in the gap of the door.

Y/N didn't know her, but judging by her golden-blue attire she was one of the Summer Court's emissaries.

The unknown faerie stood stock still, her lips slightly agape as she held Y/N's gaze, and when Azriel lay more power into his thrusts and pounded into his mate with the wet slap of skin on skin, Y/N's nails dug a bit deeper into his shoulder, her moans reaching a higher pitch, turning pleading.

The faerie seemed to recoil, though there was no denying the heat that had entered her expression as she watched.

Azriel sensed her then, too, though he didn't turn to throw a glance over his shoulder, but instead lowered his forehead to Y/N's, his eyes on her as he slowed his thrusts to a deep grind.

"It seems we have an audience, my love," he spoke softly enough so that only she could hear. He lifted a hand to thread his fingers through her hair, his grip tightening to angle her head back far enough to meet her gaze. "Shall we put on our best show?"

She grinned, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she tried to urge him deeper with her heels in his lower back.

"Can't leave them hanging now, can we?"

She caught the flash of a grin before Azriel pulled out of her. She barely had enough time to register the loss when he thrust back in to the hilt, and her body jerked with the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck," she cursed, breathless as she tightened her legs around him, doing her best to brace herself against the harsh snap of his hips. "Fuck, Azriel—ah."

Azriel kept an arm tightly looped around her waist, his free hand lifting her thigh higher, his hips relentless. He buried his face in her neck then, his grunts turning into groans, and as Y/N held the gaze of the faerie in the hallway, he ground against her hard enough to have her toes curl with pleasure that wiped every thought of the stranger from her mind.

-

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Her chest was heaving in the dim light of their bedroom, Azriel’s arms wound tightly around her waist as she leaned back against his chest. She could feel the scruff of his chin against her temple, his lips so close to her ear that she shivered with every word he spoke in that low tone of his.

She moaned softly, her head lolling back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

“No, no,” Azriel tutted quietly, one of his arms loosening its grip for his fingers to take gentle hold of her jaw and direct her gaze back down towards her centre. “Look at them go,” he sounded mesmerised as he spoke, his every word dripping with desire. “Look at the way they feast on you.”

Her lids were heavy as she followed the direction of his gaze. Her knees were bent, her thighs held open by Azriel’s legs, baring her to the room and the shadows he’d unleashed upon her.

Shadowy tendrils brushed along her inner thighs before gliding against her very centre, teasing with cool sensations and barely-there touches, licking at her skin, sinking into her.

It was driving her crazy.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her head heavy with desire, her skin burning, longing to be touched properly. “Azriel stop teasing. Please.”

She felt his teeth on her earlobe then, dragging her skin between warm lips. “What was that?”

She writhed against him, the urge to snap her legs closed overwhelming at the gentle teasing of his shadows.

“You just want to hear me beg,” she huffed, turning her head enough to catch his gaze. And true enough, Azriel’s eyes were shining with anticipation, a small smirk edged into his features.

“I would enjoy that, yes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, lips tightly sealed, but when she felt one of his shadows curl into her, she couldn’t help the breathy moan that broke from her throat. Everything they did, every kiss of her skin, it all felt good—good enough to drive her crazy with it. But it all felt like the ghost of a touch, not the real deal, and certainly not enough.

“Fuck me, then,” she gasped, breathless. “I’ll beg all you want if you just fuck me.”

Azriel leaned down to kiss her then, the hand he didn’t keep wrapped around her waist slipping down to cup her breast. When he pulled back, he tracked half-lidded eyes down her face, a contemplative hum resonating in his chest.

Her body tensed when new shadows joined and Azriel chuckled into the shell of her ear.

“Just a little while longer, I think.”

-

"I wanna go again."

A tired laugh fell from her lips, her eyes closed as she kept her cheek pressed into the soft pillow, her arms wrapped around it. She could feel his fingertips trailing along the length of her spine and all the way down to her tailbone before returning to the back of her neck. She shivered.

"I can't," she breathed into the pillow. "I don't have another one in me."

She could feel his smile across the bond, could hear it in his voice when he spoke, his tone quiet, his words soft.

"I don't think that's true, my love."

A comfortable shiver shook her body when his lips appeared at her temple, breathing featherlight kisses along her cheekbone, and down towards her jaw.

She hummed, hugging the pillow tighter at the tingling his kisses left in their wake.

"How are you still going?"

"They call it frenzy for a reason."

She forced her eyes open at that—just a crack, just enough to see Azriel's smirk. "The frenzy lasts three weeks. We've been mated for a year."

He leaned down to kiss her then. It was slow, lazy, innocent, but she felt his palm flatten against her back, his warmth washing over her as he urged closer.

"I don't feel like it ever stopped," he breathed against her. "I spend every minute of every day wanting you, longing for you, aching for you."

She met his kiss firmer then, turning into his embrace until he pulled her close enough for her to feel his heartbeat against her own.

Azriel turned to his back, wincing a bit when he rearranged his wings beneath him. In truth, he was just as sore as she was—every inch of him aching with hours and hours spent loving, and fucking, and writhing in pleasure. It was the good kind of ache though. The kind he'd do anything to never lose.

She lay on top of him now, her arms wrapped around his neck, and Azriel's hands slipped to her thighs to pull her legs apart for a knee to rest on either side of his hips.

She urged closer, wanting to feel every bit of his warmth, wanting to chase away every bit of air left between them.

“I’m really sensitive,” she spoke against his lips, her eyes closed, her words barely above a whisper.

Azriel stroked his palms along her back. “I’ll be gentle.”

She couldn't help the gasp that left her when he slid into her, intruding her tender flesh with a single push to glide smoothly against the slick mess they'd left between her thighs. She dug her fingers into his skin and Azriel soothed his palms across the globes of her ass, cautious in the way he moved her against him.

It was lazy, slow, his strokes barely enough to call them that, but neither of them needed more. Sensitive from countless rounds and orgasms, she tightened around him just a few grinding thrusts later, her moans closer to whines as she buried her face in his neck and panted softly against his skin.

She shook against him, her body quaking with an orgasm, her low moans muffled against him, and when Azriel joined her, he gritted his teeth as a wave of pleasure crashed into him and he pressed their hips together with a raspy groan to crack through his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed, letting his head plop back into the pillow, his arms now moving to circle her waist.

Silence enveloped them for a while, only the sounds of their breathing mixing.

"I won't be able to walk tomorrow," she finally hummed against his neck, and Azriel smiled as he ran his finger through her hair.

"I shall carry you then, my love."

-

"Hello?" Mor waved her hand before Y/N's eyes, causing the faerie to flinch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just ... thinking."

Azriel’s skin was glistening with sweat, dark tattoos a stark contrast to his tan in the light of the setting sun. He avoided Cassian’s fists with ease, his movements fast as lightning, his feet agile like those of a dancer. Rhys was watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, and Y/N thought she saw his eyes flicker to his mate, just as her own attention lay solely on hers.

Lean ropes of muscle worked beneath golden-brown skin, Azriel’s forearms solid against Cassian’s attacks, and she couldn’t help but admire the focus in his eyes. She’d never managed to win against him when they trained together. When he got like this—the shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court—he noticed every little twitch in his opponent’s exterior. She’d always been convinced that he knew their next move before they knew it themselves.

“Gods, you can cut the sexual frustration with a knife around here,” Mor teased, lifting her cup to her lips. She’d been gleefully enjoying the last two weeks more than anybody, as she’d sat back to watch as everyone else slowly lost their cool.

It took no little amount of effort for Y/N to tear her gaze away from her mate, and by the looks of it, Feyre had the same problem.

The High Lady gave a long sigh. "Rhys is channelling it all into his paperwork. He comes to bed late and gets up early so as to not be… tempted." She all but spat the last word, and it wasn’t hard to guess what she thought of her mate’s little bet with his brothers.

"Can't really blame him," Mor winked. "You are a great temptation."

Feyre rolled her eyes with a smile before turning to Y/N. "How's Azriel doing? Please tell me he’s caving soon."

"He’s doing fine I think." Y/N lifted a shoulder, a wicked smile on her lips. "He's compensating with his mouth."

A wide grin stretched across Mor's face, though Feyre tilted her head in question.

"What do you mean? Does he talk a lot?"

"Not more than usual," Y/N swirled the last sip of tea around in her cup.

“What she means,” Mor interrupted. “Is that she’s being eaten like Azriel is to face the gallows and she’s his last meal.”

Feyre snorted, and Y/N slapped the back of her hand against Mor’s arm as Rhys’ cousin burst into laughter.

“I was trying not to be crude!” Y/N tried for a stern tone, but when Feyre began to join in with Mor, she too could no longer fight a laugh of her own.

It was then that Nesta all but burst through the balcony doors with a sourer-than-usual expression on her face. As she threw herself onto the last remaining chair and all but yanked the teapot from where it stood in the middle of the table, Feyre and Mor exchanged a wary glance before the latter cleared her throat.

"I take it Cassian won't budge either?"

The look in Nesta's eyes could have killed a woman of weaker nature, and Mor hid her smirk behind her cup to avoid outright confrontation.

“You’re enjoying this far too much, Morrigan,” Feyre chided half-heartedly, to which Mor responded with an expression of outrage.

“It’s not my fault your mates entered into this moronic bet without consulting you first!”

Y/N smiled a smile that only widened once she felt warm hands on her shoulders. Smoky tendrils wound their way around her arms as Azriel appeared from the depths of his shadows to stand behind her.

"Ladies," he muttered in greeting before bending to press a kiss to his mate’s lips.

"Azriel," Mor huffed. "You and your brothers need to come to your senses and properly satisfy your mates." The shadowsinger lifted his amused gaze, and Morrigan continued talking without the necessity of being asked to do so. “These three are starting to take their withered sex lives out on me.”

“Not true!” Feyre objected.

“I’m sorry, have you seen Nesta? She looks like she’s about so stab me with a butter knife.”

Azriel’s lips appeared at his mate’s ear as Mor and Feyre continued bickering, their words every now and then interrupted by a snappy remark from Nesta.

“Care for a match?” he asked low enough for only her to hear. “I’ll even let you win.”

She grinned, and punched her elbow backwards into his stomach, standing from her chair when all he did was chuckle in response. Mor and the two Archerons didn’t even notice as she followed Azriel into his shadows.

It only took her a single step to find herself standing in the training ring she’d just spent an hour observing from the balcony. Shadow-travelling. Neat.

Cassian and Rhys were currently sparring on one of the four large mats, only offering her a brief smile as she passed. A split ran through Cassian’s brow—one that hadn’t been there when she’d watched him fight with Azriel earlier.

“So, did you win?”

Azriel gave a mild smile.

“Atta boy.”

A low chuckle parted his lips, and she could have sworn a hint of red tinged the back of his neck as he led her to the mat furthest away from the one Rhys and Cassian were using.

She reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head to leave her standing in a training bra and tight leather fighting pants. She felt Azriel’s side of the bond vibrate for but a split-second, and amusement crawled its way into her tone when she spoke.

“Do you think close physical contact is a good idea for your endurance?”

“Do not worry about my endurance, my love,” Azriel smiled, bowing his head slightly, as thought to signal for her to make the first move. “I’ve had plenty of practice in the last two weeks.”

She knew he was referring to all the times his head had been locked in between her thighs—she could tell from the glint in his eyes.

Mor had been right. Azriel had been eating her like each time would be the last chance he’d get, and if he managed that… well, a little fight shouldn’t throw him off too badly.

She moved into action, feigning an attack on his legs only to switch it up in the last moment, and going for the throat instead. Azriel moved as swiftly as he had with Cassian, avoiding her punches with ease.

He ducked when she punched, and swerved when she kicked, and all the while he avoided going into offence himself.

“You’re pulling your punches,” he said, blocking another hit with his forearm. From one moment to the next he was standing behind her, one arm wound tightly around her mid-section while his free hand grabbed her fist to move her thumb into the correct position.

“I don’t want to damage your pretty face.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “It’s entirely self-serving.”

Azriel chuckled against the back of her neck, and she used his momentary lack of focus to her advantage, dropping into a crouch and using her leg to pull his own out from beneath him.

Azriel hit the mat with a huff, but when she moved to gloat at him, he was already bringing her to the floor in a similar manner, parrying her attempts at a defence with secure moves that had her pinned beneath him within seconds.

She gave a surprised gasp when Azriel placed most of his weight on her, hands holding her wrists pinned to the floor on each side of her head, and hips wedged firmly in between her thighs.

When she felt him harden through his leathers, a grin split her face in two.

“Look at that,” she panted. “Someone underestimated how incredibly sexy I am when I’m losing.”

Azriel smirked, though he didn’t grant her remark with an answer. Instead, his attention flickered across her face as though to memorise every detail.

“I’m thinking,” he finally mumbled, eyes suddenly heavy-lidded and lips but a hair’s breadth from hers. She could feel his breath wash over her cheeks with each word he spoke, and she fought hard to keep her own mind from fogging with desire. “I’m thinking I really want to drop out of this stupid bet and fuck you right here.” 

She hummed a smile, lifting her head only far enough to nudge the tip of her nose against his. Her centre throbbed with his hard length pressed up against it, and she felt the heavy drag of desire sating her blood.

“I’m thinking I’d like that,” she breathed, meeting his lips in a kiss to reflect all the pent-up hunger from those past weeks.

She began to pant when he ground his hips into hers, his pelvis pushing her legs even further apart.

It took everything within her to push him to his back, and she knew she’d only managed it because he hadn’t been resisting her.

When she sat straddling him, she knew why.

Azriel’s heavy gaze dragged down her body, and his hands found her waist in an instant. She had no doubt that he’d meant what he’d said.

“I love seeing you like this,” she breathed, cupping his cheek with her palm to run her thumb across his bottom lip. Heat shot to her core when she felt the warmth of his tongue and the scrape of teeth dragging against the pad of her thumb. “All needy.”

Azriel’s eyes never left hers as he sucked her thumb into his mouth and that alone made her blood boil. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she’d stop him from executing his plan. After all, it wasn’t unheard of for Illyrians to fuck while in the presence of others, and she knew for a fact that Azriel, Cassian and Rhys had done it in the same room before, so would it truly be that terrible if they—

She cleared her throat, shaking her head once as though to clear her mind. Focus. She needed to focus.

“However,” she said, taking her hand from his cheek to push off the ground with ease. She offered him a hand to help him to his feet as well, though she knew it was more for show than an actual need for assistance. “I refuse to let you lose a sex bet to Cassian of all people.”

Azriel gave a deep sigh and pushed to his feet. “You’re right.”

-

Yet another week had passed, and the end of the month was crawling nearer when Azriel burst through the doors of their shared room to find Y/N lying on her stomach, chin in her hand and ankles crossed in the air while reading a book.

She looked up when he entered, and his heart gave a flutter at her smile.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Azriel felt his nostrils flare. Fuck, she smelled so good. It drove him insane.

He was losing his mind.

“Cassian gave up.”

Amusement gleamed in her eyes when she tilted her head. “And how do you know that?”

Without saying a word, Azriel reached for the door handle behind him, and once he opened the door and distant moans could be heard coming from far down the hall, accompanied by a sound that could only be a headboard banging against a wall, Y/N snorted.

“Subtle.”

Azriel closed the door, and with a few wide steps he crossed the distance to push her book of the bed and bend down to lock her in a deep kiss.

She chuckled against him as she rolled to her back to free her neck from the odd angle, Azriel’s hands suddenly on her hips.

“Az—” she mumbled, a hand on his chest, though it took some effort to free her lips. “Azriel.”

He retreated only far enough to meet her eyes and was met with a grin.

“You’ve made it so far. Do you really want to give up now? Rhys is bound to break any day now. And even if he doesn’t, it’s only one more week.”

Azriel stared at her, thoughts flying rapidly through his mind as he considered his current situation. Rhys had gone so far as to sleep in his office. There was no way he’d beat him.

Not when he had her.

He tracked his eyes down her body, over that holey old shirt of his she loved to wear, and the sweatpants that always slid just far enough down her hips to reveal the top edge of those damned lace pieces she wore. She was barefoot, soft in the comfort of her home, cheeks lifted with amusement, and eyes bright. No bra.

“Fuck it,” he growled, before pushing one hand beneath her back and one beneath her ass to haul her up against him. In an instant, she looper her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulder, and they met in a kiss to draw thunder to the skies.

“Thank the Gods,” she gasped against him as he turned to place her on the dresser by the door, though he stumbled on the last step, and the whole thing banged against the wall, sending some of their things tumbling to the floor when he dropped her a bit harsher than intended.

“Fuck, are you—” he began to ask, though she interrupted him with busy hands clawing at his hair to pull him back into another hungry kiss.

He felt her teeth on his bottom lip, and when Azriel hooked his fingers into the waistbands of her pants and she lifted her hips off the dresser to allow him to drag them down her legs along with her underwear, he might have wept.

Her hands were reaching for his leathers now, impatient fingers stripping him with skill, and when he finally shoved his pants down his legs, and she reached for the hem of her own shirt next, he stopped her with his hands on her wrists.

“Leave that on,” he ordered, and felt her grin against his lips in response.

Azriel urged closer, their kiss growing almost feral when he reached between her legs, groaning when his fingers slipped in easily.

Impatience lay thick between them as she reached to pull his hand from her and instead urged his hips closer with her heels in his back.

The sound that broke from her throat when he finally buried himself inside of her almost had him come then and there.

“Fuck,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her hands clinging to Azriel’s shoulders, and her head leaning back against the wall with an audible thump. “Fuck, I missed this.”

Azriel’s hips were flush with hers, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, though he didn’t dare move. It wasn’t long before she grew restless, though, and he had to strengthen his grip to keep her from moving.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, burying his face in her neck for his teeth to nip at her skin. “Give me a minute.”

“Azriel, just fuck me, and do it fast,” she said, breathing kisses to his shoulder that were nothing like the rough ones they’d shared just moments ago. “I’m well aware that this won’t last very long after you’ve gone a month without it. We can take our time later. Right now, I just need you to move.”

Azriel grinned when he pulled back to meet her gaze, his nose brushing the tip of hers before he kissed her deeply.

“I thought you’d have move faith in me than that,” he muttered against her lips, pulling out all the way and thrusting home hard enough for the dresser to give a worrying groan.

Her nails dug into his skin at the moan she gave, and when he set a rough pace to bury himself deep inside of her over, and over, and over again, she clung to him as though her life depended on it.

The dresser groaned with each snap of his hips, and he could feel her pleasure rising rapidly. So much so that the vibrating bond almost had his knees buckle when she came around him, whimpering at his relentless thrusts.

From one moment to the next, and with her tightening like a vice around him, Azriel suddenly felt his own composure threatening to stumble off the edge off a cliff, and when he pulled out of her, he gripped the base of his length in a tight fist, breath tearing in and out of his lungs.

She faltered where she sat, suddenly taken from the hold he’d maintained, and watched with a furrowed brow as Azriel forced down his orgasm.

“What are—"

He let go when he felt that he could, and swallowed her words with his mouth, stroking broad palms up her thighs.

“Would you like to stop?” he asked, stroking her hips, and feeling beneath her shirt for a rapid heartbeat and a heaving chest. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

Her eyes flickered down to his length standing proudly against his stomach, and she licked her lips at the sight.

“Never.”

Azriel grinned and lifted her off the dresser to plop her back down on the bed instead. She bounced lightly on the mattress and spread her legs for him as soon as he stepped out of his pants and joined her in bed.

“I’m starting to get what you meant when you said the camps were utter chaos once the month was over,” she smirked, meeting his kiss with enthusiastic hands roaming his chest as he leaned over her.

Azriel grinned in response and gripped her thighs to take her with him when he turned to lie on his back instead.

She sat straddling him now, and leaning forward, she lowered her body far enough for the tip of her tongue to lick a pointed stipe up the edge of Azriel’s wing, resulting in a full-body jerk, and a deep groan rumbling in the depths of his chest.

He gripped her thighs a little tighter, and when she lifted herself off of him only to sink back down on his length, he could feel her muscles work beneath his palms.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasped as she sat with her hips flush to his, her eyelids heavy while her hands roamed his chest. “Fuck me, my love.”

The smile she gave shot across the bond and straight down to his groin so that when she lifted herself off him far enough to plunge back down with a wet slap, he couldn’t suppress his moan.

She set a slower, though by no means gentler pace than he had, keeping her fingers sprawled out on his pecs, and her thighs pushing into his palms with each move. Every gasp she gave, every mewl or whine or moan to pass those pretty lips of hers had Azriel’s vision give out for a split-second, and in almost no time at all, he felt his climax approach.

He tried to warn her, tried to somehow signal that she needed to stop so he could force it back down. His hand shot to her hip, but his mind was blurry with pleasure, and her movements were sure in driving him closer and closer while she kept attentive eyes on him.

“Let go, Az,” she coaxed, taking hold of his hands to drag them up her body until they cupped her breasts beneath the shirt she was still wearing. His grip was firm, his hips snapping up to meet her thrusts of their own accord, and he knew she was enjoying seeing him like this.

Azriel groaned through gritted teeth when nimble fingers moved to the edge of his wing and she dragged the edge of her nails down the sensitive membrane just hard enough for them to give a delicious scrape.

Every thought got wiped from Azriel’s mind when she rolled her hips just right and pleasure shot through every nerve in his body. He gripped her tighter, his hips bucking beneath her, trying to thrust even deeper when he exploded into ecstasy.

She rode him through it, and some distant part of his brain noticed her fingers finding the apex of her thighs to draw two, three, four tight circles into her flesh before she joined him.

She pushed her chest deeper into his palms and Azriel felt her everywhere, every inch of his skin alight with her touch, every piece of his brain taken with the pleasure setting their bond aflame. Everything he saw, felt, tasted—it was all her, and he never wanted it to stop.

-

It took them hours to join their friends in the living room, but as Azriel and Y/N finally made their way down the stairs, they found impish joy edged into Mor’s features.

“I can’t believe you let him win. He’ll be insufferable now.”

“I’m sure our High Lord will keep the bragging to a minimum,” Y/N said, plopping down on the sofa next to Feyre.

But even before Mor opened her mouth to reply, Azriel knew that he’d made a severe mistake. It was evident in the grin on Cassian’s face, and the eyeroll Rhys gave in the face of it.

“Oh no,” Azriel mumbled.

Y/N looked at her mate in confusion, but before she could ask, Cassian stood with his arms stretched wide.

“That was our esteemed High Lord and Lady you heard, brother dearest,” he said, triumph bright as day in his eyes. “Which means—”

“Hold up,” Y/N interrupted. “Are you saying…”

Mor burst into laughter as Azriel stared at the Lord of Bloodshed, Feyre and Rhys sinking a little deeper into the cushions of the sofa.

“I can’t believe you lost to Cassian!”

-