#acmaf

You huff, burrowing your flaring face into one of the pillows, breathing the lingering scent of him he’d left behind. “I know, it’s stupid.”

Cassian hushes you softly, abandoning the side of the bed that was your usual spot and sweeping around the edge to where you’d built up your nest on his side of the luxurious bed.

You’d rolled into the divet he’d left after he’d kissed you goodbye before slipping out of the room for training early this morning. It had been awfully warm and you couldn’t resist pressing your face into his pillow to breathe in the scent of the alpha that had claimed you as his.

Cassian catches your chin in a soft hold, thumb stroking over your cheek before it slides down your neck and across the mark on your neck in a soothing motion. Your heart stutters in your chest at his touch upon your most proud brand, gifted to you by him. He tilts your head to look his way, keenly aware of what’s going on with you. As both your alpha and your mate he knows you better than himself. He hadn’t seen you all morning, and when he’d run into the wraiths after a hearty breakfast with his brothers and heard that you had refused their services, he’d immediately known you were nearing your heat and had begun nesting.

You’re very particular about things when your heat is approaching. With your sharpened senses you didn’t want the smell of anyone else ruining the heady scent of Cassian’s throughout the room. You didn’t want the wraiths to come in and clean his clothes or ruin the delicious sandalwood scents smothering every inch of the space. You picked through the haphazardly thrown items on the floors and chests to find the perfect ones to fit in your nest – nothing too dirty but with enough of the alphas scent that it calmed your itchy bond.

When he’d finally made it back to the room his heart stumbled at the sight of you burrowing deeply into the mass of the nest you made up on his side of the bed. A brief but calculating glance had Cassian recognizing more than a few of his favorite shirts and sweaters, pillows and blankets stacked in a precise manner that had his bond humming in his chest. A bunch of his hair ties hang loose around your wrists, one holding your hair back from your pretty face. He’d even caught sight of his beloved sword, nestled in its century worn leather holster that smells strongly of him.

“It’s not stupid at all.” His mesmerizing hazel gaze holds yours, voice set in a way to show you that he means nothing but the truth. “You know that I will do anything to keep you safe and comfortable, right mate?”

Your eyes turn glassy, heart aching in such a wonderful way. You love this male and have for as long as you can remember, and everything he’s done has shown you just how much he reciprocates your feelings. The mark under his gentle touch throbs and warmth fills your chest.

“Yes, alpha,” you sigh, relaxing in his grip. 

“Good girl,” he hums and your nostrils flare, torn between wanting to keep your nest in its near perfect arrangement or wanting to tug your alpha into bed for a romp. His stare shines with a heated glint, the air in the room thickening with the heavy eye contact.

“Keep looking at me like that, little omega, and I’ll completely ravish you.”

In a quick motion you’re flipping the covers off of yourself and gesturing to him in. “Get in here, mate, but don’t touch anything.”

Laughter rumbles in Cassian’s chest at your response, carefully toeing off his boots and leathers to slip into your nest with you. It’s a tight fit, considering how large of a male he is, but he makes it work, scooping you up into his arms and silencing your whimper with a soft kiss as he settles between the hills of items circled on the duvet, you clutched tightly to his chest.

As soon as he’s manhandled you into a comfortable position with you pressed flush to his front and the thick blankets pulled up to your shoulders, you immediately scent your mate, writhing against his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck to take a deep inhale of his musky scent – salt and sandalwood. It nearly makes your head spin.

Your eyes shut in bliss and your pleased sigh against his throat sends shivers up his spine, his arms tightening around you in response. His heart beats a strong beat in his chest, reacting to you cuddled in his arms, where you always should be.

Having him here is so much better than being surrounded only by his things. 

Azriel met you on the landing to leave just after breakfast. Brok and Zas were with Lucien in the library. He’d been more than willing to take care of the hounds while you were gone. Nesta and Cassian were training with the Valkyrie and then would be going out to Velaris for the day. You’d be meeting them for a late lunch, early dinner after you and Azriel were done at the black smiths shop. 

Azriel watched as you climbed up onto the railing. You looked down on Velaris and took a deep breath in. He waited for you to bring your wings out but you didn’t. You simply turned around, sent him a wink and threw yourself backwards. His shadows pulled him to the railing before he could protest or go to the ledge himself. But as he looked over the side he saw that you had brought your wings out and were soaring through the air calmly. 

Azriel followed you soon after, taking the lead and guiding you to the blacksmith shop. He explained to the blacksmith that you were here to make a few things. What exactly you wanted to make he wasn’t sure. The blacksmith was obviously hesitant about letting another cauldron made Fae make anything after what happened with Nesta. But as he eyed you and noticed how at peace you looked he couldn’t say no. 

You thought about keeping the gloves you wore on your hands. But you knew that you wanted to feel the fluid motions of forging in your bare palm. As you slipped the gloves off you focused on not letting your hands shake. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed the way Azriel surveyed your hands. The wounds that marked them were plenty, tiny scars here and there but Azriel’s eyes narrowed in on the large almost perfectly circular angry scars in the center of your hand, the palm and the back. He wasn’t sure what they were from; it was obvious it had been brutal though. 

The shadows that seemed to remain a steady presence with you wrapped around your hands quickly. You let them wrap through your fingers and over the scars and you did not flench. As they slipped back up to your wrists you thanked them. 

A low sigh left your lips before you started on an art you had mastered years ago. Azriel watched you move through the room silently. It was as though you were dancing across the room, like this is where you were most comfortable. With every motion you seemed to slip farther into a trance. He wondered how you had learned to be so silent. Your feet didn’t make a noise as you parried around the room. 

The blacksmith stood in the doorway and watched you. He was surprised to see someone moving around his shop like they owned it as well. He hadn’t seen someone with such natural talent in a long time. 

You pounded away and before they knew it you had made two daggers, a short sword and a scythe. The daggers both held a single siphon in the pommels. He hadn’t questioned why you chose to put them in the daggers instead of on leathers like he and Cassian had done. They were your siphons and yours to use how you saw fit. 

You brought a towel up to your face that the blacksmith had brought you and wiped the sweat away from the skin. The shadows had helped you stay cool for the most part but you had been working hard and steady so sweating was inevitable. You stood back with both hands on your hips and surveyed the weapons in front of you. You ran your hand along the scythe before nodding your head in approval. 

“Could I please get the bill?” Your eyes were laid upon the black smith now. Who gave you a truly bewildered look. 

“You don’t have to pay for any of this.” He seemed utterly surprised you’d even asked. You were the one that had put in all the work afterall. 

“I used your materials. I would like to pay for them.” You didn’t leave it up for debate and with a huff the blacksmith was off gathering a bill. 

“How did you learn to be so silent?” Azriel asked you, you blinked at him in surprise as this was the first he’d spoken to you all morning. 

“The only time I was able to move around freely was when my parents were asleep. So I learned how to quiet my steps.” Your hands flexed and Azriel spied a flame in both before they disappeared like they’d never been there at all. But he realized that was all you were going to say about your childhood so he didn’t press further. 

“After I escaped Hybern my friend helped me master the changes being a fae brought me. He showed me how to mask my heartbeat and scent as well.” You thought back to the months after you had escaped Hybern. The way you had to heal and the High Fae that had helped you through it all. Azriel seemed inclined to ask you another question but shut his mouth as the black smith walked back in. 

“Here ya go.” He handed you the bill and you surveyed it quickly before signing the bottom. 

“Who is Archibald Tolsin?” Azriel piped up from behind you as he eyed the name you signed. 

“My friend.” Was the only answer you gave him and he could tell you wouldn’t say anything else about the matter. 

“Can this stuff be sent to the house of wind?” You asked Azriel as you once again eyed the weapons before you. 

“I can arrange for that.” Azriel’s voice carried through the room and you nodded your head at him in thanks. You snatched up the daggers and pocketed them both in smooth calculated motions.

“We outta get going or we’ll miss lunch.” You had already started walking through the building to the doors. Azriel followed after you quickly. You threw a thank you over your shoulder to the blacksmith before slipping outside. Azriel arranged for the short sword and scythe to be sent to the house of wind and was slipping out the door you had disappeared through moments earlier. 

You were leaning against the wall, gloves back on, eyes scanning the busy streets around you. A group of kids came barreling around the corner laughing loudly and you smiled at them softly. Your wings had been gone since you landed outside the blacksmiths shop earlier that day. The shadows that seemed to be more so yours rather than Azriel’s swept along your cheeks and neck and through your hair languidly. You didn’t even flinch as one wrapped along your ear. Azriel knew that while the shadows seemed to favor you, you weren’t able to hear them. 

“You ready to go?” You turned your head in Azriel’s direction and he gave you a stern nod. You followed him through the streets and to the restaurant Cassian had picked out at dinner last night. Nesta and Cassian were already inside and sat at a table when you entered. 

“I wanna see.” Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian as he made grabby hands towards you. You pulled the daggers from your pockets and handed them over to him. He studied the blade and pummel before a large smile worked over his face.

“Very good craftsmanship, I might have to commission you to make my weapons in the future.” You gave him a mischievous smile and he matched it. Azriel and Nesta both eyed you wearily.

“Why don’t we make a bet.” Cassian’s wide smile grew as a flicker of curiosity glinted in his eyes at your proposition. He handed you the daggers back and you pocketed them once again. 

“What do you have in mind?” He leaned back in his chair and flung an arm across the back of Nesta’s. 

“A drinking game. First one drunk loses. If you win I have a short sword I made today with your name on it and I’ll make you however many weapons you want in the future free of charge. But if I win you have to get me a custom set of leathers made and pay me for any weapons I make you in the future.” He eyed you up and down, assessing you, the hand that wasn’t on Nesta’s chair rubbed at his chin. You waited patiently, even though you knew he would agree. The look in his eyes gave his answer away before he even spoke. 

“You have a bet.” He pulled the hand from his chin and held it out to you. You shook it tightly watching as surprise worked over his face from the strength in your grip. Then the game began. When either of you ordered a drink the other followed suit. It had been many years since Azriel had seen Cassian lose a drinking game so he figured he had this in the bag. Azriel sat there watching as his brother became more and more inebriated. 

The group of you ate and talked about anything you could think of. They asked you about your time before they found you. You gave them little pieces of information, but nothing that would give away the many secrets you held. Cassian finally pulled a piece of leather from his pocket and tied up his hair. He was trying to hide the fact that he was getting hot as the alcohol worked through his body. 

“How am I supposed to get up to the house of wind if you’re too drunk to fly us Cassian?” Nesta crossed her arms narrowing a look at him. He hiccuped as he looked at her, processing her words and then he shrugged. 

“I’ll carry you up there Nes.” You gave her a reassuring smile, like you had already planned to fly her up. The only response from her was a curt nod. But Azriel eyed you curiously. You had kept pace with Cassian easily but you didn’t seem even slightly tipsy. 

“You’re staying at the River House tonight. I don’t want you throwing up on our rug again.” Nesta sent Cassian another pointed look and he gave her a pout.  

“That only happened-” He hiccuped again “one time Ne-“ another hiccup “-sta.” He swayed in his seat a little bit. You smiled at him as you gestured to the waitress that you’d take two more drinks. She made quick work of bringing them over and you chugged the drink quickly watching as Cassian tried to do the same. The constant hiccups made it difficult for him to do. 

You waved the waitress down for the check which she brought over with a smile. You didn’t miss the way she eyed the Illyrian shadowsinger sitting beside you. Something she had been doing all night actually. Nesta went to protest you paying but you waved your hand at her in dismissal before once again signing the name Archibald Tolsin. Azriel would have to send out shadows tonight in search of the mystery male. 

“Let’s go Nes. Azriel is going to take Cassian.” Azriel almost choked on his last sip of whiskey as you stood and gestured for Nesta to do the same. 

“Why am I taking him?” You gave him a beaming smile and there was that ember flickering away in your eyes. 

“Are you saying you can’t handle it?” Azriel felt his chest involuntarily puffing out at your question. He scoffed at you before standing up as well and rounding the table. He pulled a swaying Cassian up from his seat and narrowed his eyes at you before they were slipping through his shadows. 

“That was easier than I expected. I saw a really cute bakery yesterday with Lucien that is open late. Let’s stop there on the way back.” You were practically pulling Nesta out of the restaurant and through the streets. She was utterly surprised at your steady steps and steady words as you asked her questions about the city. 

“How the fuck are you not drunk?” She asked you when you finally stopped in front of the bakery. She had watched you down an equal amount of drinks as her mates. There is no way you should still be conscious. 

“I have fire in my veins, I can burn alcohol away as soon as it enters me.” You gave her a lazy smile and swaggered off into the bakery.

“So you cheated?” Her question didn’t surprise you as you scanned the cases of pastries and baked goods for anything that caught your eye. 

“It would’ve been cheating if he had specified I couldn’t use my fire to my advantage.” Your eyes lit up as you spied a specific cupcake. 

“He didn’t know.” Nesta was leveling you with a stare that would’ve made a lesser fae quake but you simply rolled your eyes at her. 

“He didn’t ask.” That was that, Nesta realized that what you said made sense. It was her mate's fault for misjudging his opponent. You went up to the counter and ordered three cupcakes and waited for Nesta to order as well. You signed the bill and were making your way back out the door into the street after being handed your bag of baked goods. 

Your wings popped up behind you and you opened your arms letting Nesta settle against your chest before you were shooting for the sky and towards the house of wind. The flight there was quiet as you both took in the sight of the city below you. Once you got to the house of wind you went in search of Lucien who was still in the library before giving him one of the cupcakes. You asked the shadows that had stayed with you to place one in their masters room which they did quickly before finding their way back to you. 

Nesta sat with you and Lucien for a while as you all read different books. As the night grew later the three of you parted ways towards your respective rooms. Brok and Zas followed you dutifully. With the comfort of the shadows and the hounds you had a nightmare free slumber.

A/N:So sorry this wasn't posted around the time it usually is! Thank you all so much for reading. As always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Azriel blended into the shadows, the ones that sang to him, his mother’s sweet song, and the ones that protected him, hiding him away from his brothers. After his rescue, they followed him around, twisting around his ankles and wrists, guarding him from any newcomers - with good intentions or those without. He lived in the dark, embodying his newfound gift. 

The male hadn’t had any friends, aside from the two brothers he quickly found. Strangers, Illyrian and Fae alike, avoided him, some spitting at his feet from far away, others completely terrified of him. In the camps, after Azriel’s first kill, the tides turned, and one after another, that number grew. 

Deathbringer. He never cared what others thought of him - while he was privy to the rumors and stories surrounding his name, he hadn’t found it in himself to care. He embraced what they thought he was - he became the Shadowsinger, the merciless torturer, hidden in the shadows and hungry for blood. 

You had always been enthralled with Azriel. The legend surrounding him had only spurred you further in your search for him, desperate to meet the Illyrian yourself. You watched him from high above the forest floor, where you tracked him to. You admired the fit of those leathers, the dark battlegear he wore regularly, tight around his strong legs and lean torso. 

You flew over the treeline, noting how he vanished into the shadows around him, disappearing without a trace. To call him the Deathbringer was an insult, a harsh connotation spread around by fearful Fae and jealous Illyrians. You almost laughed, each time when they cowered away from the male, so certain he’d bring harm and annihilation, when all he brought them was immunity and freedom. 

Death was not dark and gruesome, nothing to be feared or shied away from. It was life that was so dirty, grim and hopeless; life that shrouded all creatures in the universe. It was the curse of life that chained every soul to the earth, stuck on rotting soil, bound in Fae form and left to suffer forever. Humans suffered greatly in slavery and their wretched bodies that fell so easily to illness and starvation. The Fae remained tethered to life for far too long, surrounded by ravens that gouged their loved one’s eyes out, and the vultures that picked at rotting flesh and muscle until there was nothing but cracked skulls remaining. 

The truly blessed were taken in the soft hands of death, welcomed home into the bright light by the Angel herself. It was death that set them free, no longer relying on the capricious sun for light, for sustenance and existence. Death, who many thought left their soul rotting in the river of black sludge, underground and long forgotten by the Mother. But that was life: hell on earth. 

Azriel greeted death warmly, so often sent creatures to their blissful end, no longer trapped in the restraints of existence. The male that you’d kept your eyes on for centuries, watching from afar as he sent Fae and Illyrian alike to you, unknowingly - to be taken by you, a sacrifice, a promise, a vow. He sent you countless souls, even having a few brushes with death himself. It was those moments when you came the closest to him. When you were able to hold him in his dying state, cold in your arms, as you offered him warmth, the sweet release of death. 

You flapped your white wings, descending down between the trees, feathers fluttering and bracing your drop as you met the forest floor. Plush grass tickled your bare feet, your white gown fell gracefully around you as you settled on the cool earth. You smiled to yourself, sensing the shift in the air as shadows swirled around you. As the oxygen shifted around you, you counted down the seconds until the male appeared beside you. 

Three.

Time moved slowly. As if centuries passed between each second. 

Two.

You turned on your heel, breath held tight in your lungs. 

One.

Azriel appeared in front of you, a swirl of shadows and darkness. 

He winnowed straight back as he felt your presence in the woods, the heavy trees around you brustled with each flap of your delicate wings. He’d been tracking you for years, the only trace he’d had to follow was the shift in the air, how the sun felt brighter, the air felt hotter, and the soft beat of your wings that reverberated in his bones. 

The only way he’d been able to summon you was to wait.

For you to find him. 

Azriel didn’t know who you were. He didn’t know what you wanted from him, or how you’d been able to follow him for so long without his shadows catching on. They were no help, unable to detect who you were or where you hailed from. He had to rely only on his own instinct, on the pounding of his heart whenever you drew near. 

You raised a hand to his face, slow and intentional. Azriel did not question you, he did not stop you or ask why. His chest thundered, shoulders tensed in anticipation. He could feel his heart banging in his chest, desperate for escape, for you to hold it in your hands. His hand fell to Truth-teller, his fingers caressed the hilt of his short blade, dancing along the cool metal as he anticipated your next movement. 

“Your reputation precedes you, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you traced a line along Azriel’s cheek. He tensed, jaw clenched tightly and tendons flexed beneath his golden skin. His hazel eyes stayed locked on yours as you took in every feature, from the sweep of his eyelashes to the arch of his brow, the green flecks in his eyes down to each scar adorning his cheeks. 

“I wish I could say the same,” he muttered, his voice quiet, plump lips barely moving as he spoke. The typically menacing male remained entrapped in your gaze, victim to your hand, gradually moving down the column of his throat. 

You offered him a smile, one you surely would pay to see strewn across the male’s face. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of wrinkles or lines on his face - missing the harsh smile lines carved into the Lord of Bloodshed’s cheeks, or the wrinkles etched around the High Lord of Night Court’s eyebrows. He bore no such marks, no emotion betraying the stoic male that stood before you. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you replied, dropping your hand but not daring to take a step away from him. “You’ve met me before.” The male’s eyes narrowed, hints of gold and green shifting as his eyes washed over your features. His chest rose and fell slowly, concentrated and controlled, as he searched for the memory. His shadows skitted around him, swirling around his neck and torso, twining around your ankles in investigation. 

He shook his head slowly, unable to break your hypnotic gaze. Azriel felt the pounding in his chest, the tremor of the hum released deep in the depths of his soul - it sent his bones vibrating and blood racing; he kept his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “No,” he offered simply, shadows unable to recognize you. 

“The bloodbane on that arrow through your chest,” you reminded him, dropping your finger to your own heart. “Fallen before the Cauldron itself.” Azriel remembered vividly, shoulders tensed as he relived that harrowing day. It wasn’t darkness surrounding him, pulling him into a sea of nothingness. He was encapsulated by light, blinding, white light. The warmth from the glow seeped into his soul, kept him conscious. “It was not the King who held your life in the balance, Azriel,” you whispered, the male going weak in the knees at your hushed tone. “It was me - I was there while he bargained your life away.” 

“You weren’t there.” Azriel barely spoke aloud, his breath swirled the loose hair framing your face. He noted the rhythm of your breathing, matching it in entirety. 

“I was.” You held your hands open before you, showing him your empty palms. Between the two of you, the air warmed, not with fire, not with light - there was nothing. Nothing but the air you both breathed, your bodies wrapped in warmth. His fingers twitched, the familiar heat sinking into his bones. “It was I who did not take you in that moment. That warmth around you was me, Azriel. It was death.”

His face revealed nothing, but the bob of his throat did. “You’re the Angel of Death,” he finished for you, incredulously, not believing the sight before him. The myth, the legend that the children whispered about in the Illyrian Camps, meant to scare each other in the dead of night. 

The beautiful Angel of Death, alluring young males and enticing warriors on the battlefield to follow her. It was told that she was beautiful, with hypnotic eyes, nearly glowing with ethereal beauty. Black wings, given to her by the Devil himself, a crown of thorns, exquisite gown. Some said she had fangs, others reported horns. She was only a fable, shared by the young soldiers preparing themselves for death, hoping to be welcomed into the arms of a beautiful female. A beautiful female who was death incarnate, a devil, the keeper of all good and evil.

What shocked Azriel, though, were your bright white wings, feathered and fluffy, like something of the Dawn Court. Flowing white gown, hair splayed wildly around your head, tousled from flight. No fangs, talons, horns, or pointy tail. You stood before him calm, steady, unwavering as you stared your mate in the eye. You emitted nothing but life. 

“It seems my reputation does precede me, after all,” you whispered, nearly reading his thoughts verbatim. “I choose who to take. I was by Hybern’s side when the Archeron sisters killed him, when the General of the NIght Court Armies laid on the battlefield with his guts spilt out, when your High Lord and High Lady died - every time, in fact.” He watched you with that unwavering stare, studying every word you offered. “I held your life in the palm of my own hands, but it was not your time to go.” You raised your open hands, at which Azriel reached for them, holding them together against his chest. “It was never anybody else, Azriel, you are mine.” 

He took a step toward you, chest impossibly close to yours. “And you are mine, (Y/N),” he whispered, laying your palms flat against his Illyrian leathers. His heart beat fast and true, never more sure in his life that his mate stood before him, winged and equal, ever true. 

You craned your neck upwards, peering up at the male from under your eyelashes. He leaned forwards, tilting his head to one side as he captured your lips against his. The male had not been known for his hesitation, but his lips touched yours just for a moment before he pulled back. You dropped his hands, throwing your arms over his shoulders, circling them around the back of his neck. 

He tasted of cedar and smoke, the taste of shadow and night swirling around your tongue. The hairs on the back of your neck rose when your lips met, a shiver sent down your spine when he pulled away. Azriel felt the sparks as soon as he touched you, and kissing you made his whole chest explode. He had to hold himself back, using the only bit of willpower he could muster, to restrain himself from taking you on the forest floor right then and there. 

Azriel huffed a sigh in relief as you pressed yourself fully against him. His hands found your waist, squeezing tightly before falling to your hips and holding you flush to him. His heart raced, never before had a female had his mind reeling and his chest pounding. They said the mating bond was unquestionable, his gut twisted and every muscle in his body flexed as he held you in his arms. 

His shadows whirled around you both, his wings flexed outwards behind him. You sighed as the cool air hit you, his wings unfurled completely before you. You had to resist the urge to touch, instead your fingers carded through his hair, pulling tightly at the shaggy locks, which earned a low growl from the male. His hand rose to cup your jaw, tilting your head further, deepening the kiss until the two of you meshed into one, nothing but a mess of teeth and tongue. 

As Azriel’s other hand fell lower, cupping the back of your ass and sliding down the back of your thigh. He bunched up your gown, grabbing layers of skirts and fistfuls of fabric, searching for skin. You dropped one hand to his, pulling it from your body and dropping it at his side. With a groan, you pulled your lips away from his, sighing as his forehead pressed against yours. He leaned forward, desperate for another kiss. “(Y/N),” he snarled, perhaps in warning. 

“Being mates,” you began, cut off at the harsh breath the Shadowsinger let out before you. At your touch, the male had began to succumb to his primal instincts. To have you in his arms and to claim you - he wondered if that was the only thing that would be able to calm the roaring in his veins. “Is not so simple, Azriel.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he replied, stealing another hungry kiss, holding you tighter against him. 

“Tethered to death,” you continued, pulling away from him again, holding him still by his hair. Your life would be as mine is. You’d be tethered to me. To the Angel of Death. Your words failed you as he weighed your every movement, hazel eyes watching you, searching for those thoughts. “Being mated to death means the end of your own life.” 

At that, Azriel paused, his intentions halting. He remained a hair's breadth away from you, just enough to study you from down the bridge of his nose. His bright eyes flicked between yours, his dark brows pulled cross in thought. The male had no plan to let you go - he’d never thought he’d find a mate at all, merely stuck between choosing one of the females the Mother had placed in his path. He didn’t want the convenient choice, nor the easy way out. He’d finally been blessed with a mate, his equal - Death and his Angel - he was prepared to sacrifice what he had to in order to keep you. 

“I am no stranger to death,” your mate replied, afraid of nothing.