The Secrets of Fate. {Elriel Oneshot}
Elriel (with a side of Nessian). Adorable with a touch of smut. Elainâs POV.Â
âExcited to be an aunt?â
I look up to find Azriel standing above me with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted slightly to the left. Heâs dressed casually in his training pants and an old tunic, he must have just come from the rooftop with Rhys. Sweat has forced his dark hair to be matted against his forehead and his shirt to cling to his sculpted chest, his arms, his abs.
It is only when he approaches me that I realize Iâd been dozing off.
âYes,â I yawn, reluctantly. âCanât you tell?â
He smiles, softly. âYou should get some rest. Iâll let you know when itâs coming.â
âIt should be soon!â I argue, although I do not know that to be true. âAny minute. Really.â
He senses my lie, but instead of pushing me further, he scoops me into his arms and walks down the hallway.
I do not protest. Sleep does sound marvelous. Iâve been sitting outside Nesta and Cassianâs door since before breakfast. It was almost nightfall, and her contractions are nowhere near where they need to be. All I hear is Nesta screaming and cursing, damn you Cass for doing this to me being the most popular.
In which Cassian laughs and replies, youâre welcome, beautiful.
Feyre has been coming and going all day with buckets full of ice and cold water and new, dry towels. Although I cannot contribute much, except for the occasional head pop-in to ask how things are going and if anything else is needed, I havenât been able to force myself to leave my spot in the hallway.
Azriel, apparently, does not see the point in that.
âYouâll come get me when itâs time?â
âI would not have said yes otherwise.â
âAre you getting sassy with me?â I lift my eyebrows, in which he replies with a breathy laugh.
Azriel and I have become good friends in the last two years, since my living here became permanent after the war with Hybern. Although, I would be lying if I were to say I did not find him beautiful, and kind, and completely perfect in every way.
Some days I think heâll make his move, reveal his feelings for me, but then I remember that itâs Azriel and find myself embarrassed for even thinking such a thing. But now, with my head on his shoulder listening to the rapid beat of his heart, realizing that heâs still carrying me in his arms down the hall, I wonder if those thoughts were not made up after all.
One of his wings brushes my back, making me gasp, and his body turns rigid from my reaction.
He kicks open my door with his muddy boot and I notice the shadows beginning to creep around his shoulders.
âRhysand will not be pleased with the muddy footprint on his door,â I scold.
He lies me down on my bed and pulls off my boots, one by one. âRhys can come find me if he has a problem. Iâll tell him I was escorting a beautiful woman to her bed.â
Realizing his words, he begins shaking his head, thinking Iâd take offence. But, instead, I burst out laughing. Perhaps itâs the lack of sleep, or the glass of wine Mor had brought me an hour ago, and then refilled twice, but I am feeling bold. Giddy, even.
âDoes your escorting end here?â
He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, but nothing comes out.
My cheeks turn red. It must be the buzz. Az doesnât think of me like that. I am like a child to him. A friend, nothing more.
âI thought you wanted me to keep an eye on Nesta,â he says, instead, an underlying question in his statement.
âAnd what do you want?â I say, before I can stop myself.
Yes, definitely the wine.
He watches me for a long moment and I realize I must look a mess. I havenât bathed since yesterday. I havenât even brushed my hair, for Cauldronâs sake. He must pity me, my rumpled clothes and smudged makeup.
But, as he takes a step closer, I realize that is probably a question that he does not get asked a lot. And, for a moment, he looks surprised.
And when he takes a step toward me, then another, then slumps to his knees before me as I sit on my bed, I canât stop the heat from spreading from my cheeks, to my stomach, to places I wasnât aware that heat could be felt.
âI wantâŚâ he pauses, placing his head in my lap, then taking my delicate hands in his scarred ones before looking back up to me. âI want you to know how beautiful a person you are. I want to know what itâs like to love, and be loved, by someone like you.â
I am so stunned that I cannot properly string a sentence together. He watches me, lips slightly parted, as if he just revealed the secrets of the universe. And, in a way, I feel like he did.
Here is a male who has been alive for hundreds of years before I was even thought of and formed in the womb, a male who has slain on the battlefield, a male who has met thousands of females who would no doubt love himâŚ.and yet, he is before me, on his knees, sweaty, dark hair falling into his eyes and large, membranous wings looming behind him, looking no more than a shy boy, a dark soul, a fallen angel.
I take his face in my hands and kiss his forehead, gently. âThere has not been a day in a very long time that I have not wondered the same thing.â
Something broke loose in him, then. Something wild, animalistic. The wild fae beneath the bashful male.
I had always associated him with utter gentleness. But, the male before me was anything but gentle.
A question looms in his eyes and I nod before I can second guess, if a second guess would ever even come.
He slides one arm behind my back and lifts me further back onto the bed, until my head is sinking in my collection of floral pillows.
âElainâŚâ he whispers, but stops, as if any other word he could say would not be good enough for this moment.
Instead, his lips brush mine in a soft, tender rhythm. Once. Twice. Thrice. Harder, and a little more confident, until my fingers are intertwined in his hair and his abs are pressing against my stomach.
A small gasp escapes my lips as his mouth moves to the hollow of my throat, and he thrives on that gasp as he kicks off his muddy boots and they hit my floor with a thud. His bare feet, rough and calloused, run up my shins before I wrap my legs around his waist.
He unbuttons my dress, slowly, one by one, keeping his eyes on mine, in case I were to protest. I donât. I wonât. I canât, I am completely undone.
His lips find mine, once again, and I do not stop until we are one in the same, two beings in the same space, two bodies in search for the same thing.
He thrusts once, twice, three times until I am begging him for more.
He is gentle, but rough, and I have trouble breathing as I canât find where my body ends and his begins. I was never loved by a human man, but I canât imagine it would be anything close to this. This is magic. This is beauty. This is a love that only comes around once in a lifetime, even if that life is immortal.
By the time I realize how loud Iâm moaning his name, how Iâm holding onto him, afraid heâll disappear into the shadows, itâs over, and I instantly want him again. That nearness. The closeness. The feeling of utter euphoria.
Heâs hovering over me, still, shuddering, sweating, kissing me gently. He brushes the brown locks out of my eyes and laughs, gently, before wrapping me in his wings and holding onto me, afraid Iâll disappear into the shadows.
After we catch our breath, we fall back into our dance, into utter euphoria.
The sound of crying jolts me from my sleep. Azriel is still lying next to me in my bed, an inked arm draped across my stomach. I slither out of his grasp, making my best attempt not to wake him, and fall onto the cold, wooden floorboards. I grab a shirt off the ground and toss on my robe before freezing at the sight of his bare body lying upon my blankets. I blush, force myself to look away, and ease into the hallway.
Faelight leads me down the hallway as the crying stops. Feyre is standing outside of the door, eyeing me as I approach.
âIs she here? Is it a she? A he? Feyre, answer me!â
My younger sister laughs. âWe donât know yet. It just happened, Cassian will come get us when itâs time. Nes just wanted it to be the two of them.â
I nod, understandingly. âOkay, good.â
âDonât worry,â she winks. âYou didnât miss anything.â
She takes me in, then, for the first time. Her eyebrows raise and her lips open, slightly, then turn into a bright smile. âIs that Azrielâs shirt?â
I glance down and curse myself softly. A dress. I wore a dress, today. I pull my robe closer around me and shrug.
âElain!â she practically squeals and I hastily shhh her.
âWas he timid? Was he rough? Oh, was he-â
âIs it true about the wingspan?â
The door swings open, leaving us both silent as we take in a sweaty, panting Cassian. His cheeks are red, as if heâs been crying. We both run into the warriorâs arms, the new father, and congratulate him before sneaking further into the room.
Nesta sits propped against her headboard, looking far too pristine for just giving birth, cradling a tiny, brown-haired infant in a bundle of blankets.
She looks at us, pure pride radiating off her. âMeet your aunts, little love,â she whispers, and Feyre and I are instantly by her side.
âItâs a girl,â Cassian says from behind us, exhaustingly, proudly.
âWhatâs her name?â Feyre asks.
Cassian opens his mouth, but Nesta speaks first. âWe donât know, yet. We canât agree.â
That doesnât surprise me.
I take the baby in my arms, and Nesta freezes. âIs that Azrielâs shirt?â
Cassian gasps from behind me, and I turn to find his eyebrows wiggling uncontrollably.
âWingspan?â Nesta whispers.
âMmm,â Feyre sighs. âI asked the same thing.â
âYou are all ridiculous. A baby was just brought into the world,â I scold.
âWeâre discussing this later,â Nesta orders.
âA discussion in which I will also be present for,â Cassian mumbles.
I canât help but laugh as I look down at the baby sleeping in my arms. If this baby has Nestaâs will and Cassianâs humorâŚMother help us all.
âSheâs beautiful,â I say, wondering if I will one day be blessed enough to have one of my own. âWill she grow wings?â
âShe will,â Cassian sits at the foot of the bed and pulls Nestaâs feet into his lap. âSheâll be able to hide them though, like Rhys, since sheâs half High Fae.â
âI hope she doesnât.â Nesta watches her Mate, her eyes growing misty as the reality of her new life settles in. âI hope she never hides them.â
Tears dwell in Cassianâs eyes, forcing them to pool up in my own. If this child has Nestaâs undying love and Cassianâs goodwillâŚ.a queen. This child will be a queen in her own right.
They had to pry me off her. Octavia, they named her. Strong. Beautiful. Kind.
Azriel and Rhysand found us mere minutes after Feyre and I entered the room. Mor snuck in not five minutes after them, and we all wept, joyfully, for the new member of the Court of Dreams.
We passed her around while she cried and watched us curiously with her gray-blue eyes, the eyes of our mother. Azriel stayed close to me, his hand constantly brushing mine, for the majority of the night, having gone to get himself another shirt before joining us. You look much better in my clothes than I do, he told me at one point, making me blush furiously among our circle.
Rhys eyed my shirt curiously throughout the whole ordeal and I am convinced Feyre spoke to him through the bond, most likely promising him details later, because he eventually stopped.
Now, my heart is overwhelmed as I lie awake, tracing circles on Azrielâs bare chest. Heâs breathing, softly, steadily, sleeping like everyone else. My mind is running wild, though, at this newfound romance, at the birth of my beautiful Octavia.
I laugh, silently, to myself and snuggle up next to my Illyrian warrior, my fallen angel. I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, his hands holding me tightly against him, his wings wrapped around us both, and I thank the Cauldron my life didnât turn out the way I thought it would.
