Nothing about that male was innocent; from that leering look in his eyes whenever you walked up to the counter to the way he leaned in close whenever you offered a nicety. And that was all it was: a nicety. Right? Azriel was now unsure if he had misread your body language and you were actually interested in the guy as well. He hoped not.

You were one of the priestesses who had joined the group of Valkyrie, where Azriel had first met you. From what his shadows gathered, Cassian had taken you from an abusive household in one of the Illyrian camps and deposited you to the safety of the House of Wind library where many young, troubled females sought refuge. How Azriel had been unaware of your close presence for nearly four decades was baffling. Your scent alone had his instincts reverting to outdated primal urges.

It had been a handful of months of your training and something of a friendship had blossomed between you and the otherwise impassive Shadowsinger. From the first time you nicked his jaw with the heel of your foot, he had been...fascinated by you.

Many shared water breaks and lunches later, it became routine for him to accompany you in Valeris to drop you off at Feyre's art studio to help teach the youth classes and then take you home. And, despite your continued insistence that he didn't need to trouble himself, he found escorting you to be the best part of his day.

Much to his confusion, he couldn't push you from the recesses of his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, your face appeared, a smile curving your lips and eyes sparkling with mirth. Every female he came across sparked no feelings in his chest like you did. Hel, his body responded to you like a teenager.

He thought you felt the same until the fateful day where you asked to stop at the local apothecary on the way to the House of Wind. He had obliged of course, needing no pleading from you when just the tilt of your head was enough incentive to assent to any idea you could come up with.

It had become a new development for you to hold his hand during this shared time together, something Azriel had been startled yet content to do. You often commented on the state of his hands, never rudely or disgusted, as he was accustomed to, but concerned over his well-being.

You examined one of the thickest scars as he led you through the city, thumb brushing over the raised skin. "Everything must be a sensory nightmare," you murmur affectionately.

He pulled you closer to avoid other pedestrians. "After five hundred years you learn to live with it."

You obviously weren't satisfied with his answer. "Have you ever asked Madja for some type of balm or anything? Surely there's something that would help."

With any other person, he would have pulled his hand from their grasp and switched the topic, but he rather enjoyed your fussiness. So he let you explore the leathery ridges of his scars with your own small, soft fingers, and reveled in the attention. "Sure, I've asked her, but there's very little that can be done when I have very little time to keep up on taking care of them. My job is very demanding."

You huffed, annoyed. "You take so little care of yourself, Azriel. I feeling inclined to believe you put more effort into managing Truthteller than you are of your own body."

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide the tilt of his lips. He was really enjoying your fussiness.

As soon as you entered the apothecary building, he left you to conduct your business at the front while he perused the store. An annoyingly handsome male greeted you with an annoying smile and Azriel resisted the urge to let his shadows spy on your conversation. You were a grown female and the least he could do was provide you with privacy.

He took a breath to release the tension coiling in his shoulders. He also might have rolled them dramatically so that the siphon on his bicep glinted in the apothecary's eye.

Fortunately, you wrapped up your conversation and paid for your items quickly before returning to Azriel. His heart flipped when your fingers found his immediately.

He didn't have anything to worry about. Right?

The assorted smells of spices and essential oils assaulted Azriel's sense for the third time in the past fortnight. He thought that after that first visit it would be some time before he stepped inside the stupid apothecary yet here he was.

Like every other time, you were at the counter and speaking with him while Azriel attempted to distract himself by looking at soaps and sugar scrubs. Who could blame him that he had the occasional urge to send his shadows to eavesdrop? It's not like he actually authorized the direction.

His teeth clenched tightly at the sound of your melodic laugh reaching his ears. Why the Hel was he making you laugh? And about what? Some dumb herbal joke, no doubt.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the male rubbing something into your hand. The intimate gesture caused Azriel's feet to storm out of the shop before the movement could register in his brain.

As soon as the fresh air hit his face, he gulped it in, attempting to calm the overwhelming surge of emotions filtering through him. What was happening to him? He had never felt so strongly about anyone. Ever. Not even Mor or Elain or Gwyn.

Less than a minute later, the bell on the door chimed and a tentative hand perched on his arm. "Azriel?"

He slowly turned around and met your worried eyes. "Are you finished?" his voice came out gruffer than he'd intended.

You nodded, searching his gaze. "Are you alright? You ran out like the hounds of Hel were on your heel."

Not even those hounds could stop him from tearing into that male if Azriel had spent one moment longer in that small, stuffy parlor. It was only by consideration of you that he'd managed to make it outside and cool off instead of reacting.

He flexed his fingers to release any lingering frustration. "I'm all right."

Your attention flicked to his hand and you grasped it without ceremony and brought it up close for examination. "Are they hurting? It's growing colder and I assume that irritates the skin?"

A portion of Azriel's bad mood melted. Here you were caring for him while he was in a bad mood over some inconsequential fae.

"It tends to feel tight and itchy in cold weather, especially when it's dry," he murmured softly, "but it's manageable."

True enough, his skin had been starting to crack and bleed which was more uncomfortable than painful. He would opt to wear gloves but they only felt more constricting, making him feel suffocated.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You said that last time. Are you just to averse to anyone wanting to help you that you pretend everything's fine all the time?"

"Us males are the ones who are supposed to take care of females; not the other way around."

"Well Azriel," you twine your fingers with his and press a gentle kiss to his irritated knuckles. "I'm going to take care of you regardless of your old fashioned gender beliefs."

He used his free hand to chuck under your chin in a playful scolding. "Didn't anyone teach you how to speak to your elders?"

"Considering the amount of times I've mopped the training mat with you, I deserve the right to speak to you anyway I wish." You retaliated confidently, stepping close enough that he could smell that scent that was uniquely you.

Azriel had a comeback on the tip of his tongue when a shadow drew his attention to the outside of your hand that held his. Right where the apothecary had touched you was turning red as if aggravated. "What did he do to you?"

"Hm?" you looked to where he was studying and a blush tinged your cheeks. "Oh, he was just-I asked if I could try out a new product he had lying about."

It didn't take a professional detective—which is what Azriel essentially was—to know that you were lying. He only wondered why?

He considered heading back into the shop and demanding to know what was in this product that had marred your skin but decided against it when you pulled him away, rambling on about something or other and effectively hauling Azriel's thoughts to you. Which worked Every. Single. Time.

"-he put this product on her hand that made it rash. And, I swear to the gods Cassian, I am going to kill him if he touches her again."

Cassian ducked to avoid a fist to the face, and chuckled, completely oblivious to the amount of sleep—which was less than usual—Azriel had lost over this situation. "You can't exactly do anything about it. She's allowed to date whoever she wants because she's only your friend...right?"

Azriel swept a foot and knocked Cassian on his ass. The bastard knew she was more than a friend and just wanted to get a rise out of Azriel.

Cassian tapped out and they both went to get some water.

"I just don't know what to do." Azriel scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling at a loss. "I'd leave her alone if she asked but I don't know if I could live knowing she was with another male."

A large hand clapped over his shoulder. "You're in love, you idiot."

Love? Azriel anticipated the alarm that normally accompanied that word. Instead, he felt welcome to the idea. Perhaps he did love you. And if that was the case, then he had to do something about it.

"I don't think either of us ever expected this but what-"

"Just tell her," Cassian replied bluntly, sipping at his water as if they were discussing something as innate as the weather. "There's no need for dramatics. At least that's what Nesta told me when I finally confessed my feelings.

"Should I really trust yours and Nesta's love advice?"

"Considering I get laid multiple times a day, yes." A smug smile grew on his brother's face, unsettling Azriel.

He swallowed what was left in his cup and walked away without another word. If he was going to confess anything to you, he needed to be away from Cassian so as to not do anything stupid.

"You're welcome!" Cassian called.

Azriel flew into Valeris and spent the better part of an hour pacing outside of the art studio, contemplating what he would say.

He was completely certain that whatever he managed to come up with would disappear from his mind as soon as he saw you walk out the doors and he was right.

The sight of you laughing at something Feyre said had Azriel's heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Would he feel this way every time he saw you? Most likely. Was he ready for it? Absolutely.

You hadn't noticed him immediately, speaking to Feyre in a hushed tone when the high lady prodded you and you finally looked up. Azriel had never seen so beautiful a smile as the one that tilted your lips.

"Well, I'm just going to close up," Feyre said and returned back inside.

"Hi," Azriel offered.

"Hi," you blushed.

No matter that you had done this more than a dozen times, it would feel brand new each time.

Soon enough, you and Azriel were walking along the Sidra hand in hand, talking about anything and everything. Azriel considered telling you about his feelings every now and then but was too afraid to break the relaxed moment.

"Can we stop by the shop?"

Azriel nearly groaned aloud at your request. "Must we really?"

"Yes!" you replied, nearly giddy. Giddy to see the apothecary? "I have something ve-ery important to pick up."

He hesitated. The past few times he had been able to hold himself back from saying or doing something stupid but he wasn't so sure as to this time.

Before he could answer, you were tugging him in that damned shop.

He was there, like always, and greeted you eagerly. Azriel was about to move to a wall and leave you to your shopping when you pulled him with you to the counter. The closer in proximity to this male had his blood boiling but your hand in his was an anchor. He wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon Westley," you tilted your head, "this is Azriel, my boyfriend. Azriel, Westley owns this shop."

Boyfriend. You said boyfriend. And without any stumbling or delay. Azriel's chest puffed in male satisfaction and he gave Westley a smug grin.

"You're the Shadowsinger, right? I was tempted to ask each time you came in but was too nervous." Westley chuckled uneasily, eyes sliding from Azriel to you as if searching for some comfort from the tension rising.

"I am."

A pregnant pause and then you clear your throat. "Do you have my balm?"

"Yes!" Westley took the out and scurried into the back room to retrieve whatever you had ordered.

"I"m your boyfriend?" Azriel wasted no time in asking, leaning against the counter and pulling you close, his hand snaking to rest on your hip.

Pink splashed across your cheeks, something he'd never get tired of seeing. "I-I assumed? We have been going out for the better part of four months...right?"

He smiled softly at your sudden timidness and he moved his hand to the small of your back to better hold you near. "We have," he assured, much to your relief, "although I hope you'll forgive me for not taking you out on actual dates. An issue I'll remedy tonight."

"So you're not mad that I told Westley that we're together?"

"Mad? If anything I'm pleased. The guy's been bugging me every time we've come in."

Your brows pulled. "Why?"

Azriel rubbed his thumb along your spine. "He watches you like you're the last dessert on the table and always makes you laugh." He grumbled.

You laughed, "You make me laugh all the time."

"That's different,"

Westley stepped back out with a metal tin and opened it, revealing the scent of lavender, chamomile, and a few other scents Azriel didn't recognize. Without asking, he reached for your hand and, before he could do anything, Azriel grasped his wrist, twisting it at an uncomfortable angle. Westley yelped.

"Don't touch her," Azriel warned deeply, glaring at the male.

You soothed your hands along Azriel's chest, attempting to calm him down. "Azriel. Let go. You're going to hurt him."

Without letting go, he looked at you. "Every time this bastard has put his hands on you, you grow a rash or your skin gets red. I can't stand to see anyone put you in any discomfort."

Your features softened and you curled your fingers around his forearm. "I promise he wasn't doing anything intentionally harmful,"

Azriel slowly let go of the apothecary's wrist and instead glared at him. "What have you been putting on her?"

Westley rubbed at his tender skin and kept his eyes glued to the counter. "A healing salve-"

"-for you." You finished, picking up the tin he'd dropped and dipping your fingers into it to collect the ointment inside. "I wanted to make something that would help your scars so Westley and I concocted a salve. It took a few tries to get it right—hence why I had a few rashes—but we got one that proved hopeful."

So that's why you had rashes? Because you had been testing out a salve for him?

Nobody had ever done anything so thoughtful for him. Ever.

He gave in to his urge and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. The rest of the shop, and Westley, disappeared, leaving only you and Azriel in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy. His fingers dug into your hips, pressing you so close you could have crawled into his skin. Your own fingers found and grasped tightly at his shoulders, leveraging you upwards.

Ahem.

Azriel pulled away and looked, heavy-lidded, to the apothecary who was watching the scene with a wince. "It'll be two six gold coins."

Azriel tossed whatever he had in his pocket and moved you out of the shop. "We're never going there again," he mumbled.

"What about if you need more ointment?" you laughed, amused by his apparent disliking of the fae.

"Madja can gather the ingredients and make it herself. I don't want to see you around that male ever again."

You only leaned into his side, massaging more ointment into his hands as he led you to a sidewalk, gentler than he'd ever imagined anyone could be with him. "I love you Azriel. Even if you're acting like an overprotective male."

"And I love you," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and took you home.