#request bingo

You snort. “Good luck with that. And it’s not a competition. I only have eyes for Xaden now.” Which was true. Before you met him, you may have hooked up with a cadet or two. Male or female, it didn’t matter to you. In this death machine of a college, it had been nice to have options available to you when you were feeling celebratory or just needed a warm body to get you through the night. But now that you’re in your second year and dating the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, your days of bed hopping are over—not that you miss it. Xaden has consumed your every thought for the past six months you’ve been together, like his shadows have wrapped around your mind and heart. You can’t believe anyone would actually think they have a chance with you.

She arches a brow, amused. “Well, I hope you’re ready to tell him that, sweetheart. I think your big, broody boyfriend is having a mental breakdown.”

You follow her gaze and catch sight of Xaden standing across the sparring gym, where he’d been observing with his usual unreadable expression. Only now, he’s not unreadable at all. His jaw is clenched tight, brows furrowed, and his entire body is locked in place like he’s just heard something life-altering.

Which, apparently, he has.

He turns away and storms off before you can so much as wave.

You shake your head and let it go for now.

It gets weirder at dinner.

You’re sitting with your squad, savoring bites of dessert and laughing about how Rhiannon kicked Sawyer’s ass with the staff when the bench creaks beside you.

Suddenly, Xaden is there, squeezing himself onto the narrow space between you and Rhiannon.

You cock a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be sitting at the leadership table?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head like that answers everything and picks up a spoon, stealing bites of your cake.

You glance to your other side, where Rhiannon’s eyebrows are halfway to her hairline.

Imogen snorts into her drink and coughs violently. “Sorry,” she wheezes. “Didn’t mean to inhale water. Continue.”

Xaden doesn’t react. Doesn’t speak. Just sits there silently radiating mine.

When Violet two seats down laughs a little too loudly, you feel his entire body tense beside you.

He’s never been this… obvious.

You lean in and whisper, “Are you okay?”

A single dip of his chin is all you get in response.

Dinner drags on, and you try to ignore the fact that your six-foot-five boyfriend is sitting on two inches of bench just to hover at your side. You finish your plate, kiss his cheek in thanks, and try not to laugh when he growls quietly as another cadet brushes too close on their way out of the dining hall.

It isn’t until you’re halfway back to the dorms that you realize he’s steering you.

Each time someone approaches, Xaden maneuvers himself so his body slides between you and whoever’s passing. When Rhiannon calls your name and jogs to catch up, he slows his pace just enough to angle his frame—shielding you like a human wall.

You stop walking.

Xaden halts, too, turning toward you with a mask of calm that doesn’t fool you for a second.

You cross your arms. “Are you going to tell me what in Malek’s name is going on?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You raise a brow. “You’ve been acting territorial all night. You sat with us at dinner. You nearly shoved that poor cadet who brushed my arm. And you’ve basically body-blocked the entire hallway. This isn’t like you at all.”

He frowns. “I haven’t—”

“Xaden.”

He sighs through his nose. Glances down the hallway. Then takes your hand and tugs you toward his room without another word.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you spin to face him. “Seriously. Talk to me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “I overheard you and Imogen earlier.”

“Okay…” you draw out. “And?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “She said something about girls trying to get with you.”

You can’t help but smile. The presumptions are just too funny. “Yeah, they think they have a chance with me, but they don’t.”

His jaw ticks. “You’re bisexual.”

“I mean… yeah, I am. Is that a problem?” you ask, your head tilted, eyes narrowing.

His eyes snap to yours. “No. I mean—yes. I mean, not in the way you’re thinking.” His voice is rough, low. “It’s not about that. It’s about… I didn’t know.”

You step closer, brushing your fingers over his wrist. “Xaden, why are you acting like I just told you I had a secret husband and kids?”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “Because now it feels like I have to compete with everyone. Men, women, all of it. Like the whole world doubled overnight.”

You stare at him. “Are you seriously jealous?”

He doesn’t answer, which means yes.

Your jaw drops. “You do realize how ridiculous that is, right? And honestly quite offensive,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Offensive how?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

You huff. “There’s a stigma around bi people. That because we like both males and females, we’re more likely to cheat.”

He shakes his head, stepping toward you. “I don’t think that. It’s just that you’re the most magnetic person I’ve ever met. I’ve seen cadets of every gender trip over themselves trying to get your attention, and I always thought it was fine. You only liked guys, and I could handle them in any fight. But now finding out that you do like both… it’s fucking with my head.”

You smile slowly, heart softening. “And yet, I chose you.”

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you like he’s trying to put the pieces together in his mind.

You step even closer and rise onto your toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” you whisper. “I don’t care how many people are in the world. I don’t want anyone else. You’re it for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah?”

You slide your hands under his shirt, fingers skating across the planes of his abdomen. “Yeah.”

He exhales a shaky breath, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

You push him back until his knees hit the bed, and he sits without resistance, letting you crawl into his lap.

“I mean it,” you murmur, brushing your lips against his ear. “No one compares to my sexy, broody, infuriating Wingleader boyfriend.”

He groans, hands locking around your hips. “You’re going to kill me.”

You grin. “Not until I show you just how much I love you.”

You frown. You weren’t expecting anyone.

You pull the blanket away and pad across the small living room, tugging the door open and find Nesta standing there, her jaw clenched, her storm-grey eyes blazing.

“Nesta?” Your voice pitches upward in confusion. “What are you—”

“Let me in,” she says, clipped and sharp, and without another word, you step aside.

She breezes past you into the cottage, the scent of cold wind clinging to her, and stops in the middle of the room, her sharp eyes looking anywhere but at you.

“Okay…” You shut the door and follow her. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Nesta’s throat works, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I wouldn’t be here unless it was important,” she says finally, turning toward you. “And you need to sit down.”

A chill slithers down your spine, but you obey, sinking back into the armchair. Nesta perches on the edge of the couch opposite, her posture stiff, her anger practically coming off her in waves.

You force a laugh, thin and unsure. “Nesta, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “I caught Azriel with Elain.”

The room spins, a wave of dizziness knocking into you so suddenly you feel as if you might throw up. For a moment, you’re sure you misheard her. That maybe you imagined the words. “What?”

Her voice doesn’t waver. “I caught them together at the River House.”

The air leaves your lungs in a rush. “No. No, you—you must be mistaken. Azriel’s been—he’s been working—”

Nesta cuts you off, her jaw tightening. “I thought that too until today.”

She tells you the story in clipped, furious bursts—how Elain had asked her and Cassian to watch Nyx while Feyre and Rhys were in the Hewn City. How it struck her as strange. It wasn’t like Elain to pass up on watching over Nyx, but it had been occurring more often as of late. How after waiting thirty minutes, she trekked down the stairs of the House of Wind and walked to the River House, only to find them in Elain’s bed.

Your chest feels hollow.

Nesta’s voice softens slightly as she watches your expression collapse. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. But you needed to hear it from someone who isn’t going to sugarcoat it for you, or try to make it sound more innocent than it is. Someone who’s angry on your behalf.”

Tears burn your eyes before you even realize you’re crying.

“She’s my sister,” Nesta says bitterly, shaking her head. “And I’m furious with her. But I’m just as angry at him. He knew what he was doing. He was the one who owed you loyalty.”

Your hands shake as you press them to your face. The cottage is silent except for the crackling of the fire and the ragged sound of your breathing. Everything slips into place. The long nights, the early mornings. The closed bond. It all makes a horrific amount of sense.

Nesta stays for a while—longer than you expect.

She doesn’t do well with comfort, not usually, but she doesn’t leave you sitting in the ruins of this without trying. She admits how disgusted she is with both of them, how disappointed she is. And somehow, that honesty is better than false reassurance.

By the time she leaves, the sun has dipped below the trees, and the cottage feels colder despite the fire still burning.

Hours pass.

You don’t know if you move from the armchair. You don’t even remember Nesta leaving, just the click of the door and the hollow silence after.

You wait because you know Azriel will come home, eventually.

And he does.

The door creaks open, and he steps inside, wings folding tight, the faint smell of night air clinging to him. And underneath that, now knowing to search for it—Elain’s scent, faint but there.

Azriel’s eyes find you instantly, and his brows knit when he sees your tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong?”

He moves toward you, reaching out—and you swat his hand away.

His face flickers in confusion. “Love,” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

You spin on your heel and stomp down the hall to the bedroom, the sound of your feet sharp against the wooden floor. Your chest feels too tight, your breath too fast, and you go straight for the trunk at the foot of the bed—his trunk.

You unlock it, throwing it open, the sound of the lid slamming into the bed frame loud enough to draw him to the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he demands, his voice edged now.

You ignore him, yanking open drawers, grabbing handfuls of his clothes—shirts, leathers, whatever you can reach—and throwing them into the trunk.

“Why are you packing up my clothes? I just got back,” he says

“Because I want you out of my house, you cheating piece of shit!” you scream, your face red with rage as you face him.

Azriel freezes. His eyes widen, color draining from his face. “What are you talking about?”

You hurl a shirt at him, the fabric hitting his chest and sliding to the floor. “Is that it, huh? You just think I’m dumb?”

His shadows stir, restless and uneasy, swirling like they know what’s coming.

“I know where you’ve been, Azriel.” Your voice is raw, jagged. “Get. Out. Before I do damage to you that not even your precious High Lord can repair.”

He flinches—not at the threat, but at the realization that you do know. You know where he’s been, what he’s been doing behind your back.

“How did you find out?” he asks.

You scoff. “Really? That’s all you care about? No ‘I’m sorry’? Do you even care about how much it hurts me?”

He goes to step toward you, but one look at your furious face halts him. “Of course I care, I—I’m sorry. I don't know why I did it. I don’t even remember how it started.”

A delirious laugh escapes you. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? You’ve been fucking her for so long you don’t even remember when you started?”

“No—no, love, that’s not what I meant—”

“Just shut up! Shut up and get out! I never want to see or hear from you again. And if you think that I’ll keep quiet about this, that I’ll let you crawl back to your family and play the victim you have another thing coming. I will make sure they know you betrayed the most treasured thing—your mate.”

He says your name, but you’ve already turned away, chest heaving as you restrain yourself from grabbing one of his daggers and plunging it into his heart. Maybe then he’ll know how you feel.

His shadows gather the clothes, his things, and then he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, the cottage plunging into a silence so heavy it feels like the walls might collapse.

“Cold?” he asks, though you can hear the smile in his voice.

“That’s impossible with you here,” you murmur, turning in his arms so you can face him. His hazel eyes are still heavy-lidded, but there’s a softness there that makes your chest ache. “I might as well be cuddling with a lit hearth.”

“That’s not true. I’m much sexier than a hearth,” he teases, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.

You giggle against his mouth, and he pulls back just enough to grin at you. “What?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“You have morning breath,” you whisper.

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I hate to break it to you, but so do you.”

You swat at his chest, and he catches your hand easily, threading his fingers through yours. He kisses your knuckles one by one, ridiculously tender for someone so large and lethal.

The two of you dissolve into quiet laughter, giggles that don’t have any reason behind them except that you’re here, together, and nothing else matters. Cassian nuzzles into your hair, inhaling deeply, as though memorizing the scent of you.

“Let’s stay here all day,” he murmurs. “Forget the rest of the world. Just me, you, and this bed.”

You feign a gasp, though your heart stutters at his words. “Is Cassian, the Lord of Bloodshed, bailing on training?”

He barks a laugh, rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You brace your hands on his firm chest as you squeal at the sudden movement. “A mate like you makes a male want to retire,” he says, his hand rising to cradle your face, thumb caressing your cheek.

The smile that spreads across your face is so big it makes your cheeks hurt. “Is that so?” you purr.

When he nods, you slide your legs to bracket his hips and push yourself up his chest to whisper in his ear. “Does a mate like me make you want to go for round four?”

Cassian growls, flipping the two of you over so he’s holding himself above you. He nips at your ear before he responds, “I’d be inside you every second of the day if I could.”

The two of you spend the rest of the morning—and afternoon—in bed together. You’re grateful that the House of Wind is empty this weekend with Azriel away on a mission, allowing you and your mate the privacy to love each other as loudly as you want.

“You’re too weak for a dragon,” he hisses as he squeezes harder. Black dots spot your vision.

Your gaze flicks around as you try to think of what to do. You quickly find your brother, Xaden, and his friend, Garrick, standing with your friends, watching you with varying degrees of concern. You look away. Their faces will soon shift to disappointment at you being so weak, and you can’t bear to see it.

Your eyes land on your squad leader next. Dain Aetos. You’re not sure why you look at him. He can’t help, can’t interfere—it’s what he’s drilled into all of you over and over again—but as you watch him, you can’t help but notice that he looks… tense.

You can’t think of why. Most Navarrians would be relieved for a marked one like you to kick the bucket. That thought sends a pang of sadness through you. You loathe to admit—even to yourself—that you have a slight crush on him. You’ve tried to convince yourself it’s just hormones. You’ve yet to hook up with anyone at Basgiath, too busy training to bond a dragon during the day and collapsing in your bunk at night. You’re sure that a quick roll in the sheets with another cadet would fix you right up, but as the black dots in your vision grow, unconsciousness creeping closer, Dain’s hands shift to his front. To anyone else, it would look like a casual stance, but you see him move his fingers in a circling motion.

Oh shit. He’s helping you.

It takes everything in you to throw your weight to the side and roll until you and Jack are separated by mere inches. You don’t hesitate. You bring your knees up to your chest, appearing as if you’re in the fetal position, until you shove your legs out in front of you with as much power as you can, your boots slamming into Jack’s chest.

Jack groans, his hand going to soothe the ache in his chest, and you try your best to catch your breath as you stand. You kick him again and again while he still lies on the mat.

It’s pathetic, really. You’re unstable and swaying, the room spinning fast enough to cause bile to rise in your throat, and you are quite literally kicking a man while he’s down.

Professor Emetarrio must have seen enough because he calls for the end of the challenge.

You brace your hands on your knees as you hunch over, still gasping for breath. Once the dizziness subsides enough for you to stop feeling like you’re about to keel over, you walk toward your squad.

You pass Dain on your way, noting his rigid posture. His jaw is clenched, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His eyes never leave you.

When the next challenge begins, he’s suddenly at your side. His hand is at your elbow, firm but careful, guiding you out of the sparring gym.

“You’re going to the infirmary,” he says, voice clipped.

You don’t argue.

He leads you to the Healer’s Quadrant and subsequently to the infirmary, dropping you down on a cot per Winifred’s instructions.

Winifred fusses over you, muttering about bruised cartilage, strained muscles, nearly crushed windpipe. You lie back on the cot, chest rising and falling unsteadily. The pain dulls slightly after drinking a tonic, but your head is hazy.

Through it all, Dain doesn’t leave. He stays in the chair beside your bed, arms on his knees, hands clasped so tightly the knuckles whiten. His eyes track every movement Winifred makes, every time you wince in pain, every breath you drag in.

When Winifred departs with instructions to rest, you shift slightly, blinking at him. “Why are you still here?”

He freezes. For a moment, you think he might brush it off, might feed you some empty line about duty or making sure you can walk back to the barracks. But that’s not Dain Aetos.

Dain Aetos has never been a liar.

“I shouldn’t be,” he admits quietly. His voice is raw, like gravel. “I should’ve walked out the moment Winifred was with you. I should be with our squad, doing what’s expected of me.”

You tilt your head, frowning. “Then why—?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you.” The words burst from him, sharp with the force of truth. He swears softly, dragging a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t stop. “You’re Xaden’s sister. My cadet. My responsibility. Everything about this is wrong. I know that. I’ve tried to bury it. To shove it so deep it’ll never see the light of day.” His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. “But when Barlowe had his arm around your throat, I nearly lost it. It took everything in me not to charge onto that mat and rip him off you.”

Your chest aches from the weight of his confession.

“You care about me,” you whisper, like saying it aloud makes it real.

His eyes snap to yours. They burn, molten with feelings he’s fought so long to smother. “More than I should.”

Silence stretches between you. Your breath catches, and you find yourself reaching, your fingers brushing over the back of his clenched fist. His hand opens instantly, like it’s been waiting for yours all along.

“Dain,” you murmur, your voice softer than the linen sheets beneath you.

He shakes his head once, a bitter edge to it. “Tell me to leave, and I will. Tell me this can’t happen, and I’ll bury it again. For you. For all the rules that say I don’t get to want you.”

You swallow hard.

Slowly, you lace your fingers through his, and whisper, “Stay.”

The tension in him washes away instantly. His shoulders sag, his breath shudders out, and he bows his head until his forehead rests against the edge of your cot, still holding your hand like it’s the only tether keeping him grounded.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmurs again, but there’s no fight left in it. Only relief.

Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, gentle, steady. “But you are.”

The moment is interrupted by the sound of the curtain around your cot being ripped open, startling you and Dain. Your brother stares down at the two of you, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Xaden demands through gritted teeth.

You try to push yourself up too fast and wince, both men’s gaze narrowing in on the reaction, Dain’s hand moving to support your back. You face your brother with as much steel in your expression as you can manage.

“Dain helped me to the infirmary,” you say, glancing at Dain. “And we… talked.”

“Talked?” your brother asks, his tone conveying his dismay at the situation he’s found you in.

Dain stands, his hand sliding up to grip your shoulder. “I told her I cared about her. As more than a friend.”

“Is that so?” Your brother’s voice is deceptively calm, sending chills down your spine. “May I have a word with my sister? Alone.”

Though he phrases it as a question, you all know he’s not asking. You nod anyway, conveying to Dain that it’s alright with your eyes.

Dain sighs, squeezes your shoulder, and with a backward glance at you, leaves the cubicle.

Xaden waits for the curtain to close, and the sound of Dain’s receding footsteps before whirling on you. “What the fuck are you thinking? Aetos? Really? You could fuck almost anyone in this entire college and I wouldn’t bat an eye, and you just had to choose him?”

Your face heats with anger and embarrassment. “First of all,” you growl, “I haven’t fucked him, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

“It is my business!” he interrupts. “You are my business. As my little sister, and as my heir should things go sideways, everything you do is my business. We’re—fuck.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose before motioning for you to move your legs. He takes a deep breath once he sits down, the anger in his eyes melting into something softer. “We are in the middle of the second rebellion,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be the mean, controlling older brother, but I have to draw a line here. Being associated with him could put us all in danger. We have lives counting on us. Is he really worth sentencing us and all our friends to death?”

“He’s not what you think,” you mutter. At Xaden’s disbelieving face, you continue. “He’s not! He’s… kind. And responsible, and caring, and—” You sigh. “It’s not like I’m planning to tell him all my secrets tomorrow. I don’t even know if we’ll work out. But I really like him, Xaden, and I would appreciate it if you had a little more faith in me. And maybe got off your high horse. Getting involved with the Commanding General’s daughter is way worse than some measly Colonel’s son.”

Xaden scoffs a laugh at that, then his face grows more serious. “I don’t like it. I don’t like him. But you are my sister, and I do trust you. Just try not to get us all killed, would you? I’d hate to meet Dad in Malek’s realm and explain how we got there.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips free, grateful your brother is trusting you. “Thank you, Xaden,” you murmur. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” he responds without hesitation, patting your knee. “You can quit sulking now, Aetos,” he calls out toward the curtain, causing you to squeak in horror.

“Xaden!” you admonish, but he just rolls his eyes and stares down the curtains.

The curtain is pulled back, and judging by the look on Dain’s face, he is not happy with your brother’s comment but is doing his best to not take the bait. “You called?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Xaden rises from the cot, and your body tenses. You may not be in the best shape at the moment, but if they fight, you’re the only one around to break them up. Or to run and find Garrick so he can break them up.

“I have decided not to kill you for being involved with my sister,” he says, sticking his hand out.

Dain eyes it warily, then looks at you for direction. At your nod, he clasps Xaden’s hand with his.

Xaden immediately crushes Dain’s hand, squeezing until his knuckles are white and Dain’s fingertips turn purple. “But if you ever,” he starts through gritted teeth, “hurt my sister, physically or emotionally, directly or indirectly, I will chop off your balls and hang them as mistletoe for Winter Solstice. Are we clear?”

You’re certain your jaw has dropped all the way down to the Archives, but Dain simply shakes his hand. “We’re clear.”

Xaden nods, releases Dain from his death grip, and heads for the curtain. “I’ll see you later,” he says to you. “I’m going to go kill Barlowe while Garrick uselessly tries to stop me.” He slides a glare toward Dain. “Try not to add yourself to the list.”

At Dain’s nod, he leaves, you and Dain in relative privacy once again.

You chuckle nervously. “I am so sorry about that, he can be a real—”

“Dick?” Dain supplies as he moves to take Xaden’s previous place on your cot. “I’m aware. But it’s alright. I don’t know what it’s like to have a little sister, but I can’t promise I’d be much better if roles were reversed. I’m just glad he’s decided not to kill me for the time being.”

A big smile spreads across your face. “So he didn’t scare you off for the foreseeable future?”

Dain scoffs. “No. Don’t get me wrong, your brother is terrifying. But it’s going to take a lot more than death threats to get me to leave you alone.”

“What could possibly be worse than death threats?” you tease.

“I guess we’ll never know,” he shrugs. “Because I finally get to call you mine, and I am never letting you go.”

You lean forward slowly, eyes flicking back and forth between Dain’s eyes and lips.

He beats you to it though, surging forward, connecting his lips with yours, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw.

Azriel’s been patient. He never pushed you, never demanded more of you. He holds you when the nightmares cause you to wake up screaming . He brings you food and tries to encourage you to eat. Sometimes he gets you to eat a few bites, but he never makes you feel bad when you don’t.

The bedroom door creaked open as Azriel stepped inside, his wings folded tight to his back, his shoulders tense. He set a stack of reports on the desk, his face shadowed in the dim light.

“Hi, love,” he murmured, his voice soft and gentle.

You didn’t answer. You haven’t answered in days. The words were there, but lost somewhere in the jumbled mess of your mind. It was like your voice was just another thing you lost.

He sighed, his hazel eyes dark with worry as he sat down beside you on the bed. He brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. “You’ve been in bed too long, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Your muscles will weaken if you don’t move.”

You stared at the wall, your hands fisting in the blanket. The prosthetic leg glinted in the corner of your vision, mocking you with its presence.

“Why don’t we try going for a walk?” Azriel suggested gently. “Just around the house. We don’t have to go far.”

A walk. Like it was so simple. Like you could just stand up and pretend everything was normal. Rage flickered hot in your chest, the first thing you’ve felt in days. Your fingers tightened in the blanket until your knuckles ached.

“I can help you put it on,” he continued softly, reaching for the prosthetic.

“No!” The word ripped from your throat, your first in days. It was hoarse and quieter than you intended, but your anger was unmistakable. Before he could react, you snatched the leg off the floor and hurled it across the room. It clattered against the wall and fell with a dull thud.

“I don’t want this stupid leg!” you screamed, tears blurring your vision. “I want my leg. My real leg!”

Azriel didn’t even flinch. He just watched you, his shadows curling protectively around him, around you. You could feel the sharp spike of his grief, his helplessness through the bond. But under it all was his fierce, unwavering love.

“I know, love,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “If I could go back in time and change all of this for you, make sure you didn’t go on that mission… I would. In a heartbeat. But I can’t. We can’t go back. This is our reality now.”

He lifted his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I know it’s hard. I know it fucking sucks. But you can’t just give up. I refuse to let my mate, the love of my life, give up.”

Your shoulders shook as sobs broke free, the dam finally shattering. “I can’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m not… I’m not me anymore. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Azriel’s eyes filled with tears, his shadows brushing over your skin in an effort to soothe. “You are still the beautiful, brilliant, strong female I fell in love with,” he said fiercely. “The only one who doesn’t believe that is you.”

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you tight against his chest. You buried your face in his neck, your sobs shaking both of you. His own tears wet your hair as he whispered over and over, “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”

You stayed there for a long time, the two of you clinging to each other like lifelines. His scent grounded you, his warmth seeping into the frozen parts of your soul. The bond between you thrummed with his devotion, his unshakable belief in you.

When your sobs finally eased, you felt his fingers brush your hair back. He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how strong you still are.”

You shook your head, but he hushed you. “I’m not asking you to be okay overnight,” he said. “I’m not asking you to pretend this didn’t happen. But I’m asking you to try. Just one step, love. For me.”

His shadows slithered across the floor, retrieving the prosthetic from where it landed. They curled around it, gentle and careful, as if even the leg deserved compassion. Azriel took it from them, turning back to you with a small, encouraging smile.

“Can I put it on for you?” he asked softly.

Your throat felt tight, your heart hammering in your chest. But you nodded, your eyes flicking to the leg. It’s… beautiful, you realize. Sleek and silver, engraved with delicate patterns of swirls and stars. High Lord Thesan had said it was made just for you. A gift from one court to another.

Azriel shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his fingers deft as he adjusted the straps and buckles. His touch was reverent, careful, as if he was handling something precious. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You nodded again, biting your lip. He slid the prosthetic onto your thigh, adjusting the mechanisms until it fit snugly against your skin. Every brush of his hands sent shivers down your spine. “Does it hurt?” he murmured.

“No,” you whispered, though your voice trembled. “It’s… it’s okay.”

He smiled, relief flickering in his eyes. “Good.” He ran his hands over the straps once more, checking and double-checking. Then he reached for your hands, his fingers warm and strong around yours.

“Are you ready to try standing?” he asked

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“That’s all right,” he said gently. “I’ll be right here. I won’t let you fall.”

You took a deep breath, clutching his hands. He shifted, his wings flaring slightly for balance as he slowly pulled you upright. Your other leg wobbled, the prosthetic foreign and strange beneath you. You felt like you were going to tip over, but Azriel’s hands tightened around yours.

“You’re doing it, love,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re standing.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks again. It was so hard—harder than you imagined. Your muscles shook with the effort, your balance precarious. But you were up. You were standing.

“See?” he murmured, his forehead pressing to yours. “You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted in a broken whisper.

“I know,” he said, his lips brushing your temple. “But I’m here. Always.”

He stepped back just a little, holding your hands tight. “Do you want to try to make it to the balcony?” he asked softly. “It’s only a few steps. I’ll walk backwards the whole way. My shadows will help if you need it.”

You glanced at the balcony doors, the soft sunlight spilling in. It seemed so far away. An impossible distance. But you trusted him. You trusted him more than you trusted yourself right now.

“Okay,” you breathed.

His smile was soft and proud as he began to walk backwards, his hands steady on yours. Each step was a battle—your balance wobbly, your body straining to adjust to the new weight and feel of the prosthetic. Tears slid down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Azriel’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his quiet encouragement wrapping around you like a shield.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

His shadows slithered up to your torso, cool and comforting as they steadied you. You clutched his hands like a lifeline, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps.

Finally, you reached the balcony. He eased you down onto the cushioned couch on the balcony, the cool breeze washing over your sweat-slick skin. You were crying again, but these were different tears. Tears of relief and pride and something like hope.

Azriel sat beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his tears wet against your skin.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “So fucking proud, love.”

You turned to him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He lifted your chin, his eyes shining. “You did it, love. I was just here to remind you of what you’re capable of.”

For a long moment, you sat there together, gazing out at the city below. You hadn’t seen the sun, or heard the birds, or felt the breeze in so long. A small smile spread across your face.

“You’re still you,” Azriel said softly, his voice full of conviction. “No matter what. And I will love you in sickness and in health, just like I promised.”

You closed your eyes, your hand finding his. “I love you too,” you whispered. “Even when I don’t love myself.”

He brushed his lips against yours, a gentle, reverent kiss. “Then I’ll love you enough for both of us,” he murmured. “Until you learn how to love yourself again.”

“We need cover,” Eris calls over the rain.

You don’t argue.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand, and without hesitation, turns left through the thickest part of the glade. You follow in his wake, heart hammering harder with each icy drop that soaks into your clothes.

Between an opening in the trees you can barely see it, nothing more than a darkened shape in the distance, but it’s a cabin Eris is leading you to. He ushers you through the door without a word.

Inside, it’s cold and dark. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen are all squished into one large room, and Eris snaps his finger to light a fire in the hearth before peeling off his soaked cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door.

You do the same, peeling damp gloves off numb fingers. You’re dripping wet, hair sticking to your face, and water trickling down your spine.

Eris glances over his shoulder. “There are towels in the closet,” he says pointing to the door behind the couch.

You grab one, toweling your arms and neck before sitting in front of the hearth. You sigh at the warmth, relishing in the way your hands grow hot, but you’re still shivering.

Eris crouches beside you, face half-lit by firelight, eyes scanning you. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“You’re practically turning blue.”

You scowl. “I wasn’t prepared to get soaking wet today, or else I would have worn thicker clothes.”

He huffs a laugh. “You should start carrying a bag with you. Stuff a coat in it for the next time this happens.”

He stands again, shedding his jacket and revealing a white, low v-neck tunic. You try not to stare at the pale, freckled skin peeking out, the way you can see the indent of his muscular pectorals.

“There’s only one bed,” he says eventually.

You look over. There is, in fact, only one. The couch is threadbare and barely big enough for a hound, let alone either of you.

“I’ll take the floor,” you offer.

“No, you won’t.” His tone is sharp. “We’ll share.”

Your throat dries, but you nod and take your boots off, then hover near the bed, wringing your hands.

He goes to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulls out a red tunic and black pants. “Here,” he calls, tossing the tunic at you. “You can change in the bathroom. You’re not getting my bed wet with those clothes.

You nod mutely and walk to the bathroom, locking the door behind you before you begin to remove your clothes. Eris’s tunic comes down to your knees, nearly the length of your usual night gown, modest enough that you don’t feel too exposed. When you emerge, Eris has already changed into the pants and…is wearing nothing else.

You gulp, your eyes roaming over his freckled and scarred abs before snapping your eyes back up. “I—uh—I just left my clothes hanging on the tub, if that’s okay.”

Eris dips his chin. “It’s fine.”

You both crawl into the bed, Eris using his magic to dim the fire without putting it out. The bed is too small for the both of you to keep a reasonable amount of space between an employee and an employer. You try to keep your distance, curling near the edge, but the chill seeps into your bones. You may have changed clothes, but your hair is still dripping. You can’t help the trembling. The only sound in the cabin is your chattering teeth.

“Come here,” Eris murmurs.

You freeze.

“I can warm you,” he says. “And I can’t sleep with that incessant noise.”

You hesitate only a moment before turning.

He’s already watching you.

Carefully, you scoot closer. His arm opens, inviting, and you press against his chest. One of his arms curls around you. You bury your face against him, breathing in cinnamon and wood smoke. The warmth is blissful. But then you feel it. The brush of his fingers against your spine. The way his chest rises, tense. The steady drum of his heartbeat just below your ear.

And something else.

A coil of need tightening low in your belly. You should move. You should ignore it. But you don’t. Instead, your hand slides up his chest, slow and curious. His skin is hot to the touch. His breath catches, and you feel it the moment he notices. The scent of your arousal hits the air, subtle and sweet—but not subtle enough.

Eris growls. It’s low, guttural. His arm tightens around you, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “You smell delicious. Is that for me?”

You swallow hard but don't deny it.

His nose brushes your jaw. “You’ve been tempting me all damn day.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you protest.

“You exist,” he snaps quietly. “You breathe and I want to burn the world for a taste of you.”

His fingers tilt your chin up. His eyes blaze like twin embers. “I can’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Can you?”

“No,” you whisper.

His mouth is on yours before the word has fully left your lips. You don’t even try to stop it. His kiss is all heat and hunger, devouring and desperate. His hand tangles in your hair as he presses you down into the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You arch into him, every inch of your body aching for contact.

You don’t even notice him take his pants off or pull your panties to the side. You only care that his skin is searing against yours, that his hands know exactly how to touch you. When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow. Deep. Like he’s trying to memorize how you feel around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel divine.”

You can barely breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he swears, voice cracked. “I could live inside you.”

His rhythm starts steady, building heat between your hips, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist. You claw at his back, chasing the fire building inside. He thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping, incoherent. He murmurs praises against your throat—beautiful, perfect, mine. Each word sinks deeper than his cock, and it undoes you.

Pleasure shatters through your spine like lightning.

You cry out his name, and he follows with a strangled sound, spilling into you as he holds you through it, shaking with the force of restraint broken.

The storm outside howls.

Inside, there is only your breathing, tangled limbs, the scent of sex and sweat, and something more dangerous blooming in your chest.

Love.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips softer now. Reverent. “You’ve always been mine,” he whispers.

You turn your face into his neck, warm and full and content.

“I know,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the flame-marked skin of his back. “I was just waiting for you to realize it.”