Pinned
Something Old and Something New (Part 1) Something Borrowed (Part 2) Something Blue (part 3 coming soon)
A Crown fit for a God (Series in Progress) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Third Love Prologue ~ El Musico Ch 1 ~ La Dama Ch 2 ~ La Maceta Ch 3 ~ El Boracho Ch 4 ~ El Soldado Ch 5 ~ La Rosa Ch 6 ~ El Cotorro Ch 7 ~ El Catrin Ch 8 ( In Drafts)
The one that got away Part 1 Part 2
Mirror Mirror
♡ azriel (my shadowsinger husband)
↳ and i wouldn't marry me, either by @/bluetimeombre
↳ brooding, cuddly shadowsinger by @/inkedinshadows
↳ lessons in care by @/pellucid-constellations
↳ to feel at home by @/pellucid-constellations
↳ knowing you by @/pellucid-constellations
↳ when the water recedes by @/flowersforjude
blush by @kymawrites
↳ you make it better part 1 by @/kymawrites
↳ you make it better part 2 by @/kymawrites
Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 5.9k | warnings: SMUT, piv, fingering, cheating?, light choking, creampie
Summary: Azriel’s promise to be more attentive is proving true. When he wants to take you back to where it all started, what happens when there’s someone unexpected in his stead?
Previous part | Next part | Masterlist
pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel, the feared and disciplined Spymaster of the Night Court, has spent centuries longing for a mate. When the Cauldron finally grants him one, it is not the gentle, soft-hearted Elain, the female he has chosen to love, but you—Helion’s wild, untamed, and fiercely independent daughter.
A renowned singer, vibrant, and utterly untouchable, you have spent your life knowing that men only ever want something from you. When the bond snaps between you and Azriel, you want nothing to do with it—or him. He is dark, lethal, and bound to another, while you are free-spirited, full of fire, and unwilling to let fate dictate your choices.
Rejecting the bond could break him. Could destroy him.
And if he walks away from you now, he may never recover.
But is it too late to stop himself?
Or has he already fallen into the fire?
_____________________________________________________________
content warnings: angst, talk of impending war
word count: 5.3k
Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld @frietiemeloen @the-hidey-hole
Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
********
Chapter 8
The moment you winnowed into Day Court, the golden sands and warm sunlight that usually brought you peace felt heavy.
Because you knew.
Even before you reached your father’s palace, even before you saw the grim expressions on the faces of the Day Court sentries standing at attention.
War was coming.
Hybern’s forces were advancing.
And everything was about to change.
You strode quickly through the marble halls of the palace, your boots echoing off the gilded walls, your heart pounding in your chest.
When you reached your father’s study, the doors were already open, as if Helion had been waiting for you.
His golden eyes met yours the moment you entered, and for the briefest second, his expression softened.
And then it was gone.
Replaced by the stern, battle-worn gaze of a High Lord preparing for war.
"You're back," Helion said, setting down a parchment on his desk. "Good."
You crossed your arms, your pulse still racing. "Tell me what’s happening."
Helion sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before gesturing to a map of Prythian spread out before him.
"Hybern’s army is on the move." His voice was grave, edged with exhaustion. "We’ve coordinated with the other courts, but Day Court’s forces will be stationed on a different flank than the rest of the armies. Rhys, Tarquin, and Thesan will be positioned near the western borders. We will hold the eastern front."
Your breath hitched. "So we’ll be isolated?"
Helion nodded.
"We will be outnumbered," he admitted. "But we must hold the line long enough for reinforcements to arrive."
Your stomach twisted.
"Let me come."
Helion’s head snapped up. "Absolutely not."
You scowled. "Papa, I - "
"No." His voice was sharp, unwavering. "You are my daughter. A High Lord’s daughter. If you were captured, you could be tortured or killed. I will not risk that."
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I can help," you argued. "I can heal the wounded - "
"No," he repeated, his jaw tightening. "I know you. And I know that you will not be content sitting in a healing tent while others fight. You will throw yourself into battle without thinking twice. And I refuse to lose you."
Your chest ached, your throat burning.
Because he was right.
You had no intention of sitting back while others fought.
Even if it meant defying your father.
"Where’s Lucien?" you asked, changing the subject, your voice strained.
Helion hesitated.
"He left to find Vassa and Jurian."
Your heart skipped a beat. "He’s trying to get their support?"
Helion nodded. "If they can gather their forces, they may be able to help turn the tide of the battle."
You swallowed hard, nodding. "Good."
But Helion’s gaze lingered on you, watching you carefully.
And then he asked, "How was the cabin?"
You froze.
Your body went rigid, your heartbeat stuttering in your chest.
Helion’s lips twitched slightly, knowingly.
"Azriel showed up, didn’t he?"
Your eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you have something to do with that?"
Helion sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Azriel came to see me right after you left. He wanted to talk to you. To explore the bond. I thought it would be good for you both to spend some time alone together."
Your throat tightened.
Because you had spent the past two days with Azriel, and now he was gone, and nothing had been decided.
"Did you or Azriel decide to accept the bond?" Helion asked carefully.
You let out a slow, shaky exhale.
"I want to."
Helion’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze searching yours.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing the words out.
"I’m falling in love with him."
Saying it aloud made it real.
Made your heart clench, made your entire body tremble.
Helion’s golden eyes softened.
But then you shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself.
"But I still don’t know where he stands with Elain."
Helion was silent. Waiting.
So you kept talking.
"I know he still loves her." Your voice cracked slightly. "And when he left for war, nothing was decided."
Helion sighed, running a hand through his golden curls. "He’s a male bound by duty, my love. And I think he is warring with himself over what he feels and what he thinks he should do."
You let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
Helion tilted his head. "And what about Ryder?"
You took a deep breath.
"I’m ending things with him."
Helion didn’t look surprised.
"Ryder is a good male," you admitted, your voice softer now. "And he has always loved me exactly as I am. But he deserves someone who will burn for him the way he burns for them. And I know now that person isn’t me."
Helion nodded slowly, his gaze gentle. "And how do you feel about that?"
You exhaled. "Sad. I don’t want to hurt him. But I know I have to let him go."
Helion was quiet for a long moment.
Then, finally, he stood from his chair, rounding the desk until he stood before you.
He reached out, cupping your cheek with his warm hand.
"My fierce girl," he murmured. "You’ve always known exactly what you want. And I think… I think you’ve already made your choice."
Your chest tightened, and you looked away.
"I just don’t want to be second choice," you admitted.
Helion sighed, his thumb brushing against your cheek.
"Then don’t be."
You looked up at him, meeting his golden gaze.
And you knew he was right.
You had made your choice.
And now, it was up to Azriel to make his.
*****
You strode into your chambers, the golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows along the polished marble floor.
Your hands moved with purpose, pulling open the armoire, pushing aside delicate gowns and fine silks until you found what you were looking for.
Your fighting leathers.
You pulled them out without hesitation, knowing full well that you had no intention of obeying your father’s orders.
You couldn’t just sit back while the world was on the brink of war.
You refused to.
Quickly, you began packing them, folding the leather with practiced efficiency, your movements calculated, precise.
And then a knock at the door.
Your hands paused.
You inhaled slowly, already knowing who it was.
You opened the door.
And there he stood.
Ryder.
His broad frame filled the doorway, his gorgeous blue eyes searching your face immediately.
"Can I see you?" he asked, his voice soft, careful.
You nodded, stepping aside, letting him into the dimly lit chamber.
The moment the door shut, Ryder turned to you and without another word, pulled you into his arms.
And for a moment you let him.
You let yourself feel the familiarity of him, the warmth of his embrace, the steady heartbeat against your cheek.
But it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t what you wanted.
It wasn’t who you wanted.
Then, suddenly he tensed.
He stepped back, his hands still on your arms, his eyes sharp, knowing.
And then, he inhaled deeply.
And his jaw tightened.
"You have the Shadowsinger’s scent all over you."
Your stomach dropped.
You knew this was coming.
You owed him the truth.
So you took a steadying breath and met his gaze head-on.
"Azriel came to the cabin," you admitted. "We spent the day together. We talked, we hiked, we… got to know each other."
Ryder’s lips pressed into a thin line.
"Is that all you did?"
Your silence was answer enough.
His expression didn’t change.
"Did you accept the bond?" His voice was calm, but strained, raw.
You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "Not yet."
Relief flickered briefly in his eyes before it disappeared entirely.
Because he already knew.
"But you’re going to."
It wasn’t a question.
Your throat tightened. "Ryder, I -"
"Tell me the truth."
You sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the words out.
"I’m falling in love with him."
Ryder’s entire body locked up.
And for a moment, he just stared at you.
Like he was trying to make sense of this.
Of what it meant.
Of what it meant for you and him.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
"And what about me?"
Your chest ached, because gods, you never wanted to hurt him.
You reached for him, but he stepped back.
Your hand dropped to your side.
"Ryder, I love you."
His breath hitched.
"But not in the same way I’m falling in love with Azriel."
Ryder’s face cracked for the briefest moment before he set his jaw, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"So that’s it then." His voice was quiet, but not emotionless.
It was heavy.
Strained.
"You are a good man, Ryder." Your voice was soft, aching. "And you deserve more."
His jaw clenched.
"More?"
You exhaled shakily. "You deserve someone who burns to be with you. Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved."
His throat bobbed.
"And that person isn’t you."
Tears burned behind your eyes.
"No. It isn’t."
The silence between you was deafening.
Ryder’s hands curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp, measured inhales as he stared at you—the female he had loved for years.
And he knew.
He had lost you.
Maybe he had lost you the moment Azriel walked into your life.
Maybe he had lost you long before that.
Finally he spoke.
"I would’ve given you everything."
Your chest caved in on itself.
"I know."
"And I would’ve spent the rest of my life loving you."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"I know."
Ryder let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face.
And then his voice cracked.
"I just thought… I thought you might have loved me the same way."
Your breath caught in your throat.
Because that was the thing.
You had loved him.
But not like that.
Not like the way you burned for Azriel.
Not like the way you ached for him, the way you couldn’t get him out of your mind, the way you had never felt so alive, so unhinged, so desperate to be near someone before.
So you said the only thing you could.
"I’m so sorry, Ryder."
Ryder’s eyes shone with heartbreak.
But then, he just nodded.
Nodded as if accepting defeat.
As if accepting that you were never his to keep.
The silence between you and Ryder stretched, thick, heavy, filled with all the things neither of you could take back.
He was still standing by the door, his shoulders tense, his breathing steady but shallow. You knew he was holding himself together, just like you were.
And then, before he could reach for the handle, before he could leave and close the door between you forever, you whispered.
“Are you going to fight?”
Ryder stilled.
His blue eyes flickered with something unreadable, something aching, as he turned back to you.
"Yes."
The single word hung in the air between you, laced with unspoken meanings.
You swallowed, your heart clenching painfully.
You had fought wars of your own.
You had fought battles within yourself, with your father, with the expectations placed upon you.
But war, real war, was something different.
Something far more unforgiving.
"I will pray to the Mother for your safe return," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
His throat bobbed, and for the first time, his expression cracked.
He looked at you like he wanted to say something…something important, something final.
But instead, he let out a shaky breath and reached for you.
And you let him.
You stepped into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his waist, your cheek pressing against his chest.
And when his arms came around you, they weren’t just holding you.
They were memorizing you.
Because this was the last time.
The last time you would feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
The last time you would be wrapped in his warmth.
The last time he would hold you as if you belonged to him.
His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressed against the crown of your head, and you squeezed your eyes shut against the burn of tears.
You loved him.
You did.
But not in the way that he deserved.
Not in the way you had come to realize you could love someone.
And he deserved more than half of you.
Deserved more than a heart that already belonged to another.
Then, just as you were about to step away, just as you were about to say goodbye, he tilted your chin up.
And kissed you.
Not a soft kiss.
Not a hesitant one.
But deep.
Desperate.
Passionate.
A kiss that tasted like goodbye.
A kiss that wasn’t meant to change your mind, but meant to remind you of everything you had been to each other.
His fingers tightened in your hair, his body pressing against yours as his lips moved against yours, searing and raw, unrelenting.
He kissed you like he was trying to carve the memory of him into your soul.
Like he wanted to make sure that, even if you had chosen another, you would never forget what you once had with him.
You let him.
You let him kiss you until you could no longer breathe.
Until your fingers clutched at his shirt, until the tears you had been holding in finally fell.
And then, slowly he pulled away.
His forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky, uneven.
And when he finally opened his eyes, they were full of sorrow.
"I will always love you."
His voice was barely a whisper.
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And you stood there, motionless, your hands trembling, your chest aching as you tried to catch your breath.
Tried to process the fact that you had just broken the heart of the one person who had always been steadfast.
The one person who had loved you without question, without hesitation.
And yet your own heart was shattering, too.
Because even though you had chosen another, even though you knew this was right, losing Ryder still felt like losing a piece of yourself.
*****
Azriel winnowed directly onto the steps of the House of Wind, exhaustion sinking into his very bones.
His heart was still pounding, his thoughts still tangled in the last moments he had spent with you at the cabin.
The way your lips had felt against his, the way your scent had wrapped around him like a vice he didn’t want to escape.
The moment he stepped inside, he barely had time to breathe before Elain was in front of him.
Waiting.
Her honey-brown eyes were wide, worried, but the second she saw him, her expression cracked into relief.
She threw herself into his arms, pulling him close, pressing her lips to his before he could react.
But the moment her body pressed against his chest, her nose scrunched.
She pulled back, just slightly.
And then, she stiffened.
Her soft, delicate features tightened.
Her fingers curled into his tunic.
"Where have you been?" she asked quietly, her voice already shaking.
Azriel closed his eyes briefly, knowing this conversation was inevitable.
"Rhys didn’t tell you?"
Elain shook her head, taking a step back. "No. He refused to say anything."
She studied his face, her throat working as she took him in.
Her nose flared again.
And then, suddenly her eyes widened.
Her breath hitched as her hand shot up to cover her mouth.
She smelled you.
"You were with her."
It wasn’t a question.
Azriel’s jaw clenched.
He said nothing.
And Elain broke.
Tears instantly welled in her eyes, and she took a stumbling step back, shaking her head.
"You promised me," she whispered. "You said you would reject the bond with her. You said you chose me, Azriel."
Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his voice calm, steady.
"I went to see her," he admitted. "At Helion’s cabin in Vallahan. To try and determine what this bond means for both of us."
Elain’s eyes widened even more, her face paling.
"You went to her?"
Her voice broke.
"And did you reject it?"
Azriel hesitated.
Elain’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands trembling.
"Azriel, tell me you rejected it."
His throat tightened.
And then softly, quietly, he spoke the words that would unravel her.
"No."
A sharp, choked sound escaped her lips.
"No?"
Her fingers clutched at the fabric of her dress, her eyes brimming with devastation.
"But you promised me."
Azriel swallowed the knot in his throat.
"Elain, I - "
"You were supposed to choose me, not her!"
Her voice rose, raw, frantic.
"You said you would reject the bond. That it didn’t matter, that we loved each other."
Azriel exhaled, stepping toward her, but she took another step back, her entire body trembling.
"Elain, I haven’t chosen her."
His words only made her flinch.
His throat bobbed, his hands clenching at his sides.
"But I need to explore what this bond means."
Elain squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head violently.
"Why?"
Her voice was so soft, so broken.
"Why, Azriel? You said you wanted me. That I was enough."
Azriel’s chest ached, but he forced himself to answer honestly.
"I have prayed for centuries for a mate."
Elain went still.
Her expression shattered.
And then her voice cracked.
"Do you still love me?"
Azriel felt like his lungs had been crushed.
He hated what this was doing to her.
He hated what this was doing to himself.
But he couldn’t lie to her.
Not anymore.
"Yes, I still love you."
Her breath caught.
For a moment, she just stared at him, hope flickering in her eyes.
And then she asked the one question that made the air leave his lungs.
"Do you love her?"
Azriel’s lips parted slightly.
But no sound came out.
Because he didn’t know how to answer that.
His heart was in chaos.
He knew how he felt with you.
Knew the fire, the intensity, the pull, the way he had never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted you.
But did he love you?
He thought of your stormy gray eyes, the way you had looked at him when he left the cabin, the way your touch had ignited something primal, something irrevocable inside of him.
He thought of the way you had made him laugh, the way you had challenged him, the way he felt like he could finally be his true self when he was with you.
He thought of the way you had kissed him—like he was the only male in the world.
But love…
Love was terrifying.
Love meant making a choice.
And he was still stuck between a promise and fate.
So instead he told the only truth he could find.
"I don’t know."
Elain’s entire body trembled. A choked, gutted sound tore from her throat as she turned away from him, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.
But Azriel reached for her.
He pulled her back into his arms, held her tightly even as his shadows skittered away.
Because she was not you.
And they knew it.
A bitter realization coiled in his chest.
But he pushed it down, forced himself to hold her, comfort her, whisper soft reassurances.
"I love you, Elain," he murmured into her hair, rubbing slow, careful circles along her back. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."
She cried harder.
And he let her.
He held her while her sobs wracked her fragile body, while she clung to him like he was her lifeline.
But as the minutes dragged on, as her tears soaked into his tunic, something dark, something raw and festering, began to build inside of him.
Resentment.
Because while she expected him to reject you, to deny the very thing the Mother had chosen for him and yet…
She still had not rejected Lucien.
She still wore his mating bond like a tether, fragile but unbroken.
And yet, she demanded that Azriel sever his own.
His hands tightened around her waist, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.
And still, he said nothing.
Still, he let her cry.
Still, he whispered, "We’ll figure this out together. Like we always have."
And it felt like a lie.
Because all he wanted now was you.
The storm in your eyes.
The fire in your soul.
The way you made him feel like he was unraveling and putting himself back together all at once.
The way you saw him, all of him.
But he had made a promise to Elain.
And his word, his duty had always meant everything to him.
So he led her to her room, guiding her gently through the halls of the House of Wind.
He laid her down on the bed, brushing a hand over her hair, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
Kissing her like he was trying to convince himself that this was what he wanted.
That this was still what he wanted.
She reached for him, curling against him as if she expected him to stay.
But as her breathing evened out, as she finally succumbed to sleep Azriel just sat there, staring at the ceiling, drowning in a whirlpool of emotions.
And then a voice slipped into his mind, dark and authoritative.
Rhys.
"Meet us in the war room. Cassian and I are waiting. Thesan and Tarquin have arrived."
Azriel closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow exhale.
War.
Reality slamming into him like a blade to the chest.
Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from Elain’s sleeping form, pulling the blankets over her before slipping out of the room without another word.
Without another look back.
Because right now, none of it mattered.
Not the bond.
Not his feelings.
Not the war raging inside of him.
Only the war that was about to consume them all.
*****
Azriel strode into the war room, his boots echoing against the stone floor as he took in the gathered High Lords and commanders.
Rhysand stood at the head of the massive wooden table, his violet eyes sharp and serious as he nodded in greeting. Cassian was already seated, arms crossed over his chest, his expression grim.
To Rhysand’s right, Tarquin of the Summer Court stood, his sea-blue eyes stormy as he studied the war maps before him. Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn, stood at the opposite side, his golden robes flowing, his face unreadable.
Azriel took his place beside Cassian, his shadows whispering, uneasy.
Rhysand wasted no time.
“Hybern is advancing,” he said, his voice steady, but heavy with the weight of what was to come.
"They’re sending the bulk of their forces to the western front, where we—along with Tarquin and Thesan’s forces—will hold the line."
Azriel’s eyes tracked the map, following the markers of thousands of enemy troops, his jaw tightening.
Rhysand continued.
"But another army of Hybern’s men is moving toward Day Court."
The words slammed into Azriel like a physical blow.
His spine went rigid.
Rhys kept going, unaware, of the way Azriel’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.
"Helion’s forces will hold the eastern flank until Lucien hopefully returns with reinforcements from Vassa and Jurian. He’s also in negotiations with Kallias, trying to get Winter Court to assist with the eastern front."
Azriel’s jaw locked.
Because he knew.
He knew you.
Knew that you would never sit back and let the battle unfold around you.
Knew that your fiery spirit would push you to the front lines.
And Helion had trained you to fight.
You weren’t some delicate courtier. You were a warrior. A High Lord’s daughter who had spent years pushing against expectations, against limitations.
And the thought of you out there, surrounded by enemy forces, fighting for your life—
No.
His entire body tensed with the urge to act.
He looked to Rhysand, his voice low, unyielding.
"Let me take some of our soldiers and go to Day Court."
Rhys didn’t even hesitate before shaking his head.
"It’s already been decided, Az. You’re needed here. The western front will be the most brutal."
"But Helion’s army - "
"Will hold."
"They’ll be outnumbered."
Rhys’s gaze softened, knowing, but let out a breath but shook his head.
"I need you here, Az. If we fall, there won’t be a Day Court left to save."
Azriel knew Rhys was right.
Knew that strategy came first.
But it didn’t make it easier.
Didn’t make the weight in his chest any lighter.
So he said nothing and turned back toward the table, listening in grim silence as the High Lords and commanders continued to discuss battle strategies.
He prepared himself for war.
For the fight ahead.
For what could be his last battle.
*****
After the meeting concluded, Rhysand dismissed the others, but just as Azriel turned to leave, Rhys spoke.
"Stay a moment, Az."
Cassian cast a knowing glance at him before heading out the door, leaving them alone.
Rhys leaned back against the table, his violet eyes studying Azriel carefully.
"How was your time with her?"
Azriel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
"Nothing was decided," he admitted. "We didn’t get the chance. Our time was cut short when you called me back for war."
Rhys nodded slowly.
But?"
Azriel’s throat bobbed.
“I’m not sure I want to reject the bond anymore."
Rhys stilled. "And what of Elain?"
Azriel’s heart twisted.
"I still love her."
The words felt strained, like they weren’t quite as true as they once had been.
Rhys studied him for a long moment before saying "But?"
Azriel swallowed hard.
"I’ve never longed for someone the way I long for Y/n."
He closed his eyes briefly, his mind replaying every moment at the cabin.
"I feel myself falling for her." His voice dropped to almost nothing. "And I don’t know how to stop it."
Rhys’s expression was careful, unreadable.
"So what’s holding you back?"
Azriel’s chest ached.
"A promise."
Rhys sighed, rubbing his temples before saying, "I know how much your word means to you, Az. But at what cost?"
Azriel had no answer.
Because the cost…
The cost might be the love of his life.
Rhys hesitated, then asked, "Does she know? How you feel?"
Azriel shook his head.
"No."
Rhys’s gaze darkened.
"And now you may never get the chance to tell her."
The words hit Azriel like a knife to the ribs.
Because fuck.
Rhys was right.
The war was here.
And if you didn’t come back…
He would have never told you.
Would have never told you that he didn’t just long for you…
He fucking needed you.
Would have never told you that he had already fallen in love with you.
Would have never claimed you as his own.
And if he lost you, if you died, never knowing how he truly felt, it would destroy him.
*****
The eastern flank of the battlefield stretched before you, hundreds upon hundreds of Day Court soldiers getting into position as campfires flickered in the growing darkness. The scent of steel, leather, and burning wood filled the air, the heavy anticipation of war weighing on everyone’s shoulders.
You wove through the rows of soldiers, your fighting leathers snug against your body, your sword sheathed at your back, knives strapped to your thighs. You had trained for this. You had been made for this.
And yet, as you stepped into the command tent, where your father stood poring over battle plans, you braced yourself for the argument that was about to unfold.
Helion turned, his golden eyes landing on you, immediately taking in your attire: the leathers, the weapons, the fire in your eyes.
His face tightened.
"Mother above, daughter of mine," he muttered, shaking his head. "What did I tell you? And why am I not surprised?"
You lifted your chin, unwavering. "I cannot sit back while everyone else fights. You trained me to fight, and I fight well. Let me do what I was meant to do."
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples, before leveling you with a firm stare.
"You will fight within my unit, then," he commanded. "I will not have you straying into the chaos of battle alone. If you stay with me, I can ensure you are not captured by Hybern's men."
You nodded, knowing this was the best compromise you would get.
He gestured to the large war map stretched across the table, high-ranking soldiers gathered around him, listening as he outlined their battle strategy.
"The Night Court, Dawn Court, and Summer Court will be holding the western flank," he explained. "But that is where the bulk of Hybern’s forces are advancing. The numbers are overwhelming, and it will be the most brutal fight. The eastern front, our front, will also face an enormous force, but not quite as many. We hold this line, we keep the battle from closing in on our lands."
You barely heard the rest.
Your mind had caught on one single, gut-wrenching truth.
Azriel was on the western flank.
Where Hybern’s greatest forces were advancing.
Your stomach dropped, the blood in your veins turning ice cold.
There was a high chance that you would never see him again.
That Hybern’s forces would swallow the western flank whole, and Azriel would be among the dead.
A dull roar filled your ears.
No.
No.
You couldn’t let this happen.
You wouldn’t.
Before you even realized what you were doing, you turned to Helion, voice shaking.
"Papa, there is something I must do."
Helion’s golden eyes snapped to yours, his face immediately filled with suspicion.
"What is it?"
You swallowed hard, your hands tightening into fists at your sides.
"I have to see Azriel."
Your father’s brows drew together.
"Why?"
Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to say it.
"Because I never got to tell him how I feel about him. And I cannot let him go into battle in two days without knowing."
Helion’s face softened, just slightly.
But then, he straightened, his voice laced with warning.
"It’s dangerous, Y/n. Hybern’s forces are moving. Spies are everywhere. If you winnow, they might sense your magic and intercept you. You would be captured before you ever reached him."
"Then I’ll ride," you said firmly.
Helion sighed, long and heavy.
Then, after a long, silent moment, he nodded.
"Take a horse, then. I will tell you the safest roads and paths our scouts have deemed clear between the eastern and western flanks. Stay away from the main routes. Ride fast, ride carefully."
Your throat tightened.
"Thank you."
His jaw tensed.
"Could I talk you out of this?"
You shook your head.
"No."
A deep, resigned sigh.
And then he pulled you into his arms.
Your father’s warmth, his strength, wrapped around you like a shield.
"My little sunbeam," he murmured against your hair. "Be safe. Come back to me."
You nodded, squeezing him tighter before you pulled away.
His golden eyes held yours.
And you saw the worry there.
The fear.
But he let you go.
The moment you mounted the sleek, black stallion, you barely gave yourself time to think.
Your father’s soldiers had given you a map, marking the safest paths through the shadowed valleys and thick forests between the two flanks.
You urged the horse forward, and then you were off.
The cool night air sliced against your skin as the horse thundered beneath you, racing through the wilderness.
Your heart pounded.
Every moment that passed was another moment closer to war.
Another moment closer to never seeing Azriel again.
The last time you had spoken, you had left so much unsaid.
And if he died…
If he went into battle never knowing how you truly felt about him…
It would destroy you.
So you rode faster.
And faster.
And prayed to the Mother that you weren’t already too late.
Word count: 3200
Mor and the reader have a plan in place to make Azriel jealous, but it backfires instead.
You sighed, resting your elbows on the kitchen counter and placing your face into your hands. “Mor- please, don’t start this.”
“I’m not starting anything, Y/N.” Mor disagreed, stirring the tear in her mug with a spoon. “I think I’m finally ending this pining game that you are putting yourself through.”
“I don’t pine.” You mumbled, hesitating before peeking through your fingers. Mor rolled her eyes, taking a sip. “Fine, fine. Maybe I do, but can you blame me? He is the perfect male.”
“I don’t blame you, but I also don’t know what you see in him besides his looks.” Mor teased, reaching out and pulling your hand from your face. “I’m just kidding, and you’re beautiful, Y/N. Any male would be lucky to have you.”
You gave her a small smile, feeling the blush start from your chest and snake its way to your cheeks. She laughed, grabbing your cheek and giving it a squeeze. “But seriously, my plan is perfect. Watch this.”
“What do you mean?” You asked, but she gave you a look and leaned back down on the counter, stirring her tea.
“I just really think you should shoot your shot.” Mor giggled, and Azriel walked into the room, not even looking between the two of you. “Maybe you should do it at Rita’s tonight, you know we always see him there.”
♫ Summary: Eddie's return to the motel could mean a chance at reconciliation. It could also mean another chance for him to break your heart. (5.3k words)
♫ CW: violence, use of a knife, blood (no gore), brief mention of masturbation (f), "and there was only one bed," late night confessions, slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)
♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult
chapter sixteen: baby, don't hurt me
pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel, the feared and disciplined Spymaster of the Night Court, has spent centuries longing for a mate. When the Cauldron finally grants him one, it is not the gentle, soft-hearted Elain, the female he has chosen to love, but you—Helion’s wild, untamed, and fiercely independent daughter.
A renowned singer, vibrant, and utterly untouchable, you have spent your life knowing that men only ever want something from you. When the bond snaps between you and Azriel, you want nothing to do with it—or him. He is dark, lethal, and bound to another, while you are free-spirited, full of fire, and unwilling to let fate dictate your choices.
Rejecting the bond could break him. Could destroy him.
And if he walks away from you now, he may never recover.
But is it too late to stop himself?
Or has he already fallen into the fire?
_____________________________________________________________
content warnings: angst, some fluff, smut (18+)
word count: 10.1k
Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld @frietiemeloen @the-hidey-hole
Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
********
Chapter 7
The morning sun filtered through the windows of the cabin, golden light casting warmth along the wooden floors. The tension of last night still hung in the air, unspoken but ever-present, settling between you and Azriel like a quiet storm waiting to break.
But instead of confronting it, instead of questioning what came next you decided to cook.
Together.
You didn’t acknowledge the significance of it aloud.
Didn’t speak about what it meant for a female to cook for a male after a bond had been accepted and since it had not been accepted or the words spoken out loud to accept it, you felt it was safe.
You moved around each other in the small kitchen, brushing shoulders, exchanging stolen glances, an ease settling between you that shouldn’t have existed after everything that had happened.
"I never imagined you as the cooking type, Shadowsinger," you mused, pouring flour into a bowl.
Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he cut vegetables beside you.
"Cassian and Rhys were terrible cooks, so I didn’t have a choice. I taught myself to avoid being poisoned."
You grinned, shaking your head.
"Self-preservation at its finest."
Azriel chuckled, and the sound sent warmth through your chest.
For a moment, you let yourself forget that things were complicated.
That this was not supposed to be easy.
That you were still trying to figure out what you were to each other.
"You grew up in Day Court," Azriel said after a beat, his voice turning curious, thoughtful.
You nodded, stirring the batter in front of you.
"I did. Helion wasn’t just my High Lord, he was my father. And gods, was I a little menace."
Azriel’s lips twitched.
"I believe that."
You nudged him hard with your hip. "Rude."
He just smirked.
But there was something softer in his expression now, something almost…peaceful.
"When did you find out about Lucien?" he asked after a pause.
Your hands stilled over the bowl.
It was a story you didn’t tell many.
A truth that had been ripped from you in a way you hadn’t been prepared for.
"I was thirteen," you admitted softly, looking down at the batter, watching as it swirled beneath your spoon. "My mother had always been distant. She was kind, but… detached. I never really understood why. And then one day, she sat me down and told me that I had a brother."
Azriel was silent, waiting, watching you with careful eyes.
You inhaled deeply.
"I didn’t know what to do with it. I had always wanted a sibling, and suddenly, I had one. But he was in another court, raised by another male, a father who wasn’t even his by blood."
Your fingers tightened around the spoon, your jaw clenching.
"I hated Beron from the moment I understood who he was. Hated that Lucien was raised in a place so cold, so cruel."
Azriel's gaze darkened at that.
He, too, knew what it was like to be raised in cruelty.
Azriel was quiet for a long moment, as if he were turning over your words in his mind.
And then, so softly you almost missed it.
"He’s lucky to have you."
Your chest tightened, but you didn’t let yourself linger on the warmth his words brought.
Instead, you turned to him, meeting his gaze, tilting your head slightly.
"What about you?" you asked. "When did you know you wanted to be a warrior?"
Something shifted in Azriel’s expression.
The peace he had momentarily found faded.
His shoulders tensed, his jaw locking.
You knew then, you had touched something deep, something painful.
But he didn’t deflect.
Didn’t shut you out.
He just… sighed.
"I didn’t have much of a choice," he admitted, voice low, as if the words still weighed heavily even after all these years.
"My childhood wasn’t… easy."
You said nothing, waiting.
Azriel’s eyes flickered to his hands.
The hands that had roamed your body, that had burned a path across your skin just the night before.
The hands that bore scars that told a story of suffering.
Your throat tightened.
"My father locked me away in a cell when I was young," he continued, his voice too calm, too emotionless. "I was only allowed out when they felt like dragging me from the darkness. To fight. To suffer. To be tortured."
Your stomach twisted.
He said it like it was nothing.
Like it was just a fact, just a part of who he was.
And maybe, in a way, it was.
He swallowed, staring down at his hands.
"They burned me."
The words were quiet.
Almost detached.
As if he had spent centuries trying to separate himself from the pain.
And then, so softly you almost didn’t hear.
"Would you like to see them?"
Your heart stopped.
Not because you were afraid.
But because you knew what this meant.
Azriel did not show his scars to anyone.
He did not let others see his pain, did not let others bear witness to the cruelty of his past.
But he was offering it to you.
So you nodded, slow, careful.
He hesitated, then turned his hands palm-down.
Your breath caught.
The scars were deep, raised and twisted, a brutal reminder of everything he had endured as a child.
Your fingers ached to touch.
To trace the pain he had carried for centuries.
And so you did.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
You took his hands reverently, running your fingertips along the ruined skin, following the paths of his scars with careful, aching tenderness.
Azriel’s breath hitched.
He had expected pity.
He had expected hesitation.
He had expected fear.
But instead—he found something else entirely.
Rage.
Blazing, raw, seething rage.
It burned in your expression, in the way your hands trembled slightly as you held his, in the way your jaw clenched so tight he thought you might break.
Like you wanted to go back in time and destroy everyone who had ever hurt him.
Like you would burn the world down yourself if it meant undoing what had been done to him.
And gods—he didn’t know what to do with that.
Didn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t look at him with pity or revulsion.
Didn’t know what to do with someone who would rage for him, for what had been stolen from him.
Didn’t know what to do with you.
So he just stared, his throat tight, his chest aching, his shadows curling toward you as if they, too, were drawn to your fire.
And when you finally looked up at him, your eyes burning with unshed fury, he realized something.
He was falling for you.
Your fingers traced over the raised scars along Azriel’s hands, reverent and gentle, but your voice was anything but. It was a promise, a fury, a vow written in blood.
"I would have fucking killed them with my bare hands if I had been there," you said, your tone sharp as a blade, raw as an open wound.
Azriel’s breath hitched.
Your fingers were delicate, reverent, almost soothing as they ran over the scars that had shaped him, that had made him into the male he was today.
But your words - gods.
Your words were pure, unrelenting rage.
"No force would have been able to stop me," you continued, voice shaking with fury. "No army, no court, no power on this earth. I would have destroyed them all."
Azriel believed you.
Because you were fierce.
Because you were fire and chaos and retribution wrapped in one devastatingly beautiful package.
Because for the first time in centuries, someone wasn’t just acknowledging his past—they were ready to burn the world for what had been done to him.
And he didn’t know what to do with that either.
So he just stared at you, his hazel eyes scanning your face, the tight set of your jaw, the raw emotion in your expression.
And something inside him shifted.
Then, with an exhale that felt like surrender, he simply nodded, murmuring, "Come on, let’s finish cooking."
You nodded, and the moment between you faded back into something lighter, easier, more familiar.
As if the storm had passed.
As if the fire had settled.
For now.
*****
Breakfast was nearly finished, the warm scent of maple and butter wafting through the cabin as you both sat down to eat.
You cut a piece of fruit, spearing it with your fork before you looked at him, your lips twitching with amusement.
"There’s a place I want to take you," you said.
Azriel glanced up, curious.
"Oh?"
You nodded.
"Up on a cliff of a particular mountain. The views are spectacular. The sunset? Even better."
His brows lifted.
"Sounds like a long hike."
"It is," you admitted. "It takes all day. So we’ll need to pack food and water."
Azriel scoffed. "Why don’t I just fly us up there?"
You barked out a laugh, shaking your head. "What, Shadowsinger? Are you afraid I might be able to beat you up the mountain?"
Azriel’s eyes flashed, something wicked dancing in them.
You smirked, and challenged him, leaning forward slightly.
"You have to work for the reward that awaits you at the top."
The words were layered, dripping with meaning.
And Azriel knew it.
You weren’t just talking about the hike.
You were talking about this.
About him.
About you.
About what this bond could mean.
His smirk was slow, predatory, and something low and dark entered his voice as he said "Oh, I’m not afraid of putting in some work for a reward."
His hazel eyes locked onto yours, gleaming with challenge. "But you should be."
Your breath hitched.
The tension between you, the thing that had been simmering since he arrived at this cabin...
It boiled over.
Hot.
Electric.
Dangerous.
Your mouth went dry as you held his gaze, your heartbeat hammering in your chest.
Because you knew what he meant.
Because he wasn’t just talking about the mountain.
He was talking about you.
And the way he was looking at you now...
Like he was already imagining how he would claim his reward.
*****
You barely made it through breakfast without combusting.
Azriel had sat across from you, watching you too intently, his sharp eyes flickering over your every movement, every glance, every tiny shift in your expression.
And now, as you stood at the sink, rinsing the plates, you tried to push away the heat still simmering in your blood.
But then he moved.
Azriel stepped behind you, pressing in just close enough to reach around and place his glass in the sink.
One of his large hands rested lightly on your hip.
A touch so small, so fleeting, but it sent lightning through your veins.
You froze.
You could feel the heat of his body behind you, the quiet, steady power radiating from him in waves.
Slowly, you turned your head, meeting his gaze.
His hazel eyes flickered, not with shadows, not with unreadable mystery, but with something darker.
Something wicked.
Something hungry.
He was so close.
Too close.
And then his gaze dropped to your lips.
A slow, deliberate drag of his eyes.
His head tilted slightly, and he murmured, "You have a little something…"
Your brows furrowed, confused. "What? Where?"
Before you could finish, he leaned in.
And kissed you.
It was soft, barely a whisper of his lips against yours.
But gods.
It was enough to set you on fire.
Before you could react, before you could even catch your breath, his tongue flicked out, licking the corner of your mouth.
Your eyes widened, your breath caught.
Azriel pulled back just slightly, and you saw the way his pupils had blown wide, his lips parting slightly as he licked them.
And then, with a smirk so dangerous it was lethal…
He murmured, "Mmm… maple syrup. My favorite."
You gaped at him.
Heat shot straight through your core.
Your grip on the sink tightened.
And Azriel knew.
Because he just grinned, watching you, watching your reaction, watching the way your lips parted slightly, the way your eyes darkened, the way your chest rose and fell a little too fast.
Then, he turned.
And walked away.
Just like that.
Leaving you standing there, gripping the sink like it was the only thing keeping you from crumbling, your entire body thrumming with a hunger that could no longer be ignored.
Because if this was what playing with fire felt like, you didn’t care if it consumed you.
*****
The air was crisp and cool as you and Azriel stepped out of the cabin, the morning sun stretching golden fingers across the mountains. The silence between you was comfortable, laced with something unspoken but undeniably charged after what had transpired in the kitchen.
You grabbed your pack from the porch and slung it over your shoulder just as Azriel reached for it, his brows drawing together.
"I can carry both packs," he offered, his voice low, smooth, matter-of-fact.
You snorted.
"Azriel, I am not a helpless female, and I am definitely not a damsel in distress."
His hazel eyes flickered.
A slow smirk pulled at his lips, but something darker flashed in his gaze.
Something hotter.
Something hungry.
Because gods, that fucking fire in you.
That unyielding defiance, that refusal to be anything other than who you were.
It undid him more than he cared to admit.
He should have expected it.
Should have known you would push back, would challenge him, would never accept being taken care of just because you were his mate.
And he loved that about you.
Loved that you didn’t need him, didn’t depend on him—that you only chose to be here with him.
That was something Elain had never done.
Wait a minute…
Loved?
He pushed that thought aside before he could dwell on it much longer.
Azriel put his hands up in mock surrender.
"Far be it from me to offend the mighty Day Court princess," he teased.
You smirked. "Smart man,” you replied, your voice low and sultry.
And then you winked.
And fuck…that smirk, wink and voice nearly brought him to his knees.
Then you adjusted your pack and turned to him, amusement dancing in your eyes.
And just like that, you set off up the mountain.
The climb was steep but steady, the crisp morning air filling your lungs as you ascended the winding path.
Conversation flowed easily between you.
Too easily.
Like this wasn’t supposed to be complicated.
Like you weren’t bonded but not yet claimed, bound but still lingering on the edge of something unspoken.
Azriel told you stories of his work in the Night Court, of the countless times he had nearly been caught but managed to slip away, of narrow escapes and calculated assassinations, of the weight that came with being Rhysand’s Spymaster.
And then he told you about Cassian.
"We were sent on a mission once to retrieve some sensitive information from a court that shall remain unnamed. Cassian, being the idiot he is, thought he could seduce the courtier who had the documents."
You laughed, already seeing where this was going.
"Let me guess, it didn’t go as planned?"
Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. "No. Turns out, the courtier was actually looking for someone… shorter. And blonder."
Your laughter echoed through the trees.
Azriel smirked, watching you as you walked beside him, your expression alive with amusement.
"Did Cassian sulk?" you asked, raising a brow.
"Like a child. He wouldn’t talk to anyone for days."
You grinned, shaking your head.
"I need to hear more stories about Cassian failing at seduction."
Azriel smirked. "There’s plenty."
Then, as if remembering something, he glanced at you.
"Have you ever heard about the annual Snowball War?"
Your brows lifted. "Snowball War?"
He nodded, a rare smile curling his lips.
"Every winter solstice, we have a battle. Wings, shadows, war tactics - everything is fair game. It gets… brutal."
Your lips tugged into a slow, mischievous smile.
"And have you ever won?"
Azriel sighed dramatically. "No. Rhys cheats. He uses his daemati abilities to anticipate our movements."
You gasped in mock horror. "Cheating in a war? Disgraceful."
"Absolutely disgraceful," he agreed, shaking his head solemnly.
But he was watching you, something shifting in his expression.
Because this -
This was easy.
This was effortless.
This was something he had never had with anyone else.
After a brief pause, you told him about your own childhood.
About growing up as Helion’s daughter, as a princess of the Day Court.
How your father had always taught you to be fierce, independent, unwilling to bend for anyone.
Azriel listened carefully, his hazel eyes scanning your face as you spoke, his expression unreadable but attentive.
"Helion raised you well," he finally murmured.
You nodded. "He did. I owe him everything."
You continued to talk about your life, of performing, of traveling to every court, of constantly being in the spotlight.
"Do you ever get tired of it?" he asked, voice quiet.
You hesitated, then nodded.
"I love to sing," you admitted. "I always have. But sometimes… sometimes I wish I could just disappear. Just be someone else. Even if only for a little while."
Azriel was silent for a long moment, as if weighing his next words.
"You could."
You looked at him, brows furrowing.
He shrugged.
"Take a break. Travel without performing. Disappear for a little while if that’s what you need."
The suggestion was so simple, so obvious, but it hit you like a weight.
Because no one had ever told you that before.
No one had ever said, You don’t have to be what the world demands of you all the time.
Azriel must have seen the emotion in your expression because his lips parted, but you quickly shifted the conversation.
"Does it ever bother you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"The way people look at me. The way men act."
His jaw tensed.
Because gods, he had seen it.
He had seen the way they looked at you in Velaris.
Like they wanted to devour you.
Like they didn’t care who you belonged to, who you were.
And he had hated it.
"It did at first," you admitted, answering your own question. "But now, I just… accept it. It comes with the territory."
Azriel didn’t like that answer.
Didn’t like that you had been forced to accept it.
That you had grown numb to it.
That men had treated you like something to be won, to be taken, to be claimed.
His shadows stirred violently.
Because they were wrong.
So, so wrong.
You weren’t a prize.
You weren’t a possession.
You were fire and defiance and a force to be reckoned with.
And gods help anyone who thought otherwise.
Because if they tried, if anyone dared to treat you as less than you were, Azriel would fucking end them.
The trail up the mountain had been long, winding, and steep, but the crisp air and the steady flow of conversation between you and Azriel made it effortless.
But when you told him the story of the Autumn Court male, he nearly lost it.
His entire body stiffened, his shadows coiling like vipers around him, his hazel eyes darkening to something dangerous.
"He stalked you?" Azriel’s voice was low, deadly.
You nodded, exhaling as you kicked at a loose rock on the path.
"For weeks." Your voice was casual, but his wasn’t.
His voice was murder.
"He showed up in your dressing room?"
You nodded again. "He would try to put his hands on me, whisper things about how he would make me his." You shuddered, but then let a wicked smile slide across your face.
"What did you do?" Azriel asked, his voice strained.
You lifted your chin, the memory bringing a flicker of amusement to your lips.
"Papa always taught me to be one step ahead, especially if I ever found myself in a precarious situation."
Azriel’s expression did not ease.
If anything, he looked more lethal.
More possessive.
Like he was already planning how to hunt this male down and end him.
"So, I let him think I wanted him, let him get close. Too close. And then, when he went to kiss me—" You smirked. "I kneed him in the balls and took him down, straddling him with a dagger to his throat."
Azriel’s brows lifted, the corners of his lips twitching. “Fiesty little thing.”
But his shadows still lingered around him, uneasy.
"Security came and took him away, and my father locked him up. He’s still rotting in Day Court’s dungeons, never to bother me again."
Azriel exhaled through his nose, his jaw still tense.
"I would have killed him."
His voice was so raw, so quiet, so filled with barely restrained rage that it sent a chill up your spine.
You believed him.
Because the thought of anyone trying to have you, trying to touch you, claim you, hurt you, made him crazy.
Made him murderous.
And he didn’t even try to hide it.
But he didn’t say anything else.
Because you had handled yourself.
Because you were not some fragile thing that needed to be saved.
Because he knew you were strong enough to fight your own battles.
So instead, he just walked beside you, fists clenched, trying to breathe through the possessive rage still crawling under his skin.
By the time you stopped for lunch, you had reached a breathtaking clearing.
A sparkling lake stretched out before you, crystal-clear and glimmering under the afternoon sun.
The mountain peaks loomed in the distance, their snow-capped edges a sharp contrast to the lush greenery around you.
The air was warm, the midday sun beating down on your skin, and you were sweating.
Without hesitation, you peeled off your shirt and leggings, stripping down to your bra and panties before walking to the water’s edge.
Azriel watched you, his gaze sharp, questioning.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement and something darker.
"Cooling off," you said simply, stepping into the water.
The coldness rushed over your skin, sending a shiver up your spine, but gods - it felt incredible.
And then, you dove in.
When you resurfaced, Azriel was still standing on the shore, arms crossed, looking at you like you had lost your mind.
You smirked.
"Oh, come on, Spymaster. When has a little cold water ever bothered you?"
Azriel let out a low, quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
"I think I’ll stay dry, thanks."
"Coward," you teased, floating effortlessly in the water.
Azriel’s brows lifted.
"Did you just call me a coward?"
Your smirk widened.
"You heard me."
Azriel sighed dramatically, but the glint in his eyes said it all.
"You really don’t know when to stop pushing me, do you?"
"Nope."
"Fine," he muttered.
Then, he stripped off his own shirt.
And gods.
Your smirk faded.
Because Azriel’s body was all hard, defined muscle, carved by centuries of war and discipline.
His chest, his abs, the powerful flex of his arms...
Your mouth went dry.
His shadows curled around him before he dismissed them, stepping forward and giving you a look that was pure, male arrogance.
Then, without warning, he launched himself into the water, splashing you in the process.
You yelled, laughing as you wiped the water from your face.
Azriel emerged from the lake, slicking his wet hair back, blinking at you with that sharp, assessing gaze.
And suddenly, the tension between you changed.
Became something else entirely.
Because now he was close.
Now, he was wet, dripping, his muscles glistening under the sun, his wings flexing in the water as he stood before you.
And you were barely clothed, your skin covered in goosebumps, your breath just slightly too uneven.
Azriel noticed.
Oh, he definitely noticed.
"Happy now?" he asked, his voice low, husky, teasing.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to maintain your smirk.
"You’re not as slow as I thought, Shadowsinger."
Azriel let out a quiet, dangerous laugh.
And then, before you could react, he lunged forward and dunked you under the water.
You came up gasping, spluttering, and cursing.
And Azriel was grinning.
Really grinning.
And gods, you had never seen anything more beautiful.
"You’re dead, Azriel," you swore.
"Looking forward to it, Princess."
And then you lunged for him, pulling him underwater with you.
The water splashed around you both as you wrestled, laughing, fighting, teasing - dancing that dangerous line neither of you were ready to cross.
*****
You treaded lightly in the cool water, your body still thrumming from the playful wrestling match you and Azriel had just finished. His wet, muscled chest heaved slightly, his wings stretching out lazily behind him as he floated on the water, watching you with that infuriating, knowing smirk.
And then, an idea struck you.
"Let’s race."
Azriel’s brows arched in amusement. "Race where?"
You pointed to the waterfall on the far side of the lake, the cascading water shimmering under the sunlight.
"First one to the waterfall wins."
Azriel scoffed, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "I can easily beat you."
You raised a brow. "Okay, challenge accepted."
And before he could react, you took off.
Azriel cursed, launching himself forward, slicing through the water with powerful strokes.
You swam as hard as you could, but you knew you weren’t going to beat him that way.
So, halfway there, you dove under.
The world went silent, the cool, crystal-clear water enveloping you. You had always been faster beneath the surface.
Your strokes became fluid, precise, effortless.
Azriel didn’t notice you had disappeared.
Not until he was nearly at the waterfall, when he finally glanced around, only for you to pop up right beneath the cascading water.
"What the—?"
He halted, staring at you as you grinned triumphantly, your hair soaked, your chest rising and falling from exertion.
"How the hell did you get here so fast?" he asked, swimming up to you.
You smirked, flipping your dripping hair over your shoulder.
"I’ve always swam faster underwater."
Azriel narrowed his eyes, his broad shoulders moving closer, the water rippling around him.
His gaze roamed over you, drinking in the way your body looked beneath the falling water, the way the droplets slid down your face, trailed down your throat, disappeared between the valley of your breasts.
His breath hitched.
Gods, you were beautiful.
No.
More than beautiful.
You were a vision.
An untamed force of nature, wild and radiant, standing under the waterfall like some goddess carved from the elements themselves.
And he wanted you.
Badly.
He reached out, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him.
Your soft gasp sent a thrill through him as his lips hovered so close to yours.
"No," he murmured, his voice dark, teasing. "I think you must have cheated somehow."
His eyes flicked downward, watching as the water continued its sinful journey down your body.
His grip tightened on your waist.
You felt the hardness of him against your stomach, the way his body reacted so naturally, so instinctively to yours.
And you reveled in it.
"You wound me, Spymaster," you said, your voice laced with mock betrayal. "You doubt me?"
Azriel let out a low, wicked chuckle.
"Oh, I doubt you very much."
Azriel’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer against him, his body heat searing despite the coolness of the water surrounding you. His hazel eyes gleamed with something wicked, something darkly amused, something that sent a shiver straight through you.
"It’s my job to doubt people," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath mingling with yours as the waterfall roared behind you. "To get them to open up, spill their thoughts, confess what they’re hiding."
Your lips curled into a smirk, your fingers lightly dragging down his bare, wet chest.
"And what exactly do you think I’m hiding, Spymaster?"
Azriel’s wings twitched, his muscles tensing beneath your touch as he hummed, tilting his head as if truly considering your question.
"I don’t know," he said, his voice turning into a silken whisper. "But my shadows tell me you’re keeping secrets from me."
You arched a brow, your own amusement dancing in your eyes.
"Oh? And how do you propose to get them out of me?"
His smirk deepened.
"Perhaps you require further interrogation."
The air crackled between you.
A slow burn.
A simmering fire that neither of you attempted to put out.
"My intentions?" you asked, feigning innocence, tilting your head. "And what do you think those are?"
Azriel chuckled darkly.
"I have my suspicions. But I’ll need to be thorough."
He pulled you flush against him, his hands strong and sure as they slid over your thighs.
And then, in one swift motion, he lifted you.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your bare thighs pressing into the hard muscle of his torso, your breath hitching at the feel of him.
Azriel’s lips ghosted along your jaw, his voice nothing but a low, teasing rasp.
"First rule of interrogation…you have to make the suspect comfortable."
A breathless laugh escaped you, your arms tightening around his broad shoulders.
"Is that so?"
"Mhm." He trailed a finger lightly down your spine, sending shivers racing along your skin.
"And once they’re comfortable?"
Azriel’s nose brushed against yours, his breath fanning across your lips.
"Then, you build an understanding."
His voice was pure sin, laced with seduction, with unspoken promises.
"Make them feel like you’re on their side."
You could barely breathe.
Could barely think.
Because he was everywhere.
His scent, his touch, his presence it was all-consuming.
You licked your lips, your voice coming out softer than you intended.
"And then what?"
Azriel’s eyes darkened, his fingers gripping your thighs, pressing you impossibly closer.
"Then, once you have their trust…"
His lips brushed your cheekbone, so close yet not close enough.
"You go in for the kill."
Your breath hitched.
Your heart pounded.
"And what exactly are you trying to retrieve from me, Spymaster?" you whispered.
Azriel didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t answer.
He captured your mouth in a devastating kiss.
Hard.
Hot.
Consuming.
His tongue demanded entrance, and you immediately opened for him, a low moan slipping from your lips as he plunged into you—tasting, taking, claiming.
The water rushed around you, but all you felt was him.
The strength of his hands gripping your waist.
The hard press of his body against yours.
The heat of his tongue sweeping over yours, coaxing, dominating, devouring.
Your fingers tangled into his wet hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned into your mouth.
That sound, that deep, raw sound…
It undid you.
Azriel kissed you again and again, each one more urgent, more desperate than the last.
His hands roamed, dragging over your hips, your waist, your back, as if he needed to feel every inch of you beneath his fingers.
And you let him.
Because gods, you wanted him just as badly.
And you both knew it.
Azriel’s breath was ragged, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down the delicate curve of your neck, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses interspersed with small, teasing nips. Each sharp sensation sent a thrill through your veins, a fire sparking beneath your skin.
His hands, calloused and strong, slid up your torso, his fingers grazing over the damp lace of your bra. His thumbs swept across your peaked nipples, teasing, coaxing, sending a rush of heat straight to your core.
"Mother above, baby—what are you doing to me?"
His voice was raw, strained, a reverent whisper against your skin.
A breathless laugh escaped you, but it was shaky, unsteady.
"You’re supposed to be interrogating me with questions, remember?" you murmured, tilting your head to the side, exposing more of your throat. "Am I… distracting you?"
Azriel let out a low, dark chuckle, his teeth grazing your pulse, just hard enough to sting—but you didn’t flinch.
And he noticed.
Noticed how you arched into him more as if spurring him on.
Into the warmth, into the delicious, aching tension thrumming between you both.
"You have no idea," he muttered against your throat.
You felt him then.
Felt him.
The hard, unrelenting proof of his desire pressing into your core beneath the water.
A slow, wicked smirk curved your lips.
So, you moved.
You ground yourself against him, a teasing, deliberate roll of your hips.
Azriel sucked in a sharp breath.
His hands tightened around you, fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you to him as his body went taut with restraint.
"Can’t you feel what you do to me?" His voice was a rasp, dark and strained, the last thread of control unraveling.
A shuddering moan slipped from your lips—his name, breathless and wanting.
Azriel let out a low, guttural sound, his pupils blown wide with desire.
"Gods, the noises that come out of that pretty little mouth of yours." His hands traveled lower, gripping your thighs, spreading you further around him. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "I wonder what other noises I can get you to make."
Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his hand slid up your thigh.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A journey of pure, agonizing torture.
Your lips parted, your head tilting back slightly, lost in the sensation, in the way his fingers moved with purpose, with hunger.
And then his mouth claimed yours again.
A deep, consuming kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, coaxing, teasing, taking. as his hand slid beneath your underwear.
Your body went still, your breath stalling in your throat.
The moment his fingers brushed against your core, Azriel groaned against your lips.
"Gods, you’re already soaked for me."
His voice was nothing but raw, burning need.
And you knew it wasn’t just the water.
He could feel the silky difference of your arousal coating his fingers even in the water.
His eyes met yours, heavy-lidded, burning with something primal, something dangerous.
And then he pressed his thumb to your clit.
A sharp gasp escaped you, your nails digging into his shoulders.
Slow, lazy circles.
Precise.
Merciless.
Azriel watched you.
Watched the way your lips parted, the way your body trembled against him, the way your breath caught in your throat.
He was undoing you.
Piece by piece.
And he knew it.
He was so close, his lips grazing yours, his voice a whisper of sin.
"Tell me what you want, princess."
Your body shook, your fingers tightening in his hair, your hips instinctively pressing against his hand, seeking more, needing more.
You knew, if you didn’t stop this now, you would end up tangled with him right here in this lake, under this waterfall, with no restraint, no barriers, no hesitation.
And gods, you wanted that.
But you weren’t ready to go there yet.
Because if he made love to you and then walked away, it would destroy you.
"Azriel, we need to stop."
Your voice was shaky, uneven.
His hand didn’t move immediately.
He stared at you, his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving.
"We still have half the mountain to go," you added, voice barely above a whisper. "And we need to get moving."
What you didn’t say, what you couldn’t say, was that you wanted him.
Desperately.
That you wanted to throw caution to the wind.
That you wanted him to claim you, right here, right now.
And from the way he was looking at you, he knew.
His jaw clenched.
His nostrils flared.
But after a long, tense beat, Azriel exhaled.
A rough, shaky sound, as if forcing himself to pull back.
His hand slowly withdrew, leaving behind a painful, aching emptiness.
But his fingers lingered on your thigh, tracing small, soothing circles.
"Fine," he murmured, voice hoarse.
But the way his gaze darkened, the way he smirked, slow and knowing, told you this was far from over.
"But be warned, princess," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "You owe me for that."
Azriel's eyes gleamed with mischief as he tightened his hold on your waist, the cool water of the lake swirling around you both.
"Owe you?"
He chuckled, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "I believe I won the race."
You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"
His smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Because, Princess, I let you win."
Before you could respond, Azriel captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hands pulling you flush against him before he dropped your legs from around his waist.
He pulled back from your lips, his breath still hot and uneven, his hazel eyes dark and unreadable as they traced over your face—as if committing you to memory.
A slow, devastating smirk curled on his lips as he murmured, "Come on. Let’s get our clothes back on and get moving."
You blinked, still slightly dazed from his kiss, still feeling the heat of his hands on your skin, the phantom press of his body against yours.
But you forced yourself to move, to turn away before you completely lost yourself to him.
You both swam toward the shore, the cool water doing little to douse the fire still burning inside you.
As you emerged from the lake, the sun caught on Azriel’s wet skin, making the droplets of water shimmer like tiny diamonds against the hard planes of his chest. His wings flexed slightly, shaking off excess water, sending a spray of droplets flying in all directions.
You inhaled sharply, trying, failing…
Not to stare.
Gods, he was unfairly beautiful.
And he knew it.
You quickly turned your attention to your discarded clothes, pulling your leggings back on, tugging your shirt over your damp skin, pretending like your mind wasn’t still lingering on how his mouth had felt against yours.
Azriel finished dressing just as you both moved toward your packs.
He reached for yours, but before he could grab it, you swatted his hand away.
"No."
Azriel’s brows lifted, a flicker of surprise in his expression as you slung the pack over your shoulder instead.
And then he smiled.
A genuine, rare smile that made your breath hitch.
The kind of smile that softened the sharp, lethal edges of him.
The kind of smile that made something deep and unfamiliar stir inside you.
"Feisty little thing," he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.
You rolled your eyes. "Damn right."
Azriel let out a quiet chuckle, shouldering his own pack before falling into step beside you.
And just like that, you continued the climb.
The afternoon sun stretched across the sky, filtering through the towering trees as you both hiked higher and higher up the mountain.
Conversation flowed between you as easily as the breeze through the leaves.
Unforced.
Natural.
You told him about growing up as Helion’s daughter, what it was like to be raised by one of the most powerful High Lords in Prythian.
How Helion never treated you like a fragile princess, but instead taught you how to fight, how to command a room, how to wield both power and intelligence like a blade.
Azriel listened intently, asking questions, his sharp mind soaking in every detail.
And then, he told you stories of his own.
Of training with Cassian and Rhys as a boy, of their endless, brutal fights, the blood spilled, the victories won.
Of the Blood Rite—how he, Cassian, and Rhys had conquered the mountain together.
How they had stood victorious, brothers bound by more than just court allegiance, but by loyalty, by a love that had never needed to be spoken aloud.
And of the crazy things the three of them did as young men.
Your laughter echoed through the trees, the sound so light, so freeing.
And for a moment, Azriel just watched you.
Watched the way the wind played with your hair, how your eyes glowed with amusement, how effortlessly you moved beside him, as if you had always been there.
And something settled in his chest.
Something he wasn’t ready to name.
But it was there.
Burning.
Waiting.
And as the two of you continued up the mountain, talking about everything and nothing all at once, Azriel knew.
Knew that this feeling, this connection, this quiet, steady ease between you, was something he had never had before.
By the time you both reached the cliff, the sky was already shifting into a masterpiece of color, soft streaks of gold, lavender, and crimson stretching over the endless valley below. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and earth wrapping around you as a gentle breeze whispered against your skin.
Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings stretching slightly before tucking back in, his hazel eyes scanning the horizon.
"I can see why you like to come here," he murmured, his voice quieter, softer, as if he were afraid of breaking the stillness.
You smiled, pulling out the last of the food and water from your pack and sitting down beside him on the rocky ledge. "It’s a great place to think. To be in nature. To just… be."
Azriel was silent for a moment, then exhaled.
"I wish I got more time like this," he admitted, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Everything in my life moves so quickly. I’m always surrounded by the Inner Circle, always working, always… on edge."
You nodded in understanding.
"I get it." You sighed, breaking off a piece of the dried fruit in your hand. "I’m always moving, always performing, always expected to be something for everyone. Sometimes, I just want to disappear."
Azriel turned his head slightly, watching you as the sunlight reflected off your face, painting you in gold and crimson hues.
He swallowed hard.
Because you looked like a dream.
Like something he would chase through every court, every mountain, every war-torn battlefield.
And it scared him.
It scared him how much he wanted you.
But instead of saying that, instead of admitting to the war inside him, he simply murmured "I’m glad I stayed."
Your brows lifted slightly, a teasing glint entering your eyes. "Imagine if we had just flown up here."
Azriel smirked, shaking his head.
"We would’ve missed the trees, the wildflowers, the lake, the waterfall," you continued, tilting your head at him. "Didn’t I tell you the work would be worth the reward?"
Something shifted in his expression.
Something dark and unreadable.
And then—he turned his body fully toward you.
His hand reached out, fingers grazing over your cheek as his lips parted.
"Yes," he whispered.
And then, he pulled you to him.
His lips met yours in a kiss that was different.
Not demanding.
Not possessive.
But full of longing.
Full of things he wanted to say but couldn’t.
You melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if he might disappear.
And maybe he felt the same, because his hands didn’t just hold you, they cradled you.
As if you were something precious.
Something he wasn’t ready to lose.
You sat there for what felt like forever, just kissing, just existing together beneath the burning sky.
And then he gently pulled you between his legs, shifting you so your back was pressed against his chest.
His arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.
His wings curled slightly, protectively, around you.
And the two of you just watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon.
*****
The night sky stretched endlessly above you, a blanket of deep indigo and shimmering silver. The stars blinked down, serene and ancient, casting a soft glow over the world below.
You were still nestled between Azriel’s legs, your back pressed against his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around you as you both sat in perfect silence.
His warmth, his scent, night-chilled cedar, mist, and something uniquely Azriel—, enveloped you completely.
For the first time in your life, you felt at peace.
At home.
With the male you had loathed being mated to just a week before.
Everything you thought you knew had been shattered.
Because it wasn’t just passion.
It wasn’t just chemistry.
It was something deeper.
Something you weren’t ready to name.
And maybe, just maybe, Azriel wasn’t ready either.
"Velaris has a night sky just like this," he murmured after a long stretch of quiet.
You glanced up at him, tilting your head slightly. "Yeah?"
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars, as if seeing something far beyond them.
"Every year, we celebrate Starfall." His voice was low, reverent. "It’s… something you have to see to understand. The sky doesn’t just hold stars that night - it moves with them, trails of light cascading across the heavens like falling diamonds. It’s magic in its purest form. A moment where everything feels… infinite. Like anything is possible."
Your breath hitched slightly at the way he spoke about it.
The quiet awe.
The yearning in his voice.
"It sounds amazing," you whispered, turning your gaze back up to the sky.
Azriel hesitated.
And then, before he could stop himself...
"You’ll see it this year. With me."
Your entire body stilled.
The words hung between you, crackling like an exposed wire, sending a current through the air.
A promise.
An undeniable shift.
You felt his own body lock up behind you, as if he had only just realized what he had said.
As if he couldn’t take it back now.
Your heart pounded.
And before you could let yourself linger on what that meant, before either of you could break the tension, you changed the subject.
Quickly.
Too quickly.
But Azriel let you.
Even though he knew what you were doing.
Even though he felt it too.
After finishing the last of your food, you both stood and packed up your things.
The air had turned cooler, and the mountain had settled into a quiet stillness beneath the night sky.
Azriel glanced at you as you slung your pack over your shoulder.
"It’ll be dangerous traveling back down in the dark." His voice was calm, casual—but firm.
You turned to face him, raising a brow.
"Are you suggesting I let you fly me back?"
He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am."
You exhaled, looking over the rugged terrain behind you.
He wasn’t wrong.
A fall down this mountain at night would be fatal.
But even as you considered the idea, there was no hesitation in your decision.
"Fine," you conceded, giving him a small smirk. "But you better not drop me, Spymaster, or I will have to kick your ass."
Azriel chuckled, closing the space between you.
"I wouldn’t dream of it."
He pulled you into his arms, his hands settling firmly at your waist, wings spreading wide as he prepared to take off.
And it wasn’t until he was holding you against him, chest to chest, that he realized something.
You weren’t gripping him like you were afraid to fall.
Not like Elain.
Elain would always cling to him tightly, hesitant, fearful of the drop.
But you?
Your hold was steady.
Assured.
Loose enough to let him know that you trusted him completely.
His breath caught in his throat.
Because that trust, it undid him.
Because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, you didn’t trust easily.
And yet, here you were.
Allowing him to hold you.
To carry you.
To catch you if you fell.
Azriel’s arms tightened just slightly, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
Because that small, quiet realization made him fall for you even more.
*****
When you returned to the cabin, the air had a chill, the night settling in around the mountains with a quiet stillness.
Azriel wordlessly moved to the hearth, kneeling to start a fire, his shadows slipping out lazily around him, curling along the stone like wisps of smoke as the flames began to crackle to life.
You watched him for a moment, the way his scarred hands moved expertly, how he worked with precision, with ease, as if tending to the fire was second nature to him.
And maybe it was.
Maybe he had spent his whole life tending to flames that weren’t his own, lighting warmth in places that had only ever known the cold.
You exhaled softly and turned away, gathering wine, bread, cheese, and fruit from the small kitchen.
A simple meal, but something that felt intimate, familiar.
Something you wanted to share with him.
By the time you returned to the fire, Azriel had settled into a chair, his wings partially unfurled, the orange glow of the flames casting shadows over the hard planes of his face.
But when he looked up at you, really looked at you, bathed in firelight, holding the food with an easy grace, something shifted in his chest.
Because he was falling into something dangerous, something inevitable.
You set the tray down between you, pouring two glasses of deep red wine and handing him one before sitting beside him on the plush rug.
The cabin was warm, cozy, the crackling of the fire filling the comfortable silence between you.
And that was another thing Azriel realized.
With you, silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It wasn’t something to be filled with mindless words or forced conversation.
It simply was.
He had spent centuries surrounded by people, always talking, always strategizing, always moving.
But this?
This quiet, steady ease between you?
It felt like peace.
And gods, he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.
You tore a piece of bread and took a sip of your wine, watching the flames dance before speaking.
"I’ve made a decision about Ryder."
Azriel tensed.
He hated the way his body reacted to the male’s name, how the mere thought of him made something sharp twist in his chest.
But he remained silent, waiting.
You exhaled slowly, rolling the wine glass between your fingers.
"When I return to Day Court, I’m going to let him go."
Azriel stilled.
You didn’t look at him, just kept watching the fire, as if the words were something you had needed to say aloud for a long time.
"He’s a good male," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "He’s steady, and kind, and he’s always loved me for exactly who I am."
Azriel’s throat worked, a strange tightness forming there.
"Then why?"
You took a deep breath, finally turning to meet his gaze.
"Because he deserves more."
Azriel said nothing, just watched you, waiting for you to continue.
"He deserves someone who will love him and burn for him the way he does for them." Your voice was soft, but there was a finality in it.
"And that person isn’t me."
Azriel swallowed hard.
"How do you feel about that?"
You sighed, glancing down at your hands.
"A little sad, I suppose." You tore another piece of bread, not really eating it, just fidgeting. "I don’t want to hurt him."
Azriel’s fingers tightened slightly around his wine glass.
You continued, "But I know now that what I felt for him… it isn’t enough. It never was."
And gods, if that didn’t resonate deep within Azriel.
Because for the first time, he truly understood what you meant.
Because hadn’t he spent years convincing himself that what he had with Elain was enough?
Hadn’t he tried to force something that never burned the way he wanted it to?
And hadn’t he only just begun to realize that this warmth, this ease, this peace sitting beside you was the only thing that had ever felt real.
He stared at you, at the fire reflecting in your eyes, at the quiet, steady resolve in your expression.
You took another slow sip of your wine, the warmth of the fire curling around you like an embrace. But no matter how much heat it offered, it couldn’t chase away the weight in your chest.
Azriel was still watching you, his hazel eyes sharp, unreadable, waiting for you to say what you needed to say.
"I hope I find that sort of love one day," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "The kind that makes the world fade away. The kind that makes everything else… insignificant."
Azriel's grip tightened slightly around his glass, but he remained silent.
He wanted to maybe you had already found that love, maybe it was standing right in front of you.
But he couldn't.
He was terrified without knowing how you felt about him.
You exhaled a slow breath and looked at the fire, at the way the flames danced and flickered, wild and untamed.
"I saw it once, you know. That kind of love."
Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver. "Whose?"
You swallowed hard.
"My father’s."
A flicker of something, understanding, curiosity, maybe even longing, crossed Azriel’s face.
"Helion and Lucien’s mother."
You leaned back slightly, letting the memories wash over you.
"It was raw. And real." You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "They would have moved mountains to be together. They risked everything just to have stolen moments. And yet, it was still worth it to them."
Azriel didn’t say anything.
Didn’t breathe.
Because he knew.
He understood.
Because wasn’t that the kind of love he had dreamt of for centuries?
Not something delicate and fragile, not something built on hesitation and careful steps.
But something consuming. Something undeniable.
Something worth every battle, every risk, every moment of pain.
"It was all-consuming," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "And real."
The words settled heavily between you.
And Azriel knew.
He knew that if you found that kind of love, if you gave your heart to someone, it would be absolute.
You wouldn’t just love in pieces, in halves.
You would give all of yourself.
And whoever was on the receiving end of that love…
Would be the luckiest male in the world.
But the thought of you giving that love to someone else made something dark, possessive, curl in Azriel’s chest.
So he sat there, the fire casting flickering shadows across the cabin walls, but all he could see was you.
The way you spoke of love as if it were something untamed, something powerful, something that couldn’t be contained or reasoned with.
The way your eyes shone with certainty, the way your voice wavered slightly, betraying that, deep down, you longed for something greater than what you had ever been given.
And gods, he understood that.
Because wasn’t that what he had wanted, too?
Hadn’t he spent centuries craving a love like that?
Something fierce.
Something real.
He had thought, for so long, that love had been Elain.
Hadn’t he?
But now…
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
He knew he still cared for Elain, of course he did.
She was kind.
She was soft.
She was gentle in ways he had never known.
But was that love?
Or had he only convinced himself that it was?
Had he mistaken wanting to protect her for something deeper?
Had he been so desperate to be chosen, to be wanted, to be seen, that he had latched onto the first person who had looked at him with anything close to admiration?
He let out a slow breath, his chest tightening.
Because this, what he felt for you, was different.
It wasn’t fragile.
It wasn’t hesitant.
It was alive, burning, breathing, growing stronger with every passing second.
But then...how did you feel?
He knew the chemistry between you was undeniable—he had felt it the moment he saw you on that stage in Rita’s.
Knew you felt it too, from the way your body melted into his, the way you reacted to his touch, the way you had let him in.
But was that all it was?
Just passion and heat?
Or was it more?
He couldn’t be sure.
Not yet.
And that terrified him.
Because if he let himself love you, really, truly love you, and you didn’t feel the same…
It would ruin him.
Suddenly a voice cut through his mind like a blade.
Rhys.
"Azriel. You need to return immediately."
A sharp tension coiled in Azriel’s chest as he straightened, his entire body going still.
"Hybern is rallying his men. They’re preparing an attack."
Azriel’s breath left him in a slow exhale.
"I’ve spoken with Tarquin, Thesan, and Helion. We’re gathering forces to fight back. We need you here. Now."
Azriel closed his eyes briefly, his mind already shifting into strategy, preparation, war.
"And Azriel…"
Rhys’s voice softened just slightly, an edge of knowing threaded in his tone.
"I assume you’re with her."
Azriel’s fingers tensed against his wine glass. "Yes."
"Tell her to return to Day Court immediately. She’s not safe anywhere else right now."
A sharp, hot protectiveness flared through Azriel’s chest at the mere thought of you being in danger.
"I’ll leave immediately," he sent back, already rising from his seat.
Rhys ended the connection, and Azriel turned toward you, his expression grim, unreadable.
You must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because you set down your glass and leaned forward. "What is it?"
Azriel swallowed hard, his voice low, grave. "Hybern is preparing an attack."
Your body stiffened.
"Papa," you breathed, already standing, already knowing. "I have to go. I have to – “
"Rhys has already spoken with Helion. He’s preparing his forces, and you need to return to Day Court immediately."
You nodded once, already moving toward your things.
Azriel’s throat tightened as he watched you, watched the determination burn in your stormy gray eyes.
Because he didn’t want to leave.
Not like this.
Not without finishing what had begun between you.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"Thank you," he said suddenly, his voice quieter, rougher.
You looked up at him, your brows knitting slightly. "For what?"
His lips parted slightly, as if he wasn’t even sure how to explain.
"For letting me stay with you." His voice was soft, but full of meaning. "This day… this day has been one of the best days of my life. One that I will always cherish."
Your breath hitched, something flickering in your expression.
And then you smiled, a small, quiet thing.
"I feel the same."
Azriel swallowed hard, his chest aching, his mind screaming at him to say more, to tell you that this wasn’t the end.
So he did.
"This conversation isn’t over," he murmured, stepping toward you, closing the space between you both. "When this war is over, I’ll find you. And we’ll finish talking."
Your lips parted slightly, your heartbeat thundering so loud he could hear it.
And then, before either of you could stop it, Azriel grabbed you, pulled you to him.
And kissed you.
Fiercely.
Desperately.
As if he were claiming you in every way he had yet to put into words.
Your fingers curled into his tunic, clutching him as if afraid he would vanish between your fingers.
He kissed you again and again, his hands sliding across your back, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, closer, closer until you were pressed against the door, his body caging you in, his lips devouring yours.
One hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss, groaning into your mouth.
Gods, he was losing himself in you.
And for the first time, he didn’t care.
Didn’t care about promises.
Didn’t care about duty.
Didn’t care about anything other than you, here, now.
He tore himself away only when the need for air became too great, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.
And when he finally opened his eyes, when he finally met your gaze, he knew.
Knew that if he walked out that door, if he left you now, there was a chance he might never see you again.
His hands lingered on you, as if memorizing every curve, every inch, every moment.
And then, his voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.
"Gods, I don’t want to leave."
But he had to.
So he kissed you one last time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips against yours.
And then, finally, he forced himself to pull away.
He turned.
Dropped his hands from you.
And walked out the door.
Leaving you behind, even though it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind, too.
pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel, the feared and disciplined Spymaster of the Night Court, has spent centuries longing for a mate. When the Cauldron finally grants him one, it is not the gentle, soft-hearted Elain, the female he has chosen to love, but you—Helion’s wild, untamed, and fiercely independent daughter.
A renowned singer, vibrant, and utterly untouchable, you have spent your life knowing that men only ever want something from you. When the bond snaps between you and Azriel, you want nothing to do with it—or him. He is dark, lethal, and bound to another, while you are free-spirited, full of fire, and unwilling to let fate dictate your choices.
Rejecting the bond could break him. Could destroy him.
And if he walks away from you now, he may never recover.
But is it too late to stop himself?
Or has he already fallen into the fire?
_____________________________________________________________
content warnings: angst
word count: 6.7k
Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld @frietiemeloen @the-hidey-hole
Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
********
Chapter 6
The Vallahan mountains were a world untouched by war, by duty, by the weight of fate pressing against your chest.
Here, the air was crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and earth, the wind carrying whispers through the valley below.
You spent your two days hiking the rugged terrain, feeling the strain in your muscles, the burn in your lungs—anything to ground yourself, to silence the storm in your mind.
Nights were quieter.
You cooked for yourself, letting the motions calm you.
You sat out on the jagged rocks, overlooking the valley, watching the sunset spill gold and violet across the sky, and for a moment, it felt like peace.
But even here, even surrounded by the raw beauty of nature, you couldn’t escape him.
Azriel.
His name had become a ghost in your thoughts, a shadow in your mind that refused to leave.
Even in solitude, he was there.
Lurking in the edges of your thoughts.
Tugging at the bond that bound you together.
And you hated it.
Hated that he had made you feel so much in so little time.
Hated that every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his lips on yours, his hands gripping your waist, his voice rasping against your ear.
You knew the truth.
You had known it since the moment the bond snapped into place.
You wanted him.
You wanted this.
But what if he didn’t?
What if he was only around because the bond demanded it, not because he truly wanted you?
What if—gods, what if you gave your heart away, only for him to shatter it?
He had been with Elain for years.
He had claimed to love her.
He had spent so long waiting for her, wanting her, choosing her.
And yet—here he was, reappearing in places you were, kissing you like he would never get enough of you.
What did that mean?
What did it say about you? About him? The thoughts wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t quiet.
And then there was Ryder.
The good, steady, safe love that had held you through the years.
Ryder, who had never made you feel this lost, this untethered, this… undone.
Ryder, who loved you without question, without hesitation.
But now… now you were the one hesitating.
And for the first time, you knew why.
Because it wasn’t the same.
Because it wasn’t Azriel.
And Ryder deserved more.
You exhaled sharply, running your fingers through your hair, staring at the flickering fire in front of you.
When you returned to Day Court, you would break things off with him.
Not because he wasn’t good enough.
But because he deserved a love that was as fierce, as consuming, as undeniable as the one you knew you could have.
The one you knew you could have with Azriel.
If only he chose you.
On the second night, a sharp knock at the door shattered the quiet.
Your heart stilled.
Helion, you thought.
Maybe he had come to check on you, to make sure you were okay.
You stood, wrapping the thick blanket around your shoulders, padding toward the door.
Another knock.
More insistent this time.
You sighed, unlocking it, preparing to see your father’s warm, knowing gaze.
But when you pulled it open—
It wasn’t Helion.
It was him.
Azriel.
Standing in the cold night air, shadows curling around him, his hazel eyes dark and wild.
Your breath hitched.
Because he looked like a storm barely holding itself together.
Like he had flown through the night just to find you.
Like he had been searching for you, and nothing—not the cold, not the distance, not even the bond itself—could have kept him away.
The sight of him, of all that raw, restrained power standing on your doorstep, left you utterly frozen.
Neither of you spoke.
Neither of you moved.
Your heart thundered violently against your ribs, your breath coming faster as Azriel’s piercing gaze bore into yours.
"Azriel…" Your voice was tense, wary, barely a breath. "What are you doing here?"
His hazel eyes were shadowed, unreadable, but his voice was steady when he asked, "Can I come in?"
You hesitated.
Everything in you screamed to shut the door, to push him away before he could unravel you any further.
With a sharp exhale, you stepped aside, opening the door wider.
He brushed past you, and you felt it.
That bond between you—thrumming, crackling, a living thing pulling you toward him.
You turned to watch him as he took in the cabin—the flickering fire in the hearth, the blanket draped over the couch, the half-written words in your journal.
But his eyes found you.
And devoured you.
His gaze swept down your body—slow, deliberate, as if committing every inch of you to memory.
The tight leggings that hugged your curves, knee-high boots that made your legs seem impossibly long, the cobalt blue sweater hanging off one shoulder—
His siphon blue.
His breath hitched.
Even in the simplest of clothes, you were the sexiest thing he had ever seen.
At this point, he was convinced you could wear a godsdamned potato sack and still undo him.
You crossed your arms, forcing yourself to ignore the heat in his stare.
"Why are you here, Azriel?"
His throat bobbed, as if he were choosing his next words carefully.
"To talk."
The rage inside you ignited immediately.
Your voice was sharp as a blade when you said, "Ah. So you came all this way to break the bond."
His expression flickered—something shifting, something like pain.
But you didn’t let him speak.
"Could it not wait until I returned to Day? Or is the thought of being tied to me so disgusting that you couldn’t bear to wait another day?"
His jaw locked, his wings shifting tensely behind him.
You stepped forward, voice pure venom.
"Or is it Elain?" You sneered. "Is she the one who can’t stand the thought of you still being mated to another female? Her precious Shadowsinger still bound to someone else?"
Azriel’s eyes flashed, his nostrils flaring as his body went rigid.
"Leave Elain out of this," he snapped, voice dark, sharp.
You let out a bitter laugh.
"Oh, did I hit a nerve? I can’t mention her, but you sure as hell could bring up Ryder to me before my show at Winter Court?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, irritation flickering across his face.
But he didn’t say anything.
Just stood there, tense, unreadable, full of frustration and something dangerous.
The way he was looking at you—like you made him feel things he couldn’t control, things he didn’t want to admit—sent a thrill through your veins.
But you wouldn’t let him affect you.
Not tonight.
You exhaled sharply, shoving the rising emotions deep down where they belonged.
"I told you I would reject the bond, because that is what you really want." Your voice was quiet now, but cut like steel.
Azriel’s expression hardened.
You continued, "However, I really want to enjoy the rest of my time here in the cabin before I have to experience the excruciating physical pain that comes along with it."
You took a steadying breath, hating that your hands were trembling slightly.
"So if that is all you came for, you can leave and come to Day Court next week, where I will grant you your wish."
And with that, you stepped forward and opened the door, motioning for him to leave.
Your stomach twisted violently, but you refused to show him how much the thought of severing this bond with him was already destroying you.
Azriel’s entire body went rigid.
Then—he stalked past you, gripping the door handle.
For a second, you thought he was going to leave.
But then—the door slammed shut.
Hard.
Before you could react, Azriel spun and grabbed your wrists, shoving you back against the wooden door.
Your breath whooshed out of you as your back hit the wood, your eyes wide, blazing.
"Gods damn it, Y/n, would you stop making assumptions and let me speak?!" he shouted, his face inches from yours.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your blood pounding as fury and something far more dangerous curled low in your stomach.
"Fine," you bit out, glaring at him.
His grip was tight, but not bruising.
Still, you refused to let him see how much his closeness affected you.
"But please do so without manhandling me," you added, voice laced with defiance.
Your eyes narrowed.
"That alpha male crap probably works on Elain, but it will never work on me."
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
Then—he smirked.
A slow, arrogant, taunting smirk that sent a chill racing down your spine.
"Oh, you and I both know that isn’t true."
Before you could react, he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, his body pressing you firmly against the door.
A small, involuntary gasp left your lips as he leaned in—so close you could feel his breath against your throat.
His nose traced slowly down your neck, lingering at your pulse point.
His voice was a low, dangerous rasp, thick with arrogance and something primal.
"I think," he murmured, his lips barely a breath away from yours, "you would like for me to go all alpha male on you."
His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly as his free hand came up, his thumb brushing across your lower lip.
Your breath hitched.
And then, his voice dropped even lower—almost a growl.
"Claim you so that you don’t forget who you belong to."
Your heart stopped.
And then—he kissed you.
Hard.
Rough.
Possessive.
It wasn’t a kiss of apology or restraint—it was pure hunger, raw need.
His lips slanted over yours, demanding, bruising, urgent.
His tongue swiped into your mouth, desperate and reckless, drinking you in like he had been starving for you.
He groaned against your lips, pressing his body into you, his arousal a hard, undeniable presence against your stomach.
He couldn’t stop.
Didn’t want to stop.
You were fire in his arms, and he wanted to burn.
A low, aching moan slipped from your lips, and something inside him snapped.
He deepened the kiss, taking, devouring, making you his.
But the moment his grip loosened on your wrists, something inside you shattered.
You pushed him away—hard—chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury and something dangerously close to desire.
Azriel’s lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide with want.
But you glared at him, voice shaking as you spat, "I belong to no one. Least of all you."
Azriel’s lips curled into a dark, wicked smile.
"Feisty little thing."
His gaze dropped to your heaving chest.
"Your body betrays you."
And gods help you—he was right.
Azriel’s dark chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.
The moment you had shoved him away, the second you had told him you belonged to no one, you knew it wasn’t over.
Because his eyes had darkened, his breathing had deepened, his expression had turned into something lethal and consuming.
Like a predator stalking its prey.
And you were the prey.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his shadows slithering along the floor, coiling around your legs as if even they couldn’t help but touch you.
Your own breath hitched, betraying you, betraying the way your body had already begun to tremble from his touch.
Then—his hands were on you.
One gripping your waist, pulling you to him, making you feel the heat radiating from his body, the sheer strength in his hold.
The other?
It fisted into your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose the delicate column of your neck.
A low, satisfied hum rumbled deep in his throat as his nose brushed along the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw.
Your lips parted on a soft, involuntary gasp.
And you let him.
Because Azriel’s touch, his presence, his mere existence had ignited something inside you that you couldn’t control.
Didn’t want to control.
His voice was a low rasp against your ear, a sinful whisper that sent liquid heat curling in your stomach.
"Your body betrays you," he murmured again, his lips ghosting over your skin, making you shiver.
"I can smell your arousal."
Your breath came shallow and uneven.
"You may not belong to me," he continued, his fingers tightening in your hair, "but you want me just as badly as I want you."
You let out a sharp, mocking laugh, ignoring the way your entire body felt like it was burning under his touch.
"That’s just the bond," you shot back, your voice matter of fact. "It’s making my body react. That’s all."
Azriel pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes burning with wicked amusement.
Then, another dark, knowing chuckle.
"Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better."
He leaned in, lips brushing against yours, teasing, tormenting.
"But you know I’m right."
Before you could argue, before you could even form another thought—
His mouth crashed onto yours again.
Hard.
Demanding.
Unrelenting.
And this kiss was different from the first.
The first had been anger, frustration, a battle for dominance.
But this?
This was pure, raw need.
This was the kind of kiss that stole the breath from your lungs, that made the world tilt beneath your feet.
Azriel devoured you.
His lips moved against yours in a fevered dance, consuming, desperate, wild.
You fisted your hands into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.
And gods, he gave it to you.
His hands roamed—rough palms skimming over your sides, up your back, pressing you harder against him.
He growled low in his throat when your nails dug into his neck, dragging down to his shoulders.
And then—his hands slid beneath your sweater, warm fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist before gliding up…
Your moan was swallowed by his mouth the moment his calloused hands cupped your breasts.
His thumbs brushed over the lace covering your hardened peaks, teasing, tormenting, setting every nerve in your body aflame.
"Azriel," you moaned, your body arching into him, desperate for more.
His lips never left yours, never stopped moving, never stopped taking.
"You’re in my head," he muttered between kisses, between ragged breaths.
Another kiss, deeper, harder, more punishing.
"And I want to punish you for it."
His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp.
His tongue plunged back into your mouth, exploring, demanding.
Then—he pulled away, just enough to whisper against your swollen lips.
"For possessing me since the moment I saw you in Velaris."
His confession sent a violent tremor through you.
Because you knew.
Knew what he meant.
Knew what it felt like to want someone so deeply it was unbearable, infuriating, intoxicating.
Your hands moved lower, roaming down his chest, his abs—
Gods.
He was all muscle, all carved strength beneath your fingertips.
You slid your hands beneath his shirt, feeling the way his body trembled under your touch, the way his abdominal muscles tensed.
Azriel let out a low, guttural groan, his head tipping forward, forehead pressing against yours.
His breath was hot, ragged.
And still—he didn’t stop kissing you.
Didn’t stop taking.
Didn’t stop burning for you.
And you—
You were already too far gone.
Azriel’s lips seared a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.
And gods help you—you were letting him.
Letting yourself get lost in him, letting yourself drown in his touch, his heat, the way his body pressed against yours like he was trying to burn himself into you.
But a voice in your mind—the voice of reason, the voice of self-preservation—was screaming.
And before you could stop yourself, before you could let yourself sink any further into this madness, you whispered, "What about Elain?"
Azriel froze.
His lips stilled against your neck, his body went rigid.
And then—he snarled.
"Leave Elain out of this."
The words were sharp, cutting, filled with fury.
Your entire body went cold.
Because that—that was all you needed to hear.
All the air in your lungs vanished, replaced by something heavy, something dark, something breaking.
Rage erupted in your chest like an inferno, blistering and unforgiving.
With a feral strength, you shoved him away hard, your hands slamming against his chest.
He stumbled back, his breathing ragged, his hazel eyes flashing with something primal.
"Azriel—she is the woman you love." Your voice shook, but it was laced with anger, with betrayal.
His chest heaved, his wings flaring slightly as if he were readying for a fight.
"You said you came here to talk, but this?" You threw a hand between you. "This isn’t talking!"
Your nails bit into your palms as you clenched your fists.
"What do you want from me?" you demanded, voice raising, raw and unhinged.
"Did you just come here to fuck me, thinking that will satisfy whatever urge the bond is giving you?"
His jaw ticked, his muscles locked tight, but he said nothing.
Didn’t deny it.
And gods—that silence shattered something deep inside you.
Your breath came fast, uneven, trembling with the weight of what you already knew.
He was here, not to choose you, not to tell you he wanted this bond, but to rid himself of you.
To fuck you and leave you behind.
Like every other male who had ever wanted something from you.
Azriel’s nostrils flared, his body still shaking, and then—his voice came, low and rough.
"I'm not going to deny that I want you."
The words cut you to the bone.
Your breath hitched, fury clawing at your insides like a living, breathing thing.
"So that’s what this is, then?" Your voice was almost a whisper, but it trembled with rage.
Azriel didn’t speak.
"Why am I not surprised?" you spat, voice now rising again, vicious and cold and brimming with hurt.
"You are just like all the other men."
His eyes darkened, his fists clenching at his sides.
But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
"You want one thing from me, and one thing only."
Your hands wrapped around yourself, trying to hold everything together, trying to keep yourself from crumbling in front of him.
But your chest ached, your entire body shook.
"I’m good enough to fuck—" your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to finish, "but not good enough to be your mate."
Azriel winced.
Actually winced.
Like your words had physically wounded him.
Like he hadn’t expected them to hurt him as much as they did.
You looked away, eyes burning, throat tight.
Because when he told you he was here to talk—you had hoped.
Hoped that maybe, just maybe, he was going to tell you he had changed his mind.
That he didn’t want to break the bond.
That he wanted you.
But he hadn’t.
And his actions?
His actions told you exactly what he thought you were worth.
"You think this will fix it, don’t you?" you whispered, voice hoarse, raw.
Azriel’s gaze snapped to yours, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.
"You think if you fuck me, you can move on. That it’ll get me out of your system, and then you can go back to Velaris—to her."
His breathing stopped.
His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, to deny it.
Your body snapped like a wire stretched too tight.
And your voice was low, seething, filled with a rage that had been simmering for weeks.
"I will not be second choice for any male."
Azriel’s head jerked back slightly, his entire body tensing, shadows writhing in a slow, chaotic dance around him.
You stepped forward, closing the distance, your voice like steel.
"You don’t get to come here, touch me like this, kiss me like you need me, and then still refuse to say the words."
His eyes flashed, his throat working, his hands shaking at his sides.
But he said nothing.
"Because you can’t, can you?"
His chest rose and fell too quickly.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around yourself again, trying—gods, trying so hard—to keep it together.
"I deserve better than this, Azriel."
And then, quieter, more broken, barely above a whisper—
"Go back to Elain. Go back to Velaris."
"No!"
The word ripped from him, raw and furious.
His wings flared, his entire body taut, his eyes burning with something wild.
"I didn’t come here to just fuck you and leave to go back to her."
Your breath hitched, your heartbeat a war drum in your chest.
His gaze locked onto yours, unreadable, storming, as if he were on the edge of something he didn’t understand himself.
“Why are you up here in the mountains? Away from Day Court? Away from Ryder?"
You sighed, running a hand through your hair, exhaustion creeping in.
"I came up here to think, Azriel."
His head tilted slightly. "Think?"
"I’ve been traveling non-stop for performances, I’m exhausted. I needed time away, time alone with my thoughts."
His lips parted, as if something was dawning on him.
"Why?" he pressed, voice softer now, more searching.
You exhaled, looking toward the crackling fire before meeting his gaze again.
"Because this bond has made me stop and think about a lot of things."
Your throat tightened.
"About what I want. About what I want to do with the rest of my life."
And the way he looked at you then—like you had just spoken the words he had been too afraid to say himself.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering golden light over the cabin walls, the warmth of it doing nothing to combat the ice settling in your veins.
You looked at him, at the shadows dancing around his shoulders, at the war raging in his hazel eyes.
He looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were clawing at his throat, like they were suffocating him.
So you asked, voice quiet but firm, "Azriel, why are you really here? What do you want from me?"
He inhaled sharply, his wings shifting slightly behind him, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Then—his voice, low and raw, like he was finally admitting something to himself for the first time.
"I don’t know."
Your breath caught.
He exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his dark hair, his frustration bleeding into the air between you.
"I just know that I can’t get you out of my mind."
His voice was almost a whisper now, almost broken.
"And I’m finding it harder and harder to stay away from you."
Your stomach twisted violently, your heart pounding so loudly it roared in your ears.
Because he was shaking your world apart.
Your hands curled into fists, your entire body trembling as you whispered, "I’m not sure what to do with that."
Azriel swallowed hard, stepping forward, as if being closer to you might settle the storm within him.
"I’m not so sure I want to reject the bond anymore."
The words landed between you like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from your lungs.
Your lips parted, your vision going slightly blurry.
Because you had been waiting—hoping—for him to say those words.
And yet… they were not enough.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
"I understand that the bond is probably making you feel things towards me because of the very nature of it."
He hesitated. "Maybe you’re right."
You nodded slowly, your throat tight, willing yourself to breathe evenly.
"Maybe the bond is making me feel the need to claim you," he admitted, his voice hoarse.
And just as your chest started to ache, just as you started to feel that all of this was just a cruel joke.
Azriel’s fingers flexed at his sides before he dragged his hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, shaking his head.
He took a step closer.
You took a step back.
Because—no.
No.
You could not let yourself hope.
Could not let yourself believe in something that would destroy you if it turned out to be a lie.
But he didn’t let you retreat.
Not this time.
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm but gentle, his thumb brushing against your racing pulse.
"I just know—" he swallowed hard, his breath uneven, "I just know that I’ve never felt this way before."
Your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the way his voice cracked, past the way he was looking at you...
Like he was desperate to make you understand.
"I never felt this craving, this longing for anyone but you," he murmured, his voice rough, his hand tightening on your wrist.
"Not even for her."
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
"Az—"
"And I can’t just let it go without knowing what it really means."
His forehead pressed against yours, his breath shaky, uneven, raw.
"I can’t let you go without knowing if this is real."
Your entire body trembled, the bond between you humming so loudly you swore it filled the entire room, swore it was pulling you closer, swore it was whispering in your ear, telling you that this was real, that this was everything.
"I don’t know what to do with that," you finally whispered, your voice breaking, the words barely more than a breath.
Azriel’s fingers tightened around your wrist, as if he was afraid you’d slip away.
"Then let’s figure it out together," he murmured.
Your breath hitched.
Because you wanted that.
Gods, you wanted that more than anything.
But could you survive it if he changed his mind?
Could you survive it if he decided this wasn’t what he wanted after all?
Could you survive loving him completely, only for him to walk away?
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow across Azriel’s sharp features, illuminating the shadows that clung to him like they were afraid to let him go.
But for once, it wasn’t his shadows that were restless, conflicted, torn apart.
It was him.
You could see it in his eyes.
The hesitation.
The guilt.
The war raging inside him—between what he thought he should do and what he truly wanted.
And gods, you were tired.
Tired of being caught in the crossfire.
Tired of wondering if he would ever truly choose you.
Tired of pretending that you could survive being second choice.
So you took a breath, steadying yourself, even as your chest ached, even as your ribs felt like they might crack under the weight of what you were about to say, as he released your wrist.
"Azriel."
Your voice was soft but firm, unwavering despite the tremble in your fingers.
His gaze snapped to yours immediately, sharp and searching, as if he knew—knew you were about to draw a line in the sand.
And you were.
"I cannot be mated to someone who truly loves another," you said, your voice steady, but gods—it hurt.
Azriel’s entire body tensed, his jaw tightening, his wings shifting.
But you weren’t finished.
"When I accept the mating bond with someone," you continued, "it will be because that person loves me. And only me. Not because fate decided for me."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
Azriel’s breathing was shaky, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as if he were restraining himself from reaching for you.
But you had to say it.
You had to make him understand.
"I won’t settle, Azriel."
His eyes flashed, his shadows coiling, writhing.
And gods, you knew it.
Knew he was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.
Knew he had spent so long telling himself that Elain was his future.
That she was what he wanted.
But you weren’t sure he had ever questioned it before.
Not like this.
Not until you.
You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself, because this next part—this next part was the choice he had to make.
"If you truly want to explore what this bond could mean—" you began, watching him carefully, watching the way his lips parted slightly, the way his entire body went completely, utterly still.
"Then stay."
Azriel’s throat worked, his breathing uneven, his fists loosening, as if your words had just knocked the air out of him.
You didn’t stop.
Didn’t let him run from this.
Didn’t let yourself back down.
"Stay the rest of the week with me."
His wings twitched.
His hands flexed.
"No expectations," you continued, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. "Not everything has to be figured out this very minute."
His jaw tightened, his hazel eyes burning into yours.
"But if you meant what you said—" you whispered, "if you meant it when you told me you can’t stop thinking about me, that you can’t let go without knowing if this is real…"
Your breath shook, your fingers trembling at your sides.
"Then stay."
Azriel stared at you.
And his breath hitched, his hands twitching, his shadows stilling.
Because you had just given him the choice.
A choice that was his, and his alone.
A choice that would determine everything.
And you watched, heart pounding, as he hesitated—
As he fought within himself.
As he tried to decide whether he was ready to stop running from this, from you.
From what could be.
"Okay."
One word.
One simple, single word.
But gods, it changed everything.
*****
The fire had dimmed, the only light in the cabin now coming from the silver glow of the moon filtering through the windows. Outside, the mountains stretched endlessly, blanketed in quiet, the cold wind whispering against the wooden walls.
Azriel lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the dim glow of the fire casting flickering shadows along the wooden beams above him.
It was late.
The kind of deep, unholy hour of the night where thoughts ran wild, where walls crumbled, where truths that had been buried too long clawed their way to the surface.
And all he could think about—was you.
You were just in the next room.
So close.
Too close.
And it was torture.
Just beyond the thin wooden door of the bedroom, tucked beneath the covers, breathing softly, completely unaware of what you were doing to him.
What you had been doing to him since the moment he first saw you.
The bond between you was pulling, humming, thrumming beneath his skin.
It had been since he arrived at this cabin, since you let him in, since you offered him the one thing he never thought he would have—a choice.
And now he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
How you had stood before him earlier that evening, so fierce, so fucking beautiful, challenging him, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself, about love, about what he wanted.
The couch was comfortable enough, but it might as well have been made of stone, because he could not sleep.
Not when every sense he had was already attuned to you.
He could hear your breathing—soft, steady.
Could smell your scent—warm, intoxicating, laced with that hint of vanilla and something purely, undeniably you.
It was everywhere.
Seeping into his skin, filling his lungs, drowning him.
And gods—it was undoing him.
That warm, rich, intoxicating scent of yours clung to the air, settled into the cushions, wrapped around him like a noose.
The way you smelled when you were just existing, completely unaware that your very presence had become his undoing.
And gods—the bond.
The fucking bond.
It was buzzing between you, thick and heavy, laced with an unspoken promise.
He could hear you breathing in the next room.
Each soft, steady inhale taunting him, reminding him how close you were, reminding him that all he had to do was get up, open that door, slide beneath the covers, and pull you into his arms.
How he could kiss you senseless, his hands roaming over your soft curves, feeling every inch of you, claiming you the way you deserved to be claimed.
The way only he could.
Because no other male could touch you like he could.
No other male would ever burn for you the way he already did.
And fuck—he hated it.
Hated how deeply you had gotten under his skin.
Hated that you were already consuming him, ruining him, without even trying.
Hated that he wasn’t thinking about Elain.
Not anymore.
Because with each passing hour, with every second that he spent in this cabin, in this bond, in your presence...
She faded.
Her memory, her softness, the quiet affection he had once thought was love - it all became a distant blur.
The less he thought about promises and duty and what he thought his heart had wanted for so many years.
And you became the only thing in focus.
Because you weren’t soft.
You were fire.
And he was burning for you.
His hands flexed, gripping the blanket he had pulled over himself, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
He had never, not once, felt this attuned to Elain.
Never laid awake at night, his senses so overwhelmed by her mere presence.
Never felt this pull, this ache, this deep, primal craving.
But with you—it was instinctual.
Almost animalistic.
And the realization was so staggering, so terrifying, so completely life-altering that he didn’t know what to do with it.
Didn’t know what to do with the fact that you had become the first thing he thought about when he woke in the morning and the last thing he thought about before he went to sleep.
Didn’t know what to do with the fact that when he had kissed you tonight, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Hadn’t wanted to stop.
That if you hadn’t pushed him away, he would have taken you right then and there.
And gods help him—he would have never let you go.
His breathing shook, his shadows curling restlessly around the room, searching for something, for someone—
For you.
He dragged a hand down his face, clenching his jaw, forcing himself to stay put.
Because he could still taste you.
Still feel your body pressed against his, still feel the way you had moaned for him, had melted beneath his touch.
Azriel lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides as if physically restraining himself from moving.
Because he could.
He could get up right now, open that door, slide into the bed beside you, and let this thing between you consume him.
Let you consume him.
He had no doubt that if he did, if he let himself go just once, there would be no return.
He would be yours.
Entirely.
Irrevocably.
Completely.
And that terrified him.
Because for so many years, his heart had belonged to someone else.
To Elain.
To the quiet, delicate love he had convinced himself was enough.
To the future he had imagined, one filled with soft moments, whispered promises, a love that was gentle and kind.
And yet—he had never once felt this kind of hunger for her.
This primal, unrelenting need.
This madness.
This bond.
He exhaled sharply, his fingers gripping the blanket as if it could ground him, as if it could keep him from giving in.
Because no matter how much his body called for you, how much his soul burned for you—
He had made a promise.
To Elain.
And Azriel was nothing if not loyal to his word.
But gods, he needed to know.
Needed to know what this thing with you was.
Needed to know if it was real, if it was fate, if it was something so much deeper than a bond telling him what to feel.
Because it felt like more.
More than anything he had ever known.
More than what he had felt for Elain in all the years he had loved her.
More than what he had believed his heart was even capable of.
But he couldn’t trust it.
Not yet.
Not when he was still bound to another, still torn between two futures.
Azriel lay stiffly, his body a coil of tension, of restraint, of something dark and restless that refused to settle.
He had always known he was different.
That his darkness ran too deep, too consuming, too much.
That he had spent centuries learning control, perfecting the mask, keeping the most primal, most dangerous parts of himself locked away.
Because no one had ever wanted all of him.
Not really.
And he had accepted that.
Accepted that love—true love—meant keeping those parts of himself hidden.
Especially when it came to Elain.
Elain, who was gentle and soft, light and delicate.
Elain, who looked at him with something pure, something safe.
Elain, who made him believe for a time that maybe, just maybe, he could have a love that was simple.
A love that was quiet.
A love that did not require him to unleash the shadows inside him, to give in to the fire that burned in his blood.
But the truth was—he had always held himself back with her.
In every way.
Especially in the bedroom.
Because there was a part of him—a dark, primal, possessive part of him—that craved more.
That needed to claim, to mark, to dominate.
That wanted to hear his name fall from his lover's trembling lips, wanted to see the flush of pleasure mixed with pain as he sank his teeth into soft skin, wanted to hear his lover beg for him to take, to ruin, to own.
But he never allowed himself to be that way with Elain.
She was too sweet, too delicate, too breakable.
She would not want that.
Would not accept that.
So he had been gentle.
Careful.
Holding himself back from the urge to grab, to bite, to take.
He had given her the version of himself he thought she wanted.
But now—now, lying on this couch, so close to you, knowing you were in the next room, knowing you were his mate...
He wondered if he had ever truly known what it meant to love someone.
Because with you, he somehow knew.
Knew that you would not fear the shadows in him.
Knew that you would not shrink from his darkness, from the raw hunger, from the possessive, territorial need that burned in his blood.
You would challenge him.
Would meet his darkness with your own fire.
Would match him, push him, set him ablaze.
Gods, he could already see it.
The defiance in your eyes as you dared him to take what he wanted.
The wicked smirk on your lips when you would push him too far, testing his patience, knowing exactly what it would do to him.
The way you would fight him, challenge him, push him until he snapped—until he finally took you the way he had always craved to take a lover.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
But hungry and desperate and all-consuming.
Because you would accept that part of him.
Because you would want it.
And gods help him—he wanted you to want it.
He wanted you.
More than he had ever wanted anything in his entire existence.
And that realization terrified him.
Because if he gave in to this, if he gave in to you, if he let himself be yours the way the bond screamed at him to be...
There would be no coming back.
So he clenched his jaw, forced himself to stay put, forced himself to keep the promise he had made.
Because he did love Elain.
Didn’t he?
But he also needed you.
Desperately.
Madly.
In a way that was beginning to consume him whole.
And so he lay there, aching, restless, burning.
Determined to see the rest of this week through.
Determined to figure out what this bond meant.
Determined to find the truth before it was too late.
Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 4.2k | warnings: general angst, mentions of dizziness and nausea
Summary: you wake up only to find out you were unconscious much longer than anticipated, leading to multiple needed confrontations
Author’s note: I’ve been a bit MIA lately 😅 just throwing this out in the void before going through my dms/inbox. I’m soooo excited for the next part
Previous part | Next part | Masterlist
Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 6k | warnings: general angst, canon violence, blood, loose medical stuff that likely doesn’t make sense
Summary: avoiding Azriel only works for so long when he uses Rhysand to get you to see Eris one more time. You’re more than shocked when your meeting is ambushed, wounds making you reconsider things.
A/N: we’re insecure, and we don’t know what for! Anyway please enjoy 💕
Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.3k | warnings: general angst, nudity, horniness
Summary: despite the disastrous turn last night took, life continues on. Maybe, just maybe Eris’s treatment of you has Azriel reconsidering things.
Author’s note: happy birthday to me! I’m giving you all angst. Your anguish is the best present I could ask for 🫶🏻 (ps eventually things will be shifting, I promise the angst train has an end in sight)
Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.3k | warnings: general angst, some violence
Summary: after a week of avoiding talking to him, Azriel invites you out for a meeting that only leaves you with a more urgent sense of jealousy
Author’s note: happy new year’s eve!! I know it hasn’t been too long since the last part, but I wanted to spread some holiday joy! This year has been awful but my time online and the friends I’ve met through here have been so lovely and kind and you guys have gotten me through a lot do here’s some pain!
Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of violence
Summary: heading back to the townhouse to wallow in self pity is thwarted when Azriel follows you. Giving a part of himself to you, can some form of amends be made?
Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.5k | warnings: none
Summary: secrets threaten to swallow you whole as you work up the courage to tell Azriel about being his mate. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only one with secrets
Author’s note: this came from a draft I found BURIED okay I was looking for a different azris x reader draft but found this and had to finish it
pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel, the feared and disciplined Spymaster of the Night Court, has spent centuries longing for a mate. When the Cauldron finally grants him one, it is not the gentle, soft-hearted Elain, the female he has chosen to love, but you—Helion’s wild, untamed, and fiercely independent daughter.
A renowned singer, vibrant, and utterly untouchable, you have spent your life knowing that men only ever want something from you. When the bond snaps between you and Azriel, you want nothing to do with it—or him. He is dark, lethal, and bound to another, while you are free-spirited, full of fire, and unwilling to let fate dictate your choices.
Rejecting the bond could break him. Could destroy him.
And if he walks away from you now, he may never recover.
But is it too late to stop himself?
Or has he already fallen into the fire?
_____________________________________________________________
content warnings: angst
word count: 4.5k
Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld
Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
Image owned by Soluna Artworks.
To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!
********
Chapter 5
Azriel had thought returning to Velaris would bring him relief.
That stepping back into the familiar, into the life he had chosen, would steady him.
Would remind him of the path he had sworn to take.
But the second he landed in the gardens, shadows still writhing around him in a frenzy, Elain was there.
Waiting.
Hope shimmered in her soft brown eyes as she rushed toward him, her golden hair catching the glow of the lantern light.
Before he could even take a breath—she was in his arms.
And then—her lips were on his.
Azriel froze.
Because it wasn’t your lips.
Because your kiss had been wild, untamed, searing through his veins like fire, like a war he never wanted to win.
Because your kiss had ruined him.
And Elain’s—
Elain’s felt like ashes in his mouth.
Like a flame that had already burned out.
Like something that was dying before it had even had the chance to fully live.
He forced himself to not recoil, to not let his disgust show, to not let the sheer repulsion shudder through him.
Instead, he pulled back—gently, carefully, making it seem like nothing was wrong.
Like he hadn’t just realized—truly, devastatingly realized—that he could never love Elain the way she wanted him to.
The way he was already beginning to feel about you.
Her soft smile never wavered. "I missed you."
Azriel forced himself to nod. "I missed you too."
But even as he said it—he felt the lie in his bones.
Because he had not been thinking of Elain while he was gone.
Not once.
Not even for a moment.
He had only thought of you.
Of your storm-gray eyes that never failed to challenge him.
Of the way your lips had bruised against his, the way you had kissed him like you wanted to claim him as your own.
Of the way he had wanted to let you.
Elain took his hand, leading him inside, leading him back into the illusion of the life they had built together.
Back to what was safe.
But now?
Now, safe no longer felt like enough.
They sat in the library, the fire crackling softly, filling the silence between them.
Elain poured him tea, delicate and sweet, just like her.
And all he could think about was you.
About how if it had been you, you would have poured him whiskey instead, smirking at him over the rim of your glass, challenging him as you drank.
You wouldn’t have been careful.
You wouldn’t have been timid.
And gods, he craved that.
"How did it go?" Elain asked, her soft voice pulling him from his thoughts.
Azriel hesitated.
Because hearing himself say it—admitting it aloud—would make it real.
Would make the looming truth in his chest impossible to ignore.
Still, he exhaled slowly, setting down his cup.
"We discussed it," he said carefully.
Elain’s expression brightened. "And?"
Azriel stared at the fire, watching the flames dance, feeling the heat that didn’t quite reach his bones.
"She agreed."
Elain smiled.
And Azriel felt nothing.
No relief.
No joy.
Just a slow, creeping dread curling through his gut.
"But," he continued, his voice strained, "we were interrupted before we could say the words out loud. So I’ll have to go back, find her and make sure those words are said – so it’s done."
Elain nodded, looking pleased, hopeful.
But Azriel—he could barely breathe.
Because the thought of severing the bond, of cutting you out of his life, felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff.
Felt like erasing the very thing he had prayed for his entire existence.
Felt like a mistake.
A mistake he might never recover from.
His mind was spinning, unraveling, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
Elain frowned. "Azriel, what’s wrong?"
And gods—he couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t lie to her.
Couldn’t lie to himself.
So he looked at her—really looked at her.
And for the first time, he let himself say the words he had been too afraid to admit.
"I need to be honest with you."
Elain stilled.
Azriel took a slow, shuddering breath.
"I’m finding it harder and harder to stay away from her."
Elain’s body went rigid.
"I feel things with her that I’ve never felt before."
Her breath hitched.
"Do you love her?" she whispered.
Azriel hesitated.
Because he didn’t know.
Didn’t know if love could grow so fast, if it could consume so quickly.
But hadn’t it already?
Hadn’t you already carved yourself so deep into his chest that he would never be the same again?
"I... I don’t know," he admitted, his voice raw with conflicted emotion.
"I love you, Elain. I always have. But now—now that I have this mate I never expected—I’m not sure if love can grow so quickly, if it’s even love at all.”
“Or just the bond making me feel the need to claim what I’ve always prayed for."
But it wasn’t the same.
And she knew it.
His voice was quiet, wrecked.
"I thought being with you would be enough. I spent so long loving you, but my feelings about you have never consumed me the way my feelings about her do."
His words, heavy and desperate, cut through the quiet.
"I have never felt this fire with anyone before. But with her, I have this burning, desperate need that would make me willing to burn down the world just to see her smile."
Elain’s face crumpled, and for the first time, she looked truly afraid.
"We promised each other," she whispered, voice trembling. "We promised that we would reject our mates and be together. Because we love each other. Because we chose each other."
Azriel’s fingers curled into fists.
"Have you rejected Lucien?"
Elain went still.
Azriel’s pulse pounded in his skull.
"No."
His voice turned sharp, lethal.
"Why?"
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, "Because I don’t want to hurt him."
A slow, seething rage crept into Azriel’s blood.
"Then how can you expect me to reject my mate?"
Elain let out a shaky breath. "Because we chose each other, Azriel."
His wings twitched sharply.
"Did we? Or did we settle?"
She gasped.
Azriel stood abruptly, wings tensing behind him.
"I want someone who burns for me. Who wants to be with me without any doubts. "
Elain let out a choked sob, but he pressed on.
"Someone who would cross a battlefield just to see me before I go into war because they can’t stand to be apart from me for one more second."
His throat tightened as realization slammed into him like a tidal wave.
"I want someone who would choose me. Over and over again. No matter the consequences. Who would stand by me no matter what, even if the whole world turned against them for siding with me."
His hands shook.
And gods—wasn’t that the love he deserved?
The love he had waited for?
And before she could speak—he asked the question that had been burning in his chest.
"Could you ever love me like that?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "The way I want to be loved? Because I’m not so sure you could."
Elain opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
And Azriel knew.
Knew the answer before she even said it.
Finally, she whispered, "I don’t know."
Azriel’s heart fractured.
Because that was the difference between you and Elain.
You wouldn’t hesitate.
You would love him without fear, without conditions, without restraint.
He swallowed thickly.
Elain’s voice was barely a whisper. "Where do we go from here?"
Azriel’s chest ached.
He didn’t look at her.
Because he already knew the answer.
"I don’t know."
And then—he turned and walked away.
Because there was only one person he wanted to see.
Only one person who mattered.
And that person wasn’t Elain.
*****
You left Winter Court at dawn, exhaustion clinging to your bones like a second skin.
The crisp morning air did little to calm the storm raging inside you, did nothing to quiet the war that had taken root in your chest.
Azriel had come to end the bond.
And you had been so tired, so frustrated, so overwhelmed, that you had finally agreed.
The words had been right there, waiting to be spoken.
But Ryder had interrupted.
And now—now you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to say them at all.
By the time you winnowed back to Day Court, the golden light of home should have been a comfort.
But it wasn’t.
Because nothing felt like home anymore.
Nothing except him.
And that—that terrified you.
Helion was waiting for you in the atrium, reclining lazily on his throne, his golden robes pooling around him in effortless elegance.
The moment he saw you, he smirked.
"I assume the Shadowsinger found you, then?"
You let out a tired, humorless laugh.
"He did."
Helion arched a golden brow. "And?"
You exhaled, running a hand through your hair, shaking your head.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—"Papa, I need you."
Helion immediately sat up, all teasing vanishing from his face.
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment before meeting his gaze.
"I don’t know what to do. I need your advice, and you have never steered me wrong."
Something softened in his golden eyes, his lips pressing together in thought.
He stood, stepping toward you, his broad frame towering over you, radiating the warmth that had always made you feel safe.
"Come, sit with me, sunshine. Let’s talk."
So you did.
You told him everything.
Told him about Azriel storming into your dressing room, the fight, the kiss, the war raging inside you.
Told him about how Azriel had come to break the bond.
Told him how you had finally agreed—because fighting it had felt like trying to stop an avalanche.
Told him how the words had nearly left your lips… until Ryder had interrupted.
Told him how you weren’t sure anymore.
Helion was quiet for a long moment, his sharp gaze studying you.
Then, in a low voice, he said, "Azriel came here before he went to find you."
Your breath hitched.
Helion leaned back, swirling his goblet of wine. "He told me he was going to break the bond. That you both didn’t want it."
A pause.
Then—"But I could tell he was lying."
Your heart stumbled over itself.
"Azriel is a male of honor, of loyalty," Helion murmured. "He is known for his unyielding loyalty to Rhysand and the Inner Circle of the Night Court. If he gave Elain his word to choose her over any mate before he ever had the bond snap with you, then I imagine he feels like he has no choice but to uphold it."
He tilted his head, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"But I saw him, my daughter."
Helion’s eyes gleamed.
"And that male does not want to break the bond."
Your stomach twisted.
Because you had felt it too, hadn’t you?
Felt it in the way Azriel kissed you, touched you, looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.
Felt it in the way he hesitated, in the way he had said, ‘I don’t want this bond’ but his body had screamed otherwise.
"You and Azriel are perfect for each other," Helion continued, his voice gentler now. "The Cauldron knew what it was doing when it chose you both."
You let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor, your hands trembling slightly in your lap.
"I know I told Azriel I would reject the bond," you admitted. "But now I’m not so sure anymore. Because every time I’m around him… it’s beginning to feel like maybe we should be together."
Helion watched you closely, saying nothing.
So you kept going.
Because you had to.
Because if you didn’t, the weight of this would crush you.
"I always wanted what you and… she had." You didn’t have to say her name—he knew. "A love that was worth everything. That burned so bright it couldn’t be ignored. That defied courts and rules and fate itself."
Your voice shook.
"And I feel like I could have that with Azriel."
You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your forehead.
"But he told me he loves Elain. That he already made his choice before I came along."
Helion’s gaze sharpened. "Did he?"
You looked away. "That’s what he says."
"And what do you think?"
You hesitated. "I don’t know. And I—I can’t be destroyed, Papa. I can’t let myself love someone who won’t choose me."
Helion sighed, rubbing his jaw. "You’ve always been honest with yourself, sunshine. Always known what you wanted. Are you afraid of giving your heart away only to have him destroy it?"
Tears burned at the back of your throat.
"Yes."
Helion was quiet for a long moment before asking, "And Ryder?"
You hesitated.
Then—"I love him."
The words felt true.
But not true enough.
Because then you said—"But I think I chose him because it was safe."
Helion gave a slow, knowing nod.
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening.
"Ryder is an amazing male. He’s kind, devoted, loves me for me. But… is that enough?"
Your voice was barely a whisper now.
"I want to burn for someone the way you burned for Lucien’s mother."
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you didn’t wipe it away.
"And Ryder deserves that too."
Helion exhaled slowly, then reached out, taking your hand, squeezing gently.
"Then you already know what you have to do."
You let out a soft, broken laugh.
"Then why does it feel like my heart is being ripped in two?"
Helion smiled sadly.
"Because love is war, sunshine."
You breathed in sharply.
Helion was silent for a long moment, watching you.
Then—he smiled faintly.
"Tell me, Papa - what would you do?"
Helion’s eyes gleamed with something old, something knowing.
"I would fight."
You swallowed. "Even if it meant losing?"
His expression softened. "If he’s truly yours, you won’t lose. And if you do… then he was never yours to begin with."
A lump formed in your throat.
Helion pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.
"I think you need to step away from it all for a bit. You’ve been traveling nonstop, performing across every court. You are exhausted, and exhaustion leads to rash decisions."
You sniffed, nodding. "I don’t even know where to go."
Helion smiled. "I do. I have a cabin in the mountains of Vallahan. Secluded, peaceful. You could go there. Take a week, clear your mind. Just… be alone with your thoughts."
Your heart tightened.
That sounded… perfect.
Helion squeezed your hand once more. "Do you want Ryder to go with you?"
You shook your head. "No. I need to be alone."
Helion nodded in approval.
And then, after a long pause—"I think that is best and I won’t tell anyone where you are."
Relief crashed through you.
Because for the first time in weeks—you felt like you could finally breathe.
You stood, exhaling sharply. "I’ll go pack my things and head out this evening."
Helion pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, pressing a firm kiss to your temple.
"I’m always here for you, sunshine. No matter what happens, you will always have me."
You clung to him for just a moment, soaking in the warmth, the steadiness.
Then, with one last look at your father, you whispered, "I love you, Papa. I’ll see you in a week."
Helion smiled. “I love you, sunshine.”
And then - you left.
Because it was time to figure out what your heart truly wanted.
Even if that answer scared you.
*****
Azriel had spent the entire night pacing.
Sleep had evaded him, his mind churning with thoughts of you, of Elain, of the bond he had tried so hard to resist but was beginning to consume him.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel you.
Feel the way your lips had moved against his in that dressing room, the way your body had fit against his as if it had always belonged there.
Feel the way his entire world had tilted the moment he saw you on that stage.
It was undeniable now.
And it was time he stopped running from it.
So as soon as the sun began to rise over Velaris, he made his way to the River House.
To Rhysand.
The High Lord was in his study, already waiting for him, as if he had sensed that Azriel would come.
Rhys didn’t look surprised when Azriel walked in, shutting the door behind him.
Didn’t look surprised when Azriel ran a hand through his hair, shadows stirring around him in restless, fevered whorls.
But still, Rhys took a slow sip of his wine, setting his goblet down before arching a brow.
"So, I assume this visit isn’t just for a morning chat."
Azriel exhaled sharply, taking a seat across from him.
"I need to go to Day Court to find her."
Rhys tilted his head, studying him. "To find her?"
Azriel nodded, jaw tight. "To discuss this bond. To figure out what it truly means."
Rhys hummed, fingers steepling together in thought. "And Elain?"
Azriel stilled.
Because that was the real question, wasn’t it?
What about Elain?
For years, he had been certain that she was it.
That he had found something with her worth holding onto.
That even without the bond, they had chosen each other, and that choice meant something.
But now…
Now, he wasn’t sure anymore.
So he looked Rhys in the eye and said, "I don’t know."
Rhys raised an eyebrow.
Azriel let out a slow breath, pressing his fingers against his temples before continuing.
"I went to Winter Court to break the bond with her. I was ready to do it. She—she agreed, eventually. But before we could say the words, we were interrupted."
Rhys’s brows furrowed slightly. "And do you regret that? Not severing it?"
Azriel’s throat tightened.
"No."
He hadn’t even needed to think about it.
Because the truth was, the longer he spent away from you, the more he realized -
He didn’t want to break it.
Rhys said nothing, merely waiting for him to continue.
So Azriel pressed on.
"When I returned, I spoke with Elain."
His hands curled into fists at the memory.
"She was waiting for me, smiling, kissing me, telling me how much she had missed me. And it repulsed me - "
His voice faltered.
His chest tightened.
“ – because I would rather be kissing my mate."
Rhys said nothing.
Azriel clenched his jaw.
"We talked. She asked me about the bond, and I told her what happened. That it wasn’t finished. That I would have to go back and complete it."
His next words came out heavier, rawer.
"But hearing myself say it—it felt wrong, Rhys. It felt like a mistake."
His friend exhaled, leaning back in his chair, eyes piercing.
Azriel looked down at his hands.
"And then I asked her if she had broken the bond with Lucien."
A sharp pause.
"She hasn’t."
Rhys’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise.
Azriel let out a bitter laugh.
"She said she’s afraid to hurt him. That he’s a good male, and she knows what the bond means to him."
His voice turned sharp, lethal.
"And yet she expected me to throw mine away."
Rhys sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. "So, what does that tell you?"
Azriel sat stiff in his chair, his fingers curling into fists against his thighs.
Rhysand’s question hung heavy in the air, pressing against his chest like a weight he wasn’t ready to carry.
Azriel stared at the flickering candlelight on Rhys’s desk, at the way the shadows swayed, restless, waiting for his answer just as much as his High Lord was.
What did it tell him?
That Elain had never truly chosen him?
That she had wanted him only when it was convenient for her?
That for years, she had allowed him to love her, to hope for a future with her, while she refused to sever her own bond?
That she expected him to make the ultimate sacrifice.
To reject the thing he had prayed for, but she wasn’t willing to do the same?
His stomach twisted, anger curling deep inside him, sharp and bitter.
His voice was low when he spoke, quiet but seething.
"It tells me that she never really wanted me."
Rhys said nothing.
Azriel swallowed hard, staring down at his own hands.
"It tells me that I was a choice she could make on her own terms, while Lucien was a responsibility she wasn’t ready to let go of."
He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
"It tells me that she wanted me to reject my mate—to throw away something I have dreamed of, prayed for."
His jaw tightened, his throat burning.
"And it tells me that maybe I was just a placeholder."
The words felt like venom on his tongue, like a wound that had been festering inside him for years, but he had never dared to admit it.
Rhys tilted his head, watching him closely.
"Do you really believe that? That she never wanted you?"
Azriel let out a sharp exhale, leaning forward, elbows braced against his knees.
"I believe she wanted the idea of me. The version of me that was safe."
He looked up, meeting Rhys’s gaze.
"But I was never truly hers."
Rhys’s violet eyes gleamed with something like understanding.
Azriel let out another shaky breath, gripping his hair.
"And the worst part?"
His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care.
"I spent so long believing I loved her, but now I wonder if I only ever loved the idea of loving her."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Azriel clenched his jaw, his wings tensing behind him.
"Because whatever I felt for Elain, whatever I thought I had with her… it was nothing compared to this."
He didn’t have to say who he meant.
They both knew.
Rhys leaned forward slightly, his violet eyes glinting. "You’ve wanted a mate for centuries. Prayed for one. And now you have her. But you’re afraid."
Azriel stiffened.
Rhys’s lips curved slightly. "Aren’t you?"
Azriel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
"I don’t know what I am."
Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you do. You just don’t want to admit it."
Azriel glared at him. "And what am I afraid of, then?"
Rhys’s eyes darkened, gaze unwavering.
"That this bond—the thing you wanted most—is more than you ever thought it could be."
Azriel froze.
Because Rhys was right.
This bond—it wasn’t just a connection, a tether, a simple pull of magic.
It was something so utterly consuming that it threatened to unravel him completely.
And that was what terrified him.
Because Elain had been safe.
And you were not.
Elain had been softness, quiet adoration.
But you?
You were fury and defiance, untamed and unrelenting.
Rhys watched him closely. "I’m glad you didn’t make any hasty decisions."
Azriel let out a hollow laugh.
Rhys’s smirk softened into something more sincere. "I still think the Cauldron got this one right."
Azriel clenched his jaw.
"Then why does it feel like my entire world is falling apart?"
Rhys chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Because love—the kind that changes you, the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew—is never easy."
Azriel swallowed hard.
Rhys was silent for a long moment, studying Azriel as if he were assessing the damage of a battlefield.
And perhaps that’s what this was.
A war Azriel had been fighting within himself for weeks now.
A war he was losing.
Finally, Rhys sighed, setting his goblet down with a quiet thud.
"You need to take time, Az." His voice was even, calm—but there was something sharp beneath it, something knowing.
Azriel’s fingers tightened against his knee. "Time?"
Rhys nodded. "Find her. Talk to her. Figure out what this bond truly means for both of you. But take some time. A week perhaps."
Azriel’s chest tightened.
Because the thought of seeing you again, of being in your presence—terrified him.
Not because he didn’t want to.
But because he wanted to so badly.
Rhys continued, his gaze piercing. "And you need to figure out where you stand with Elain."
Azriel inhaled sharply, looking away, focusing on the dark wood of the desk, the swirling of his own shadows curling around him.
"I already know where I stand."
Rhys arched a brow. "Do you?"
Azriel hesitated.
Because Rhys knew.
Rhys had always known.
"If you were certain, you wouldn’t be here right now."
Azriel clenched his jaw, his mind flashing back to every moment he had shared with you.
To the first time he saw you, glowing under the lights of Rita’s, a song on your lips and power in your stance, looking at him like you already knew you were meant to destroy him.
To the moment your eyes met, when the bond snapped into place like a chain wrapping around his soul.
To the way you had kissed him in the alley, like you didn’t care who was watching, like you wanted to mark him as yours even though you swore you didn’t want him.
To Winter Court, when he had told himself he was there to sever the bond—but left feeling more confused than ever.
Because, deep down, he knew.
He knew that this wasn’t just about the bond.
It wasn’t just magic forcing him toward you.
It was something else, something real.
Something Elain had never made him feel.
Rhys tilted his head. "Do you love her?"
Azriel stiffened. "I told you, I don’t know."
Rhys just stared at him. "I wasn’t talking about Elain."
Azriel’s breath caught.
His entire body went still.
Rhys just smirked slightly, already knowing what Azriel didn't have the guts to speak just yet.
But his voice was softer when he said, "Go find her, Az. Talk to her. See what this really means for both of you."
Azriel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Because he had to.
Because if he didn’t—if he walked away from this, from you—
He might spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been.
pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel, the feared and disciplined Spymaster of the Night Court, has spent centuries longing for a mate. When the Cauldron finally grants him one, it is not the gentle, soft-hearted Elain, the female he has chosen to love, but you—Helion’s wild, untamed, and fiercely independent daughter.
A renowned singer, vibrant, and utterly untouchable, you have spent your life knowing that men only ever want something from you. When the bond snaps between you and Azriel, you want nothing to do with it—or him. He is dark, lethal, and bound to another, while you are free-spirited, full of fire, and unwilling to let fate dictate your choices.
Rejecting the bond could break him. Could destroy him.
And if he walks away from you now, he may never recover.
But is it too late to stop himself?
Or has he already fallen into the fire?
_____________________________________________________________
content warnings: angst
word count: 5.4k
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Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
Taglist: @melmo567 @ashduv @myfatbottomedgirls @batboyslutt
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********
Chapter 4
Azriel didn’t sleep.
He had laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling, shadows curling around him like restless creatures.
Trying—failing—to ignore the lingering pull in his chest.
The bond.
The bond that needed to be broken.
And so, at dawn, he winnowed straight to Day Court.
To end this.
The sun was already high in the sky, bathing the golden city in a soft, shimmering glow, the air warm and crisp.
But Azriel felt none of it.
Felt only the weight of what he was about to do.
The golden doors to Helion’s palace opened before he could even knock, and a courtier bowed, leading him through grand, sunlit halls until he stood in Helion’s study.
The High Lord of Day sat behind an ornate desk, swirling a glass of amber-colored wine despite the early hour.
He looked entirely at ease, like he had been expecting him.
"Ah, Spymaster." Helion’s lips curled, leaning back in his chair, golden robes pooling around him. "I had a feeling I’d be seeing you today."
Azriel’s jaw clenched.
"Where is she?"
Helion arched a perfect brow. "Straight to the point. How very Illyrian of you."
Azriel exhaled sharply, barely suppressing his impatience. "I need to speak with her."
"About?"
"The bond."
Helion took a slow sip of his drink, watching him over the rim of his glass.
"And what about the bond, exactly?"
Azriel straightened his spine.
"I’m going to reject it."
Silence.
Then—Helion chuckled.
Not the reaction Azriel had expected.
Not at all.
"Are you now?" Helion mused, swirling his wine. "How very fascinating."
Azriel’s wings twitched in irritation.
"She isn’t here, is she?"
Helion tilted his head, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. "No."
Azriel’s stomach dipped.
"Where?"
"Winter Court," Helion answered smoothly. "She left this morning to perform there tonight."
Azriel exhaled sharply, frustration creeping in.
Helion set down his glass with a soft clink, folding his hands together, his expression turning more contemplative.
"Tell me something, Spymaster."
Azriel lifted his gaze.
"Why are you so desperate to break this bond?"
Azriel’s jaw tightened. "Because neither of us want it."
"Is that so?"
Azriel’s brows furrowed. "Yes."
Helion leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly.
"Funny. Because from where I was standing in that alley last night, I saw two people who looked very much like they wanted each other."
Azriel’s throat bobbed.
"You saw wrong."
Helion just smirked.
"Did I?"
Azriel clenched his fists, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted at the memory of that kiss.
The way you had grabbed him like you were furious to want him.
The way his hands had pulled you closer, like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.
No.
No.
Helion propped his chin on one hand, studying him.
"You don’t need a meek and mild mate, Azriel."
Azriel’s heart kicked against his ribs.
"You need someone who will put up a fight. Someone who will challenge you."
Azriel said nothing, only held Helion’s gaze, unflinching.
"And my daughter?" Helion continued, his golden eyes gleaming. "She won’t bow. Not to you. Not to anyone."
Azriel’s shadows twisted sharply.
He knew that.
Had felt it the moment you stepped onto that stage, when you had bent down to sing in his face, taunting him with your voice, your body, your defiance.
Had felt it even more when you shoved him away, hissing at him in the alley, refusing to be claimed.
Helion’s voice softened, his tone almost fatherly.
"But there’s one thing you should know about her, Azriel."
Azriel stilled.
"She loves big."
Helion’s gaze turned thoughtful and his voice, more serious.
"If my daughter ever decides to give you her heart, you will never know love the way you will with her."
Azriel’s chest tightened.
Helion watched him carefully, his golden eyes sharp, piercing.
"She loves big, Azriel. She loves deeply, generously and without reservation. She would love you unconditionally and would always defend you and stand by your side, consequences be damned.”
Helion shook his head slowly.
“She doesn’t give her heart away easily. But if she does? You will never want to be without her and you will never want to love anyone else again."
Azriel couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t even look away from the High Lord as those words settled over him, sinking into his skin.
Helion leaned back in his chair, watching him like he had already figured him out.
"She may be hard to win over," he admitted. "She may put up a fight. She may test you, push you, challenge you at every turn."
A pause.
Then—Helion smirked.
"But if you fight for her? If you fight to win her heart?"
His golden eyes gleamed.
"It will be well worth it because she will love you with everything she has."
Azriel’s breath caught slightly.
Because he had not expected that.
Had not expected to hear that beneath your fire, beneath your sharp tongue and refusal to submit—was a heart that, if given, would be given wholly.
Helion leaned back. "Just something to consider."
Azriel cleared his throat, forcing himself to nod.
"Thank you for letting me know where she is."
He prepared to winnow away, to go to Winter Court and end this once and for all.
But then—Helion spoke again.
"Azriel."
The Illyrian paused, looking at him.
Helion’s expression was serious now.
"Don’t make hasty decisions and screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to you."
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
And then—Azriel nodded.
And vanished.
*****
Back at the House of Wind, Azriel sat in silence, staring into the flickering glow of the hearth, the flames dancing before him, but offering no warmth, no clarity.
Only chaos.
Only the unbearable weight of Helion’s words repeating over and over again in his mind.
"If she ever decides to give you her heart, you will never know love the way you will with her."
"You will never want to love anyone else again."
"She may be hard to win over, but if you fight for her… it will be well worth it because she will love you with everything she has."
Azriel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tight.
Because he knew.
Knew what Helion was saying was true.
If he won you, if you chose him—
It would be everything he had ever wanted.
Everything he had dreamed of but never believed he would have.
A mate who would stand beside him, consequences be damned.
A mate who would love him unconditionally, without hesitation, without fear.
A mate who wouldn’t just accept his darkness, but match it with her own.
Because that’s what you were—fire and storm, unrelenting and wild.
And gods—what would it feel like to be loved by you?
What would it feel like to be chosen by you?
To be yours and yours alone?
Because he knew—if you loved him -
There would be no half-measures, no careful distance.
You would burn for him.
Would fight for him.
Would stand beside him even when the world turned against you.
And that thought terrified him.
Because he had never had that.
Because no one had ever truly chosen him.
Except Elain.
And he loved Elain.
He truly did.
It was a soft, quiet thing—a love born of gentle moments and whispered promises.
She was kind, sweet, and full of light.
She saw him as something more than just the Spymaster, more than just shadows and steel and blood.
She saw the softness in him, the careful restraint, the quiet longing he had never dared to show anyone else.
And for a long time, he had convinced himself that was enough.
That he didn’t need a love that burned.
That he didn’t need to be consumed, to ache, to hunger for more.
But you—
You had shattered everything.
And now—now that it was within reach, now that the Cauldron had placed before him the one thing he had always wanted—
He was afraid.
Because what if he fought for you, risked everything for you… and lost?
What if you decided you didn’t want him?
What if you looked at him one day and realized he wasn’t enough?
What if this bond was nothing more than a cruel joke, a mistake, a twisted twist of fate?
Could he live with that?
Could he survive loving you, knowing you would never love him back?
His chest ached, a slow, unbearable pain that coiled deep inside him.
Because there was also Elain.
Elain, who was safe.
Elain, who was kind and sweet and good.
Elain, who had chosen him when he had thought no one ever would.
But was that enough?
Was it enough to be safe?
To be comfortable?
To be loved gently, carefully—never entirely, never fully?
Or did he want more?
Did he want to burn?
Did he want to risk it all for something greater, something real, something raw?
Azriel clenched his jaw, staring into the fire, his heart thundering in his chest.
His heart told him to burn, to choose something real.
But his mind?
His mind told him his decision was already made.
He was going to break the bond.
He was going to uphold his promise to Elain.
Because he had to.
Didn’t he?
*****
The dressing room was warm, the glow of candlelight flickering off the mirrors lining the vanity as you adjusted the straps of your dress.
The fabric was rich and decadent, hugging your curves in all the right places, the color a striking contrast against your sun-kissed skin.
You reached behind you, fingers grasping for the zipper, twisting slightly as you tried—and failed—to pull it up.
A frustrated sigh left your lips.
And then—a commotion outside your dressing room door.
Loud voices.
Raised.
Angry.
And one of them belonged to Ryder.
Your brows knitted together just as the door was shoved open, crashing against the wall with a force that made the mirror tremble.
And standing there, his chest rising and falling hard, his hazel eyes dark with fury—was Azriel.
A very, very pissed off Azriel.
Ryder was immediately behind him, his expression wild, his body tense with rage.
"Who the fuck do you think you are—"
"We need to talk."
Azriel’s voice was low, sharp as steel, as he cut Ryder off without sparing him a glance.
His entire focus was on you.
Ryder growled, his hands curling into fists as he stepped forward, ready to throw Azriel out if necessary.
You sighed sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"It’s okay, Ryder."
Ryder’s head snapped toward you.
"You’ve got to be kidding me."
You met his stormy blue gaze, offering him a firm nod.
"It’s fine."
Ryder exhaled sharply, glaring at Azriel one last time before reluctantly stepping back, closing the door behind him.
And then it was just the two of you.
Azriel didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, taking up all the space in the room, his presence thick and suffocating.
His hazel eyes were burning as they raked over you, traveling up and down your body with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
You hated the way your skin heated under his gaze, hated the way the bond in your chest thrummed in response to his presence.
You scowled, crossing your arms.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Azriel’s jaw tightened.
His hands flexed at his sides.
And still, he said nothing.
You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply before turning your back to him, exposing the open zipper of your dress.
"Well, while you think about why you’re here, you can help me zip this up."
Silence.
Then a slow inhale.
Azriel stepped forward.
His hands were shaking as they ghosted over the fabric of your dress.
His fingers brushed the bare skin of your spine.
And Azriel swore under his breath.
He curled his fingers around the zipper, slowly, painstakingly, dragging it up.
His knuckles brushed along the length of your back, his touch featherlight, reverent.
You hated the way your skin broke out in goosebumps, hated the way your breathing hitched, hated the way his presence was overwhelming you.
Azriel’s breath fanned over your exposed shoulder, and you swore he leaned in.
Swore he inhaled.
And for the briefest, most damning moment -
Neither of you moved.
Neither of you breathed.
Azriel’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate path back down your spine, his touch barely there, yet scorching against your skin.
You hated the way your body responded, the way your breath caught for a fraction of a second.
And you especially hated the way he hesitated at your hips—just for a moment—before stepping away.
As if it physically pained him to let go.
You turned back to face him, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest, the bond thrumming like a live wire between you.
Azriel’s gaze swept over you once more, dark and heated, his lips pressing into a tight line.
Then, with a scowl, he muttered, "You call this scrap of fabric a dress?"
Your brows shot up.
"Yes, this is a dress, Azriel."
His jaw clenched, his wings twitching behind him.
"You need to wear something that covers you more."
You crossed your arms, amused despite the tension crackling between you.
"Oh? Do I now?"
Azriel’s eyes flickered, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.
"Otherwise, men will be climbing all over themselves to touch you."
You let out a sharp, unamused laugh.
"Well, thank you for your concern, but I will be wearing what I want to wear. And what I want to wear is this dress."
You turned away, ready to put space between you before he made you lose your temper entirely.
But before you could take a step, a firm, unrelenting grip closed around your wrist.
Azriel’s fingers tightened, his touch scorching hot, unyielding.
You whipped around, glaring at him.
His expression was dark, unreadable, his hazel eyes flickering with something primal.
"If you were mine," he said slowly, his voice a low, lethal promise, "I wouldn’t let you out of my sight dressed like this."
Your stomach twisted violently.
Not in fear.
Not in anger.
But in something else entirely.
So you lifted your chin, steeling yourself.
"Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not yours, now isn’t it?"
His grip tightened just slightly before releasing you.
You inhaled sharply, your nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself.
Then, cold as steel, sharp as a dagger, you met his gaze.
"You wanted to talk, Azriel?" Your voice was icy, unreadable. "So talk."
Azriel didn’t look away.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t let himself focus on the way your chest rose and fell with sharp, irritated breaths.
Didn’t let himself acknowledge the way your scent, infuriatingly intoxicating, filled the air around him.
Didn’t let himself admit that his hands still ached from where he had touched you—your wrist, your back, your hips.
That it wasn’t enough.
That it would never be enough.
Because he had come here for one reason.
And one reason only.
He inhaled slowly, forcing his voice into something cold, detached, distant.
"I came to talk to you about the bond."
The amusement, the taunting edge, vanished from your expression instantly.
Your entire body stiffened, your gray eyes flashing with something unreadable.
He pressed on before you could interrupt.
"Since neither of us want it," he said, each word carefully measured, each syllable a slow dagger against his own chest.
"We need to reject it."
Silence.
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first.
And then—you let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
A sound that wasn’t joyful, wasn’t amused—just bitter.
You shook your head slightly, crossing your arms, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips.
"So that’s what this is?" you muttered. "You storm into my dressing room, scowl at my dress, insult me, act like you have any say over what I do with my body, and then—"
Your expression darkened, hardening into something lethal.
"Then you tell me you want to reject the bond."
Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides.
"It’s not about want," he said carefully.
Your eyes narrowed.
"Then what is it about?"
He clenched his jaw. "We both made our choices before the bond snapped."
Something in your gaze flickered.
"You mean you made your choice, Azriel. You decided to chain yourself to a female who will never really be yours."
A sharp, dangerous growl rumbled in his throat.
"I have not chained myself to Elain. I love her. Besides, that’s not your concern."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re right. It’s not. Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not interested in being anyone’s mate. Least of all yours."
Before he could stop himself, before he could think it through—
The words left his mouth like a whipcrack.
"So then what the hell are you doing with Ryder?"
Slowly, you faced him again, your expression shifting from startled to furious in the span of a breath.
"Excuse me?"
Azriel’s wings tensed, his hazel eyes darkening.
He fisted his hands at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to do something—
But he had no right.
No right to demand answers from you.
No right to be jealous.
No right to want you when he had spent all night convincing himself that he didn’t.
Still, he growled, "He’s not your mate."
Your eyes flashed dangerously.
"Neither are you. Not really."
His stomach twisted violently.
You took a slow step forward, tilting your head. "I happen to love Ryder. He has been the only male who I can trust, who wants me for me. Not my body or otherwise. So tell me, Azriel… what the fuck do you care?"
He opened his mouth—but nothing came out.
And gods—you smirked.
Like you had won.
Like you knew exactly what kind of war you had ignited inside him.
You shook your head, your voice turning sharp as a blade.
"That’s what I thought."
Azriel knew that should have made this easier.
Should have made the decision final.
Should have snapped the bond apart right then and there.
So why did his chest ache?
Why did his shadows curl around him, desperate, restless, as if they knew the truth before he did?
Why did the thought of breaking the bond make something deep inside him claw against his ribs?
But he had no choice.
He had Elain.
He had a promise to keep.
So he swallowed the bitterness, the pain, the fire that burned only for you.
And simply said, "Then we’re in agreement. It needs to be done."
Another long, tense silence.
Then—you turned away from him, exhaling sharply.
"Fine, Azriel. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it."
He should have felt relief.
He should have felt free.
Azriel snapped.
It was the way you said it—so final, so dismissive.
Like you truly didn’t care.
Like you weren’t feeling this bond searing beneath your skin, demanding, consuming.
Like you weren’t his.
And that sent him over the edge.
"You are so godsdamned infuriating," he growled.
Before you could react, he launched himself at you, gripping your arms and slamming you against the wall.
A gasp left your lips, but before you could even think—his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was claiming.
Desperate.
An explosion of fire and rage and everything he had been trying to resist.
A war.
His hands gripped your waist, sliding down your sides, mapping your body like he had been dying to touch you for centuries.
He kissed you like he wanted to devour you.
Like he needed to prove something to himself—to you—to this bond.
And you let him.
The second his tongue swiped against yours in a heated, bruising battle for dominance, you opened for him.
And Cauldron help him, you tasted like sin.
He told himself it was goodbye.
That maybe, if he kissed you one last time, if he finally took what the bond had been screaming at him to take, it would be enough.
Enough to get you out of his system.
Enough to break this unbearable, suffocating tie between you.
Because how could he want you this much?
How could he, who had spent centuries in control, in silence, in shadow—be unraveling so fast for you?
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled you closer, flush against him, pressing his aching, straining erection against your stomach.
His hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging into your skin as if he could brand himself there.
As if he could make you feel what he felt.
Make you understand that no one else could touch you.
It was then he knew.
This was not goodbye.
It never could be.
Because you were his.
The bond wasn’t going to be broken.
The bond wasn’t something he could fight.
He ripped his lips from yours, trailing scorching, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, nipping at the delicate skin, his breath ragged.
"You are driving me fucking crazy," he murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse, raw, ruined.
His lips dragged over your pulse point, his tongue flicking out, making you shudder.
"I can’t get you out of my head," he confessed between kisses, his grip on you tightening.
And gods be damned, you moaned his name.
“Azriel…”
A sound that sent him spiraling, sent his control snapping like brittle twigs.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your nails raking into his scalp, tugging at his hair.
Azriel groaned, his mouth crashing against yours again, desperate, unrelenting.
You could feel it—the tether pulling you both together, the impossible force binding you, demanding to be acknowledged.
Demanding to be claimed.
And you were losing yourself in him.
Your mind hazed, your body alight, melting, responding, needing—
But then, it hit you.
Why he was here.
What he had come to do.
The truth - the betrayal of it - sent a white-hot wave of fury surging through you.
With all the strength you had, you shoved him back.
Hard.
Azriel stumbled slightly, breathing heavy, as he gazed at you, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes dark and dazed, completely wrecked.
And Cauldron curse him - he swore you were the sexiest fucking thing he had ever seen.
But you weren’t thinking about that.
You were seething.
"What the fuck are you doing?" you demanded, your voice shaking with rage and something dangerously close to regret.
Azriel’s chest heaved, his hands still twitching at his sides, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
Like he wanted to pull you back to him, shove you against the wall again, kiss you until you forgot everything but him.
"This isn’t breaking the bond, Azriel!" you shouted, exasperated, your fists clenched at your sides.
"What do you want from me?!"
He opened his mouth.
Started to speak. “I – “
But before he could, the door swung open.
"It’s time," Ryder said, his tone clipped, his gaze flicking suspiciously between you and Azriel.
Azriel’s muscles tensed, his wings flaring slightly.
You nodded sharply, adjusting your dress, trying to steady your breath, trying to ignore the heat still coursing through your body.
As you moved toward the door, you paused.
Turned to look at him—this male who had just ruined you with a single kiss.
Who had made everything so unbelievably complicated.
Your eyes met his.
"This changes nothing."
Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable.
He should have agreed.
Should have stepped away.
Should have walked out of that dressing room and never looked back.
Because even after kissing you, even after feeling you against him, tasting your lips, dragging his hands over your skin—
He still fucking wanted you.
And gods, he hated you for it.
Hated you for making him feel this way.
Hated you for not pushing him away sooner.
Hated you for looking at him with fury instead of love.
Hated you because—he had never wanted anything more.
*****
Azriel should have left.
Should have winnowed away the second you walked out of that room, leaving him alone with the truth he didn’t want to face.
Should have gone back to Velaris, back to Elain, back to the life he had chosen.
But instead—he stayed.
And gods, was that a mistake.
The Winter Court bar was packed, fae from all over gathered to see you perform, the energy in the room electric as they waited.
Azriel stood in the back, hidden in the shadows, arms crossed, wings tucked in tight, jaw clenched so hard it ached.
And then—you walked onto the stage.
The room erupted into cheers, into whistles, into desperate cries of your name.
And Azriel?
Azriel forgot how to breathe.
The lights bathed you in a soft, icy glow, turning your golden skin almost luminescent, making you look ethereal, untouchable.
Your long, dark waves cascaded over your shoulders, wild and free, catching in the glow of the stage lights like spun silk.
The dress you wore was small, hugging every dangerous curve of your body, shimmering with each step you took.
And fuck, he hated it.
Hated how every male in this room was staring at you like you were something to be devoured.
Hated how he had touched you, kissed you, felt you against him—and yet, you were up there on that stage, completely untouchable.
And when you sang?
Cauldron damn him, he nearly groaned.
Your voice was sultry, smooth, sinful, wrapping around the air like smoke, slipping into his veins like a drug.
And the songs—each one more sensual than the last.
You swayed to the rhythm, moved your hips just enough to drive the entire room insane.
And Azriel?
He was barely holding on.
But what ruined him—what sent something deep inside him snapping—was the way you kept looking at him.
Because you knew.
Knew he was still here.
Knew he was watching.
And you met his gaze again and again, daring him, taunting him.
Your storm-gray eyes burned into him as you sang, as your voice dripped with every unspoken thing between you.
And gods, he hated you for it.
Hated how he was so drawn to you, so completely and utterly consumed.
Hated that, in a room full of people who adored you, who would worship the ground you walked on—
You were looking at him.
And when you reached the final song of the night, your voice dipped into something deeper, slower, dangerously sensual.
And the words—Cauldron, the words.
"Your skin on my skin - "
"Lights a fire within.”
“I know I should run away – “
“But you’ve got me spinning with these games that you play.”
“Ruin me tonight in the darkness of your shadows."
And you were staring right at him.
And he—he could barely think.
Because his hands still burned from touching you.
Because his lips still tingled from kissing you.
Because your name was already branded into every fucking part of him.
His fists curled at his sides, his shadows twisting wildly.
This bond—this fucking bond.
Was making him question everything.
And he had to reject it soon before it destroyed everything he had built with Elain.
*****
The cheers had long since faded, the echoes of your sultry voice still lingering in the air of the now-empty Winter Court bar.
But inside you?
Inside you, there was no silence.
No peace.
No relief.
Only chaos.
Only the weight of something unspoken, something dangerous, something you didn’t dare name.
You let out a slow breath, running your fingers through your hair as you sat alone in your dressing room, staring at your reflection in the mirror.
The performance had been flawless.
The crowd had been electric.
And yet—you felt nothing.
Nothing except the ghost of Azriel’s touch on your skin.
Nothing except the weight of his hazel eyes lingering on you the entire show.
Nothing except the memory of his lips on yours, desperate and unrelenting, branding you as if he had every right.
You exhaled sharply, your hands curling into fists.
You should be celebrating.
You should be basking in the aftermath of another successful night.
Instead—you were unraveling.
A soft knock on the door had you straightening, forcing a tired smile as Ryder stepped inside.
He gave you a small, understanding look.
"You were amazing tonight, as always," he murmured, stepping closer, reaching for your hand.
But you pulled away before he could touch you.
And he noticed.
His expression didn’t change, didn’t harden, didn’t even falter—but you knew he felt it.
"I need to be alone, Ryder."
He watched you carefully. "Did he say something to you before the show?"
You hesitated.
Because yes, he did.
He said everything without saying anything at all.
But you just shook your head.
"Seeing him before I went on just...unnerved me."
Ryder didn’t push.
Didn’t ask you to explain.
Because Ryder had always been safe.
Always been the one who let you breathe, the one who let you come to him on your terms.
Which was exactly why he wasn’t the one you needed right now.
He let out a soft exhale, nodding.
"I’ll be at the estate if you need me."
You nodded once, offering a small, grateful smile.
And then—he left.
And you were finally alone.
But even then—you weren’t really alone.
Because Azriel was still here.
Not physically.
But in the way your body still burned from his touch, in the way your chest ached with something unspoken, something raw, something terrifying.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against the vanity, your heart hammering.
All your life, you had yearned for a mate who would set your world on fire.
A mate who would challenge you, push you, refuse to let you back down.
A mate who would burn for you.
And wasn’t that exactly what Azriel had done?
Hadn’t he traveled across courts, across miles, just to find you before the show?
Hadn’t he stormed into your dressing room like a male possessed because he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing you, not touching you, not kissing you?
Hadn’t he grabbed you, kissed you, pressed you against the wall as if his entire existence had led him to that very moment?
Or did he really come to break the bond with you?
You swallowed, chest rising and falling unevenly.
You had always told yourself that maybe you had read too many romance novels.
That maybe you had been too enchanted by the kind of love your father, Helion, had shared with the Lady of Autumn.
The kind of love that was so consuming, so raw and real that it had risked everything just to exist.
You had spent your childhood admiring it.
Had spent your life yearning for something that intense, something worth burning for.
And now?
Now you were afraid.
Because you felt that same sort of fire every time you were near Azriel.
Yes, he was attractive. Devastatingly so.
But it was more than that.
It was in the way he looked at you like he wanted to unravel every part of you.
In the way he challenged you, infuriated you, made you feel like no one ever had before.
And gods help you—
You knew, deep down, that Azriel was the kind of male who would burn the world to the ground for his mate.
That if you ever gave him your heart, he would never let go.
That if you ever let yourself love him, it would be the greatest love of your life.
Or if he broke you, the greatest loss of your life.
Because if this bond was rejected—if he walked away, if he chose Elain over you—you would never recover.
Your hands trembled as you pulled off your earrings, forcing yourself to take slow, even breaths.
You had always wanted a mate who would burn for you.
But what if his rejection left you in ashes?
pairing: Azriel x Reader
content warnings: angst, light smut (18+)
word count: 2.8k
Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld
Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight
Taglist: @melmo567 @ashduv @myfatbottomedgirls
********
Chapter 3
The moment your feet touched the golden sands of Day Court, you felt like you could breathe again.
Except—you couldn’t.
Not really.
Not when your lips were still tingling from Azriel’s kiss.
Not when your heart was still racing with fury, with something unspoken, something dangerous.
Not when you could still hear his voice, raw and broken, growling in the alley, ‘Because he’s touching and kissing what is mine!’
You hated him for that.
For thinking he could claim you.
For calling you his when his precious Elain was right there, watching.
For belonging to you in a way you never asked for, in a way you did not want.
You let out a harsh breath, your hands trembling as you paced your chambers, Ryder watching you closely.
His beautiful blue eyes were full of confusion, concern.
"Why did you kiss him?" Ryder finally asked, his voice careful, measured.
You swallowed, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if you could hold yourself together.
"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice a strained whisper.
"You don’t know?" Ryder repeated, his gaze sharpening.
You shook your head. "The bond—it just—" You exhaled sharply, shaking your head again, pacing faster.
"It just what?"
"It affected my sensibility in the moment."
Ryder was silent for a long moment. Then—he let out a slow breath and walked toward you.
You didn’t move, didn’t stop him as he cupped your face gently, his calloused fingers brushing along your jaw.
"You love me, don’t you?"
The question wasn’t a demand.
It was a plea.
And gods, it nearly broke you.
"I love you," you whispered. "I always have."
"I am the only male you want?" he asked, his voice low with uncertainty.
"Yes. The only one I want and the only one I trust."
Ryder’s eyes flickered with relief, with devotion, as he exhaled through his nose and kissed you.
It was heated, urgent, desperate.
Like he was trying to remind you of what you had together, of what you had always been.
Your hands slid into his golden hair, gripping him, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, became something more, something feverish, as he slowly walked you back toward the bed.
You let him.
Because Ryder was safe.
Ryder was known.
Ryder was everything you had ever needed.
Wasn’t he?
The fabric of your dress fell to the floor, pooling at your feet.
Ryder’s lips trailed down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach, until he was between your thighs.
His tongue flicked over you, teasing, worshipping, reverent.
And still -
Azriel crept into your mind.
What would it feel like if he were between your thighs?
Would he be gentle?
Would he worship you the way Ryder did?
Or would he take you like he owned you, the way he tried to claim you tonight?
Would he be soft, careful, considerate?
Or would he ruin you?
Would his shadows hold you down?
Would he whisper filthy, wicked things against your skin?
Would he devour you until you were sobbing his name?
You gritted your teeth, pushing the thoughts away, the unwelcome images.
But they wouldn’t leave.
Because the bond was there.
Unrelenting.
Unbreakable.
Ryder moved above you, pressing kisses along your jaw, whispering words of reverence and adoration.
You wanted to get lost in him.
Wanted to cling to what you had always known.
But when he slid into you, when pleasure coiled tight in your belly, when your body trembled and you finally came undone—
It was not Ryder’s face that flashed behind your eyes.
It was Azriel’s.
His lips against yours, his body pressed to yours in the alley, the way he groaned when you kissed him, the way he pulled you closer as if he could never get enough.
The way his hazel eyes had burned for you.
And the thought horrified you.
*****
Azriel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his body still overheated, his skin slick with sweat, Elain’s soft breaths filling the quiet room beside him.
She was curled against his side, content, peaceful, unaware.
She had fallen asleep easily, safe and content in the arms of the male who had promised himself to her.
But Azriel?
Azriel had never felt so far from peace.
Because his thoughts weren’t on her.
They were on you.
On the bond that had snapped into place tonight, dragging him under before he had even had a chance to fight.
On the way you had looked at him on stage—untamed, powerful, untouchable.
On the defiance in your storm-gray eyes when he had called you his in that alley.
On the way your lips had crushed against his, fierce and punishing, like you wanted to hurt him for existing.
And gods help him—he had wanted to be hurt by you.
Because for the first time in his miserable, hollow existence, he had met someone who could match him.
Someone who didn’t bend, didn’t break, didn’t tremble at the thought of his darkness.
Someone who pushed back, who set fire to everything in her path, who would rather burn the bond to ashes than submit to it.
And he had to admit it—it was intoxicating.
Because he knew.
He knew that if he let himself have you—just once—
If he let his shadows tangle with yours, let himself sink into you the way he had wanted to in that alley—
It would ruin him.
It would destroy everything he had spent centuries building.
So because of that, all he could think about was what he needed to do tomorrow.
He needed to find you.
Needed to publicly reject the bond.
Needed to end this madness before it ruined everything.
Because that’s what this bond was—a problem.
An inconvenience.
A cruel joke played by fate.
He had Elain.
Elain, who was soft and sweet and good.
Elain, who had promised to reject the bond with Lucien and choose him instead.
Elain, who was safe.
Elain, who was everything he thought he had ever wanted.
And yet—
Safe had never felt so suffocating
And yet—he had never let her see all of him.
Not the darkness inside him, the possessiveness, the hunger that ran far too deep.
Not his need to dominate, to control, to mark and claim in the bedroom.
He had always been so careful with her, so restrained, afraid that if he ever let go, he would scare her away.
But you…
You were different.
Gods, you were so different.
Seeing you on stage, watching the way you moved, the way you commanded the attention of everyone in that room like you owned it…
The way you looked at him, full of defiance and fury, daring him to push you, daring him to break first…
And then—the kiss.
The kiss that had stolen the air from his lungs, that had ripped him apart and put him back together in a matter of seconds.
You had grabbed him like you owned him, like you didn’t care what the bond meant but still needed to taste him.
And he had let you.
Had groaned into your mouth, had pulled you closer, had kissed you like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.
Because for the first time in his entire life, he had met someone who could match him.
Someone who was fierce, fiery, untouchable.
Someone who was so ALIVE.
He knew that if he were ever with you, if he ever let himself give in to this bond –
It would be his undoing.
Because you would take everything from him.
Would match him, push him, challenge him in ways no one ever had.
Would meet his darkness with your own and revel in the war between you.
Would drive him to insanity, make him reckless, make him weak.
And gods help him, he wanted it.
Wanted to see how you would react to his hands on your body, to the way he would take you, claim you, ruin you.
Wanted to know if you would fight him every step of the way or surrender completely.
Wanted to feel you burn beneath him, hear his name on your lips, taste the fire that he knew would consume him whole.
It wouldn’t just be passion.
It would be war.
A war of hands and mouths and bodies igniting, consuming, burning.
And it would destroy him.
Which was why he had to end it.
Why he had to break the bond before it was too late.
Azriel exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to settle, forcing himself to close off the bond, to lock it up so tight you wouldn’t even feel him.
Because if you did, if you sensed the turmoil inside him, the way his soul was already warring with itself—
You would know that he was already cracking.
You would know he was already losing the battle.
That you had undone him in barely an hour.
He clenched his fists against the sheets, forcing himself to breathe.
And then—he felt it.
A sudden fire in his chest, a wave of passion, pleasure, longing—so intense it nearly stole his breath.
He sat up abruptly, his entire body going rigid, his wings flaring out behind him.
Because through the bond, he felt it.
Felt you.
Felt the sharp, dizzying wave of pleasure rippling through your body.
Felt the aftershocks of your orgasm, the way your mind spun, the way your body trembled.
His breath stilled.
His blood turned to ice.
Somewhere in Day Court, some male was making love to his mate.
Making you tremble. Making you moan. Making you his.
Making you come.
And it wasn’t him.
A sharp, violent anger curled in his gut, something primal, something he had never felt before.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to stay still, to stay calm, to not let this affect him—
But it did.
Because he felt everything.
The way your body arched.
The way your mind went hazy with euphoria.
The way you whispered his name -
No.
Not his.
Azriel’s hands fisted into the sheets, his heart pounding, his shadows thrashing violently.
The thought was like a knife to the gut.
Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw locking so tight it ached, his hands fisting in the sheets.
He didn’t want to feel this.
Didn’t want to be inside your mind as your body came undone for someone else.
Didn’t want to know that it was his mate’s lips parting in pleasure, his mate’s body arching, his mate’s breathless moans filling the air—
For someone else.
He tried to block it out, to sever the connection, to force the bond back into the abyss.
But it was too late.
He had already felt it.
And it was maddening.
Because he wasn’t there.
Because it should have been him.
It should have been his hands on your body.
His lips tracing every inch of you.
His name on your tongue as you came undone.
Not his replacement.
Not some male who didn’t even know you were his to protect, to cherish, to claim.
His hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white.
He had no right to feel this way.
No right to be furious, possessive, sick with jealousy.
Because he had already made his choice.
Had already chosen Elain.
Had already decided to break the bond.
Had already told himself that you were not what he wanted, that he would not let fate dictate his life.
So why the hell did he feel like he was being torn apart from the inside out?
Why did he feel like he was going to lose his mind knowing that you had given yourself to another?
Why did he feel like if he ever saw that male touch you again, he might kill him for it?
His body burned with fury, with something violent, something primal, something terrifying.
And gods—he had never hated you more.
Hated you for making him feel this.
Hated you for letting another male have you, for letting him touch what was his.
Hated you for invading his thoughts, his body, his every waking breath.
Hated you for ruining him, for making him ache with something he refused to name.
Hated you for the way his body still reacted, still burned, still wanted.
Hated that despite everything, despite Elain lying beside him, despite the fact that he had sworn to reject the bond—
All he could think about was how it should have been him.
*****
You lay in the dim glow of the moonlight, Ryder’s strong arm draped over you, his broad chest rising and falling in steady, even breaths.
His fingers lazily traced circles on your bare back, a soft, soothing gesture that should have made you feel peaceful.
Should have made you feel secure.
Should have made you feel at home.
Instead—your mind was elsewhere.
Because while Ryder’s touch was gentle and reverent, while his voice had been full of devotion as he told you he loved you—
You could still feel the faintest pull in your chest.
A thread that stretched across the land, binding you to someone you had no desire to be bound to.
Someone who, at this very moment, was likely in bed with another.
Was he touching her?
Kissing her?
Loving her?
The thought made your stomach twist, though you refused to acknowledge why.
Because it didn’t matter.
Azriel wasn’t yours.
And you sure as hell weren’t his.
You had Ryder.
Loyal, devoted Ryder.
The male who had been at your side for years, who had always wanted you, always loved you.
You had whispered the words back to him tonight, had told him you loved him, and you had meant it.
Hadn’t you?
You curled your fingers into his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
This was where you were supposed to be.
Not thinking about an Illyrian male brute who had no right to you.
Not wondering what he was doing.
Not feeling anything for him at all.
And yet, no matter how much you tried to ignore it—the bond was there.
Faint, barely noticeable—but present.
It simmered low in your ribs, a quiet, persistent reminder of what fate had decided.
And it made your blood boil.
Because how could you possibly be mates with someone like him?
Someone so dominant, so possessive, so godsdamned infuriating?
Someone who had claimed you in front of everyone like you were some prize to be won?
Did he not realize that you did not submit to any man?
That you never had, never would?
And if…
If you ever chose to submit to someone, it would be because you decided to.
Not because some Illyrian warrior with shadows at his command and darkness in his heart decided he wanted you.
And yet—even as you thought that, a terrible, treacherous part of you whispered…
What if?
What if you did submit to him?
What if you let yourself be taken, be consumed, be ruined by a male like Azriel?
What if you had a mate who wouldn’t just worship you, but would challenge you?
Someone who would argue back, push you to your limits, drag you into the storm rather than shelter you from it?
Someone who wasn’t so careful, so gentle.
Someone who would take what he wanted without hesitation, without asking—because he already knew you wanted it too?
Because Azriel was not careful.
Azriel was not gentle.
Azriel was fire and steel, shadows and nightmares, dominance and danger.
And maybe—maybe that’s what scared you the most.
That some terrible part of you wanted that.
That maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be worshipped.
That maybe, deep down, you wanted to be claimed.
That maybe, if you let yourself give in to him—
You wouldn’t just burn.
You would crave the fire.
You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the thought away.
It didn’t matter.
It couldn’t matter.
Because you had to reject the bond.
Azriel represented everything you didn’t want.
Didn’t he?
You turned in Ryder’s arms, pressing your face into his chest, listening to his steady, quiet breathing.
This was where you belonged.
This was what you had chosen.
And yet, as sleep finally dragged you under,
You hated Azriel.
Hated him for the way he made you feel.
Hated him for the questions he made you ask yourself.
Hated him for making you wonder…
What if?
