Chapter Text
Documenting, filing, and cataloguing—the simplest of tasks for a seasoned Spymaster—should have taken no more than a few hours at best. And yet, Azriel glared at the stacks of paperwork sitting on his desk. As soon as he arrived home, he had set out to clear them, in hopes of sneaking out before Cass pestered him about his disappearances, not that his affair was a secret. Half a day later, there he was, still in his gloomy chamber with nerves on edge.
A usual round of surveillance had turned into a hunt for outliers hiding along the southern woods of Hewn City, stealing weeks from him. They needed to be interrogated and prosecuted before being sent back home, or to prison. Either way, they would never leave the mountain again. But that was the least of his worries.
Azriel hadn’t promised Ayla an early return, but he hadn’t left her with much word, either. A part of him wondered if she waited for him day and night—lay sleepless in bed, listened for his footsteps on her stairs, or rushed home praying to find him at her door.
Once, he returned from a similar mission earlier than expected and he let the shadows follow her, study her routine to learn how she filled her days without him while he caught up on one of Nesta’s books. That night, Azriel decided he was twisted.
Sometime after noon, as one roll of parchment kept replacing another, he accepted his fate. He had half a mind to fling them into Sidra and run to the smithy to surprise Ayla. How childish of him to entertain such hopes to see her face break into a mosaic of emotions at the sight of him.
Ayla wouldn’t run into his arms like in a bard’s song, Azriel knew. She wasn’t a female of such calibre.
She embraced every fleeting moment with a nonchalance that bordered on lethargy. And it seeped into the way she loved him as well, simply—with her unrestrained compliments, intentional touches, and careless ease around him. A smile always reserved just for him. Her hands always found his hair or cheek when they lay in bed together; sometimes, they ventured as far as his scarred ones, brought them to her lips that delivered the faintest of kisses before she drifted to sleep. And her words were nothing but genuine and certain.
Azriel could see it vividly, the “surprise” on her face, if he materialised before her. She would look at him with sincere eyes, bright as the morning sun, and the corners of her lips would curl into a smile. So, how long do I get to keep you this time? she would tease.
Maybe, he thought, this was enough. Knowing she missed him dearly enough to taunt his departure every time. And she made up for it when he returned, when she kissed him every time, when she held him to her breast every time, and when she looked him in the eye while he was buried inside her every time.
A shade fell over the room. His eyes strained to find the lines and curves he marked in black. Sweat trickled from behind his ears. Air seemed to have stilled, weighed down by a sudden coolness. Gone was the unforgiving sun. With a roar of thunder that shook every stone in the walls, rain poured down.
Ayla.
Azriel gathered the papers away in no particular order and left for the one place he knew her to be.
As he stood in front of the blue doors, he felt a fool. The rain beat down on his leathers, ridiculing him, and the ground beneath him rumbled like a mocking laugh. Sidra sang her contentment, raging and roaring along with the winds. Heat from the forge blew out the grilled window in waves before it succumbed to the cold. Ayla had been here not long ago.
What did he come here for? To protect her from a bit of weather?
Before he could convince himself, he started up the path to her home. The lonely road stretched from the junction where the four market squares met to the outskirts of Velaris. I like to work in the quiet, Ayla had said once. Imagine the temptation as the males “teach” you while you hold molten iron in your hands. And the city is full of that pompous kind.
Azriel hurried, short of sprinting, to catch her before she was soaked like a street rat, cold and miserable. He looked down at himself and let out a chuckle. The things she made him worry about.
The way Ayla usually moved, she should be home by then, safe. But when his feet skidded along the wet roads, Azriel wasn’t sure anymore. The streets were bare except for a few still searching for shelter from nature’s wrath. Save for the stark silhouette of buildings and blobs of life that swished and slashed through, nothing could be seen past the wavering white veil.
A few paces ahead, a lone figure edged along the walls, braving the storm—an arm looped overhead, the other pressed tight around the torso, shoulders hunched forward, and face turned away. Ayla looked worse than a drenched rat. Her clothes clung to her, too light to shield her from the prick of rain. The satchel across her body sagged and sagged, the seams threatening to burst at the bottom, pulling her down with it.
Azriel cursed himself. He closed the distance between them in long strides and spread a wing over her. It didn’t offer much protection, but it allowed her to squint up at the sudden cover and face him with a knowing smile. The space between her brows creased, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Drops of water tugged at her lashes for mere seconds before making their descent down her cheeks. Her braid turned into a tangled mess, tendrils stuck to anything in their path—her skin, her shirt—like claws curling into a prey.
‘Let me take you home,’ he said.
Ayla nodded without hesitation, without a thought. Azriel smiled. He preferred flying above the clouds, but when she wouldn’t stop shaking in his arms, he decided against it.
Between her two broken breaths, shadows wrapped around them, plucked them off the ground, and dropped them on the landing in front of her door. Ayla gasped, clutching his arms, as her feet steadied under her. Though Azriel held onto her, she let go. Arms straining under the weight, she pried the satchel off her body. It hit the floor with heavy, contesting clanks, likely from leftovers of her day’s work, which she refused to leave behind unfinished even in her hurry.
‘When did you return?’ she asked, unlacing her muddied boots. The leather fought worse than her bag.
‘This morning.’
Azriel followed her cue and got rid of his own filthy one. As he did the same to the other, Ayla unbuttoned her pants. His eyes widened. She chuckled, her lips trembling from the cold. ‘Remove yours too. I’d rather not clean in this weather.’
Despite himself, Azriel grinned, his mind swirling with fantasies he kept reined. He looked over his shoulder; the staircase was dark, and the bar below was ghostly quiet. He didn’t care to be spotted naked. But Ayla? She was only for his eyes. Darkness stretched and spanned the width of the hallway, hiding her from any intruder.
‘No one comes here at this hour,’ she moved onto her ruined shirt and tunic underneath. Her legs gave a tremor even with his heat next to her.
Just an inch of her skin was enough to make his mouth water, and she stood there in all her glory, droplets trickling down her body, tender and prickled with gooseflesh, enunciating every curve. Gods, how he missed her.
Eyes shamelessly wandering over her form, Azriel undressed and tossed his clothes next to hers. With a shake of her head, Ayla rolled her eyes like she were capable of thoughts any purer than his. A hand struggling to undo her hair, she opened the door.
Azriel held onto her hips and trailed her into the bath chamber, bright and pristine unlike his, and much less spacious for his wings—folded, open, it didn’t matter. Yet, he followed without a complaint like a starved mutt chasing the scent of food after days of hunger.
Hot water rained down on them from an overhead contraption, another courtesy of Orvin. Much to Azriel’s dismay, her home bore marks of other males in her life than his. Their presence, a constant reminder in little moments of everyday, while none to prove his. The burn of the shower wasn’t enough to scald that truth from his mind.
He traced his hands along her skin. Firm and littered with healed cuts and white scar tissue, still softer than the whores’ who lavished themselves with the finest oils. And though toned to perfection, her flesh sank and yielded under his greedy fingers.
Ayla drove his hands away as she lathered herself, only to laugh when they found her again. Usually, she queried about his day or wondered why his missions took long, with a sprinkle of jabs at his tendency to trade her for his work. Or, she made a remark, vulgar and vivid, about how she needed him just so to watch him twitch with desire. Except that day, she smiled sweetly, cleaned them both in silence with eyes drifting to his face often and no words to distract him from her touch. A proper tease.
When he wrapped his arms around her belly and tugged her to his chest, she smacked at him. Wings flared in defiance, sending bottles off the shelf running along the walls. Shadows dove after and caught them before they hit the bathtub on the other side. It could never fit them both at the same time. It was designed specifically for her form—Azriel presumed—by her friend again, yet only relief crossed his mind when he first saw it. Well, none of those males had her that way.
‘Come now,’ Ayla giggled, a soft sound she rarely made. ‘You will wreck my home.’
Azriel buried his face in her hair. Beneath the notes of jasmine and the crispness of ember, her scent remained sharp and clear, something indelible, even for the rains. And he didn’t mind when he tasted more soap than her with each kiss. Gods, was he pathetic.
‘I’ll buy you a new home. Somewhere closer to the mountains.’ He inhaled deeply, ‘Away from the city.’
‘You mean somewhere you can spy on me?’
When he merely nuzzled into her in response, she laughed. A full, open laugh that shook her.
His heart tightened in his chest. The bond was meant to reveal her to him, tie her to him. Azriel was prepared for the inescapable lure, craving for her body, the lust that haunted him. But this felt deeper. It ran in his very bones, it shaped his soul in ways he couldn’t fathom anymore, it tore his breath away unless it was one she granted.
Slipping out of his hold, Ayla faced him, pushing him back.
‘A moment, shadowsinger. Give me one moment, and I will be yours.’ She stepped into the waterfall, closed her eyes, and tipped her head back.
She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand his need for her unless she suffered it too. She pretended, though, to feel the way he did, in those gentle gazes, in her honeyed words, and in her acts of care and promises after his missions, like this. Such moments brought forth hope that she was closer to realisation. Yet, Azriel waited and waited for the bond to piece together. Eighteen months. And he never told her of his torments; he couldn’t. Each day tested his resolve, and each day, he refused to rush this. It was his burden to bear, after all.
He held his breath and watched the heat bring colour back to her; her cheeks coming alive, supple with a renewed flush. Her hair shone brighter. Her limbs had stopped shivering; still, she draped her arms under her ribs.
Divinely simple and utterly bare only for him.
Azriel didn’t know how long he stared. Longer than her moment, he was sure.
‘You’re mine,’ he whispered, hands seeking her hips again.
Smiling, Ayla opened her eyes and kissed him.
Finally.
Her lips guiding him, they shuffled around. Feet scrambled, nudged, and slipped along the wet floor. She pulled him closer and closer by his elbows; so closer and closer Azriel went. Water dripped down his back and wings, setting his body ablaze. Yet, he leaned in for more.
And then, she was gone.
Azriel blinked.
Her laughter floated through the steam. With a towel in hand, Ayla stood by the door.
‘You tricked me,’ was all Azriel managed. He stood frozen, arms useless by his sides, mind dizzied by her kiss. Too shocked by what she had done, by what he hadn’t noticed. He was a spy, for Mother’s sake!
‘I asked you nicely.’ Ayla patted down her torso, but her eyes were on him. ‘Get done quick. Or would you prefer spending the night here?’ And she walked out.
Azriel glared at the disappearing form. Even the darkness born out of his misery that shadowed him all his life, betrayed him and chased after her, leaving him alone. His wings twitched; he rolled his shoulders. He was quick, all right.
In a blink, he was out and on her. Ayla yelped when her back collided with his dripping chest, and he sucked on her—her neck, her shoulder, her arm. He didn’t care, as long as he had her warmth and taste.
‘Fine, I’m sorry,’ another laugh escaped her lips while she struggled to break free.
With a final kiss, Azriel loosened his grip. ‘Only because you asked so nicely.’
Ayla turned around. She held the towel to his body, drying his neck, his chest, and slowly led him to her bed. She reached around to his back but left his wings untouched. She treated him with caution, taking her time for something he hardly cared about, while he peppered pecks on her face. Anything to quench his thirst.
‘You care this much for me?’ Azriel smiled into a kiss he left on her ear. Her attention made his heart stutter.
Ayla grinned, ‘No, I care about my mattress. I don’t want you to ruin it.’
‘Your mattress gets ruined whenever I’m here,’ said Azriel, teasing the shell with his tongue. A shiver rippled through her, and he basked in the scent that filled the air. Hers. The one that called out for him, the only proof that she was as desperate as he.
Ayla tamed her face, wearing the mask of one who had an agenda. She pushed him back onto the mattress. Moving between his legs, she perched a knee at the edge of the bed. Her palm glided up his chest to his face and caressed his cheek. As her eyes softened for him, Azriel wished for nothing more than to stare into them for eternity.
Wet hair stuck to his forehead, their tips scratched at his eyelids. As gentle as ever, Ayla brought the towel to his head, but Azriel couldn’t bear to be deprived of the sight of her. He shook out of her hold, ducked his head, and turned away.
‘Stop acting like a child,’ she laughed.
Azriel grunted. ‘You’re smothering me,’ but it sounded like a whine to his ears.
‘Then stop moving!’
With a huff, he gave up. He pulled her to him and let his hands linger on her thighs, drawing circles on her skin. He sat still, and Ayla allowed him the mercy to look at her. Each minute, a deep sigh shook his body, and he smiled up at her, content to memorise every feature with the eyes of a devotee graced upon by his benevolent goddess.
It wasn’t just him. Shadows danced around her feet, easing into a sway until they merged with hers and disappeared. Lucky were they to become one with her at will.
Once Ayla deemed him less of a sodden pup, she ran her fingers through his damp hair. She untangled each strand carefully, tugged them away from his eyes, and let them fall in their natural disarray. Her nails ran through his scalp, over and over.
Azriel purred. It took everything in him to not fight her ministrations and crush her body against his. Shivers crept down his spine, and his wings fluttered. Ayla glanced at them, then back at him.
A permission, he realised. He nodded, his wings opening into a spread close to his body, close enough for her to touch.
Too light to slide off under gravity, droplets littered the membrane. Ayla barely grazed it through the cloth, and it twitched. She waited a beat and reached again. This time, it held still. She repeated her movements, each time more cautious than the last, from one spot to the next, and so often, her gaze returned to his face for signs of pain.
Azriel closed his eyes. He smoothed his hands over her waist, fingers digging into her tender flesh. Heat from her body warmed the air between them. He leaned in, rested his forehead between her breasts, and felt her heart beat under his skin, steady and lulling.
It was then he realised. It was neither lust that drew him to her, nor fate. It was her—the solace she promised—a world for the two of them, far away from the chaos and confusion of this unfair one, the cruelness of his reality, the threats looming over them, waiting to steal the one dream he had.
With her, he could be still.
With her, he could breathe.
With her, he could just be.
She froze each moment spent together, entrapping him in a delicately spun cocoon of comfort. She didn’t need her words, her touch, or her body. She breathed, and the ghosts that followed him faded into nothingness, the pain in his soul melted away.
Ayla offered him life. Ecstasy at its purest.
The fabric barricading her from him was gone. She trailed her fingertips along the rim of his wing, its peak.
Pleasure rippled through him. Breath cracking, Azriel buried his face into her chest. If she allowed, he would burrow into her soul and never leave its protection, this everlasting serenity. He feathered his lips over her sternum. His wings wound around them, begging for more. He clutched her close and pressed a kiss to her heart, the one he yearned to possess, the one promised to him.
Ayla settled into his lap. Her delicate body pressed against his desperate one. With a light kiss to the tip of his nose, she nudged him out of his swarming thoughts. ‘You’re a handful, you know? You make it a challenge to care for you.’
It was the closest to a confession from her lips. Azriel smiled.
He smiled often around her, as though she drew each one out from the very depths of him. Gods, he thought, I missed you.
Ayla laughed softly, ‘I know.’
His breath stopped in his throat. He had said those words. Aloud. For her to hear.
Azriel pulled away from her like her skin had burned him. Yet, it didn’t faze her. Mischief sparking her eyes, Ayla rolled her hips against his. ‘I can feel it.’
Her folds unfurled over his cock, tempting him with a taste of what awaited him. Azriel groaned and eventually laughed, that brief uncertainty dissipating from his being. ‘You touch my wings like that while naked in my arms, what did you expect?’ When she teased him again, he gritted his teeth. ‘Kiss me. Now.’
And for the first time that day, Ayla obliged.
She kissed him, long and slow. Her lips were soft, plush, pulsing with life. She pressed into him, more and more, and for the first time that day, she set her desires free. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers laced together on the back of his neck, drawing him close. She leaned back when he dipped and chased him when he retreated. It was a dance she was a master at, syncing to his body’s rhythm like she knew it better than him.
Azriel was losing control. He adored her tender love, but he craved for more. He coiled her damp hair around a fist and tugged. Ayla whimpered in his mouth, and he swallowed it whole. He would lay claim to her every breath, every cry, every inch of her soul, if that’s what it took to make her his. He tugged again, and she arched into him with a long moan, offering her neck for his taking, her arms merely pulling him closer.
His mate. His willing prey.
As he crawled deeper into the bed and lay her down gently, Ayla clung to him, refusing to let go. Azriel laughed, admiring her once more. Even disappointment was a beautiful shade on her. He stroked her cheek to earn her smile again. Her eyes fell closed when he leaned in. A quick peck to her lips, he flipped her onto her stomach, ripping a gasp from her.
‘Trust me,’ he said, pressing a palm between her shoulders and pinning her down as she came up.
He trailed a finger down her spine and followed it with his mouth, savouring the tremors that shuddered through her. He sank his teeth into her waist just to make her cry again. Ayla looked over her shoulder, innocent and furrowed. When his tongue soothed the spot, she rolled her eyes. He kissed all the way up until he found her lips again.
It was said mates could sense the other through the bond—their joys, their pleasures—yet Azriel barely did. Once in a while, her feelings crept through the string between their hearts, too little a thing to notice, present nonetheless. Invisible and lurking, and always out of his reach. Whenever she eluded him, twisting his words into a tease, doubt crept into his mind.
Damn his shame. He had said it once, and he survived. If Ayla hadn’t realised his ache already, she was as much a fool as he.
‘I missed you,’ Azriel sighed into her ear.
The words felt strange on his tongue, heavy, and rolled over one another like the babble of a drunk. But he said them—admitted to a truth he believed he was incapable of. It was her turn now. He needed her to say it, and some.
‘Then what are you waiting for?’ Ayla asked, as breathless as he.
Darkness cast over the side of her face, hiding her briefly from him. The shadows emerged for their share of play. They swept her hair aside for him to suckle on her neck. ‘Say it back.’
‘What are—’
His teeth left red lines on her nape. ‘Say you missed me.’
Ayla wrestled under him, rocking her hips back into him. ‘I can prove it to you instead.’
The dip in her voice alone was temptation enough. How he wanted to destroy her until she was as tainted as him, until she was declaring her love for him. Azriel grabbed the back of her neck and drew her close, ‘Words first,’ his other hand closed on her breast. He ghosted a thumb over a nipple before pinching it between his fingers.
Resisting his hold, Ayla tried to turn around. ‘I missed you.’ Eyes darkening, brows creased, she chased after the corner of his lips, his cheek, wherever she could reach. When his grip eased, she whispered, ‘Inside me.’
Azriel laughed. His body shook, rattling hers along with him. The fault was his to assume she would concede so easily. His resolve ceased to exist when she spoke such things, and she knew it.
‘Is that so?’ He caressed the inside of her thigh, reached as close to where her warmth grazed him and started again. ‘Remember you did this.’
Tucking a hand under, he pulled her leg aside. Ayla gasped at the cold air’s kiss on her core. The air soon carried her scent, the fresh, intoxicating sweetness that ensnared him, carving pieces of him for her to steal.
Azriel ran a digit down her slit. Her lips fluttered, spewing wetness onto his scars. He dragged his fingers along her folds over and over. Centuries might pass, and he’d still marvel at the way his ragged skin slipped easy along her smoothness.
As he breached her entrance, Ayla held her breath, clawing at the sheets.
Azriel worked her with slow, deliberate strokes for his own sanity rather than hers, etching every grip and groove of her walls into his memory.
He crashed his lips against hers, teeth scraping, as he pulled his fingers out and spread her slick like a balm for his aching cock. The moan that tore from his throat was one to be embarrassed for life, yet, when her eyes stayed mesmerised on his mouth, it erased any notion of shame.
And when he entered her, she welcomed him with a sigh.
Azriel stayed still, granting her one final moment of reprieve. He listened to her heart thumping against its cage, her stuttering silence against the echoes of the rain. White flashed across the room, and he flinched, pinching his eyes. Beneath him, Ayla whined at his jolt; her walls clenched so tight that he dropped onto her.
Blindly, she sought him and weaved their fingers together, ‘I missed this.’
This.
His skin tightened. As though tempting him with her body wasn’t enough, she toyed with his heart, too.
Azriel grasped her hands in each of his and tucked them under her chin. Ignoring the weight in his chest, he pulled out of her until the very tip and drove back in. Her moan pierced the storm. He did it again and again, sliding out with care and in with fury. He couldn’t rein himself in, and he doubted he wanted to, either. Groans clawed up his throat, raw and incessant. He bit into her shoulder, between her blades to stop them from spilling.
Ayla touched his knuckles with her lips, light and gentle, unlike what he was doing to her. From his wrist to fingertips, not an inch was spared her worship. When she ran her tongue over a particularly ugly ridge, his vision blurred. Azriel clutched her face.
‘Don’t,’ he hissed.
But Ayla was naive and stubborn. She leaned into the very hand that crushed her jaw, like it wasn’t that of a killer, like it was capable of nothing but a sweet embrace. Her freed arm snaked around him, fingers carded through his hair, cradling him close.
‘Azriel.’
She uttered his name with relief, as though she had been longing for this as much as he.
Azriel stuttered, his hips bucked. ‘Say it again.’
‘Azriel.’
‘Again.’
‘Azriel.’
And she chanted his name with each thrust.
This was all Azriel wanted, yet it felt wrong. It wasn’t. . .enough.
He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. He wasn’t a worthy contender for this vicious tenderness she gave him in earnest.
‘Touch yourself,’ he rasped in her ear. His thrusts faltered.
Her hand obeyed and disappeared beneath her. Ayla pushed her leg higher, offering her every depth to him.
Her eyes fluttered. Her lip trembled. Her breath shuddered into broken mists.
Her cunt pulsed around him, gripped him until pleasure laced with pain. Her legs shook, desperate to close, and shadows crept up to hold them in place. A few wisps reached a little too far between them, and Ayla whimpered. Tears lining her lashes, she looked at him, baring herself to him. Her mouth fell open, her little sounds reduced to strained chokes begging for mercy.
Azriel hummed at her misery and quickened his pace, delivering the faintest taste of what he suffered at her ignorance. His hand slipped to her throat, the only thing keeping her curling away from him.
‘I know,’ he kissed her temple and trailed down her cheek to ease her ache. ‘I know. Come for me.’
And she did.
Azriel gasped and collapsed on top of her. His chest caved in on itself.
The bond between them reeked of desire. His and hers. His desperation, her relief. His longing, her bliss.
He sank his teeth into her flesh, hard, injecting the venom that coursed through his veins into her, poisoning her with her very medicine, sharing the agony she inflicted upon him. He pried her fingers from her core and shoved them into his mouth. As her taste coated his tongue, he purred. With a few staggering moves, he attained the same heavenly pleasure she did.
Legs intertwined, arms wrapped around the other, her body reaching for his in a way that could be described as nothing but a lover’s despair, this was how they were meant to be. One and whole. Each breath, shared and stolen. Each touch, burning and soothing.
Slowly, the sounds of the world rushed back to his ears. The distant echo of the rain, the fleeting music from the bar below, the ghostly whispers of the city that never turned into anything coherent.
Ayla sagged into the bed. Her limbs went soft, and her grip on his fingers loosened. Azriel eased her leg, kneading it with as much care as he could muster.
‘Nothing to say?’
‘That was. . .’ Ayla said between breaths, ‘intense.’
Indents of his teeth covered her back, and Azriel ignored the feeling it sparked in his chest. He soothed the spots where blood threatened to break through her skin with his lips. ‘Intense?’
Ayla nodded. ‘You-ought-to-go-on-long-missions-more-often intense.’
Smiling, Azriel nipped her on the cheek. ‘There’s no need for that. If you weren’t such a brat, I’d take you any way you want, whenever you want.’
Ayla laughed. Her body rubbed against his in ways it shouldn’t. ‘You mean you fucked me out of goodwill tonight?’
Azriel rolled away from her before his impulses got the better of him. As he adjusted his wings under him, he felt her eyes boring into them.
‘Unless you want to go again, don’t.’ Pulling her into his arms, he pinned her to his side.
Ayla gasped, feigning offence. ‘Am I not allowed to look at them?’
Azriel curled the wing over her; its tail grazed up her leg, making her shiver.
‘You can do anything to me,’ he murmured into her lips.
Silence blanketed over them. Their world slowed as they lay together, tracing swirls on the other’s skin. Azriel ran his fingers through the lengths of her hair, damp from his sweat more so from their shower. With his seed inside her, dark patches blooming on her waist and arm where his hands had touched her, Ayla was still perfect, complete with marks of him.
‘Azriel?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Next time, come by sooner so I can stop worrying.’
Ayla was staring ahead, watching the rain beat on the windows that separated them from outside. Before it dawned on him what she meant, she said, ‘This weather is nice.’
Azriel looked over his shoulder. Winds howled, whistled, changed course now and again, the rains whisked one way and the other. The cage suspended from the ceiling for her little visitors rattled and screeched and swung wildly so close to breaking off its hinges. Mist coated the glass, coalesced and dripped and gathered into a pool on the floor.
‘Nice?’ He turned to her, ‘You might get flooded.’
‘Perhaps.’ With a dazed smile, Ayla reached behind her, ‘But I can do this,’ and drew a blanket over them. She wrapped an arm around him and pressed close with a long sigh.
Azriel was not one of strong will; he never was. He had done it twice before, and he refused to give in to hope again, too afraid to face the nothingness.
He traced his index along her cheek, the curve of her jaw, and let it rest on her breast where the proof was supposed to be. He wasn’t sure if he did it right, but he reached for her through the bond—a gentle caress begging her to follow him, pulling her closer than this physical body allowed, beyond the laws of this mortal world.
He listened. For an increase in her pulse, a hitch in her throat, or maybe the thrum of the bond’s damned song that left him sleepless at night. He would accept anything.
The bond shimmered with his desperation, light weaving through the thread until it met with her void again. Ironic, the one born with shadows had a heart aglow with love, while the other—warmth and light incarnate—was shrouded in darkness.
Ayla rested a palm on his chest and perched her chin on it. Her lips curled down, curious eyes studying him. ‘What?’
You’re my mate.
The words were at the tip of his tongue. Three words, and Ayla would put him out of misery. She had accepted him till then, and would do so more, regardless of their fate. She would hold him like always, kiss him, and tell him she loved him.
Azriel brushed the hair away from her eyes and smiled.
‘Are you hungry?’