A Song for the Silent {An ACOTAR Fan Fiction} - Part 6
plot summary: Raised amid the harsh brutality of Illyria, Kallista has never known kindness. Only survival. When her abusive father sells her to an Illyrian war camp, the warriors’ cruelty seems endless, until Cassian rescues her and brings her to Rhysand’s townhouse. There, surrounded by the most powerful fae of the Night Court, she is offered safety, healing, and a promise of peace she’s never dared to believe in. Among them is Azriel, the brooding shadowsinger whose watchful eyes unsettle her as much as they draw her in. But as fragile trust begins to take root, the darkness of her past waits, ready to reclaim her. Can she truly call this place home—or will the shadows drag her back under?
Series: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
pairings: azriel x oc
word count: 6,935
notes: This part ended up being really long, but I think it was worth it ;)
TW: mentions of rape, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, SMUT!
Chapter 6: Safe Enough to Break
Kallista stood at her bedroom window, watching the night sky deepen to indigo. Five days without him. Five days of wondering if he was safe. Five days of wondering if he would return as promised. The book of poetry lay open on her bed. Even the beautiful verses couldn't distract her tonight. Her fingers traced the glass, following the path of a star as it appeared in the darkening sky. Somewhere in those mountains, Azriel was fighting to free women just like her. Women who had been sold, used, discarded. The thought made her throat tighten.
What was he facing right now? Was he in danger? Her heart ached with a strange mixture of fear and longing that she'd never experienced before. This wasn't just concern for a kind person who had shown her gentleness. This was something deeper, something that pulled at her very core.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called, turning from the window.
Mor entered, her golden hair gleaming in the lamplight. "I thought you might like some company," she said, a gentle smile on her face. "The nights can feel longer when you're waiting for someone to return."
Heat crept up Kallista's neck. Was she that transparent? "I wasn't—I mean, I was just—"
"It's all right," Mor said, crossing to sit on the edge of the bed. "I've known Azriel for centuries. I recognize the look of someone who misses him."
Kallista's heart skipped. Did everyone know? Could they all see the way her body seemed to strain toward the north, toward those mountains where he'd gone? She sat beside Mor, smoothing the fabric of her nightgown.
"Is it always like this?" she asked quietly. "When they go on missions?"
Mor's smile held a hint of sadness. "The waiting? Yes. Though usually I'm not quite so worried. Illyria is..." She paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's a place that holds painful memories for all of them."
Kallista nodded, understanding all too well. "For me too."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken thoughts. Kallista's fingers found the edge of the poetry book, tracing its worn leather binding.
"You care for him," Mor said. It wasn't a question.
Kallista swallowed hard. "I barely know him."
"Sometimes time doesn't matter," Mor replied. Her brown eyes held no judgment. Only a gentle understanding that made Kallista's chest ache. "Sometimes you just know. Especially with mates. You should have seen Rhys when he returned from Under the Mountain after meeting Feyre. He was the same, but so different. And not just because of the weight of the 50 years he was there."
Kallista's breath caught. Mates. The word hung in the air between them like a secret waiting to be discovered. She thought of the way her body had responded to Azriel's presence, the inexplicable pull she felt toward him, the way everything in her had settled when he was near.
"I don't understand what's happening to me," she whispered. The admission felt dangerous, vulnerable in a way that made her want to curl into herself. "When he's here, I feel... safe. Complete. But when he's gone..." She pressed a hand to her chest, where an ache had taken up permanent residence. "It's like part of me is missing."
Mor's expression softened. "That sounds familiar."
Kallista turned to face her fully, desperate for answers. "What if he doesn't feel the same? What if this is just me projecting safety onto the first male who's shown me kindness?"
"Do you think that's what this is?"
The question made Kallista examine the feeling more closely. She thought of how her skin had tingled when Azriel's fingers had brushed hers while handing her the book. How her pulse had quickened not from fear, but from something entirely different. How she'd wanted to lean into his warmth rather than away from it.
"No. I don’t know," she said quietly. "I’ve never had…feelings for anyone."
Mor reached over and squeezed her hand. Kallista stared down at their joined hands. Mor's touch was comforting, warm, but it didn't send lightning through her veins the way Azriel's had. It didn't make her want to press closer, to breathe him in.
“I don’t have a mate,” Mor continued, “But I’m surrounded by them. Feyre and Rhysand. Nesta and Cassian. Even Amren and Verin though I don’t think they’ve figured that one out yet.” She chuckled to herself. “What I mean is they’re all different and they all approach the mating bond differently.”
Kallista felt something inside her stir at Mor's words. Could it really be possible? There were mates in Illyria, of course. But they were few and far between. And even when they happened, females were not allowed to reject it no matter how brutal and violent their mates were. The bond ended up being more of a curse than a blessing. Mates didn’t always mean soulmates; Kallista knew that much. But Azriel…
"And what about Azriel?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. "Has he ever..."
Mor's expression grew thoughtful. "Azriel is... complicated. He's carried feelings for someone for a very long time. Feelings that couldn't be returned." A shadow passed over her face. "But lately, I've noticed something different about him. Since you arrived."
Kallista's heart quivered. She looked away, afraid her face would reveal too much. The candle on her nightstand flickered, casting dancing shadows across the wall. She focused on them, trying to calm the sudden rush of hope and fear tangling inside her chest.
"He's been alone for so long," Mor continued. "We've all worried about him.”
A knock at the door made them both look up. Nuala stood in the doorway, her ghostly form partially transparent in the dim light.
"Lady Morrigan," she said softly. "Lord Rhysand requests your presence in his study."
Mor squeezed Kallista's hand once more before standing. "Try to get some sleep. They'll be home soon."
After Mor left, Kallista returned to the window. The night sky had fully darkened now, stars scattered like diamonds across black velvet. Five days. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, willing the mountains to give him back to her.
Sleep did not come easily that night.
***
Blood soaked through Azriel's leathers, none of it his own. His shadows writhed around him, drunk on violence and vengeance as he strode through the Illyrian camp. The raid had gone exactly as planned. Perhaps too well. Fifty-three warriors, and not one had escaped the wrath he and Cassian had unleashed upon them.
He flexed his scarred hands, still feeling the war lord's throat beneath his fingers. He'd kept his promise to Cassian; the male still breathed. But he wouldn't be speaking orders for quite some time, not with his jaw shattered and his tongue half-severed.
"That's the last of them," Cassian said, appearing at his side. Blood spattered his brother's face and armor. His expression was grim but satisfied. "The women are secure. We can move them as soon as you're ready."
Azriel nodded, his gaze sweeping over the carnage they'd wrought. Six women rescued. Dozens of Illyrian warriors either dead or incapacitated. It should have felt like victory. Instead, all he felt was hollow, the rage that had fueled him for days suddenly burned out, leaving nothing but ashes and the relentless pull southward.
Toward her.
"The females need healing before we move them," he said, his voice rough from disuse. "I don't think they can survive the flight to Velaris."
Cassian's expression darkened. "I've seen battlefields kinder than what was done to them."
The memory of finding one female chained to the war lord's bed, her wings clipped so severely they'd never heal properly, made Azriel's shadows surge with renewed anger. He forced them back under control. Violence had its place, but these women needed gentleness now, not more darkness.
"We'll take them to Devlon's camp first," Azriel decided. "It's closest, and we can trust him not to interfere while a healer tends to them."
Cassian nodded, wiping blood from his blade before sheathing it. "I'll fly ahead, make the arrangements. You secure the prisoners and gather the evidence Rhys needs."
Azriel watched his brother launch into the night sky, wings powerful against the mountain air. His own wings ached to follow, but not toward Devlon's camp, but further south, across the mountains and forests, to the river city where Kallista waited.
Five days without seeing her face. Five days without hearing her voice. Five days of his shadows whispering her name with every heartbeat.
He moved mechanically through the camp, binding those who still lived, collecting letters and plans that proved conspiracy against the Night Court. His shadows worked alongside him, slipping into crevices and corners, retrieving hidden documents from floorboards and roof beams. They were efficient but distracted, constantly straining southward like compass needles seeking true north.
When he entered the small hut where the women had been kept, the stench of fear and suffering hit him. His shadows recoiled, then surged forward, seeking out dark corners as if to cleanse them of the horrors that had occurred here. Five wooden pallets lined the walls, filthy with grime and worse. Chains hung from hooks embedded in the ceiling beams. They were empty now, their occupants safely under Cassian's protection.
Azriel's gaze fell on a small wooden box tucked beneath one of the pallets. His shadows whispered to him, drawing his attention to it. He knelt, pulling it into the dim light. Inside lay small treasures: a polished stone, a frayed ribbon, a crude wooden carving of a bird. Tiny comforts clutched by women who had nothing else.
His throat tightened. Had Kallista kept similar tokens during her captivity? Had she found small moments of solace in hidden treasures while enduring unimaginable pain?
The thought made his shadows writhe with renewed anger. He closed the box carefully, tucking it inside his leather jacket. These belongings would return to their owners. He would make sure of it.
A noise outside the hut made him tense, Truth-Teller sliding silently into his palm. But it was only the wind, rattling the wooden door on its hinges. Azriel forced himself to relax, sheathing his blade. Five days of constant vigilance had left him raw and his nerves exposed like stripped wire.
He stepped back into the night air, breathing deeply to clear the stench from his lungs. Stars glittered overhead. The same stars that shone over Velaris. Over her. The thought sent a pang through his chest so sharp it nearly doubled him over.
The flight to Devlon's camp took less than an hour. Six females huddled in a healing tent, tended by an old Illyrian woman whose gnarled hands moved with surprising gentleness. Cassian stood guard outside, his wings half-flared in warning to any who might approach.
"How are they?" Azriel asked, landing beside his brother.
"Alive." Cassian's jaw was tight with barely contained rage. "Barely. I already contacted Rhys. He and Mor will come and winnow them to Velaris. Rhys has arranged a safe house in the city."
A safe house. Away from the townhouse. Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around his wrists, mirroring the sudden tension that seized his chest. "They can't stay at the townhouse?"
Cassian studied his face with that knowing look Azriel had grown to hate. "Rhys thinks it's better this way. Give them space to heal without the pressure of being around the Inner Circle. Too much power, too many males."
The logic made sense. Azriel knew it made sense. But now that there was a place for the Illyrian women to go, to seek refuge…what if Kallista wanted to go too? What if she wanted to leave the townhouse, to leave him? The thought twisted in Azriel's gut like a knife. He hadn't considered that possibility until now. His shadows darkened around him. Dread washed through his veins. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.
"I need to get back," he said, the words coming out rougher than intended.
Cassian's eyebrows rose. "To Velaris? Now? We still have prisoners to interrogate, and Rhys wanted—"
"You can handle the interrogations." Azriel's wings already shifted restlessly behind him, preparing for flight. "I've gathered all the evidence Rhys needs."
"Az." Cassian's voice held a warning. "The mission isn't complete."
Azriel turned to his brother, shadows swirling around his clenched fists. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “For five days, every scream, every cry, I heard her. All I could hear was her screaming, her crying…"
Understanding dawned in Cassian's eyes. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so the guards wouldn't hear. "This is about Kallista."
It wasn't a question. Azriel didn't bother denying it.
"Go," Cassian said finally. "I'll explain to Rhys."
Relief washed through him, so powerful his knees nearly buckled. Azriel gripped his brother's shoulder once in a silent thank you. He launched himself into the night sky.
His wings caught the mountain currents, powerful strokes carrying him higher, faster. The stars blurred above him as he pushed himself beyond exhaustion, beyond reason. Toward Velaris. Toward her.
His shadows stretched ahead of him, as if they could reach her first, as if they could bridge the impossible distance between them. The cold mountain air burned his lungs, but he didn't slow. Couldn't slow. Not when every heartbeat seemed to echo her name.
Kallista. Kallista. Kallista.
***
Dawn broke over Velaris, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Kallista hadn't slept. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind refused to quiet. She'd spent the night at the window, watching the stars wheel across the sky as if they would somehow bring him back.
Six days now. Six days of this strange emptiness inside her chest, this constant awareness of his absence. Was this what Nesta had meant about the mating bond? This relentless pull toward someone, this sense that part of herself was missing when they were apart? How had Nesta managed to push this feeling off for so long? It was unbearable.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching as the city below slowly came to life. Shopkeepers opening their doors, boats setting out on the Sidra, the first customers making their way to the bakeries and cafes. Life continuing as if her world hadn't shifted on its axis.
She got dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. She picked at her food, willing herself to eat. She could feel the others with their eyes on her. She sat next to Mor, Feyre and Rhys across from her and Elain on her right. Nesta was gone to the House of Wind and Amren was at her own residence.
"Are you all right?" Feyre asked, her voice gentle. "You've barely touched your food."
Kallista nodded, forcing herself to take another bite of the pastry on her plate. "Just tired," she mumbled. It wasn't entirely a lie. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, making her limbs heavy and her thoughts foggy.
"We received word from Cassian last night," Rhys said, setting down his cup. "They've freed six females from one of the camps. They're being brought here today."
Kallista's heart stuttered. "They're coming back?" She couldn't keep the hope from her voice.
"Cassian is staying to finish some business," Rhys said carefully. "But I believe Azriel may return ahead of schedule."
The room suddenly felt too warm. Kallista's fingers trembled around her fork as relief crashed through her. He was coming back. Today. The emptiness that had carved itself into her chest these past six days might finally be filled.
"The women they rescued will be staying at a safe house in the city," Feyre added. "They've been through severe trauma and need specialized care."
Kallista understood immediately. These women needed space away from males, away from power, away from anything that might remind them of their captivity. She had been lucky. Her injuries had required immediate attention at the townhouse, and somehow, against all logic, she had felt safe here almost from the beginning.
"I could help," she found herself saying. "I understand what they're going through."
Mor placed a gentle hand on her arm. "That's very brave of you to offer. Perhaps in time, when they've had a chance to adjust."
Kallista nodded, her appetite suddenly returning as hope lightened the weight on her shoulders. She finished her breakfast quickly, barely tasting it. Azriel was coming home. The thought sent a flutter through her stomach.
After breakfast, she retreated to the garden, finding the bench where she and Feyre had sat days before. The jasmine Azriel had planted was closed against the morning light, its fragrance a mere memory until nightfall. She ran her fingers over the smooth stone bench, imagining him sitting here in darkness, surrounded by the scent of night-blooming flowers.
The morning stretched endlessly. Each rustle of leaves made her look up, expecting to see him. Each shadow that crossed the garden path made her heart leap. By midday, her nerves were stretched thin with anticipation.
She returned to her room, intending to read the poetry book to calm herself. But the words blurred on the page. She set the book aside.
The sun had begun its descent toward the western horizon when she heard it. A commotion downstairs. Voices, excited and urgent. Kallista's heart leapt into her throat. She crossed to her door, pulling it open just as Feyre appeared in the hallway.
"He's back," Feyre said, her eyes bright with understanding.
Kallista's knees nearly buckled. Six days of waiting, of wondering, of that hollow ache in her chest. Now he was here. She followed Feyre down the stairs, each step requiring conscious effort as her body both rushed toward him and hesitated with sudden uncertainty.
The foyer came into view, and there he stood. Blood spattered his leathers, dirt and grime streaked his face, but he was whole. He was alive. His shadows writhed around him like living things, agitated and searching until they seemed to sense her. They stilled, then surged upward, stretching toward where she stood on the stairs.
Azriel's gaze followed them, finding her instantly. The intensity in those hazel eyes stole her breath. Exhaustion lined his face, but something else burned beneath it. It was raw and desperate and it made heat flood her veins.
Rhys was speaking to him, asking questions about the mission, but Azriel's attention remained fixed on her. He answered in short, clipped sentences, his deep voice rough from disuse.
Kallista couldn’t make her feet move. She stayed at the top of the stairs even as the emptiness that had plagued her for six days completely disappeared at the sight of him. Azriel looked up at her, and the world around them seemed to fade away. His eyes held hers, hazel depths burning with something that made her breath catch in her throat. She wanted to run to him, to throw herself into his arms as she had before he'd left, but her body remained frozen, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.
"The women are safe," he said, his voice a rough rasp that sent shivers down her spine. "They'll recover."
She nodded, unable to form words as relief and something deeper flooded her veins. He was speaking to the room, to Rhys and Feyre, but his eyes never left her face. His shadows stretched upward, twining around the banister, reaching for her with obvious intent.
"You should clean up," Rhys said, clapping a hand on Azriel's shoulder. "Rest. The debriefing can wait until tomorrow."
Azriel nodded once, a sharp movement that spoke of tightly leashed control. His jaw worked as if he were physically restraining himself from saying something more. Kallista turned back around walking back down the hallway. She felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest and she didn’t want to fall apart in front of everyone. She'd made it to her room before she heard his footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, purposeful strides that made her heart race. Kallista pressed her palm against her chest, willing it to slow. Six days without him, and now he was here, just outside her door.
The door opened, and Azriel stood in the threshold. He'd washed the blood from his skin, changed from his battle-stained leathers into a simple black tunic and pants. His damp hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. The shadows that had reached for her downstairs now coiled around him like restless serpents, straining toward her even as he held them back.
"Kallista." Her name on his lips was a prayer and a plea all at once.
She took a step toward him, then another, her body moving of its own accord. The emptiness that had carved itself into her chest these past six days filled with his presence, with the scent of cedar and night air that clung to him.
"You came back," she whispered, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
"I promised I would." His voice was rough, as if he'd screamed himself hoarse. Perhaps he had.
His shadows broke free of his control then, rushing toward her like a tide. They wrapped around her wrists, her shoulders, her throat in a gentle caress. The warmth of them seeping into her skin made her sigh with relief. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
When she opened her eyes, Azriel had moved closer. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, the tiny scar that bisected his left eyebrow. His shadows caressed her cheek, and she leaned into their touch. The tenderness in their touch made her throat tighten. They felt like him somehow, an extension of his soul reaching for hers.
"What happened there?" she asked, noticing the shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above his arm, not quite touching.
His gaze lifted to hers again, the intensity in those hazel depths stealing her breath. “All I could think about was you,” he admitted, the words seeming to tear from his throat. “We watched the camp for days before we attacked it. Every time I heard one of women scream, cry, beg…I heard you.”
Her breath caught, and she pressed her hand to her chest where that familiar ache had taken root. She had spent six days worrying about his safety, but she hadn't considered what witnessing such horrors would do to him. If he had seen how those women were treated, if it was anything like how she had been treated…what would he think of her now?
The shame burned through her like wildfire. She had fought and clawed and survived, but a part of her had believed the things they'd whispered while using her body. That she was worthless. That she deserved it. That no one would ever want her after what had been done to her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. For making him think of her pain? For being damaged in ways that could never be repaired?
Azriel's expression shifted, his brow furrowing. "Don't apologize. Not for that. Not ever for that."
His shadows caressed her more insistently, wrapping around her wrists, her waist, as if they could physically hold her together. The warmth of them seeped into her bones, chasing away the cold dread that had settled there.
"I missed you," she admitted, the words scraping her throat raw. She hadn't planned to say them. They had simply escaped, like birds from a cage.
Something fundamental shifted in Azriel's chest at her words. The careful control he'd maintained for six days cracked, and his shadows surged forward without his permission, wrapping around her more completely. She didn't pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, until barely a breath separated them.
"I missed you too," he said, his voice raw with honesty that felt dangerous.
Her eyes widened at the admission, and he watched as heat bloomed across her cheeks. The scent of lavender wrapped around him, stronger now. His hands trembled with the effort of keeping them at his sides when all he wanted was to touch her, to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here.
"The safe house," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Azriel’s heart dropped. His shadows recoiled, mirroring the panic that seized his chest. The thought of her leaving, of waking up in this house without her presence, made something wild and desperate claw at his ribs.
"Do you want to leave?" The words came out edged with a fear he couldn't hide.
"No," Kallista said quickly, her eyes widening at the thought. “I just... I wondered if you thought I should go there.”
Relief crashed through Azriel with such force that he nearly fell to his knees in front of her. His shadows calmed, settling back into their gentle caress against her skin.
"Only if you want to," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Kallista's lips parted slightly, her breath catching. "Do you want me to stay?"
"Yes." There was a need in his voice he couldn't disguise. "I want you to stay."
Her eyes searched his face, as if looking for the lie, for the hidden agenda that had colored every interaction in her life before this. But there was none. Only the raw truth that he couldn't hide anymore. The thought of her leaving made something primal and desperate claw at his insides.
"Then I'll stay," she whispered.
His shadows pulsed with satisfaction, coiling tighter around her as if they could bind her to him through touch alone. “Good.”
Kallista took another step closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His shadows whispered encouragement, urging him to reach for her, to close the final distance between them.
"You're hurt," she said softly, her gaze tracking over his face. Her fingers lifted, touching a cut on his cheekbone that he'd forgotten about until now.
"It's nothing," he said, though he didn't move away from her touch.
Her fingertips brushed against the wound, feather-light and impossibly gentle. The contact sent heat spiraling through him, pooling low in his stomach. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her so badly it almost physically hurt. He had to clench his hands into fists to keep from pulling her against him and devouring her right there.
Her touch was like fire against his skin. Every nerve ending in Azriel's body ignited, screaming for more contact. He leaned into her touch, unable to stop himself. Her fingers were so gentle, so careful, as if she were touching something precious rather than a battle-hardened warrior.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Azriel swallowed hard. "No." What hurt was the distance between them, the restraint he was forcing upon himself. His shadows curled around her wrist, encouraging her to keep touching him. Traitors.
Kallista's eyes met his, and the world narrowed to just her face. The gold flecks in her irises caught the lamplight, turning them molten. Her lips parted slightly as her fingers traced down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. A tremor ran through him at the touch.
"Don't," he breathed, the word torn from somewhere deep in his chest. If she kept touching him like that, with such tenderness, he would lose what little control he had left.
Kallista's hand stilled but didn't pull away. "Don't what?"
Azriel didn’t know what. This is what he had wanted. He had wanted to see her, to feel her, to be with her. He still wanted it, wanted it so desperately it was hard for him to breathe correctly. But there was still that voice in his head that told him he didn’t deserve this or her. He was darkness and shadow. There was blood on his hands. Centuries of torture, of pain, of death. But that wasn’t what bothered him most. What bothered him was that he liked it. That part of him that was completely coated in darkness liked the screams and the blood, extracting that retribution and dispensing justice. What if she discovered that and it scared her? What if she thought he was no better than those Illyrian warriors who had done all those unspeakable things to her? He wouldn’t be able to bear her rejection. He might actually die.
"Don't look at me like that," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Kallista's brow furrowed in confusion. "Like what?"
"Like I'm something good." The words scraped his throat raw. “Like I’m some hero.”
Her hand cupped his cheek fully now, thumb brushing across his skin with devastating gentleness. Kallista's thumb traced the line of his jaw, sending shivers through him. "I know you saved those women.”
"You don't know what I am," he said, opening his eyes to meet her gaze. "What I've done. What I'm capable of. I’m the monster you should be afraid of."
Kallista's eyes searched his face. "I've seen true monsters," she whispered. "And you are not one of them."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand that you came back." Her other hand found his chest, palm flat against his heart. “Just for right now, can we not think?” She was so tired of thinking, of worrying. She just wanted to melt into the fact that he was back and here with her and how good it felt.
His shadows pulsed at her words, coiling tighter around her wrists. The warmth of her palm against his chest made it hard to think, hard to maintain the walls he'd built around himself.
"Kallista." Her name was a plea on his lips.
“Please.” She stepped closer, eliminating the last breath of space between them.
His control snapped.
Azriel's arms came around her waist, pulling her fully against him as his mouth found hers. The kiss was desperate, six days of separation and longing poured into the connection of their lips.
Her body molded against his perfectly, soft curves fitting against the hard planes of his chest. The grip of his self-restraint shattered in the way her body leaned so trustingly into his. His hands were large and trembling as they slid with aching slowness up her sides, mapping every dip and curve as if committing them to memory for the last time. His shadows wound themselves around her too, layering over where his hands pressed, desperate for as many points of contact as possible. He needed her, needed to know she wanted him, needed to prove to himself that he could be gentle and good, even if just for her.
Kallista's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with a fervor that stole his breath. She wasn't pulling away. She wasn't afraid. Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his, and Azriel's entire body ignited with need. The kiss deepened as his tongue traced the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. When she opened to him, a groan rumbled deep in his chest. She tasted sweeter than he'd imagined during those long nights in the mountains.
His hands slid lower, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him. The contact sent fire racing through his veins. His shadows swirled around them both. They whispered encouragement, urging him to take more. Kallista's soft gasp against his mouth only fueled his desire. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as she pressed herself closer. The unexpected boldness of her touch made his wings flare behind him, rustling against the wall.
Azriel walked her backward until her back met the wall, his body caging her in. His mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck, and the soft whimper that escaped her lips nearly undid him completely. Her scent filled his lungs—lavender and female heat that called to something primal within him.
"Azriel," she breathed, her voice shaky as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
The sound of his name on her lips sent a shock of desire straight to his groin. His hips pressed against hers, letting her feel the hard evidence of his desire. The contact made her gasp, and she arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. His hands gripped her waist. He had to stop. He couldn’t do this. Not right now.
Azriel froze, his body going rigid as clarity cut through the haze of desire. What was he doing? She had been through unimaginable trauma at the hands of males who had taken without permission. And here he was, pressing her against a wall, his body trapping hers, his hands wandering.
He pulled back, his breathing ragged as he stared down at her flushed face. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her pupils dilated with desire. But behind that desire, he saw uncertainty. It made his chest ache.
"I'm sorry," he said, taking a step back. His shadows reluctantly unwound from around her, though they remained close, hovering protectively. "I shouldn't have.”
Kallista's chest rose and fell rapidly, her body still pressed against the wall where he had left her. The absence of his warmth felt like a physical blow, leaving her cold and bereft. She watched him retreat, his shadows coiling around him like armor, and something inside her cracked.
"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered. The words scraped her throat raw, but she forced them out anyway. "I wanted... I want..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. How could she explain that for the first time in her life, a male's touch hadn't brought pain? That his hands on her body had felt like salvation rather than violation? That she had been the one pulling him closer, desperate for more contact, not less?
Azriel's jaw worked, his hazel eyes dark with self-recrimination. "You've been through enough. I won't add to it."
The careful distance he was maintaining between them made her chest ache. She could see the war raging behind his eyes, the desire battling with restraint. He was trying to protect her, she realized. From him.
“I should go.” Azriel moved towards door, trembling hands turning the knob before he lost control again and ran back to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before she could stop him, Azriel was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Kallista stared at the empty space where he'd stood, her lips still tingling from his kiss. Her body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending sparked to painful awareness. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, tracing where his had been moments before.
He'd left. After kissing her like she was water and he was dying of thirst, he'd pulled away and left.
She slid down the wall until she sat on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. The absence of his shadows left her cold in a way she couldn't articulate. For those brief, glorious moments when his mouth had been on hers, when his hands had gripped her waist with such careful strength, she'd felt whole. Complete. As if some missing piece of herself had finally clicked into place.
And then he'd pulled away, regret etched into every line of his beautiful face.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She understood why he'd stopped. Of course she did. He thought he was protecting her, shielding her from more pain. But he didn't understand that his touch had been nothing like the others. Where they had taken, he had given. Where they had hurt, he had cherished.
Kallista wrapped her arms around herself, trying to recapture the warmth of his embrace. But it was gone.
***
Azriel stood on the balcony of his room, wings spread wide as he gulped the cold night air. His entire body trembled with need and self-loathing. The kiss replayed in his mind over and over. Her soft lips yielding beneath his, the little sounds she'd made when he'd pressed her against the wall. His shadows writhed around him, agitated and unsatisfied, reaching back toward her room where he'd left her.
"Damn it," he growled, his fist connecting with the stone of the wall near him. Pain shot through his knuckles, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest.
He shouldn't have touched her. Shouldn't have kissed her. She'd been through enough without him adding to her trauma. But the memory of her body arching into his, her fingers tangled in his hair, made his blood heat all over again.
With a harsh groan, Azriel staggered back inside his room, slamming the balcony doors behind him. His cock strained painfully against his leathers, had been since the moment his lips touched hers.
He stripped off his fighting leathers with violent efficiency, tossing them to the floor. The cool night air kissed his bare skin as he fell back onto his bed, shadows dancing across the ceiling above him. His hand slid down his scarred chest, muscles tightening with anticipation.
When his fingers wrapped around his length, he hissed through clenched teeth. He was already so hard it hurt, the tip weeping. The mere thought of her—of Kallista—was enough to bring him to this edge.
"Fuck," he breathed, stroking himself slowly at first.
His mind filled with images of her. The curve of her neck, the way her eyes had dilated when he'd pressed against her. He imagined how she would taste if he'd continued down her body, licking and sucking every inch of her skin. His hand moved faster as he pictured her legs wrapped around his waist, her back arching off the bed as he thrust inside her.
His shadows coiled around his wrists, his ankles, mimicking the restraints he'd use on her. Not to hurt, never to hurt. But to worship, to make her feel the pleasure she deserved after so much pain. He'd make her come undone with his mouth first, lapping at her until she screamed his name.
Azriel's breathing grew ragged as his pace increased. His wings twitched and flexed against the mattress, sensitive membrane adding to the cascade of sensation. He would spread her on this very bed, watch her dark hair fan across his pillows as he entered her, slow and deliberate, savoring every gasp and moan.
"Kallista," he whispered into the darkness, the name itself like a prayer and a curse on his lips.
He imagined her wetness, how tight she would feel around him, how he would hold back his own release until she'd found hers again and again. His hand moved in a brutal rhythm now, his hips lifting off the bed to meet each stroke.
The pressure built at the base of his spine, his shadows whipping frantically around the room as if searching for her. When release finally came, it tore through him with such force that his back bowed off the bed, a guttural sound ripping from his throat as he spilled over his hand and stomach.
For several heartbeats, he lay there panting, the momentary relief already giving way to shame. Shame because he knew she deserved better than to be the object of his darkest desires. Shame because even as his release cooled on his skin, he wanted her again.
Azriel cleaned himself with a cloth from his bedside table, his movements mechanical. The physical release had done nothing to ease the ache in his chest. If anything, it had intensified it. He flung the soiled cloth across the room, disgusted with himself.
His shadows continued to writhe restlessly, reaching toward her room, whispering her name. They hadn't calmed after his release like they usually did. Instead, they seemed more agitated, more desperate to return to her.
Azriel rolled onto his side, burying his face in his pillow as if he could smother the want that still burned through him. The memory of her pressed against the wall, her body arching into his, refused to fade. He could still taste her on his lips, still feel the softness of her skin beneath his hands.
"Stop," he growled to himself, to his shadows, to the relentless desire that refused to be silenced.
But his shadows only twisted more frantically, coiling around the bedposts, stretching toward the door. Toward her. The connection he'd felt when they'd touched her had been unlike anything he'd experienced before. It was as if his shadows had recognized something in her, had found a home in her darkness that matched his own.
Azriel pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep would not come tonight. Not with his mind full of her, not with his body still aching for her touch.
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