Summary: Â Azriel was supposed to be hers.
Her mate, her anchor, the one the Mother had chosen. But one night of betrayal shatters everything, leaving only grief, rage, and the cruel reminder that even the strongest bonds can bleed.
Now every breath is a battle: to hate him for what heâs done, to grieve the love that was stolen, and to resist the bond that refuses to break. Azriel is consumed by guilt, his shadows haunted by the echo of her sobs, desperate to prove what his actions destroyed. But some wounds run deeper than even his devotion can reach.
Caught between the pull of fate and the weight of heartbreak, they stand on the edge of ruin, where love and hate blur, where every kiss is a wound, and where forgiveness may never come.
Image owned by Fika Sparks.
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content warnings: angst, infidelity, smut (18+), some fluff
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The silence was unbearable. His sobs shook the floor, every sound tearing through your chest until you thought youâd split apart.
You told yourself not to move. That he deserved the floor, the dirt, the crushing weight of everything heâd done. That if you touched him, even for a breath, youâd betray yourself.
But the bond screamed in your chest, pulsing ragged, uneven, alive. It dragged at you like gravity, like chains, like something written into your bones before you even had a choice.
Your hand shook violently at your side. Your vision blurred with tears. You whispered to yourself.
Donât. donât. donât.
Slowly, trembling, you sank to your knees across from him. The boards bit into your skin, your chest heaved with every sharp breath.
Azriel didnât see you at first, his forehead pressed hard against the floor, his body curled small, shadows tight and keening around him.
Trembling. You reached across the space between you and pressed your palm to his hair, to the crown of his head.
His whole body went still.
The sobs cut off, sharp, as though the touch itself had stolen his breath. His scarred hands clawed deeper into the floor, but he didnât move otherwise.
You choked on a sob, your fingers curling into his dark, messy strands, grounding yourself in the familiar texture of him.
It hurt, gods, it hurt so much, but you couldnât stop.
When your hand touched him, he thought heâd imagined it.
Warmth against his head, gentle but trembling. For a heartbeat, his chest forgot to rise, his body forgot to shake. The shadows hushed around him, curling tight but quiet.
A sob ripped from his chest, violent, raw. His scarred hands slid across the floor until they caught at your knees, clinging like he was drowning. His forehead pressed harder into the floor beneath your palm, as if he could bury himself at your feet, as if he could make himself small enough to fit into your forgiveness.
His tears soaked the boards. His voice cracked, splintered, hoarse, âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. Iâll never deserve this. Iâll never deserve you.â
Your tears spilled harder, dripping into his hair, onto his shoulders. Your body shook with sobs, but still your hand stayed where it was, fingers threaded in his hair, holding him down, holding him close, holding him because you couldnât let go.
The bond pulsed violently, aching, raw, bleeding.
Not healed.
Not forgiven.
And in that ruinous moment, with the River House silent around you and Elain gone, you held your mate on the floorâŠbroken, sobbing, clinging to you as though you were the last thing keeping him alive.
The silence was thick, punctuated only by Azrielâs sobs against the floor and your own uneven breaths as your hand trembled in his hair.
But then slowly, he stirred.
His hands, still clinging to your knees, loosened just enough that he could lift his head. It was hesitant, agonizing, like it took every ounce of strength he had left.
His face emerged from the shadows, streaked with tears, dirt, and shame. Hazel eyes rimmed in red met yoursâŠwide, wet, desperate. His chest heaved, his lips parted around words that never came.
It rose slowly, shaking as though he were lifting the weight of the world. His scarred knuckles hovered in the air between you, fingers trembling as he dared to raise it higher.
He stopped with only inches left between his fingers and your cheek, frozen, breath caught, terror and longing clashing across his face.
Every scar on his hand, every tremor in his wrist spoke the truth.
He would not take what wasnât freely given.
His voice broke, soft, hoarse, âPlease⊠let me.â
The air burned in your lungs.
Tears blurred your vision, but through them you saw himâŠnot the spymaster, not the Shadowsinger, but your mate, broken, begging, trembling with the fear of losing you completely.
Your heart clenched so tight it hurt.
You remembered the bondâs pull, the ache of betrayal, the ruin heâd left in you.
And yet here he was, waiting, refusing to take even an inch without your permission.
The bond pulsed ragged, sharp, alive.
You leaned the barest fraction closer.
His breath hitched, sharp. And only then did you whisper, broken, ââŠTouch me.â
His hand surged forward, not rough, not greedy, but reverent, shaking as his fingers cupped your cheek. His palm was warm and calloused, his touch feather-light, as though he feared youâd shatter under his hand.
A sob tore from him as his thumb brushed against your damp skin, catching your tears. His forehead pressed gently to yours, his shoulders shaking as the shadows curled tight around you both, holding the space like a cocoon.
His voice was a whisper, cracked and desperate, âDonât let me lose you.â
His forehead rested against yours, his hand trembling as it cupped your cheek. His breath came ragged, hot against your lips, uneven with sobs he could no longer contain.
Every scarred knuckle pressed into your skin seemed to burn with the weight of his desperation. His hazel eyes flicked between your mouth and your eyes, wide and wet, pleading but terrified.
His lips hovered a breath away from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of him, so close the bond screamed in your chest like it might snap under the strain.
His voice was a rasp, trembling against your mouth. âPlease⊠tell me if I can.â
Your whole body shook, your ribs aching from the force of your breath, your tears spilling hot and fast.
Every image of Elain in his bed flashed behind your eyesâŠher hands, her scent, her skin pressed against his. The sickness of it, the rage of it, the grief of it, it all pulsed through you.
The bond throbbed violently, demanding, alive.
It broke something open inside you.
The moment your lips touched, his entire body shattered.
Azriel sobbed into the kiss, his mouth desperate but reverent, trembling against yours. His hand slid from your cheek to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer as though terrified youâd vanish if he didnât hold you. His other hand clung to your knee, grounding him in the reality that you were here, that you hadnât turned away.
Your tears mixed with his, salt on your tongues, the kiss wet and broken, but real.
The bond surged in your chestâŠragged, scarred, seared, alive. A jolt like lightning ripped through you, forcing your breath to hitch, your heart to lurch.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to only thisâŠhis trembling lips, your sobs spilling into his mouth, the ache of a love too shattered to die.
The kiss broke with a gasp.
You tore your mouth from his, breath ragged, chest heaving, tears streaking down your face. The bond screamed inside you, raw and violent, rattling your ribs until you thought theyâd splinter.
Azrielâs lips hovered, parted, wet with tears. His hand still cradled the back of your head, trembling, but he didnât pull you forward again.
His eyes wide, red-rimmed, pleading, shattered.
Every part of you screamed two truths at once.
Run.
Stay.
The sickness of his betrayal still writhed in your gut, the image of Elainâs body tangled with his a scar carved into your mind. But his warmth, his scent, his broken voice whispering your name, the bond tethering you in place, they pulled at you with brutal, undeniable force.
Your nails dug crescents into your palms.
And you collapsed into him.
Your body folded forward, surrendering.
You pressed into his chest, sobbing, your fists clutching the fabric of his tunic as though you could rip it apart. His scent, shadows, cedar, the faintest edge of smoke, wrapped around you, familiar, hated, beloved.
Azriel let out a sound that was no word at allâŠa guttural cry torn straight from his chest. His arms closed around you instantly, shaking as they pulled you tight against him. His wings curved around, encasing you both in a trembling cocoon of shadow and warmth.
He buried his face in your shoulder, his tears soaking into your skin. His voice cracked, muffled against you. âIâm sorry. Gods, Iâm so sorry. Please⊠please donât let go.â
Your own sobs broke free, violent, raw, ripping through your chest as you clung to him. The bond surged, thrumming so violently it ached, every pulse screaming with love, rage, ruin.
The River House was silent now, emptied of all but the two of you. No more judgment, no more voices tearing into flesh. Just the low hiss of the hearth, the whisper of your sobs, and the steady, trembling rhythm of his heart thundering against your cheek.
Your tears soaked his chest.
His tunic was wet with them, his body shaking under your touch.
He held you so tightly it almost hurt, his scarred hands clutching at your back, afraid that if he loosened even a fraction, youâd vanish.
Your sobs slowed, but the shudders still racked through you. His wings curved around you both, shadows pooling close, muffling the world as though he wanted to hold back time itself.
His lips brushed the crown of your head. His breath hitched, uneven. Then, barely more than a whisper:
His arms tightened around you, a sob breaking quietly from his chest. âYou could have. You should have. And gods know I gave you every reason to. But you fell into me instead.â
He pressed his forehead to your hair, trembling. âDo you know what that means to me?â
His voice cracked, hoarse, raw. âIt means thereâs still something left. Something I havenât completely destroyed. It means the bond⊠the bond still breathes. Even if itâs ragged, even if itâs bleeding, itâs still alive.â
His words sank into you, sharp as knives, soft as a lullaby.
You had chosen, in this one shattered moment, to hold on.
Your fists still clutched his tunic, refusing to let go. Your tears burned fresh as your chest ached, a hollow so wide inside you it might never fill again. And yet⊠the bond pulsed beneath it all, thrumming faint, fragile, alive.
You pressed your face deeper into his chest, your sobs muffled, whispering hoarsely, âDonât make me regret it.â
The River House felt too full, even in its silence. The walls held too many echoes now.
Elainâs begging, Lucienâs rage, Nestaâs condemnation, Cassianâs fury, Feyreâs tears.
It pressed on you like suffocating stone.
Your body was limp against Azriel, your fists still curled into the fabric of his tunic, though your sobs had slowed into jagged breaths. His own chest still hitched beneath you, his hands trembling as they held you close.
And then he whispered against your hair, hoarse and raw, âNot here. I canât keep you here. Let me take you home.â
The word broke something deeper inside you.
He shifted carefully, lifting you into his arms as though you were made of glass. Your legs folded against his chest, your arms hanging loosely around his neck. His wings stretched wide, shaking but strong.
The night air struck the both of you as he leapt from the terrace, wings cutting into the sky. The wind stung your damp cheeks, tore at your hair, but his body shielded you from the worst of it.
Below, Velaris glitteredâŠbeautiful, alive, but you couldnât look at it.
You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, breathing in shadows, cedar, and smoke. He clutched you tighter, his scarred hands splayed across your back, every beat of his wings steady but heavy, as if each one was penance.
The bond thrummed faintly in your chest, fragile, scarred, but alive, tugging you closer, even as your stomach twisted with grief.
The mountains rose around you, dark and quiet, until the small stone cottage came into view, secluded, cold, waiting. He landed hard on the grass outside, his knees buckling with the weight of everything, but he didnât let you go.
The door creaked open under his hand, and then you were inside, the scent of woodsmoke and pine wrapping around you. The familiar hearth waited, though it was dark now, cold.
Azriel carried you straight to the bed.
He lowered you carefully, almost reverently, onto the sheets, then hesitated, as though afraid to leave his hands on you too long.
Your fist caught his tunic again, trembling, refusing to let him step away.
His eyes broke, wet and glassy, and without another word he climbed onto the bed beside you, his wings curving around the both of you once more.
The two of you lay tangled together.
Your face pressed against his chest, his arms wound tightly around you, his breath uneven against your hair.
The silence stretched heavy, but the bond pulsed softly beneath it, faint and raw.
Exhaustion finally pulled at your limbs, dragging your eyelids closed even as your tears still streaked your cheeks. His heartbeat thudded against your ear, erratic but steady enough to lull you into a fragile, broken sleep.
Azriel didnât close his eyes.
He only held you tighter, trembling, whispering ragged promises you barely heard as you drifted,
âIâll never let you go again. Iâll never forgive myself, but Iâll never stop trying. Youâre my mate. My only. My everything.â
The mountains were quiet when dawn came. Thin gray light spilled through the curtains, catching in the dust motes drifting through the air. The hearth was cold, the cottage silent save for the slow crackle of the timbers settling.
You stirred against warmth, heavy, steady, trembling even in sleep.
Azrielâs arms were wrapped tight around you, one scarred hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt as if heâd clutched it through the night, terrified youâd slip away.
His face was pressed into your hair, his breath uneven against your scalp. His wings curved around you both like a shield, their tips dragging against the sheets.
Your eyes opened slowly, heavy, swollen from the storm of tears.
Your body achedâŠnot from battle, but from grief. The images from last night seared fresh in your mind: Elainâs sobs, Lucienâs rage, Nesta and Feyreâs condemnation, the shadows binding Azriel to the floor as he wept.
And still⊠you were here.
The bond screamed both truths at once, sharp and relentless, tearing you in two.
His lashes fluttered against your hair. His chest heaved once, then again, as he surfaced from whatever restless sleep had claimed him.
Your name on his lips was a rasp, low and trembling.
His arms tightened instinctively, as though to anchor himself in the reality that you were still here.
He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hazel eyes hollow but alive, rimmed in red, his hair mussed, shadows curling faintly at his temples.
The sight of you broke him all over again.
âYou stayed,â he whispered, his voice cracking. His scarred hand lifted hesitantly, shaking, and brushed a tear track dried on your cheek with the lightest touch.
His throat worked, his lips trembling. âI thought⊠I thought youâd be gone when I opened my eyes.â His voice was hoarse, fragile, pleading. âBut youâre still here.â
Your chest ached so violently it hurt to breathe.
You wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to remind him of what he had done.
The image of Elain in his bed was still there.
And yet⊠your fingers curled tighter into his tunic, refusing to let go. The bond thrummed, undeniable.
His voice came low, hoarse, âYou should eat.â
You almost laughed, sharp, bitter, but it caught in your throat, tangled with fresh tears.
Because it was so him, even now, to think of your needs before his.
Instead, you sat up slowly, his arm sliding reluctantly from around your waist.
The sheets fell from your shoulders, cool air prickling your skin.
Azriel followed suit, moving stiffly, his wings dragging low, his movements cautious, like he feared any sudden shift would send you running.
The silence in the small kitchen was. Azriel busied himself quietly, lighting the hearth with a flick of his shadows, filling the kettle, slicing bread with shaking hands.
Each scrape of the knife, each creak of the floorboards, each hiss of the fire felt too loud.
Your eyes followed him, your chest tight, your body torn between wanting to reach for him and wanting to spit every ounce of venom your grief still carried.
Finally, your voice cracked the silence, âYouâre acting like everythingâs normal.â
The knife stilled in his hand.
His shoulders rose, tense, before he set it down with careful precision. He turned slowly, his face pale, his hazel eyes burning with sorrow.
âNothing is normal,â he rasped. âAnd it never will be again. Not after what I did. But I donât know how else to start⊠except by trying to take care of you.â
They were too simple, too raw, too full of the Azriel you had loved before the ruin.
The Azriel who had guarded, protected, cared.
And it made your chest ache all over again, because even as you remembered the night he destroyed you, you also remembered the hundreds of small moments when he hadnât.
You pressed your palms to the edge of the table, your head bowing, your throat tight.
âI donât know how to do this,â you whispered. âI donât know how to breathe around you without seeing her.â
His jaw clenched, his wings twitching as though they might close around you on instinct. He took a step forward, then stopped, his voice breaking.
âThen let me stand here,â he whispered, âand keep proving to you that sheâll never exist between us again. Even if it takes the rest of my life.â
The cottage was quiet save for the fireâs hiss and the low hum of mountain wind pressing against the shutters.
Every sound felt amplified: the scrape of plates against the wood table, the hollow clink of a knife, the uneven breaths between you.
Azriel moved carefully, every gesture deliberate, as though any sudden movement might shatter you.
He served you bread and cheese, poured tea, set the plate before you with trembling hands.
He didnât sit until you did.
The food turned heavy in your mouth, tasteless, but you forced it down. He barely touched his own. His hazel eyes flicked up every so often, then back to his plate, his shoulders tight, as though waiting for you to speak, to scream, to run.
By afternoon, the walls felt too close. You pushed back from the table, the chair scraping loud, and whispered, âI need air.â
Azriel immediately rose. âIâll come.â
The words were instinctive, but quiet, almost apologetic. He reached for his cloak, then stopped, watching you carefully, waiting for permission.
You only walked to the door.
And when you opened it, he followedâŠsilent, shadows flickering faintly at his heels.
The mountain path crunched underfoot, snow melting into patches of soft earth. The air was crisp, cold enough to bite, but clear. You inhaled sharply, the wind cutting your lungs, grounding you.
Azriel walked a pace behind you.
You stopped at a ridge overlooking the valley, your chest rising and falling, your hands shaking at your sides.
The bond pulsed faint, hollow, tugging at you. Your fingers twitched.
And then without thinking, you let your hand drift back, brushing lightly against his.
Azrielâs breath caught audibly. His hand didnât seize, didnât grip, didnât assume. It only turned, palm up, open, tremblingâŠwaiting.
For a long moment, you left him there. Then, with a shaking breath, you slipped your hand into his.
He sobbed, quiet and raw, his thumb brushing once over your knuckles like a prayer.
Later that evening back at the cottage, the fire burned low. Shadows pooled close as the two of you sat in silence by the hearth.
You curled into the arm of the chair, your knees drawn up, the blanket heavy over your shoulders. Azriel sat on the floor, closer to the fire, his hands hanging loose between his knees, his face pale in the glow.
You didnât speak. He didnât ask. But your fingers twitched every so often, brushing the edge of his shadows as they hovered near and every time, he stiffened as though it were the first touch heâd felt in years.
When night fell again, you didnât tell him to leave the bed.
You didnât invite him, either.
You only slid beneath the covers, exhausted, your body aching with the weight of the day.
Azriel lingered by the door, his hand fisted at his side, his shadows restless. But when you turned your face toward him, tired, hollow, but not rejecting, he moved.
He climbed into the bed beside you, leaving space, his body rigid, his wings tight.
And still, you reached for him. Just enough to feel his warmth brush against your side.
His breath hitched, his tears silent this time. His arm curled slowly around you, tentative, reverent, and you let him.
The second morning dawned gray. Thin light seeped into the cottage, pale and cold. You woke first, untangling yourself from Azrielâs arm where it had fallen heavy around your waist.
He stirred but didnât speak. His eyes followed you as you rose, the weight of them thick on your back, but he didnât reach for you.
Neither of you said a word.
The silence was oppressive, but you let it live between you. For now, it was easier than speaking.
By the third day, silence began to crack.
Azriel returned from the stream, hands wet, hair mussed by the wind. He placed a bucket by the hearth, shadows flickering faintly. You sat curled in the chair with a blanket wrapped around you.
He hesitated, then rasped, âThe trout are running. I could catch some. If youâd eat.â
You wanted to snap that food didnât fix betrayal.
But the raw, trembling look in his eyes stole the words.
The relief in his face nearly undid you.
That evening, you ate fish roasted over the fire. The taste was plain, the air quiet, but when his hand brushed yours as he passed the plate, you didnât pull away.
On the fourth day, he broke first.
You were sitting by the hearth, your knees drawn up beneath the blanket, when Azriel crouched near, shadows shifting nervously around him. His hazel eyes were hollow, but steady, fixed on you.
âI dream of it,â he confessed, his voice hoarse. âOf that night. Not her. Never her. Just you⊠walking in. The way your face broke when you saw me.â
You hated him more for saying it, because it brought the memory crashing back, and yet part of you needed to hear the torment in his voice.
But you didnât tell him to stop, either.
On the fifth night, the fire burned low. You sat at the table, your head in your hands, when you felt him behind you.
Not until your hand twitched once against the wood.
And then, slowly, reverently, his scarred fingers brushed yours.
His touch was trembling, feather-light, waiting for permission.
You could have pulled away.
Instead, your hand turned, sliding into his.
He sobbed, quiet, sharp, into the silence, and fell to his knees beside your chair, clutching your hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
The days blurred.
One after another, marked by silence, meals shared without words, shadows curling quietly at the edges of the room.
Azriel moved around you like a ghostâŠreverent, patient, broken. He cooked, he chopped wood, he mended tools that didnât need mending. He watched, but never pushed.
You let him close in small ways.
His hand on yours at the table.
His shoulder brushing yours by the hearth.
The weight of his arm curled tentatively around you at night.
But the image of that night still haunted you. Elainâs pale hands, her floral scent, his body tangled with hers. It was a wound that refused to close, festering beneath the bond that kept pulsing faintly between you.
And eventually, it would split open.
It was a quiet evening. Rain battered the roof, wind howled against the shutters. The two of you sat by the fireâŠyou curled in the armchair, Azriel crouched on the floor, his wings drooping, shadows coiled low.
The silence pressed too heavy.
Your hands curled into fists.
And then the words ripped out of you before you could stop them.
âHow long are we going to pretend this is enough?â
Azrielâs head snapped up, hazel eyes wide, hollow, desperate.
Your voice cracked, rising. âYou think cooking my meals and brushing my hand fixes what you did? You think silence and shadows will erase her from my mind?â
His throat bobbed, his lips parting, but no words came.
You surged to your feet, tears blurring your vision. âEvery time you touch me, I see it! Her hands on your skin, her scent in your sheets, you inside her instead of me! Do you know what that feels like? To carry that image every single time I try to let you close?â
Azrielâs face crumpled, anguish carved deep.
âI know,â he rasped, his voice breaking. âGods, I know -â
âNo, you donât!â Your scream shook the rafters. âYou think you know pain, but you donât know this! You donât know what itâs like to look at your mate and want to die because he chose someone else, even for one night!â
Your chest heaved, sobs breaking through, your hands shaking violently.
Azriel rose slowly, as though his body was too heavy for him to carry. His hazel eyes shone wet, tears streaking his scarred face.
âYouâre right,â he whispered, his voice raw. âI donât know what itâs like to be betrayed by the only soul that ever mattered. But I know what itâs like to lose you. I know what itâs like to wake every morning and see you flinch away from me. To feel this bond scream, and know Iâm the one who broke it.â
He stepped closer, his hands shaking at his sides, his chest heaving.
âI donât want silence anymore. I donât want scraps. If this is going to kill me, then let it kill me with the truth.â
You sobbed, pressing your palms to your eyes. âThe truth is I donât know if Iâll ever forgive you. I donât know if I can. Every part of me wants to hate you, to leave you, to never look at you again.â
Azrielâs breath caught, sharp, as though the words gutted him. His knees buckled, and he sank before you, shadows writhing violently around him.
âBut youâre still here,â you whispered, broken. âAnd I hate myself for needing you. For wanting you. For not being able to sever this damned bond even after everything you did.â
He reached for your knees, scarred hands trembling, his tears dripping hot onto your skin.
âThen let me earn it,â he begged. His voice cracked, hoarse, desperate. âEvery day, for the rest of my life, let me prove to you that Iâll never betray you again. I donât care if you never forgive me - just donât leave me.â
The storm outside rattled the shutters, rain pounding like fists against the roof.
Your sobs shook the walls just as violently.
Azriel was still on his knees, scarred hands clutching your legs, his tears hot against your skin. His shadows writhed like a living grief, clawing at the floorboards, keening with his anguish.
You should have pushed him away.
You should have told him to get out, to stay in the wreck he made. But the bond screamed inside youâŠragged, raw, pulsing so violently you thought your ribs would splinter.
And gods help you, you couldnât let go.
You crumpled forward, sobs breaking from your chest, your hands tangling in his tunic.
You slid down to the floor in front of him, the blanket falling from your shoulders, and pressed your face into his chest.
He wrapped himself around you instantly. His wings curved tight, trembling, sealing you both in a cocoon of warmth and shadow. His arms clutched you so tightly it almost hurt, but it was the pain you needed.
The pain of being held, even in ruin.
Your fists pounded weakly against his chest, your sobs violent, your whole body convulsing. But he didnât let go. His scarred hands roamed your back, desperate, reverent, his voice breaking in your ear.
âIâm sorry. Gods, Iâm sorry. Iâll never stop saying it. Iâll never stop proving it. Youâre my mate. My only. My everything.â
You sobbed harder, the sound guttural, raw, spilling from you like blood. The image of him with her flared again, stabbing sharp, but for the first time you screamed it into his chest, letting the sound tear through both of you instead of swallowing it down.
Your voice was broken, jagged against his tunic, âYou destroyed me.â
He clutched you tighter, pressing his wet face into your hair, his own sobs shaking him. âI know. And Iâll never forgive myself. But Iâll spend every breath trying to build you back.â
Your nails dug into his back, your tears soaking his skin.
The bond pulsed violently, bleeding and alive, keeping you tethered even as you shattered in his arms.
Your sobs broke jagged against his chest, each one tearing your throat raw.
His arms clutched you tighter, trembling, his whispers of Iâm sorry dissolving into the storm of your grief.
And then, through the ruin, something shifted.
It was a desperate, shattering kissâŠwet with tears, trembling, frantic, as though you might never breathe him again. You kissed him like it was the end, like you were about to lose him forever.
Azriel gasped into it, then broke with you, his mouth moving against yours with the same desperation, sobs catching in the kiss. His scarred hands cradled your face, shaking, his wings trembling as he pressed closer.
The bond surged violently in your chest, raw, bleeding, alive.
You tore your lips from his, gasping against his mouth, your tears hot on his skin.
âI need you.â Your voice cracked, jagged, frantic. âI hate myself for it, but gods, Azriel, I need you.â
His forehead pressed to yours, his hazel eyes wide and wet, his breath breaking apart in sobs.
âI need to feel you,â you whispered, desperate, your hands fisting in his tunic. âThe way you used to. The way you felt inside of me, making me yours again.â
Your voice splintered, guttural.
âPlease. Just⊠make me yours.â
A guttural sound tore from his chest, his wings trembling as he pulled you into him. His lips kissed the salt of your tears, your jaw, your throat, every touch worshipful, reverent, as though he couldnât believe you were letting him close again.
He laid you back against the rug before the fire, his scarred hands moving slowly, reverently, as if touching something sacred he had no right to. His mouth traced desperate prayers over your skin, each kiss saying the things his words could never hold.
Regret, love, devotion, ruin.
When he slid into you, it wasnât with the fury of lust, but the trembling reverence of a male trying to put a shattered soul back together.
His pace was slow, steady, worshipful, every thrust sayingâŠ
I love you. Iâm sorry. Youâre mine.
The bond pulsed wildly, raw and alive, every beat flooding your veins with his grief and his devotion. You clutched at his back, your sobs spilling into his mouth as he kissed you again, his body moving with desperate tenderness, each movement a vow.
And when you broke apart beneath him, gasping, crying, trembling, his name spilling from your lips, he held you tighter, whispering against your mouth.
âYouâll always be mine. Always. Even if it kills me.â
The fire had burned low, embers glowing faintly, shadows crawling up the stone walls. The storm outside had quieted to a steady drizzle, the patter against the roof soft compared to the ragged breaths still shaking your chest.
You lay tangled on the rug, your body slick with sweat and tears, trembling in the circle of his arms. Azrielâs chest rose and fell erratically beneath your cheek, his heartbeat thundering wild, his wings draped heavy and protective around you both.
The bond pulsed sluggishly nowâŠnot silent, not calm, but raw, frayed, alive.
Your thighs ached from his reverence, from the way he had moved inside you like a prayer, slow and worshipful. Your lips burned from the desperation of his kisses. Every inch of you felt claimed again, but whether that claim soothed you or scalded you, you couldnât yet tell.
His scarred hand trembled as it brushed along your spine, barely more than a whisper of touch. His lips pressed to your damp hair, breath uneven, broken.
He whispered into the silence, hoarse and cracked, âI donât deserve this. I donât deserve you.â
His hand clenched at your back as if bracing for you to push away. âBut I swear⊠Iâll spend the rest of my life proving Iâll never betray you again. Even if you never forgive me.â
Tears burned your eyes again, spilling silent down your face.
You hated how much you still needed his warmth, his weight anchoring you.
You hated that your body still knew him as home.
You whispered, your voice raw, âI donât know if this healed anything⊠or just made the wound deeper.â
Azriel flinched, his lips tightening against your hair, his chest shuddering under you.
He only held you tighter, as if that was the only answer he had left.
Dawn crept slow across the mountains, pale light spilling through the small window. The storm had passed, leaving the world damp, quiet, still.
Inside the cottage, the fire was only embers now, its glow a soft halo against the stone hearth. You woke tangled with Azriel on the rug, your body aching, your skin sticky with the remnants of tears and sweat. His wings were still curved over you both, protective even in sleep, their shadowy span rising and falling faintly with his uneven breaths.
The bond continued to pulse sluggishly.
You stirred, your muscles protesting, and his hold tightened instantly, instinctively. His scarred hand flexed against your back, pulling you closer even before his eyes opened.
When his lashes fluttered, hazel eyes rimmed red met yours, wide and heavy with exhaustion. The moment his gaze locked on you, his throat worked, and his lips parted as though to speak an apology.
Instead, he only brushed a trembling hand through your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your damp cheek.
His lips moved finally, voice hoarse and soft, âYou stayed.â
You swallowed hard, your chest aching, your throat raw from the night before. The truth was heavy on your tongue.
Instead, you whispered, jagged, âI donât know why.â
His face crumpled, his hand faltering against your cheek. His wings drooped, his chest shuddering beneath you.
But you didnât pull away.
Your fists, curled weakly against his tunic, refused to let go.
You hated yourself for it.
The two of you lay there for a long while, breathing in the silence. The air was thick with the memory of what you had done.
The desperate kisses, the reverent way he had moved inside you, the sobs that had broken from both your throats.
It lingered heavy now, not soothed, not forgiven, but undeniable.
Finally, you rasped, your voice splintering, âIt felt like goodbye.â
Azriel flinched, his hazel eyes wet, panic flickering in their depths. He cupped your face with both scarred hands, his forehead pressing to yours, his tears slipping free.
âNo,â he whispered fiercely, shaking. âDonât say that. Donât ever say that. I canât -â His breath broke. âI canât lose you like that again. Not ever.â
The rug beneath you had grown stiff and cold. At some point, Azriel had coaxed you into the bedâŠnot with words, but by gathering you in his arms and laying you gently onto the mattress. He lay beside you until dawnâs gray light seeped across the floor, until the fire was only a memory.
Your body felt heavier than stone, your head pounding from the storm of tears. When you slipped from his arms, he stirred instantly, his scarred hand reaching out, tremblingâŠbut he stopped before touching you, letting his fingers fall limp against the sheets.
The cottage was cold, the mountain air seeping in through the cracks. You busied yourself with the kettle, your hands unsteady, movements mechanical.
The mundane sounds of life filled the silence that stretched like a blade between you.
Behind you, his quiet footsteps. The soft scrape of a chair against the wood. You didnât have to turn to know he was sitting at the table, watching you with those hollow hazel eyes.
The bond pulsed faint, sharp in your ribs, dragging at you even as you willed yourself not to turn.
When you set the steaming mugs down on the table, your hands brushed against his by accident.
You flinched, your stomach twisting. He didnât grab you, didnât even move.
His hand only trembled, his thumb twitching like he was fighting the urge to hold on.
You sat across from him. The tea scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the pain.
It anchored you, gave you something other than his eyes to focus on.
Neither of you spoke. But every second of silence screamed louder than words.
Azrielâs gaze stayed low, fixed on the steam curling from his cup. Shadows writhed faintly around his shoulders, restless, uneasy.
But sometimes, you felt his eyes flick up, searing across your face.
It was a look of desperation, of hope and ruin tangled together.
When your eyes met, even for a heartbeat, the bond thrummed violently, raw and demanding. Your chest clenched, your throat tight, and you looked away first every time.
By mid-morning, the silence had grown unbearable.
The weight of his gaze pressed on you.
Your lips parted once, the words on the edge of your tongue.
Was last night a mistake?
But you swallowed them down, because you already knew the answer would shatter you, no matter what he said.
And Azriel, his lips parted too, but the words never left. His scarred hands clenched in his lap, his chest heaving with things he couldnât say.
The silence roared, thick and heavy, and still you both sat there.
Bound by the bond, by ruin, by need and by everything neither of you could bring yourself to speak.
The day dragged heavy. Azriel moved like a ghost around the cottageâŠtending the fire, splitting more wood than was needed, refilling the kettle again and again. You sat in the chair by the window, knees tucked beneath the blanket, your eyes fixed on the mist rolling down the mountain slope.
The silence was suffocating.
Every faint scrape of his knife against bread. It all pressed tighter and tighter until the words tore free.
âI canât do this anymore.â
The knife clattered onto the counter.
His wings went rigid, his head snapping toward you, hazel eyes wide, devastated.
You turned, tears already burning your eyes.
âI canât keep pretending that silence is enough. That avoiding it will erase the truth.â
Azriel crossed the room slowly, as if approaching something fragile that might shatter if he stepped wrong. His shadows stirred, restless, heavy.
He sank to his knees before you, his scarred hands hovering at the edge of your blanket but not daring to touch. His voice cracked, hoarse. âThen tell me what you want. Tell me how to fix what I broke.â
Tears spilled hot down your cheeks.
Your throat burned, but you forced the words out.
âI want to rebuild with you.â
His breath caughtâŠsharp, guttural, like your words had struck him harder than any blade. His eyes glistened, his mouth trembling open.
You pressed on, your voice splintering. âBut itâs going to take time. So much time. Because every time I reach for you, I see her. I see you and her in bed. And it makes me sick.â
Your shoulders shook, sobs spilling through. âBut gods help me, I still need you. And if thereâs even a chance that one day those images can be replaced with good ones⊠I want to try.â
A sob tore from his chest. He bent forward, pressing his forehead to your knees, his tears soaking the blanket. His hands clutched at the edges of it, trembling violently.
âYouâd give me that?â His voice broke, muffled against the fabric. âYouâd give me a chance to try? After what I did?â
You cupped his head with trembling hands, your tears dripping into his hair.
Your voice cracked as you whispered, âNot because you deserve it. But because the bond wonât let me go. And because I still love you, even though it hurts.â
His body shook with sobs, his wings trembling so violently they rattled the window panes. He pressed his face harder into your knees, whispering ragged, over and over, âIâll be patient. Iâll wait. Iâll do anything. Just donât let me lose you.â
Later that evening, the fire burned low, shadows stretching long against the stone walls. The storm outside had passed, leaving the mountain quiet, a fragile stillness settling over the cottage.
You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floorboards, the words youâd spoken earlier still echoing in your chest.
I want to rebuild with you.
Behind you, Azriel lingered by the hearth. His hands fisted at his sides, his wings tucked tight, his body stiff with restraint. He hadnât moved closer, hadnât tried to take more than youâd given. His hazel eyes flickered toward you in the firelight, wet and heavy with both fear and hope.
The bond pulsed faintly between youâŠscarred, uneven, but alive.
Finally, your voice cracked through the silence.
Azriel stiffened, his throat bobbing as though heâd misheard. Shadows stirred violently around him.
You turned your head slightly, tears burning your eyes but your voice steady. âJust to hold me. Nothing else.â
A shuddering breath left him, his shoulders sagging with relief so sharp it almost looked like pain.
âYes,â he rasped, his voice breaking. âOf course.â
He moved slowly, carefully, crossing the room as though every step was a prayer. He climbed onto the bed, leaving a respectful space at first, waiting. His wings curled tentatively behind him, his body taut, trembling with restraint.
You lay down, pulling the blanket up to your chest.
Then, with a shaking breath, you whispered: âCloser.â
Azrielâs eyes shut tight for a moment, relief spilling from him in a broken sob. He slid across the mattress slowly, curling onto his side, his arm slipping hesitantly around your waist. His scarred hand rested light against your ribs, reverent, trembling.
You stiffened at first, your body recoiling instinctively from his warmth, memories clawing up your throat.
But the bond pulsed, slow and steady, and you forced yourself to breathe.
You let yourself lean back into him, just slightly, just enough.
Azrielâs breath caught sharply against your hair. His arms tightened around you by a fraction, his chest shaking as he pressed his face into your shoulder.
He whispered, broken, almost inaudible, âThank you.â
The second night came heavy with silence. The day had been marked by careful movementsâŠmeals prepared without speaking, shadows that curled close but never touched unless you allowed them.
When you finally lay down, Azriel hovered again at the edge of the mattress. His eyes flickered to yours, waiting, braced for rejection.
âCloser,â you whispered again, your throat tight.
He moved, trembling, wrapping his arm around you exactly as before. His breath caught when you didnât flinch as hard this time. You let yourself lean into the curve of his chest, just slightly more than the night before.
The bond pulsed faintly, steady, aching.
By the third night, his restraint was palpable.
You could feel it in every careful shift of his body, every controlled breath he took. He was terrified of overstepping, terrified of losing what little ground heâd been given.
And yet⊠when you whispered, âDonât be afraid to hold me tighter,â you felt his chest seize.
A broken sound left him as his arms closed more firmly around you, his wings brushing the blanket as he curled you against him. His face pressed into your hair, his shoulders trembling.
You whispered into the darkness, your voice shaking, âI remember what it felt like⊠to be safe here.â
He sobbed quietly, silently, into your hair, but his arms never loosened.
On the fourth night, the silence felt different.
You lay with your back to him, his arm snug around your waist. His thumb brushed once over your ribsâŠhesitant, reverent.
You froze at first, memories threatening to rise, but then your hand covered his, pressing it flat to your stomach.
The bond surged with a faint warmth, fragile but real. His chest heaved against your back, a sob breaking through, but his hand stayed still beneath yours.
For the first time, your eyelids grew heavy in his armsâŠnot from exhaustion, but from something close to comfort.
On the fifth night, as rain tapped gently against the window, he whispered into your hair:
âI donât dream when youâre here.â
The words broke something in you, not cleanly, but like a crack spreading through glass. You turned slightly in his arms, enough to see the glimmer of his hazel eyes in the dim firelight.
Your lips trembled, your chest aching, but you whispered back, âThen donât let go.â
His forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, and he whispered, âNever again.â
Time moved slowly in the mountain cottage.
Days filled with quiet chores, meals eaten side by side, silence that grew less sharp with every passing sunrise.
Nights passed with him holding youâŠalways reverent, never overstepping, his arm curled steady around your waist, his breath even against your hair.
The image of her still haunted you, flaring at the cruelest times.
But it came less often now.
The bond, ragged and scarred, pulsed more steadily, reminding you that whatever else had shattered, the thread still bound you both.
It was late one night, weeks after that storm-swept collapse. The two of you were tangled on the bed, your back pressed into his chest, his arm snug around your middle.
The fire had burned low. Shadows pooled quietly at the edges of the room.
You murmured into the dark, half-asleep, âYour feet are cold.â
Azriel huffed against your hair, low and rough. âI flew through sleet today, remember?â
You smirked faintly, eyes still closed. âYouâre a Shadowsinger. Surely your magic could warm your toes.â
There was a pause. And then unexpectedly, his chest shook against your back.
It startled you so much you twisted in his arms, blinking up at him. His lips curved, the faintest, most hesitant smile breaking through his haunted face.
And before you knew it, a laugh broke out of you, sharp, wet, almost disbelieving. Tears pricked your eyes even as your lips curved, as if your body didnât know how to hold both grief and joy at once.
Azrielâs smile faltered with emotion, his eyes wet, but the sound of your laughâŠgods, it undid him.
He pressed his forehead into your shoulder, his shoulders trembling again.
Not from sobs this time, but from a laugh spilling brokenly into your skin.
When the laughter faded, tears streaked both your faces, but the silence that followed wasnât heavy.
It was fragile, tentative, but lighter than it had been in months.
You reached for his scarred hand where it rested against your waist and laced your fingers through his.
The bond pulsed warmly, aching but steady.
Your voice was soft, cracking, âIâd forgotten what that felt like.â
His lips brushed your temple, trembling. âThen Iâll remind you, again and again, until laughter is the only thing you remember from me.â
The days that followed continued to build upon the fragile connection between you and Azriel.
On day one, you left the cottage together. The mountain path was damp from melting snow, the air crisp with pine and earth.
For weeks youâd walked with space between you, his footsteps a shadow behind yours. But that morning, when you stumbled on a root, his hand shot out instinctively. He caught your elbow, Â scarred, warm, trembling.
You froze, your breath sharp, ready to pull away. But then⊠you didnât. You let his hand linger, steadying you, until your legs found their balance again.
His thumb brushed once against your sleeve before he released you, reverent, wordless. The bond hummed faint, fragile, warm.
That night, Azriel cooked. Trout again, roasted with herbs heâd gathered by the stream. You sat at the table, watching his careful hands, scarred, but steady now.
When he placed the plate before you, you reached out, not for the food, but for his wrist. Just a brush of your fingertips, fleeting, but deliberate.
His eyes snapped to yours, wide and shining, his breath caught. He whispered your name like a prayer.
You didnât answer. You only let your touch linger a moment longer before pulling back.
The bond thrummed in response, faint warmth pulsing in your chest.
The third evening, the fire refused to light. You cursed under your breath, your hands shaking as you struck flint against stone. Shadows stirred behind youâŠlow, restless.
âLet me,â Azriel murmured, crouching at your side. His scarred hands closed gently over yours, guiding your movements. The spark caught, the fire roared, and warmth spilled into the room.
You realized too late that his hands were still on yours.
But instead of flinching, you let them stay. Your throat tightened, your chest aching, but you whispered, âItâs easier when youâre here.â
His breath hitched sharply, his head bowing as though your words had broken him open. The bond pulsedâŠsoft, steady, warm.
On the fifth night, tangled in bed with his arm around your waist, silence stretched long. You could feel his heart hammering against your back, his breath trembling in your hair.
And before fear could choke you, you whispered into the dark, âHold me tighter.â
Azriel obeyed instantly, his arm banding firm around you, his lips trembling as they pressed to your shoulder. His wings curved closer, cocooning you both in shadow and warmth.
The bond surged with a heat you hadnât felt in months.
Fragile, yes, but alive, steady, beginning to knit instead of tear.
The fire burned low, embers glowing faintly as shadows curled along the walls. The bed creaked softly beneath you as you lay tangled in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. His thumb stroked absently over your ribs, feather-light, reverent, never daring for more.
The silence stretched , warm, heavy, the bond humming steady but aching. Your chest tightened, your throat raw with the weight of all you hadnât said.
And then you whispered, so softly it nearly dissolved into the crackle of the fire:
His body stilled completely. His breath caught against your hair, sharp and trembling, as though the words had broken him.
He shifted, just enough to see your face. His hazel eyes glistened in the dim light, wide and wet, full of fear and longing all at once. His scarred hand trembled against your waist.
âAre you sure?â he rasped, his voice hoarse, breaking. âDonâtâdonât say it unless you mean it. I canât⊠I canât take from you what isnât freely given.â
You turned in his arms, facing him, your palm rising to cup his scarred cheek. He leaned into it instantly, a broken sigh leaving his lips, his eyes closing as though the warmth of your touch was the only thing holding him together.
âIâm sure,â you whispered, your tears sliding down your face. âBut slow. Tender. Not because weâre broken, but because weâre still alive.â
A sob escaped him. He pressed his lips to your palm, then to your wrist, trembling, before his mouth found yours.
The kiss was soft at first, trembling, reverent. His lips moved against yours like prayer, every brush of his mouth begging forgiveness, begging trust. His hands cupped your face as if you were light itself, fragile and sacred, something he was terrified to lose again.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours, his tears slipping onto your skin. âI love you,â he whispered, his voice breaking. âIâve never stopped. I never will.â
He undressed you slowly, reverently, as if he had all the time in the world. Every button, every tie, every shift of fabric was followed by his lipsâŠkissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your wrists, the inside of your thighs. His hands shook, scarred fingers tracing your skin as though memorizing you anew, worshipping every inch.
âBeautiful,â he whispered against your stomach, his voice raw with awe. âGods, youâre beautiful.â
When you reached for him, tugging at his tunic, he obeyed, stripping down until there was nothing between you but the bond and the ruin you were trying to mend.
When he slid into you, the breath tore from his lungs like heâd been struck. He buried his face in your neck, sobbing softly as your bodies aligned, as though the simple act of being inside you again was too much to bear.
You clutched at his back, your nails digging into his scarred skin, your legs wrapping around him to hold him close. The bond flared violently, pulsing hot and wild, demanding, alive.
Azriel moved slowly, tenderly, each thrust steady, reverent, as though stitching you back together with every motion. His lips pressed frantic kisses to your neck, your jaw, your mouth, whispering between them, over and over:
âI love you. Iâm sorry. Youâre mine. My only. My mate.â
Azriel.â Your voice cracked, desperate, your nails digging into his back. âPush deeper.â
He stilled, eyes wide, breath ragged.
âHarder,â you whispered fiercely, tears spilling down your cheeks. âUntil all I see, all I feel, all I will ever know again is you. I want nothing else left in me but you. Only you. Do you understand?â
A guttural sound tore from his throat, his wings trembling violently above you. His lips crashed against yours, trembling but desperate, as he obeyed.
He thrust deeper, harder, each movement claiming you, consuming you. You cried out against his mouth, sobbing his name as his body filled you completely, utterly. The bond screamed in your chest, searing with heat and light until it drowned every ghost of Elain, every shadow of betrayal.
âMore,â you begged between sobs, your voice raw. âGive me more, Azriel. Make it so every move I make, every breath I take, I feel you. So nothing else matters but you. Your love. Your touch. You.â
Azriel groaned, broken, his tears hot against your throat as he drove into you with passion edged in devotion, each thrust a vow, each kiss a prayer.
âMark me,â you gasped, clutching his shoulders, dragging him closer. âI want to see you on me. Evidence of your love. Love bites everywhere. So when I look in the mirror, all I see is you.â
His breath broke, his body trembling violently, but he obeyed. His lips crashed down to your throat, his teeth scraping, biting gently, then harder, drawing gasps from your lips. He kissed and sucked your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, each mark burning into you as proof of him.
âMine,â he whispered against your skin with every kiss, every bite. âMine. Mine. Always mine.â
Your body trembled beneath him, delicious soreness already beginning to bloom where his passion burned deepest. And gods, you craved it - you wanted it to last, wanted every ache in your muscles, every bruise on your skin to remind you of this: of him, of you, of the bond that refused to die.
âI want to feel you for days,â you sobbed into his mouth, clutching at him. âEvery time I move, every time I breathe - I want to know youâre still here. That itâs only you.â
His thrusts grew frantic, guttural sobs tearing from him as his mouth marked your skin, his body worshipping you completely, utterly, until nothing else existed.
When you broke, crying his name, the bond surged wild and blinding, filling every crack with searing heat and love. Azriel followed with a guttural cry, his body shuddering, his arms wrapping around you as though to fuse you together. His tears streaked your skin as he kissed you desperately, whispering against your mouth:
âAlways you. Only you. Forever.â
You collapsed together in the sheets, your tears mingling, your breaths ragged. His wings curved around you protectively, his chest heaving beneath your cheek. His scarred hand cradled the back of your head, steady and trembling all at once.
The bond pulsed soft and warm now, scarred but steady, alive.
And in the quiet of the mountain cottage, Azriel made love to you with every fragment of his soul, reverent, tender, worshipful, his body saying all the things his mouth could never hold.
The cottage was quiet but for the sound of your ragged breaths and the low crackle of the dying fire. Your body lay trembling beneath him, covered in his touch, your skin mapped with love bites, bruised with passion, every inch of you claimed.
You ached in ways that were sharp and deep, soreness already blooming low in your belly, your thighs heavy and trembling from the force of him. And gods, you craved itâŠthe ache, the sting, the proof. You wanted to feel it every time you shifted, every time you drew breath, so that even in the silence of days to come, you would remember: Azriel was here.
His body collapsed over you, shuddering, damp with sweat and tears. His wings curved tightly around you both, a trembling cocoon of shadow and warmth. His scarred hands cradled your face, your jaw, your neck, moving constantly, reverently, as if to reassure himself you hadnât vanished.
Azriel kissed the bruises he had left, soft and reverent now, his mouth trailing from your collarbone to your shoulder, from your breasts to the curve of your stomach. His lips lingered on every mark, sealing them with quiet devotion.
His voice trembled, husky with exhaustion and tears.
âIâll never let them fade. Iâll give you more. As many as you want. So youâll never doubt, never forget, that youâre mine.â
You whimpered, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him up until his forehead rested against yours. His hazel eyes were glassy, wrecked, overflowing.
âIâll never betray you again,â he whispered fiercely, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. âNot in this life. Not in the next. Not ever.â
His mouth brushed yours in the softest of kisses, trembling with ruin and love. âIâll spend every day showing you. Every night worshipping you. Iâll mark you until thereâs no place on your skin that doesnât scream my name.â
Your chest ached, tears spilling anew, but you let his words burrow into the bond. You felt the truth of them thrumming against your heart, scarred but steady, burning with the weight of his love.
You shifted beneath him, pulling him closer, ignoring the soreness that made you whimper because you wanted itâŠneeded it. You wanted to feel the bruises tomorrow, the next day, every day. Proof that this had been real. Proof that he was yours again.
Azriel groaned softly as you pressed into him, his arms tightening around you, his lips pressing frantic kisses to your hair, your jaw, your mouth. He whispered your name like prayer, over and over, until the sound of it blended with the bondâs steady pulse.
Life in the mountains slipped into a rhythm. The days bled into one another with the soft crackle of firewood, the hiss of tea boiling on the stove, the crunch of snow under boots when you walked the paths together.
There were no eyes watching. No judgment. No shadows of family or friends pressing against the bond. Just you and Azriel.
And in that solitude, you began to breathe again.
Every night, Azriel touched you. Not always in hunger, not always in passion, but always with intent. Sometimes it was his scarred hand cupping the back of your head as you fell asleep. Sometimes it was his lips pressing reverent kisses along the faint marks he had left on your shoulder, whispering vows you could barely hear.
Other nights, when you craved proof, he marked you again. His mouth moved slowly over your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast, his teeth scraping gently, his tongue soothing after. Every mark made you gasp, every kiss stitched something raw back together.
And when the soreness came, when you felt him in your body even days later, you no longer hated it. You cherished it. It was yoursâŠthe ache of being loved so wholly, of being claimed by the only male who had ever truly been yours.
At first, the bond had pulsed ragged, a scream of pain neither of you could silence. But slowly, with each night of tenderness, each whispered vow, it softened. It hummed steadier, fuller, less fractured.
When you leaned into his chest one morning, feeling that steady warmth, you realized something: for the first time since that night, it didnât hurt to be near him.
And AzrielâŠgods, the way his hazel eyes lit when he felt it too. His wings shuddered, his breath caught, and he pressed his forehead to yours, whispering, âItâs working. Weâre healing.â
One evening, curled together by the fire, you whispered into the hush:
âI donât want to leave this place.â
Azrielâs arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your temple. âThen we wonât,â he said fiercely. âNot until youâre ready. Not until youâre whole again. This cottage can be our world for as long as you need.â
You tilted your head back, your throat tight, but before you could answer, he went on, voice low and certain:
âI donât want to leave it either. Not really. I want to build something new here, with you. I can work for Rhys in Velaris, do what I must - but Iâll come home every night to this. To you. To us. This can be our haven. Our home.â
Your chest ached, tears burning your eyes. You looked at him then, really looked, and the longing in his hazel eyes undid you. His love. His regret. His devotion carved so deeply it seared.
You kissed him, not in desperation, but in quiet hunger. He kissed you back just as softly, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his mouth whispering thank you, thank you between every press of his lips.
The storm outside had stilled, leaving the mountains wrapped in silence. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow painting the cottage in amber. You sat cross-legged before the flames, hair still damp from your bath, a blanket draped loosely around your shoulders.
Azriel moved quietly behind you, a basin of warm water in his hands, a brush and towel laid neatly at his side. He hadnât asked. He didnât need to. You had learned the rhythm of him here, in this place, his instinct to care for you, to serve you, in all the ways he thought heâd lost the right to.
He knelt behind you, setting the basin down, his movements careful, reverent. His scarred hands shook faintly as he reached for your hair.
âMay I?â His voice was low, almost shy, as if asking to touch you was still a privilege.
You nodded, your throat tight.
His fingers slid gently through your damp strands, untangling them with infinite patience. Then the brush followed, slow and steady, each stroke a vow. He worked in silence, the only sound the crackle of fire and the whisper of bristles.
The bond pulsed with every movementâŠsteady, warm, reverent.
He leaned forward sometimes, his lips brushing the crown of your head, your temple, the nape of your neck. His breath trembled against your skin, his tears dampening your hair as he whispered softly:
âYou donât know how long I dreamed of this. Just this. To care for you in the small ways. To prove myself in the quiet, not just on the battlefield.â
Your eyes burned, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as his hands moved carefully, brushing every strand with a tenderness that felt holy.
When he finished, he wrapped the towel gently around your shoulders, his arms slipping around you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, his wings curving close, and he held you thereâŠsafe, warm, whole.
âI could live a thousand years in this cottage,â he whispered, his voice breaking, âand never want for anything, so long as I come home to you like this.â
You leaned into him, your tears falling freely now, your fingers tangling with his where they rested against your chest.
And for the first time in so long, you believed him.
Steam curled in the small bathing room, carrying the faint scent of lavender and cedarwood soap. The water was warm, wrapping around you as you sank into the tub, the heat soothing the ache in your muscles.
Azriel stood quietly beside you, a folded cloth in one hand, the bar of soap in the other. He hadnât asked aloud, but the question was in his eyesâŠthose soft, devastated hazel eyes that seemed to beg each day for permission to love you.
You nodded once. That was all it took.
He set to work, kneeling at the tubâs edge, his scarred hands moving with a reverence that made your throat tighten.
The cloth dragged slowly across your back, steady and sure. His hands lingered at your shoulders, your spine, your arms, careful not to rush, careful not to push too far.
Every touch was tender, deliberate, his thumb brushing soothing circles as though reminding you: Iâm here. Iâll never let go again.
When he reached lower, down the curve of your back, his breath hitched, his hand pausing as though the intimacy might undo him. You leaned forward slightly, giving silent permission.
And gods, the way his hands shook as he resumed, not from desire, not from hunger, but from awe.
He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips hot against your damp skin. Another followed at the nape of your neck. Then one along the slope of your shoulder.
âIâll never stop worshipping you,â he murmured, voice breaking. âNot just here -â another kiss, lower this time, softer â- but every part of your life. Every breath you take. I want to be worthy of all of it.â
Tears burned your eyes, slipping silently into the bathwater.
When he finally set the cloth aside, his scarred hands moved bare against your skin, rinsing away the suds with the warm water. His touch lingered at your arms, your waist, your shoulders. He cradled you as though you were fragile crystal, as though his hands had been made for no other purpose but to tend to you.
And yet, beneath the tenderness, you felt the longing. The way his chest trembled when his fingers traced your spine. The way his breath shook when he cupped your shoulder, his lips brushing reverent kisses against your damp skin.
It wasnât lust. It was love so fierce it nearly broke you.
When the water cooled and you rose from the bath, he wrapped you carefully in a towel, holding you close as though protecting you from more than the mountain chill. His forehead pressed to your temple, his wings curving around you.
âI could die like this,â he whispered raggedly, his breath hot against your ear. âServing you in the small things. Loving you with every breath. And I would go in peace, knowing I gave you everything I had.â
Your tears fell freely then, soaking the towel, your hands clutching his tunic as you pressed into him, the bond thrumming warm and alive in your chest.
The cottage was quiet when the fire burned low, the air warm with lingering steam from the bath. You lay wrapped in one of Azrielâs tunics, the fabric too large, smelling of cedar, smoke, and him.
He watched you from across the room, seated on the edge of the bed, his hazel eyes heavy with something that was both longing and restraint. The sight of himâŠscarred, shadowed, trembling with devotion he barely dared to release made your chest ache.
You stood, the hem of the tunic brushing your thighs, and crossed to him. His breath hitched as you placed your hands on his face, your thumbs brushing along the planes of his scars.
âAzriel,â you whispered, your voice breaking. âLove me again.â
His lips parted, his breath torn from him like a sob. He rose slowly, as though in the presence of something holy, and kissed you.
Not with desperation, not with hunger. But with reverence. His mouth moved over yours softly, tenderly, every brush of his lips a vow, every sigh a prayer. His scarred hands cradled your face, trembling, as if you were too fragile to touch.
He undressed you with infinite patience, his fingers reverent on every tie, every fold of fabric, every brush of skin revealed. Each place he uncovered, he kissedâŠyour shoulders, your collarbone, your wrists, your stomach.
âBeautiful,â he whispered against your skin, his voice shaking. âGods, youâre so beautiful.â
When you reached for him, pulling away the layers of leather and cloth until he was bare before you, his eyes glistened. He let you undress him like it was sacrament, his body trembling with the weight of being seen, not as the Shadowsinger, not as the broken male, but as yours.
When he finally laid you back against the sheets, his wings curved around you protectively, shutting out the world. He hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.
âIâll go as slow as you need,â he rasped. âI wonât move until you tell me to.â
You cupped his face, your tears sliding into your hair. âI want all of you, Azriel. Donât hold back. Not from me. Not ever again.â
A sob tore from him as he kissed you, trembling, and slid inside.
The bond surged violently, searing through your chest as your bodies joined, flooding with light and shadow. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as the fullness of him broke you open in the most sacred way.
He moved slowly, reverently, every thrust deliberate and tender, his lips pressing kisses to your mouth, your throat, your temple. His hands cradled your face, your waist, as though each touch was a vow carved into your skin.
âYouâre mine,â he whispered against your lips. âMy mate. My only. My heart.â
You sobbed softly, your hands sliding over his chest, memorizing the planes of muscle, the rise and fall of his breath. âI love you,â you gasped. âIâve always loved you. Even when it hurt. Even when I hated myself for it. Always you.â
He kissed the words from your mouth, his tears falling onto your skin as he whispered them back.
Your bodies moved in perfect rhythm, each thrust and gasp building higher, the bond humming louder, brighter, pulling tighter with every breath.
When you shattered beneath him, crying his name, the bond blazed white-hot, stitching together tighter, stronger, fiercer than it had ever been. You felt him flood through you⊠his love, his regret, his devotionâŠfilling every crack, every scar, every shadow.
Azriel followed with a guttural sob, burying his face in your neck as his body trembled above you. His release tore through him with the force of a storm, his cries muffled against your skin as the bond sealed, thrumming steady and unbreakable.
He collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his wings shuddering as they curved tighter around you both. His lips pressed frantic kisses to your temple, your cheek, your mouth, his tears still falling freely.
The bond pulsed warm and steady now, not fragile, not jagged.
Alive in a way that made your chest ache with the enormity of it.
Azrielâs voice was hoarse, cracked with tears, when he whispered.
âForever. No more shadows. No more ghosts. Only you. Only us.â
You cupped his face, kissed his trembling mouth, and whispered back through your tears.
