azriel three days after a shadow danced with breath and two days after his chest sparked with an image:
Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile. But he didn’t object when she brought her Symphonia to the ring each morning for some extra motivation while exercising. 59
he’s just soo relaxed and oh, soo happy!! can’t you tell?? it’s so obvious!! like duh!! 🥹
but yet..
when gwyn was taken to the rite after the bonus, by the people that azriel despises the most by the way, and azriel didn’t act the way you would if your so called “mate” was in so much danger..
i don’t care if “gwyn can take care of herself!” or “there are risks!” because it didn’t stop cassian from trying to get nesta back..
They were speaking, Azriel with some urgency, but Cassian didn’t hear him, heard nothing but the roaring in his head before he said to no one in particular, “I’m going after them.” ..
Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.” “I don’t care.” Cassian aimed for the doorway. Even if … Fuck. Hadn’t he been the one to tell Rhys not to go after those soldiers? To leave them be? He was a fool. He’d left an armed enemy in his blind spot and forgotten about it. But Eris could rot for all he cared. Az said, “We have to get him out.” 64
azris - 1
gwynriel - 0
azriel could’ve tried which would’ve made it seem that something major shifted between him and gwyn. so when those who did have access and/or knew about the bonus, they would put two and two together but who needs a bonus when sarah could’ve just had gwynriel hints in the actual book, but since she didn’t for obvious reasons, who’s gonna mention that?
the fact that the bonus can’t be backed up with anything that happened afterwards or before shows how insignificant it really is to that ship x
WHERE THE MOON SHINES BETWEEN US – three
Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader
synopsis As the sister to the greatest Night Court High Lord in history, the one thing you share with Azriel is that you live in Rhysand’s shadows—each in your own way. But even being hidden can’t stop your life from shattering, over and over again. When a bargain ties you and the shadowsinger together, what will stop that from being fractured, too?
tags yearning, slow burn, angst, hurt-comfort, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, inner circle, found family, did i mention SLOW BURN, this fic is literally her entire immortal life,
warnings features the spring court attack, under the mountain with rhys centuries later, & everything before, after, and in between. in this chapter: angst, grief, spring court attack described, violence, PTSD
word count 2.7k
author's note been waiting to share this one with you lovelies... shortest yet favorite chapter so far <3
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THE BEGINNING
Your chair screeched behind you. “No,” you said, but you barely heard it. “I’m not doing that.”
Rhys rose with you. “Wait a moment,” he said. “Don’t brush it off so—”
“No,” you insisted, not caring to push the chair back in as you rounded the table. “I’m not flying.” I’m never flying. Never.
“If you don’t, the energy concentrated within you can become volatile.” Rhys sounded sharp, but his face was more worried than anything else. “I know what happens to full Illyrians without siphons, but who knows what might happen to someone like us? Someone half-fae?"
“I don’t care,” you said, your heart racing now. “Nothing has happened. Amren is just… smelling me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Until it does,” Rhys pressed. “Just ask Cass or Az what happened with their killing power before they got enough siphons. They nearly went insane. And it hit them all of a sudden, like a blow.”
“It’s true,” said Cassian, his dark brows knitted, “but I don’t know if she—”
“Just give me siphons, then,” you cut him off, looking to Cass. But he didn’t affirm you, only glancing at Rhys. “For Cauldron’s sake, Rhysand, if you keep speaking to them without me, I will slip past your fucking shields and wipe you clean.”
Your brother dragged a palm over his eyes, turning from the table entirely now. You watched his wings shift with the muscles of his back. “Gods, I just want you to be safe.”
“We’d all like that, wouldn’t we?” you spat. “Rhysie’s little sister all cooped up and protected. Couldn’t handle herself in the Illyrian camps, or after Mother died, or even before. Good thing we have you to watch over me.”
He turned back to you, looking incredulous. “You know that isn’t what’s happening.”
“And yet it feels so similar,” you said. “Who needs our father to delegate me when I have you, Rhysand?”
“I’m your brother,” he growled.
“Well, in that case, I’ll be all right,” you hissed. “All safe and contained, thanks to you. Just like I was back when the High Lord of Spring came and slaughtered Mother in front of me.”
The air between you went bone-cold.
Clarity washed through you immediately, and your face nearly went slack from the weight of your words. Never once had you blamed him for what happened. Not after you saw him when you woke after the attack, how his guilt had already eaten him alive and scarred him since.
You had never blamed him for any of this. Never.
And Rhysand now… he looked as if you’d struck him. You wondered if maybe you’d made a bargain with him that you didn’t remember, because you felt his pain, his hurt, like your own.
Then came the usual shame after your outburst, made worse tenfold as you knew you’d finally, finally, seized the attention of all five people in the room. Being listened to at last didn’t carry the satisfaction you sought anymore.
Your breath felt shallow. Fuck. You’d done it again. Reminded Rhys—and all of them—how broken you were. How cruel you were.
Mor and Amren looked unreadable. Cass was watching Rhys. And Azriel—he looked like there was a sour taste in his mouth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You stormed out before anyone could say a word.
You couldn’t go back to your room. Rhys would be waiting—to apologize to you, you knew—and your guilt was already enough as is. He would never be able to push you away, to honor his pride or even common sense and tell you the truth: you were unfair. Unfair and ungrateful to him, a male you thought was more powerful in love than anything else.
But he was suffocating you. Suffocating you trying to protect you with what he thought was best.
You shut your eyes against the wind over the balcony. Below, Velaris sprawled, waking to the night.
As you stared, a foreign, faint pulse of curiosity surged into you, warming the flesh of your hand. You knew it was Azriel before you looked. The mark was tingling, as if making you aware of its ink upon your skin. If it was even ink at all—you’d been researching bonds for a time now, to little avail. These days, it was experimentation that had got you anywhere. Now, you and Az were better able to control the emotional bursts into some vague sense of communication.
You made yourself feel all your adamance at once, mentally chucking it into your veins, your ink, your skin. And you hoped he felt it enough to feel an answer.
“You’ve made yourself clear,” he said from behind you.
You sighed. “Why even use the bond if you’re already here?”
“Experimenting.” His voice reached your side. “Come back inside. It’s cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine.” Azriel rolled his neck, looking out over the city with you. “He has a point, you know.”
“If you’re going to say more bullshit, Az, leave.”
“We didn’t get our siphons until after the Blood Rite,” he told you, undeterred. “I hadn’t realized how much power simmered inside of me until I felt it dispel. It could be the same for you. A relief.”
“I told you all, I’m fine.”
“You can be fine and still need to let the power out.”
Shaking your head, you loosed a breath. “If you all force me to fly again—”
“Nobody can force you to do anything.”
“Are you sure about that?” you asked. “Because Rhys seems pretty intent—”
“Stop blaming your brother,” he said sharply, and you winced. “Stop blaming Rhys for caring about you as if there’s something wrong with that.”
Guilt washed over you, cold and familiar, and you recoiled. “He can care about me, Azriel. But I can’t be seen this way forever.”
“You are being seen as you are. Just because there are weaknesses doesn’t mean you are someone different or less.”
You didn’t know what to say to that, so you said nothing. As you looked out towards the Rainbow, you dug your fingernails into your palms. “I can’t imagine flying again. I’m not sure I even remember how.”
“I can teach you.”
You looked at him. “You would do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “Don’t you have things to do as spymaster?”
“Yes,” Azriel said slowly. “But I have time. I’ll make it.” You began to shake your head, but he cut you off before you could speak. “I’ll teach you. Don’t worry about my schedule.”
Of all people, he would know what it was like not to have flown for so long—to have that energy thrumming in your veins and no way to unleash it. There was your fear holding you back, of course, but a sort of guilt, too. “Rhys can—Rhys can teach me,” you said. “You don’t need to waste your time.”
“Rhys is my brother, and you’re his sister,” he said, as if that countered it.
“So?”
“So, nothing is a waste if it’s for you.”
“What, are you calling me your sister, too?” you asked.
For a moment, Azriel held your gaze. “Yes,” he finally said, and swallowed. “Yes, I am.”
Wearing wings made you feel ill. Ill and embraced all at once. Centuries later, you would consider that this feeling must have been what it had felt like for Lucien to wear his metal eye for the first time, a vital part of him finally restored.
It had been fifteen years since your mother had been killed. Fifteen years since you used your wings. Barely a breath in the life of a fae, Azriel told you before winnowing you to the forest.
“With all your training in Illyria,” he said, “I would not be surprised if you had the strength to manage a successful glide from the first try.”
You peered out at the pond glittering at the foot of the boulder you stood upon—if it could be called a boulder, reaching the heights of the treetops. It was more like a small mountain.
One you would be trying to drop from.
“The memory will be there,” Azriel said softly. You realized your fists were clenched white. You opened them, palms clammy.
“Well, I don’t remember,” you muttered. That was a lie. You remembered flying so strongly you thought you could feel the wind rushing over you even now, cold and shimmering as diamonds, or that thrill deep in your belly as the gravity ebbed and flowed around you. Remembering was why you’d agreed to this in the first place. It was as vital as Azriel’s siphons.
“You knew how before, and you will now.” You felt Azriel’s gaze warm your face as you stared over the water, mapping out the best places for you to land if you fell. “If I could learn from scratch after over a decade of restriction, I have no doubt about your muscle memory.”
You faced him then. Neither of you had ever acknowledged what you already knew of the other. Just as he’d given you the mercy of not mentioning the reason for your nightmares, or why you never flew, you’d never mentioned it aloud to him, what he’d endured at his father’s hand. Nor had he.
He seemed to realize, too, blinking. His shadows flickered around him, one snaking up your wrist. You’d grown used to them, softening the horror of the dark after waking from nightmares back in your mother’s house.
You bit down on your tongue and faced the clearing, readying yourself. You did not want to think about that right now. “I might fall.”
“You might.”
The waters shifted like jewels, reflecting the sky. “I don’t want to get wet.”
Azriel snorted. Answer enough.
You straightened your shoulders, bracing yourself to cross that mental threshold, envisioning the drop. How long had it been since you felt the joy of a freefall, slid into a glide, and saw the world sprawl around you, so beautifully vast and endless? How long would it be before you could ever feel that again?
Could you ever feel that again?
Azriel said your name, drawing you from your thoughts. Shadows had gathered around your own shoulders, as if summoning his to manifest from your own unease.
His hazel eyes flicked over them, softening before they met yours. “Tell me how to help you.”
You adjusted your feet. Burned your gaze into the pond as if making it promise to cushion you. “Just give me a second. Don’t… push me off.”
“I would never even consider that.”
“From what Rhys said, it seems to be everyone’s preferred way of learning how to fly.”
“It is,” he admitted, and your chin jerked to him. “But you aren’t learning. You already know how.”
A pang struck you as you remembered that was how you learned to fly—like Rhys.
You swallowed. stepped closer to the edge, but your limbs locked. “I…”
“We can go. Try another day.” He was gentle. But there was something else laced in his tone. Something like… disappointment.
Your eyes flashed to his. It was disappointment. But not judgemental— no, it was as if you’d denied him the chance to fly.
For some reason, your throat lodged. “Fly with me.”
His lips parted. He tossed a glance over the pond. “With… you?
“With me, next to me, anything.” The sun struck your eyes, and you brought a hand to your brows. One of Azriel’s shadows darted beneath your fingertips. “Like when Cassian hovers a hand under the weight for me in the training ring.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s… actually a good idea. Come a little closer to the edge, then.” His hand came to your waist as you complied, still keeping an inch between you. “You jump, I jump. You’ll do the navigating and the hard work. I just follow you. If you lose control, I'll take over.”
You let out a long breath. Extended your wings wide at your back at the ready, feeling as if something was yawning open from within you.
Azriel hummed. “Look at that. Still strong.”
You didn’t allow yourself another moment of hesitation. You bent your legs and pounced from the rocks, wings splaying wide.
Your breath rushed from you—a shock of terror through that years-old familiar thrill—and felt it steady as air loosed around you. You nearly squirmed and dropped into a freefall.
“I’ve got you,” Azriel said, hands firm around your waist. It was you leading entirely right now—your motions guiding the flight. Azriel was half-tilted as the impressive width of his own wings splayed out, maneuvering almost diagonally to steady you without interfering.
The pond’s face slid underneath you, the forest and mountain at the opposite bank looming forward, but still far. You flapped your wings when the air felt thin again and caught on the breeze without thinking.
Muscle memory indeed.
The next breath that slipped from you was laced with your voice—your laugh, you realized. Because it was working. Azriel hadn’t let go, giving you assurance enough for you to soak in the great stretches of glistening, emerald trees beyond, of great blackened rocks and snowcapped mountains, of pale, watery sunlight dusting the lake that reflected clouds like silk.
Your wings had not been torn from you and plastered for decoration, nor had they been clipped that night in the Illyrian camp. Yet for so long, they had been taken from you.
You looked down at Azriel. His shadows were nowhere to be seen. It was only your own shadow upon his, the sun striking your back and thawing your wings from years of disuse. It was a part of you awakening again, and he held you through it, his own beautiful wings beating beside you as his eyes sparkled up to yours.
This—this—had been taken from you.
As you glided towards the bank at the foot of the mountains, you saw the single silhouette the two of you formed over the water: one body, with two pairs of wings overlapping in the shadows.
Azriel handled the landing, catching you entirely in that last stretch of air before your feet hit the ground running. He lifted you-ever slightly, taking the brunt of the weight, then your boots truly hit the soil.
When the world finally stilled, you were breathless, your chest strained and your throat raw from laughter. The two of you stood where the striped shadows of the forest met the bank, the mountain towering over you.
It had been mesmerizing, the way Azriel had maneuvered to adjust to you so gracefully despite being sideways. Despite learning late in life how to fly, it was years of practiced movement and comfort with his wings that brought him such deftness. Years of fighting through situations where flight likely meant life or death. Where weaving between narrow gaps of trees, or swiftly twisting to slip through hollows of mountains didn’t allow room for error.
“Hands on your head,” Az said, his teeth flashing as he watched you. You felt wild with adrenaline and… whatever this was. Not happiness. Something else. Restoration.
You obeyed, the crown of your hair slick with sweat against your fingers. you caught your breath as your lungs expanded, air flowing freely. Your wings tucked, and you closed your eyes, not wanting to relinquish them yet, you realized.
It wasn’t relief, or joy, but pride that rushed through you.
When you opened your eyes again, Azriel was watching you wholly, eyes narrowed but bright, as if he were trying to read you. Never before had you seen him so blatantly observing anything—usually, he hid his constant calculations. Dark hair brushed his brow, mussed from the wind but with a certain kind of grace only he ever seemed to carry.
His mouth twitched, as if finally reading you. Your heart was still racing, your mind rushing, and so you came forward, throwing your arms around him.
“Thank you,” you breathed. “Azriel, thank you.”
His chest swelled against your cheek. You felt his hands envelop you a moment later, one cupping the back of your hair, the other careful on you back around your wings. “I told you,” he said. “Still strong.”
author's note officially the end of the beginning. if it were a perfect world we'd end it here and say happily ever after but have you READ the tags. so much in store. maybe an earlier update this time to make up for how short this week was? thank you for reading my loves, as usual taglist is open <3
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It has always felt like something quietly growing beneath the surface, waiting for the moment neither of them can pretend anymore.
One day, Elain will grow tired of convincing herself that walking away is the right thing to do. She’ll stop choosing everyone else’s expectations over her own heart. She’ll stop pretending that what she feels for Azriel isn’t real.
Because a love like theirs was never meant to stay hidden.
It’s too big to disappear.
Too gentle to be forgotten.
Too pure to be denied.
Some loves simply refuse to fade, no matter how hard you try to bury them.
I can’t wait for the day they stop fighting what has always been there and finally choose each other—not because anyone tells them they should, but because it’s what they both truly want.
The sun still rose over Velaris every morning, spilling gold across the river like nothing in the world had changed. Fae still laughed in the streets. Shops still opened. Music still drifted through open windows at night.
The world kept moving.
Like my heart hadn't been ripped from my chest, torn apart, and left somewhere I would never find it again.
Weeks passed. I knew they passed because the light outside the windows kept changing and because Azriel kept gently reminding me what day it was when I seemed to forget.
But time didn't feel real anymore. It felt thick and slow and distant, like I was watching my life from underwater instead of actually living it.
Some days I didn't know if I had slept. Some days I didn't know if I had eaten. Some days I wasn't even sure I was really alive.
Azriel was beside me always. I knew that much.
Even when I didn't look at him, even when I didn't speak, I knew he was there. I could feel him through the bond, steady, constant, quiet now instead of warm and bright like it used to be.
The bond felt different. Heavy. Muted.
Like both of us were grieving so loudly inside our own heads that the bond didn't know how to carry it anymore.
Everybody else was there too, Mor, Rhysand, Cassian, Amren. They came to the house often. They spoke softly around me. They tried to talk to me sometimes.
I didn't really see them. I didn't really see anything.
I avoided one room in the house completely. The nursery.
We had only just started planning it. I had walked past that room once, just once. I hadn't gone near that hallway again since.
Because the silence in that room was too loud. Because that room had been full of a future that didn't exist anymore.
I didn't eat much.
Food tasted like nothing. Everything felt like nothing. Hunger felt like nothing. Azriel tried, he tried but I just... didn't care.
One evening, they were all there again.
I sat at the dining table because Azriel had asked me to. Because he had looked so tired when he asked that I couldn't say no.
Mor had cooked. I could smell it, something warm and sweet and familiar. One of my favourite meals. She set the plate in front of me carefully like it might break.
"Just a few bites," she said gently, sitting beside me. "You don't have to eat all of it."
Cassian sat across from me, unusually quiet, his hands folded on the table instead of constantly moving like they usually did.
Rhys leaned against the counter, watching in that calm, observant way of his.
Amren stood by the window, pretending she wasn't paying attention at all.
Azriel sat beside me. Close enough that our legs touched. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. Close enough that if I moved even slightly I would be in his arms.
He didn't say anything at first. He just slid the fork a little closer to my hand.
"Try," he said quietly.
Just one word.
I stared at the plate. I knew this food. I knew I loved this food. I knew there had been a time when I would have eaten it happily, laughing with everyone at this table.
Now it just looked like... food. Nothing more. Nothing important.
"I'm not hungry," I said softly.
Cassian leaned forward slightly. "You don't have to be hungry," he said, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it. "Just eat a little anyway."
Mor nodded quickly. "Please. Just a few bites."
I picked up the fork slowly. Everyone in the room went very still.
I cut a small piece. Smaller than a bite even. I stared at it for a long time before finally lifting it to my mouth. I chewed. Swallowed. It tasted like nothing. I put the fork down.
"I'm going to bed," I said quietly.
Azriel's hand immediately closed gently around my wrist. Not tight. Not forcing. Just stopping me for a moment.
"Stay a little longer," he said softly.
I looked at him then. Really looked at him.
He looked tired. Not physically, Azriel rarely looked physically tired but something in his eyes was exhausted. Worn down. Like he hadn't slept properly in weeks.
Like he was losing me and didn't know how to stop it.
"I can't," I whispered.
My voice broke on the last word and I hated that it did.
"I can't pretend I'm okay. I can't sit here and eat and laugh like nothing happened. I can't—" My throat tightened painfully. "I can't do this."
No one spoke. The silence hurt worse than if they had argued.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, though I wasn't even sure what I was apologising for anymore.
For not eating. For not talking. For not being the person I used to be. For losing the baby. For everything.
I stood up slowly. No one tried to stop me this time.
I walked toward the stairs, but I stopped halfway up because suddenly the house felt too big. Too empty. Too full of ghosts of a future that didn't exist anymore.
"I failed him," I said quietly.
I hadn't meant to say it out loud but the words were there suddenly, hanging in the air where everyone could hear them.
I didn't turn around.
"I failed Azriel," I whispered. "I failed our baby. I failed our future."
"Don't," Azriel said immediately, his voice sharp with pain. "Don't say that."
But I shook my head slightly, staring at the stairs in front of me.
"My body was supposed to protect them," I said quietly. "That was the one thing I was supposed to do, and I couldn't even do that."
"That is not your fault," Rhys said firmly from behind me.
"It feels like it is," I replied.
Silence again. Heavy.
"I don't know who I am anymore," I admitted softly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Everything we talked about... everything we planned... it's just gone."
My chest hurt so badly it felt like I couldn't breathe properly.
"I feel lost," I whispered. "Like I'm walking around in someone else's life and I don't know how to get back to mine."
No one had an answer for that. Because there wasn't one.
I went upstairs after that, slowly, like each step took more energy than it should have. I didn't hear anyone talking downstairs. I didn't hear anyone eating.
I just felt the bond behind me, quiet, heavy, full of grief and love and helplessness all tangled together.
I lay down in bed without changing, curling onto my side and staring at the empty space in front of me.
Weeks ago, there had been a future there. Small clothes. Laughter. A child with Azriel's eyes or my smile.
Now there was just silence and the worst part was—the world kept turning anyway.
Like none of it had mattered. Like our baby had never existed at all.
Azriel's POV -
I had noticed her pulling away.
Not physically, not at first. She still slept beside me. Still sat beside me when I guided her gently to the table. Still let me hold her hand when I reached for it.
But through the bond... through the bond she was drifting further away every day.
The mating bond had always been warm between us. Bright. Alive. It had felt like standing in sunlight even on the worst days. I could always feel her there, her emotions brushing mine, her thoughts sometimes drifting close enough that I almost heard them.
Now the bond felt quiet. Not empty. Just... distant.
Like she was standing on the other side of a long hallway instead of right beside me.
At first I told myself it was grief. That she was hurting and the bond was just heavy with it. That it would pass. That she would find her way back to me when the pain wasn't so sharp.
But then I started noticing the way the bond would suddenly go still whenever I tried to reach for her emotionally. Like a door quietly closing.
And that terrified me more than anything else had since the day we lost the baby.
My shadows followed her everywhere now.
I didn't tell them to at first, they just did it on their own. They drifted after her through the house, curled near her feet when she sat, hovered near her shoulders like silent guards. They used to play with her, tug at her hair gently, steal small objects just to make her laugh.
She used to talk to them. Now she barely reacted to them at all.
One of them brushed gently across her wrist one afternoon while she sat by the window staring out over the river. It lingered there, like it was waiting for her to acknowledge it.
She didn't move. Didn't look down. Didn't smile.
The shadow slowly retreated back to me, curling around my wrist like a wounded animal. That hurt more than I expected.
Nights were the worst. She thought I didn't know. She thought I was asleep.
I would lie there on my back, eyes closed, breathing slow and even while she lay beside me facing away, so still I almost believed she was asleep too.
Then, after a long time, I would hear it. Quiet. So quiet most people wouldn't have noticed.
But I noticed everything about her.
Small, uneven breaths. The slight tremble of the mattress. The sound of her trying to cover her mouth with her hand so I wouldn't hear.
She cried almost every night. Silently. Alone. Inches away from me.
And I didn't know what to do.
Sometimes I would turn slightly and wrap an arm around her waist, pretending I was just moving in my sleep. She would go very still when I did that, like she was afraid if she moved I would wake up and realise she was crying.
I wanted to tell her I already knew.
I wanted to turn her toward me and hold her and tell her she didn't have to do this alone.
But every time I tried, she would go quiet and still and distant again, and I was terrified that if I pushed too hard she would pull away even more.
So instead, I started reaching for her through the bond.
At night, when everything was quiet and she thought she was alone in her grief, I would reach carefully, slowly, sending whatever I could through the bond.
Love. Patience.
I would send the feelings instead of words, hoping she would feel them, hoping she would understand what I didn't know how to say out loud.
Sometimes I felt her on the other side of the bond.
Raw grief. Guilt. Emptiness so deep it felt like falling.
Every time I felt that guilt, sharp and poisonous, I pushed back harder with reassurance, with love, with everything I had.
It worked at first. She didn't respond, but she didn't block me either.
Until one night she did. I reached for her like I always did, slow, gentle, careful not to overwhelm her.
And I felt it. A wall. Not a violent one. Not angry. Not sharp. Just... closed.
Like she had quietly shut a door and locked it and was standing on the other side pretending everything was fine.
I froze. I had never felt that from her before. Not once in all the years we had been mated.
"Don't," she whispered suddenly into the darkness.
My eyes opened immediately.
She was still facing away from me, her back to my chest, her body curled slightly inward like she was trying to make herself smaller.
"Don't what?" I asked quietly.
"Don't try to make me feel better through the bond," she said softly. Her voice was tired. Empty. "I can feel you doing it."
I swallowed slowly, my chest tightening. "I'm not trying to fix you," I said. "I'm just trying to be there with you."
"I know," she whispered. "That's what makes it worse."
That felt like a knife between my ribs.
She pulled the emotional wall tighter then, not completely blocking the bond but dulling it, muting it, turning it into something distant and quiet.
For the first time since we had been mated, I couldn't really feel her anymore.
And I realised then that losing the baby had broken both of us but now I was terrified that I was losing her too.
I lay awake the rest of that night staring at the ceiling, listening to her quiet breathing, feeling the muted, distant echo of the bond between us, and for the first time in centuries—
I had no idea how to fix something that mattered more to me than my own life.
And that helplessness was slowly tearing me apart.
A/N - There's a strain on their relationship now, and it's nobody's fault—not hers and not Azriel's!
This part is more about the aftermath and how trauma responses can look different for different people, even when they love each other deeply and are trying their best in their own ways. Healing isn't linear, and sometimes it's messy, quiet, and uncomfortable before it gets better.
It's a tough read I know but I promise things start to ease up a little in the next part x
