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Part 1
Azriel hated everything about this.
From where he stood on the other side of the training ring, you were squared up against another Illyrian. Malek, in specific. He hated Malek, and he hated the look in Malek's eyes when he looked at you.
More importantly, he hated that you wouldn't even look at him. He had been trying to speak with you for weeks, but every time he knocked on your bedroom door, there was no answer. He had thought about sending his shadows to see where you were in order to run into you, but he also wanted to allow you your privacy.
Now he found you here of all places, training with an Illyrian.
Azriel watched your session with utmost attention, leaving Cassian to take over training for the remaining females in the ring. He watched as Malek blocked your attack before countering with his own, using too much of his strength and sending your feet skidding backward in the dirt. In one second, his shadows were weaving themselves around your ankles, stabilizing your weight to the ground to prevent your body falling.
His stomach twisted when your feet kicked at the shadows, ridding you of them.
He couldn't keep doing this. Not only was guilt eating him alive, but worry kept his chest heavy and his heart racing. Azriel prided himself in his calm demeanor, but ever since that night three weeks ago when he had seen the hurt on your face, had watched as you caved into yourself and shut down, he had been severely anxious. Each dinner you did not appear at only heightened his concern, each night with no footsteps behind your bedroom door or no smell of your candle lit made worry swarm in his chest.
Azriel swallowed hard, wringing his trembling hands together before making his way over to you and Malek.
Fucking Malek.
He nearly tore his ears from his head as he approached, his enhanced hearing allowing him to listen to the tail end of your conversation. Come over tonight, Malek had said. Azriel wanted to punch him, wanted to feel his knuckles connect with the male's face.
The shadowsinger almost tackled him when he responded to your I'll think about it with I think I gave you enough to think about the other night.
Instead, he held himself back, muscles straining underneath his leathers as he harshly cleared his throat.
The two of you separated at his presence, but you still didn't look toward him. Malek, though, was glaring at him. Jaw clenched, hands fisted, the Illyrian looked ready to fight. Later, Azriel decided. He'd be more than happy to fight this male later. For now, you were his focus.
"Can I have a moment?"
His question was very clearly directed toward you, but Azriel could see Malek open his mouth from the corner of his eye. Before the Illyrian could speak, however, your monotone voice broke through the air. "We're busy."
"Busy." Azriel repeated the word, tasting it in his mouth. Busy. With Malek.
Finally, as if his hard tone had pushed you, you turned to face him. Azriel could have deflated with relief as his eyes finally met your own. It had been three weeks since he had seen them. Three weeks since you had graced him with your attention in return.
Neither of you said anything. The atmosphere was tense, the air somehow becoming thicker in just a few seconds. His words challenged you, but you were not going to give him the satisfaction. You clearly wanted him to break first. But he was here to show you he'd fight.
The first to break the silence was neither Azriel nor you. Instead, Malek stepped forward, making Azriel tense at the male approaching you. As he passed, he told you, "I'll see you later tonight."
Azriel nearly scoffed, and his throat itched with the effort of holding the sound back. You two were finally alone, though, and he didn't want to fuck this up.
"You're training now."
An observation. His specialty -- both fighting and observing. This was a safe topic. He could do this.
An eyebrow raised is all he got from you in return.
"You should have joined Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn."
He watched as you turned, casually strolling to where the sheath for your sword lay and beginning to put your gear away. "Didn't want to."
"Cassian or I could have trained you."
You shrugged, swinging your bag over your shoulder. "Didn't want that either."
Azriel could feel his irritation rising. "So you asked Malek for help."
It wasn't a question but a challenge. Challenging you to confirm this, to admit to something that would piss the hell out of Azriel. Of course, you happily took the bait.
"Yes."
"How do you even know Malek?"
Finally turning to him with exhaustion written on your face, you sighed, bag sliding down your shoulder slightly. "Am I not allowed to know people, Azriel?"
His heart beat a bit faster at his name. He hadn't heard you speak or acknowledge his presence in weeks. To receive both in the same sentence sent shivers down his spine.
"Malek isn't in the habit of making friends."
"Well," you smiled mockingly and Azriel felt the hit before the words even left your mouth. "He's been plenty friendly to me."
He only cared because he knew Malek, he told himself. Malek was a brute, an absolute bastard with a history of violence and mistreating females. Azriel still remembered the stories he had heard around the Illyrian camps of the male. The way he'd forced himself on females, the way others saw females leave his tent limping and cradling injuries, his support of wing clipping. Azriel didn't trust the Illyrian, and he didn't want you anywhere near him.
"You should stay away from him."
A laugh. A harsh laugh broke through the ring, louder than the wind blowing through his dark hair. It shocked him, and it left a sour taste in his mouth, because he knew that wasn't your laugh. Not your happy, joyous laugh that normally sounded like music.
"This is ironic, wouldn't you say, Azriel?"
He couldn't read you. You weren't angry, but you were also obviously not content either. You were just there. And that made Azriel uneasy.
"I'm only trying to help."
And then you repeated his own words back to him, slapping him in the face with the memory of three weeks ago: "I think we're old enough to make decisions for ourselves."
Azriel’s anxiety and frustration skyrocketed at your nonchalance, despite his hypocritical words. This was serious. He was trying to protect you from a vile male, and you didn’t have all the information. “Please just listen to me. He is not a male you want to get involved with. He’s dangerous and —“
“As dangerous as a war? Like I warned you about?”
He sighed. He saw the double standard. He could hear how hypocritical he was being. But he didn’t know what else to say with this panic in his chest at seeing fucking Malek Proctor getting close to you. He just wanted him gone.
He didn’t think to tell you that he didn’t take Elain flying that night. That his own words he had spit in your face echoed in his mind and haunted him. That he couldn’t get the image of your hurt expression out of his mind. That he hadn’t spoken to Elain since he made you cry and isolate yourself due to his own selfishness and defensiveness.
“Listen, I have to get going. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Wait.” Azriel nearly jumped to grab your arm to prevent you from leaving, but he wouldn’t touch you. He wouldn’t be Malek. “Can we talk? We can take a walk in Velaris. Just . . . catch up on things.”
He positioned his body slightly in front of you as a way to get you to look at him. And when you did, he felt his jaw clench in frustration and self-hatred. Gone was any soft look you used to give him or others. Gone was the gentle smile always decorating your face. Gone was the desire to be around him.
“Catch up?”
He nodded, and for once in a decade, he found himself fidgeting. Nervous fingers fiddled with one another, his breaths coming a bit faster.
“We're not friends, Azriel. We don't need to catch up."
The words stabbed into his chest and twisted, and he felt his throat grow tight in response. He had never not considered you both friends. Sure, you two weren't overly close, but he knew you. Gods, you both lived in the same house, how could he not?
You were a healer -- a damn good one, in fact. You had healed him and Cassian countless times since the war and left no scars or lingering pain behind. He knew you liked tea and had a major sweet tooth. He had seen the countless number of pastry bags and wrappers left in the trash at the end of the day. You liked jazz music, and Azriel's shadows even liked when you hummed it around the house. You were always cold and carrying a blanket around. And you were always watching others. He saw as your eyes observed everyone around you, voice ready but not loud enough to interject into certain conversations.
Azriel knew you kept to yourself for the most part. And he had used that against you, because he'd known you.
You two may not be friends, but you weren't nothing.
Before he could try to argue this, however, you were already halfway out of the training grounds, leaving the shadowsinger to stand there with an even worse feeling in his gut than ten minutes prior.
That feeling stayed constant, too. It never let him rest, keeping him anxious and miserable. Knowing you were out there somewhere, most likely with Malek, made him antsy. For a whole two days he wallowed in this feeling, asking Cassian if he had seen you around, telling him to keep an eye out for Malek, tempted to invade your privacy and send shadows to check in on you.
It wasn't until you walked through the door those two nights later that the weight within him eased up slightly.
He had come down to the kitchen for water and to grab his book he had left there. He couldn't sleep, and your surprise presence made him grateful for his insomnia as of late. Especially since your bright eyes meeting his in the dead of night sparked something deep in his chest.
"You're home late," he observed dumbly. He felt even more dumb when he considered you were barely ever there anymore.
"Missed my bed." You kicked off your shoes.
Azriel watched you move with grace. Your bare feet padded on the floor quietly as you passed him into the kitchen, reaching into a cabinet for your own glass. It wasn't until you turned around to fill it with water, fingers reaching up to run through your hair, that Azriel felt something startle him into full alertness.
"What the hell happened?"
He could barely get the words out, voice quiet and low as he struggled suddenly for self-control. Azriel knew what had happened already, and it was exactly why he had been feeling so antsy, so protective, and so on edge the last couple days. The quickly healing bruises around your throat were evidence enough to the shadowsinger. There was no need for him to ask, and there was surely no need for you to answer. This was Malek after all. And Azriel knew Malek just as he knew other Illyrian males.
You just rolled your eyes. He felt his blood pressure spike.
"What now, Azriel?"
He barely let you get the words out, his own falling from his lips as he began to walk closer to you, unable to wait any longer. "He's hurting you."
Not a question.
Eyebrows raised, you had the audacity to look angry at his statement. But at least you were showing some emotion at all. "Once again, my relationship with Malek is none of your business."
"The safety of this court is my business and that includes you."
"He's not even doing anything, Azriel." You laughed humorlessly in exasperation, and he immediately closed the distance between you two.
His eyes searched around your neck, begging to peek under the collar of your top to see how far the bruising went. You only eyed his gaze with annoyance. "He's training me."
"You call that training?"
"What else would it be?"
At first, Azriel was stunned. So much so, that his first reaction was to stand there and look at you as if you were stupid. He knew, though, that was not the correct way to get you to forgive him or to make sure you were safe.
He had warned you about this male though. And he knew your mind. He had seen your own talent and intelligence first-hand in your healer's shop. So why were you putting on this act?
Azriel repeated your own words back to you, giving both himself and you time to process this conversation. "What else it would be . . . is abuse. He should not be putting his hands on you like this. The amount of strength he would have to use to leave bruises on your skin and not have them heal immediately is way outside the realm of 'training'."
You looked at him blankly, and Azriel felt a sudden urge to take you to his bedroom and lock you in there to keep you safe. "It was probably an accident then."
He knew better. Malek wasn't a young Illyrian male. He had fought in wars, interacted with females, trained alongside many. He knew his own strength just as Azriel did. This was not an accident.
And you had to have known too. You were a healer; you knew what amount of force needed to be behind two hands to leave these marks.
"How many other 'accidents' like this happen?"
You stood there quietly, Azriel's gentle question echoing in the kitchen. You seemed cornered and defensive, neither of which he liked on you. He wanted to see that calm and self-assured female back -- the one who didn't walk around secretly injured.
The female in front of him only shook her head as if clearing her thoughts, placing the still-full glass of water on the counter and letting out a big sigh. "Goodnight, Azriel."
No. He was sick of you walking away, of running from any chance at reconciliation. And this wasn't about just that night any longer -- not when there were now bruises painting your neck like some sort of morbid jewelry.
He needed to make the most of this time before you left again.
"You're not alone, you know? You've never been alone. I didn't mean that when I said it. I was angry, and I felt alone. Compared to my brothers. Them both having mates has been an insecurity of mine as of late . . . So I lashed out, and I'm sorry."
When you didn't move to walk away like you had intended, only staring at him with a hint of that softness peaking through your exterior, he moved some of the hair away from your neck and pointedly looked at the bruise and then back to your eyes.
"There are people here who wouldn't hurt you. And if they did, they would feel terrible about it. They would seek forgiveness and try their damn hardest to never hurt you again."
Eyes searched yours as his vulnerability deepened. Chest rising, that spark flared. He was getting somewhere. You were listening.
"Feyre has been asking after you. Cassian noticed you've been out and knocks on your bedroom door daily to see if you've returned. The Valkyries even made you an honorary bracelet now that you've begun training. You're not alone, even if you feel like it." Tan fingers gently skimmed the marred skin of your throat. "Even if you can't see it, even if it's hard for you to accept, there are people who care about you. There's a big difference between those actions and this."
Azriel knew only a little about your history, only enough to make a connection between his comment of three weeks ago and your current predicament. You had become a healer due to your own pain and trauma. Azriel's cruel reminder of your solitude, of your loneliness, must have led you to seek out companionship in any form. And if this had been consistent for you throughout your life, this violence in your relationships, maybe you thought this was normal for you. The thought of you considering this to be all you would ever be able to receive from someone made Azriel sick to his stomach.
You took a step back, causing Azriel's hand to fall from your skin. But he could see it now -- the crack in your facade. He had reached you, somehow and somewhere behind your mask, he had gotten through.
"I'll see you tomorrow," you nearly whispered, words coming out breathy and unsure.
"Tomorrow," Azriel promised in response.
As you shuffled passed him and into the hallway, Azriel couldn't help but send a shadow after you. You wouldn't feel alone again if he could help it.
Sighing, he took a seat at the dining table, taking a moment to breathe and consider his next actions.
You weren't back to yourself after your conversation with him, but Azriel didn't want that anyway. He wanted you, but he wanted a you that felt you belonged. He wanted a you that was safe, comfortable, and at home with friends and companions. He wanted a you that was happy.
That spark flickered in his chest.
No, you weren't back to yourself after that conversation. But he saw the hand you mentally reached out, your small reassurance that you would be in this house tomorrow, not somewhere with Malek, and he would use everything he had to take that hand before it retracted again, thanking the stars for a chance to not only find himself again outside of his own self-hatred and selfishness but to help you find yourself as well.
After all, what else could cure loneliness better than two fools hopelessly becoming their best selves together?
