Archive of Our Own

“Here,”

Azriel was holding Elain’s wide, thick, warm scarf in his hand.

She said nothing when the moment had passed and he stepped away from her, without touching her skin with his lips. In true Elain fashion, she knew exactly what he was planning to do, even if she might not have understood the gravity of the gesture, and the ramifications for herself and for him. But she knew. She always could read him—an unsettling feeling for someone like him, especially when he worked so very hard all his life to hide his emotions behind his darkness. This girl though…this girl stepped in, and dispelled his shadows and peered straight into his soul. His heart was an open book to her. His mind did not surprise or frighten her.

He tittered on the edge of desire. The need to mark her pulsed through him with such ferocity that he growled. Growled. A hungry, desperate roar of primal Fae male need to claim and to dominate rattled them both. Her beautiful neck, the light flush of her skin, the inviting tilt of her head, the mass of her soft, thick hair against his lips, the beckoning scent of her, the flow of her arousal which he scented immediately and which she didn’t even try to hide—everything was offered to him, and still, he did not take it.

He had a good reason for it. But he hated himself for being reasonable. Always so fucking reasonable, so annoyingly cautious, so irreversibly honourable. Sometimes, he wished that he wasn’t. He wanted to be like Cassian, with his fiery passion and wild determination and relentlessness that swayed even Nesta. Damn Nesta, who was a pillar of fire and ice and who was sucking Cass off at the dinner table in the dining room within two weeks of moving in with them.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to even kiss the girl he desired for almost two years.

“Thank you,” Elain took the scarf. “Are we leaving?” she asked quietly, her eyes dimming with sadness. 

There was relief in him, one that he didn’t anticipate to wash over him when she was so open and trusting in her desire not to leave here just yet. For the two of them to remain together for just a little longer. 

He chuckled softly and said, “Well, I don’t think that my wing is quite repaired yet.”

With that, he flexed his wing, which worked perfectly.

Elain smirked under her breath.

She reached for him and took the scarf, while running her hand over his arm.

“No, I don’t think that it’s healed. I wouldn’t trust you to carry me yet.”

“No,” he agreed innocently, “it’s really quite far to the border.”

Two leagues or so. Something he could do in about fifteen minutes, maybe a tad longer, considering the weather. 

“I wouldn’t advise it,” she agreed with a soft laugh. “So, where are we going?”

“I was thinking we should go outside,” he proposed. “The snow’s stopped falling and I think it might be nice to get some air in our lungs. And I might teach you something,”

“What?” she interrupted, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “You’ll teach me to fight?”

Azriel, pulled on his trousers and sat down to put on his boots. His gaze was amused, watching Elain’s feral delight at the prospect of learning to fight.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he began, but she interrupted him, frowning,

“Why not? Don’t you teach those ladies? From the Library?”

He nodded, watching her pull on her breeches and boots, and then held her coat for her. She threaded her arms into the sleeves and then turned around, frowning.

“So why can’t I learn?”

“I am not arguing,” he assured her softly, and began buttoning her up. “You can absolutely learn. But I didn’t know that you wanted to learn how to fight? Why?”

“Why?” she was scandalized, “why wouldn't i want to know how to fight? Defend myself?”

“All excellent ideas,” he agreed and pulled his hat on, before putting on hers. She laughed and muttered, “You look funny in a hat!”

“I don’t want my ears to fall off,” 

“Are you sure you are alright?” she began to worry, looking at him and his thigh.

“I am fine,” he teased, “I think you just enjoy staring at my behind.”

She flushed, but didn’t exactly deny it.

“You are very…” she sighed, and then added, “ sculpted .”

“Sculpted is a nice way to put it.”

She grabbed his hand, always eager to hold it, to his neverending amazement. Never cared about the looks of them. Sometimes, Azriel wondered if she’d even noticed the scars. Never did her gaze linger on them, and never did she refuse or hesitate to touch him. Never did she ask about them either, and he wondered if someone told her, or she simply didn’t care and accepted him as he was. 

They left the warmth and coziness of the tiny cabin and the cold washed over them as soon as they stepped outside. It was a bright day, with perfectly blue skies and the eerie winter stillness that wrapped everything with crystalline clarity and icy beauty. 

“Alright, let’s go inside,” Elain squeaked and Azriel laughed.

“Come on, show me that winning spirit!”

“The winning spirit is frozen. Nothing is left,” she moaned. He walked in front of her, creating indentations in the snow with his boots, and she stepped into them, following him scrupulously, clutching his hand. 

“Never!” he chuckled. “Treat this as the final climb to Ramiel. The Breaking!”

She frowned in confusion and said, “I have no idea what you just said. What’s breaking? What’s Ramiel?”

“Ramiel is a sacred Illyrian mountain,”

“Oh,” she stumbled in the snow and almost fell, but Azriel turned around with his unnatural Fae speed and swiftly caught her in his arms. Her face bounced off his chest and she wrinkled her nose, as he looked down at her, holding her in his arms. 

“Careful,” he murmured, but did not release her.

Elain looked up at him, her breathing heavier and faster than before, and not because of the fall. Her hands went around his neck and she held herself up, back still arched against his massive palms.

His scent washed over her and she almost drowned in it, fighting for her eyes not to roll back and biting her lip, so as to keep a moan from escaping. He watched her closely, silent, but those remarkable hazel eyes, so bright and forest-green in this light, gleamed with silent admiration and longing.

Elain pulled her mitten off and the next thing he knew, she was cupping his face in her palm. She’d never touched him like this before, so closely and intimately, even considering how close they got yesterday, this was still unexplored. His skin was smooth and she suddenly, after all this time, realised that the Fae did not grow facial hair. No beards. No scruff. Only smooth, blemishless skin over high cheekbones and sharp panes of his face. 

“You are beautiful,” she murmured stupidly, suddenly awed.

He wasn't pretty, or simply attractive, or even handsome, he was beautiful . Almost unbelievably so. The most beautiful Illyrian, by far the most beautiful man or male that she’d ever seen. Even among the Fae, even compared to the uniquely handsome Rhysand, Azriel devastated with his beauty. No matter how much he tried to mute that beauty, it thrummed from him, turning heads, dropping panties–Elain was sure of that–and parallelled his incredible power. 

He huffed shyly, embarrassed at the praise and murmured, “So are you.”

He finally straightened her, but she kept her hand on his face, and he leaned into the touch, wordlessly urging her to stroke his hollow cheek. 

“I like the name Ramiel,” she said suddenly.

“I don't know if it’s a name…” he corrected, “it’s a mountain.”

“Well, it’s a mountain named Ramiel,” she explained impatiently. Azriel opted not to argue. He loved her little hand on his face, then on his neck and if she looked at him the way she was looking at him right now, he didn’t need anything else in his life. Those brown eyes with dark eyelashes blinked slowly, round and amazed, like tiny saucers.

“Will you take me to Illyria?” she asked suddenly.

He huffed in indignation and immediately replied, “No!”

She glared at him and snorted, “No? Just no ?”

“There is absolutely no need for us to go to Illyria,” he insisted, taking her by the hand again and pulling her behind, resuming their track.

“But I would love to go,” she insisted. “I want to learn about Illyrian food…customs…”

“The customs are barbaric and the food is bland,” he offered.

She shrugged a little unhappy shrug and said, “Fine. I will ask Cass.”

“You are not asking Cass,” he cut her off abruptly.

“He’ll take me,” she insisted.

“I know he will. But you are not asking him. If anyone is taking you anywhere, it will be me.”

She teased, “Even Illyria?”

“Even Illyria,” he grunted.

“So territorial,” she whistled softly. “You wouldn't let Cass to take me somewhere?”

“Taking you places is my job,” he growled, “Cass has Nesta. He can take her.”

“You can’t possibly be jealous!” she mocked him gently, amusement lacing her voice.

Azriel trudged forward steadily, his grip on her hand firm, but carefully un-abrasive. He did not respond, and she grinned into his back. His shoulders were just a touch more tense than a moment before she brought up Cassian. 

“I can’t believe,”

“I am not jealous of Cass!” he grunted, “I am not.”

“Alright.”

After a beat, he added, “I…nevermind…”

“I am not jealous,” she informed him. “Even if I know that you are training all those women…Females.”

Azriel turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder, incomprehension written on his face. 

“But they are priestesses!”

“So what?” she shrugged, “gods above, where are we going?!” she muttered under her breath, wiping her nose with her hand.

“Almost there–I noticed that clearing over there,” he pointed a gloved hand ahead and added, “for the record, the priestesses,” he shook his head vehemently, “I don’t even look at them as women. They aren’t, to me. They are my charges.”

“What about Nesta’s friends?”

“I don’t train them,” he explained. “And if you would like to know, Emerie prefers females and Gwyn is babe.”

“A babe?”

“Yes, she is 28. A babe.”

“And they get along?” Elain asked curiously.

“Seems like they do indeed. We’ll be starting them on an Illyrian obstacle course soon. They just don’t know it yet,” he laughed a little evil laugh and Elain smiled. 

“You are enjoying this?”

“I am. It’s nice to watch the progress. It means a lot to Cass,”

“Because Nesta is doing better?”

Azriel knew that the rift between the sisters was difficult for Elain to work though. She loved Nesta, who was her sister and her best friend for the duration of their lives, and Nesta’s rejection of Elain’s very presence from her life was hard for Elain to accept. He didn’t want to get between the two, but he certainly wished that they’d patch things up between each other. 

“She is. And she has friends, which is important, because they don’t judge her. But Cass and Rhys had tried for centuries to get the Illyrian females to train, to be more independent, and it hasn't happened. So even though this isn’t how they planned on having things happen, they are happening, at last. Maybe not the females that they expected, but still females.”

They reached the clearing that Azriel was aiming for, and finally stopped. 

“This looks good…” he glanced at Elain and then inquired, brow furrowed, “what?”

She was watching her, bright-eyed and with a small smile on her soft, plump lips.

“What?” she shrugged at him.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he crossed his arms on his chest.

“Like what?”

“Like the little mix that you are.”

She blushed softly and then said, “You talk, ”

“I’ve been known to do that once in a while,” he nodded once, someone perplexed by her comment.

“No, no. Once in a while is correct. But with me…we talk.”

He looked at her, chewing the inside of his cheek and then reached out and tentatively brushed his fingertips over a lock of her golden brown hair that escaped from under her hat.

“You are right,” he agreed at last. “I don’t think that I’ve noticed before. Hm,” he bubbled his lips and smirked, “I guess I do talk to you.”

“Thank you!” she declared dramatically, making a grand show of it. 

He smiled and said, “I enjoy it. You are nice to talk to and I like your sense of humour.”

Now it was Elain’s turn to stare at him, as she wrought her fingers, glancing at him shyly.

“You like talking to me?” she asked softly.

“Yes. Why?”

“Men just say that I am pretty. But no one ever wanted to talk to me. Not even,”

“Graysen,” he interrupted her, “isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the barn. I’ve met him and I can assure you. So I wouldn’t take him as an epitome of male intelligence.”

She smiled impishly and Azriel was pleased that she didn’t become upset or saddened at the mention of her former fiance. Dick as he was. 

“So, we are here,” she looked around. They stood in a clearing, surrounded by majestic pines and other coniferous trees, which jutted out proudly against the azure sky.

“We are.”

“Are you going to teach me how to fight? Swords?” she proposed immediately.

Azriel chuckled and spread his legs, placing his hands on his hips.

“Swords, huh,” he whistled loudly. “You think you can swing a sword at me?” he pressed.

Elain scrunched her nose, thinking that maybe swordplay was a little premature. She’d give him that. 

“What is it with the Archeron sisters and swords,” he pondered out loud, while bending to scoop some snow in his hands.

“What?”

“Nesta wanted to start with swords as well, with Cassian,” he couldn’t help but smile at the preposterous image of then-Nesta, holding a sword against his mountain of a brother. 

“Daggers then?” 

“Something even more useful,” he announced and threw a snowball at her. “We are,”

“We are not doing this!” she screeched, wiping the snow off her jacket.

“Oh yes we are!” and he hurled another snowball at her, but this time, she dodged, and it flew past her body.

“Let me make some!” she demanded, grabbing heaps of snow, which was heavy and wet, and perfect for making snowballs, and began slapping them together. He approached and watched her work, shaking his head,

“Do something productive and help out!” she growled, watching his silent critique.

“That’s not how it works. You have to create your own arsenal!” 

Muttering under her breath, she stacked another ball in her pile, and then whispered, “You must be fun at parties,”

Azriel laughed out loud, throwing his head back. 

“And you are more mouthy than Nesta,” he laughed and laughed, and then filled both of his palms with snow and said, “watch! because with your speed, we’ll be here till the next Solstice!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and rolled her eyes. 

“Watch that tongue,” he said slowly, eyeing her, “or I’ll find things for it to do…”

Elain stopped mid-ball and her brown eyes shot wide open at the comment. He paused as well, but didn’t say anything else, observing her reaction.

“Do enlighten me,” she offered, her tone playful and not offended.

“Perhaps one day,” he promised and winked at her.

“Why not sooner?” she pressed, cocking her head and looking directly at him.

“You surprise me every day, Elain Archeron,” he admitted. “It’s unexpected and wonderful.”

“I am glad that something still surprises you, Azriel,” she said.

“You do. Always. From the first moment when I saw you, you were not what I expected. It’s a shame that so many underestimate you, including your sisters.”

“You underestimate me too,” she slapped a few more snowballs together. “You are better at hiding it. But I know you didn’t want me to scry,”

“No, absolutely not,” he nodded. “Look,” he slapped both of his palms together, “push together, then twist once. It’s done.”

Elain tried and repeated his motions, and just like that, a nice, tight snowball was formed. 

“Oh, that was quick,” she was almost surprised. He smiled. 

“We go one point for one hit–up to 20 points. To start with.”

“That’s it? I just have to hit you 20 times and we can go back to the cabin?”

He laughed softly and told her, “I am not so easy to hit.”

She immediately threw a snowball at him and said, “One!”

“Cheater!” he cried and tossed one at her, but she rolled in the snow and avoided being hit.

“One for Elain!” she yelled and ran across the clearing, panting and zigzagging, so he wouldn’t be able to mark her.  He waited for a good while, patient as always, but at last she felt the snowball land on her back. 

He called out “One-one!”

The place wasn’t ideal for hiding, which made avoiding being hit difficult, but Elain immediately began building a fort behind which she could hide. She’d heard Cassian and Rhys discuss the annual snowball fights, their strategies and tactics, and she learned that building a barrier of some kind was the first line of defense. So here she was, pushing snow frantically, assaulted by a barrage of snowballs, but escaping most of them somehow. Azriel wasn’t one to go easy on her, so she didn’t think that he missed on purpose.

Hiding behind her little fort, she raised her head and then aimed and shot the snowball, hitting him squarely in the chest. Her aim was pretty good and she surprised herself by the strength of her throw.

“Still nine to five!” he yelled out smugly. She, in turn shouted, “well, it was just nine to four a moment earlier! Fortune favours the brave!” and she shot up to her full height and a snowball at him. It hit its target, but at the same time, one smashed into her face, blinding her for a second. It was sharp and wet and stung her skin, which hurt from the impact and the tiny ice particles that embedded in her cheeks and forehead.

“Elain!” he called out, worry in his voice, “are you al-,”

“Why?” she cried out, pretending to weep, “why would you do that?”

He was running to her, a mask of horror on his face.

“Why would you hit a girl?” she sobbed.

“By the Mother, Elain, I am so sorry, I,”

“Sucker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” she screamed triumphantly and smashed him with two balls at once.

“Fucking hell!” he exploded. “You gave me a fright!”

She already ducked behind her fort, laughing hysterically. “Nine to seven! Take that Fae boy!”

“Fae boy?!?” 

“Don’t you dare cross the demarcation line!” she warned him, seeing how he was about to step over into her territory. “You do that, the game is forfeit! I win!”

“How do you even know that?” he grunted through clenched teeth. “May I check your face?”

“My face is fine, and you have three seconds to get away, before it’s going to be nine-eight,” she warned.

“I swear I will beat your bottom once this is over,” he threatened.

She peeked from behind her fort, and said, “Stop promising and not delivering!”

“Where has this Elain Archeron been all my life?!” he exclaimed, tossing a snowball between his hands.

“Always been here. No one’s been looking,” she shrugged and then added, “two…one…”

He ran away and threw the ball at her, missing her and listening to her laugh.

They were at fourteen to eleven when Elain felt something…an unease that entered her peripheral vision, and then, she observed five or six men–humans–step out from behind the trees, and onto the clearing.

They were clearly coming back from a hunt, as two were carrying a deer that hung on a stick which they carried between the two of them. Another hauled a few rabbits which were strung together and thrown over his shoulder. Two more had some other kills behind their backs, and weapons–bows and arrows, knives, and daggers. 

The group stopped, observing Azriel and Elain, who were separated by the width of the field.

“What do we have here?” said one–the tallest, and probably the leader. “Two Fae, frolicking in our forest.”

Elain didn’t answer, as she stood up and brushed her hair from her face.

“What are you doing here?” asked the human. “On the other side of the Wall?”

“Scouting?” asked another, suspiciously.

“There is no Wall,” Elain reminded them.

All attention turned to her and she wished that she’d kept her mind shut. Though she was sure that they would have looked at her anyways.

“You are quite the pretty girl, aren’t you?” two of the men moved towards her. “What’s a pretty female Fae like you doing here?”

Azriel's low midnight voice cut through the icy air and he said, “Gentleman. We are minding our own business. I suggest you do too.”

“A Fae is telling us what to do on our own land,” snickered the leader. “We haven’t had your kind do that to us for a while! and we don't intent on starting now,”

“No one is telling you what to do. You were on your way, so proceed…”

“Oh, we think we’ll stay a while,” decided one of them, “play with the pretty Fae girl.”

“Never had myself a Fae,”

“Do they feel the same as humans?”

“Same three holes, I think!” laughed one of them.

Elain winced. Azriel’s expression did not change, and he remained still as a statue, though those hazel eyes of his tracked each man, as they herded Elain further away from him.

Azriel considered.

He only had one siphon on him, having left the rest at the cabin. At least he didn't forget Truth Teller, which was strapped to his thigh as always, though he had no other weapons. He didn’t need any weapons at all, even if the presence of his dagger was always comforting . Five human men wasn’t something he even considered a threat. Even ten humans were not much of a threat. However, they did have a bow, and he spotted ash arrows in the quiver, which was somewhat concerning, but by the time they slung it, he’d be far away. He considered just shooting in the air and grabbing Elain, before they even understood what was happening, but that meant exposing his wings. Would they be stupid enough to test a Fae?

“Gentlemen,” Elain suddenly said, her voice steady, “as my companion suggested, let’s part on good terms.”

“Do you have any special powers, sweet pea?” asked one. “Or are you just a pretty…oh, so pretty , face?”

“Are you mated ?” spat another, using the word as an insult. 

“Not to that Fae freak with the wings?”

Azriel stepped forward, half-forgotten, as four of the men surrounded Elain, taunting her.

The new treaty with the humans stipulated that the Fae weren't allowed to attack humans, under any circumstances, unless in direct and immediate danger. The Fae had to be threatened, outnumbered and at risk of being overpowered, to defend themselves. And other such bullshit. And it’s not like he wanted to attack them. He wanted to abide by the treaty, because it was only fair and neither did he feel like fighting right now. Most of all, he wanted to be with his girl. He had so little time alone with her, that every minute was precious and he didn't want to waste it. He also didn’t want to explain 5 dead bodies. And neither did he want to start some bloody mess in front of Elain. It would spoil her day and she was enjoying it so far.

He was thinking about all of this, as he moved a little closer, and that was until one of the men reached for Elain and touched her arm, wanting to pull her to him.

That turned out to be a mistake.

The next thing that Azriel and the rest of them observed was the man… sailing in the air. He didn't drop, or fall, or stumble. He flew. 

Elain had pushed him off of her, hitting him with an open palm square in the chest. The man flew in the air before dropping like a bag of potatoes in a pile of snow.

Azriel smiled to himself.

His sweet girl forgot that she was Fae, who possessed Fae strength.

He’d just experienced it, when she hit him with the snowballs full force. 

And so did this poor stupid sap, who sat, dazed in the snow pile, moving his head back and forth, clearly stunned.

The men, wisely, took a few steps back. 

“Hey, you stupid Fae bitch, you can’t,” screamed one of the men, and then,

Elain roared .

Azriel stopped in his tracks, rooted in the spot.

The roar was beastly–loud and threatening, coming from the depths of her chest. She rattled, much like a wyvern would, when challenged, and a deep rumble followed, that of an awakened beast. 

She did nothing else, but roared.

The only time Azriel had witnessed anything similar–and only certain High Fae, those from very ancient bloodlines still roared, like their beastly ancestors–was when Rhysand allowed his beast out. It was so rare, it only happened twice, maybe three times. The last time, it was during the war, when Rhys and Helion both took their natural forms, turning into what lurked beneath the humanoid veneer–claws and teeth and scales, in the midst of the final, bloody battle against Hybern. 

Azriel knew that he too had the beast, but it was entirely dormant. He supposed that his wings were the best manifestation of that, but there were times where he sensed the creature lurking somewhere inside of him, though he couldn’t imagine why. Only the High Fae, some said those who interbred with the Daglan back in the primordial times and gained some of the Daglan’s power, had the beasts inside themselves. And only the High Lords could actually release them, turning into them fully. Tamlin, for one, preferred the beastly form, while Rhysand and Helion did not like theirs.

“Fuck this, let’s go,” called one of the men to his companions, while Elain still garbled that warning goar, which reverberated around them.

“Fuck them,” agreed another, stepping away from Elain, not taking his eyes off her. “The Fae are wild beasts.”

“Deceivers,” shrieked another, clearly absolutely freaking out. He was making wild gestures with his hands, which, Azriel assumed was for warding off evil? 

“They look all pretty, but look what’s inside!”

And then, they took off.

Running through the snow, stumbling, falling, shouting, they ran, barely remembering to grab their deer, which four of them pulled behind unceremoniously. The one who was carrying the rabbits dropped them and didn’t return to pick them up.

In a matter of minutes, they were gone.

Azriel crossed the field. 

Elain stood still, shaking lightly, and he wondered if it was from fear, or something else.

Her eyes beheld him, and he watched horror and embarrassment written on her face. Wordlessly, he came over and dropping his gloves, he cupped her face in his cool hands. He looked down at her, and smiled gently.

“What sort of a beastie do you have inside of you, sweetheart?” he wondered.

“I am…” she swallowed, “I don't…Azriel,” she grabbed his wrists and begged desperately, “please, don't tell anyone. Please.”

“How long have you known?” he asked gently, and then permitted himself a soft kiss on her brow. 

“For a while,” she confessed, stepping into his embrace. His arms closed around her and he rocked her slowly against himself. “After I was Made.”

“Don't be frightened,” he advised carefully.

“How can I not be? I don’t know what it is? I feel it–slumbering inside of me. It talks to me,”

“It’s you beast,”

She twitched in his arms and threw her head back, “You say like it’s a normal thing! To have some entity, some beast inside of you…a thing that talks into my mind and roars when upset,”

“You are a Cauldron-Made High Fae–a woman of valour and mysteries. If your sister could have silver flames in her eyes when she is angry, why shouldn’t you have a beast inside?” his wings wrapped around them and he held her close, stroking her head. 

“I don't know who to ask about this,” she lamented. “Who to share with…”

“I will find more information,” he promised. “I reckon Amren would be a good source to discuss this with, but I would caution you not to divulge this secret just yet. Not to her. And not to Rhys, who in fact, possesses his own beast inside.”

Azriel’s gaze drifted somewhere, and she watched him think.

“It makes you even more powerful, Elain. More powerful than anyone’s ever imagined,” he said quietly. “A gift..or a prize , for any Court. For any High Lord.”

“I will not say anything,” she promised.

“Good, good,” he patted her head, still lost in thought.

She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing tenderly.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Protecting me.”

“I think you’ve protected yourself quite well, my girl,”

She smiled.

“Not a trembling fawn, after all,”

“But a fanged beast,” he concluded.

“Dinner!” Azriel easily slung the pile of rabbits over his shoulder.

She clapped excitedly, “we have salt and pepper, and more mushrooms! We can make rabbit stew!”

He winked and nodded, taking her hand, “I like the way you think, Archeron.”

“Let’s go see if we can find anything else,” she proposed, “maybe juniper berries? Some herbs we can use?”

They walked inside the forest, where the snow was not as deep, and the air not as brisk. 

She scoured the green patches among the trees, spots of moss and bushes covered in winter berries of bright red. 

“Oh, these are boysenberries,” she explained, “but we have no sugar and they are too tart.”

“Do you know what this is?” Azriel reached up and with his enormous height didn’t fail to pick at a green bundle that was nestled in the branches of a tree and Elain nodded, saying, “I think it’s mistletoe.”

“It is!” he nodded, and dangled the bundle above their heads. “I should’ve thought before asking a gardener about plants!”

She laughed and warned him, “some varieties are poisonous, so don’t eat the berries.”

“Hmmm,” he lowered his hand and shook off the white berries onto his palm. With Elain, he didn’t care if she looked at his hands. She cupped them in her soft, but slightly calloused ones and he added, “do you know what mistletoe represents in Prythian?”

“Do tell,” she bit her lower lip, anticipating the answer, and he couldn’t help himself and put his thumb on that plump lip and gently pulled it down from behind her teeth. 

“Are you ready?” he smirked. 

She rolled her eyes a little and then, to his surprise and delight, kissed the pad of his thumb. “Something nasty, I am sure,” she muttered, while drawing the thumb over her lip, exploring the tender, soft skin against his scars. He was happy that he could feel it, that the thumb wasn’t so covered in scar tissue as to prevent him from exploring.

He laughed and said, “A little nasty. It’s a symbol of fertility, and the white berries represent seme-…Well you know,”

“I am not too put off by the word ‘semen’,” she shrugged and he grinned.

“Good to know. In Illyria,” he continued, “they are disgustingly superstitious and hang these over their doors, to protect them from evil spirits and other such nonsense. I mean, they train to be warriors all their lives, and they are afraid of evil spirits…”

Elain did not comment on his ferocity and disdain, but gently reached up and placed her hand on his neck. He shivered, probably because her hand was cold, but she stroked his neck lightly and then pulled his collar to the side and he bowed toward her, knowing innately that she was going to reach and …ohhh, 

His eyes closed.

Her cold, soft lips pressed to his neck and she kissed him. His neck, his hammering pulse, before whispering, her breath hot, 

“I can hear your heartbeat,”

“Yes?” he almost moaned.

“I can always hear your heartbeat,” she confessed. “Since I was…Made.”

Surprised, he even pulled away, immediately missing her touch and her lips and then absurdly, pushed back, almost butting his neck into her face. She laughed softly, pressing her lips and nose into his skin, and inhaling his heady, mouthwatering scent of cedar.

“Only yours,” she admitted, head buried in his neck, “when I was Made…it was the tether that brought me back. Your heartbeat was so weak…so shallow,” she wrapped her arms tightly around him, as if afraid to let go. Azriel stilled, holding her to him. “All I heard, even when I was inside, in that dark still water, feeling my blood boil in my veins and every bit of my humanity being stripped and annihilated, was this boom-boom, boom-boom —it was the only thing that I was aware of throughout the entire…ordeal,”

“I am sorry,” he lamented into her hair, holding her even tighter to him. She didn’t let go.

“No. I think you were the only thing that made me consider coming back. All thoughts eddied from my mind, but one…” she exhaled deeply and offered, “I wanted to see your face again.”

She looked up at him, blushing a bit. 

He stood, almost breathless at her confession.

She continued, “And that heartbeat encouraged me to come up for air. It was there, like a string pulling me back—a rope that was thrown to me and I clutched at it and it allowed me to pull up, and out.”

“Elain,” his voice was strangled, hoarse. He cupped her face between his hands and peered down. Snowflakes softly landed on her face, melting instantly, some hanging on to her long lashes, and she smiled at him.

“Do you know what it might mean?” he gasped. His eyes flew wide open and she could sense the shock reverberating off him. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Why,”

She pressed her finger to his lips and shook her head, “It’s different,” she explained. “You think it’s a mate bond?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I don’t know what to think. I always felt…but then you and Lucien, and I…” he stumbled, brow furrowed, lines bracketing his mouth. 

“It’s something else,” she reflected calmly. 

She threaded her fingers with his and then kissed his neck again.

“What though?”

“I don’t know…I think it’s something deeper. More meaningful,”

“What’s more meaningful than a bond?”

She gave him a cool look, cocking her brow at him and he scrambled, “That’s not how I meant it, you know. I mean a good bond.”

“You are the spymaster, so you investigate,” she ordered. He smiled and nodded.

She looked at him and he requested, shyly and quietly,

“Kiss me again?”

She reached down, way under his collar, and then kissed him again and teased, “someone got these tattoos for luck and glory on the battlefield, as I recall? You never removed the markings of the superstitious and backward Illyrians,” she noted. “So, maybe someone is also just a bit gullible?”

He chuckled, “Suppose you are right.”

“Will you take me to Illyria?” she insisted, pulling away at once.

Azriel slung his arm around her shoulders and they slowly began making their way back to the cabin. It’s been a couple of hours now since they were outside and he worried that she might get a chill.

“I will take you to Illyria,” he promised somberly.

She laughed, “Try to rein in your excitement.”

“We’ll go if you promise that we can stay in a cabin there?” he said. “I have no desire to stay in Windhaven.”

“Whatever you’d like. I will be in your capable hands.”

“Alright then. I think it might be more tolerable when it’s just the two of us…”

Hunched over the reports, without his shadows to warn him, Azriel didn’t notice Elain close by. Her presence was so comforting and welcoming that it felt completely natural to him. Her smell settled him. Her skin, her hair, her voice—they stopped the demons in his head from running amok. She puttered about, doing something of her own and as long as she was near, next to him, all was good in his world. So, when she suddenly pressed her thumb between his brows, he looked up at her with surprise. 

“You look so serious,” she teased him, playfully sticking her tongue at him.

Then, looking him up and down, he stroked his bare feet, which he had planted on a storage trunk. The cabin was small and he struggled to get comfortable, or stretch his body, so when he spotted the trunk, it was the only way for him to spread out.

She drew her fingers over his toes and then said, “Unfair that even your feet would be beautiful…”

“What?” he swallowed, watching those little fingers palm and squeeze his sole. 

“Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?” 

“They are feet !”

“Yes. That’s what I am saying.” She laughed, “What man has sexy, handsome feet? You. You apparently do!”

His arm wrapped around her hips and he pulled her to him, and then pressed her into his lap.

The rabbit stew has been bubbling quietly on the stove for a bit now, and behind the windows, shadows were falling.

The bundle of mistletoe hung from the lamp above the table. 

The shadows had delivered a whole pile of reports, dumping the papers unceremoniously on the table for him to go through. Elain told him to take his time and do his work, while she set out to prepare dinner.

“What’s making you look so serious?” she asked, smiling at him. “Reports?”

She felt warm and soft against him, bundled in a sweater and long socks that reached above her knees. But the silky smooth thighs were left uncovered for his enjoyment. Her skin was so velvety-smooth, and he drew his knuckles over the tender skin, stopping at the hem of the sweater. Elain licked her lips, and he marked the movement of her tongue with his acute gaze.

“Honestly?” he whispered.

She nodded.

He pushed his face into her shoulder and rested his head there, next to her neck, obsessing silently over the desire to mark her. It was so close, the light thrumming of the pulse, the open, lovely curve of her throat, the deliciously plush, indescribably desirable body.

“I am thinking of ways for us never to leave this cabin,” he let out a strangled laugh.

Elain’s fingers threaded in his hair and she looked down at him, cradling his head to her shoulder and neck. 

Finally, she asked, “Is that what you want?”

He gave a single nod.

“Cabin…apartment…palace…hut…any place. But you and me, together.”

“Yet you did not kiss me,” she reminded him, no anger lacing her voice, but incomprehension. “Not then, not even here–when we are together,”

Azriel looked into the pools of her brown eyes and stroked the apple of her cheek with his thumb.

His voice was more gravelly than usual when he offered,

“I don’t move quickly, my girl…”

The voice alone made Elain squirm on his lap, but he held her firmly, planted across his thighs, as he continued, “I am a slow, deep and hard type of a male.”

The tip of her tongue darted out again, teasing him innocently, as she listened and watched him with rapt attention, barely breathing.

Tightening his grip on her waist, he explained further, 

“I like knowing that my female is satisfied thoroughly…that she feels me inside of her, deep in her, hours, and even days after I’ve been in her. Some males are all fire and speed, others are gentle and thoughtful and romantic. I go slow, but hard..and I don’t stop. Once I’ve had you, and once you’ve had me, it won’t ever stop.”

“But,” she began, yet he cut her off,

“No, Elain…Listen to me,” he cupped her cheek and made her look at him, “you will have to make that decision. Not I. My decision’s been made for years now. But I am not going to back down. But when I claim you as my own, once you become mine, it will be forever.”

He whooshed a breath and his thumbs skimmed against her thighs, stroking gently.

“I cannot kiss you, Elain,”

She started, but he continued quickly,

“You don’t understand. Listen,” he urged her firmly, even if she looked put off by his comment. “We’ve shared food–just the two of us. You’ve cooked for me, Elain. You’ve accepted me as your own, a male for you. The hearth–it’s ours now. A home. We’ve shared a bed and you’ve touched my body and more importantly, my wing,”

She blushed and made to say something, but he stopped her with a look.

“No one’s touched my wing before, and certainly not in bed. But after a kiss, I don’t think that I would’ve been able to stop,”

Her lips twitched with a smile, but he added, “No, you assume that I am stoic and capable of self-denial. I am not. Not at all. Don’t think that I would’ve stopped myself from being buried so deeply inside of you, that my name would be written with my seed inside your womb. You’d bleed and you’d cry and you’d beg for me, for more.”

She leaned into him and murmured breathlessly, “But I want to. I want all of that.”

“I know, my beauty, I know. And it will come. I did not mark you today–true,” he sighed. “The mark…my mark,” he pulled her even closer, “it would be a shadowsinger’s mark. Irreversible. Binding you and I forever, a mark that would imprint on your very essence, because my shadows will enter that mark, and it will be visible to everyone.”

He paused. Then, fell completely silent. His body stilled. 

“What?” she whispered finally, watching him struggle with some decision. “What?” she repeated.

Azriel sighed a deep, tremorous sigh and said,

“You must understand—there is a beast in me as well. I have one, inside.”

Elain gasped softly, staring at him in awe,

“You do?”

“And my beast has been slumbering all my life inside of me. I’ve always known it was there–that’s where the power and the darkness comes from. The power that is far beyond any Illyrian Killing Power that I possess, which is already significant in itself. This is a different kind of power–it answers to yours. You asked me earlier today what I think it might be, that pull that you had felt–and it is a bond, but I think it’s my beast responding to yours. I think it woke up inside of me once I’d met you, because it sensed an equal. It came alive, because there was another one out there that called to it. 

“You are unique and unlike anything else that exists in this world of ours, and I think that perhaps, so am I. And I want you with a ravenous desire that is inexplicable and so overwhelming that sometimes, I can barely think. Can hardly function.”

“Me too, me too,” she chanted, understanding at last, comprehending, her mind and vision clearing as it did when Azriel had told her that she was a Seer. “You saw me,”

“My beast saw your beast and it…knew. The voice, the Seer voice, it was your beast speaking to you, and the reason I realised what you were and what you were hearing was because mine told me,” he explained at last. “It lurched inside of me…when Lucien,” he swallowed, “when he tugged on whatever is attached to you–that thread between you and him. And my beast roared. It hated that tug with such vicious violence that I barely managed to stop it from tearing Lucien apart.”

“Azriel,”

“I had to stay away, Elain,” he groaned desperately. “My beast–it wants you with a hunger that is threatening to rip my very being apart. It scents the bond with Lucien and it–the smell of it, Elain, it destroys me. Everything rages inside of me at the thought of someone else having a claim on you. I had to stay away…when I was told to stay away, I had to,”

“Who told,”

Her hand squeezed the back of his neck, pressing so tightly it was almost painful. It dawned on her. There was only one being out there who had the power to stop Azriel.

Her hand covered her mouth, and she was shaking her head side to side, slowly. 

“Do you understand now?” he pleaded, glaring at her.

She nodded. She understood. At last.

“What I feel for you,” he murmured, “is beyond even love. My bond to you is power and desire and lust and devotion and need…constant need. I ache for you, Elain. I crave you most ardently and passionately. And there is no escape for me. The pull is always there.”

“The pull is always there,” she agreed, pressing her hand to her chest.

Her beast growled with satisfaction, as if finally placated by the revelations and the knowledge that Elain knew it all at last. Azriel pressed her other hand to his chest and she felt it in him as well, a thing of immense power clawing towards her, feeling her proximity, sensing that she now knew him too. 

“Now you know,” Azriel sighed, his voice soft, his shoulders sagging from relief of being unburdened of his secret. “You are my trembling fawn and my fanged beast. And you get to decide the rest of our immortal lives.”