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Spring finally came in full bloom upon Velaris.
It adorned its avenues with cherry blossoms that flowered with pink and white, purple and coral, magenta and ruby. The scent of jasmine hung in the air. It was as if the world woke up after a long slumber, and now dressed up in all its finery.
Elain Archeron was making her way up the stairs of the House of Wind.
Through the Library.
Nesta had shown her the way–which was all fine and dandy, but now, Elain was muttering curses under her breath–counting the steps. It wasn’t the ten thousand steps that led from the bottom to the top, but it was still an annoyingly arduous trek up, through the house that Elain didn’t care for. It held too many uncomfortable, unpleasant memories for her, and now, even with Nesta living here happily, it never felt like somewhere Elain enjoyed being–if it weren’t for Nesta, she’d never come back here. Well…that wasn’t entirely true. Someone else lived here, who was even more interesting to her than Nesta, but that was for her to know and for no one to find out.
She finally spied the heavy oak door and stopped, catching her breath, before opening it. She was panting and sweaty, and completely out of breath. She was not a warrior, and was not trained. Her body was soft and unlike her sisters, who were strong and toned, she enjoyed baking and eating bread a little too much to ever maintain a svelte figure. If her mother was alive, she’d call her fat. But then, of course, any deviation from the strictest societal norms was unacceptable for her mother. Elain’s only ever rebellion against her mother’s rigorous expectations was her insistence on keeping her nails short, so she could still dig in the dirt and tend to her flowers. For that, her hands were smacked with a bone fan and she was ordered to still get a manicure. She was only eleven back then.
“Petal!” Cassian’s voice boomed, waking her from her unhappy reverie.
She squinted at the bright sunshine and stepped out onto the training ring.
Before she could answer, Cassian whistled under his breath, and promptly received a smack on his shoulder from Nesta.
“Hey,” he cried, “she is wearing pants!” as if it explained everything, including his reaction.
“Have we finally broken you down?!” he exclaimed. “And you decided to become fast and strong?”
“I am already fast and strong,” Elain shrugged.
He smiled, “of course you are, but I am glad that you are here!”
“Don’t you have work to do?” she reminded him meaningfully, “aren’t you a General, or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed, laughing.
Elain was quick and had a wicked, teasing sense of humour, which surprised Cassian greatly, once it was revealed. He thought of her as quiet, polite, a bit prissy, and maybe even prudish, but as it turned out, she wasn’t any of those things. Well, she was polite. She, in fact, laughed at his bawdy jokes, had a calm nonchalance about her, and much like him was friendly and laid-back.
He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, sizing her up and down. “So why are you here?” he repeated, “and dressed like that?”
She looked down and remembered that she was dressed unusually. She was wearing…trousers. Knit hose, to be exact, and a long knit tunic that skimmed her thighs, all paired with a pair of suede ankle boots.
“You are here to train!” he exclaimed.
She rolled her eyes and suggested, “calm yourself, Commander. I am not here to run in circles, while you bark orders at me,”
“That’s not how we train,” he protested.
“Hmmm,”
A low, gravelly, midnight voice said, “I invited her.”
Without even seeing him, Elain knew that Azriel was behind her. She always sensed him, when he was near. And she worried about him, when he was far away. His heady, delectable scent of cedar touched her nostrils, and she barely contained a sigh of pleasure, stopping just in time from inhaling it deeply into her lungs.
She composed herself, before turning around, and immediately felt her face heat up. There he was.
The sun behind him gilded his hair, making the thick, inky-black mop look almost purple in this light. The breathtakingly beautiful face maintained a friendly, bland expression that he wore in front of others when he was faced with her.
“Good morning, Elain,” he said evenly.
“Good morning,” she whispered and her voice sounded choked to her own ears.
Then, she awkwardly thrust a box into his hands and chirped, ‘this is for you!’
He raised his eyebrow and then opened the lid, and smiled.
“These are your favorites,” she explained, her voice still sounding strangled and hoarse. It didn’t help that everyone was staring at them.
Elain only just became aware of the women who were moving about the ring. There were probably around a dozen now, perhaps a few more. They ranged from what she assumed were priestesses, based on their flowing robes, a few Illyrian females, tall, lanky and winged, and some other Fae–all, in addition, to Nesta and Emerie and Gwyneth, whom Elain met before. Now, everyone were craning their necks, while pretending like they didn’t care and weren’t desperate to find out why Elain was here, what she brought him and why he invited her.
“You didn’t have to,” he murmured softly, his face softening and a gentle smile fluttering momentarily over his sensuous mouth.
“I wanted to,” she explained, swallowing, “as…payment. For the lesson.”
“Ah,” he nodded his understanding.
“Why is he getting cakes, and we aren’t?” demanded Cassian, outraged, as he peered over her shoulder and spotted the treats that were nestled in the box. There were apple cakes, and chocolate and caramel slices–Azriel’s favorite, and therefore, completely off-limits to everyone–tartlets filled with fresh raspberries, pistachio buns brimming with cream.
“I brought enough for you to share,” Elain said, while Cassian dipped his huge paw into the box and fished out a bun, which he then proceeded to jam into his mouth, whole.
Azriel was shaking his head, muttering, ‘savage’.
Cassian nodded proudly and affirmed “An Illyrian savage!” while swallowing the bun. Azriel handed him the box and then said, ‘take it inside. By the time I come back, there better be something left in there for me. Got it?”
“Got it. Though I make no promises. What are you going to do?” he then asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
“Must you know everything?” Azriel groaned.
“I must. I must know everything,” Cassian nodded eagerly.
Azriel regarded him for a moment and then extended his hand to Elain. Cassian followed the movement, but did not comment. Even if he was surprised. Even if he watched Elain reach for the scarred hand and take it in her own. Azriel’s long fingers wrapped around her pale small hand and he tugged her alongside him and she went with him, holding onto his hand like she was used to it. Cassian, to his credit, did not comment, but somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he recalled that Elain was the only person that he’d ever met, in his 540 years, who did not notice Azriel’s hands. That first meeting, back in the sisters’ grand mansion, when she and Nesta were still human women–she saw his hands and then she saw them no more. She was the only person, it seemed, with whom Azriel did not feel self-conscious about his maiming.
“We are going to train,” Elain threw over her shoulder. Indicating, perhaps, that she had no need of Cassian any further.
“You came,” Azriel murmured so quietly, only she could hear him. They crossed the ring and went over to a table that had dozens of daggers laid out neatly. “Thank you.”
“I can’t stay away,” she confessed, clutching at his hand.
It’s been a few months since they spent those three days and two nights in the cabin. Together. Just the two of them. The two nights when Elain slept in Azriel’s embrace, tucked to his chest, surrounded by the strength of his arms and the darkness of his wings. Three days about which she thought incessantly, constantly, obsessively. She replayed those days in her head, recalling every action, every word, all the moments that they shared, each touch and laugh and embrace. She wondered if Azriel thought of those three days as well?
His mesmerizing hazel eyes dropped to her legs, to the hose that she was wearing, and just like that, she knew. He remembered. He chuckled softly, recognizing everything that was going on in her head.
“They look familiar,” he noted quietly, nodding to her legs.
“Appropriate for the lesson?” she asked.
“Quite. Hose. No hose,” he shrugged. “I am not picky. I prefer no hose, but,” he sighed.
Elain smiled.
“People are watching.”
He nodded, “they are”.
Elain gave a conspiratorial glance around and then whispered, “I made you more sweets. Only for you. Because I knew that Cassian would hog them.”
Azriel grinned–a happy and relaxed smile–one that she only saw when he was with her. He laughed and smiled with others, but not quite like that.
“You are my good girl,” he murmured. “My flower.”
The backs of his fingers brushed against her forearm in a gentle caress.
“Thank you. But you don’t have to bake for me,”
“I don’t, but I like to. Just like I love cooking for you, and only you.”
Elain didn’t realise that someone was approaching, but judging by Azriel’s change of tone, someone was.
“Do any of these strike your fancy?” he asked, pointing to the assortment of daggers. Elain finally looked at the table and shook her head. Up close, the blades looked wicked: sharp, lethal, dangerous.
She ran her fingers over the hilts and shook her head, “I don’t know…which one is good?”
“Daggers?”
Nesta’s voice jolted Elain and she turned to her sister.
“I thought it was time for Elain to learn some basic techniques,” Azriel explained simply, sorting through the daggers. “Know how handle herself, should the need arise,”
“I think it’s a good idea,” agreed Nesta, though she watched the two of them closely, with her usual stillness.
“Which one would you recom-,” Elain began saying, but Azriel interrupted. He quickly unsheathed Truth Teller from his thigh and flipped it expertly in his hand. The obsidian blade gleamed in the sun, devouring all light.
A hush fell over the ring, all activity grinding to a halt.
Whatever Cassian was doing with Gwyn and Emerie and some other females stopped and he turned his head sharply, to watch Azriel. Azriel rolled his shoulder and then said to Elain, disregarding everyone’s amazed scrutiny, “How’s this one? You are familiar with it,”
“But it’s yours!” she reminded him with an easy smile, not quite understanding this tense reverence that everyone was currently displaying.
He opened his palm to her and offered her the dagger. She took it, her fingers closing over the hilt with strange familiarity, as if it was hers and she used it daily. Watching her, Azriel smiled.
“Ours,” he said softly, watching her grasp his Truth Teller in her little hand. She bit the tip of her tongue between her teeth, as she concentrated on slashing the air with the dagger.
“Easy there, little flower,” he murmured, and then gently caught her wrist and stepped beside her.
“Alright, show me!” she commanded.
And Azriel did.
Other females gathered around them, watching, while he patiently maneuvered her hand, showing again and again how to best hold the dagger, how to position her wrist, what to do with her thumb, how to hold her stance.
Throughout, Azriel was completely professional, dedicated to the task at hand, calm and tranquil, as always, even when Elain made a dozen mistakes in fifteen minutes. He corrected her gently, answered, when she asked, smiled, when she stomped her foot in frustration…But he did not release her from his hold. Not for a moment. His hands were on hers the entire time, and if she was practicing the movements, then his hand rested on her waist, or her hip, or the small of her back.
The other females followed the instructions, watched attentively, and did whatever Azriel showed them, but, when they expected him to demonstrate the movements hand to hand, like he did with Elain, he did not. The scarred hands only touched her skin, only Elain’s body. When another female needed assistance, he acted the way he always did–showed it to them with another dagger, and avoided any contact.
Emerie and Nesta were going through their cooldown, while Cassian was finishing something with Gwyn, when Emerie murmured,
“I’ve known him for months,” she jerked her head towards Azriel.
Nesta allowed a cursory glance towards her brother-in-law and her sister.
“And you’ve never seen him like that,” it was a statement, rather than a question.
“I haven’t,” Emerie agreed, squinting, an amused smirk playing on her lips.
Nesta waved her hand, “don’t bother asking me. I don't know.”
“Don't know what?” Emerie chuckled.
Nesta rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond.
Emerie sat down, draping her arms over her knees, as she watched the other side of the ring.
“This development may break some hearts,” she sighed. Nesta was still lying down, eyes closed, but Emerie was watching.
The long, white ribbons were fluttering in the wind, attached to two poles. No one’s been able to cut the ribbon since the first batch of trainees–and even those who did cut it, couldn't often repeat the feat. Gwyn, once she accomplished the task, lost interest in it. Others struggled. Only Emerie and Nesta were able to cut the ribbon successfully again and again.
Elain’s long braid bounced and bobbed behind her back, as she followed Azriel’s instructions, and even from here, Emerie could see that a sheen of sweat covered the beautiful Archeron sister’s neck and face. It amused her that Elain seemed to be arguing with Azriel, which wasn’t something anyone ever permitted themselves to do here. It wasn’t an angry argument by any means, probably just Elain trying to convince him that she was doing things correctly, though Emerie knew that Azriel didn't even have to look to know where a mistake was being made. He smiled, amused, and seemingly enjoyed the verbal sparring, and it was an expression that Emerie had never seen on that beautiful, chiseled face of his before. Azriel looked happy?
And then, Emerie spied something unexpected. Something that she never shared with anyone. While Elain was waving the deadliest dagger in history with maniacally unwavering confidence, Azriel stood behind her, never taking his eyes off her hand. Without moving his head or changing his expression even for a second, his index finger slipped along her braid and with magnificent speed and agility, he thrust it under the loop of the white ribbon which held the braid together. A swift, feather-light pull and the white ribbon was in his possession. He squeezed it in his fist and then pocketed it, all without making more than three gestures. Sneaky spymaster.
Emerie smiled.
So that’s the ribbon that the stoic brooding shadowsinger actually desired.
The hour was up and Elain walked over to where Nesta and Emerie were lounging.
“Oh, gods, I am hot!” she complained, and Nesta tossed her a towel.
“You need to drink water,” said Emerie, and pointed to the water station.
Elain giggled, “who knew that holding a knife could be so tiring!”
She tousled her hair and added, “oh, and I even lost my ribbon! Oh well,”
Emerie smiled, as she snuck a glance at Azriel, who in turn snuck a glance at Elain, watching her like a hungry wolf.
“Did you enjoy your lesson?” Gwyn asked, and then continued, without pausing, “I can’t believe that Azriel offered to train you himself! He trains us here, but he is very difficult to persuade to give any extra lessons. I asked him many times…I mean, I know he is very busy! But he is also the best with the daggers and I wanted him to teach me some techniques, but,”
“Who said he is the best with the daggers?” challenged Cassian.
“Oh, here we go,” Nesta muttered under her breath and Emerie chuckled.
“Hey, brother!” Cassian called out to Azriel, who was arranging all the weapons on the table, “word has it that you excel at dagger play?!”
Azriel turned a disinterested gaze to Cassian and then said calmly, “Word would be correct”.
“Care to be proven wrong?” Cassian winked at Nesta.
Azriel sighed and then said, “You want your ass handed to you this early in the morning?” he shrugged his shoulders, “as you wish.”
He sat down on the bench and asked Elain, “do you need to go back? Or do you want to stay for a bit? Just long enough for me to put the General here in his place?”
Elain laughed softly, and nodded, watching him with wide eyes, as he toed off his boots.
“I can stay,” she assured him, and sat beside him. “What are you going to do? Are you going to beat up Cass?”
“Probably,” he tried to hide a smile.
She laughed and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
He glanced at her and murmured, “You look lovely with your hair unbound.”
“I lost my ribbon,” she said uselessly, watching him, their faces so close, she noted the golden and emerald lights glimmering in his gorgeous eyes.
“It would seem so,” he nodded once and she glanced down at his bare feet. Back at the cabin, when they told each other things that they never dared to utter before or again, and when he almost placed his mark on her, Elain told him that he had beautiful feet. Judging by how she softly licked her lower lip right now, watching him as he rose to his full height and then quickly removed his shirt, she still felt the same.
Meanwhile, Cassian made wild eyes at Nesta, trying to make her look at the pair, and being extremely frustrated by Nesta’s nonchalance.
“Don’t hurt Cass,” Elain begged.
At that Cassian exclaimed, “ Don't hurt Cass !?!”
Azriel rolled his shoulders and then unstrapped Truth Teller from his thigh and handed it to Elain. “Keep it safe, while I deal with that,” he waved at Cassian, who selected his own dagger and a short sword and stepped out in the ring, stripping off his shirt and barefoot.
Elain moved closer to Nesta and Emerie and plopped down on a bench, almost missing it, unable to tear her eyes away from the two towering specimens of savage masculine beauty. Emerie straightened her out helpfully, smirking.
“Cassian never needs a special invitation to be shirtless,” Nesta snickered dryly.
“I heard that!” he yelled.
The three women laughed and Nesta added, “I have to pay him in gold coin to keep his shirt on!”
“I heard that too!” he flexed his muscles and Nesta suddenly became adorably flustered, waving him off, while her face reddened.
“Can’t deny that they are pretty,” she murmured, watching them, as the males stretched and rolled their massive shoulders, twirling their weapons in their hands, acquainting themselves with the blades.
“They are not going to hurt each other, are they?” Elain worried, and Emerie patted her back, shaking her head.
“It’s just practice,” she explained.
The clash of steel sang in the morning air, as the swords came together and jolted all the observers, making Elain jump in her seat. But her eyes were glued to one particular participant whose almost-naked body, save for his trousers, she finally saw in all its glory, in this stark sunlight. The lean muscles tensed and relaxed with each precise movement, and watching Azriel with his daggers, manoeuvring with such graceful, confident fluidity had Elain thinking that perhaps, Cassian bit off more than he could chew. Cassian, handsome and magnificent, was bulkier and just a little bit slower, parried and fought aggressively, with exactness that was honed over many centuries of training and battling. Yet, just as they said that the call of battle was an invitation to a deadly dance for Cassian, then this vicious, intimate blade-to-blade combat was the song in which Azriel lived and strived.
Amazingly, the two males managed not to actually cut, or even nick, each other, despite handling four blades between themselves. Elain was awed by their incredible agility and how each arm seemingly knew what it was doing on its own accord–stab, slice, parry, attack, parry again, strike, slash. Their bodies felt the approach of the blade with keen, innate understanding, and despite the massive size of both males, they twisted and lunged and bent and spun much like Nesta did on the dance floor.
Emerie, who was lounging on a chaise, propped on her elbows, watched this display of aggressive masculine posturing and domination with a small smile on her lips. Especially when she glanced at Elain, who looked like a mesmerised baby, with her enormous brown eyes blown wide with admiration and unabashed lust, her full, pink lips slightly parted. It wasn’t Cassian who inspired such adulation from her–that was left for Nesta, who watched him with pride and smugness, mixed with sexual hunger. Elain couldn’t tear her eyes away from Azriel, who, Emerie had to admit, looked stunning this morning. He was relaxed and eager, and gone was his usual solemness and quiet detachment. For once, he wasn’t just training others, but was actually enjoying himself. It was a very, very rare sight.
“Well, they are certainly putting on quite a show today,” Emerie muttered under her breath.
Elain glanced at her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Emerie waved her finger between the two clashing males and added, “See, all that wing display,”
Elain, and Nesta, looked to see both sets of magnificent wings flaring, the membrane catching the sunlight and appearing almost iridescent. Now, Elain could see the multitude of scars on both of their wings, some almost faded, some small, others long and jagged, but the entire surface of their wings was covered in them. It made her heart ache for both of them.
“That’s not what Illyrian males usually do,” Emerie continued lazily.
“What do you mean?” Elain finally asked.
“Oh, Illyrians will protect their wings at all costs, especially during combat. You’ll never see an Illyrian with his wings untucked like that when daggers and swords are flying around. Some Illyrians, in ground combat, would go so far as to bind their wings to their bodies, so as to avoid them being accidentally tugged or pulled or slashed.”
“So,” Elain looked at her in confusion.
“Oh, I think that they are trying to impress the ladies,” Emerie chuckled.
Nesta snorted.
Elain blushed.
She had noticed, though, that none of the females had actually left, once the males began their sparring. The females milled about, pretending to drink, or arrange weapons and training equipment, but it was obvious that they were completely taken with the sight in front of them, and no one was actually making the move to leave.
“I think we can all agree that Azriel is not exactly the most relaxed male out there,” Emerie said, “in fact, he is rather tightly wound up usually.”
Elain smiled softly, but couldn't disagree.
“This,” Emerie jerked her chin towards the two, “is very unusual. Very unlike him. To be parading his wings like that,”
She began re-braiding her long dark braid and asked absently, “Wonder why that is,”
“Why?” Elain insisted.
Emerie grinned and explained, “He is definitely trying to impress someone,”
“With his wings?”
“With the size of his wings,” Emerie corrected.
Elain’s brow furrowed, and Emerie added, “It’s an Illyrian thing…They can’t actually help themselves.”
“In what way?”
“If they are in front of the object of their affection, they can’t help but display their wings. It’s instinctual. Funny how up until today, Azriel here, never displayed his wings…”
Elain turned crimson, and then muttered under her breath, “Oh stop it! Who cares about the wings…”
“Oh they do,” Nesta nodded slowly, smiling.
“Well, it’s not like any of us are going to grow some suddenly,”
“Oh, it’s not what we can grow,” Emerie fell back on her elbows, “it’s what they can grow…”
Elain absently braided her hair, and then immediately un-braided it, recalling that Azriel preferred it unbound. She wanted to know more of what Emerie was hinting at, but she was too embarrassed to ask. Emerie finally took pity on her and said offhandedly,
“They say that the size of the wingspan corresponds to the size of some other parts on a male’s body,”
“Oh,” Elain’s throat bobbed and she suddenly felt very hot. Her hair was much too thick and heavy around her.
“They say,” Emerie continued, without looked at Elain, “that Azriel’s wingspan exceeds everyone’s wingspan in all of Illyria,”
“What?” Elain sucked in her breath.
Goodness…
She had seen Azriel in nothing but his undershorts. Those plain black undershorts that…well…
She fanned herself, finding the warmth of the sun very stifling.
She thought about those undershorts a lot. All the time, in fact. She thought about him and that glorious bronze body every moment of the day. She thought of how his rough, scarred hands felt on her skin, scraping ever so gently against it. She thought of his spectacular back, all muscled and inked, and how all that muscular gorgeousness slid into the trim, slender waist. She certainly thought of his firm, chiselled behind that she had touched–as a nurse . Only as a nurse. The long, powerful legs, the sexy feet–she thought about all of him. But, she thought of the shorts the most. Because he certainly packed something magnificent in them.
“In all of Illyria?” she blurted out, before clamping her hand over her mouth.
Both Nesta and Emerie laughed at her.
“It’s true,” Nesta sighed. “It’s not something that I discuss with Cass though.”
“I’d imagine,” Elain murmured, her eyes darting between her sister, Emerie and Azriel.
Gwyn was standing on the side, completely oblivious to everything, making stabbing motions with her hands, as she mimicked what the males were doing.
“She is really into it,” Elain noted softly.
“Oh yes,” Emerie smiled.
Elain turned her attention back to the males and sized up Azriel’s wings–she recalled a conversation that they had back at the cabin, about how Cassian and Rhys would argue and fight and measure each other’s. Now she understood why. Why they’d scream and argue and fight with fists to claim supremacy.
“His are bigger,” she murmured, watching the clawed tips peak above his massive shoulders. When standing like that, it was obvious that Azriel’s wings were bigger. And when the wings fluttered and unfurled they blocked out the sun.
“They are,” Emerie confirmed with a nod.
She sipped some water and then said quietly, almost to herself, but loud enough for Elain to hear,
“There are tales about him,”
“What sort of tales?” Elain wondered, knowing that they were not discussing Cassian.
“Oh his…prowess,” Emerie levelled her a curious look, as if considering whether she should say more.
Elain didn't respond, but waited, her hair ruffled in the spring breeze.
“They say,” Emerie finally continued, her tone measured, voice quiet and melodic, “that he does not take Illyrian females to his bed…”
Elain stifled her blush, nervously wringing her fingers on her lap, running them over Truth Teller’s scabbard.
“They say he would not besmirch an Illyrian woman’s reputation, even if she was willing…” Emerie sighed, and even Nesta turned to listen to her.
“In the bedroom, he respects the female,” Emerie’s long, lanky body folded over itself, as she wrapped her arms around her knees, “but he dominates completely. And he accepts nothing less. He is carnal in his affections,”
Elain wiped her brow and both Emerie and Nesta noted how she shifted on the bench, squeezing her legs together.
“When you’ve been with him, it’s been said that he spoils you for any other male. Everyone seems lacking, once he’s had you, for he leaves such a mark on the womb,”
“What do you mean?” Elain breathed, eyes bright and shocked with surprise.
“He offers the female what she needs. Some need it gentle, and though they say that he is a kinky prick, he would offer gentleness. Other females seek submission and want to be controlled and he is a natural born Fae predator, so he gives them what they want. He is not safe or easy and that is a dangerous combination, considering his otherworldly handsomeness too–it’s irresistible.”
“Who says this?” inquired Nesta, now curious herself. Elain remained silent, only clutching Truth Teller harder.
“He is considerate,” Emerie explained, “and secretive, but after 500 years, even he cannot be entirely without a reputation. I’ve heard many things, especially from the Illyrian males, who resent him, yet envy and admire him as well.
“I’ve heard that he goes, he goes hard…and deep. And he is relentless.”
Elain did not comment, but she recalled Azreil’s own words, which he whispered heatedly in her ear, when he told her that once the flesh had cooled off, he liked for the female to ache inside for days at the memory of him inside of her.
Emerie blew out a long sight and added with a smirk,
“I just see a kindred spirit,”
“Have you been with him?” Elain asked carefully, unsure if this line of questioning was appropriate.
Emerie shook her head no and shrugged,
“No, I am no virgin and I’ve been with a male or two, but that’s not my preference. With Azriel,” he threw a glance at him, “I feel a connection–he loves pussy, I can feel it,”
“Emerie!” Nesta snapped at her, and pushed her shoulder playfully.
“What?!” Emerie laughed, “Are you a maid?” she asked quickly of Elain, who squirmed and mumbled something unintelligible.
“He looks like he’d devour it, if the female was to his liking,” Emerie shrugged indifferently.
Elain jerked up and gushed, “with his mouth ?!”
The other two grinned at her and then Emerie nodded, “With his mouth. Though I hear that’s a seldom occurrence, reserved for few and far in between. He is known for his cock and how ably he uses it…”
Elain bit her lip, and then felt her head, her whole body heat, from Azriel’s blunt stare from across the ring. Even though he was still sparring with Cassian, his arms acted on their own, while his attention was turned to her. In her chest, Elain felt her beast pace nervously, impatiently, as if the conversation woke it up and it was seeking its mate. Her beast wanted to be conquered and controlled by the other one–the one that was the predator, the one that was ready to devour and destroy.
Azriel’s lips curved into a dark smile, like he knew what she was thinking…Or, even worse, what they were discussing.
“He looks at you as if you are a juicy peach to taste and savour,” Emerie said and then stood up.
“He is just my brother-in-law,” Elain reminded her lamely. It sounded false even to her own ears.
“Hmm…” Emerie scratched her chin and suggested, “if you are still a virgin, I’d recommend you allow him to remedy that. It would be an unforgettable experience, I’d imagine. If you have a choice, that is a choice to make…It’s a mark you’d want to carry inside your body, Elain. Azriel is not something you’d ever forget.”
Meanwhile, Azriel’s arm slid from behind him and in the next moment, he pressed the tip of his dagger to Cassian’s chest.
“You are dead, brother,” he winked at the swearing Cassian, who almost started to say something about ‘unfairness’ and ‘another round’, but Azriel waved him off with a laugh.
Elain walked towards them, hearing Cassian’s grumbles.
“So, friendship won?” she wondered with a soft laugh, and handed them both drying cloths.
“No, Elain,” Azriel said evenly, “ I won.”
He took the cloth and dabbed it over his glistening face and neck.
“Az cheats,” Cassian mumbled.
“Unless you have evidence, it’s all hearsay,” Azriel shrugged innocently.
“Asshole,”
Elain giggled.
Azriel, in turn, declared quietly, “ By way of deception, thou shalt wage war ”.
“What is this?”
“That’s his Intelligence Agency’s motto,” Cassian muttered. “Of which he is the founder and the head. So you still think he doesn’t cheat?”
Stomping angrily away, Cassian planted a loud kiss on Elain’s head and then left them behind.
Elain went and poured Azriel a full glass of water. When she turned to give it to him, she found him standing in front of her, watching her.
The training space had gradually emptied, and it was just the two of them left.
Silently, she handed him the glass and he drank deeply, without taking his eyes off her.
“You two looked good out there,” he babbled, clearly thinking of what to say. Then, “Would you lick me?” she asked abruptly, and for once, Azriel was taken aback, his eyes flying open in surprise.
He gathered himself quickly and then stepped even closer to her, setting the glass aside.
“Where do you want me to lick you, flower?” he asked softly, his voice low and so gravelly, Elain barely heard him. The noise in her ears and the blood that rushed to her head weren’t helping either. “Because I’ll be only too happy to lick you anywhere.”
“There,” she whispered, her eyes dipped down. “With your mouth,” she added.
“Well, I could only lick with my mouth,” he reminded her, amused.
His hand covered her neck and he pressed lightly, but firmly, as he brushed his thumb over her chin, sliding it along her jaw. Her breath hitched and her eyes grew heavy-lidded. The tantalising, heady scent of her arousal drifted up to him and he breathed it in deeply, letting her see how she affected him. He didn’t even hide the fact that he could scent her.
“When you become mine,” he murmured quietly, lips barely touching her ear, her hair, “you will part your thighs for me and you will touch yourself, as I watch you,”
Elain swallowed desperately, and his other hand pressed to her back, holding her up, while he continued whispering, “you will open your sweet flesh and then I will taste you, at last. I will lick you until you scream my name and until the pleasure of my mouth on you will sear into your very womb. And you will come on my tongue,”
“Azriel,”
“You will come on my tongue again and again, until your screams turn to cries, because the pleasure would be so great. I will drink your essence, flower. I will lick and slurp and taste until you won’t be able to take it any more, but I won’t stop. Not until you run dry and so destroyed by your climaxes that nothing but I, Azriel, is left on your skin and your lips.”
His thumb brushed the apple of her cheek and he smiled triumphantly, “So yes, Elain, my beautiful flower, I will lick you.”
He stepped back, leaving her standing, or rather, swaying, in place, with her lips parted and her cheeks red.
He wiped his naked torso with the cloth, enjoyed the lustful gaze with which she followed every movement, as she stood, unmoving, clenching her thighs together.
“Did you enjoy your dagger lesson today?” he asked with a small smile.
“Yes.”
“Will you come back for more?”
“Yes.”
“You need quite a few lessons, you know.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me,”
“Yes,”
“To continue teaching you?” he finished his thought, smiling.
She finally came out of her stupor and nodded, “Yes, please. I’d like you to teach me.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He tugged his shirt back on and asked, “Do you want me to fly you back home?”
“Rhys said that he’d come and pick me up,” she said with a small grimace.
“Ahh,”
“I think he has business to discuss with you and Cass.”
“Well then…some other time, perhaps.”
She extended her hand and he took it, as they slowly made their way towards the door.
“You make me happy, flower,” he confessed.
“You make me happy, Azriel,” she supplied.
As they walked, hand in hand, a pair of eyes watched them from the shadows.