Archive of Our Own

She was silently cursing herself for ever thinking getting her own place would be a good idea. Sure, living with her sisters and their mates had been exhausting to a whole new level, but maybe some things were worth it if they meant she got to stay alive. Rhys had sworn the Town House was as safe as their own house, warded to the point only three people would be able to winnow directly inside – and she knew none of them would enter her personal space without her permission.

But she had been baking when she heard the unmistakable creak of her front door, the tell-tale of someone entering her home – even if no footsteps had followed. She kept forgetting to buy some oil to fix that terrible noise, but today she had to be grateful for her own loss of memory, even if her heart pounded heavily inside her chest, and her arms and legs had long gone numb.

Adrenaline seemed to be the only thing pumping through her body as she tried to control her breathing, her entire body jerking at the sound of a drawer opening and closing, followed by a soft curse and a thud. It sounded as if they were in the sitting room.

Elain frowned, knowing that even if she left through the back door, she wouldn’t be able to return to his place without doubting every single sound she ever heard. She willed her sisters’ courage and prayed to the Mother for luck as she crossed the hallway, as silently as she could manage, her bread knife ready to strike.

She heard herself gasp at the shadow sitting on the floor, head thrown back against the wall next to the window. The moonlight hit his face in a way that made him impossibly beautiful, a painting of angst and sorrow. She had no idea what Azriel was doing here, and by the look on his face, he wasn't exactly sure either.

“Azriel?” She called, her voice thundering through the silent room. She reached for the light before she could even think, and the sight in front of her was enough to drain the colour off her face. “Are you hurt?” She whispered, the sound of her bread knife hitting the floor a distant reality as she took him in.

He was drenched, his dark leathers glistening under the warm light, his hair splattered against his beautiful face as he stared at her. He tried to move, wincing once before dropping against the wall once again. Only then did she realize why exactly the Illyrian warrior was on her floor, dripping and panting. He had an arm clutched to his side, his hand pink in what looked remarkably like faded blood.

Elain rushed to his side, bending to her knees as she reached out to touch him. Azriel flinched, so she dropped her hands. She pretended not to be hurt by it. “Can you get up?” She asked, her eyes taking in his appearance, looking for more injuries. Azriel nodded once before he tried to get up to no avail. Elain held his hand, noting his flinch as his hands touched hers, put his arm around her shoulders and helped him stand up, taking him to the closest wingchair where he slowly sat. It would be ruined by the end of the night, but she doubted either Feyre or Rhysand would care. Azriel slumped against the chair, groaning as his wings hit the cushioned back. “Your wings…” Elain muttered, frowning as she inspected them further. Elain knew how sensitive Illyrian wings were and noting the bleeding gash on Azriel’s left wing she knew he had to be in excruciating pain.

“I got ambushed.” He gritted out, his midnight voice a comfort Elain hadn’t been expecting. She hadn’t even realised he hadn’t spoken until now, her own racing thoughts loud enough to keep her company. Her eyes darted from his bleeding side to his wings. She knew how to treat his wounds enough so he could rest, at least until she could call for Madja in the morning. He had come here for a reason, one Elain doubted didn’t include her. He knew better than anyone that, at the very least, she knew how to be discreet.

“Take off your shirt.” She demanded, swiftly turning around to hide the blush that tinted her cheeks. She ignored how very wrong it had sounded, her entire body heating up as she rushed to the kitchen. Nuala had come by earlier that week to teach her how to brew medicinal potions and ointments and she couldn’t be more grateful for her resourceful friend as she reached for the glass jars by the sink. She remembered her lessons with ease – white vinegar and thyme to disinfect, eucalyptus and lavender to stop the wounds from infecting and dress the wound as comfortably as possible. Grabbing a few towels Elain returned to the sitting room, where Azriel now sat without his upper leathers. She gulped far more loudly than what she intended, his eyes darkening as they followed her.

“What are you doing?” He rasped as Elain dropped to her knees once again, grabbing a clean towel before dousing it with the vinegar brew.

“Taking care of you, of course.” She said as neutrally as possible, applying as little pressure to his hound as possible. It didn’t look deep enough that it wouldn’t heal in the next few hours, but the Shadowsinger seemed more than comfortable with the pain. Not for the first time since she met him, she hurt for him. How many terrors had he lived his lengthy life? She couldn’t help but wonder if there had been any reprieves at all. She ached to help him on that matter, but rejection was a vengeful parasite.

“I can do that.” He said but Elain simply ignored him.

“Where were you?” She asked as she switched to the eucalyptus tonic. She felt his eyes on her, but she pointedly avoided his gaze. There was something to be said about her strength in ignoring someone she ached for so fiercely.

“A mission.”

Elain chuckled drily. “And here I thought it was at training.” She said, immediately regretting her own tone. Gazing up at him she couldn’t help but blush when she saw the smirk adorning his lips. She refocused her attention back on his wound.

Why had he come here? She wouldn’t believe he thought the house to be empty the same say she wouldn’t believe his visit had been innocent at all. The last time Elain had been this close to him his lips had been inches away from consuming her completely, his touch as unrestricted as her desire for him. After having so much taken away from her, after having so much thrown at her…Elain had foolishly believed him to be someone she was choosing for herself. She now cursed herself for such foolish thoughts, the tang of rejection as present as it had been that night.

Elain frowned, rejecting those unwelcome emotions. It wasn’t the time to think of such things, not when he appeared to be badly injured. “Please lean forward.” She said a bit more shyly now as she gathered the gauze, searching for her trusty bread knife. It remained by the door, and Elain rose to get it, ignoring the shame that threatened to overpower her. Would she ever stop looking foolish in front of him?

“What were you going to do with that?” He asked, his breathing calmer now, his hair curling as it dried. Elain’s brows pitched together as she looked at the knife.

“Cut the gauze to dress your wounds.”

“No,” His face as stoic as always. “Before. When you saw me.”

Elain felt her cheeks heat but ignored it as she made her ways towards him again, cutting the gauze with a single swiped. “I was protecting myself.” She replied, her tone daring him to question her reasoning. She was well aware a bread knife would only let her protect so much, but it wasn’t like she had any weapons just lying around. Rhys had told her there’d be no need and she had believed him.

Azriel frowned. “From me?” He asked softly. Elain’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. Since when had he so little faith in her?

“Would I need to?” She asked back. Azriel simply stared at her, his expression as apathetic as only he managed.

“Never, my lady.” He said, his voice low. Elain glanced at him, ignoring all the wrong ways her body reacted to him. She finished tying up the gaze, finally pushing to her feet. It seemed tight enough. She grabbed another towel, heading towards his wings as his hand reached out to grab hers. “Elain…” He muttered, his eyes so filled with regret she felt sick to her stomach. She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to speak, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t again apologise for what had happened that night.

“I need to take care of your wings.” She nodded towards the gash, finally able to step away once he released her wrist. Elain grabbed the softest towel, dousing it in a smaller douse of vinegar before she walked towards the back of his chair. The wound had luckily stopped bleeding, but it was deep enough he would need to call for Madja come morning. She pressed the cloth to the surrounding area of his wound, surprised when his entire body shuddered under her touch. “Does that hurt?”

Azriel chuckled darkly, his head falling forward in a way that flexed his back muscles deliciously. Elain quickly looked away, not for the first time that night wishing for the lights to be dimmer. What was she thinking? “No, that didn’t hurt.” He mumbled so Elain tried again, her finger accidently meeting the leathery membrane. Azriel hissed this time, his entire body tensing further.

“What?” She demanded, brows furrowed as she inspected his wings. She wasn’t even applying any pressure, nor was she touching the stabbing wound.

“Illyrian wings…” He started, his breathing ragged. Elain saw him shake his head as if trying to clear away any unwanted thoughts. “They’re very…sensitive.”

She knew that. She had taken that into consideration, which was why she was barely applying any pressure.

“I might not be a healer, but Cerridwen and Nuala have taught me the basics, you needn’t worry.” She promptly assured him. “I know what I’m doing.” She added when the silence turned deafening.

“I know you do.” He added softly. “But they’re not only sensitive in that way.”

“What-” Oh. Oh.

Elain blushed furiously, almost dropping the towel to the floor. Feyre and Nesta had never mentioned such a thing nor had Nuala and Cerridwen. And why would they? It’s not there was any reason why she needed to know that.

“Right,” She cleared her throat, hoping to the Mother her embarrassment wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Or at least that he would spare her and not mention it. “M-maybe it’s best if you do it yourself? I’ll-I can wait in the kitchen while you-” She was fumbling with the glass jars when his rough hand grabbed hers again, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

Azriel offered her a smile. “I want you to do it.”

 Elain felt her breath catch inside her chest, her eyes never leaving his. “Are you sure?”

Azriel nodded once, his thumb stroking her hand once more before releasing her. She walked back, her hands shaking slightly as she tried again to clean his wound. Knowing exactly how it affected him… She felt embarrassed, entirely too hot for an autumn night, and yet that information wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

With as much care as she managed, she cleaned the surrounding area of the gash, completely aware of every shudder and intake of breath out of Azriel’s mouth. He was gripping the arms of the chair, the wood groaning under his touch. Elain felt like taking a cold bath in the confines of her bedroom, far away from everyone. Her body reacted to him as naturally as breathing and she cursed herself for the heat pooling in her core.

“Elain.” He groaned, snapping her out of her dirty mind. Had he scented her arousal? Embarrassment flooded her as she stepped away from him.

“I-I’m sorry.” She stuttered, shaky hands grabbing the eucalyptus potion. Had she poured it already? She couldn’t remember. “I cannot bandage your wings tonight.” She explained, her voice wobbly as she gathered her things. “You can sleep in one of the rooms, if you want to.” She added quickly, her eyes never straining away from the things in her hands. “I’ll call for Madja in the morning and-”

“I don’t regret it.” He interrupted her, his voice low and yet loud enough to awaken something inside of her she feared feeling ever again. Hope was an old enemy.

Elain’s lip quirked up, so at odds with what was going through her mind. “You don’t need to say that.”

“I don’t regret it.” He gritted out, pushing to his feet.

“You should sit down-” She protested.

“Elain.” She felt his calloused hand press against her neck - just as it had been that night - before he wrapped it around her throat, squeezing it in a way that ought to be depraved. Elain shivered, making his eyes darken in answer before he repeated his words, “I never regretted it.”

Elain closed her eyes, longing for the quiet hours of earlier when Azriel had only been a distant ache she was learning to ignore. “Why did you come here?”

His jaw clenched as his eyes searched for hers. “It was the first place I remembered.” He frowned, as if not quite sure the lie had worked.

“Tell me the truth.” She pleaded. Azriel’s eyes flickered between her own, as if trying to understand what she was asking of him. As if deciding whether the truth was worth the consequences it would bring.

He frowned, as if angry at whatever he had realised. “I can’t stay away from you.” He muttered, every single word as pained as the previous one. Elain eyed him then, her heartbeat pounding against his fingers where they pressed against her neck. She was panting, unsure of what to think or feel. How could he say a thing like that? How dared he give her hope after the swift rejection he had delivered only weeks ago? Did he take her for a fool?

Or maybe he saw her only as a quick way to get relief. She had been touching his wings for the past few minutes and knowing what she knew now, she wouldn’t be surprised that was what made him change his mind. But she had had enough of males changing their minds about her. Didn’t she deserve a love worthy of a song? A love as her sisters had found. 

Elain looked into his eyes, her own dropping only once to his lips before she raised them up again. She didn’t miss the way he leaned in further, didn’t miss the way his hand tightened around her neck. She was playing with her own heart at this point, but she had little left to lose.

So she parted her lips, her whisper a secret between the two of them. “Prove it to me, then.”