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Azriel
“You guys are going to fuh-reak when you see the place! They just re-opened it and it’s even bigger and badder than before!”
“ … and by bad, you mean good, right?” Nesta asked, looking excited but confused.
“It’s so bad it’s wretched – I am so excited!”
Bryce chatted excitedly with Nesta and Gwyn, holding their hands and leading them down the city block while they both looked around them in wonder. Azriel followed behind the trio, as Cassian and Hunt trailed behind, chatting.
It’s been more than a year since Bryce first found her way to Prythian, several months since Nesta realized she too could walk through worlds using the Trove. The Valkyries have started going on missions for the Court – albeit supervised and mostly scouting – including Gwyn, who had since left the Library and now lived down the hall at the House of Wind. In Gwyn, Azriel finally had an ally against Nesta and Cassian’s antics, a sparring partner in those hours of night when sleep evaded them both, one of his closest friends.
This was the third time that Azriel found himself in Midgard, this time with Nesta, Cassian and Gwyn. Azriel had felt Gwyn’s trepidation when they first touched down through one of Lunathion’s gates, but her curiosity and astonishment quickly outweighed any hesitation. They were there for reconnaissance, but that didn’t mean that Bryce was not going to take the opportunity to show them some of the best that Crescent City had to offer. Like its dance halls.
Bryce stopped in front of a building and turned to everyone with an excited, “Welcome to the White Raven!”
They passed a line of club-goers outside a non-descript building with blacked-out windows as Bryce high-fived the imposing Lion shifter at the door. Glowing circlets to adorn necks and wrists were passed around as they entered the depths of the club – the music was loud, rhythmic, like it was coming from the walls all around them, the base notes reverberating deep in one’s chest. The space was cavernous and dark, but beams of intense color and bright strobes passed over the crowd, illuminating everyone in swaths of blue and red. Bodies pressed on the dance floor, moving to the beat.
The music vibrated through Azriel’s wings and someone passed by close, leaving a streak of glowing neon green across one of his biceps. Gwyn was clutching Nesta’s arm, eyes wide, mouth open. He couldn’t help grinning alongside Cassian – the mood in the dance hall was energetic and infectious, there was nothing like this in Velaris.
Under any other circumstance Azriel would have loved for the opportunity to disappear into the throng, be one of the anonymous bodies moving against each other, sharing the same breath while their there was nothing but the rhythm flowing through them. No thoughts, bodies relaxed. But he couldn’t do that tonight, especially when he needed to keep an eye on his friends.
Bryce had let Nesta raid her closet and Lidia brought over a few options for Gwyn – Nesta was wearing a scandalously tight white long-sleeved dress which hit mid-thigh that kept Cassian close all evening, hand glued to her waist. Gwyn ended up in black pants similar to her fighting leathers but tighter and shinier, which served only to enhance the shape of her long legs and pert backside than hide them. Her top was a fitted emerald green tank that exposed her shoulders and collarbones and sliver of toned stomach at the cropped hem. Bryce had done Gwyn and Nesta’s hair and makeup and added strategically placed streaks of colored glitter on Nesta’s high cheek bones and along Gwyn’s shoulders and collar.
Cassian and Azriel were in borrowed clothes from Hunt – Cassian in a loose short-sleeve button-down shirt left open at the chest, Azriel in a fitted black tee that clung to his form. Trim dark pants completed their looks. No weapons were allowed at the White Raven.
Bryce and Hunt had members of their circle with them to join the festivities – the young Wolf Ithan, Ruhn’s chosen brothers Declan and Flynn, the Mer Tharion. Ruhn and Lidia were already inside, having secured a semi-circular booth.
Bryce and Hunt soon excused themselves to join the throng on the dance floor, Nesta and Cassian quick to follow. Ruhn and Lidia offered to order a round of drinks for everyone and disappeared for the bar.
Gwyn had stayed fairly close to Nesta and Azriel most of the evening but now she was sitting across from him in the booth, between Flynn and Ithan, whom she just met that evening. Azriel gave her a slight nod of encouragement and she smiled in return, her teal eyes sparkling.
Declan took out a small paper roll from his pocket and put one end into his mouth before lighting the other end. The light smoke from the roll smelled slightly sweet and musky. He took a long inhale and then started passing the lit roll around – everyone took an inhale, including Gwyn – Azriel was not sitting close enough to be able to stop her immediately.
“Berdara, I don’t think –” but Declan waved him off.
“It’s fine, it’s just a little mirthroot. We smoke it all the time.”
Flynn nodded in agreement as he passed along the roll to Gwyn. “It just helps take the edge off, helps us relax a little, have a good time …”
With the others’ encouragement, Gwyn took a short puff, then another longer one – then held her breath like Flynn suggested, which resulted in a fit of coughs and eruption of cheers from amongst the table.
Azriel passed on his turn – he was getting irritated, but also wanted to remain alert. So he could keep an eye on her, on all his friends. He didn’t fail to notice that in the second pass around the table that Gwyn took another long inhale.
With a toothy dimpled grin, Ithan gestured to the dance floor and leaned into Gwyn to whisper something to her ear. Her eyes flittered to Azriel briefly but he purposefully kept his expression neutral. The sides of her mouth turned down almost imperceptibly but broke into a soft smile as she turned back to Ithan and nodded, took his proffered hand.
“We’ll be back,” Ithan said to the table with a wink.
The lights in the hall pulsed to the rhythmic bass beat and Gwyn looked around and followed Ithan’s lead to move to the music. Ithan kept a respectable distance from Gwyn, tapping gently at her elbows or wrists to show her how to move but otherwise not touching.
Ruhn and Lidia returned to the table with drinks and Azriel murmured his thanks as he was handed an icy glass of something that burned going down his throat, in a good way. He tuned in to the banter around the table but kept stealing glances out to the floor where Gwyn and Ithan were dancing.
Gwyn had settled to the music and was moving her hips in time to the rhythm, head back and eyes half-closed as she waved her arms over her head. Her long auburn hair fell in loose waves down her back, skin aglow with a light sheen of sweat and streaks of gold glitter across her exposed tops of her shoulders. She looked as effervescent and as free as Azriel had ever seen her, a million miles away from her past traumas and doubts.
Looking at her, Azriel inhaled deeply, trying to loosen the sudden knot he felt in his chest.
When the third song was concluding and Azriel was just deciding that he would let the young Wolf leave the dance hall unscathed, a tall flash of neon passed along his periphery in the form of Tharion Ketos. The broad-shouldered Mer left their table and made his presence to Gwyn known by putting his arm around Ithan and extending his other hand to Gwyn along with his most charming smile.
Tharion was wearing glowing neon circlets around his neck like many of the other club goers that blazed hot pink and green and yellow. He removed a few from his neck and offered them to Gwyn, putting them around her slender neck and pulling her hair through. Gwyn faltered slightly, not used to the attention. Azriel could tell under even the dim club lighting that she was blushing furiously as she gave Ithan an apologetic shrug before she was swept away.
Ithan was easy to mentally explain away: he was young, charming in a boyish way, so earnest at the sight of a beautiful female – harmless.
But Tharion. There was something arrogant about the Mer, a little oily in the way that he didn’t bother hiding how appreciatively he was staring at Gwyn’s form, how well aware he was of the effect he had on females. A muscle ticked along Azriel’s jaw.
Tharion was dancing close to Gwyn, much closer than Ithan had been – and with his lead, soon her arms were draped loosely over his broad shoulders and the Mer was languidly sweeping his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, fingers grazing her hair. And Gwyn. Gwyn was smiling broadly back, laughing at something funny he said. When Tharion’s hands started making their way down Gwyn’s sides, Azriel felt the tether on his self-restraint pulling tight.
Where the fuck was Nesta and Cassian? Was he the only one who was seeing what was going on?
Shadows started swarming around the table to protests from the others.
“Alright, now what is going on, Broodmaster?” Ruhn asked with a hand on his shoulder while Lidia dismissively swatted away some shadows in front of her. He tracked Azriel’s eyes to the dance floor. “Well. I guess our Gwyn’s got a thing for spies.”
Azriel glared at Ruhn. “Our Gwyn?”
“Oh, do you think you’re being subtle?” Lidia remarked with a smirk.
“I didn’t think you Fae were so territorial in Prythian. Tharion’s an alphahole but harmless. He’s spoken for. Now Flynn there …” Ruhn’s voice trailed off, grip on Azriel’s shoulder remaining steady as he noticed the young Lordling now making his way over to Gwyn and Tharion.
That was it.
Gwyn didn’t travel between worlds just to go to a dance hall dressed like that and be harassed by a gang of coiffed brutes - didn’t Bryce have any more female friends? Azriel brushed off Ruhn’s hand and stalked over, overtaking Flynn before he could reach the dancing pair.
Shadows slid up Gwyn’s arms, drawing her attention away from the former Captain of Intelligence as Azriel came up beside them.
“Sorry, my dance card’s already full, Bat,” Tharion smirked, hand steady at Gwyn’s waist.
“You seem to have the wrong card then. Where’s your wife, Fish?”
Tharion’s ochre eyes flashed briefly. “I’m simply being a gracious ambassador for Midgard to our illustrious guests. Did you know that Freckles here is part river nymph?”
“Gwyn is. Amongst other things.”
“A natural dancer, for one,” Flynn interjected, reminding the trio he was present.
“I’ve also heard you are quite impressive at dagger handling,” Tharion said to Gwyn, hand still on her waist.
Azriel’s wings flared out briefly. “Be careful how you speak about -”
“Relax, Bat, it’s not that serious.”
Flynn snorted a laugh at that.
“Well, as entertaining as this is, I think I’ll leave you all to your male posturing,” Gwyn spoke up, easing herself from between Tharion and Flynn. “Thank you, Tharion, for the dance. Shadowsinger, shall we?”
Gwyn steered Azriel away from the bemused Midgardians, leading him with her hand on his elbow.
“You know I can handle myself,” she admonished gently.
“That’s what I was afraid of. Tharion looked in dire need of rescue, Berdara.”
Gwyn swatted Azriel on the shoulder, but her eyes were soft. “I don’t need to be looked after all the time.”
“I know that. I just wanted to make sure you were … comfortable.”
“Nothing about being in another world has been ‘comfortable.’ But I haven’t felt unsafe with Bryce’s friends, if that’s what you mean. Plus, the banter was promising.”
The pair stopped walking in a relatively quiet corner, Gwyn’s hand still at Azriel’s elbow, standing close so they didn’t have to shout.
“’Promising?’" Azriel repeated. “Shall I leave you to your dance partners then?”
Gwyn assessed him with a flat look. “Are you jealous? That all the attention isn’t on you this time?”
“No – what?”
“Come on, have you even noticed how many females and males have been eyeing you since we’ve got here?” Gwyn snorted. “Especially dressed like that!”
Azriel looked down at himself. “What do you mean, these are Hunt’s clothes.”
“I generally prefer you in your own clothes, but I could get used to you looking like this,” Gwyn’s eyes raked down his form before returning to his face, twinkling with mischief.
“Are you paying me a compliment, Berdara?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to recognize one, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel took a beat, as he couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. His own gaze returned hers, dipping appreciatively down Gwyn’s own form before coming back to her face. Wearing a pair of Bryce’s heels, Gwyn was taller than usual, so he didn’t have to dip his head very far to be close to hers.
“You look good, Berdara.” Azriel gaze paused briefly at Gwyn’s mouth. “I was just being protective.”
“Of me?” She looked up at him through her lashes.
“Of everyone.” He felt like Gwyn’s azure gaze was prying confessions out of his mouth before his brain could do anything about it. “But of you especially.”
Gwyn’s lips parted as she exhaled. “I like this side of you, Shadowsinger.”
“There are easier ways to get my attention.”
“Enlighten me then.” Gwyn’s fingers tightened around Azriel’s forearm lightly.
“You could call me by my name, for one.”
Gwyn’s brows furrowed slightly. “What - I call you by your name all the time.”
“No, you call me Shadowsinger. Or Spymaster. Or names I shouldn’t repeat.” Azriel was starting to feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But you rarely call me by my name.”
“Well, you call me Berdara, like I’m some colleague. Isn’t that the same thing?”
“You’re right.” Pause. Breath. “We’ve been dancing around each other for a long time, Gwyn.” Traitorous mouth.
“You haven’t danced with me all evening … Azriel.” A shadow darted out and twirled in front of her as Gwyn exhaled his name.
“I haven’t had the chance,” Azriel quipped, but his amber eyes were soft. He reached out his free hand and lightly laid his fingers on top hers still on his arm. Gwyn looked down at his hand but didn’t withdraw hers. “Would you like to dance with me now?”
“I – yes.”
Azriel led Gwyn back onto the dance floor, now far from the prying eyes of their friends at the table. Thanks to Azriel’s wings, they kept other dancers from straying too close to the pair. The electronic beat of the music was fast, but Azriel and Gwyn barely moved, instead swaying gently in each other’s orbit. With Gwyn’s nod of permission, Azriel reached out to clasp her hands and place them on his chest, his own hands settling gently at her waist.
Slowy, slowly, Gwyn’s hands crept up his chest, caressing over his shoulders before moving on. He clenched his teeth as she explored the sharp outline of his jaw with a light graze of her nails, felt his eyes closing as her thumb trailed across his earlobe before her fingers laced themselves behind his neck.
Someone suddenly jostled Gwyn from behind and Azriel instinctively pulled her closer into him, hands moving to the small of her back. Azriel now could feel her everywhere - her hips were now pressed against his, her hair in his face. When she exhaled, he felt her breasts move against his chest, her breath hot on his neck. Azriel didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. Surely she must feel how his heart is pounding under his thin shirt now.
It had been two years since Azriel first stepped onto the roof of the House of Wind to help Cassian train the priestesses. Two years since he entered the training ring and saw her there for the first time since Sangravah, clad not in her priestess robes but in skin-tight Illyrian fighting leathers. In those two years, between training and research and missions, he and Gwyn had grown increasingly comfortable with each other – he daresay he was closer to her than even Cassian or Nesta.
Gwyn had a way to get Azriel to let his defenses down that no one else could – only in her presence could he laugh and speak freely, unburdened by the weight of his responsibility. Azriel liked to think that he had helped Gwyn in kind – serving as a steadfast presence for her as she gained the confidence to finally take back control of her own life, her own body.
But this …
Though neither made a move to push away, Gwyn tried to break the building tension. “You know, Bryce and Lidia said they would take me to go shooting. I think I may finally get the upper hand next time we spar.”
“I don’t think you’ll need to resort to guns to get the upper hand on me, Berdara.” Azriel’s voice was a rumble in Gwyn’s ear. Her fingers around his neck tightened in his hair.
“What would you have me do then?” Gwyn’s lips ghosted across his throat, making Azriel shiver.
“I would have you let me kiss you.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Is tha -”
Before he could respond fully, Gwyn pulled Azriel’s head down and slanted her lips over his. Gently. Once. Twice. As if testing his resolve, before pressing over his mouth again more firmly, her lips soft as they moved against his.
It took at least the third kiss until Azriel’s brain registered fully what was happening and he started to react, closing his eyes and splaying his hands more insistently across her back. Gwyn let out a soft moan as their kiss deepened, her mouth opening to allow Azriel to lick lightly at her upper lip before she sucked gently on his tongue, hands now raking through his hair.
Azriel felt like he was being lit on fire from the inside while his skin pebbled at every touch and press of her body against his. His shadows swarmed around them but he didn’t have the sense to reign them in. He felt Gwyn’s nipples pressing into him through the thin material of their shirts against his chest, the small, delicious sounds she made into his mouth, the growing heat of her core against his trousers.
They broke from their kiss panting, Gwyn’s teal eyes wide and sparkling, her lips wet.
“Was that what you wanted,” she asked breathlessly.
“I think I had said that I wanted to kiss you.” The smirk on Azriel’s face dropped as his eyes darkened on her and his reply was nearly a growl. “Plus … that’s only the very start of what I want, Gwyn.”
Her response was nearly instantaneous, hips canting forward reflexively against his at his words. Did she even realize what she was starting as he felt her slowly grind against him, pressing against his hardening cock, chasing a feeling that was building within them both.
Azriel’s wings snapped open and enclosed them both, cocooning them from the other club goers. In this little bubble, the scent of her arousal was overwhelming, filling his nostrils, emptying his head of all thoughts except for her.
She kissed him again, more desperately this time, hands seemingly everywhere on his chest, shoulders, up and down his arms. Gwyn’s hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, now trailing her nails across his abs and ribs. Azriel was burning, the very edge of his restraint fraying on its last threads as he pressed kisses across her jaw, ran his nose and tongue up the column of her neck.
As he bit down between her neck and shoulder, Gwyn dared to moan loudly, clawing at his chest under his shirt. They were going to leave their marks on each other and the thought of it was driving Azriel feral.
“Azriel,” she breathed his name out like a prayer. “We – I want – can you –”
“Yes, anything.”
Azriel kept one hand pressed against Gwyn’s back to hold her close while his other ghosted across the exposed skin along her waist. She shivered at the touch, as he moved that hand under her top and up her side slowly, until his fingers grazed the underside of one of her breasts. Gwyn arched into him.
Someone bumped into his wing and they both froze at that, suddenly remembering what they were doing and where they were doing it.
“Well, if this isn’t the worst display of sneaky spy crafting I’ve ever witnessed. We can smell you both from out here, you know.”
Azriel cracked open his wings to find Bryce and Hunt standing next to them, wicked smirks on their faces.
Azriel and Gwyn both slowly pulled their hands out from under each other’s tops, irritated but sheepish expressions on their faces. His hair must have looked wild with the way Gwyn had run her fingers through them. Her eyes were glazed over, face flushed. He rubbed a hand across his face and found glitter on his palm.
Bryce couldn’t keep herself from cackling. “I would say go get a room but since you’re staying with us, I’ll leave it at: be quiet and don’t break anything.”
“Everyone’s been wondering where you two went,” Hunt said. “We thought you’ve been eaten by a sobek.”
“Let’s go, lovebirds, Ruhn’s got more drinks at the table.”
Azriel cleared his throat and finally found his voice. “We’ll be right there. We just need a minute.”
Hunt grinned and gestured to Azriel’s hair. “That’s going to need a little work. You’re looking thoroughly ravaged, Spymaster, in a good way.”
Azriel and Gwyn watched as the pair disappeared back through the crowd on the dance floor, making their way back to their friends. Azriel’s shadows swarmed them gently, pressing phantom caresses up Gwyn’s arms and through her hair.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently.
“I’m a little embarrassed but otherwise unscathed.”
“Are you certain?”
“Are you asking if I regret any of this?” Gwyn gestured between herself and Azriel.
He nodded, silent.
“I regret … getting glitter all over your face. And you do look … thoroughly ravaged … in a good way,” Gwyn grinned, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair to try to tame his dark locks.
“By you, is it any wonder?”
Gwyn removed the glowing circlets from her neck and placed them around Azriel’s. She leaned up and gave him a chaste kiss, her teal eyes twinkling from beneath her lashes. “No, Azriel, I have no regrets about this, about us.”
Azriel exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, then murmured into her arched ear, “You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”
“Well, I have some idea …” One finger dragged slowly down the center of this chest, past his abs, stopping the hem of his top when she hooked that finger onto the waistband of his pants. The evidence of his arousal was still apparent.
Azriel took her hand off his waistband and held it in his own, fingers linking. With his other hand, he reached up and brushed his thumb across Gwyn’s lower lip, pressing down on it gently to open her mouth. He wet his lips and when he spoke, his voice was full of dark promise. “Make no mistake. We are not finished here.”
Gwyn’s eyes glittered in the darkness as she let out a ragged breath.
Azriel gave a quick shake of his head, trying to knock common sense back to himself. He sighed. “As much as it pains me to say this, I am afraid if we don’t head back to the table soon, they might send Nesta and Cassian after us next.”
She huffed a laugh, but looked back to the dance floor, still holding his hand tight. “I don’t think I am ready to rejoin the others just yet.”
The thrum of the music beckoned. The temptation to disappear into the throng, heeding to nothing but the rhythm flowing through them, beckoned. With her. The auburn-haired goddess before him who beckoned. “Azriel, let’s go. Let’s dance – really dance this time. When will we have this chance again?”
“Who am I to deny you anything, Gwyn.”