Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of Nesta’s furious voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Azriel! What the hell was that? That was NOT the plan!”

The words echoed off the cavern walls, sharp and biting. I didn’t even flinch. I had heard worse from Nesta before, but this time... this time, her rage felt like an afterthought.

“You’re right,” I spat, my voice just as sharp. “The plan wasn’t to try and kill her, Nesta.”

Suddenly, I couldn't look my friend in the eye, couldn’t stand the sight of her hurt and guilt creeping into her expression. We were trapped in this cavernous pit of death, the eerie glow of the crystal sarcophagus—now useless as a portal—illuminating our utter failure.

She's lost. Gone. What have I done…

Nesta and I were stuck, enclosed by stalactites and stalagmites jutting from the earth into the ceiling, fallen slabs of rock blocking any viable exit into the tunnels from the stone pit. The crushing weight of panic began to claw at my chest, but I shoved it down. I had to focus.

“We have to get out,” I said, my voice tight. “The rock's movement might have opened areas where the wards weren’t well enforced.”

But even as I spoke, my mind was elsewhere, churning with frustration, anger, and betrayal. The infuriating smart ass had trapped us here, left us in this gods-damned pit, after stealing my favorite fucking knife. If I ever saw her again... I clenched my fists, shadows twisting restlessly around me at the thought of the beautiful, maddening female. If I ever saw her again, she would pay for this.

"Yes, I’m well aware we’re about to become monster meat, thanks to your psychotic mate,” Nesta snapped back, her words like venom. “Now tell me, what the hell were you thinking? You let her escape—"

I whirled on her, rage flaring, voice sharpening and slicing more brutal than I intended. “What did you expect me to do, try to kill her like you did?”

The pain in my voice surprised even me. Nesta’s face paled, but I knew she understood. Nesta had nearly ended the girl—I had watched in horror as silver flames threatened to engulf her red hair in a fit of justifiable rage. A single pointed brush of her fire would have been the kiss of death. But Nesta knew the death promise she had just wielded out of anger and frustration, did not entirely warrant murder. I dragged a hand down my face, trying to scrub away my exasperation, my own betrayal clawing at my insides.

"We have to get out of here," I muttered, my breath uneven as I fought to steady it. Desperation gnawed at me as I reached deep within myself, searching for the sliver of light my shadows had latched onto. It was faint, barely there, but it pulsed like a distant star, a tether I hadn’t even realized I had. My shadows curled around the thread, curious, as it began quiet, dim within me.

Above us, the sound of scratching echoed, a cruel reminder that our fate had been sealed the moment she opened that portal. Gods-dammit, this entire mission had been so stupid.

“I’m going to try blasting the rock,” I said, my tone grim. “We need to re-open the passage.”

As I spoke, my words sounded far away, the chaos of the day replayed in my mind. How had everything gone so wrong? One moment, my calloused hand had been over hers, engulfing her palm, wrapping my own scarred fingers tightly around her knuckles, and the next... she was gone. Knowing twisted in my gut. By the cauldron, why must the Mother curse me relentlessly.

Nesta’s voice broke through my thoughts, softer now, almost apologetic. “I—I was just trying to stop her. You could have grabbed her; your hand was reaching for her... You could have kept her here, Az, if you had wanted t—”

I gritted my teeth, cutting her off before she could say more. “I know, Nesta. Not NOW.”

Without another word, I yanked Nesta haphazardly to my side, shielding her with my wing as I readied my siphons. She hissed as pain flared through my muscles and I blasted the rock over and over. I had nearly drained my siphons entirely when I witnessed a sliver of an opening appear. Nearly free from this Hell. The continually falling debris cut into me, my wings, my siphon shield not able to stop the entire barrage of endless rock. The pain was a welcome distraction, it drowned out the guilt, the regret, the self-loathing.

Finally, with one last burst of blue light from my siphons, a wide enough passage opened in the rock. I flew us up and back onto the path out, my wings screaming in agony with each beat. My mind could hold onto nothing else. When we finally made it out of the Prison, I collapsed to my knees on the rocky outcropping framing the entrance. I didn't have the strength to keep holding myself upright. Nesta leaned up against the Prison entrance, panting but seemingly unharmed. I needed to go back inside to check the wards, to do anything but let myself think about the chaos that would surely unfold once I returned to Velaris.

But then I saw him.

Rhys.

His silhouette cut through the mist like a shadow, and his presence instantly set my nerves on edge, darkness rippling off his wings. I could feel the weight of his power before he even spoke.

"Where is... our visitor?" His voice was calm, too calm, and it sent a chill through me.

I swallowed, my mind scrambling for an answer. “Wh—what are you doing here, Rhys?” I uncharacteristically stammered trying to maintain control, to push down the rising tide of guilt.

"I had a feeling she might be headed this way,” Rhys said, his eyes never leaving mine, searching. “I wanted to see what was taking you so long to return her—thought you might need... my assistance.” His gaze flicked to Nesta, but clearly conniving the red head was nowhere to be seen. His voice hardened. “Where is she? Explain.”

Nesta flinched at the pure command, her voice shaking slightly, but her posture not retreating an inch. “Rhys, we tried. We really did. She tricked us–gods she was insufferable–she opened a portal, and jumped. I used my power to try and stop her—”

I nodded silently, keeping my gaze fixed on Rhys, calculating his next move. I couldn’t let him see the truth. Not this time. I couldn’t let him know who she was. What she was. He would use her. She would belong to him, as I do. We would be two more strings for him to pull as he wished. And that simply wouldn't do.

"Show me, Azriel." His voice was calm, but the command was unmistakable.

My muscles tense. Looking into my mind, he would see a glimpse of the truth. Panic seized me for a moment, but I forced myself to stay calm. He would also see what he wanted. I steadied my gaze. And I committed to the lie.

“I couldn’t grab her in time. She escaped, Rhys. I’m sorry.” Not a flicker of emotion. I prayed to the Cauldron, in vain, it would be enough to satisfy him.

"You’re telling me you, Azriel, were bested by an unarmed female… in pink shoes?" Rhys sneered, his words laced with mock disbelief. Nesta scoffed beside me, and I shot her a venomous look. Quiet.

Rhys’s patience visibly thinned as he maintained his bored drawl. “Show me what happened, Az. Don't make me force myself into your mind only to witness you jeopardizing our realm over your obsession with unavailable women.”

I snapped, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rhys.”

But he did. He knew exactly what he was talking about, and it made me want to punch him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew I deserved everything he said.

Rhys closed the distance between us, his eyes hard. “Show me what happened, Azriel. I won’t ask again.”

Steeling myself, my plan in place; the words coldly tumbled from my lips. “Go ahead, brother.”

I braced for what was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for the force of Rhys’s mind crashing into mine without care. His talons ripped through my mental walls, and I was powerless to stop him as he sifted through my memories. My only focus — the small obsidian shield within the blackness shielding my innermost thoughts. Rhys would never pry below its surface, the single silver lining of my abusive upbringing, but he saw the thoughts that lingered outside its walls. As intended.

Shadows hovered over two hands joining; my scarred hand around a smaller, delicate, glowing palm; my shadows observing yet silent. Curiosity. Blood red hair and golden freckled skin illuminated by starlight, sitting against a wall, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Fascination. A massive wyrm, and the feeling of panic quelled by the soft body under my firm grasp. Safe. My wings twitching uncontrollably. My skin, too hot, taut in all the wrong places. Otherworldly music bathing the caverns in echoing sound. Wonder. Long flowing hair tipped back laughing, alighting the tunnel in liquid starlight. An unfamiliar lightness of being. My large calloused hand gripping her small one tightly, hard enough to not break free without effort. Stay with me. Truth Teller and Gwydion flying into her hands. Shock. A vile creature unlocked from the depths of her tomb. Anger. A line in the floor carved with starlight and my foot daring across. Mine… Hesitation. The moment the female needed. The beautiful stranger leaping into a void in slow motion, silver flames chasing after her in vain—my traitorous body, not moving an inch, gaze fixed on the pool of blackness she had disappeared through. Devastation. Longing.

Rhys reared back and the world refocused, his face contorted with rage, fisting me up by my armor, right hook slamming into my jaw, sending me staggering back down to the rocky ground. I barely had time to register the pain before he struck again, hand to my shoulder, knee connecting with my rib cage. A faint cracking sound clicked. Falling face first into the dirt; the earth began spinning.

“You. Are. An. Idiot.” Rhys spat, his eyes murderous, “I was… crystal fucking clear… before you embarked on this foolish mission—to keep your distance from her. To keep your hands off of her. Or else. She is a living, breathing liability to our very existence. Or does the safety of everyone we love, our family, suddenly not matter to you? " He took a breath to scoff and laugh to himself, his voice mocking. "She told us she's already mated. She was not here for you, Az. The obsessive fantasy you concocted where The Mother landed her at your feet, just stop. Stop chasing after taken females. And stop thinking with your gods-damn cock. Because your cock has now damned... Our. Entire. World. To. Hell!" Each word pure ice as Nesta shifted uncomfortably between us.

Rhys plowed on berating me in front of her, not caring, “Get ahold of yourself Az, for the love of the Gods. Find a Cauldron blessed hobby. Take a lover or go to a pleasure hall, I don't give a shit but… Next time, when an enemy breaches our city's wards, follow the fucking protocol. Take them to the Hewn City for interrogation. Then secure the gods-damn cell before they discover our vulnerabilities and escape with intelligence. Or our weapons. I don't care if the suspect is your gods-damn mate. Do I make myself clear? Do your fucking job.” He scoffed to himself, “Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

He seemed to briefly collect himself and palm extended jerked his chin toward Nesta. “Come,” the fury still rolling off him in waves. Not bothering to look back at me as Nesta walked nervously forward to her only way home, Rhys shot out, “You deserve to rot on this Cauldron forsaken island for the danger you’ve exposed to our world, Azriel. Consider this a final warning.”

I took every bit of his venom, motionless trying to make sense of the past days on the rocky ground, wings in agony. I didn’t fight back. I didn't say a word. I couldn’t. Rhys was right. My throat knotted as he and Nesta winnowed out of sight. I had failed the only family I’d ever known. I couldn't protect them from the irritating female's future schemes. Not to mention how I had failed her entirely. The female I wouldn't name, couldn't bear to give any more life to her now that she has gone off to surely destroy herself. I hadn't prevented her impending suicide mission. Her intended martyrdom. Failed both of our worlds for not knowing how to eliminate the intergalactic threat against us. Nothing but a wretched miserable, miserable disappointment.

But thoughts of my eternally persisting failures would need to come second. Lingering within the back of my mind, tucked away inside that obsidian shield beneath the void; a small glimmer of hope. Bryce. A beautiful whisper, to never be spoken. A faint shimmering thread humming within the darkness—there it was, held in secret. The bond. And the truth kept hidden.

She is the Horn. And she is mine. 

Chapter Text

Every piece of soul that comprised my body felt rearranged since I had woken up outside the prison entrance. My eyes had opened to Mor's face hovering above me with concern. All of my waking thoughts since had been scrambled and nonsensical. Time had been a blur of rays and shadows from my window in the townhouse lulling me in and out of a reclusive daze. My last memory—Rhys snarling that he was leaving me to rot on that gods-damned island. Not that I blamed him. I knew I deserved it. Thankfully, the Prison’s cells hadn’t been compromised, but I already knew they wouldn’t be. I’d felt her hesitation, her tinge of fear, the moment she realized what her newly accessed power could do. She could have destroyed everything, but she didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

I sighed in my mess of tangled dark sheets, exhaustion pulling at me as I remembered how Mor had winnowed me back to Velaris. She’d looked at me with annoying pity when I asked her to stop healing me. Her mutterings of sympathy were infuriating—because she was just as broken though not visibly. But she listened and stopped her tending, tutting something about how she couldn't believe I lost my knife, but ultimately leaving me be. Thank the Mother. I wanted, needed to keep this pain within me. I'd been sulking ever since, alone in the townhouse, for only the Mother knew how long. The portrait of avoidance.

My wounds were stubbornly healing against my wishes. The fallen rock damage to my wings made flying a near-impossible task, but the agony kept me grounded—kept my thoughts occupied and off being a traitor to my own family and that vexing female in another world. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness with nightmares of an unfamiliar war. The dreams threatened to steal the few remaining pieces of my sanity. 

Guns. Bombs. Metal battle suits. She’s captured. Tortured, the Asteri break her to their will. My family dying over my mistakes, while I watch helplessly to stop it from playing out in front of me. 

I slammed down on my mental shields willing the thoughts to cease. I had resorted to borrowing whiskey from Rhys's private collection to fog over my thoughts until they yielded to a fitful sleep that claimed me again and again.

The mere thought of him seemed to summon his wrath. "AZRIEL!" Rhys's thunderous call, a storm of raw fury inside my mind, jolts me upright from my bed, sets my feet on the floor, and sends a wave of nausea surging through me.

What now… Cauldron take me...

"Get up," Rhys's voice reverberated—this time from outside my chamber door. Cassian's muttered response followed as they stormed in. "Let's move, Az." Confusion warring with my need to redeem myself, I sheathed the basic blade I had under my pillow to my side, tapping my hand, readying my siphons and armor. Rhys winnowed back to the foyer. "What's the matter?" I demanded as I trailed them out of the townhouse within seconds. 

A sneer on Rhys’s lips answered. "Your fugitive has returned. She seems to believe she can breach our defenses at will without our knowledge." He scoffed, his eyes darkening. My heart began to hammer in my chest, loud enough for Rhys to notice. My self-control, already fragile, was about to face its ultimate test.

"We're going, right now," Rhys commanded, already striding for the stairs. "She's probably twisting Nesta against us," he added, his voice low as we followed. Cassian grimaced beside me, his unease mirroring my own. "Amren's reinforcing the wards of the Trove. If the female brought backup—we need to be ready. Cloak the entire city in darkness. I don't trust Nesta to shield us from this reckless lunatic."

Rhys launched into Velaris's chilled night. My shadows blended with his as we flew, shrouding the city in absolute darkness, shielding it from any unwanted gaze. I'd felt his icy rage before, but this surpassed anything I'd witnessed. His fury intensified as we approached the House of Wind, the surrounding city below plunged into complete blackness, even the stars and moon hidden from sight. My focus remained on the House of Wind. Inside the windows. To the portal, and the four figures whose faces were still a blur from this far away. Only one had wings. A glimpse of crimson hair. There and then, gone. Gone, again. No.

The portal vanished at once. Rhys's roaring command echoed in my mind instantly, "Encircle the house! Ensure she hasn't breached the wards and entered the city. NOW !" We obeyed, knowing disregarding his orders meant facing agony bordering on death. A heartbeat later, Rhys's magic surged into the House of Wind's windows, blasting them to pieces. "You go left!" Cassian shouted, flying opposite me toward his patrol route. Cassian's restraint, keeping him from bursting in to separate Rhysand from his mate, was baffling.

I'd sensed it briefly—the shudder that resonated through the world. The tether within my chest had flared and thrummed in response. Bryce must have slipped through the portal, even if just for a moment. The spark inside me extinguished quicker than it had begun, taking with it any remaining hope. I was certain she was gone now, our woven strand dull and lifeless inside my chest. Still, I continued my perimeter around the house to drown out the turmoil consuming me, trying to regain my usual vice on my control. Here and then gone. Again.

This better be good.

I glide in through a broken window along the House's exterior into a familiar room of red stone walls lined with books. Two humans were unconscious on the ornate red rug. Were these… her parents? I hissed. Couldn't be. She was reckless and unpredictable, sure, but her heart had been soft. She wouldn't abandon the people she loved most here in a foreign world.

Rhys, paying the two lifeless bodies no mind, casually lifted his hand to float the shards of glass back into the windows as if they had never been shattered. "Search them." He ordered without glancing in my direction. No one spoke, the tension off Rhys so thick I could cut the air with a knife.

I picked up the human male’s blade and the long weapon, a gun, laying beside him. I hated to touch it, knowing its horrible power could likely corrupt our entire world. I whisked both weapons away on a shadow with a prayer to the Mother the gun would stay hidden in my pocket of nowhere. My shadows alerted me to a folded blade hidden inside the male's boot. A flick of my wrist unsheathed its hidden steel. 

I swiftly pocketed the piece. 

Payback, princess.

Nesta remained motionless, her gaze following me as I collected the unconscious forms. I was dragging their bodies into the hallway as Amren entered from the hall's other end, her silver eyes gleaming with deadly intent—stare locked onto Nesta. My shadows started murmuring to me that their panic, a warning.

Amren's words were laced with venom, "What have you done, you idiot girl?"

Nesta's face paled but she didn't shrink from the question. Cassian, now present in the room, took a fighting stance at his mate's side.

Rhys's concentration broke, whirling on them all. "Amren." He glanced quickly to the hallway, then eyes briefly locked with mine, "Azriel, attend the humans. Do try and not let them escape." His icy eyes returned to Amren as they connected mind to mind.

Dismissed, I stepped out of the study and into the hallway to watch over the new arrivals… I swallowed the lump in my throat as I gazed down at the rousing humans, shutting the study door behind me as if it could contain the rage within.

""

"You had no right," Rhys growled, voice reverberating through the stone.

"I had every right," Nesta countered icily. "The trove answers to me, obeys me."

"You transferred a deadly weapon into the very world where the enemies who have been seeking it have been camped out for millennia, right into the hands of the one person who could open a portal to our world with half a thought. What were you thinking?" Rhys roared. Cassian murmured, "Rhys." Only to be met with Rhys's snarl in reply.

Amren chimed in, " Before you filet her, Rhysand, I would hear the girl's reasoning for handing over the Mask."

"There is no excuse for it," Rhys snapped. "And what Feyre gets here—"

"I don't answer to my sister or to you," Nesta retorted. "I am not your subject to punish as you please."

"""

My shadows informed me that the humans, now fully roused, had been eavesdropping and caught every word. Just as I had. The Horn now has The Mask. The words I had for this stupidly reckless female... And Nesta. The Mask—handed over. Potentially to our universe's greatest enemy, if this impulsive female's penchant for danger gets her caught. Cauldron fucking boil me . I clenched my jaw, ensuring my face remained emotionless. If even a hint of my seething anger showed, it would undoubtedly frighten... this human woman. The reality of who she might be gnawed at my insides, waiting.

"""

"You have jeopardized this entire world," Rhys was shouting now. "You might not answer directly to me, but you will answer to every being here for what you did."

" She was desperate," Nesta said, and the woman before me flinched. "She was willing to leave her parents as collateral, for fuck's sake."

" I don't give a shit who she left or what she claimed. You handed over the Mask—"

"She begged me to keep them, even if I wouldn't give her the Mask."

“”

The human couple locked eyes, both glossing with silver. An onslaught of information from my shadows was being whispered into my ear—the wild thing had ambushed them. Her own parents. These two humans had no idea what she had been planning. They didn't even know where they were. The human woman, her mother, clutched her necklace and began to chant a prayer that quickly faded into a menacing expression. My shadows incessantly narrated her transition from despair to wrath. Her mother was pissed. Good, we could agree on something. I quickly prayed that her daughter's fondness for volatility ran through her Fae line.

""

"If there is a chance of defeating the Daglan—the Asteri—why not give Bryce the edge she needs?"

"Because they will kill her and take the Mask and Horn and open a fucking gate to this world!" Rhys bellowed. "You should have killed Bryce the moment she opened that portal," he raged on. "The moment she appeared, you should have been swinging Ataraxia at her fucking throat—"

"She deserved the honor of being heard out," Nesta snapped back. "After all we went through, she deserved that."

"She deserved to be obliterated for putting us at such risk—a second time!" Rhys yelled.

"Argue later," Amren cut in, " We need to deal with the parents first."

The study doors below open banging so hard against the stone walls I flinched. The disruption had shaken me out of my thoughts.

Rhys would kill her if he had the chance. And he knew she was the Horn… Ice began dripping through my veins and I was sure my cold fury was no longer hidden from my expression. She could never come back here without certain fear of death. From my own brother. I had known this truth and yet…

“”

"Azriel. Bring them." Rhys's commanding voice boomed.

I motioned the parents forward into the study, flanking their side, preparing to guard them unconsciously.

The tension in the room tighter than a bow string as Rhysand inspected the humans—her mother seethed at him, " Don't bother obliterating my daughter. When I get back to Midgard, I am going to do it myself."

""

So much for the Quinlan temper being a Fae characteristic.

The room felt too small with three sets of hulking wings and two terrifying High Fae females. I pitied the humans who Rhys would be subjecting to futile questioning. My participation, a necessary evil to regain my place in my brother’s  good graces.

""

"Did you know Bryce was planning this?" Rhys asked for the fifth time.

"I don't know how many more ways I can say this," Ember reiterated to Rhysand . "No." Randall added, jaw tight, "She tricked us—made us think we were headed up to Nena for a mission, but it was to dump us here."

””

The humans looked so utterly harmless with their T-shirts and lack of armor. We still circled the pair, armed to the teeth. A pack of wolves surrounding two rabbits. It was all unnecessary; to be this intimidating, this menacing. My shadows had told me everything I needed to know, but in order to make a good show to my brother I had to contribute. Only one question. The only question that mattered.

Willing my fury to drip ice into my veins and across my expression, "And where is she going now?" I cut in with soft venom. "Now that she has the Mask"— I shot a withering glare at Nesta, whose face was carefully blank—"where is Bryce going?"

Rhys watched me carefully as I spoke. It took every ounce of control to say her name without letting the pain radiating inside my chest read all over my face. I clenched my fists as my sides so I wouldn't unconsciously rub at the aching spot.

"I don't know," her mother, Ember insisted. "I didn't even know she wanted the Mask—she didn't tell us about this Trove of yours. She and Hunt must have planned this in secret."

""

Great, the Angel encourages her ridiculous plots. Now I have a real reason to end him. 

The intrusive thoughts of her probable death, her inevitable torture as Rhysand continued to grill her parents consumed me. How easily she would be broken, how they would break her, how her stubbornness and determination would get her killed. Worry threatened to drown my insides, and I had to push the bile down my throat as Rhys finished his dissection of her character. I noticed Cassian picking up on the silent exchange between myself and Nesta. For once, my brother seemed to have a clue. He intervened, telling Rhysand that the humans needed rest. I held my tongue as Rhys's anger shifted onto Nesta. A mix of guilt and relief washed over me, but despite our alliance, I wasn't ready to absolve Nesta of her actions just yet.

The fucking Mask, you've got to be kidding me. No more Solstice gifts for you, Nesta Archeron. 

I step out of the House library, leaving Nesta to deal with the aftermath of Ember and Randall's arrival. The hallway is dimly lit, shadows flickering from the sconces. I lean against the cool stone wall, eyes closed, trying to steady my breathing. The echoes of their voices, their fear and anger, still ringing in my ears.

From the skies, I winnow directly outside the townhouse, the scent of roses and fresh bread enveloping me instantly. It's the same smell that greeted me the night I brought her here, her body limp in my arms, her breaths shallow. The memory claws at my insides, a beast desperate to break free, but I shove it down, locking it away. I can't let it show, not now, not ever.

The house is quiet, too quiet. I strain my ears, listening for any sign of life. There it is—a soft hum, a melody I've heard Elain sing before. I follow the sound, my boots echoing on the wooden floors, a stark contrast to the gentle tune.

I find her in the kitchen, her back to me as she kneads dough on the counter. Her golden-brown hair is tied back in a loose bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. She looks so... normal, so at peace. It's a stark contrast to the chaos that has recently been unleashed outside these walls.

"Elain," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She jumps, startled, turning to face me. Her fawn brown eyes widen as she takes me in, her gaze flicking to my scarred hands, empty. "Azriel," she breathes, my name a soft exhale on her lips. A prayer. "I was hoping you'd find your way here eventually." She smiled. So much hope shone in her eyes. I couldn't stand it.

I step closer towards the kitchen, the cloying smell of roses growing stronger. She has been working on expanding the garden, finding it a convenient excuse to be at the Town House.

"We need to talk, Elain," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. I needed to tell her about the humans, about the barter struck with Nesta. And I had to tell her the fucking truth. Bryce, the bond, Rhys, Gwyn, my stupid mistakes and failures, all of it. I needed to tell her, but I couldn’t. I could not let her see the pain, the guilt I felt knowing my feelings for her had irrevocably changed. I abhorred myself for the hurt that would be caused by my worthless existence. I wished to dissolve into shadow for eternity.

She nodded, wiping her hands on a cloth before turning to face me fully. "Alright," she says, her voice soft but steady. "Let's talk."

I hesitated, my voice catching as I struggled to maintain my composure. My breath became uneven, and I can see the concern growing on her face as she takes in my uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"Azriel," she whispers, daring a step closer, her voice barely above a murmur. "What's happening? You've been so distant since... since everything."

Since everything meaning solstice. The fucking necklace. Gwyn. Rhys's order to stay away from her or else. The months of avoidance that followed.

I open my eyes, meeting her concerned gaze. Her brown doe eyes search mine, seeking answers I can't give. Days ago, unbeknownst to her, I had considered asking Elain to become hand-fasted. I was done waiting for my brother's approval that would never come. I felt I had suffered enough, so alone for too long, and I wasn't going to let Rhys dictate my choices. But it had been months since Elain and I had spoken more than a few kind words to each other. My plan had been to tell Elain everything; prayed she would forgive me for being so careless, insensitive and avoidant. Then we would figure out the rest together.

I had been pacing, stalling, running a piece of black Illyrian fabric through the palm of my hand, and praying to the Mother for a sign. And then… a strange distraught female appeared at my feet speaking in tongues. As if the Mother was telling me I was wrong—so, so wrong for what I was about to do. A tug inside my chest, drawing my steps nearer to the stranger. Utter confusion and disbelief haunted my memory.

I can't tell Elain any of it. Not a single truth. And I hate myself for it.

"It's just been... a lot to process," I say, evading her question. "The off-worlder… she came back, and she left her parents as collateral. Nesta's involved... she gave her the Mask." I let my voice trail off, hoping she'll fill in the blanks herself, trying not to ground my teeth into dust at the thought of Nesta's carelessness.

Elain nods distantly, averting her eyes and humming to herself, as if she already knew. "Are we okay, Azriel?"

I push off the wall, standing to my full height. Her question hangs in the air, heavy and demanding an answer. An answer I can't give. The truth would hurt too much, for both of us.

"Elain," I begin, my voice pleading, reaching for her but stopping short of her hand, bringing it to the bridge of my nose instead. "What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I shouldn't have been so reckless with my actions. Toward you. It was unfair of me to ever cross the line of our friendship. And… I am truly sorry. I regret hurting you, Elain, more than you'll ever know... I pray to the Mother that one day you could still think of me as a friend." She looks away, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears that threaten to slide onto her rosy cheeks.

"I know about the necklace, Az," she says, her voice steady despite the tears. "I went to training with Nesta and the priestesses a few weeks ago. I saw it on her. You should have told me about your feelings for Gwyn."

Caught off guard, I nod absently, dropping my hand from my face. The lump in my throat grows and I stumble foolishly. "I—I can't explain it. But it is not what it seems, between Gwyn and me. I promise, Elain. It was a fleeting moment of poor judgment and I just—"

She takes a deep breath, wiping her face and regaining her composure. She cuts me off sharply. "Fine, Azriel, don't tell me. But considering I know exactly what you're going through, I thought you could at least be honest with me. You know… I know what it feels like to not be able to be with your mate, to be confused and overwhelmed by the bond. I thought we had a mutual understanding, a respect if nothing more. But I'll add that to the list of things I'll never get from you, I suppose." She huffed, a disgusted look on her beautiful face, as she gracefully tossed off her apron onto the counter alongside the dough she no longer wished to continue. Flour scattered in her wake and she didn't look me in the eye on her way toward the door, "I wish you and Gwyn well, Azriel."

Gwyn? 

With that, Elain brushes past my wing and heads for the foyer, leaving me in the kitchen speechless, again, and too stunned to move. The reality, regardless of her misconception, was that I couldn't fight for Elain. Deserved to grovel for the rest of my life for her forgiveness, yet a terrible part of me was glad of her misunderstanding. Thinking I was mated to Gwyn worked to my advantage. It allowed me to be the bad guy without ever admitting the truth I didn't want to face. I had so royally fucked everything over. This was my path to suffer—to be alone with my self-hatred, shadows, and secrets. Alone with the realization that I was treading a dangerous path, torn between loyalty to my family and losing everyone I love. It was my path to be alone... entirely alone. 

And there would be no one else but her.

I head straight for the wine cellar, bypassing the glasses, open and down an entire bottle in a few long swallows.

Chapter Text

I was shirtless, muscles slick with sweat, sparring with Cassian, also shirtless, in the training ring atop the House of Wind. Every breath I took sent pain shooting through my still cracked ribs, but I pushed through it, trying—and failing—not to think about her. Bryce. My shadows wreathed and whispered. Gods, the insidious creature haunted my every thought. Her parents, here in the house some stories below, plaguing my worries that she would never come to retrieve them. And then there was Gwyn. Training with her only made my focus worse. The guilt of the lie I didn't refute; the fiery hair and sword reminded me so much of...  

Cauldron please, make fucking it stop.

First there was Mor, then Elain and now Gwyn was leading me down a path straight to Hell but when my fated fucking mate landed at my feet, I—CRACK.

A sharp pain exploded in my side. My bad rib. Fuck, that hurt.

"Pay attention, Shadowsinger," Cassian taunted, grinning like the bastard he was. If he were in my situation, he’d be insufferable, driving us all mad with his brooding.

"Make me," I shot back, trying to refocus, to ignore the throbbing ache in my chest. My fists went back up, my stance adjusting as I tried to push everything else out of my head. I couldn’t let this weight crush me. I wouldn’t burden my friends with it. I’d fight these feelings into submission, the same way Rhys had when Feyre was with Tamlin.

I could do it, too. I had to remind myself, over and over, with every dodge and strike, that I let her go for her own happiness. That was my tether to reality—the only thing keeping me sane. I let her go, even though every instinct screamed at me to grab her. Even if she hated me for it, I had wanted, needed, her to be mine. To stay with me.

But I shoved those dark desires down, forced them deep into the shadows where they could rot and fester, far from the surface.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of copper hair, a shimmer from Gwyn’s necklace—the very sight of the rose stained glass piece made my insides churn. The copper and pink peripheral swirl glinting in the sunlight wasn't enough to snap me out of my spiraling fugue. The stream of thoughts poured relentlessly. 

I was watching her sleep against that cave wall, entranced by her glowing skin. Fascinated by the notion she hadn't given me the slightest indication she was feeling what I felt. Resisting the tug to pull her into me, lay her head on my chest, thumb stroking the column of her neck. To pull her close enough to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in. Mark her with my scent. Mine. 

I hadn't touched her, of course, the gentlemale that I am regardless of the possessive primal urge that sang through my soul and had to fight with every fiber of my being. I held back.  She was already mated. Something deemed impossible in our world, to have two mates was unthinkable. But such goes my cursed life. The path of suffering. The thought of another male, some winged bastard, holding her like I had only dreamed made my blood boil.

And just like that, WHAM—Cassian’s right hook slammed into my temple. My vision went white. But the pain in my head was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my chest, like it was about to tear in two. I’d felt pain before—plenty of it—but this? This was… the worst pain I'd ever felt in my entire life. Worse than burning and burning and healing and burning again. It was as if something inside me was being shredded, torn apart piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

Panting, I clutched my chest, choking on the lack of air, trying to steady myself. The pain ebbed away slowly, leaving behind a cold, empty void. I knew what it meant, why the tether was slipping away. It had been so faint already, so fragile. And now… it’s gone. Shredded to ribbons. I was going to vomit.

Are you there?

The last bit of light I had been holding onto disappeared. My insides were hollow. Nothing left but darkness.

No. Not yet. Stay with me.

The scream stuck in my throat, swallowed by the all encompassing cold black that consumed me. I cursed the Mother under my breath as I realized what had happened.

Bryce.

The only thing tethering me to this world was gone. I was going to die, wither entirely, from her absence. The pain in my chest was unbearable, carving me out from the inside. I gasped for air, the realization hitting me like a blade to the gut. Everyone around me just stared—Nesta, Cassian, Gwyn, the priestesses—all watching my grief like it was some kind of show. I wanted to die right there on the spot in shame, rage.

"Az..." Cassian’s questioning hand reached for my shoulder, but I shoved it away.

"Don’t... touch me. I’m fine."

Gwyn shuffled awkwardly, her necklace catching the light again, reminding me again of my irredeemable past, my worthiness and who else I’d lost because of it. I had to get out of here. I needed to think, to fly, to do something. But I couldn’t move. The shock, the weight of everything, held me firmly in place.

Hold on.

My mind raced, desperate for a solution. Maybe I could go to the Prison—charge the crystal sarcophagus she had used. Send my shadows into the conduit like she had created a void. Maybe I could chase her, follow her into whatever Hell she’d disappeared into. And if it killed me? So be it.

I didn't fucking care anymore.

Or maybe I could go to Rhys. Tell him everything. Admit how much of an idiot I’d been. Rhys could help me fix this... No. No, there was no time and he would likely be glad to hear of her death. I’d let her, our enemy from another world who was the fourth Trove item escape…  Mate or no, that betrayal would forever qualify me as a traitorous bastard.

Brother in arms no longer.

I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air as the priestesses quietly dispersed. Cassian and Nesta were still watching me, communicating silently. Nesta began to approach, cautiously, like she was walking on glass. I ignored her. My thoughts were already spiraling into something darker.

I'm going to save you.

Nesta had already given up the Mask, guilt-ridden and reckless... so now I would convince her to let me use the Harp. To wield its power and manipulate time. I briefly hated the thought of manipulating my friend, of using anyone like that. But this was for her… 

My mate. 

This would be the only thing that mattered–I would not wait to meet her again in another life. Even if I couldn’t have her, she deserved to live. Her light… that spirit. 

It would go on to rattle the stars themselves.

If I could save her, that wondrous light would be alive, happy even...  It was no hard choice at all, to die for this mirage from another world. Not really. 

"Nesta," I rasped, my voice raw with desperation, "I—I need your help."

Chapter Text

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Azriel?” Nesta’s voice cuts through the air, her arms flailing as if she’s trying to slap sense into me. “You want me to summon the Harp. For you. Right now.”

I grit my teeth, barely containing the storm inside, tapping my single blue siphon engaging my armor, preparing myself for battle. “Nesta, I don’t want to ask this, but you owe me. You gave her the Mask. You’re the reason she’s dead.” My voice trembles with rage. But I can’t lose it now. She might be my only option. I glance at Cassian, who’s just standing there, slack-jawed like a fool.

“Hold on, hold on, hooooold on.” Cassian’s nervous laughter grates against my nerves as he looks between the two of us like we’re children fighting over a toy. “First off, back off my mate, you fucking prick,” he growls, wrapping Nesta in his arm like she’s fragile, like I’m some kind of threat to her. She pushes him away, but he keeps going. “It’s fine, Cassian.”

“No, it’s not! He’s being a dick. You want me to punch him again? I’ll punch him.” His eyes narrow at me. “And what do you mean dead? Who’s dead?”

“Cassian, please… shut up,” Nesta hisses at him, exasperated. 

I let out a slow, controlled breath through clenched teeth, feeling the weight of my desperation mounting.

“Nesta, are you going to help me or not? I don’t exactly have much time.” My voice sounds harsher than I intended, but I don’t care anymore. I’m running out of options—out of time.

“Wait—are you serious right now, Az?” Cassian’s tone shifts, and I can feel his concern creeping in. But he’s too late. Neither of them understand what’s at stake.

“Catch him up later, Nes. Are you helping me or not?” 

Nesta hesitates, and that hesitation feels like a knife to my chest. “Azriel” she whispers, voice shaking, “I—I’m sorry. You know I can’t. I am already in so much trouble… I wish there was something else I could do.”

And there was the death knell. 

My so-called family, full of promises and loyalty, falling apart the moment I need them like clockwork. They’ve all saved each other because I’ve saved them all. Feyre for Rhys. Nesta for Cassian. Elain for Lucien and the Court. Even Mor, who never asked for my help but still received it. And now… now when it’s my turn, when I need help to save her... I’m alone.

Of course, I am always alone. 

“Fine,” I spit out, barely keeping the bitterness in check. “I see how it is, Nes. Enjoy your time with your mate. You never know when it could be taken from you.” The words taste vile as they leave my mouth, and I hate myself for saying them. Hoping, praying I didn’t just speak some fucked up prophecy into existence. But I’m past the point of caring. I’m drowning in grief and desperation, and no one—not even Nesta—is throwing me a lifeline.

I stalk out of the ring, my pulse racing, my mind frantic. I need the Harp. I need it to go back, to stop her. To stop her from sacrificing herself. To save her… my mate. Because if I don’t… I won’t survive this. I won’t survive her death. Not after my entire pathetic life, searching for her. Only to then have her land at my feet—and have to feel her the light of her life wither away inside of me.

As the sun begins to set in the mountains behind me, in the depths of my soul, something inside me unlocks, and takes over completely.

~7 days, 4 minutes without her 

I had one chance. One idea that burned in the back of my mind, desperate and dangerous. 

She needs more time. 

My mind held only that singular thought, overriding all else; I couldn't process my powerlessness. The mission—her rescue—consumed me entirely. I was beyond reason. Unbidden whispers flooded my mind, inescapable, uncontrollable; I was at their mercy. 

Every world has at least one thin place. 

Great. I was going insane.

Wind roared past my ears as I barreled toward the Moonstone Palace.

I didn't have much time left before dusk fell into the night.

Mother forgive me.

Rhys was going to kill me.

~7 days 9 minutes without her

I had dissolved into a shadow in the sky, pinching the distance between my intention and my location the very second I made up my mind about where I'd go next. My shadows slipped me straight into the Moonstone Palace atop the Hewn City where I knew the Harp had been hidden.

The palace wards proved to be little challenge, given that I was the one who had helped Amren and Mor establish its layers of protection. I hadn't trusted either of them when establishing the final blood ward with Rhys, but in the end, they should never have placed their trust in me.

I sprinted the remaining distance to the room's concealed door, cleverly disguised behind an ancient tapestry, and swiftly seized the Harp from atop its intricately warded Obsidian pillar. Nesta had known my intent to take the Harp; however, she left it unsummoned. A pang of regret, a sharp stab of remorse, pierced my heart at the contemplation of my escalating betrayals.

The moment the Harp left its safeguarded perch, Rhys would be alerted. The blood sacrifice I had made to breach the wards was the point of no return, a clever trick to be able to identify and track the thief of the weapon. In this world. 

This betrayal—Rhys would never forgive. There was no going back. No time to reconsider my utter insanity.

I moved, faster than a shadow on the wind with my mental shields slammed tight. Harp in hand, I emerged from a shadow on the bank of the misty Sidra, right where she had originally landed, just as the light of dusk was fading.

The River House lawn stretched out before me, a quiet, empty expanse under the dusky blue twilight. I stood in the exact spot Bryce had entered our world, cloaked in the Mist of the Thin Place, my shadows curling around me like familiar arms. They welcomed me, wrapping around my form like a second skin. My heart was pounding against my cracked ribs, my throat was in a permanent knot as if any moment I were about to let out a scream. My thoughts kept circling back to Bryce— dead . The sharp memory of her feeling death, her absence inside of me. How much blood, how much devastation had there been... her lifeless body. I was beyond spiraling. My body didn't feel like my own.

I wasn’t even sure how far the Mist would take me, how deep into the swirling vortex of its fog I might be pulled. I wasn’t even sure if this idea would work at all. World walking. But—some primal instinct, some desperate, irrational part of me that bypassed the thoughts—this was my only choice. I was certainly going mad, I felt the edges of my control fraying by the second. My shadows threatened to consume me without the conscious effort to maintain my form. An urge to simply fade, to dissolve into the inky blackness, was propelling me forward at a speed that rendered the world a blur of motion and sensation, a breathtaking, terrifying cascade of chaotic energy–I leaned into it, recalling those repressed memories, how to breathe in the Void, to live in the lightless, airless dark. Before I lost all consciousness, a single thought lurched inside my stomach—could I still follow the bond to her, if she was dead? The bond had all but disintegrated inside of me and yet—I was barely clinging to sanity, as I desperately reached a hand out to the encroaching dark. 

Inside the haze, the bond between us still hummed, an invisible string tugging me toward her. I didn’t understand it, didn’t want to—I didn’t care. I just needed to get to her, alive or–

I couldn’t finish the thought. I let my mind be consumed by the otherworldly force, the rising tide of shadows swallowing me whole, letting them reach out across worlds, searching for a mooring. And then, as if a current between the universe snapped into place, I was gone. Pulled through space and time in a rush of shadow and wind with a yank sideways and across.

When I landed, making direct contact with what seemed to be the exterior of a massive iron gate, the air was thick with the smell of blood.

Chapter Text

I staggered slightly as the world around me settled into focus. My heart pounded as I assessed my unfamiliar surroundings. The chaotic scene of the warring city sent me momentarily reeling.

There in the darkness of a shadowed corner of a raging unfamiliar battlefield, I realized I had successfully traveled across worlds, transported through deep space from the dusky mist on the bank of the Sidra. 

Here the stench of death clung to the air, and screams reverberated in the distance. Chaos erupted around me like a storm unleashed. Stone ruins and jagged remnants of rock were jutting from the ground surrounding a massive craggy rupture in the middle of the earth. The scent of burning flesh twirling into the smoke-choked sky. Rubble littered the ground, the groans of the dying echoing through the devastation.

Above, angels clash with demons, their battle cries piercing the air as they dodge the whirring blades of machines I've never seen before—mech-suits, Bryce had called them. The reek of burnt metal, flesh and scorched earth assaults my senses, a sing song wailing like banshees in the distance. Metal sky beasts, strange flying contraptions with spinning blades, hover like vultures, adding their relentless thrum to the onslaught.

A royal guard, clad in gleaming Illyrian inspired armor, fights alongside some of the mech-suits, their weapons spitting like siphons. My shadows whisper to alert me to dodge a barrage of gunfire, my heart pounding as I take in the surreal scene. 

This is not the warfare I know, not the clash of steel and roar of magic. This is something else, something alien and overwhelming.

A demon crashes into the ground before me, its body convulsing as an angel plummets after it, wings torn and bloody. I sidestep the carnage, my eyes scanning the chaos, searching for her.

I weave hidden through the battle, my shadows flickering as I struggle to maintain control amidst the chaos. An explosion rocks the ground, sending a shower of debris raining down. I throw up a shield of blue light from siphons, deflecting the worst of it, but the force sends me stumbling sideways to my knees.

And then I see her.

"Bryce," I whisper to no one, my voice barely audible.

No.

My heart stops, my breath caught in my throat as I stare, disbelieving. 

No. No, it can't be. 

I stepped forward, veiled in shadow, the world slowing down as I took in what was happening. Bryce lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless. Her golden-brown skin pale, smeared with blood, her vibrant red hair fanning out like a cruel halo around her head. The angel was there, kneeling beside her, his wings drooping, his face twisted in grief. People surrounded her, crying, bickering even—but I couldn’t hear them.

All I could see was her.

Dead.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I knew was that this—this—was wrong. This couldn’t be —would not be her fate. This is why the Mother allowed me to come here. To save her.

I forced myself to move, to push through the grief and the horror. The Harp—the one thing I had that could help. I remembered the 26th string, how Nesta had plucked it for Feyre to rewind time itself. I could do the same. I had to. It was the only way to save her, no matter the consequences.  Damn my lost soul all to Hell.

With a pleading prayer to the Mother who owed me, I plucked the 26th string, and the two strings behind it to— Cauldron, please —move time backward and not only pause it.

Time began to miraculously whirr backward, the world spinning in reverse as I stood still. The battlefield blurred around me as I focused on her lifeless body, willing time to unravel, to rewind to the point where she could be saved. I allowed a brief moment of elation to fill my shattered soul. It was working.

But when the world finally stopped spinning, I realized I had no idea how far I was into the past. Everything I had witnessed had vanished.

We had to be the two most reckless idiots in the known universe.  Like calls to like. 

My sigh was laden with defeat. I knew I was still standing in the same spot, but everything was different. Quieter. The blood-soaked battlefield was gone, replaced by a bustling cityscape on one side of the iron gate and on the other towering crystal spires loomed overhead, glistening against the azure sky. 

The previously strewn rubble had been miraculously reconfigured into a palace marvelous enough to rival any Prythian Fae court. Unfamiliar people moved around me, unaware of my shadowed presence. The Harp had brought me here—it had worked. But I had no idea if this was the moment I needed. 

Yet, that light had returned, shimmering, flickering inside me. A quiet thrum. I stalled, allowing myself one secret smile, while I remained wreathed in my shadows trying to make sense of any semblance of a plan.

Then I heard someone shout orders nearby. 

Fuck. I had forgotten the fucking language bean. 

Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the panic rising in my throat.

Breathe. She's alive. For now.

But whether or not I would survive this mission was an entirely different story. I was here for a reason, and chaos mustn't dictate my choices. I would have to wait it out on Midgard until I caught back up to the present time. If such a thing were even possible… Every instinct in me screamed: do not touch the Harp again. That golden-threaded temptation loomed at the back of my mind, teasing me with visions of changing outcomes, but I could not—would not—put any more weight into the intricate tapestry of time than I had already done.

I glanced down at my scarred hands, reminders of my past, battles fought and lost, and a desperate promise whispered under the weight of stars. Whatever I had to endure, I would do it to save her. I couldn't afford to lose her, to feel that world ending pain. Not again.

I began to move, instinctively finding my way through the bustling streets. Denizens brushed past me, unaware of my invisible presence, the shadows that seemed to pulse around me. I ducked into a deserted alley to think.

A flash of movement caught my eye. Instincts sharpened, my senses heightened. A soft click pulls my attention towards a slight female, her presence radiating a cold familiar power. I recognized her as one of Bryce's friends from the picture in the back of her phone —she casually palmed her weapon with the kind of confidence only found in the most seasoned mercenaries. A gun, I remembered the weapons of pure destruction, contributing to my rising panic. This was not my finest moment, unarmed in a new world, no language and no plan in sight.

“A surprise to see you here, Shadowsinger,” she started in a language I surprisingly recognized, her voice smooth yet cautious. Her gun remained holstered at her hip. I remained wary, but my unease lessened as I took a moment to study her. I didn't know her name, but I recalled her face from the photo that had been lodged in the back of Bryce's phone, though her hair looked shorter. She looked so much like… Amren?

"Who are you? How do you know who I am?" I asked, my tone low and guarded.

"I recognize you. From the Hewn City. Name’s Fury." She replied coolly, almost bored, narrowing her eyes as if assessing me for any hidden threats. "Though… I didn’t expect to find you here tangled up in this mess. I'm afraid you're going to need to come with me before we can continue… our chat." Fury just jerked her chin towards a dark alley. I didn't have any option but to go with her, but she didn't need to know that.

"Not until you give me a good reason to trust you." I replied stubbornly, no doubt stupidly.

"Look, we have about… five seconds… before every Asterian guard and the seven Asteri themselves are alerted to the rift that you just opened outside the Eternal City's gate. Not to mention your scent has sent every dread-wolf in the palace into a hunting frenzy." She stalked into the dark alley not waiting for me to follow. 

Dread … wolf ? Mother above.

Fury began leading me down a long narrow alley packed with crates and boxes to a small disguised hatch that she hastily uncovered. 

"Get in or you die."

Chapter Text

I carefully ease into a dark, damp and dripping staircase glowing with red light down to a set of small human sized gray metal doors. I keep my wings tucked in tight, feeling claustrophobic and borderline psychotic. Definitely psychotic, I can’t even begin to think of what I’d just done, I try to breathe. Fury presses the button waiting for… something.

Ding.

The doors open—the magic here is strange to be sure. 

She steps inside looking at me expectantly. "Get in."

My foot crosses a sliver of a chasm and the magic doors threaten to crush my wings. "What in the cauldron," Fury's rolls her eyes and holds the magic door ajar for me to enter without damage to my favorite limbs. I barely fit in the small cell with my wings tucked in as tight as they could go.

"Where are we going?" I ask, feeling a strange shift in my stomach as if I were flying. "You'll see, soon enough." She sighs, exasperated. I almost grumble that I know the feeling.

Ding.

The magical doors are opening again to release us from its prison and my eyes struggle to adjust to the unexpected brightness of being back outdoors, overlooking the tops of the alien city eerily reminiscent of the Dawn court residences I had visited on previous missions.

Not so alien after all.

I spot a large body of black metal, a single slender wing seated atop its armor, but no real sentience that I can discern. The female, Fury, gracefully hops in its enormous saddle as if to ride the mechanical beast. The sound of a barreling stampede of Illyrian warriors starts to fill my ears louder than I had ever heard as its single wing begins to spin with the force of a wicked storm. Fury dons a helmet, throws a matching one to me, gesturing for me to mount the beast along with her. 

Who is this insane female in Bryce's life?

 I needed to discern what risks she posed as a friend to Bryce, and quickly, because clearly Fury was out of her fucking mind. Fury very well may kill Bryce before she gets a chance to do it herself. The thought constricted around my throat like a vice.

Fitting the helmet around my skull, Fury's voice now echoed loudly in my ear above the roaring wing. 

“The gunner.” She pointed, gesturing wildly to the pieces of fabric at her sides and the handle above her.  She mimed clicking the finger rest of the massive gun at my side. Not that I would dare. 

"Let’s get the fuck out of the Eternal City… Chopper outpaces wings, you know.” She winked. “So hang the fuck on." 

I prayed to the Mother once more, though likely in vain, that this wouldn't be how I met my own end. 

Fury expertly maneuvered the mechanical bird, Chopper, descending onto the flat roof of a towering network of structures that pierced the night sky like tall spears. As the blades slowed to a halt, I stepped out onto the towering surface, my heart pounding with a mix of awe and apprehension. 

Cauldron and the Mother be with me. 

The city sprawled out before me was unlike anything I had ever seen. An onslaught of the buildings that reached the clouds almost higher than I could fly, lights flashing and noises blaring forming a dull roar in my ears. 

My shadows were silent, for once.

"Welcome to Crescent City, Shadowsinger." Fury led the way to a strange metal box, which she called an "elevator." As we stepped inside, the doors closed, and the box began to move downward with a gentle hum. I gripped the railing, my senses on high alert. The elevator doors opened, revealing a large glass atrium leading to a bustling street filled with strange, loud machines that whizzed past at alarming speeds.

I followed Fury through the small sea of Vanir, I remember Bryce calling her magical peoples, out onto the street. My eyes, shadows don’t know where to focus, my ears assaulted by the symphony of noise. Loud honks echoed through the air, sharp and jarring. Seraphs, or Angels,  like Bryce's mate flew overhead, their wings casting shadows over the streets, an incessant beat in the wind. Females soared above on brooms, their silhouettes stark against the night sky. Sing-song sirens wailed in the distance, a sound I had never heard before. The chaos was overwhelming.  I quickly lost sight of the female, Fury, in the crowd.

I was so caught up within the foreign city that my shadows and I didn't notice the approaching danger. A loud honk startled me, and I turned to see a massive metal machine barreling toward me. I froze, my mind unable to comprehend the imminent threat. Fury shouted, "Watch it!" but her voice was drowned out by the noise. The machine screeched to a halt in front of me, its driver cursing in a language I didn't understand yet making a vulgar gesture I recognized. 

Some things must be eternal.

Fury escorted me back out of the machine's path. Yet, I still stood there, stunned, taking in the sight of the foreign city. The towering structures, the blazing lights, the incessant noise—it was all so bizarre to me. My head was swimming. 

Even amidst the chaos, I couldn't ignore the feeling overtaking me. The wonder I felt for Bryce’s world. For the female who had been born into this chaos and thrived. I’d come here to save her, but already, I could feel this world—their fight, the spirit in her people, in her—shifting something deep within me.

 I had come to save her life, but maybe this world would end up saving me… changing me in ways I hadn’t thought possible. She dreamt of a world reborn, a future worth fighting for, a future her people deserved. 

And so I decided to wait. To fight—not only for her life, but for the hope of a future for her people. For the Queen they would need in their darkest hours, in the days still to come.

Chapter Text

Fury started walking along the crowded path, beckoning me to follow. Wings tucked in tight and still those I encounter give me a wide berth… these people seem terrified of me? Strange. I can't focus—I can't stop staring at every new little thing. My senses are being assaulted from every direction. 

She lives in such a world… a phantom of a smile ghosts my lips.

We arrive at the automagically opening glass doors of another gigantic tower with a red marquee nearby, beelining straight through the lobby to another elevator, which I am starting to realize I don’t really enjoy.

Ding.

The elevator is full of people shuffling in and out, all looking down at the brick in their palms. Phones. I remember the living music box and photo album Bryce had shown off—the thing was quite fancy. The Midgardians must have some sort of addiction to the device. It was interesting, I will admit. But I made a mental note not to succumb to its forces. I must stay focused.

Ding.

As we exited onto the gray carpeted floor a mile into the sky judging from the windows, all I see are little half walls arranged in a grid-like formation. 

Fury blazes ahead as I notice desks inside the small walls littered with large machines, sheets of too white paper and what look to be modern writing utensils? The white blue lights inside the ceiling burn my eyes, and a faint dull buzzing noise hovers just loud enough to mask the muffled voices coming from the varying peoples occupying desk chairs, each wearing a micro helmet attached to their ear. I briefly wonder what kind of battles these tiny helmets would be used for as I follow Fury who confidently marched ahead, seemingly with a destination in mind.

Near the end of the row of small walls, we stop outside the wall for a pastel corn silk haired female. She is hunched forward, arms are extended, utensil within her teeth, focused furiously on clacking the symbol board in front of her.

"Danika… "

“Ho-lee fuk-king shitt, Fyoo-ree, yuu skay-urd thee ab-soh-loot piss owt ov mee.” The female was clutching her chest, quickly hiding whatever she was looking at as if a shadow swiped it away, trying to slow her breathing. " How thee fuhk did-ent aye smehl yuu? Whai arr yuu heer? And hoo thee fuhk iz— "

Fury continued with Danika in their own language. I assume she's explaining who I am, but I don't have time for an interrogation. As the pink and purple haired female listens to Fury's painfully slow retelling of our meeting in the Midgardian tongue, I pace with impatience. 

I can't believe I forgot the cauldron boiling language bean. 

This must be what Bryce had felt like when I had taken her to the townhouse. A pang slices my gut at how wrong our first meeting had gone. Hopefully this meeting with her friends would be different.

My silence was my only weapon as I warred to maintain some semblance of control. I didn't want to let them know I was essentially helpless with no resources other than a tall tale of fate that they would have to either believe or… the alternative was not an option. I had been silent for long enough and maybe it was time to change tactics—to take control. 

I thought of Bryce. Again. 

She had tried to endear herself to us. A manipulation tactic I saw right through. She hadn't needed to use manipulation, though. Not with me... Never with me.

This sacrifice, this gamble. This one was for her. I sighed and scrubbed at my face and I spoke so furiously low I could have sworn the lights above flickered. 

"I am here to save Bryce Quinlan's life."

"Br-eye-ss? Arr Br-eye-ss?! Shck, Fyoo-ree. Wart thee fohk! Wart huv yew dun! Hoo iz dis dee-muhn?! Wad-duz hee wahnt wid-her?!" Danika's shrieked words sounded as if I was listening to her panic from underwater. 

I understood none of her words yet her meaning of what the fuck was clear enough. 

Fury looked at me, now curiously inquisitive, as if this is not why she assumed I was here. Danika continued to make shocked and appalled gestures at Fury who now eyed me with more suspicion that I deemed comfortable. 

 I continued on.

"Please, could we go somewhere… private?" 

I didn’t want anyone overhearing this intelligence so I politely gestured to the females to follow me out of their dingy interior stable. 

Danika was slumped over her knees in her chair, staring at me incredulously, nostrils flared.

I took a few charading steps toward the elevator, trying to model the behavior of walking elsewhere in case she was completely daft.

"You came to Midgard for Bryce? Bryce Quinlan?" Fury pivoted back to my common tongue. Looking confused. Her confusion was baffling—she was the one who had assumed she knew why I was here without so much as asking.

Rubbing my palms on my Illyrian leathers, I ignored Fury's question, gesturing around to let her know I won't be discussing this further without privacy. Fury rolled her eyes, "It's spelled. No one can hear you. And I'm the only one who can understand you, either, in case you haven't pieced that together."

I gritted my teeth and took another leap praying again this all wasn't a gigantic cosmic mistake.

"I need to know where Bryce is and how close she is to defeating the Asteri . She… she will not make it out alive if the future remains as it is. And that's why I am here. To help save her. And your world… It's a long story… so…  I am here to ask you. What is the status of the war? Has Bryce begun to try and search for Hell?”

Fury looked at me, her expression growing even more puzzled as her gaze shifted to her friend. 

Danika looked between us as if she was going to jump out of her seat and start screaming nonsensically again. 

Fury just stared and stared at me, considering. She turned to Danika, mumbling something about the Asteri I couldn’t pick up but she ended with, "radnar tex trahzlayshun ahp prohtoh-teyep". Danika began to argue,  and she suddenly seemed like she should not have been our first stop… as unhelpful as she was proving to be.

 "Hauwe mennie teyemes huv eye taohlt yew, Fury, eye werk en thee sek-urr-atty dee-viz-ahn att Radnar. Nauwt. Thee. Tek-dee-viz-ahn." The last few syllables are annunciated with annoying emphasis.

Fury winked at the female, saying something low and smooth that sounded like a challenge. 

Very well, I like this Fury female.

Danika huffed and threw her arms up, exasperated. "Awllreyet. Yew wen. Yoose dis won. Der kawleeng et 'Kazaam'." 

Danika reached into the drawer near her knees and pitched Fury a phone. 

Fury smirked to herself as a whirling circle appeared and bounced on the front of the phone.

Fury pivoted back to me, all traces of mirth missing, her eyes deadly serious, "Start from the beginning of your so-called long story and we will consider answering your questions." 

Chapter Text

Hunt sauntered into my library—the shining new outpost of Griffin Antiquities—with that all-too-familiar paper bag dangling from his hand. Because apparently, nothing says “good morning, Bryce” like a peace offering pastry.

"Oh, this is what you're doing with your time now, Quinlan?" he said, pitching the bag toward me. The heavenly scent of butter and chocolate wafted ahead of it, assaulting my senses in the best possible way. I glanced up from 'Great Romances of the Fae', doing my best impression of someone caught reading smut (which, for the record, I wasn't—this time…) My expression the portrait of innocence. "And what brings the Umbra Mortis to my humble gallery?"

He settled his annoyingly handsome self on the stool opposite my desk, wings folding in that effortless way that screamed warrior angel with just a hint of brooding. "Whatcha reading?"

"Nothing much," I replied breezily, shutting the book with a snap that was probably a little too aggressive. As if the cover of the book didn't have two Fae entwined in a rather... artistic interpretation of 'Meeting on the Soul Bridge' on its cover. "Just some light research." I winked, already tearing into the bag. The croissant was warm and flaky, and I could practically hear it whispering sweet nothings to my taste buds.

"Ugh, Hunt, you know I'm trying to cut back on my sweet tooth," I lamented, taking a sizable bite anyway. Total lie, of course. In theory, I could demolish a mountain of pastries without blinking. In reality, even this perfect specimen wasn't doing much to untwist the knots in my stomach that had taken up permanent residence lately.

He gave a casual shrug, all nonchalance and smirks. "Thought you'd appreciate a treat. Fuel for all that... important work you're doing."

I hummed noncommittally, swallowing another mouthful of croissant. "Yes, my tireless research is very important. You never know when ancient Fae romance knowledge might save the world. Again."

"Planning your next grand romantic gesture?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it—a hint of something I couldn't quite place.

"Something like that," I said, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. So much was riding on my shoulders now—this gallery, the delightful political dumpster fire that was Midgard post-Asteri, the impending First-Light-Zero situation. My responsibilities seemed to multiply daily, a relentless, creeping vine. And here was Hunt, blissfully oblivious, offering me a croissant as if the world wasn’t on the verge of imploding. But sure, let's make jokes about my reading habits.

"You know," I began, brushing crumbs off my desk, "I've been journaling lately, too. Trying to process things, connect with my inner self, all that jazz." I twirled my hand in the air, the international sign for woo-woo nonsense.

He raised an eyebrow. "Journaling? What's next, pottery classes? Joining your mom's ceramic lettuce baby empire?"

I forced a laugh, though it felt like swallowing glass. "Ha ha, very funny." The comment, though probably meant as teasing, stung. My mom loved those lettuce babies. They brought her joy. And Randall, bless his heart, encouraged her every artistic whim. A pang of envy twisted inside me. Hunt, on the other hand, had been less than enthusiastic about my plans to write about our near-death experiences. He'd chuckled and told me to 'chill', called it "overdramatic," suggesting I “leave it to the professionals.” He also wanted me all to himself now, which, you know, flattering, but also… stifling. Going from saving the world to just 'living' together had been an adjustment.

"Seriously, Hunt," I said, my tone sharpening despite myself. "It's been helping. Writing things down. For the book, and myself. Figuring out what actually makes me happy."

Hunt chuckled to himself, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "Next thing you know you'll be dragging me into some priestess temple to meditate…"

I clenched my jaw, biting back a snarky retort. Of course he didn't get it. Why would he? “My mom’s happy making lettuce babies,” I muttered, a hint of bitterness creeping into my voice. "With Randall. In Nidaros. Happy.” Hunt had barely tolerated our participation in the rebellion, let alone my newest desire to document it all. He wanted to be “just Hunt,” to “live, laugh, love.” And while part of me understood, another part simmered with resentment. Didn’t he see? We were chosen. We were meant for more. I wanted to write our story, let our history pass through the worlds that come long after our own… even if we were still figuring it out along the way.

"I reached out to Ithan, by the way," I said, changing tactics. "About Jesiba’s story and Danika's, the pack of Devils. He thinks the book idea is great."

Hunt scoffed lightly. “Well, sweetheart, Ithan isn’t really known for his great ideas. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record.”

Ouch. That one landed. The words hit me like a physical blow, echoing that insidious internal whisper... look to where it hurts the most... I rubbed absentmindedly at the dull ache in my chest.

"Right," I said slowly. "Because everyone should be judged by their past mistakes. Good to know, Shadow of Death."

He bristled, seeming to realize he'd hit a nerve. "Bryce, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it," I cut him off, forcing a bright smile that probably looked as fake as it felt. Pushing the hurt down, I forced a brighter, Brycier tone. "Hey, wanna go dancing tonight? We haven't been out in ages. Could be fun." My eyebrows gave him a waggle.

Hunt shifted, already glancing toward the door. "Actually, I've got to head back to the Comitium. Isaiah needs me. I'm not sure I'll be up for it tonight.” He paused, offering a small, almost apologetic smile. "Maybe another night?"

"Sure," I said, screwing the smile back on. "Another night."

“I’ll make you dinner at home. We could go for a run, or catch some Fangs and Bangs.” He nudged my foot with his, a familiar, playful gesture.

“Yeah, that sounds…good.” The enthusiasm I tried to inject into my voice fell flat. I tried again. "Sounds great," I smiled softly, even though the thought of more domestic bliss made my skin itch.

He leaned in to press a quick kiss to my forehead—a gesture that felt more obligatory than affectionate—and then he was gone, leaving me alone with half a croissant and a whole lot of unresolved feelings.

I let out a long sigh, spinning my chair, contemplating my very existence. Saved by the Gods only to do… what exactly... with my life… Solas... Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was expecting too much.

"Gods, I'm a mess," I mumbled, turning back to my desk. The empty page on my computer screen blinked at me accusingly. Fine. If Hunt didn't get it, it didn't matter. I'd just have to do it without him.

I pulled up the notes I'd started compiling—stories of Jesiba, Danika, the Pack of Devils, everything that had led us here. At least Ithan seemed to think it was worthwhile. Someone appreciated the importance of preserving our stories. Preserving us, our world, forever. What would happen once I passed on? Who would protect these books, their legacy?

Just as I was getting into a rhythm, invigorated with the idea of a comprehensive novelized history of the Midgardian people, my phone buzzed. "Hey, Mom," I answered, trying to inject some cheerfulness into my voice. Hoping she couldn't hear the lingering weight in my tone.

"Hey, sweetie," My mom’s warmth immediately soothed some of the tension coiled inside me. "Just thought I'd check in. How's my favorite daughter?"

"I'm your only daughter, unless there's something you forgot to tell me," I replied automatically, a tiny smile tugging at my lips.

"And yet you're still my favorite," she quipped back. "Everything okay? Call me crazy all you want, but I felt my mom radar going off."

I hesitated, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger. "Wow. You're good. Are you sure you're not a witch…? Or was it the stars... I know how they like to gossip." I try to deflect only to meet her knowing silence.

"Alright, yeah, fine Mom, I'm okay, just... you know, the usual chaos." I hesitated.

"Want to share?" she asked gently.

I bit my lip. "Actually… can I ask you something? The question I wouldn't, couldn't stop myself from asking.

"Of course, sweetie, anything."

I allowed a brief moment to consider the utter absurdity of the direction I was heading, knowing my mom would see right through me. She always did. Even as a kid, I could never get away with anything.

"Why did you get into ceramics? And... when you first told Dad that you wanted to make... lettuce babies... what did he say?" The words felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but there was no turning back now. I twisted a loose thread on my sleeve between my fingers.

She laughed softly. "That's a blast from the past. Well… the ceramics part was easy. I needed an outlet, something just for me. You and Randall were my world, and you made me so, so happy, but… I was overflowing with joy and what better way to celebrate hope and joy than little cherubs wrapped in lettuce…" I could hear her slight grin through the phone. "Your father, well, he laughed, but not at me. More like he was delighted. Overjoyed that I could find the space within to create after admittedly being in a bit of a slump after… you know everything with your, other, father. I remember Randall just said, 'You can do anything, my love. You're brilliant, and whatever you create will be brilliant too.'"

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, past the pang that hit me square in the chest. My breath hitched. "So he didn't think it was… silly?"

"Even if he did, he never let on," she said gently. "He knew it brought me joy, and that was all that mattered to him. Why do you ask? Are you interested in learning the lettuce baby trade, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan?"

I picked at a flake of croissant on my desk. "Erm, probably going to pass on the ceramics lessons for now… but, no, no reason. Just thinking about trying something new, and wondering if it's worth it."

"Sweetie, if it makes you happy, it's always worth it," she insisted. "Don't let anyone dim that beautiful light of yours."

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered, the words barely making it past the tightness in my throat. "I needed to hear that."

We said our goodbyes, and I set the phone down carefully, as if it might shatter under the weight of everything I was feeling. I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling. Maybe I was being overly sensitive. But deep down, I couldn't shake the barrage of insidious feelings snaking through me.

"Well, B, looks like it's just you and your stunning genius," I told myself, attempting a sarcastic grin that probably looked more like a grimace. I had become a little too comfortable talking to myself lately with all the long hours spent at the gallery.

I switched from my computer to my opened journal—an extravagant, leather-bound tome that Ruhn had given me "for all your deep thoughts." The joke was on him; I really did use it for all my deep thoughts, typically scribbling them down before sleep, fueled by a bit too much responsibly-used mirthroot to help me doze off. Both had been helping dull the ache of the endless spiral within.

"Day whatever of trying to convince my mate that documenting world-changing events isn't just me being dramatic," I wrote, the pen scratching angrily against the paper. Then just as fiercely, blacking it out.

I tapped the pen against my lips, staring at the words. "Though to be fair," I mused aloud, "I am exceptionally good at being dramatic."

The silence of the library pressed in, quiet, but it was my quiet. My space. My dreams. Mine. I briefly whispered a thanks to Cthona for Jesiba. For trusting me with this gift.

I picked up my phone and shot a text to Ithan: "Still up for helping me with that chapter about the Pack's history? I'll order pizza and beer."

His response was almost immediate: "Only if you let me embellish how heroic I looked running into battle in the Eternal City…"

I snort, feeling a genuine smile crack through my mood for the first time today. "Deal. We won't mention the broken antidote vials…" I message back. "But I'm keeping in the part where you tripped over your own feet running. And of course the fact that you were CCU's best ever Sunball Captain."

At least someone gets it. Even if that someone is a wolf who once literally brought a reaper to life against all hopes of better judgement.

I turned back to my journal, scrawling the date, A.E. "The Day Everything Went to Hel (working title)."

If Hunt didn't understand that the stories we tell and the art we create are what give life meaning—well, maybe that was his problem, not mine. Some people just didn't get it, especially not brooding alphahole angels who'd rather punch their way through the world's problems than to see the purpose in preserving its long suffering history.

"Time to be brilliant, bitch," I whispered, channeling every ounce of sarcasm and stubbornness I possessed. The same attitude that had gotten me through four hazy years at CCU and countless confrontations with death itself.

And with that, I started to write, letting my pen flow across the page as freely as I once danced, before, indeed, everything went to Hel.

Chapter Text

I stepped out of Griffin Antiquities, my heels clicking against the marble steps as the moon cast its silvery glow over Lunathion. The three fire sprites guarding the now semi-public library nodded to me, their flames flickering in a silent farewell. I glanced back once at the grand townhouse gallery—my sanctuary, my weighty inheritance—and sighed. The Godslayer rifle was safely perched above my desk, but the heaviness of its past lingered on my shoulders like a ghost.

The door clicked shut behind me, sealing away the ancient tomes. I stood for a moment on the marble steps, breathing in the crisp night air. The sensible thing—the safe thing—would be to teleport straight home. Avoid the dark alleys and whatever unsavory characters might lurk there. Hunt would certainly prefer it that way. But the thought of reappearing directly into the confines of my apartment felt suffocating. Like willingly stepping into a cage.

"To Hel with it," I muttered, tugging my jacket tighter around me. The city stretched out before me, a labyrinth of lights and shadows, beckoning. The hum of Crescent City at night was a siren song I couldn't resist. I wanted to feel the pavement under my feet, the cool wind against my skin. I wanted to remember what it was like to be just... me. Free.

My heels clicked against the sidewalk, a steady rhythm that matched the restless beat of my heart. Neon signs flickered overhead, advertising clubs and shops that promised escape and indulgence. Once upon a time, I'd have ducked into one without a second thought, dragging Danika along for the ride. The pang of her absence hit me like a sucker punch. I felt… adrift. Like a loose thread in a tapestry, easily lost in the grand design of the city.

Mom’s words echoed in my mind: "You can do anything, my love. You’re brilliant, and whatever you do will be brilliant too." Randall's unwavering belief in Mom's whimsical lettuce babies. It was a stark contrast to Hunt's snide comments about "great ideas." My gut twisted. What exactly was I chasing? Purpose? Peace? Both? A truly insatiable, greedy, awful queen.

"Adding 'masochist' to my ever growing list of personal issues," I sighed, shaking off the melancholy threatening to settle in. I wove through the crowded streets, blending in with the kaleidoscope of Vanir and humans going about their lives. Snatches of laughter and conversation floated around me, but I felt untethered, like a person observing from the shadows.

The discontent had been gnawing at me for weeks—a vague, unnamed agitation that left me irritable and snappish. It didn't make sense. Things were good. Stable. Boring, even. Wasn't that what I wanted? What I'd fought for? To just live.

A trio of lion shifters stumbled out of a bar ahead, their raucous laughter echoing down the street. I sidestepped them, catching a whiff of cheap liquor and impending bad decisions. For a fleeting second, I envied their carefree joy.

"At least someone's having fun," I smirked, rolling my eyes.

By the time my apartment building loomed into view, my feet ached in my heels, but the restlessness hadn't abated. If anything, the closer I got to home, the more my nerves jangled. The glass and marble lobby awaited, gleaming under soft ethereal lights. Marrin, the ursine shifter behind the front desk, offered me a friendly wave.

"Late night, Miss Quinlan?"

I mustered a smile. "You know me, Marrin—burning the midnight oil."

He chuckled, pressing the button to buzz me through the double doors. "Stay out of trouble."

"No promises," I called over my shoulder as I stepped into the elevator.

An elegant ride up to the penthouse, five levels above, and the small cream-colored hallway appeared as the doors slid open. A plush cobalt runner flowed between my apartment and the one across the hall, muffling my footsteps.

I paused at the blackwood table against the wall, my purse rustling as I rummaged for my keys. The glow of the firstlight orb in the crystal bowl atop the table illuminated the contents of my bag, its radiance gilding the white orchid drooping gracefully over it. The delicate petals seemed to judge me as I fumbled, finally extracting the elusive keys.

"Another wild night on the couch," I muttered, sarcasm tinging my voice.

I unlocked the door—first by key, then pressing my fingertip to the sleek pad beside the knob. The heavy locks and spells hissed softly as they disengaged, a brief shimmer of magic fading into the air. Stepping inside, the subtle scent of lilac oil from my diffuser greeted me, wrapping the space in a gentle embrace. Normally, it was comforting. Tonight, it felt cloying with the barrage of other scents.

The apartment was immaculate, every detail thoughtfully curated—from the polished light wood floors to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city. Moonlight spilled through the glass, casting silvery pools on the furniture. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was Danika's.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Even after all this time, the apartment didn't quite feel like home. It was more like a museum dedicated to a life that no longer fit. My gaze drifted to the ghostly reflection of myself in the window—wine-red hair tousled, amber eyes weary. I'd spent the entire day juggling a dozen projects, each more tedious than the last. Ancient artifacts didn't categorize themselves, after all. I had finally wrapped up after uncovering a slab of onyx stone too heavy to move in a crate in the basement. I'd have to get Ithan or Hunt's help to move it. It was at that moment I decided I had been independent a female enough for one day.

The smell of garlic and herbs hits me as soon as I walk through the door, a welcome change from the scent of ancient parchment that's clung to me all day. My stomach growled in response.

"Hey, B!" Ruhn's voice booms from the living room, followed by a clinking of glass. "Care for a cold one?"

Lidia raises her own beer in greeting. "Hey B."

"Hey guys," I replied, my voice flatter than I'd intended. Of course. Just what I needed. An impromptu family gathering in my living room. Again.

I toed off my heels, the quiet thud a stark contrast to the pounding in my head. The sight of them sprawled on my couch—domestic, comfortable, utterly content—sent an unwelcome pang through me. Envy? Guilt? I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"Make yourselves at home, why don't you," I jab light heartedly, tossing my bag onto the counter. It lands with a heavier thud than intended, scattering a collection of pens and stray papers.

Ruhn grins, unfazed. "Always do." He gestures to the empty spot next to him. "Come tell us of your thrilling day researching ancient texts from dusty, forgotten tomes."

Lidia shoots him a glare. "Don't tease her, Ruhn."

I roll my eyes, scanning the contents of my strewn mail. "As if you care about ancient texts."

Hunt appears in the doorway to the kitchen, his brow furrowed. He leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and whispers, "You're late." His voice is casual, laced with an edge of concern. I raise an eyebrow, my gaze flicking to Ruhn and Lidia, now engrossed in a hushed conversation of their own. Likely, a more in depth scolding from Lidia.

I hung up my jacket with deliberate slowness. "Decided to walk. The night was too nice to waste on teleporting." His dark eyes scanned me, wings rustling in a way that signaled his irritation. "You walked? Alone?"

I arched a brow, aching to skip this convo and strip off my bra. "Last I checked, I can handle a stroll through the city, Athalar."

"Bryce, it's not safe. You know that. After everything that's happened—"

I held up a hand, cutting him off. "Please don't start, Hunt. I needed some air, okay?"

He frowned, concern etched in every line of his face. "You could have called me. I would have walked with you."

"And defeat the whole purpose of being alone?" I muttered under my breath, moving past him. The tightness in my chest hadn't eased. If anything, it was worse now.

"What was that?" he asked, following me.

"Nothing." I opened the fridge, staring blankly at the contents before grabbing a water bottle. My reflection glinted off a pot on the stove—tired eyes, forced smile. "Dinner smells great."

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," I said too quickly, taking a long swig of water. "Why wouldn't it be?" His wings twitched. He frowned but didn't press the issue. Instead, he gestured toward the stack of mail on the counter. "Your fan club sent more love letters."

I held up an ornate envelope sealed with crimson wax. "If by 'fan club,' you mean crusty old Fae who'd like to see my head on a spike, then yes." I flipped off the letter cheerfully.

He chuckled, the smile not quite meeting his eyes. "They can't resist your charm." I grimaced. "Actually. I need a beer."

"Grab me one!" Ruhn called from the couch.

"Get your own, freeloader."

He grinned. "You're closer!"

Rolling my eyes, I pulled out two cans and tossed one expertly to him. I collapsed onto the armchair, cracking the can and taking a long sip. The cold liquid was a small respite from the numbness creeping into my bones.

Hunt’s back at the stove, those magnificent wings tucked in close as he navigates my admittedly stunning but utterly impractical kitchen. He throws me a grin, the one that usually sends my knees weak, but tonight it just leaves me feeling guilty. Heavily so. Some nameless, restless thing – twists uncomfortably. Hunt, my mate's, presence in my kitchen, those massive wings carefully tucked in as he navigates around my expensive appliances, cooking a meal, should be comforting. Should be everything I want.

Should be. Should be. Should be.

Those words have been echoing in my head too much lately.

It was... nice, I supposed, having them all here. My brother, Lidia, Hunt—it was the picture of domestic bliss. So why the fuck was I suffocating?

Because you're awful, a voice whispered in my mind. Yearning for more, when surrounded by the people who love you. An unfillable well. I shoved the thought away, masking my descent with another sip of beer.

"Did you hear about the new candidate for the Senate?" Lidia asked, eyes still on the game.

“Bad call!” Ruhn bellows at the screen, nearly spilling his drink on my pristine couch. Some things never change.

Lidia offered me a sympathetic smile. "Rough day?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I replied with a shrug. "Just spent hours researching romances older than dirt and wrestled with an ancient slab of onyx that weighs more than Ruhn's ego."

"Sounds thrilling," Hunt said as he joined us, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Living the dream," I muttered sarcastically. Even though… I did love my job.

I tried to convince myself, this is nice. This is what normal people enjoy. Family time. Relaxing after a long day of work. But the tightness in my chest wouldn't relent. I found myself craving the quiet solitude of... well, anywhere else.

The guilt eats at me. What kind of person longs for distance from the people they love most? What kind of sister? What kind of mate? Am I even worthy of the titles? Let alone the title of representative of the entire Fae race? Look to where it hurts the most.

"Dinner’s ready," Hunt announced. "Come and get it before I eat it all myself."

We gathered around the dining table—an elegant piece of polished oak that had seen more takeout containers than home-cooked meals. Plates clinked, silverware scraped, and for a few moments, the only sounds were of appreciative chewing.

Then, inevitably, the conversation turned to politics. Apparently, a peaceful meal is impossible without discussing world peace.

"I'm just saying," I began, unable to help myself, "that the Vanir have had unchecked power for too long. Maybe it's time we level the playing field."

Ruhn groaned theatrically. "Here we go."

"Humans are at a disadvantage," I pressed on. "Magic should be taxed on a sliding scale to even things out. And guns need to be heavily regulated."

Hunt shook his head. "That's not fair, and you know it. Penalizing us for abilities we can't control? Preventing access to guns for law abiding Vanir? How is that fair?"

"Tell that to the humans who find themselves in dark alleys with armed storm-wielding angels," I shot back.

Lidia raised a hand. "Maybe we should focus on integrating magic into society more effectively rather than penalizing those who have it."

"Exactly," Hunt agreed. "Besides, restricting and taxing magic use won't solve anything. It will only create more unrest."

I stabbed at my food with perhaps more force than necessary. "Easy for you to say when you're essentially a one-man army."

He sighed, frustration creeping into his tone. "This again."

"Yes, this again," I snapped. "Just because you can shoot electricity out of your fingers doesn't mean humans—"

"Aidas had some interesting ideas about restructuring the power grid," Hunt interjected, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

I nearly choked on my drink. "Aidas? You're consulting with a Prince of the Underworld about our city's infrastructure?"

He met my glare evenly. "We need solutions, Bryce. The planet isn't going to heal itself."

"Maybe we should leave decision-making to those who actually live here. You know, democracy, like we talked about?" I retorted.

"Since when do you trust the masses?" Ruhn chimed in, arching a brow.

"Since always. Unlike some people, I don't have a god complex."

Hunt's eyes flashed with something like challenge. "Says the one who ended an empire and a monarchy."

I pushed back my chair, the screech cutting through the tension. "Alright—I'm done with this conversation."

"Bryce—" Lidia began, reaching out.

I stood, avoiding her gaze, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry. I'm just... tired. It's been a long day."

"Let's talk about something else," Hunt offered, his tone retreating.

I forced a tight smile. "Maybe another time. Enjoy your dinner, guys. I'm not going to be any fun tonight."

Without waiting for a response, I retreated down the hallway. The walls seemed to press in, the air too thick.

In my bedroom, I closed the door softly behind me and leaned against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The scent of lilac was stronger here, the diffuser casting a soft glow. Normally, it calmed me. Tonight, it felt like there was nothing, nothing that would stop this sawing and shredding in my chest.

"Great job, B," I whispered. "Alienate the only people who can stand you."

I changed into an old T-shirt and soft pajama pants, the fabric worn and comforting against my skin, not caring if I looked disheveled. Crawling into bed, I stared up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of shadows cast by the city lights outside and listened to the hum of the hushed conversation.

The murmurs beyond my room were undoubtedly about me.

They'd be discussing my issues. Why I couldn't find peace with what I had. How I seemed to grow more restless with each passing day, despite having achieved everything I'd wanted. My inexplicable behavior. The sense that something wasn't right. Maybe they'd drawn their own conclusions. That I longed to return to that grassy meadow where I'd seen Danika for the final time. That ethereal realm. That unreachable paradise.

Muted chuckles drifted through the doorway, sending fresh waves of shame coursing through me. My family shouldn't have to deal with this. Hunt shouldn't have to deal with this. Deal with me.

In the morning, I'd discover a way to push past these emotions, to embody the person they believed in. The person they were counting on.

"Some queen I've made," I muttered, pulling the covers over my head until the blankets blocked out every last trace of moonlight filtering through my windows.

But as I closed my eyes, all I felt was the crushing weight of wanting to be alone. Wanting to do more. Not knowing what I wanted. Not knowing what was wrong. And feeling so, so tired of all these empty, hollow feelings that seemed to echo through every chamber of my heart. The fear that maybe, just maybe, I'd always feel this way ate away at my insides like acid, corroding everything that I thought I knew about myself. My fingers found their way to my chest, absently rubbing the star-shaped scar between my breasts as consciousness finally began to slip away. Even in the darkness behind my eyelids, I couldn't escape the crushing sense that I was somehow failing everyone who believed in me, who loved me. Failing myself. I finally drifted off with my hand still pressed against my heart, as if I could somehow hold together all the broken pieces within.

Chapter Text

"So... you're kind of like... a guardian angel?" Danika's voice dripped with disbelief, her eyebrows arching high over her silver eyes. I gritted my teeth as I hear her translated words echo from the phone. Angel. Of all the descriptions... my shadows writhed around me, equally offended.

"Something like that," I muttered, rubbing the tension from my jaw. The term left a bitter taste in my mouth—a cruel irony, given my true nature is anything but angelic. The weight of the thrumming Harp concealed in my pocket of nowhere pressed against my side, a constant reminder of the precariousness of my mission. Every beat of its ancient magic echoed the ticking clock I was racing against. "I'm here to help save Bryce, yes... to try and prevent her fate... but I'm also here because of the war."

Fury's head snapped up, her dark eyes meeting mine with a flicker of sharp understanding. "The war against Hybern. In Prythian. That's why you're here, isn't it? You're searching for advantages to help you defeat them and save the humans, protect the wall."

Danika frowned, clearly lost. "Another human war?" The delay as their words processed through the phone's whirling translation app was painfully frustrating. Each lagging second grated on my nerves. We didn't have time for this leisurely pace. But if Fury knew we were preparing for the war against Hybern... just how far had I traveled back in time?

"Later," Fury dismissed her, turning back to me, her gaze assessing. Danika's nostrils flared, her eyes widening slightly as she caught my true scent. "Cthona's tits, that masking spell is fading fast." Danika closed her eyes, putting her hands up in supplication. I watch the whirling circle bounce as I register her strange words. Apparently, I smelled unsavory.

A prickle of unease ran down my spine, a slight tingle at the base of my neck. Sensing the scrutiny, my shadows wreathed me restlessly, swarming curiously in and out around that spot on my nape. It wasn't that I wasn't used to being a different breed—I was. Out of place. Out of time. The realization settled heavily in my gut. This world was so different from Velaris, from anywhere in Prythian. Tall, gleaming structures pierced the sky, strange metallic beasts roared down paved roads, and the air was thick with unfamiliar scents and sounds. The device in my hand—the so-called phone—was my only lifeline to understanding, a pitifully inadequate translator lagging behind the rapid-fire conversation of these two females.

My simmering ego took yet another hit. Reduced from the Spymaster of the Night Court to a clueless outsider, reliant on others to navigate this world. Rhys would be pissing himself right now.

Danika inhaled deeply, "Solas..." A strange mix of awe and fear in her voice.

The two females devolved into a hushed, rapid argument in their native tongue, tossing words back and forth like daggers. The translation whirl couldn't keep up, leaving me stranded in a sea of incomprehension. I stood there, growing increasingly impatient. I was losing time, and these two were bickering like children.

"I'm here to help Bryce, and there is a war coming. A war here on your planet, against the Asteri. She will be leading the charge. And she will die," I interrupted sharply. The words tasted of iron on my tongue. My outburst silenced them both; their faces turned ashen as the cold reality settled over them when the phone echoed my statement in their language. Danika's breath hitched as she locked eyes with Fury. She shrank into herself, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

"But I don't know when I need to be in the Eternal City to prevent her death. Only where," I continued, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside me.

These two so-called friends better prove to be good allies. Not that I had another Cauldron-blessed choice. Stupid, stupid, idiot. Charging headfirst into a world you don't understand like an amateur, meddling with time like a reckless fool.

Fury's phone buzzed, the sharp sound cutting through the thick silence. She glanced at it, her expression hardening before she stepped away to answer the call, muttering something under her breath.

I turned to Danika, who was visibly shaken. The fierce confidence she'd displayed earlier was gone, replaced by a fragile uncertainty.

"In my world, there’s an island. Bryce’s ancestors ruled it," I continued softly. "At some point, she’ll travel there to find… the truth. Of her power. Of how to fight the Asteri. It's her birthright. She must do this. It’s essential. The Horn tattooed on her back will guide her.” My voice was low, conspiratorial.

Danika's eyes went wide as saucers as she registered the phones words, darting around our surroundings as if the walls themselves were listening. I could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, the scent of fear beginning to taint the air. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a strained whisper. "The Horn...? Luna's Horn needs to be tattooed... onto Bryce's back?" She shot out of her seat, hands thrown up in a series of angry, vulgar gestures at the sky. A string of curses tumbled from her lips, too rapid for the translator to catch.

I simply nodded, ignoring her outburst. “I’m not sure what happens if she doesn’t. I don't know how things might change. I only know this one outcome.” The weight of that knowledge, of the future I carried, was almost unbearable. Was it all truly set in stone? 

Danika began fidgeting with her hands, looking anywhere but at me. It was as if a terrible realization was dawning, imprinting itself onto her very soul. Her bravado from earlier had vanished, replaced by a haunted look that tugged at something deep within me.

Fury returned, her movements brisk and purposeful, a new fervor in her eyes. "So, it seems you need to bide some time here. I have a job for you while you wait. You're going to help us fight for the humans, Shadowsinger," she announced, cutting off any further discussion. "I need to introduce you to someone."

My stomach lurched. "Absolutely not. I can't risk interacting with B—"

"No. Not Bryce. I get it. Time travel and all that yada yada..." Fury interrupted, her voice firm. "We're meeting Jesiba Roga… B's boss. Stay hidden and keep your phone on you at all times." I bristled at taking commands from Amren's equally insane clone, but I didn't want to waste any more time arguing. I swiped the brick on a shadow into my pocket of nowhere.

"No, not like that." Fury sighed, exasperated. "Keep the phone on you. So you can feel it ring. A pocket... or... just keep it in your hand for now. Until we get you some new clothes." She sighed, obviously assessing what was going to become her ongoing charity project. I tried not to glower at her, remembering just how precarious the mess I created. 

Danika's breath hitched, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. "Wait," she whispered, my phone picking up the translation, her voice barely audible above the floor's droning rumble. "Do you... do you know what happens to... to anyone else?" The whirling circle on the phone repeated her foreign words to me as her gaze locked onto mine, searching, pleading.

My heart clenched in my chest. I couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not until I knew for sure that I could change things. But the flicker of fear in her eyes, the way her hand trembled as she reached out to brace her elbows on her knees... I couldn't leave her completely in the dark.

I gave her a look, a cold, hard stare that I hoped conveyed the gravity of the situation without revealing too much. A single blink, a flicker of my eyelids, was the only tell, the only hint of the knowledge I carried.

"You do, don't you?" she breathed in, her voice barely a whisper. "Am I... do I...?"

Her words registered a moment later. I took a long breath, steeling myself against the wave of guilt that threatened to consume me. I shouldn't be here, doing this, playing God. What was I doing?

"She... Bryce... loved you very much." My voice was rough, the words catching in my throat, my hand subconsciously rubbing that spot on my chest. "I believe... you are instrumental in helping her fight this war. But I... I do not know your exact fate."

It was a lie. A blatant, cruel lie. And Danika knew it. Her eyes, those bright, vibrant eyes, dimmed with a chilling understanding. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze, as her words echoed from the phone. "I... I hope not."

Coward, I chastised myself. The Spymaster who couldn't face the consequences of his own meddling.

Fury looked between the both of us, her gaze steady and unwavering, not caring to ask about her own fate, whether or not I knew such things. "Let's go, Shadowsinger. We have work to do. I'll call you later, Danika." She pocketed her own phone and started towards the elevator, not waiting to see if I followed. "Let's see what those shadows can do in the daylight. Stay close." No one seemed to notice our exit, as if bespelled by the small screens in front of them.

I cast one last glance at Danika, who stood rooted to the spot, lost in emotion. I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her burden. But no words came.

Chapter Text

I trailed Fury through Lunathion's bustling streets, the towering buildings a dizzying maze of glass and steel. The air was thick with unfamiliar scents that assaulted my senses, each one competing for my focus. Instinctively, my shadows whispered for control. Every instinct screamed for a plan, yet here I was, a pawn in an unfinished game. I had to adapt quickly and content myself to wait for the moment to intervene in fate.

"Tell me about this job," I pressed, feeling the weight of urgency in my voice.

"Makeover first. You stick out like a sore thumb," Fury replied, glancing over as if she could see my Illyrian wings and armor beneath my cover of darkness.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and settled on grinding my teeth. Great. More unknowns, more variables. Chaos swirled around me while I stood on its edge. Perhaps this makeover was a chance to regain some semblance of control, guaranteed anonymity, but a part of me bristled at the thought. I could be a vain bastard. "Fine," I conceded. The potential catastrophes weighed heavily on my shoulders. "But understand, interacting directly with Bryce is off limits—it's too great a risk. I can't alter events in her life any further."

"Understood," Fury said curtly. "We'll work around it. B won't know anything. I'll make sure of it." Some part of me deigned to trust her and my shadows hummed in whispered agreement.

As we passed through a towering gate of shimmering stone, guards indifferent to our passage, I could feel my shadows fluttering with unease. Beyond the gleaming towers lay a warren of narrow, shadowed streets. "The Meat Market," Fury announced, her tone grim, realizing my hesitation. The district loomed before me, a claustrophobic maze of vendor stalls hawking their wares.

“Memento Mori,” Fury pointed to a towering mosaic depicting death. “It means remember you must die. It’s a whole thing.” A chilling reminder of the stakes. I knew too well how cruel fate could be. But I refused to submit, to yield to it.

Fury led me to an unmarked door. Inside, an old grimy filled sunken worn out couches, and a machine onto a decrepit desk, the air was heavy with incense. My shadows recoiled. Then I saw her—a female with cropped ash-blond hair fell shorter on the sides, longer on top. Pale gray eyes, so striking they gleamed with an alluring and deadly light, assessed me with a penetrating gaze that seemed to see through right me. She spoke in a cool, accented voice that cut the hazy air, her authority palpable.

"You should really consider a decorator, Fury. So, this is the one causing all the fuss?" Her tone as sharp as her appearance. Fury gave a curt nod with an accompanied eye roll.

“Jesiba Roga,” she stated, extending a hand adorned with glittering silver nails. I hesitated, the gesture strange, then clasped it briefly bowing. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Bryce’s employer.” Her lips curved into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes--they shimmered with a strange, unsettling power, like banked embers waiting for a breath of wind to ignite them.

“Azriel,” I replied, my voice clipped. The scent of old magic, potent and ancient, clung to her like a second skin. My shadows recoiled, whispering warnings I already heeded. This female was dangerous, a force to be reckoned with. Wonderful. Another power player in this chaotic game.

“His name means Angel in the Old Language. How adorable. Did you plan this?" She quirked an eyebrow at Fury before continuing, "Fury tells me you’re… from out of town,” Jesiba continued, her gaze sharp and assessing, the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips. "Quite a long way out of town, it seems."

I nodded curtly, not rising to the bait. “Something like that.” My mental shields instinctively threw a wall of daggers inside my head, where Jesiba’s gaze flickered to, her lips twitching slightly. “I’m sure you have quite the story to tell. Fury tends to attract… interesting acquaintances. Especially those with secrets.” Her eyes, those unnerving gray eyes, locked onto mine, a silent challenge in their depths. She knows. My gut clenched. How much did she know?

“I prefer to keep my affairs private,” I responded, my voice even, betraying none of the turmoil within.

A low chuckle rumbled in Jesiba’s chest. “Privacy is a luxury few can afford in this city, especially those who associate with Fury Axtar. And especially not now, with this shit storm brewing.” Her gaze drifted to Fury, a silent conversation passing between them.

Fury shifted impatiently. “He can help us, Jes.”

“Indeed?” Jesiba raised an eyebrow, her attention returning to me. “With Bryce, perhaps? The friend you begged me to hire under similarly questionable circumstances?” The way she emphasized the word “friend” made my skin crawl. Clearly, there was more to it.

I remained silent, my shadows coiling tighter around me.

Careful. One wrong move and this could all unravel.

"I need him on my team. His powers are rare--he was able to travel through the lines. We'd be fools to ignore an asset—not to mention someone the Asteri could never find out about. I'll handle his training, and he can report to me directly. I've been telling you I need all the help I can get right now. They've been playing this game for too fucking long, Jes. We wouldn't want him falling into the wrong hands."

How the fuck did this Fury creature know me?

"Well, when you put it that way, though he does seem a bit like a charity case… I suppose we don't have much time considering," Jesiba continued, her gaze lingering on my partially cloaked wings, as if she were already several steps ahead. "But I guess that's why you rang… now… what should I turn you into, big, scary, silent Angel?"

Panic flared, hot and sharp. My shadows recoiled, lashing out defensively.

Turned into? What in the seven hells was this sorceress talking about?

My mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, a way to deflect this impending… transformation. My instincts screamed at me to bolt, to vanish into the shadows, but I forced myself to remain still.

"I'm not some stray animal you can leash," I growled, my voice low and menacing, rumbling the interior walls.

My hand instinctively went to Truth-Teller, though the familiar weight was absent. Bryce had it, my mate, in a time, a universe away. My mate held my most prized possession, who knew how far in the future, a bitter twist of irony that made my gut clench.

Jesiba's lips curled into a chilling smile. "Oh, I assure you, I can leash anything. Or anyone. A blink, a flick of the wrist… and you'll be chirping pretty tunes in an iron cage." Her words were laced with a casual cruelty that made my blood run cold.

This wasn't some idle threat.

I could feel the raw cold power radiating from her, a potent mix of ancient magic and something far more sinister, a coldness that matched my own.

"Don't be stupid," Fury snapped at me, her voice cutting through the tension. "She's trying to help."

"By turning me into some unnamed beast?" I snarled, my shadows swirling around me in a frenzy.

“You’ll retain whatever… abilities you possess,” Jesiba clarified, sensing my obvious unease.

A little boy, trapped. Once again.

“This transformation is purely cosmetic. A glamour if you will. I'm very skilled at them. A Fae male appearance would work for you, perhaps?”

"I need to maintain my current form. I need… my wings." I couldn't afford to be sidetracked by this hinderance. The phone spun desperately trying to keep up its translation in my wake. Every second I wasted brought my mate closer to her inevitable death.

My mate.

Already dead, in some alternate universe.

"And what do you need them to appear for if you'd still be able to use them? Are you really that vain?" Jesiba questioned, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Will your hulking form assist you in spying on unsuspecting assistants? You look like you just crawled out of Hel. The demon wings are practically begging to be noticed then given the living death. Unless, of course," she paused, her eyes narrowing, "you want to be noticed….”

"No. I don't want to—"

“Good. It's settled, then. You’ll retain all of your normal powers… and I'll even throw in something to help with that scent. Which… you're welcome. It sticks out."

Fury stepped forward, placing a hand on my arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "You can trust her. She'd never hurt you if it meant hurting Bryce's… chances—she wants the same thing we do."

How could I even begin to fight this, anything at all—with all of seemingly yesterday still within me?

Jesiba raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over me, assessing, dissecting. "Bryce's chances of what, exactly? You haven't exactly been forthcoming with your plans, Fury. And now you bring this… creature into the mix, reeking of another world's magic."

"I'll explain later," Fury insisted, her voice tight. "But he has things we could use."

Jesiba let out a low chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure he does. But I'm not running a charity, girl. I expect compensation for my services—intelligence."

"Fine, witch," Fury snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. "It has to do with Bryce. And my prophecy… from the Oracle. You know the one. Apparently Bryce is going to be a vital weapon in the coming war against the Asteri… she dies. And she can't die… for obvious reasons."

Jesiba sighed, the sound a mix of exasperation and amusement. "My assistant is going to assist in the war against with our empirical overlords. I hired her as a favor to you, and now you're telling me I need to find her future replacement. Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. She's totally not becoming a pain in the ass at all."

Her gray eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked to me. "Are you sure we can we even trust this one's intelligence? How does he know all of this future intel if he's from there?" she questioned, her tone laced with suspicion.

My shadows bristled at the insinuation. "Trust is earned, not given," I retorted, my voice low and steady, but Fury cut me off.

"Can't you not feel it? He's hiding it but… its magic is making my skin crawl, even hidden."

"And here I thought that was just his personality grating my nerves." Jesiba studied me, searching. I hesitated, weighing my options—if these females wanted the Harp, I had to abort mission. Could I trust them? Risk revealing more? Could I afford not to? "I'm just here to protect her," I stated, my voice firm. From a threat she doesn't even know exists. "But she doesn't know me yet... Can't know. I used… something called a Harp… and I'm not sure how it would change things. "

I could feel the weight of that grim truth settling in my bones.

The fact I'd given up the knowledge of a Dread Trove item willingly…

Stupid gamble. Reckless decision. Whatever it takes.

"The Harp." Jesiba pressed, her gaze unwavering. "Oh, you're playing with time, I see… I'd be… careful. If I were you..."

Jesiba's lips curled into a thin ominous smile. "My assistant's protection will come with a price. We can discuss the terms later."

"But right now, you're the one who needs protecting. You can't waltz around Crescent City as a beacon for the home world of the Fae with a scent has been marked by Pangera's most notorious bloodhound." Fury added.

My jaw tightened. She was right. Though, I still didn’t know what fucking beacon she was talking about.

I needed to adapt, to blend in, to become invisible. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe," I reiterated, my voice low and determined. "Even if it means changing my form… aesthetically." I crossed my arms over my chest.

Jesiba's smile widened, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Good. Maybe the first smart decision you've made today?"

I clenched my fists. I hated being underestimated, especially by someone who clearly held so much power. But they were both right. I was a liability. A powerful male, a different breed altogether, alone in an alien world, surrounded by enemies, unable to communicate. And I was an idiot for all of it. I needed help, anyone's help, whether I liked it or not.

"One condition. I want to appear human," I stated, my voice firm. "If I must lose my wings to blend in, I need to look fully human."

Fury and Jesiba exchanged surprised glances, while the quietly menacing female snake in the corner snickered, their expressions an odd blend of interest and reluctance. They clearly hadn’t anticipated this request. "Human?" Jesiba questioned, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Why?"

“It’s… just my preference.” I preferred to avoid the deep-seated aversion I felt towards resembling people who hated my own kind. My world was already claimed as 'the Home World of the Fae' here. The less I looked like the Fae, the better.

My resolve didn't seem to settle the matter. Jesiba shrugged, her voice echoing with an authority that made it clear there was no room for argument. "Well, apologies. That won't work for me. If you are to be useful; we're going to need you in a Fae body. Human's don't exactly have any sort of powers, as you may know…" Her hands lifted, murmuring words of power. "Wait—" But my protest was too late. Warmth spread down my spine, followed by the sensation of dissolving into nothing. I reached back, feeling only smooth skin—the emptiness was disquieting. I tried to flare my wings and I can't feel the muscles work but—no hulking menace followed. Touching a single pointed ear, I gave myself a single moment to think of my brothers. How far away from them I'd fallen.

"Hello, gorgeous. Gods, I'm good." Jesiba then offered a clear canister filled with iridescent liquid, the glow of it captivating. "You'll want to spray this, thoroughly, once a day. It will mask your… strong… scent. I use it to hide my library from prying eyes. Works like a charm. May I?" She winked, nodding toward the can as if she were about to administer my death warrant.

I scowled at her and eyed the vial suspiciously, the iridescent liquid swirling within like captured starlight. My senses, normally so sharp, were dulled by the jarring transformation, the unfamiliar form all too strange. A flicker of unease ran through me, shadows darting out around me. What was in this witch's concoction? What the fuck was I doing? My shadows, however, hummed with reassurance, their whispers confirming the potion’s safety, urging me to comply. True, they whispered. The witch speaks true.

I hesitated a moment longer, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. This world, this time, a minefield of unforeseen consequences. Every step I took, altering the delicate balance of fate, sending ripples through time that I couldn't predict. And yet, I had to trust someone, having already deigned to die in hopes that this woman could live. I had to rely on these strangers, these allies of convenience, if I were to have any hope of saving the woman I couldn't bring myself to dwell on.

With a sigh of resignation, I muttered, "Go ahead. Show me how it works."

Jesiba watched me intently, her pale gray eyes gleaming with an unnerving intensity, she clouds the air with a spray so thick it leaves me choking. "Good, that's better." she said inhaling, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Now, let's talk business."

I felt uncharacteristically vulnerable, exposed—stripped of the very features that defined me.

Fury handed me a stack of forged documents and a small card. "Your new identity. You’ll be infiltrating the human rebel camps. There are multiple units, but your mission will be within a unit called Ophion."

I listened through my still chattering phone that had been slowly, painfully translating this entire cursed meeting now picked up Fury's meticulously crafted backstory, suspicion already working in my gut. "And they'll trust me? As a Fae?"

"With the right introductions," Jesiba smirked, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, as though she enjoyed the dangerous game we were playing.

“Phillip Briggs?” The name felt alien on my tongue. Jesiba smirked, a cruel glint in her eyes. “He’s the perfect conduit. A disgruntled human willing to do anything for their cause, desperate for power, and easily manipulated. And I just got the greenlight to get him released from prison in two weeks… on a technicality of course.”

Fury nodded. “He was in prison for planning to blow up a club. Dance hall. The human rebellion efforts are currently focused on the Pangeran continent, but Briggs tried his best to bring it over here. His intentions have always been very clear… a global conflict that would cost the lives of millions on either side. All life expendable as long as it means a possibility for humans overthrow those who have oppressed them—Vanir and the Asteri both. Danika was the one who locked Briggs up in the first place, and she's furious he's released. So, obviously, this stays between us. But he’s exactly the kind of unstable player we need to push our pieces into place.”

My disguise felt constricting, a mask that didn’t quite fit. My senses, usually razor-sharp, were still adjusting to this new, vulnerable state. This whole charade felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. One wrong move, and I'd plummet into oblivion.

“And how exactly do I gain his trust?” I asked, my voice a low murmur.

“You don’t,” Jesiba said, her tone dismissive. “That's our job. You use him. He’ll be eager to prove himself, eager to strike back at the system that wronged him. You offer him something he can't refuse—a chance for vengeance, wrapped in the promise of power beyond his wildest dreams. Power we can control and use as a diversion against the Asteri. He will want access to our tech.”

"What tech?"

The two females stare at me, silent. "That's for us to know, and for you to find out when the time is right." Fury states leaving no room for questions. I guess we were done with truth for a truth.

Fury handed me a small gleaming stone. “A modified communication unit. It’ll allow you to stay in touch with me, untraceably—and I want daily reports.” She paused, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Do not under any circumstances call me on your phone."

Ignoring the inner death spiral of thoughts that swirled when I realized I had no idea how this world worked—the crystal stone at least felt cold and familiar in my hand, a stark contrast to the burning anxiety that droned within my other palm. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to refuse, to reject this dangerous game, but I knew I couldn’t. Bryce's life, her very existence, depended on my success. The thought of failure sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

“Where do I find this Briggs?” I asked, my voice strained.

Jesiba tapped a finger against the table, a low, rhythmic tapping that somehow magnified the tension in the room. “He considers himself a symbolic figurehead of Asphodel Meadows. It’s a human district—you’ll have to tread carefully. But no doubt, it will be one of his first stops after his release to rally his supporters.”

She continued, "My contact will introduce you. It's someone he trusts. Someone he believes is on his side."

I shifted my gaze between them, instinct raising the hairs on my neck. "And what do you all gain from this?"

“Information is power,” she nearly purred, her presence as intoxicating as it was menacing. “In these volatile times, alliances shift like sand. It's wise to be prepared." Jesiba hummed to herself but didn't contribute anything further.

Fury added, "And it keeps you occupied while you wait for the right moment, to aid in your own task. Which I'll now claim as my own."

I nodded, grateful to have a least a single soul on my team. I knew there were ulterior motives lurking beneath, but I was out of options; I needed allies in this unfamiliar territory. “Fine,” I conceded. “When do I start?”

"Immediately," Jesiba replied. “The Viper Queen has graciously offered you lodging here in this… hovel that Fury calls an office—and the snake kindly provided an alias for your work outside of Ophion at her request. As one of her guards.” My shadows swarmed. A guard for a Snake Queen? My pride bristled, but I swallowed the protest. I was in no position to refuse. Fury nodded, her expression tight. “I'll need to bring you up to speed first—intelligence due diligence. The Viper Queen only knows I'm renting my office to a friend from out of town, on the run, needing some identity assistance after a shady deal gone wrong with one of Jesiba's clients. And I'd like to keep it that way—do not trust her. Don't even talk to her. I'll be back for you in the morning to finalize our plan. Hide here until then.” Fury handed me a sleek, dark uniform emblazoned with a serpent, its scales shimmering like polished obsidian.

"And do not under any circumstances drink her venom unless you have a death wish.” Her voice laced with a threat. "Stay here. Phone on. Crystal in pocket. Weapons ready. Watch some TV. Actually… don't. You'll only confuse yourself. Maybe try to get some sleep.” She nodded to the the too small, pathetic excuse for a couch. Giving the slightest nod that I'd understood, their gazes lingered on me for a moment before turning out of the room, leaving me alone with the serpent-clad uniform.

The walls seemed to close in on me, the air thick with the stench of stale blood and something vaguely… reptilian. I sat on the edge of the bed, and closed my eyes, trying to block out the suffocating weight of my actions. Each breath felt like a lead weight in my chest, the silence amplifying the roaring in my head. The weight of Bryce’s fate, of my world's fate, pressed down on me, threatening to crush me beneath its immense gravity. I was trapped, alone, in an alien world, burdened by secrets and responsibilities I wasn’t sure I could bear.

I've never felt so unbalanced. For the first time in centuries, the familiar dry rustle of leathery wings is gone, spelled away. It's a strange sensation, like a phantom limb - I can still feel them there, flaring and tucking them, but when I reach back, my fingers grasp nothing but air.

I wouldn't have considered this feeling so unsettling, considering I didn't even have use of my wings until I was eleven years old. Those early years in my father's keep, locked away in that lightless cell... my wings were little more than a cruel reminder of the freedom I was denied. But even then, the attachment was a constant presence, a promise of the skies that awaited me if I could just survive long enough to reach them.

Now, without them, I feel off-kilter. It's a small price to pay for the anonymity the spell grants me, but it's a constant reminder of how out of place I am in this world. How fucking stupid it was for me to even be here.

I catch myself reaching back to scratch a well placed itch on my wing's talon, only to remember they aren't there, and I look daft scratching at thin air. It's a habit I'll need to break, and quickly. I can't afford to draw attention to myself. Especially around unmet humans whose trust I would need.

But even as I try to settle into the repugnantly smelling couch, trying to forget the fact that I've been told to hide in this underground dungeon. I can't help but long to go, to see, as if my soul directly challenged the order to stay put.

The things I will do for her.

Chapter Text

The minutes crawled by at a pace that synchronized with the rhythmic drops falling from the rusted beam above onto the concrete beneath me. If I was being honest with myself, hiding away in this lightless underground bunker was probably the most favorable outcome I could have expected.

Still, that didn't stop my blood from boiling over the situation.

By my count, I'd wasted enough hours in this cramped space to warrant some godsdamn explanations.

Sleep was impossible. So I was left to pace, panic, or commit to unraveling these two maddening screens and all of their secrets.

The dim glow of the phone screen cast eerie shadows across my face as I stared at the device in my hand. Strange markings—lines and curves—shifted and morphed, dancing beneath my fingertips. Fury had thrust this insidious brick upon me, this "phone." Insisting I only keep it on me, she gave me no other indication of how the thing worked.

Fury had insinuated I wouldn't be able to make sense of it myself. I nearly scoffed aloud. I was the shadowsinger, the spymaster of the Night Court, master of secrets and silent wars—a champion snowball fighter for over two centuries, no less. The intrigues of courts and kingdoms unraveled before me with ease. Surely, this...phone...would be no different.

But as I gazed upon the screen, my confidence waned. The symbols were utterly foreign—twisted shapes and patterns that held no meaning. They weren't in any script I recognized—not the elegant strokes of the Fae, nor the harsh runes of the Illyrians. I swiped at the screen, and it responded by presenting even more bewildering icons and texts.

What on earth did any of it signify? I tapped an icon at random, and a cascade of more indecipherable symbols flooded the display. My brows knit together in frustration. It was as if the device was mocking me, revealing layers upon layers of puzzles without offering a single clue.

A flicker caught my eye—a small symbol resembling an envelope appeared at the top. Before I could ponder its meaning, the screen flashed, and a cheerful female voice chirped from the device.

"Hello! How can I assist you today?"

I nearly dropped the cursed thing. The rectangle spoke to me in demonically cheery warps and warbles. My heart pounded as I gripped it tighter, wary of its intentions. Was this some form of enchantment? Had Fury tricked me into possessing some sort of Made object, an object with sentience?

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," the voice continued in those underwater high pitched drones, unwaveringly pleasant and completely spine chilling. "Could you please repeat your request?"

I glared at the device, my eyes narrowing. "Reveal yourself," I demanded, my voice low and edged with a low menace. "What manner of creature speaks from within this contraption?"

The voice chirped again. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you please repeat your request?"

The same words all over again. Meaningless—a jumble of sounds devoid of comprehension. "Enough of your riddles," I snapped. "Show yourself!"

Silence stretched out, the device waiting patiently. Mockingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you please repeat your request?"

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself from blasting siphon power through this diabolical fucking object. There had to be a way to make sense of it. But with every icon as inscrutable as the next, it was like navigating a labyrinth blindfolded.

I tapped another symbol, and suddenly music blared from the phone—a wild tune filled with tapping drums and stringed instruments like some sort of human war song. Startled, I fumbled with the device, desperately seeking a way to silence it. The volume seemed to increase, the music becoming a cacophony that filled the quiet room.

"Cease the noise!" I commanded, pressing every part of the screen in a futile attempt to stop the racket. The device ignored my pleas, the song reaching a triumphant crescendo.

In a fit of desperation, I clenched the phone in my fist. "Enough!" I bellowed, hurling it across the room. It struck the wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, the music mercifully silenced. I stood there, chest heaving, shadows coiling around me in agitation.

Just then, the door swung open. Fury stood on the threshold, arms crossed and an exasperated expression on her face. She surveyed the scene: the overturned desk chair, the phone lying face down on the floor, and me, surrounded by a swirl of dark shadows.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded.

I gestured sharply toward the fallen device. "That...thing is possessed. It spoke to me in tongues, played a battle anthem without warning. You left me here with some form of dark sorcery."

Fury's eyes flicked to the phone, not a sign of a smirk tugging at her lips.

"You activated the voice assistant."

"I've activated nothing. I merely tried to make sense of the symbols, but they are unintelligible. This entire device is a nightmare."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I forgot—you can't read the language here. The scripts are different."

"Obviously," I muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. "These markings make no fucking sense whatsoever."

Fury walked over and picked up the phone, tapping the screen with practiced ease. "Going to be fun to use with the cracked the screen. Here," she said, opening an app with an icon I vaguely recognized from earlier—a simple quill over a blank page.

"This is the translation app. It can help you make sense of the language."

She handed the device back to me, and I eyed it warily. The screen now displayed two columns of text under the cracked glass—the left filled with the strange symbols, the right with words in our own tongue.

"This button here," Fury pointed, "You can hold it down while you speak into it, and it will help you communicate." My shadows won't cease their murmurs, hissing their vehement agreement. Busybodies. "Or, if you'd rather listen in silence, just tap the button once. Don't hold. It'll translate as long as it's open. And you don't throw it against any walls."

I scowled. "So how am I supposed to use this thing otherwise if I can't read the instructions?"

She chuckled softly. "Fair point." She tapped a few more times. "I've set the default language to ours—yours. Now, anything you need should appear in a script you recognize."

I glanced at the screen again. This time, the symbols had transformed into familiar letters. Relief and a hint of triumph washed over me. "Finally, something that makes sense."

"Just try not to touch anything else," she advised. "And try not to break it. They're expensive to replace."

I cast her a sidelong glance.

No promises.

Fury shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. "You'll get the hang of it. It's just a tool. Like a blade."

I wasn't so sure. The device still felt alien in my hand—a window into a world that was not my own. The sleek metal and glass seemed to mock my scarred fingers as they hovered uncertainly over its surface. But if mastering it meant gaining an advantage in this unfamiliar place, then so be it. I'd spent centuries learning to adapt; this would be no different. Now armed—I'd been waiting long enough.

"How do you know who I am? Where are you from?"

Fury cocked her head at me, long onyx hair tied high on her head, a beat of silence passed between us. A hint of a treacherous smile on her lips. My shadows whispered around her, trying to catch any hint of deception.

"I came to Midgard from your world. For a new mission. Your home world, my mission previous."

"Go on. What missions?"

"You would know better than anyone, an assassin never kisses and tells."

"Don't test me. Who do you work for?" My voice carried the deadly calm I'd perfected over centuries of interrogations.

"That's irrelevant."

"What manner of power do you possess?" I sensed something familiar that I couldn't place.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's not polite to ask? I don't appreciate large noses in my business."

"I am aware of the impropriety of nosiness—but I don't think it's impolite to question a threat." My shadows curled tighter, ready to strike if needed.

A scoff. "A threat? We're on the same team. Some manners would be nice. A thank you for saving you from your own idiocy, perhaps?"

"Answer my questions or I am signing off—I'll go my own way." The female barked a laugh.

"You came to a new world without any intel, any training, no idea how this planet works. And you want to go it alone? Even I am not that reckless... but fine, have it your way."

I clamped down on the tip of my tongue with my teeth, tasting the familiar metallic tang of frustration. But she sighed, resigned, seeming to take pity on me. Never to let me forget I was a charity case.

"I... can't tell you who employs me or where I am from but—I lived in your world for a time. I worked undercover, as a mercenary. Similar job, it's some sort of merc for me in every world. Anyway. My employer was stationed temporarily in the Court of Nightmares. I am familiar with your High Lord. And the Morrigan. Your war with Hybern hadn't started yet; I received that information after arriving here... happy now?" She smirked a bit sheepishly.

"Not quite. You've only given me more questions. Explain what you do—really. Not the murderous lie." My shadows probed at her, searching for truth.

"I have... unnatural gifts. Uncommon. You've heard me talk about the Dreadwolves? Similar to the bloodhounds bred in your world but—bred to be loyal soldiers. Any sort of rebellious genetics bred out long ago. The Asteri were highly intrigued by the gift of scent tracking. For their own breeding program."

"So you're a dread... wolf?"

"No. No—I am not of this world. There isn't a word for what I am on this planet. Or yours. But the word for it in my home language is 'Erinyes'. A sort of... soul finder if you will. It's a... similar gift to the wolves. Except I am able to track pieces of soul."

"And your missions. Are to track certain souls? To do what exactly?"

"Top secret. Nothing harmful. It is quite at odds with my official title."

"Your mission here... Bryce." panic coursed through me, my wings rustling with barely contained violence. No longer willing to play nice with this tiny demon across from me.

"Yes. But, I would never ever harm her, you have to understand—"

Shadows coiled, and my siphons flickered in rage, cobalt light dancing across the walls as my power rolled beneath my skin. Fury no doubt catching the movement of power rolling beneath.

"The jobs are simple. To find and protect. To foster growth. Nothing more, nothing less. I've watched her back for years, nudging her along to make sure she was on the right path..."

"To the Sorceress? Why did you need her there?"

"I needed her safe, and Jesiba protects her—she's more than just a witch you know. I was never meant to be Bryce's friend. Never get too involved. But the little worm crawled her way into my heart and.. it's been a source of tension between myself and my bosses. They prefer a more hands off approach, but the little pain in the ass won me over what can I say. I'm finding it hard to consider ever leaving them, my friends. I am sure you can imagine feelings aren't conducive to my line of work." A huff of agreement, shadows dancing in contentment with the seemingly geniune responses.

"Satisfied?"

It would have to be enough.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement on a larger screen mounted across the room caught my attention. Another screen—this one Fury had referred to as a "TV." It had been silently moving for hours, much like watching someone's memories from the Veritas orb.

"How do you control that thing?" I nodded toward the TV.

Fury tossed me a small object with buttons—the 'remote'. "Here. Same principle. The symbols might still be an issue, but you can navigate through the channels with these arrows. And these for sound."

I pressed one of the channel buttons, and the image on the screen changed to a news broadcast while I attempted to give it sound. My phone began the spoken words into a decipherable, manageable drone.

Keep these two demons alive all the time, then.

My shadows soaked up every second of their intelligence, the language used, its apparent meaning, the depth and tone. Helpful little fuckers.

Faces changed to a stern-faced High Fae looking female spoke urgently, hurried, the headlines catching my eye:

"City-Wide Blackout Leaves Authorities Baffled."

"Security Breach at the Archives—Luna's Horn Stolen."

The phone parried back to me. "Luna's Horn Stolen."

My blood ran cold.

Fury stiffened beside me. "Damn. I bet the Fae are pissed. Preening assholes. Anyway, I hope you're satisfied and ready to get to work. Lots to do today… Where to even start… I was thinking the gun range? Or the aerialport. Fly or shoot?"

An undercurrent of tension permeated the air—my silent consideration.

Connections formed in my mind like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. Tendrils whispered, stirring with unease. Names swirled in the darkness—Danika knew about my mission, and Bryce needing the Horn—the information I had loosed like a fucking amateur. But Fury hadn't been there… no, she had walked away on her phone. So, this theft had to be…

Danika.

My insides twisted, an icy fear coursing through me as I forced myself to maintain a blank expression. Though Fury had chosen honesty, I felt no obligation to reciprocate.

The Horn was beyond my reach now, probably making its way into her back at this very moment. I'd already revealed more than I should have. No need to share this particular truth with Fury.

Secrecy remained paramount. I needed to concentrate on why I was here. This strange realm. Trust the Mother's plan until that destined time ahead.

The instant when my death would ensure her survival. Her life.

Yet for now, I had to master the distance between us.

"Let's start with flying."

Chapter Text

I'd been avoiding her well enough. Until now.

For what felt like eternity now, I've wandered these strangely lit streets, learning their ways, their language, their customs - doing anything but following the mating bond that thrums in my chest like a second heartbeat. My shadows have made quick work of the Midgardian tongue, whispering the intentional translations in my ear until the words begin to make sense. It's similar to learning the language of wind and stone, a much more difficult task, though the modern idioms still trip me up occasionally. Cthona's tits being a phrase that required a bit more explanation than usual.

Twelve days. Twelve long days since I landed here through the mist, and every minute has felt like an eternity. My fingers wrap around the sleek surface of my infernal device—my so-called cell—while I track the passing time. Each day blurs into the next. My time with Fury is packed with picking up her odd offhand expressions, along with a detailed rundown and lesson on every type of gun, bullet size, and technological marvel that this world offers. The essential evils, she maintained, despite my initial resistance. But the highlight of my days... was spent in the helicopter, Chopper, whose piloting I find strangely exhilarating, even though I possess (albeit currently concealed) wings of my own.

Learning the foreign language consumes my thoughts outside of training; every phrase learned feels like another chain binding me to this place while pulling me further away from where I'm meant to be. I practice repeating phrases under my breath, my shadows hissing at my incorrect pronunciation as they see fit until the new words flow smoothly off my tongue.

Archer Street buzzes with life, a chaotic symphony of voices, laughter, and mechanical roars that make my heart race in unfamiliar ways—overtaking the urge to follow the insistent tug.

Shadows swarm me as I stroll through bustling markets and crowded sidewalks filled with strange scents and stranger magical people—a reminder of how far I've strayed from home. This world… her world. It's unlike anything I've ever seen. Screens of light everywhere, the personal devices glowing in everyone's hands, rectangular flexible pieces of currency used in tandem with metal coins—marks. Some kind of seemingly unjustifiable system exists in which one becomes worthy of said 'credit card'. And the music - gods, the music that pounds from their pleasure halls—or 'clubs.' I've only allowed myself to linger outside them briefly, letting the bass vibrate through my bones before forcing myself to move on.

All of it was enough to occupy me while I internally fought the relentless pull of the bond tethering me to Bryce. Until today.

Thump thump.

I'm close.

Now matter how I immerse myself in this overwhelming world, there's always that flicker of longing—a whisper against my consciousness urging me back toward it, her, this.

She is here somewhere living her life without knowing how closely I'm tethered to her fate. The fate she never chose. And I'd see to it that she'd never have to choose. The bond throbs gently beneath my skin whenever I think about her—her vibrant light shimmers within me even when I am flooded with nothing except cold darkness. Tempting as it is to give that thread a swift yank, I have a mission to focus on.

Tomorrow, I meet with Phillip Briggs. Tomorrow, I begin my role as a rebel agent, feeding information back to Fury. The spymaster becoming the spy - there's irony there that I'm too weary to appreciate.

But tonight... tonight I'm weak. Tired. And hopelessly weak.

The calendar on my phone (a true miracle that I've learned to read it) reads the 10th day of Summer Season. Dry heat is heavy in the air, and I know I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be following the pull in my chest that leads me straight to her. And what must be her apartment building. But I need to see her. I have to see. Just once. Before I commit myself to die in her place. So she could just live, happily. Alive and whole. With her other mate. Without any other choice to make in the universe. The thought numbs me back to my usual chill.

But when wine red hair emerges from the building, I forget how to breathe. Blood suddenly roaring too hot.

Bryce. My shadows hiss her name with admiring approval.

The gray dress clings to every curve, dipping low in the back to reveal a hint of still tender tattooed skin that makes my fingers itch soothe it. Red painted lips plump enough to drive every male in the city to distraction, a shimmering pearl dotting each of her perfect ear lobes, and shoes caging her too small feet that look more like club spikes than footwear are enough to bring me to my knees.

She's absolutely devastating. Worth worshipping at her altar for of all eternity. She's so fucking perfect and fucking mine and she's… She's clearly going somewhere.

She’s going on…

A date. The wisps swarming me whisper into my ear. Fuck.

I hate myself even as I follow her, keeping to the shadows that are as much a part of me as my dormant wings.

This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done, and I've lived for centuries.

The Pearl and Rose, the restaurant sign reads (thank the Mother for the symbol loving people on this planet - I still struggle with their written language). My shadows whisper that the hosts are about to turn the utterly devastating female away, and before I can think better of it, I send a few little snakes slithering down the bouncer's throats. Just long enough for her to saunter past like she owns the godsdamn place. Like she owns me.

I wait outside like the lovesick fool I am, watching the minutes tick by on my phone until she emerges at 9 o'clock, alone Mother bless us, clutching a wine bottle and looking thoroughly annoyed. Shadowy sleuths catch her conversation with Fury, damn that troublesome female. She better hold true to her mission. Our mission—keep her safe, no matter the cost.

They're heading to the ‘White Raven’ in ‘thirty’.

I should leave. I should turn around and walk away and focus on tomorrow's mission, focus on the end goal—her life. But as I watch her stride down the street, that damned dress catching the light, I know I would follow her into a fucking pit of Hel. Mother, Cauldron, the female herself be damned.

Just this once, I tell myself. Just this one night to remember her by.

I'm lying to myself, and I know it. But I don't care. I don't care about anything except this wicked goddess looking sinful enough to hold my leash.

I watch as she buys some questionable substance wrapped up in black paper, presumably to inhale, outside the ‘White Raven’. Seven gold marks passing from her beautifully delicate hands to a horned female's greedy ones. Twenty excruciating minutes of my immortal life spent watching her make choices I have no right to judge, no power to stop. Choices I have made myself, in another world, a veritable lifetime ago. My hands clench at my sides, shadows writhing with delight at my impotent rage.

When a group of shifter Vanir prowl past her, their eyes hungry and wild, it takes everything in me not to materialize from the darkness and shred them to pieces with my bare hands. But I remain still, a silent guardian she never fucking asked for, as she settles into an alcove near the club's hidden exterior doors. The wine bottle still safely tucked in her arm, she's typing on her phone, a flush creeping up her cheeks that makes me want to tear apart limb from limb whoever's on the other end of that conversation.

This was such a bad fucking idea and it's only getting worse by the minute.

I'm at my wits end. I nearly blow my cover when Fury appears behind her, blade to her throat. The fear that spikes through her scent has me halfway to manifesting before I force myself back into the shadows.

"And you're dead," Fury croons. The rational part of me knows this is good - Fury keeping her sharp, aware. The rest of me wants to return the favor to Fury with my own blade. Tomorrow, she'd pay.

The drugs they exchange before entering make my blood boil. Twelve rolled black cigarettes offered from Bryce, a bag of iridescent powder offered from Fury.

Leave. I should leave. Turn away. I have no right to play sentinel, to watch over her like some dark god.

Just this one night, I tell myself again. One night to watch over her, to make sure she stays safe in this temple of excess. She could use a guardian angel. Even if that guard is nothing more than a broken bastard, a world away from home. Just tonight.

Against better judgement, I follow the irritating females inside, drawn by the invisible thread I can't - won't - break. Just this once, I tell myself again. This one night of torture I've chosen for myself.

The pleasure hall is an assault on my senses - the music vibrating through my bones, the press of bodies, the mingling of sweat and desire and metallic iron. I trail her through the club, an unseen specter amidst the pulsing lights and writhing bodies.

I'll admit, my behavior had descended well past the point of unsavory.

I watch as she and Fury claim a booth between crumbling pillars, as she inhales shimmering powder and sags against the leather. That white iridescence dusting her nostrils as she laughs with wild abandon. It's a laugh I've never heard before, untamed and reckless. So different from the few wry chuckles she granted me in the depths of those caves back in another world. As she drinks and laughs, she moves onto the dance floor with her other friend, a lovely faun whose doe eyes seemed oddly familiar.

I clock that Fury's attention had diverted to the doe eyed female I recognized… from that picture in Bryce's phone, likely. I track Fury's gaze on Bryce's dancing friend, Fury’s eyes glazed over with the same desperate wanting I'm trying to suppress as I watch Bryce move. Another male's scent is already noticeably marking the faun-like female, and something pangs uncontrollably in my chest. For Fury or myself, I couldn't be sure.

I was too far gone.

The cruel goddess became something else when she danced - pure rhythm and grace, as if she was born from music itself. Her skin gleams with sweat, hair clinging to her neck, and I feel her feet throbbing in those senseless shoes. But she doesn't stop, doesn't slow, even as others gather to watch her and, June (my nosy shadows whisper), with undisguised lust.

The crowd circles them like wolves, their eyes hungry and disingenuous hands grasping. Bryce twirls away from them with a mocking smile, always just out of reach. A shooting star, bright and untouchable. A little light in the dark. Mine. I hate the way they look at her, the way they whisper about her when she's not looking. My shadows hiss and spit, begging to be unleashed.

But I yank the demons back, restrain them even as my fingers twitch with the urge to tear the males' throats out. This isn't my world, and she isn't mine to protect. Not right now. I'm just a silent knife in the dark, a temporary shield against the night. For only this one night.

I keep watching. Lost. Entranced. Adrift. Utterly consumed. My heart carved out from inside.

No words would ever describe the sheer devastation of watching her exist without me.

Two hours of exquisite torturous agony pass as I watch her dance until her feet bleed, as I force myself to remain in the shadows when she disappears into the bathroom with a stranger. I marked the male, to save for later when I'd come for his blood. Every moment is a test of my control, every second a reminder that I chose this torture. And I would continue choosing her from now until eternity dissolved into stardust.

But it was time to fucking go.

I don't tell Fury I'm here— she doesn't need to know—clearly lost herself. I materialize to take care of the ‘tab’, a custom similar to periodical billing, that I've picked up on in my 11 nights here. I charge it to the Fury's corporate card I now have access to without second thought. Bryce's debt here is paid, her friends, too. Nothing would ever hold her back or claim her again.

From now until the eternal darkness takes us all into its cold embrace.

When she finally stumbles home, leaving Fury and her doe eyed friend behind, I follow.

Of course, I fucking follow.

I trail Bryce through the darkened streets, my shadows coiling around her like a protective shroud. She's stumbling, her steps uneven and clumsy, those deadly shoes still caging her tiny tender feet. My heart pangs, knowing it's an ache I will never be able to soothe. Her hand clutch at her phone, and I can hear her humming a familiar song under her breath. That rolling acoustic haunting melody. I will myself to not inhale the air her breath had seeped into, to stay back. Close. But…

Every few steps, she veers dangerously close to the edge of the path, teetering on the precipice between walking path and machine dominated road. Each time, my heart leaps into my throat, shadows lashing out to gently nudge her back to safety.

This world may not be so fascinating after all since it's proving to be more dangerous than necessary.

A shadowy tendril curls around her ankle, steadying her as she sways. Another brushes against her shoulder, guiding her away from the miniature hump separating the people from cars.

I can feel the pain in her feet as if it were my own, the ache of abused muscles and blistered sticky skin. The drugs may have numbed her to the discomfort, but I feel it keenly, a throbbing echo in my own bones. I grit my teeth against the sensation, focusing on keeping her upright and moving forward.

It's a delicate dance, manipulating the shadows without revealing myself. I have to be quick, precise, never letting her catch more than a fleeting glimpse of darkness in her peripheral vision. If she weren't completely out of her mind, she might notice the unnatural movements in the dark, the way the shadows seem to anticipate her every stumble. But tonight, lost in a haze and exhausted, she doesn't even blink. My heart keens that I'm able to keep her safe. Block by block, I guide her home, phantom hands steering her through the night. The city is a labyrinth of potential threats - uneven sidewalks, reckless car drivers, unsavory characters lurking in alleyways.

I have had enough for one night when I notice her begin fidgeting wildly for something in her bag.

By the time we reach her apartment building, I'm sweating with the effort of keeping her upright and in one piece without being seen. Her pain echoing in my own feet throbs in time with my heartbeat.

Thump thump thump.

It was just this once, I remind myself. It was just this one night. But seeing her to the door, inside even, would be the chivalrous thing to do.

But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. A godsdamn, love drunk, twisted lie.

Then the sharp wave of scent hits me. Blood. Too much blood. Knocking from my scent slicked stupor.

Wrong wrong wrong, my shadows urge, and for the first time in days, real fear grips me.

Bryce can barely work her phone, barely remember her apartment code, and my heart clenches as she hops from foot to foot, broken glass scattered around her bare feet.

It’s a crime scene.

Leave, leave, leave. But then...

She manages an entrance.

I watch her laughing up the stairs, clinging to the staircase like some sort of wild forest creature, oblivious to the danger, and without a second thought - finally - I move.

I descend into shadow onto her third floor home and see it: their apartment door, mangled and broken like a crumpled piece of paper. The handle torn away completely.

In this moment, I know my careful plans, my promises to stay away, meant fucking nothing.

Because my mate is about to walk into a nightmare straight from the pit of Hel.

Chapter Text

The Pearl and Rose was dripping with the kind of charm that made you feel like you were obligated to smile and hold hands. The lighting was soft, the wine was aged, and the whole place practically screamed, “This is a night you’ll remember.” It was the kind of spot someone might propose, or apologize, or make some grand declaration about their future. Or, in my case, the kind of place where the weight of the past decided to sit down at your table and join you for dessert.

Hunt had no idea. He couldn’t have. How could he possibly remember that this was the place I broke up with Reid? Or more importantly, that this was the same spot I sat the night Danika died? I had been here right before my whole world was ripped apart, a little over three years ago. I wanted to tell myself he had good intentions, that he had forgotten he had read this data in my file so long ago, and I wanted to just… let it go.

But letting things go wasn’t exactly my strong suit these days, now was it?

Dinner was fine. Better than fine. The wine almost made it good. Hunt was doing everything he could to make me feel special. The way he smiled at me, his wing twitching just slightly—like he was nervous—should’ve made me feel warm. But all I felt was this stupid, gnawing emptiness that I couldn’t explain or shove down. The surge only racheted up with each nicety, climbing higher inside of me.

And I hated myself for it.

The conversation started light. Hunt talked about some new firstlight restructuring project he was overseeing with Isaiah, and I asked a few questions here and there. Has the 33rd considered how relying on firstlight donations from the inebriated would ultimately submit the government to untold liabilities to be navigated once a litigious Vanir’s sobriety hits the next day? But my mind wandered. Maybe it was the ghosts of the past haunting me, or maybe it was just me being… me. Guilt crept in, hot and insistent.

Why was I ruining this?

Then a Hunt ‘World Savior’ Athalar fanboy approached our table, all eager and starry-eyed, and whatever guilt I’d been nursing hardened into something sharp. I didn’t care about the angel’s words. Not really. I didn’t even care that the guy ignored me completely. But as Hunt smiled politely, I felt this wave of anger I couldn’t control.

What was wrong with me?

The words came out before I could stop them, dripping with sarcasm and venom I didn’t even mean. “Wow, and here I thought being Mrs. Destroyer of First Light might warrant a mention, a thank you, even!”

The angel froze, stammered some excuse, and hurried off. Hunt’s gaze locked on me immediately, confusion laced with concern.

“Bryce… what the fuck?”

I shrugged, folding my napkin delicately, trying to play it off like I hadn’t just made a scene. “What? I am enjoying my fifteen minutes of fame...”

“You’ve never cared about stuff like that before,” he said carefully, like I was a bomb he wasn’t sure how to diffuse.

“Well, maybe I’m tired of being a thorn in your rosy hero narrative,” I shot back, the words harsher than I intended as I spoon stabbed my chocolate mousse.

Hunt’s brow furrowed. “Where is this coming from? Bryce, do you honestly think I see you like that? Some kind of thorn in my side?”

I wanted to answer. Wanted to say no. But instead, I heard myself snap, “Well.. do you? Do you think I destroyed the only life we’ve ever known? Do you resent me for what I made you fight for in the rebellion only for our planet to end up like this—a fucking mess to figure out? Why wouldn’t you hate me for all of it?” I goaded him.

His face fell, a mixture of frustration and hurt flashing in his eyes. “What are you talking about? Bryce, this isn’t fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is sitting here, listening to people thank you for saving the world while I’m treated like a pariah everyone’s trying to forget ruined their fucking lives.”

“You’re twisting this into something it’s not,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I just wanted to have a nice night.”

“Well, congratulations,” I shot back. “It’s memorable, that’s for sure.”

The rest of dinner passed in uncomfortable silence, the tension between us thick enough to cut with one of the expensive steak knives.

At the Crescent City ballet, I tried to appreciate the effort Hunt had put into planning this night for us. He knew I loved ballet, had been missing dancing. He knew I’d enjoy the artistry, the music, the emotion. And I did, for the first twenty minutes. But then the restlessness kicked in, the overwhelming need to move, to be somewhere else, to do something other than sit in silence with my own thoughts. That little voice in the back of my head screaming, go, go see.

When we left the theater, the fight picked up again, like it had been waiting for us to step outside. To be unleashed.

“Why do you think I never want to go dancing with you?” Hunt finally snapped after a few too many of my jabs remarkedly noting the increasing drizzle Hunt seemed to be unconsciously causing. “This is why. I’m worried you’ll get like this.”

“Like what?” I said, the realized hurt bubbling up in my chest, Hunt's burgeoning storm doing nothing to put out my fire. “Emotional? Angry? You, the Prince of Brooding, have the audacity to insinuate that I am moody?” My voice had started to crack against my will.

He threw up his hands. “Sorry if I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with all of this. It’s not like we’ve been together for a century.”

“Exactly, ding ding, Hunt. How am I supposed to trust you’ll stick around for the next century if things get hard? When life or even I am too particularly difficult to deal with?”

“That’s not what I said!” he yelled. “All I do is try to be here for you, Bryce. I’m trying to love you, and you’re making it impossible!”

“Making it impossible?” My laugh was hollow, cold. “Tell me, Hunt, how exactly am I supposed to do that? By making myself smaller? Quieter? Easier for you to handle?”

A wolf passerby muttered something under his breath about Hunt “keeping his girl under control,” and before I could respond with a starfire beam lasered into his right eyeball, Hunt was on him.

“My mate is perfectly capable of controlling herself. Now get the hell out of here before I show you what happens when I don’t.” He growled, but it left nothing shuddering in its wake.

“See…?” I said, my voice shaking. “This. This is what I mean.”

“What are you talking about? Cthonas tits, Bryce, you’re impossible. I just stood up for you!”

“Next time, maybe punch him! Or Hel even worse! Rather than playing the good little government agent,” I spat.

“I couldn’t do that and you know it,” Hunt said through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to rebuild something here. We both are. We're leaders—we have to set an example, be better.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped, the guilt hitting me like a freight train.

What was I doing? Why was I like this?

I glanced at him, at the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of everything he was carrying. And I knew. Knew I was being awful, ridiculous, and unfair. But the words wouldn’t come. The apology stuck in my throat, indignant.

Walking back to the apartment, his words resurfaced, laced with frustration and defeat. “I just wanted us to have one night without all this drama.”

“I… shouldn’t have started talking politics or whatever. I just got overheated,” I said quietly, a part of me pleading for us to steer away from the inevitable spiral. Evading my apologies further.

“What else is there to talk about, Bryce?” His voice was tired, resigned. “It’s what we built our whole relationship on. Politics. Saving the world. Remember? It’s no surprise ‘just living’ takes some getting used to...”

I laughed, soft and bitter. “Did we actually save anyone, Hunt? Or did we just doom everyone to Hel?” I swallowed, my voice barely a whisper.

“I know you know I’m no savior.”

He reached for me then, his hand brushing mine in the dark, but I couldn’t meet his gaze.

Couldn’t stand the sight of his eyes meeting my own.

And neither of us said anything else the rest of the way home.

Chapter Text

The Apartment, Midnight

My keys and bag clattered atop the kitchen counter after Hunt's grey wings and Syrinx's scuttling legs stormed down the hallway ahead, clicking the bedroom door shut with a light snick. Wouldn't want me to think he's upset—ticking time bomb I am and all. Like I'm broken glass and he's walking barefoot, trying to breathe through the pain. To show me how much it doesn't hurt him. That's he'd do anything to weather the pain—to weather me.

It cracked my fucking heart in two, that shut door. To feel my own sigh of relief, is what really broke me, knowing it was a line he drew for the evening that I wouldn't dare cross.

I was glad to have a break even if it cost me.

I shrugged the icy shard all of my shoulder; scrambling for the box atop the spotless coffee table.

My mirthroot. Ogenas bless me.

I could use about 12 rolled cigarettes of the stuff; inhaled back to back, blown out into the ether. Maybe the tendrils of smoke would carry off the few last blackened pieces of my soul that remained on a night kissed breeze. A girl could dream.

I fumbled with the pre rolled therapy in a stick thank you very much and tried to breathe before the nightly panic hit.

Inhale. Exhale.

The sounds of the city's sirens screamed from somewhere below. A club's thumping bass rattled somewhere in the distance, clearly daring the Aux or 33rd to come fine them for improper first light use without an after hours permit. Cackles of gleeful laughter from partying Vanir below nearly shredded what was left of my heart to ribbons—they were oblivious to the shit storm of a human contemplating the fate of her life and their planet above them.

When was the last time I had laughed like that? Too long. It had been too long…

What could I do about any of it, though? Nothing. Ignore your problems and they'll go away… an old Danika tried and true favorite piece of advice I stashed away for my worst moments. There was nothing to be done.

I chose this. I chose him. I chose Hunt. I chose our planet, this life, this moment. To live. To fucking do something other than sit here in the fetal position and spiral.

Why couldn't I get the fuck up. I'm fucking drowning and I can't—I'm buried—the weight feels like an ever present anvil inside my chest. Why didn't anyone see—help. I needed help. I can't—inhale.

Exhale.

On a shaky breath, I turned my attention back to where Hunt had sequestered himself to stew. That closed, silent bedroom door was screaming; almost as if the door itself was alive.

A pale wooden gateway to a forbidden lair beyond. Maybe I'd name him. 'Mortal the Door' had a cute ring to it. Mort, for short. Was the door… was Mort… speaking to me? A face swirling, morphing from wood, tsking to itself about the scene unfolding. Of everything it had seen through all the splinters of its life. Tsking at the unavoidable. Scoffing at the inevitable. It knows…

Two people; trying not to upset the other. Together, but separate. Joined, but not whole. Married, but under what Gods. Mated, but cursed with rotting loneliness.

Fucking Mort could read my mind…

Okay, the mirthroot wasn’t helping.

The door isn't alive.

I've seen some shit in my day, but a living, talking door? I chuckled to myself.

This mirthroot was good shit.

I abandoned the cigarette, and its cautionary tale, flicking what was left of it into the drizzly abyss. Content to sit and sulk alone; I set my spiral towards a new target. Off my soul—and onto the planet.

That was healthier, right?

Sometimes I thought, with enough time alone, maybe I could restructure and re-systemize the entire planet myself. No help from a decrepit Imperial Senate, city heads, or any 33rd narc larks. Just me and my little thoughts. Utopia—perfection encapsulated until… utopia began to overgrow and wrap it's strangling vines around my cerebellum.

The past 7 months; the entire planet has been slowly adjusting to what the talking heads in media are calling 'First Light Reconstruction efforts.' Hunt, along with Isaiah and the rest of the 33rd have been holding Crescent City together by the threads of a black battle suit that was now mainly used for targeting First Light thieves who preyed upon the city's power grid. And Hunt was all too happy to put on his helmet and let them know who they answered to now.

The worldwide use of First Light immediately required planetary rules and regulations with the impending permanent draining of the precious finite resource. Yet, the rules were basically impossible to police without any sort of enforcement squad—shockingly the planet addicted to technology was also addicted to not letting that power be taken away from them. It made for an uptick in crime that was threatening enough to overtake the entire planet's focus. Globalism became a thing in like 2 weeks, without any sort of fuss. A single boon in a mounting pile of shit. The people had needed the First Light situation fixed and STAT…

So, being the swoon worthy hero he is, Hunt (and the rest of the 33rd, too) naturally took to his new role of: Officer First Light, Savior of Light on planet Midgard, and the Preserver of our Gods Given Technology like a Mer to water.

His wings puffed every so slightly with every nod from a passing Civitas. Unnoticeable if I didn’t know… him. No longer the Shadow of Death… but the Savior of Light. And of the savior of life as everyone knew before we blew it to smithereens.

He was now adored and revered, not shunned and shuttered nor given a wide berth in the streets. It should warm my heart like the center of a buttery flaky pastry… but… it hurt too fucking much to think about why it didn’t.

Hunt was so good—too good. To have given his entire life, his power, for others. For me. To finally be admired for the true Angel he is—he deserved it. He deserved better than my fragmented soul, slicing up all of his healing wounds. He deserved the fucking world.

Hunt's power, too, had been coming in handy, as usual. The sweet angel made weekly trips to the corner Med Witch clinic for transfusion treatments between his missions and the gym. His lightning harvested weekly as a supplemental aid to those who needed it most—the global medwitch clinic network, their care facilities, and of course, the governmental entities and buildings that housed them.

The paparazzi couldn’t get enough of the hunk they photographed, walking into the clinic in baggy sweatpants and a backwards baseball cap—gray wings tucked and ready to save the world.

Parchment Six had a field day.

UMBRA MORTIS OFF DUTY

The rag mag title had read. A shout out to some fancy expensive sweatpants site and a CCU alumni shop to demonstrate his accessible look. He had snorted when he saw the headline.

It would have been cute if it didn’t irritate me so godsdamn much.

There were obvious flaws to the first light regulation and taxation system. Flaws to the idea of Hunt saving us all.

Of saving me.

Mainly, First Light was operating as a government regulated class system and everyone fucking knew it, including Hunt. Regulations only mattered to the ones who couldn’t control the rules.

The rich, the powerful. The city heads. They had first dibs. Unlimited access to power; whatever they could pay for in coin while keeping their actual power for themselves. Not giving a dime for the system they intended to exploit unless required to siphon per the donation law (which was often undermined anyway).

Next priority for power went to the well connected, famous or politically powerful and their chosen posse. What remained was up for grabs by the Civitas middle class, and the Peregrini class… well they got the day’s dregs. The humans who could pay—were well off enough. Some power during the day to live, for their homes, cars if they had or their devices. But it would be hard to pay for access after curfew without doing a shady deal. And then there were those who could not pay, could not give to the system to earn access. The destitute humans. They relied on donations.

The Mer remained unaffected, untouched, and absolutely unwilling to play ball or help whatsofuckingever.

Hunt had been silent on the matter but, the Ocean Queen was a fucking bitch.

Lunathion’s city gates seemed to be the only beacon that withstood as a solid option for saving us— from the nightmare I had personally created. Hunt and I argued about the idea at nauseum; along with all the other brainless ideas cooked up inside the Comitium. But this one… we fought and picked and ended up at the same place we started—scared of what was to come. That the circling current of power that flowed into the city’s grid wouldn’t be enough power to sustain our world, not if left to be freely given.

There were people on this planet who would donate their power for the greater good, of course. Just… not enough of them.

The temples, all priests and priestesses, of the planet already recused themselves; siphoning off nearly all of their power so that it could go to others in need, be spun into First Light, and some even went to the humans in offering. Some small sort of protection against a world built to exploit them.

And I tried to do my part, to give power until my nearly endless well was dry, every single day, but it would never be enough. I would never be enough to save our world, not on my own.

We will still run out of First Light soon and return to the time of the First Wars. To how Avallen was already thriving… which burning Solas thank the Gods for one less headache, and my favorite vacation home.

We needed Hypaxia or Hunt and his narc squad to discover how to regenerate the magic of First Light… or force it out of people one way or another. Or we risked global upheaval. Another rebellion that looked like every team for themselves but with my own head on a spike.

Hypaxia's last intelligence report came to Ruhn, detailing her continued efforts on the grounds surrounding the collapsed Crystal Palace.

The former witch queen’s notes had hypothesized a cure for regeneration—if she could isolate the compounds of the now ashen, dust ridden battlefield like she had the parasite; to identify what killed the land in order to find its opposite. It was a small sliver of light at the end of a massive yawning black hole.

Her report had come with photos. What was once a beautiful land of rolling hills, towering iron gates and a crystal palace… now that same land around it was decayed, blackened threads ash woven through earth, an infection. Worse than a parasite, it was a brand. A permanent mark of true death. As if the magic, the soul that lived here was entirely consumed and replaced with rot. The Eternal City was dead. Eternal no longer. And death looked to be reaching out—grasping for more.

Memento Mori.

A shudder whooshed down my spine along the letters of my tattoo that made me rub my arms up and down for some sad attempt at warmth… but Hypaxia was brilliant. She'd find the solution; stop the rot and regenerate the magic.

Matter, and antimatter. Life and death. The cure for Midgard itself hung in the balance.

Of course, there are those who have… alternative… ideas for how First Light could be saved, and the land regenerated. Bad alternatives, like non consensual alternatives, punishment alternatives, submittals and scare tactics. The arguments against of all of it circled the drain of most of Hunt and I's dinner conversations when we were actually together—not working late at either office, likely eating takeout to support local business. Getting some nice press at pick up. Avoiding another spat.

But I couldn’t let this go.

Not even for the greater good.

Because how would I have known ridding the world of it's overlords would have compromised the very humanity I was willing to die to save? Knowing I had caused this — so much pain and now a broken system with no fix in sight. Carved out another piece of my chest.

Add it to the pile.

Magic needed to be taxed; power administered by order of need and with considerations of power level to even the playing field. Those more powerful needed to give; or be forced to—regardless if it rocked the little power canoe Hunt has tight within his grip.

And I was fucking done standing for it. Apologizing for my stance, apologizing to him for how I felt. I had enough.

And maybe it was that thought. The thought that burned a mark in my soul.

I’m not sorry that I need him on my side. I'm not sorry I would do anything to save my family. To save this world. To fix what I'd broken.

Including burning myself all to Hel.

But I am sorry, so fucking sorry, to Hunt, my mate. For everything. For all it.

I just couldn't tell him that yet.

Chapter Text

Sleep never came.

After approximately the 538th turn within my small subsection of our massive king bed, withstanding hours of Syrinx's paws sticking into my back and listening to Hunt's soft snores enough to grate my nerves like a cheese grater—I decided to say fuck it and give up.

Running the city streets was a rarity for me nowadays. Hunt much preferring the solitude of the building's gym; no flashing cameras or fawning fan club members to interrupt his focus. But the treadmill never spoke to me anymore—I missed the feeling of pavement biting into my shins.

Dawn in Midgard was quiet. The use of First Light between the hours of 2-5am were heavily monitored. Only those within the upper echelons could manage to avoid detection.

The dawn was still as death.

People would awaken soon—the city would turn on one by one, like a waterfall of activity crashing around 7am, but I had time to go before then. Before I had to hide inside—away from my adoring fans. Lacing up pink sneakers, adjusting the waistband of my white leggings and tucking my phone into the matching sports bra, a shot of adrenaline racked through me.

Hunt wouldn't like it one bit—but he also wouldn't tell me no… the benefits of being the scary asshole.

Feet pounding and red pony tail swinging—my chest was warming, blooming into what felt like peace. Quiet. Freedom in the still dark.

An untethered smile bloomed where my scowl had been planted.

The streets were empty, restful, soothing my icy heart with every pounding footfall. Breaths came easier, wild and without thought. Something tight loosened in my chest.

Thump thump.

My heartbeat seemed to ratchet, entwining with each step. All thoughts of my previous evening dissolving into the ether.

Thump step thump step thump.

An hour passed of nothing but calm steady chorus of thumps, steps, and a perfectly sweet stillness that I wanted to bottle and keep forever.

If only.

5am, the bright glow of my watch seemed to raise an eyebrow.

Hunt would be waking soon, realizing I was gone, flying to find me. My steps slowed as I circled around the heart gate, bending over, hands on my knees to catch my breath, my back exposed to the cool crystal. My heart—kept going.

Thump thump, thump thump.

A smirk played on my lips.

My heart likes the heart gate.

The gate had always held a special place in my heart, and that small fragment hadn't blackened just yet.

A ringing sensation began in my ears, a myriad of spots dotting my vision.

Fuck—I had worn myself out.

An hour of running would have been nothing in the past but—this Starborn Queen has been on a workout hiatus recently.

No wonder I was practically dying at the moment.

I slid my back down slumping completely to the dirty ground. Fine. This was fine. I was not going to pass out—a hollow feeling began to tug on my gut.

Making me nauseous.

Oh shit—was I going to… ugh… I was gonna puke…

A rock skittered in the alleyway ahead on a night kissed breeze.

Cold ripples slithered down my spine.

It sent hairs up on the back on my neck but not in the good way. In the 'there is a predator in the night' lurking way too close kinda way.

Ugh… maybe Hunt was right about the whole running the streets in the middle of night thing.

Whatever. Not that I'd tell him he's right.

Teleporting was my fancy little superpower and if this lurking asshole wanted to try me, I'd just leave his ass in the dust. Easy peasy.

Still…

Time to go.

I didn't want to find out what headlines I'd gather when the city's camera catch me puking at the Heart Gate at 5am.

Catching my breath, the spots had evaporated but the tugging, the ringing… still there… strange.

My apartment building appeared in front of me in a flash.

The… tug tug, the ringing singing… had dissolved at the Heart Gate along with my body. A wave of relief washed over me along with that same clenching back in my chest at the sight of my front door.

My finger to the keypad, a small starlight donation that would get funneled to the city every time I entered the apartment—it was the final thing that would knock me out.

Covered in sweat, I stalked towards the bedroom doorway. Footsteps, eyelids felt unnaturally heavy as if… as if… I was being put down. A weighted blanket across my body. Solas… it felt good. I was so… tired…

Sticking to the white duvet and not giving a single shit about it; I curled as close to the farthest edge of the bed that I could muster.

Wings feathered in agitation as my weight pressed gently into the far side of the bed.

Steps towards the bathroom and a running shower were the last sounds I heard before I let the inky black wash over me completely.

Finally succumbing to the darkness.

To peace.

Chapter Text

I had come at dusk as soon as the order was lifted. 

My 7 month long ordeal was finally over, and I was going to fucking kill Rhysand. Or at least severely maim him the next time I saw him. Not that there’d be a next time. 

Preventing me from seeing her–my mate–when she was like this. So sad. So damn unhappy. It fucking gut me to feel her through the bond, flashes of her mind making my heart bleed. 

I hadn’t known what to expect. Didn’t know what I’d be blindly walking into after 7 tortuous months away. 

“It’s not the same thing. She isn’t Feyre and her mate isn’t Tamlin. They are mates, Azriel. She said so herself.” 

“It’s a fucking lie! She’s fucking MINE!” I had roared at him. The preening bastard.

But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t not see, check if she was happy. Just this once… If she was, well… I had to leave. Again. And stay gone, this time. For as long as I could stand it. Rhys could gloat that he’d been right. 

Though I wouldn’t be going back now.

He’d never get the chance. 

I had made my choice. The choice was right here in front of me. Soul stealing red hair bobbing with each running step. Breaths coming easier now in tandem with my own despite her effort. White skin tight pants painted her perfect ass, driving me to near debilitating madness. Just being here–watching her, breathing her same air–it… fuck. I was doing it again. Panting after the female I never fucking had. 

But she fucking wasn’t happy. She was this shell. Miserable, but faking it. And I could feel every depressing thread of it.

She’s been drowning, suffering for The Mother knows how long and I haven’t been able to do a fucking thing about it–locked away on the other side of the universe in my own veritable hell. Her puffy buzzard of a mate could combust into flames for all I fucking cared–I had left her for the second fucking time in his care to have her happily ever after and this is what I came to find. 

Abject misery at the soul level.

Oh the angel would be getting a snowball full of rocks to the face as soon as I could find one. A rock snowball smashed to his temple, multiple times over, if I knew she’d forgive me for it.  I couldn’t be sure she would. I also couldn't be sure her state wasn't entirely my fault, angel be damned.

Shadows trailed all the way to the Heart Gate. The tug, the primal urge to be near her and simultaneously rip off the angel’s head with my hands surged through me, singing through the bond. 

I wonder if she feels it. If she feels me like I feel her. 

My brothers hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with advice on how the mating bond works. A tutorial would have been appreciated. 

Oh for the Cauldron’s sake, she’s going to vomit. No, no, no. Breathe little light. Moving forward unconsciously I realize I skittered a rock. I freeze when I catch her glance warily in my direction.

A crackle of magic hit; and she disappeared into thin air. 

Cute; thinking she could ever possibly escape me. 

The bond was a living thing between us. I could follow it as easily as a map home. It’d lead me to her–every single time.

An entire universe couldn’t keep me away.

I was at her apartment building, emerging from a plume of shadows in the back alley. Where I could make sure her light turned on. Feeling a swooping sensation of what had to be her power draining off as she entered her apartment gave me pause. 

Siphoning her power beneath. My shadows hissed. Helpful little busybodies. I could feel the emptiness where light had been; and something else... The Horn’s sentience surged forward. The drain of her power slipped its leash; and it slithered around her mind. I shuddered at the thought of the living thing inside her body.

It would certainly not do. 

No, she couldn’t walk around with a soul sucking entity woven into her flesh without some sort of protection. And if she wouldn’t protect herself by keeping her power intact to fight it… well… someone had to do it. And it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the uselessly angelic idiot in her bed.

My jaw would certainly permanently seal shut at some point from the stress.

Grabbing a hold of that mental soul bridge between us–I pushed forward. A blanket of ebony dark burst ahead of me, where the otherworldly thing coiled around her mind. I couldn’t do anything but this for the time being–quiet it. Put it down. Give her some peace from its searing light, nipping away at her piece by piece.

Shh. My shadows hummed between us. Rest.

Sleep.

They purred a song in the darkness.

Chapter Text

I'm fucking panicking.

There are piles of corpses heaped across the floor. Blood is everywhere. Bodies reduced to red pulp. The coppery stench of carnage and something I can't place engulfs my nose as lights flicker around me.

Shit.

SHIT.

This cannot be happening. Not now. Not... fuck.

The sight steals my breath, a visceral punch to my gut. Danika and what I assume is her pack are unrecognizable, remnants of the female that had been just so alive, now reduced to reeking bloody pieces.

I have literal seconds to fix this. This is all my fault—the debt I've been racking has come due. I've destroyed everything. There's no way to undo what I've done. This moment will be branded on my heart with a hot iron for the rest of my miserable existence.

Bryce's bedroom door hangs from its hinges, shattered and splintered like my chest at the realization of what she will inevitably see. Blood paints the threshold—a stark crimson against pale wood—like an offering. The way some in Velaris painted their doors when Amren was on the hunt. A bloody plea for mercy for their souls.

It's a sharp reminder that I can't save her from this horror—either female. Not my mate or her friend. Not when I know Danika died and... stayed that way. I just hadn't known how she died. Or when. Or that I could have fucking saved them both from all of it.

I sense Bryce making her way up the stairs, unsteady footfalls crawling closer. I know her best friend will never return after this night. The nauseating truth hits me: I won't jeopardize saving my mate if it means the Harp would only damn us all further to hell. That thought slices through what little remains of my soul. It's a choice between my mate or the friend she'd gladly die for, and is it even truly a question? I won't turn back time again. I won't risk what belongs to me—even if she begs me to—I won't risk her life. Even when I know she will never forgive me. Not for this decision. But if choosing Bryce time and again, brands me the spawn of Hell, then I truly don't give a damn. I'm already prepared to exist in its depths for eternity.

Soft, clumsy steps reach the third floor landing.

Bryce's brass keys sing as she walks, clanking as they slip from her fingers to the floor.

It buys me a few more seconds to think. Plan something. Anything.

But nothing comes to mind as I watch her take the last unburdened steps she'll ever take. My heart catches in my throat as she braces herself in the doorway and I hear the sweetest, saddest sound I've ever heard in my miserable, too-long life.

"Danika? … Danika?"

A small bloody hand pushes that already-open iron door, and I cast out a net of shadow. Just this once. Shield her for a moment longer. I can't stay.

Blackness greets her—the only thing I know to do. The only other thing I know to save her from this horrible fate, is claim blood for blood. Regardless of it being her own death to claim.

I move behind her, silent as a shadow, as she takes in the broken furniture and bodies. No one... no one should ever have to see this, and it's her, my mate—and I can't fucking help her, she doesn't even know I exist yet but—

"DanikaDanikaDanika—" her voice cracks, and the sound cleaves open my chest. It's the worst sound I've ever heard. The heartbreaking voice cracking stops—she just stares. And stares. And if I don't do something, if I don't fucking move, help her—

I'm done thinking rationally. I summon the Harp from my pocket of nowhere, its strings vibrating under my fingers as I pull on the last string with all my energy. Time shudders around us, slowing to a crawl as I stretch it thin—just enough to find Danika's killer. I can't bring her back but perhaps some justice would lessen my debt to her. To my mate.

She would kill me for this if she ever finds out.

But she will never find out. About this. About me. Any of it.

Shadows ripple through the room, seeking any sign of movement, listening.

But nothing appears. My panic surges as I realize I'll have to leave her here, frozen in time, to hunt the killer and shred his organs to mist, like the demonic soul deserves.

So I leave her behind, terror suspended in the beginning of her personal nightmare. Like the traitorous mate I am.

But someone will fucking pay. Blood for blood is only fair, after all. If the Mother is claiming debts, I won't let her play favorites.

I set out in total darkness, numb, letting my shadows control. Loosening my leash on them. Go.

The street is a frozen blur of mid-movement; everything inching forward in the slowest motions—as if fighting time for each second of control. How I'm fighting for control over the Harp that I know I should never touch again. Yet here I am—reckless. Idiotic. Fool.

This world must be cursed, driving me to make one disastrous decision after another. Maybe there's something in the water.

But my shadows are thrilled to be set free tonight. The lack of whispers for them to feast on leaves the beasts not so shockingly disappointed, lamenting against the stillness of the city. But the myriad of still scents keeps the little narcs entertained otherwise.

No scent of blood, of Danika, that I can detect through the frozen crowded city. Fuck. I'm getting worse at my job by the hour. If I can't find the killer...

In a moment of humiliating realization, my shame flares; I've left Bryce frozen in time—vulnerable to whatever horrors surely lurk beyond my lacking comprehension.

Because that's when I felt her move.

The Harp has no hold on her—or at the very least, she is able to fight it.

She is fighting it.

Shit.

Standing in the middle of a still street, shadow spirals around me as I feel her move through threads of time, warping, shrinking and expanding around her; her feet rising and falling in her apartment as if she is moving through the breaths of fate itself. She shouldn't be able to—how the fuck is she moving—

The thought spiders down my spine as I'm transported behind eyes that aren't my own. Eyes that are back in her blood-soaked apartment.

I can't just feel Bryce standing still anymore—because I am standing still. Behind her eyes. Every eddying thought of hers, mine. Her body, mine, too—the feeling wholly unnatural. Not even a mating bond has the power to possess... this feels wrong. This magic is older somehow—and I know of only a few things of which such power is possible.

The Harp and Horn have found each other again at last and have seemingly hatched their plan in secret. Like a scrying gone wrong. And I've been the one overthrown.

I can hear Bryce's thoughts somehow. She thinks she's dead—adrift in an endless void where nothing touches her skin. I feel her there, floating in the dark. In her mind, we are in the in-between as one.

My hold on the Harp's first string lifts in an effort to break the connection and return me back to my body—the plucked first chord releases with the weight of time crushing down on us as it snaps back. The cacophony of noise outside and the roaring silence around us returns with a whir of motion but I'm still here.

I'm still with her. And I don't know how to leave.

She hears something that jars us out of that endless black sea of glittering starlight—a clanging thunk from outside her apartment door that drags us back into the reality standing before her. The reality of the hallway I'm also now inside.

Her small kitchen table lies in fragments. I urge her bloody, shaking fingers to wrap around a splintered wooden leg, lifting it over her shoulder, and checking down the hall.

She begins blinking furiously to either blink me out of her mind or focus on whatever idiocy we're about to be thrown into. I try to make sense of what the fuck is going on through her own blurry eyes as she sways against the door seeing what sets her off.

Footprints.

She catapults herself into the hallway to follow, bolting without so much as a warning thought. I feel her slam into the opposite wall and I rebound off it instinctually, then haul her into a sprint toward the stairwell, steadying her legs.

Of course this female moves before thoughts enter her brain.

If she wants to play the hero, I have no choice but to do the same.

Leaping with such force that I'm not sure she'll be capable of sticking, her knees pop and retreat under her weight. She clears the stairs in a single jump without a wince of pain, her bare feet shredding atop the shattered glass.

The female is utterly mad. Unstoppable rage courses through her veins in a way that I've only ever experienced myself—never witnessed from others. Not even Rhysand.

Ripping her soles open further as if she's begging for the pain, she barges through the door into the street. On the hunt for blood. Much like myself... shit.

Where had I left my body? How the fuck do I get back? And even more horribly... what if I'm not strong enough to break the connection to the Horn myself? The thoughts paralyze me as she barrels onward through halted cars and terrified people into a narrow alley. Towards a primordial being that stops my spiral in its tracks, and an overwhelming smell of rot. Something from the pit of Hell itself.

Focus. Help her, you fucking idiot.

I begin rattling off logical thoughts, trying to focus her.

Follow the scent. Dodge that pile. Jump over. Keep running. It's close. Keep going. Where is it? Just get one look at it. Find it. We will take care of it.

Urging her forward. She seems to be listening, somehow, despite everything.

She clears the alley, hurtling onto a busy street full of horrified onlookers and lines of vehicles blaring their horns.

Leap over. Jump, twist, land. Keep following that scent. I brace her legs as she scales one vehicle after another. Alley after alley. Go. My pleas seem to run through her mind one sentence at a time, a veritable waterfall of rational sense pouring into her, unscrambling what she had previously decimated of her mind.

The river nears. A snarl and roar reverberates off the alley ahead. A dead end. A perfect place to commit a justifiable murder.

A little farther now. Lift your weapon overhead. Get ready to run. Go now.

Clearing the alley's corner—it's a bloodbath. The flash of gray evil I had previously witnessed comes into sharper view. The thing is completely feral—moving on all fours devouring the body of what looks to be Bryce's future mate, his wings snapped and blood-soaked. A jolt of something like sickness and delight courses through me.

I shut down the sinister thoughts, snapping back to my emotionless void and willing Bryce's own thoughts to calm as I watch the demon lay waste to the angel. Time to move. For Bryce. For Danika. For the justice and rage begging to erupt from me.

Putting every bit of my own power and force behind her blow, we drive the table leg into the creature's skull with such crushing force, it cracks both wood and bone.

The demon is thrown off the angel and whirls, its back legs twisting and front legs and arm gouging lines into the stone streets. Clear blood leaking from its temple. The angel groaning a prayer as the demon sniffs at the air around Bryce.

Enough of that. Not my mate, you fucking insect.

It seems the threat of the demon's approach and my will alone to save my mate is enough to slam me back into my body; along an alley wall streets away. Putting myself to rights, the streets still in chaos, I shut out the noise and focus on the bond. Surging forward through a cold wave of black shadow to the spot I was just standing with her seconds ago. Where she still stands blinking, reeling. Frozen with panic. Fuck.

Swathing myself in a blanket of darkness, I utilize the bait. 

Sliding my boot under the fallen angel's spine, I arc his torso toward the demon using him as a human shield, pinning the angel's arms under bands of shadow. Twin shadows darting out to whisper in the creature's ear. An offering to the beast.

Dinner is served.

Distracted, it pivots for the dying angel, right back to his chest, ripping open flesh to gain access to his organs.

But Bryce isn't still any longer; she launches forward, table spear swinging again. Her strike lands, the sharp echo biting back into her palm—a pain I feel, but am no longer there to soothe.

The thing snaps, lunging for her. The demon too quick, and I too distracted to stop her faulty dodge and the subsequent slice of sharp fangs that rip at her soft thigh as she twists away from its attack.

Her accompanying scream is worse than an ash bolt through my chest.

Though completely off balance, she swings upward as the demon jumps for her throat.

A single tendril of shadow steadies her hand so that wood collides with clear teeth, as the weight of the entirety of my void slams the creature down onto the wooden peg. A soul-satisfying shriek clears the air loud enough to split sensitive eardrums.

In the time of a single blink, shadows leash and yank the creature back off my mate, its claws scraping stone with a hiss all too pleasing to my ears.

Come with me, pet.

Tugging it away from prying eyes to soon incinerate, we clear the side of the brick building where the angel lies slumped. I pray Bryce isn't foolish enough to try and follow after it landed a blow. But she is my mate after all. I fly upward, willing my shadows to keep it leashed as it follows me in long leaps across walls and rooftops, frightening the onlookers below. I'm much too used to keeping demons on leashes.

A flash of world-ending, unbearable pain pours into me nearly dropping me out of the sky and onto a rooftop. Bryce.

She's on fire. Molten burning heat coursing through her bones. The feeling of my nightmares I know all too well. Without conscious thought I sweep impenetrable darkness through her, us, the bond. Blanketing everything within like a dark command. The primal urge to soothe her, alleviate her pain nearly overcomes my mission for blood. But the feeling stalls and the bond pulses in relief. I've helped her, if only this once.

In a hidden corner near the river, I have enough sense to scout where cameras are absent. In a blue flash of fury and rage, I blaze a siphon into the demon. Only for the thing to eat my magic, roar and surge at me with undiluted rage and defensive terror.

Fuck, I never learn, do I? Never again will I give Nesta shit for using the Mask. Mother be with me and let me erase this monster from existence.

Summoning the Harp again out of sheer embarrassment, I pluck the first string to buy precious seconds to think. To stall until I can kill this ghoul and return to my mate. Consequences be damned.

No death sword, no knife, just shadows it seems to obey and magic it likes to eat. There's always the good old-fashioned way—unsheathing from along my spine a basic sword gifted from Fury, I make a clean slice through the frozen demon's neck. A bit too easy, but satisfying nonetheless to see the head roll. Breathless, I aim a siphon at the severed head and gamble on reanimating the skull, but instead I watch it dissolve into ash.

I have to get back. My forefinger all too heavy, trying to pluck the first string again and release time itself but it keeps snagging. I feel Bryce's pain with each flicker of time's bounce and breath. Inhaling deeply, I concentrate on what I now know lets me break the Harp's thrall—my mate, in danger, in pain. Plucking with all the force of the bond behind my stroke, time rushes back, forward and into itself.

I'm back by her side in a blink. With the angel she's trying to save. Not her mate I realize, but eerily similar. Her voice breaking into sobs. Covered in the angel's blood and her own. And now I've killed and am without a mission or plan and I don't know what the fuck to do to help her. I'm a fucking coward—my shadows going wild, rippling through the alley across from where she panics on her knees, asking for a phone.

Blood steadily gushes from her own thigh and I can't get to it. I have to heal it—anything to staunch the bleeding, the scent of mortality on her driving me to maddening despair. I'm not sure if I have another chance left, but I take it. Cauldron save me. One last pluck to slow time. To heal her. Quick, rudimentary battlefield healing to slow the blood loss, I will make sure she's safe—and I'll leave. For good this time.

I slip my phone into the angel's pocket. For her to call for help.

Calling on the bond, the whole of my waning power, I slam a finger on the first string to release me and move time forward. I pray to the Mother it will be the last time.

She spots the phone, calling for help. It's all she can think to tell them—my phone number. 112-03-0577. Bryce repeats it over and over into the phone, until I dart a shadowy tendril across her lower back yanking her down to stop her swaying. An angel number, Fury had teased. Yet, that had proven true... Bryce will be safe soon, though she could still die. Help is coming. At least, they said they'd come. I have to make sure she stays safe.

I'll be by her side until the wolves come. Before I have to say goodbye for good.

But in a sick twist of fate and demanded payment from the Mother herself, an all too familiar gray-winged angel turns up to save her instead.

Chapter Text

AHHHNT AHHHNT AHHHNT.

The alarm screamed like a pissed-off drill sergeant, which was exactly the wake-up call I deserved for thinking a sunrise run was a good idea. Because apparently, I hadn't punished myself enough lately.

My eyes cracked open, head fuzzy from that strange dream where I was nothing at all–just darkness adrift in an endless ocean of sparkling stars. Five hours of sleep after collapsing into bed like a drunk sorority girl after finals week. Except I wasn't drunk—just pathetically out of shape and weirdly drained from my Heart Gate misadventure. Add that to the list of "Weird Shit Happening to Bryce" that I was studiously ignoring.

The apartment echoed with the kind of silence that screamed "your mate left hours ago without so much as a goodbye." Hunt had woken up while I'd been busy passing out in my running clothes. No doubt he is off doing important angel things. The coffee pot sat in the kitchen, its contents as cold as the empty spot in my bed. 

I dumped the coffee over ice, because without it I would surely dissolve into stardust. At least the coffee and I had something in common these days—we both started hot but ended up bitter and frigid. 

Submitting a fingerprint to the screen, a kernel of power absorbed for the greater good, and my phone calendar glared up at me with two blocks of very important Starborn Queen business. And by important, I meant soul-crushing obligations that made me wish I'd never saved the fucking world. The first day of April was shaping up to be my day from Hel. 

First up: 1 PM lunch. A "working lunch" to brainstorm ideas surrounding firstlight regeneration efforts with Lunathion's self-proclaimed "centers of influence." Because apparently being Queen meant listening to self important assholes explain the nuances of energy transformation and tech integrations to me like I was five over overpriced salads.

This would make circle jerking lunch number thirty-three. A meeting a week for over 7 months, each one a veritable labyrinth into the pit of Hel itself. This lunch might be the one to finally break me. But, according to Hunt, I had to attend. And I couldn’t very well disappoint my mate.

"You can't ditch, Bryce. Naomi has worked her ass off to lead this, and it'll make me look like an asshole if you just ghost her. We told her she could count on us."

Right. Because gods forbid I make the Umbra Mortis look bad. Never mind that his mate would slowly be dying inside while everyone ate their fancy lettuce and talked over each other with their mouth’s full.

Next torture session: my weekly post-eternal-lunch get together with Ruhn and Lidia that I would be doing everything in my power to skip. They were sickeningly perfect together, truly. Like, vomit-inducing levels of perfection. The kind of couple that made you want to either believe in true love and fated mates or throw yourself off the nearest building. Most days I was leaning toward the latter.

It had been this way since their wedding.

Every time I saw them, their matching titanium wedding rings glinted at me like some sort of cosmic joke, while they shared those secret mate smiles that made me want to stab myself with a fork. Or maybe stab Hunt. I could never decide. 

6 PM meant freedom. I could go to my sanctuary—the library, my gallery awaited. Hours of blessed solitude where I could pretend I wasn't slowly unraveling like a cheap sweater.

But then my calendar reminded me:

6 PM: GET GROCERIES, COOK DINNER FOR HUNT

Guilt gnawed at me like a hungry kristallos, which, honestly, might have been preferable to this emotional hellscape.

But I was the infamous Bryce Quinlan, Starborn Queen of the Valbarran and Avallen Fae. I didn't give up. I just wallowed in self-pity while pretending everything was fine. Like a proper royal.

I could fix this. I could fix myself. I would fix it.

Maybe if I repeated the idea enough times, its power would drown out the voice in my head saying I was royally fucking everything up. Redner Industries had been researching the power of manifestation in regards to energy harvesting, so there must be something there worth a damn. Or not. 

Gods, I needed stronger coffee.

…

Lunch was so much worse than nails on a chalkboard. More like getting a root canal while listening to Crescent City’s greatest hits about me being a half breed, good for nothing, whore-queen. Tedious. 

Hunt had positioned his hulking form next to mine, one hand on my knee—a gesture that screamed united front but felt more like please don't embarrass me again.

A pretty lie, but I was getting all too good at those lately.

The Comitium's glass atrium housed what was officially termed "Lunathion's Centers of Influence" in a circular white room plastered with smart screens. The door displayed an aggressive "VIP COI BRAINSTORM SESSION DND" sign, which basically translated to no escape unless you're dying, and no maybe not even then.

That's exactly why I'd brought my emotional support water bottle—a monstrosity larger than my head with a handle that could double as a weapon. Nothing says I’m taking this meeting seriously quite like looking like a dehydrated college student after a long night out.

We’d been at this shit for fucking months. Circling the drain of impending ‘Firstlight Zero’ without a solid plan in sight. This group was elected to bring fresh ideas to the table. Be proactive instead of reactive. The angels were tired of playing Officer Firstlight without help from the other houses. 

There were still assholes who outright refused to believe that firstlight would run out eventually, promoting the idea of a governmental conspiracy led by yours truly. Though a reality check was coming… very soon. One I wasn’t particularly gleeful to say I told you so about. I shift in my seat at the thought. I wouldn’t even be able to be seen in public by the time we are forced to read by candlelight without fear of certain murder. Firstlight deniers and their merry band of idiots who preyed on the grid were just one of the roadblocks to transitioning everyone to a new power source that didn’t scream we are exploiting people for profit.

There is only so much zoning laws, regulated power distribution, and denied tourism could do for our planet. But here we continued to sit, banging our heads against clinical little white tables, while everyone looked to me for any sort of hairbrained scheme. They didn’t want to hear me gripe about the gates, or the idea of relying on voluntary donations to power the conduit charging our entire planet. Again. 

Essentially, letting Midgard’s citizens dictate a future for themselves was off the fucking table. Only a dreamer would come up with an idea so utopian. Pure fantasy. I had caught Isaiah muttering the sentiment to Hunt under his breath weeks ago. 

At the reminder of my presence here being purely for show because no one gave a fuck about what I had to say, I decided it was time for my third trip to pee. Lifting out of my seat, Hunt's fingers dug into my knee. "Bryce. Please. Pay attention. I need you here for this. With me."

I shot playful finger guns. "Nature calls." I whispered conspiratorially in his ear. His eyes rolled so hard I thought he might strain something. There he sat, the perfect government poster boy, ready to save the world and fall on his sword for the millionth time. Meanwhile, I was staring at the oddly dark ceiling tiles, wondering how I could get these ageist assholes to listen. Wondering if I should even try again or let them bask in their own stubbornness. 

Every time I crept back into the circular room, all eyes snapped to me. The COI panel still going in circles, debating the same points they'd been arguing about for eternity. "Oh good, you're still talking about resource allocation! Wouldn't want to miss any breakthroughs," I chirped, noting how Ruhn's eyes had developed a sharp glare in my general direction.

The room’s tables were a who's who of Vanir elite from all houses, plus some token humans because I'd threatened to boycott unless we actually practiced what we preached about equality. Ithan and Perry represented the wolves (though Perry looked like she'd rather be anywhere else). Sathia, Ruhn, and Lidia held down the Shifter Fae corner. I'd vetoed Flynn and Dec from Naomi's initial picks in favor of more females, more intelligence. Naomi had brought in a handful of other high ranking government shifters, a draki male, three witches, and two sprites all on her own accord. Fury and June were notably missing from my own recommendations list, choosing to spend their time on Avallen with the flerd, recusing themselves from the crisis entirely. Hypaxia's face floated on a screen, probably wondering why she'd agreed to this circus. Isaiah, Hunt, and Naomi represented the angels, all looking various degrees of flustered as the meeting dragged on. Notably missing was Tharion who had been MIA for months, of which I was both very annoyed and very jealous. I wanted a vacation that allowed me to run from my problems forever, too. The Ocean Queen, River Queen, and Viper Queen had told us all to fuck off. They chose to hoard all of their resources to themselves unless Tharion was returned to pay his debts. Basically, the idiot was in big trouble and everyone was mad at him. 

I refilled my giant water bottle, making sure to slurp extra loud. "Hydration is key to good decision-making, am I right? That's what all those motivational posters say. Speaking of decisions, has anyone actually made one in the last hour, or are we just enjoying each other's company?" Hunt's wing twitched in abject irritation, and I didn’t miss him locking eyes with Naomi.

See, he seemed to say in the accompanying silence.

"Perhaps," Naomi cut in with diplomat-level patience, "we could focus on the proposed firstlight distribution schedule?"

"Oh absolutely," I nodded enthusiastically. "Let's solve this energy crisis right here, right now. My vote is to kill the rich, those with the biggest sucks on the power grid. You have those records, right, Hunt? Perhaps a public guillotine would send the right message. Then we all have a ginormous planetary execution party. Hel, we could even make it a holiday! We then repurpose their power hungry villas into candlelit libraries with public housing for those in need. Thoughts? Concerns?" 

Horrified stares filled the room. Ruhn dropped his head into his hands. Lidia patted his back sympathetically while trying to hide her smile. At least someone appreciates my queenly commitment to leadership. It did feel good to contribute my brilliance albeit only occasionally. I tipped my head back and cackled. “Fuck, lighten up everybody, I’m just kidding. It’s April Fool’s Day! Solas, you should see your faces.”

…

"Bryce? Got a minute?"

Naomi's voice stopped me mid-escape as everyone shuffled out of the conference room. Hunt barely noticed, too busy ignoring me under the guise of discussing something with Isaiah in the hallway. Probably comparing notes on how many times I'd disrupted their precious meeting.

"Sure thing, boss lady." I threw on my best Party Princess smile, the one that used to get me free drinks and now got me through political nightmares.

Naomi's perfect unmanicured hands fidgeted with her pen. "I wanted to check in. You seem... off lately. Is everything okay?"

The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees. Ice crystallized over the hollow pit of my chest.

"Hunt mentioned you've been going through a rough time, and I know it’s not my place but he’s been… worried. I wanted to offer my support. I know we haven’t gotten a chance to get together with conflicting schedules and all but I’m here for you. Lidia is too. We’re all putting out fires everyday, but… I’m confident we’re going to figure this shit out. The pressure is fucking intense, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. You’re not alone, though. I’ve got your back, whatever you need." She smiled tentatively at me, patting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

A white haze crept over my vision, the kind that usually preceded something getting blown up. Hunt had been talking about me. About us. To fucking Naomi.

"Thanks for your concern, Nomes. I can call you Nomes, right? Since we’re girlfriends and all." I managed through gritted teeth, my voice honey-sweet and absolutely lethal. "Everything's just peachy. Hunt tends to be a bit of a Debbie downer. Though I do appreciate the check in. You are such a sweet friend to him. Us, I mean." I wink at her and squeeze her hand in farewell. I send up a silent prayer to Cthona herself for ditching the idea of a Badass Females Only Social Club months ago after too many failed attempts to get Fury, June, Lidia and Naomi all in the same place at once. I push off the sick thought sinking into the pit of my stomach–a few girlfriends would be nice these days, a small voice whispers. But a louder thought screamed, but not her, and not like this. No fucking thank you.

I strutted out of the room, letting my hips swing with extra swagger as I approached Hunt and Isaiah. Sliding my arm through Hunt's, I flashed Isaiah my most dazzling smile.

"Mind if I borrow Athalar for a sec?" I winked, already gathering my power. "Queenly business, extremely urgent. Gotta dash."

Before either male could respond, I teleported us straight to my gallery. The moment we materialized, I shoved Hunt away from me.

"What the fuck are you doing talking to Naomi about our relationship problems?" I demanded.

Hunt's wings flared as he shook off his stumble. "What the Hel are you even talking about? We've been in a fucking meeting all day—or have you not been paying attention?"

The rage simmering inside me felt pathetic, but my ego was bruised, and I was on a warpath, ready to tear into Hunt with a fury reserved only for my loved ones. Lucky him.

"Oh, I don't know—maybe because Naomi told me that my mate is discussing my private life—my emotions—with her. Your perfect, trusty colleague. Or is she technically your employee now? With all the promotions, I can't keep track." I tapped a finger on my cheek in faux contemplation.

"Here we fucking go again," he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong, Hunt? Need someone more mature to confide in? Someone who actually understands your higher calling and gives a shit about firstlight distribution schedules? Someone who is entirely above starting petty arguments such as these?" My voice dripped with mock disdain as I rolled my eyes at him.

"That's not—" Hunt ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "You know what? Fine." He growled, leveling his black eyes directly at me. A fleeting jolt of panic surged through me—this was getting dangerous, and we were nearing a point of no return.

"Let's talk, Bryce. Let's lay all this shit out on the table for once and say what you really fucking mean here. I'll start. I'll start with the fact that you're sabotaging this—us, everything. You're doing it right fucking now. You refuse to take anything seriously anymore. And then you lash out at me for giving a shit about you! It's a fucking joke, honestly." He laughed to himself, a pointed look of pure disgust aimed straight at me.

"Honestly? At least I am fucking honest, which let's not even go there considering your track record."

"My track record? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I bet Naomi offers you, like, totally amazing advice, huh? She did arrest you over that synth deal after all—which was a genius idea in my book. Though I guess Viktoria and Justinian wouldn't agree. Oh, she was the voice of reason urging you to spare Celestina too, how could I forget? Utterly brilliant female, that one." The words darted like poison off my tongue, but I couldn't stop.

His voice dropped lower, deadlier. "Oh, we're bringing up old grudges now? Okay, Bryce. You've only cared about yourself for months. We barely even talk, let alone fuck anymore, and now you're Hel-bent on making me the bad guy in whatever little fucked-up narrative you're spinning in your head. You're twenty-six years old, and you’re fucking acting like it."

I clutched at my chest, feigning a weighty blow. "Sincere apologies that I'm not a two-hundred-and-whatever-year-old bore. I didn't realize you had a mommy fetish."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The silence rippled, filling the space around us as rain began to pummel the roof outside.

"Sorry," I mumbled to my shoes.

"And you wonder why all the house heads hate you—why everybody hates you." The words stung like a shallow cut. A sick part of me reveled in the pain. Craved more.

A torrent of emotions coursed through me, unstoppable now. I didn't know if I needed him or not, if I would be enough by myself, alone. I didn't know if I could do it. The warring thoughts almost cracked me in two equally separate pieces. Maybe he'd make the decision for me if I couldn't make it myself.

I was such a fucking coward. And Hunt knew it.

"Do we even want the same things anymore, Bryce? Are we even on the same team?"

I stood there shaking, my star dimming erratically in my chest. Through the gallery's massive windows, storm clouds were roiling, answering Hunt's rising temper. I had two choices: fight for him or burn it all down. But I couldn't fucking choose. It had been so easy to choose once upon a time—there had never been a question.

But we’ve established that I’m fucking losing it.

"Fuck you, Hunt." My voice grasped for a thread of argument to pull. "At least I'm not... pretending to be something I'm not... running to Naomi like some lost chimera—"

"Stop saying her name like that." His control was slipping. Lightning crackled between us, and thunder rolled in the distance. "You want to act like a brat? Fine. But don't you dare try to make this about Naomi when we both know what this is really about."

Fat drops of rain slammed into the windows sideways as the smell of electricity filled the air. Hunt's power built around us, making the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

"What is it really about then, Hunt? Please, enlighten me with your centuries of wisdom." The taunt came out like venom. "Tell me all about how I'm just too young, too idealistic, too selfish to understand. How I'm such a disappointment—"

The static electricity in the air was nearly lifting my hair.

"Now I finally know what the Oracle really meant when she told me to stay the fuck away from you," he laughed bitterly to himself. Another piece of my heart fell away, tumbling into the void in my chest—it was a low blow. I had forgotten, but now I couldn't breathe. Guilt writhed inside of me. A self fulfilling prophecy was coming due. 

"And it wasn’t just some bone to pick with you. I assumed the reading meant you'd get me killed or some shit. I tried to ignore it, I didn’t care about dying because I thought I was supposed to die. But it was you. And when you lived I was so fucking grateful because I thought the pain, the waiting for the prophecy to come true, was finally over. But I didn't realize the truth. The Oracle must have meant you'd fucking kill me slowly. That you'd break me piece by piece. Push me away until I couldn't even recognize myself anymore, even after I’d given you a piece of my soul, because it would never fucking be enough for you. Would it?" Hunt spat, any speck of love notably absent in his searing gaze, electricity dancing across his wings.

The truth hit like burning acid, my fathers own smug face surging from the depths of my memory but I forced out another deflection. "Careful there, Sparky. Wouldn't want to short-circuit the building. What would Naomi think if you incinerated your mate? Not a good look."

“You’re a joke, Bryce. You know that?” He shook out a huff of a laugh to himself. The truth laid bare. 

A flash of lightning illuminated the gallery, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder that rattled the windows. Outside, the storm was reaching fever pitch, matching Hunt's barely contained rage.

That's when I felt it—that crawling sensation up my spine. Something that felt like it was watching from beyond the glass, from somewhere in the gathering darkness. My instincts screamed danger, but I was too far gone in my spiral to care.

"We are a joke, Hunt..." I took a purposeful pause to laugh in his face for emphasis. "Mates for only a year before we fucked it all to Hel. But I guess that makes sense, it isn’t like we even had a mating ceremony. No gods to bless our union. Just some legal paperwork. So romantic, by the way. And you wonder why I cried through Ruhn and Lidia's entire wedding ceremony? For Urd’s sake... I’m sure the divorce will be just as easy and forgettable." 

“Who said anything about divorce? I’m still standing right fucking here talking to you. You’re my mate. You’re mine and I’m yours or did none of that shit mean anything to you either? What even was I to you, Bryce?”

“You were just Hunt, alright.” My cold mask slipped into place. Death’s ruler against death itself. Both too proud to ever admit defeat at the hands of the other. 

“Just Hunt, huh? A soldier for your rebellion effort. A good fuck? A placeholder? Your backup battery?" Eyes now menacing and predatory. 

“Leave it.” I bit out the words willing this shit to just fucking end already. 

"Which one was it?” Apparently it was his turn for taunts. 

“You were bred for me, that’s what the fuck you were.” I snapped. “Look. We tried the mate thing and clearly it’s not working out. So, save the victim campaign... it’s not like you ever even deigned to get me a ring. For fuck's sake, Ruhn even teased us about it on our first and only double date. And you never wondered why I never wanted to go on another!”

"You never cared about that shit, Bryce! Any of it!"

Another crash of thunder, closer this time. Rain lashed against the windows as Hunt's power filled the room, the smell of ether and lightning making my head spin. 

Dizzy now, I railed into him. "Every girl cares about that shit, Hunt. Rings, flowers, gifts, fucking wedding ceremonies—all of it fucking matters, okay? What about romance is so godsdamn hard to understand?"

"Hold the fuck on—I bought you a mint-condition Jelly fucking Jubilee for Solstice. I spent a fortune on it all in the name of making you, my mate, fucking happy. Only for it to get thrown back in my fucking face?"

My voice was cracking now, all of my emotions ready to seep out like spilled blood. "Jelly Jubilee was from fucking Fury! She told me after I asked her where she got it! So don't fucking lie to me. She took pity and helped you because you said you were fucking hopeless at gifts. You just handed over the money, remember?”

“Because that really fucking matters…?”

“It matters. All of it. Just like it mattered when I asked you about the future and kids and all that shit, and you just shrugged it off. Said to wait until after the firstlight situation was figured out. Because apparently you couldn’t even daydream of some stupid fucking idllyic life with me, a mountain cabin in the woods—whatever! Anything! Like you were scared of our future, scared our future kids, like the very idea was appalling to you. So, thanks for that. Felt really fucking good. Fucking asshole." My wrath was a raging river in my blood, and there would be no reversing course.

The silence that followed was terrifying. But I knew Hunt wouldn't let me get the last word. I had finally pushed him too far, his eyes were utterly haunted. The truth was a live wire between us. I braced myself for his final blow.

"All I’ve ever tried to do was the right thing by you. Us. But you never cared about that, did you? You never gave a shit about me, Quinlan. Ever. And to sit here and pretend now is fucking bullshit.” The last word cracked between us as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth, nearing his breaking point. Just one more blow and he’d be finished. 

“But you didn’t always try to do what’s right, Hunt—you just wanted to do what was fucking easy! I had to drag you along with me through the entire rebellion. You would’ve been content to hide from the Asteri forever if it meant we’d be safe and you never had to face them again!” The resentment poured out of me, infecting everything we were and could have been. 

“No matter what I do, I’ll never be enough for you. Will I, Bryce?” His words were softer now but the rain and lighting weren’t letting up. “You're just like Shahar, you know. I should’ve seen it sooner." The words died in his throat. "You needed me for my power, you never actually needed me. Did you ever even think to care about anything other than your own selfish bullshit when I was in the Asteri’s dungeons? Did you think about me being chained and fucking tortured because of you and all the shit you put me through? You're a user, Bryce. Go ahead and deny it."

"I—" Hot tears began streaming down my cheeks, blurring my vision, a strand of thorns piercing into my throat, barely allowing me to let my words out. "If that's how you feel, maybe you should find somewhere else to sleep tonight."

With a grunt of agreement and a rustle of gray wings, Hunt moved for the exit. Before he could slam the door behind him, I screamed after him, “Hunt! WAIT!” But it was a little too late. My phone hadn’t stopped buzzing atop my desk; Ember Quinlan’s smiling, accusing face staring back at me. No doubt wondering what the fuck was going on with the storm update now surely broadcast across radios everywhere. I couldn’t face her–this–any of it. My phone cracked upon impact as I hurled it into the panelled wall across my desk. So much for making Hunt dinner. 

Slumping into my chair, I dug the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, and let my sobs erupt.

And still, that presence lingered outside. I felt it waiting. A sense of a foreboding final destruction within the shadows of the storm. But that wasn't right—no one could see inside, or so the spells had claimed. It didn’t matter. The fear of being watched wasn't enough to stop my heaving breaths. Tears only poured harder, as if the dam holding together my sanity had finally collapsed. As if some dark power within commanded me to let go. 

Chapter Text

A new day. No sleep needed. I was all energy–subsisting on pure starlight fueled adrenaline. I spent her quiet hours strategizing; planning my next move. Trying not to fantasize about obliterating the fluffy gray flying asshole into dust, one siphon at a time. I try to suppress the thoughts of his slow painful death, knowing fully well I wouldn’t do anything without Bryce’s approval. 

You’d think with 7 months to ruminate I’d have a starting point to win over my fucking mate but–I never expected to get this chance. Any chance with her. I’d left her three times now, first respecting her choice, second letting fate dictate her happiness, and then finally stepping aside for him.

I was fucking done letting anyone else decide. Done with doing the right thing. The river of my waning morality had run dry.

I’m here. She’s mine. And no one would fucking take her from me ever again. 

The thought made me positively gleeful. Giddy even. 

I had never been giddy in my fucking life. The feeling was strange. Like little starry butterflies glowing and fluttering in my chest. It was positively addicting. 

The day goes by in a blur of shadow. Of hiding out, strategizing, some light spying. Feeling her drift in and out of that place in the void between us where our minds connect.

It’s one of the best days of my life, and I haven’t even talked to her yet. But I finally have a plan.

Tomorrow would be our day–I just needed to make sure she made it home safely tonight first. Her gallery was stunning; a white stone columned townhouse. Where I had deigned to wait on her for however long this would take. There was a current of electricity inside running haywire. She’s drained her power, has barely slept and I could feel her running on fumes. I was used to not being able to intervene when I’d felt her in danger before but still. She wasn’t well.

Something is very, very wrong. Because of course it is. It’s always something with her, my mate—I wanted to tsk aloud. Mother Henning, it turns out, is my new favorite hobby. 

I can feel icy rage pummeling her rib cage,  her throat roaring too hot and the distinct hollowing of her stomach sensing me nearby. It was hard to tell where the bond’s flow of emotions separated between us.

Power is surging and electricity begins sparking the air accompanied by howling winds and sideways rain. They’ve started a veritable shit storm.

All signs point to my mate in danger. But she’s not scared, she’s… upset. Sadness pulses from her, making me absolutely furious. I send my wrath right back.

I stand outside and weather the relentless storm. I’d weather fucking anything for her, with pleasure. Finally, the male leaves, slamming the door behind him. Good riddance. I hated having to wait for the okay to end him.

Overwhelming despair catches in my throat; her mental shields wide open. Soft strokes of shadow snake down the inside of her throat, coaxing it loose. There, there. The little wisps live to soothe every tightened knot, every small hurt. They’d finally found their true purpose. 

The storm had began to ebb away in erratic flickers. I would have to work the pricks demise into my overall strategy.

Time passes in a blur. But I know she’ll come looking eventually. 

Light clicks fall upon the marble stone. My eyes trail up, up, and over her leggings and off the shoulder ivory sweater, exposing her delicate throat. Similar to the styles Feyre wears occasionally, casual, but with those tall shoes on spikes that double as murder weapons. I like them very much. 

She pauses. Sucks in a breath, eyes darting exactly to where I was hidden but she doesn’t walk towards me. I don’t miss her tear streaked face—oh, that angel would fucking pay. I don’t need my shadows to tell me she’s heartbroken. But she immediately swaggers ahead, the opposite direction, with purpose. Faux bravado that I see right through. But it’s the second time I’ve almost been caught... Apparently being giddy also makes me distracted. 

Attempting to get me to follow her would seem to be the little game she wants to play. I don’t miss the way her head turns slightly to check for the ever lurking presence behind her. I’d give her this taste. And maybe a chase if she wanted. Certainly could be fun. The Mother knows she could use some. 

The most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen halt in the middle of the street causing me to pause my steady prowl. Taking a hard right, she heads in the opposite direction of where I know her apartment to be. And I sure as fuck didn’t miss her little stifled sniffle and huff of suppressing determination. It seems my light did indeed want me to chase her, but that wasn’t a part of the plan this evening. If I gave into the chase, my basest of instincts would flare. And I didn’t need to grab her and pin her against a wall. She had just been in a fight for Cauldrons sake.

No, I don’t think she’d appreciate that very much. 

Better to outsmart the vicious redhead for now. Then maybe we could play. Later. 

I leave her to her now solo aimless goose chase–knowing I’ll feel her fear at any true sign of danger–and I think she could use a little stroll in the dark. To decompress.

Shadows sweep over me, taking me to the alley outside of her apartment that I’ve become rather fond of—cameras conveniently pointing out towards the city streets and away from the wall I leaned against.

Angry little stomp clicks close in, steps behind me–bright light blasting from her chest before I could move, sending my shadows flying, exposing everything beneath. 

Exposing me. 

“Gotcha.” Voice low, but she practically beamed, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder.

Silently, I glowered at her. Maintaining my unbothered lean.

The little shit. Always ruining all of my fucking plans. 

“I thought I felt a creeper in the night. Turns out… I have incredible intuition.” She wipes her beautiful hand over her still runny nose, and smiles to herself, crossing her arms causing her star to flare brighter than a sun at me, shimmering a wave as if in greeting. I practically melt at the sound of her voice and that all too forced shit eating grin. I loose an amused breath at her ridiculous statement because… her intuition? Laughable.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Azriel?”

Thank the Mother. She remembers me… Fuck… she remembers me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grind out. Pathetic.

I grin tightly back only to be now met with her tempting scowl.

I wanted to tug on that lip so godsdamn bad. Just because. Control yourself. 

“You have five seconds to tell me why the fuck you're here before I shoot a laser beam into your eyeball.” The ball of her little foot taps in irritation. Fucking adorable. 

Vicious, evil, impatient creature.

“I’d like to see you try.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, batboy. If I need to laser beam you to gain access to my pillow, I will.” 

“I don’t think you’d do that to a friend.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

No, not friends. Mates. Mine. 

“What do you call the person who saved you from a killer wyrm and your own questionable decisions?” I drawl.

“A pain in my ass.” She smiles, emotionless and all teeth. 

A pain in my ass hardly covered it. She could use a proper punishment for making my heart hammer out of my chest like this—but thank the Mother, she remembers all of it. I hadn’t been sure… the shoes. Her fucking shoes had been different after I had used the Harp… after Pollux had grabbed her by the neck, held her off the floor, sniffed at her fucking hair… and I lost it. I thought I had nearly ruined the timeline. Thought I had ruined everything.

“Doesn’t sound like a thank you to me. I'd consider working on your manners…”

Couldn’t resist. 

She turns her small soft body square to me, like she’s ready to fight. Head reaching the middle of my sternum. Fate is finally on my side for fucking once.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

Fight me forever, small, feisty one. 

“Wanted to tell Ember hello. Been meaning to take Randall up on his offer to learn to shoot a g-un.” Rolling out the foreign word with feigned ignorance, a challenge dancing in my eyes.

She scoffed at me. I wanted to drink up the sound of it. “Quit being cute. I’m tired, OK? I really don’t have time for this tonight. Tell me why you’re here, or the lasering threat still stands.”

I knew she was tired. And sad—and I couldn’t stand the feeling of it. It made me twitchy.

She needed a distraction.

Somehow I knew her better than I knew myself.

I give her my best serious nod, straighten and with a courteous bow. “I’m here on Official Business of the Night Court. Nesta says to tell you hello, by the way. It is good to see you again, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan” I give her one of her own casual winks.

“Funny, I can’t say the same for you, Azriel, dunno your last name, repeated night time stalker and former captor.” Special emphasis on the last word. Her arm cross, folding across her chest.

A gifted liar... but never to me.

I offer her my arm in my best impersonation of a professional courtier. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you as much as you care to know?”

I’m not above dangling something shiny for this precious, mean little goddess. 

“Not super interested in any Night Court Official Business this evening… or ever, now that I think about it.” Twilight colored nails that could double as claws tap against her bicep.

Nervous tell. You make me nervous, too.

Heart practically stampeding in my chest, I smirk at her. “You’re not curious why I’m here…?” Eyebrows raised in silent question, daring her to lie to me again, because I know she is absolutely dying to know exactly why I am here.

“Fine.” She huffs with an impressively dramatic eye roll. “Fine, okay, yes, what’s this official world-walking business trip you’re on and what does it have to do with me?” Gesturing her to take my arm once more, her eyes darted to the corner camera facing the street we’d be walking into. 

“Worried someone may be watching? I can assure you, I am well adept at keeping things hidden.” 

Her head moves a bit too slowly in my direction, cocking slightly, eyes narrowing. Not unlike a predator. Some kind of stunningly deadly snow leopard ready to pounce. Except I was her prey. 

A slower, longer, drawn out scoff this time. A scoff with purpose. And attitude.

“Hang on just a sec…” she looks around, holding up a single finger, considering. Pinning me under a sharp glare, its intention to make her target uncomfortable.

Like I would ever look away.

“You’ve been here… how long exactly? Just arrived?” 

Only silence can help me now. My throat slowly works, and I pray she doesn’t notice my slight shift in scent. Struggling to find my usual cold mask, I simply nod. It’s not a lie if I don’t speak. 

Her head jerks to the camera in question. The camera, I realize now, that I shouldn’t understand how it works.

“And would you look at you. Picking up so quickly on this planet’s surveillance systems. Tell me, Azriel… how did you discover how video feeds work? I don't remember relaying that particular detail in our time together.”

“Is it considered to be a difficult task, to learn how otherworldly systems operate?"

Best I’ve got—deflection.

“Answer the question. In your language. Though, I will say, your foreign language skills are impressive. Here I thought you usually required Rhysand as your translator. How many hours did learning an entire language take?”

“Still incessantly nosy, I see. If you must pry, the language bean I brought came in quite handy. You may remember it? Your world, with its help, was surprisingly easy to figure out."

Like you. Who I can see right through.

"Almost as easy as you were to find.” She croons. My wings flare at the insult as she mimics another little shoulder brushing gesture.

“Likewise. Surely, you must know you’re famous… I suggest you update your security detail. Your majesty.”

Her tone shifts entirely. “How long have you been fucking stalking me exactly, you weirdo?”

You have no idea.

“Spying, not stalking.” I amend. I flicked her nose at the insult. “That’s for the name calling. Not very long.”

“Ow! Ugh! Ass.” My shoulder is blessed with her slap.

“Azzz.” I correct. “More emphasis on the Z sound.” My lips tugged upward uncontrollably. Gods she was fun to toy with—dangerously fun. I needed to make her smile. Fight or scream. Release. I’d beg on my knees for anything she’d give me.

Rubbing the tender spot on the tip of her nose, she bites out, “You have been here since dawn, haven’t you? I felt you watching me, you creep!”

My heart began thrumming in my chest. Lying to her is out of the fucking question even if I have my own code for omissions. I nod solemnly, my smile retreating. “Apologies, Princess. Duty called.”

“Not a princess... I’m a Queen now. In case your shadows hadn’t gathered that particular bit of intel yet.” 

“Ah, yes. My shadows have been particularly gossipy about you, telling me you’ve been quite hard at work in your new role as ‘Queen’. Attending meetings from the bathroom, it seems.” She shoots daggers at me with her eyes, and I cock my head at her. My turn to play. 

“In my world though, you remain a princess as I don’t believe you can simply outrun being Fionn’s descendant, heir to the throne of Prythian. Please do excuse my error. Are you considering adopting your queenly title in my own world as well?” 

“I don’t really give a shit about your world or any such claim to wherever the fuck throne.”

Princess it is, then. 

“So Planet Midgard’s infamous Starborn Queen is too devoted to her people to manage the hassle of ruling two worlds at once? Most royals would jump at the chance for more power. The Fae must adore your dedication.”

“The Fae aren’t my people.” A pause.

Another flick, harder, this time on the tip of her distractingly pointy ear.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Quit flicking me, you asshole.” I’m gifted by the Gods themselves with another hit of her hand.

“Make me.”

She’s so godsdamn beautiful, I can’t fucking stand it.

She throws her hands up in mock supplication. “You’ve been stalking me for over twenty four hours, which, by the way—so not creepy at all, and now you’re flicking me, withholding information, and getting on my last nerve. What in Urd's name are you doing here? I’m serious, I’ve got to get home already...”

You’re already home. You’re mine.

But she’s serious, and I hate it, and I pray that Bryce will let me kill that fucking angel soon. “I apologize. Spymaster habits are nearly impossible to break. I’ve been longing for a nice conversation after being alone in this foreign world for such a while. Walk with me? Please.” A silent plea to the Mother. Say yes.

“The street noise will drown our conversation. Harder to single out from the… feeds. As you call them. It’s top secret information, it can’t be risked.” I grin conspiratorially, elbow cocked and silently praying to every god in the known universe that I can wind her into my side and never let her go.

She twines her small arm into mine, and I am floating. Singing. Warm all over. I want to bottle this feeling, infuse it into my blood, flood the bond with it so she can feel just exactly how fucking good this feels. Pure, raw magic. Where the darkness meets the light. Love.

Was this what having a mate felt like? And love, the word for it? The source of magic. The meeting place in-between two souls.

Darkness envelops us as we walk and I feel a breath catch in her chest, not even five strides forward as she makes eye contact with me. 

I want to swim in those pools of amber forever.

She coughs, her arms darting away like I’ve burned her, and I grit my teeth as she folds her arms again against her chest. “Okay, we’re on the street now… spill. What’s the big story?”

“I need you on my team,” my Queen. “To wield Gwydion, which you so graciously gifted us.” 

“It wasn’t for you... Why can’t Nesta use the Starsword?” 

“Nesta will be wielding Ataraxia. And her other Made swords… she has quite the collection now. It’s rather impressive.” 

I seize my moment to swoop closer and whisper in her ear, “And a bit terrifying.” Pulling back I notice the perfect goosebumps my breath left on her neck. “Her hands will be full. And I need a warrior on my left. A sword of light to aid my knife in the dark, if you will. I need you. No one else can wield the sword.”

The story of the Night Court's political landscape on the other side of the universe falls softly from my lips to her ear, fading into the street sounds as I stay close enough to speak low enough only for her to hear. The human queens grabbing for power, my personal utter fucking disaster with Rhysand and Koschei, Bryaxis and the bargain, the mounting potential of an Illyrian rebellion, Tamlin’s descent into madness and the Autumn Court using it to their advantage. And the Night Court being the epicenter of the nightmare. It was way too much information–but she listened closely, not saying much other than to ask a few clarifying questions here or there. I tell my mate all of it—with zero intention of ever letting her step foot into my world ever again. We walked for what had to be close to an hour. It was getting later, and the streets were slowly getting quieter. It was strange–unlike what I remembered from the wild nights raging until dawn ever present throughout the dazzlingly wild city. 

She circles back to her main concern, my plan all along, the Koschei problem. My so called 'top secret mission'.

“So he’s been… waiting, and planning for you?” 

“Apparently.” 

“And… he’s some sort of a death god?” 

“Yes.” 

“Which makes him un-killable like the Asteri?” 

“Exactly.”

A loud rumble groans aggressively from her stomach. A growl from my own throat nearly escapes in response to the sound as she continues to mumble to herself. My mate needs food and I’m here talking her ear off over some deceptive mission I never intend to subject her to–when I could’ve been feeding her. Taking care of her.

Something primal surged within me that I couldn’t stop. 

“Come on. Let’s go.” No longer giving a single flying fuck about self control, I tug her hand, pulling her forward along with me, cloaked in darkness. Strides now long and purposeful.

Food for my mate. 

She tugs at my hand. The touch that sent me through the void and back. The only thing that could ever give me pause.

“Azriel. Stop. Where are you going?” 

Cauldron boil me. Caught again. Not supposed to know anything about this world.

“I… don’t know. Just looking... For food.”

“Oh. You're hungry?”

Starving. “Yes.”

“Well… why didn't you say so. I could use a bite too.”

She bit her lip considering. I made a mental note to claim that lip with my teeth at my own at the very first opportunity.

“There’s a place in the Old Square I like. It'll give you a real… Midgardian welcome. We’re not far from there. You’re so lucky I’m craving cheese fries…"

She kept walking, chattering to herself at this point. I'm too lost in her presence. Staring only at her throat working up and down as she speaks, where it trails down connecting to the star on her chest. That now too dim fucking star. I had let this happen, it was all my fault.

"But, I do wanna hear more about these human queens and that death lord guy… wait… Ogenas bless me, have you ever tried cheese fries?” 

I smile, shaking my head in disbelief at her joy in sharing a piece of her world. I brush off the fact that my mate doesn’t even recognize her own stomach growling. That her eyes are still puffy and red from crying. That she’s likely not eaten or slept properly in far too long. That her melancholy is flooding the bond. Only this fleeting moment of joy prevents my stomach from twisting into knots.

It’s not like Feyre, Rhysand had said.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry. I still don't think I can help. Rhysand will kill me the moment I appear on your planet."

Over my dead body. The shadows around me darken and twist with my protective instinct, a reaction I can't fully control.

"He will do no such thing. I'm here on his orders."

I'll pay for this lie. The bond pulses faintly at the half-truth. Five centuries of spymaster training, and this female makes me want to spill every secret I possess.

"Liar."

She can sense me, too. Her raspy insult is the most breath-stealing thing I've ever heard in my 530-something odd years of life. 538? I can't be sure. I lost track centuries ago, somewhere between the countless wars and darker missions I'd rather forget. The faint smile lingers as she picks up a fry smothered in cheese, tilting her head back, tongue darting out to catch its descent into her open mouth. The movement exposes the elegant line of her throat, and my shadows dance eagerly around her, content to watch.

The sight does very indecent things to me.

I shift uncomfortably on my too-small stool, grateful for the darkness that surrounds us, hiding the heat I can feel crawling up my neck. Willing the surrounding music to drown out the roaring and tugging. Only one thing in the world would help.

The White Raven has been reconstructed with perfect attention to its past detail. I try to hide my shock when I realize this is the spot she's decided on as Bryce waltzed up the familiar illuminated staircase as if she owned this place. As if she were ascending into Heaven itself.

I still can't believe it's happening. I'm sitting this close to her, so close that the outsides of our thighs are pressed together at the solid gold bar. She's alive. She's here. She's with me. Perched on a glass stool near the end of the glowing golden bar--my sullen mate. Elbows braced on the gold slab, her cheek squishes against one hand while the other alternates between drumming her fingers and picking the cheesiest fries for herself.

The Mother is finally on my side. My shadows swirl around us, watching her as I keep my gaze straight ahead, pretending to be calm as I sip my whiskey. I had ordered her one as well, exactly how I knew she liked it—whiskey, ginger, and a lime. No matter that she rolled her eyes and refused, telling me she could order her own drink, thank you very much.

Light green liquid rimmed with salt slams down on the bar top, and I let dark tendrils descend and cloud like smoke over her short glass. The shadows hiss to themselves as Bryce yanks it away from them.

"What the fuck! Get your shadow cooties off my drink!"

"I do apologize…but I've caught wind of people tampering with drinks. Old shadow habits die hard. Forgive me." I raise my eyebrows at her, the portrait of innocence, as she grumbles at me in return.

Quirked lips attempt to hide her small smile, like she thinks I won't notice. While she'd been distracted, a tendril of shadow curled around my ear to whisper she's drained. Willful determination to ignore her internal power struggle wouldn't work on me like everyone else she'd been fooling. I make a note to pry later, to begin plotting the most effective strategy to deceive her into accepting my assistance—whether she likes it or not. I crossed the line of impropriety long ago; there's no salvaging my reputation for gallantry now. But at this point, I'll consider tonight a success if she just eats more of the cheesy potatoes.

The club's music pounds around us, each beat making her sparkle like she's in sync with the beat. I try to focus on the vibrations of the music thudding through my chest, willing any sort of rational sense into my brain, but it's impossible. There is only her and a soft blur hazing the figures around us. I shudder, clenching my fists to keep from pulling her onto my lap, from closing the distance between us.

I remind myself I'm here for a reason—one that's entirely selfish. To never let anything keep me from her side ever again.

Even if she's being... difficult.

"If I wanted a babysitter, I'd call my Dad."

"You're still insufferable, you know." Glowering, I kick at her foot, trying to shake off the way she's getting under my skin. The idea of some kind of protector, a guardian angel--no matter how I inevitably sanitized the truth, would send her running for the hills. 

"Are you always so stubborn regarding your own safety?" I ignore the need to grip her chin and make her look me in the eyes when she answers.

"Naturally gifted in the Stubbornness Arts, what can I say." No hint of a smile. Just a swig of her glass.

I tease her, some sad attempt at getting a reaction. "You can say thank you for making sure no one on the other side of the bar cursed your drink." I poke her bottom ribs, my fingers pressing under where I know causes a side-crippling tickle.

A single suppressed laugh comes out as a gasp. "Will you stop it? I'm not in the fucking mood." Brows furrowed, she schools her features back to scowling.

I don't care if she is trying to provoke me—whatever she throws at me, I'll weather it. If what she wants is to test how easily she can get under my skin, how easily she can make me glower at her—I'll be all too happy to oblige.

My hand shoots out before I can think, teasingly grabbing her throat, my thumb softly grazing the side of her neck. I pull her closer, keeping my grip gentle, my lips brushing her ear.

"I think you're in the mood for a fight," I whisper, my voice low and dangerous. "But I'm not going to pin you against my blade here at the bar... no matter how much I think you may actually enjoy that kind of distraction."

Her throat works as she swallows, but she's quick to fire back in a furious huff. "Oh yes, exactly what I wanted, Azriel—to be held at knifepoint before I could finish my margarita. What comes next... confining me to a cell again? How is my off-planet timeshare doing? Hopefully, someone else has been enjoying the prison getaway in my absence." She rolls her eyes. The picture of unbothered. A professional liar.

I stay close, my breath hot against her ear, and I don't miss the way she shivers, just a little. "I know someone insistent on self-destruction when I see one," I prod, my voice more serious now.

"Well, right back atcha, big guy. Takes one to know one," she shoots back. Lips suck in between her teeth as she bites down on them. Willing herself not to smile at her own too-quick response.

"Big guy?"

"You're just... kinda big. You know, with the wingspan and all." Wincing, eyes closed, she flushes looking the opposite way like the dance floor has suddenly just become very interesting. Avoiding eye contact.

I press a calloused finger under her jaw, turning her face back up to meet my gaze, not able to resist making her squirm.

"So... what would that make you?" Heat floods her cheeks and I've never loved the color pink more in my entire fucking life.

"I can think of a few names for you," Bright cheeks deepen, and imprint in my memory forever. "But I think 'Princess' suits you best... since my shadows do tell me you're insistent on shirking your duties as queen." I pinch the outside of her thigh, and she lets out a yelp.

I. Must. Stop.

"Ow! That hurt, asshole." Another glorious shove of her hand meets my bicep. "I hate that fucking name, and I forbid you to use it under all circumstances," she grumbles, rubbing the spot as she glares at me, though her eyes are sparkling. She's feeling better; her tone and scent have shifted, and fuck if it doesn't make me feel like some kind of king. "And I'm not shirking jack shit."

"Don't lie to me." The taunt pours out, the urge to keep teasing her driving me to distraction. She wrinkles her nose up at me, all too apparently enjoying the way I'm pushing her buttons. Though she's trying her best not to show it.

"I'm bored." Intent to avoid this conversation entirely, she stands, twirling around before grabbing my arm and trying—unsuccessfully—to haul me off my seat. "Let's blow this popsicle stand. Come dance with me. Forget your business trip for a second. It's your first night in Midgard! Tonight, we YOLO!"

Remaining seated, I tug her in closer and narrow my eyes at her, making her look me in the eye. "I don't know what a 'YOLO' is, but I do know you're avoiding something."

She leans over the bar, her eyes locked on mine as she slurps the last drop of her drink through the straw, then bites her bottom lip with a playful grin. "Mmmmm... tequila."

I scoff, trying not to lose what little remains of my icy exterior. My eyes aren't able to resist hovering over the sight of her teeth tugging in her bottom lip.. gods, the things I want to do to that mouth, if only she'd ever grant me the gift. My thoughts are spiraling into dangerous territory. I'm barely holding it together.

"Pleased with yourself?" Growling, I resist any sort of smile, tone flat and cold. Harsh, if you didn't know me. 

"Come on, Az! Just one dance. Then we can talk more about saving your world from the death lords or whatever. Don't be such a loser! It's your first night here; let's have some fuuuunnnn!" Practically whining, she pats my bicep. And I think I've died and gone to the eternal lands.

Grabbing her hand off my arm and before I can think better of it, I take her hand to brush my lips, and I meet her wide eyes with my own.

"I would never dream of denying you a dance."

Before she can protest with more than a squeak, I spin her into my side, steadying her by the waist, and lead her down the grand staircase and out onto the main dance floor.

Into her ear, I beg. "Stay with me."

Chapter Text

A wave of guilt washes over me. I’m grinning like an idiot after Azriel spins me into his side. What the Hel am I doing? Thinking? I’m not sure why I’m here… doing this… with him. But it’s just one dance. I’m not going to overthink it. It means nothing. A friendly visit from an out-of-town… friend. Kinda. It’s not a big deal. Whatever it is. Music lovers unite and all that jazz.

I need to think about anything else other than what the fuck just happened hours ago. About anyone other than Hunt. I need a distraction.

A bland, bored look washes across my face as Azriel waltzes me down onto the dance floor. The shattered shards of my emotional state now seem possible to fuse back together. Taking my hand back in his own, he prowls to the far back side of the club. Keeping us hidden in a dark corner, Azriel takes me by surprise spinning me out and back into him. Breathless and crooked in his arm, his flash of a grin is my only warning before he throws me into a dip so deep, my hair skims the floor.

He… clearly doesn’t need much instruction.

Azriel's reverent hand drags up my thigh, scarred knuckles brushing up the curve of my waist, making his way back toward the hand he'd just released. Imagine my surprise to feel my traitorous body crave to move with his.

The lyrics wash over us, as the singer's sultry voice mirrors my own tumultuous thoughts. The hollowing and tugging sensation in my chest intensifies with every brush of his touch. Thudding beats pulse through my chest as the music spirals my body into madness. And that's when he flips me around, settling behind and towering over me.

I can work you out, are you thinking 'bout something better?

Holding onto you, while you drag me through stormy weather

Each thump of the bass resonates deep in my bones, the rhythm driving us closer. Large scarred hands rest possessively below my waist, guiding my hips into effortless circles as I rock against him.

Gods, I’m tipsy, and the tequila mixed with his nearness turns me into a puddle of want. My emotions bleed together—depression, desire, longing, and something else—swirling until I can’t tell where I end and the dark thoughts begin. I am so fucking glad to still be facing away from him.

The only time you smile is in the photographs

And when I pull you close, it's like you're holding back, before we turn to strangers tryna love in the dark

I twirl away from him to dance alone as the song echoes into its chorus, losing myself in the tinny beat of drums. I remain just outside his grasp and the shadows shielding us. Still, I am all too aware of his heated gaze from the edge of the darkness, his shadows pulsing in time with the music. He watches me with an intensity that makes my skin flame, as if he wants to consume me, body and soul. The space between us stretches taut, a living thing, urging me to whirl back into his arms as the beat ratchets higher.

Tell it to my hearrrt 'cause I can't keep guessing If it's me you're missing

Tell it to my hearrrt 'cause the sounded silence Is a place we're dying

The bass drop pounds into my skull. Is the tequila making my head spin like this? Azriel nods bracing himself against the back wall, a single hand covering his mouth as if horrified of what, who, danced before him. Panting, I could feel his predatory eyes fixed on me, not straying for even a second. My stomach clenches. I can’t meet his eyes; I can’t handle what I may not want to see. His gaze on my skin feels like an iron poker—a cold brand. The bass dies and the song returns back to its steady pulse.

Before a light goes out, come and tell me now if something's fading

'Cause I can feel it in, every single thing that you're not saying

In a single thump he's cradling my hips again from behind, as it snapped to my side in an instant like an elastic band. "Is this how they dance in your world?" Short hot breaths tumble into my ear with each word, "It's.. absolutely… filthy." The small smile that spreads across my face is unavoidable. Raising my arms, undulating my hips to the hypnotic beat, I linger my slow rolls purposefully against his muscular thigh as if in answer. This is what I have been missing. The pounding womps makes me feel reckless, invincible. Then, Azriel's calloused hands are on my arms, caressing downwards, his touch unleashing an icy fire across my fevered skin. His breath is hot against the shell of my ear as I lean back into his solid chest, rolling against him, lost in a delicious haze of sensation.

You move close to me but I can feel a space

Whatever time we have, I'm not gonna waste

Before we turn to strangers tryna love in the dark

His fingers dig into the jut of my hip bones, pulling my back flush against him as the bass drops again. I feel every hard plane and ridge of his warrior's body, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against me. His hands map a tortuous path up to the dips of my waist, then down again, igniting my nerves. I can’t stop the breath that escapes my lips. His answering growl rumbles through me as he buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. Like I’m his drug. The thought sends my stomach hollowing into a terrifying swoop.

The pulsating rhythm of the bass thrums in my chest as Azriel’s shadows flicker around me, casting long shapes that seem to dance along with the beat. Knocking me from my spiraling stupor, he lassos one of those iconic go-go cages from the ceiling with a flick of the wrist, hauling it down with a casual grace that makes my heart race.

He raises an eyebrow, that silent demand clear in his gaze: Get in.

Crossing my arms over my chest, trying to catch my breath, I summon a deflection. “It’s not as fun when there’s no one watching,” I try to keep the tremor of excitement from leaking into my voice. But inside, I’m practically dying. The thought of dancing in one of those famous cages is a fantasy I’ve held since stepping foot into this place. But I can’t let him see how much I want this.

“I didn’t realize you liked being watched.” Azriel’s lips quirk up slightly, amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. He nods toward the cage again, and suddenly it feels like more than just a suggestion.

With a heavy swallow, I relent, needing to make this dream a reality no matter who I was with. “This doesn’t… mean we're friends or anything... Don't get any ideas.” It slips out with an air of cold defiance, but really? It’s just my way of clinging to the remnants of control I’m losing by the second.

As soon as I step inside the cage, Azriel tightens his grip on the chain with his shadows and pulls it high above the crowd. The sudden rush of air fills me with exhilaration as I hover over everyone else. Down below, people dance and laugh while I float above them like some wild goddess set free from an iron cage.

The lights flash around me, illuminating my skin and setting off sparkles against the shadows that swirl playfully around me. It feels like I’m floating in a different world up here—one where all my problems are left far below. I begin to move instinctively to the rhythm pulsing through the floor.

The darkness wraps around me like an old friend; Azriel’s shadows tingle across my limbs. They mimic my movements—flicking out as if they want to join in.

The world blurs beneath me as laughter rings out from below, but up here? Up here is just me letting go; forgetting Hunt’s words from earlier and all those other moments dragging behind me like a weight I can’t shake off. Each twist and turn lets something else slip away until I’m lost in pure sensation.

Let him watch.

Some bone-deep need to surrender to him shreds my will completely. Here, in his arms, I finally let myself sink into his warmth. He feels so powerful, so solid and steady, an anchor in the storm raging inside me. My blood roars in my veins, demanding more. A scorching ache pulses at my very core, building to an inferno.

The driving synths build to a crescendo. As if we’ve done this a thousand times—as if we’re made for this wild, wicked dance—we don’t stop moving, grinding. Humming between us, a living, pulsing thing, tying us together in ways I’m only beginning to understand. But here, lost in the music and the heat of his body against mine, I don’t care. For the first time in a long time, I let go of the fear and the questions and simply let myself feel.

The bass thumps through my veins, and suddenly I feel my magic explode outwards. It longs to twine with his, darkness and light dancing, until the cage’s floor disappears, and the room seems to dissolve, and we’re somewhere else entirely—a dark, glittering sea stretching out into eternity, the air tinged with salt.

I whirl in Az’s arms to face him, rocking the cage we’re apparently still inside, and fall into his arms, my eyes wide. “What the fuck?” I breathe. “Where did the club go?” The song seems to freeze as we stare at each other, my forearms bracing myself against his chest, hovering on the edge of its final hook. Hazel eyes search mine as if I held all of the answers to the universe. A dark heavy haze settles over me, and I am so, so tired of being strong, of fighting for myself to resurface. I want to give in to the heat between us. He feels so right, so gentle and solid. His heartbeat is a song in my blood surging through my forearms. My own blood roars in answer, urging me to lean in, to close the distance. A fire ignites in my core, burning hot and fast.

Then the beat crashes back in, and the club floor returns once more, us still safely cocooned in shadow, cage swinging.

Something flashes in his gaze, there and gone too quickly to decipher. “Just our magic,” he whispers softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. But I could have sworn… His lips didn't move… I chalk it up to auditory hallucinations. I must have had the thought myself. Or did he have mind speaking powers like Ruhn?

The thought unraveled every piece of myself I had attempted to put back together.

Tell it to my heart 'Cause I can't keep guessing If it's me you're missing

Tell it to my heart 'Cause the sounded silence Is a place we're dying

I pull away abruptly.

You’re drunk. Fuck, I’m out of control. This is why you should never drink.

“I need a glass of water,” I breathe out, straightening up and forcing my signature wink, trying to appear unaffected. Azriel doesn't hesitate to send the cage shooting back towards the floor, slowing us down just in time with a pull of his shadow.

Exiting the cage, I stumble as my feet hit the ground, my head spinning. The cage chain rattles behind us as Az’s shadows release their hold. What just happened? One minute we were dancing, the next we were... somewhere else entirely. The memory of that dark, endless sea, those words I didn't hear, makes my knees weak.

"Water," I croak again, pressing my palm against my forehead. The room won’t stop tilting like that godsdamn cage. "I need… fuck."

My legs nearly give out, but Az’s arm slides around my waist, steadying me. The contact sends another jolt through my system—that same magnetic pull that had our magic tangling together moments ago. I jerk away from him, my heart thundering.

"I can walk," I snap, though the floor seems to roll beneath my feet.

What the actual Hel was I thinking? Dancing with him like that, letting my guard down, letting my power loose. Someone might have seen us. Could have witnessed whatever... whatever that was up there.

The hot air hits my flushed skin as we emerge from the cool darkness. The bass still pounds through the club, but it feels distant now, muted. Reality crashes back in—Hunt, the breakup, my responsibilities, everything I’ve been trying to escape tonight.

"Shit," I mutter, fumbling for my leggings pocket for my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip it. "What time is it? I need to get home."

The screen swims before my eyes. 1:53 AM. Perfect. Just perfect. I’ll have to give over more power for being out this late past curfew. I’m drunk, magically drained, and I just basically dry-humped an assassin from another world in a go-go cage while having some kind of shared power hallucination.

This is why I don’t dance anymore. Because look what happens—I lose all common sense and self-control.

He follows me back to the bar, of course. I can feel his gaze burning into me, like he’s looking inside me. My right hand twitches, subconsciously mirroring his reaching out. I drive my nails into my palms hard enough to bleed.

“Water, please.” I hunch over the golden bar, staring at my hands, avoiding meeting his eyes. He stands beside me, a looming presence. The pocket of silence crackles with tension, but it’s… soothing? I try to quiet the roaring in my brain, to form a coherent thought. But it’s no use.

I don’t, for the life of me, want to understand why.

Chapter Text

Existing in a state of what can only be described as pure bliss, I follow Bryce back to the bar, her intoxicating scent drifting behind her, making my eyelids heavy with need. Blood pounding in my groin overtakes any rational thought as I thank the Cauldron for my own darkness covering the truth of just how affected I am by our one dance together.

I try to calm the roaring, refocus my mind on strategy. Baser instincts can wait. Just like they’ve been waiting, with any and all sexual desire put on hold for over three years—since I stole the Harp that fateful day. Because I am a glutton for punishment, and because I’d rather die without ever having her than live through a single second touching another. But my control is slipping its leash. I am terrified for the moment it breaks entirely.

Cursing myself, I can’t believe what an idiot I have been. Bryce is everything I’ve ever wanted, dreamed of, and prayed for, yet I left her. I left my mate to drift into spiraling sadness... emptiness radiating from her soul, echoing into my own. Hopeful distraction would only temporarily patch her wound. The song in my blood bellows to protect her from what lies within, stay with her, save her from herself and the Gods-forsaken evil etched across her spine. Thoughts gear into a plan when dark wisps alert me to furious steps storming up the staircase.

"Bryce?" A familiar, detestable, irritated male voice rises, approaching my light. Darkness still shrouds me, giving me the upper hand. Perfect for an ambush.

On nothing but primal instinct, I react. Shadows swarm back into their hive as I materialize between my mate and the one I hate, grabbing the male's arm to stop his approach toward her, twisting it as I let out a menacing snarl.

"Whoa, whoa, stop! What the fuck, Az—it's just Hunt!" Bryce shrieks, her panicked words sobering me like a blow to the chest.

But the cause of her tears is standing before me. An unconscious floor-shaking growl rumbles out of me.

Still torquing the angel’s deserving arm in my grasp, he grits his teeth and shoots mind-numbing shocks of electricity through my forearm. I smile at him as I feel the familiar sensation of pain light up my rage like a star over Ramiel.

Bryce loudly clears her throat. "Ahemzriel!"

Only for her would I obey. Glowering in her direction, I release my grip on the useless male. I stiffen, spreading my wings as he mirrors me. Legs bracing wide, the angel and I stand in fighting stances opposite each other. My wings stretch out unnecessarily far in case she needs a reminder of size comparison.

"Um... Hi, Hunt." Bryce's lips turn upward in disgust, and those bright butterflies stupidly flutter through my chest once more. "What are you doing here?"

"No introduction to your... friend?" Black eyes slowly roll to meet her glare with one of his own, narrowing with a silent threat. Quirking her mouth in sweet response, my mate blinks sweetly back to him.

"Hunt, this is Azriel. Azriel, this is Hunt, my—" she halts mid-sentence as just Hunt angrily studies me while she mutters under her breath, "The press are gonna have a fucking field day if someone in here snaps a photo... why don't you two shake hands so you don't look like the biggest alphaholes in Lunathion.”

Scowling, I force my hand out, awaiting the gray vulture's grasp as I fight the urge to rip his throat out. I have to remind myself that I am now hers to command, in payment for my previous sins. Zaps of lightning sear into my palm upon contact with the male's hand. I return the favor with a squeeze hard enough to threaten breaking fingers—but only if she wishes. We stare each other down coldly, jaws clenching.

"Alpha-hole?" Releasing his tainted palm, I try to inject some much-needed levity into this situation. Maybe it would prevent this evening from blowing up in my face like everything else already had.

"Yeah, it means asshole but like possessive and aggressive," Bryce mutters to me out of the side of her mouth, giving me a quick smirk. Like we’re friends. The mere thought sends me flying into the promised land itself.

"What's wrong with that?" I raise my eyebrows at the innocent question. Bryce again rolls her eyes, but my stomach twists as her expression turns sickly sweet.

Bryce pats my shoulder. “Azriel, could you give me and Hunt a quick moment? I’d simply love another margarita. Would you mind?” She nods toward the bar, as if she doesn’t question I’ll obey. Unfortunately, she’s right.

I promised the Mother, the Gods, Fate, and the Universe itself, I'd repent. Atone forever for my wrongdoings.

As she turns back to the imbecile in front of her, I clench my fists at my sides, shadows roiling, using every ounce of self-control not to blast a hole through the bastard's face with my siphons. I should've killed him earlier when I watched him leave my mate with a raging storm of sadness in his wake.

This piece of carrion made her cry. He could fucking die for it. But that choice would be hers alone. All of my choices from now on would always be hers. I would pay for the actions made without her consent; I knew. But maybe the debt would offset if I could become her weapon. Payment in the form of service—hers to wield, forever.

Collecting my sins, repenting, and paying for my insidious truths had been my karmic cross to bear long before my mate landed at my feet. But the asphodel standing before me is testing every ounce of my word. Fuck, I have to get out of here before I obliterate this speck of crowbait, fucking my promises all to Hel.

Unbidden memories of the first time I laid eyes on the angel, and subsequently the first time he laid eyes on Bryce, surge forward.

The angel and his second landed in the blood-soaked alley as I sat hidden beside her, kneeling and praying. Seeing the winged male land there, after everything that had happened, made me want to wretch.

I'd caused this to happen. Because playing god has consequences.

Begrudgingly, I had to move away from her, not to be scented or sensed. I slipped into shadows like a coward as both winged males attempted to haul my mate upward. All of my control disappeared as I tracked the rough grip around her arm, carelessly pulling her injured body and soul to her feet.

I didn't know if it had been the Harp and Horn who sung at the boiling rage in my blood. A connection had woven between our souls once again. The bond between us went taut as her mental shield shattered, just as it had happened before. I flashed from her body to mine—from my eyes to her own.

She collapsed against the brown-skinned angel in agony. The move allowing me the chance to glimpse the helmeted prick through her eyes.

I'd know those wings anywhere—they haunted my fucking dreams. I didn't know if it was my panic or her instincts that caused her body to buck and thrash, to fight their grip, make them put her down.

The two morons thankfully obeyed, finally realizing how gravely she was injured.

"Get a fucking medwitch here, NOW!" The unfamiliar male had yelled into his phone as blood continued to pour from her thigh onto the ground—I willed her blood to slow its pour from the inside out by some ancient instinct in my bones.

Gray wings knelt beside her to inspect the wound—he had some type of fucking torture device in his hand. Wild realization sent her good leg flying toward his balls, but she unfortunately fucking missed. Ripping off his helmet in a fit, he yelled at her to calm the fuck down.

He was a fucking monster. And I couldn't do a godsdamn thing about it except use every bit of power I possessed to shield her from the pain. To keep the roaring blanket of silence within her from screaming. Keep her in this place where pain couldn't touch her. Every punch of the gun, every flinch, I absorbed as my own. Pressing silence and numbing darkness were the only weapons to wield on her behalf.

I didn't want to think about the last time I had felt so helpless.

I had to do something to repay this debt, I had to leave, had to find Fury and kill her for letting this all happen. Because Bryce was now... on a different path. A path to the angel. The realization was enough to break the tether between us, returning me back to the dark alley I'd been hidden.

Fate had chosen. And the Mother had not chosen me.

But I couldn't leave her entirely, refused to leave her so bloody and alone and in so much pain. Her agony felt worse than my skin melting under hot flame. It had broken me entirely.

The curse of being able to exist in two places at once split my soul in half.

A wisp of shadow snuck into her void at my urgent behest, burrowing into her star just as they dwelled inside my own darkness. Begging it to keep a part of me with her so that she wouldn't have to endure this night and the following days alone. It was deplorable and in no way consensual and yet, I couldn't stop myself.

She may have wanted to be alone if she had the choice. But want and need were two very different things.

The thread of shadow stayed with her as they had carted her off to drop her bloodied and haphazardly bandaged in a lightless white cell.

The wisp reported to the remaining dark from afar. 'Wraith,' it had hissed in warning— I was already hunting for Fury. For retribution. Fury's contact, The Raven's butterfly shifter owner, was my first stop.

It would seem the wraith could indeed scent the shadow I worked inside Bryce to drown out the searing physical pain, the soul-deep trauma of heartbreak and shock.

I had been wielding silence; some sort of peace to prevent us both from drowning under reality. The soothing darkness wouldn't blot out the pain completely but would keep her breathing calm—so that asshole had no excuse to yell at her again.

Testing Bryce's manner of possession, the wraith had calmly addressed her. 'Miss Quinlan?' As if looking for any sort of reaction or consciousness.

The female pressed on in the absence of a response.

'I, for one, believe that you are not in full control of your body or actions right now.'

She was met with more of the quiet I poured into the bond, calming the sea of Bryce’s volatility.

'Can you tell me who is responsible for the bloodshed tonight?'

I couldn’t risk convincing the wraith to listen.

"We have video footage from the White Raven, confirming your whereabouts. We have footage of you walking home. What we don't have footage of... Bryce... is what happened in that apartment. Can you tell me?"

It was a thinly veiled threat to expose whatever shadow lay within Bryce if she didn't answer. She'd get Bryce to surface, to talk, one way or another.

"Can you describe the creature that attacked your friends?"

Apparently, the relentless demon wanted confirmation from Bryce of what I knew they must have on video.

The wraith continued to prod, "We're trying to find who did this. Can you give us the information we need? I want to help you. I want to find who did this and punish them."

Darkness blanketed Bryce's every thought—so much so that she was no more than a shell.

The wraith wouldn't make her do this, wouldn't make her relive the worst night of her life; she wouldn't make her speak of it—not if I could help it.

But no amount of refusal would stop the female spirit from playing that horrible audio—those sounds no one should have ever had to hear. The snarls, pleas, and the wet ripping of flesh muffled by muted sobs.

The torture had its desired effect; Bryce came slamming back to the surface of the present, evicting my shadow from her entirely.

The wraith had won, but I marked her. I would find her, make her suffer for eternity for it. But I had to get Bryce out of there first.

My own white-hot fury surged through the bond as Bryce threw the cell's only table hard enough to dent, the registering shock of it all making her sick.

I tried everything I could to return the shadow, to flood her with darkness until she’d relent and breathe. But she had shut me out, curling into herself protectively, sending the thread of darkness back to me.

The worst fucking night of my life for so many reasons.

I hadn't seen the angel again until... I decided it was time to show my mate the monster in the flesh.

When he betrayed her on that barge.

When I had taken the wraith down with him in such sweet victory.

Slamming down on my memories and willing myself back to the present, I continue to pretend to not diligently note every clipped word of their shushed argument.

Bryce whispers furiously at her fake mate, “You’re going to cause a scene. What the fuck are you doing here, Hunt?”

“The 33rd got notified of some weird hidden surveillance activity surrounding the apartment. Naomi... told me after I got to the barracks—I came to check that you were okay. But you weren’t at home... so I checked your location only to find out you were here at the Raven... apparently with a fucking demon.”

“I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to pow wow with you first before he materialized in front of me. Normally, I would’ve, but I think we kinda broke up a few hours ago." I hold my tongue, not breathing so I wouldn't rip him in two with my bare hands.

But he backs down. Not a complete fool, I suppose. "Okay, yeah. I get it. I was just... worried about you. Fuck." Scrubbing his hands over his face, I sense his desperation and her reluctant acceptance of it, sadness weaving its way back into her soul.

"Bryce... I was a fucking idiot earlier—I didn't fucking mean any of it." The asshole’s hoarse voice is forcefully calm as he makes a pointed look at her drink I had ordered. As if this weren’t his own doing.

“Can we talk tomorrow? Please...” Only haunted eyes stare back at him as she shrugs her answer. “I guess.” He blows out a breath, brushing her arm in farewell. He gives me a once-over before heading back toward the stairs. Easy enough.

The only thing preventing me from ripping him to shreds upon his exit is my beautiful mate standing right in front of me, stealing all of my thoughts of vengeance. For her, I’d try to be better.

An invisible string tugs me back to her side in an instant. I see Hunt’s name disappear as she taps on her phone "Umhole Mortis" beside his picture.

I had to look away and get a grip on myself. This wasn’t going at all to plan.

"Well, now that that's done..." Bryce sighs, "let's find you a place to stay, big guy... I need to get home."

I let out a seething breath at her words. My shadows pick up on undertones of guilt and embarrassment. This was my fault, too. I'd suffer for all of it.

"I can find my own place to stay," I say shortly. "I don't need your pity." I silently vow to make that angel pay somehow she didn’t have to sanction for diminishing a single ounce of her joy.

"I'm not pitying you, Azriel. I'm just... tired and I want you to be safe here," insisting with a softness in her voice, her tone and scent shifting and rolling like mist. She’s drained, exhausted, and I'd been too selfish to stop dancing with her to do anything about it. Add it to my list of sins.

"This world is foreign to you. Do you even know what a hotel is? I mean... how are you getting home?" She chews on her perfect lip.

I am home. But my light fills the void of my silent answer with another shrug.

"Ooo-kay. Yeah, unfortunately, Ember would kill me if she thought I just left you here without at least a place to stay... and I'm really tired and don't feel like arguing so... come on, you. Let's go."

My teeth grind as I give her a sullen nod of acceptance to go along with her—I couldn't exactly explain that I already knew Midgard quite well. Or that I had no intention of leaving anytime soon... No, I selfishly wanted as much time as possible with her before she hated me for eternity. Once she found out the truth.

Bryce drags me by the arm out into the rain-soaked night as I hide her from prying eyes. The insistent female demands, again, to know how I found her—how I arrived.

Deflection, my favorite cover story. "You're famous, surely you're aware. I'd suggest you up your security standards." Omitting the fact that the bond had led me straight to her.

A scowl crosses her face at my quick retort, but I can sense she's happier and lighter than she had been minutes ago. My own elation at walking by her side likely bleeds through the bond.

Quick steps hurry through the pouring rain to the hotel, Bryce shrieking as she tugs me along. Tilting a wing to shield her from the downpour, my steps stall in quiet request. Mirroring my slowing stride, she allows me to walk beside her, now safely tucked under the protection of my wing, casually pointing out a few landmarks of her world along the way.

If only I still had the Harp to freeze this perfect moment in time forever.

Arriving at the hotel lobby, temporary panic races through me, thinking my cover is about to be blown as the young draki doorman greets me in recognition. But Bryce is already prancing up to the front desk, oblivious and too excited to show off. Hanging back, I watch as she charms the fire sprite at the front desk with her 'starborn queen razzle dazzle.'

Shadows threaten to cover me entirely when I realize she goes to pay with her own power—she doesn't have any power left. The thought makes me weak for more than one reason. Swooping in behind her, my unworthy hand brushing against the small of her back, I submit a siphon to the screen as she watches it absorb my power. "You didn't actually think I'd let you pay for my room. Or the tab." I had taken care of it when she and just Hunt were bickering. Her cheek flushes that beautiful shade of pink as she rolls her eyes skyward. "Alphahole."

In the elevator that she insists I am too ignorant to understand, Bryce teases me about needing a tutorial on "basic hotel functionality." I smirk back, "Bathing and bedding require instructions in your world?" Giving my shoulder a playful shove, she mutters something about keycards.

"I can figure it out myself." Not that I want to, but I can't help it if she sets herself up to walk right into a trap. Maybe it would make her more cautious in the future. My mate isn't thinking clearly, and it would serve her well to be given a lesson in paying attention.

The elevator dings and the doors open onto the 69th floor.

"Come on, you big alien," Bryce chimes, tugging me along. "You didn't even know what a phone was when I met you! You'll end up sleeping in the hallway if I don't show you how to use the keycard."

I sigh in mock defeat. As if I have no choice but to follow her. As if I could ever deny her—as if I wouldn't have to pay the Gods for the sins I planned to commit next.

Chapter Text

Again, my internal voice screams at me, wondering what the fuck I am doing... walking him to his room?

Really, B?! I scold myself internally.

What the fuck, indeed. Tonight has been a dumpster fire, and I’m not even sure which part has been the worst.

The keycard—a laughable excuse to continue muddling through this fucked-up situation. I’m not that drunk anymore, sadly, so I can’t blame this one on the tequila. And that spot in my chest aches with... something I can’t quite place. Maybe I can blame this insanity on... heartburn? Fuck my entire life on Cthona's tits.

“Here we are,” I sing, my breath hitching as I feel Azriel come up behind me, close enough to gently graze my arm. I can feel the heat of his breath on my throat, which is godsdamn distracting.

What am I doing again? I fumble the keycard in my palm.

Looking at me with eyebrows raised, no hint of a smile, keeping an uncomfortably towering closeness, he doesn’t say a fucking word. Bastard.

“Oh yes! The keycard. It’s pretty simple, really. Just touch it here, see—and ta-da,” I explain, thinking I should’ve just told him this downstairs as I open the door for him.

I beckon him inside, awkwardly sketching a bow like an idiot—he can’t even fit through the door unless he wants to press up against me. There’s no choice but to walk completely into the room to let him enter. I pass through the entry hall leading into a comfortable suite.

A shade of calming sage adorns the walls and matching carpet of the sparsely decorated space. Light oak furniture with clean lines makes the room look modern and sleek. Thick white blankets dress the wooden four-poster bed that is too small for his wings, barely visible tight charcoal silky sheets peek out underneath. A terrace balcony with a low back couch and a few chaise lounges in the same scheme makes it feel very fancy. I wonder how this compares to the inns or whatever he has visited in his past. I realize I hope he likes it... weirdly.

I stand there looking around with my mouth open like a gaping fish while Azriel lingers awkwardly, wings twitching with an uncomfortable tight closed smile.

"Thank you, Bryce. For tonight. For considering my offer. For the room." He bows like a gentleman. Male.

I embarrassingly register he is probably trying to get me to leave.

Letting out an awkward breath, I ramble, "Yeah, right, no, sure! No problem at all... I should be going.”

Power rallies in my veins and immediately sputters out. Drained. I am fucking drained.

The warrior stalks toward me, unconsciously backing me into the TV console, causing my heart to flutter in my chest in something like fear. Shit, should I explain the Ogenas blessed TV?

Growling at me, which is getting out of control, he assesses me like some mint-condition Jelly Jubilee doll some 12-year-old got their grimy hands on.

“You’re drained.” He rumbles.

Okay. Weird, dude is definitely a mind reader or something similar. I don’t particularly want to think about it—whatever he is.

“So it seems I am.” Mocking a faint, I stumble, and pray I shoot him a sympathy-garnering wince. Let him think me the damsel.

Three choices lay before me, probably five if I wasn't too tired to think harder about it. I could let him power me up, fly me home, or I could stay here. The bad angel on my shoulder nods aggressively at the last suggestion.

“Um, care to give me a little boost?” Batting my lashes at him, I wink and summon all my nonchalant strength.

A ghost of a smile graces his lips as he stalks another step toward me, and puts his lips to the shell of my ear.

“No. I don't think I particularly care to give you a little boost." Panic slices my throat as he casually prowls away from me toward the bed. Intimidating prick.

"No...? Why not... You expect me to walk home at 3 in the morning?" Because I would not be flying with him. Absolutely no bridal carries for me tonight. No, sir.

"No, I expect you to stay here and rest. I will give you that boost, as you say, whenever you wake up. As much power as you like, Princess." He grins again.

Is he enjoying this? He is enjoying this! Bastard!

Shaking my head at him like he’s insane, I cross my arms across my chest--an invisible line drawn. "I'm not staying here."

"I'm afraid you're not leaving." He tutts back at me.

Hissing, I stalk for the door, but a blue shield materializes in front of it before I can reach the knob. My hand bounces off the ward as I turn slowly to face him.

"Azriel..."

"Bryce..."

"Stop messing with me. I'm tired and I want to go home." I could swear the floor begins to tremble. Lowering himself slowly, he pats the bed reverently as if inviting me to sit beside him.

"Why are you doing this..."

"Maybe I think you need a lesson on power reserves in case of dangerous situations with even more dangerous predators...” He gives me a playful wink. “You have put yourself in quite the predicament."

My eyes narrow into slits as I try to summon my power again, only for little sparks to shoot out of my chest. I am so royally fucked.

"You can't do this. You can't make me stay here."

A shadow darts out, encircling my waist. With a single tug, I practically fly onto his lap.

"Oh. Can't I?" His low snarl glues me to his lap with a look that threatens violence.

"Let. Me. Go. Ugh!" I kick at his shin with my heel. Hopefully, the fact that I’m thrashing about covers up the fact that not all parts of me are scared.

"Be a good girl and behave, and the leash won't turn into a collar," he whispers, pulling me tighter into his lap, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. "I don't think you'd like it very much if I tied your hands and feet to the post, you vicious thing. Don't make me punish you further." I try to run away, but he holds me fast, his arm wrapped tightly around me.

"Fuck you." I hiss and spit in his face.

As I look up at him, our eyes lock, and he smiles lazily at my infuriated glare. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension between us palpable. Two calloused fingers slowly, so slowly, run down the side of his cheek, collecting my spit. He stares at it before he looks at me, his eyes glittering with amusement.

"Open wide, Princess." His eyebrows raise at me in a silent dare to keep fighting him. My heart practically thunders out of my chest as I suck my lips into my teeth, closing on them hard as I can muster.

"Ah, ah. Now don't be such a brat. What did I say about behaving? Open up, and I won't stick these fingers into another one of your holes."

My eyes flare wide; now I’m actually scared. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

He considers, fingers still outstretched, "Don't test me." He grips my chin firmly with his other hand and taps three times for me to open. Two more taps follow when he gives me a raised look of pure mischief, and I decide not to try my luck. My lips unfurl from my teeth and part a hair's breadth as one side of his mouth turns up.

With a gentle touch that could almost be tender if it weren't so sadistic, his rough wet fingers brush over my bottom lip and slowly push into my mouth, as if savoring every second. I allow the large pads of his first three fingers to enter before I bite down as hard as I can clench.

A soft intake of breath escapes him, his mouth opening in shock and some kind of sick satisfaction. His chest begins heaving; he is panting before I realize the bastard is enjoying this way too fucking much before I let go.

"Gross. Fucking stop it already. I'm serious." I’m not sure why I know he’ll listen.

Or how I know he can scent my lie.

But he no longer looks amused and grumbles. "All I wanted was for you to lie down and relax. If you hadn't disobeyed me, none of this would have happened. It's not my fault you insist on being difficult."

Azriel pulls the white duvet back, revealing the silky black sheets beneath. He tugs me closer, and I feel myself sliding down into the bed, his body warm and hard beside me.

The shadows around my waist tighten again, causing me to entwine with him, and I feel a jolt of fear mixed with something else—something that feels like desire pooling in my core, and I hate myself for it. I hate him. Azriel's eyes never leave mine as he pulls me closer, his face hovering inches above mine.

I pull back against the shadows tightening around me, but he only laughs. The sound is deep and low, wrapping around me like a warm blanket, which only pisses me off more.

“I'll never forgive you for this, you know.” I huff, pulling back from the dark tether snaking around my soul.

“Oh, I know. But now we're even. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you stole my knife.” His smirk is infuriatingly smug.

“I gave it back! Ugh!” I hit him and shout, as if that somehow justifies the theft.

He catches my hand, pinning it to his bicep, his thumb unconsciously rubbing it up and down, his eyes blinking sleepily. “Still, revenge is sweet, little thief. Don’t you think?” His dark eyes dance to mine once more, and my core heats.

“You’re an asshole.” I hurl back, but it feels empty when he looks at me like that. Like he enjoys our little back-and-forth more than he should.

His too-big pointer finger taps my nose. “An asshole who is willing to share the bed so neither of us has to sleep on the floor. Very considerate of me, if I do say so myself.” He corrects, giving the leash another tug upward as he lies flat, pulling me so close I fall atop his chest. My heart races as my forearms rest against him involuntarily.

“Oh Hel no,” I mutter, trying to squirm away. “I’m not doing this.”

But Azriel wraps his arm around me, pinning me in place against him. It’s maddening being so close to him; our heartbeats drum wildly in sync as if they’re sharing some secret rhythm. It makes me want to run in the other fucking direction... if I could. Powerless. I am utterly powerless and helpless, and it’s making me a nervous fucking wreck.

“You know I’m leaving as soon as my power builds back up,” I say defiantly, trying to ignore how much every part of me wants to sink deeper into him.

His hold tightens slightly, almost protectively, as if he knows I’m lying through my teeth about wanting to leave.

I can't help but study his face as his eyes close and he nuzzles into me, hushing, “Oh, I know. Until then, my nemesis.” Rest. The word whispers into my mind, accompanied by a blanket of darkness, heavy and soothing. A dark weight presses against the back of my head to rest on his chest.

There’s a softness in his voice, in this hold that cuts through my defenses like a knife; it makes the tension inside my stomach twist and coil painfully tight. My mind screams at me to push away, resist—to get up and storm out—but all that reckless desire swirls beneath it like a tide threatening to rip me under. But I resist giving in, I keep staring into his eyes, trying to give him a withering glare when I hear the words he whispers without ever moving his mouth.

Mine.

And that's when I realize it. Everything all at once—a tidal wave of panic-stricken truth crashes down over me, a forceful blow of unyielding realization. My stomach and ears hollow out and tug at me to relent into him further. The sensation I’ve felt countless times, I realize. So many times, even when he wasn't near, but how would that even be possible? No. No, no, no, no.

This is not fucking happening.

Fuck. Grasping at every speck of light I possess, I beg and plead for that endless well, for anything to pull me out of the swarming darkness putting me to sleep, causing my head to lull drowsily against his chest, to hold on to any thought, make any sort of plan.

But the darkness swallows me in its mouth as the scents of cedar, mist, and the night itself envelop me in deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Bright red numbers on the clock atop the wooden side table blink at 5:00 AM when I feel her warm body sink in and nuzzle deeper into my cold, unyielding grasp, her face disappearing into my chest, mouth parting just barely, gracing me with her small, hot breaths across my overly sensitive stomach. My eyelids grow heavy with her weight pressed against me, utterly relaxed in every bone of her body. Unbidden and unhurried, a delicious light haze buzzes over my vision.

Solas bless me, the gods of this world are finally on my side as well.

This feeling could only be described as heaven. My arms encircle her body like a cage—she feels frail within my hold. Where I remember lush hips, I’m now met with the jut of her bones. I let my thumb drift lazily across the slope of her spine beneath the edge of the sweater she never had a chance to remove. I didn’t want her to assume the worst in me by taking it off. Though I had taken off her spiky shoes once she settled, feeling that familiar ache in her arches. I wasn’t a complete monster.

But this insidious plan had been worth it—now I’m finally communing with the goddess herself.

No hope exists of me sleeping. I would savor every moment of what would likely be my first and only night to hold her like this—so warm and small against me, long legs entwined between and above my own. Cradling her into me further, my chin and nose nestle in silky strands of darkened red, my calloused hand stroking the tattooed skin of her back that had once been so red and tender. Long ago, my fingers had ached to soothe this very spot—just as she was letting me do now. Against her will and unconscious, but still. Nothing had ever felt so perfect.

I had just wanted one night. Gods, just this one.

My cock throbs with excruciating pain, seated against her thigh, touch-starved out of my fucking mind. She is my mate, her night-laced lilac and nutmeg scent filling my senses. I could just reach over and grab any soft part of her I wanted, rut my cock against her upper thigh and spill my seed over the soft heat between her legs, finally marking her as mine... my eyes roll back in my head at the thought.

Spiraling shame overtakes me, and I suppress my own snarl of frustration. I wouldn’t dare touch her like that. It’s not that I am a monster... it is that I am something far worse. I am the true villain in her life, inserting myself without ever giving her the option to object. But I wouldn’t touch her beyond this overly protective cuddle—even if this is the sweetest, sickest torture. No, my fantasies do not involve simply taking what I want... not without getting her to beg for it first. I need to get her to submit—or at the very least, to let me in. Let me help. Be her weapon. But I have to talk to her, tell her the fucking truth, and I am so godsdamn ashamed of myself. The cursed thought sends shadows swarming, covering our pressed bodies in their favorite shade of darkness.

Last night had been a fever dream, though fortunately real, considering it was one of the best nights of my life. Even if my light wouldn’t agree—my embarrassment at my own glee threatens to pull what little remains of my soul into a pit of darkness. I had lost control, but I wouldn’t apologize for it—not for that one small thing.

Not when she had most definitely deserved to be punished. And when I had much greater sins to confess.

Twilight slumber, somewhere between consciousness and sleep, tumbled me back into the labyrinth of my past against my will. Flashes of memory dance through my mind, as if reminding me of everything I had done to get to this point. Manipulating her fate, time itself, stalking her, lying to her, kidnapping her—though just for one night... my sins were egregious. The ramifications were endless. And all for what? It had started with the need to protect her; she had landed at my feet, terrified and alone. Then I had to save her life; she had to live even if it meant I died. But then my purpose morphed into something else entirely. The need to undo all of my mistakes. To make sure I set fate and time back on their original path. To make right everything I had fucked up, but this place and its curses made that impossible.

There would never be any making it right—never putting fate to rights. I had to come to terms with it—had tried my godsdamn hardest to live with it an entire universe away from her for seven months, determined to punish myself forever until... I had thrown my entire life away to come back. Succumbing to my basest desires had led me to this very point. I had long passed the point of no return—and now I was cursed to live in my own chasm of Hel.

Nothing would undo the choices I made that led me here, but nothing would stop me from getting on my knees and begging for her forgiveness. I would submit myself, body and soul, to her at undivine will at last.

Chapter Text

I am not stupid enough to open my eyes after regaining consciousness in Azriel’s overprotective bear hug the day after one of the worst nights of my life. Not the worst, but... definitely a top ten-er.

Mine, the gut-tugging memory echoes again through my head. Panic claws at my throat when the thoughts come rushing back—but I push it down. Because a predator currently has me in his vice-like grip. A predator who can probably sense my thoughts, scent my fear... and other things. Suppressing a shudder, I keep my eyes closed and count back from ten. I will myself to find that twilight sleep I had just been wrapped in like a warm cocoon, where nothing existed but a star-filled black sea. It had been peaceful. Nice, even. I don’t want to think about how I’d had that same dream just the night before—after Azriel had been watching me run. And he had... put me to sleep then, too? What the fuck... I have to get out of here. Make a plan. And stop feeling so godsdamn cozy.

Assessing my surroundings with as little interference to my heartbeat as possible, I try to understand what kind of situation I am waking up in. Does he want to kill me, fuck me, punish me, cuddle me, kidnap me, or all of the above? I would laugh at the thought if I weren’t terrified and fucking pissed.

But he said he would let me go... so I could just take his word as truth and wake him up, tell him to power me up, and leave his creepy ass in the dust. But... I know somewhere deep in my bones he wouldn’t leave, not without brute force at least. He has been stalking me across the universe for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t seem the type to give up so easily. Not a 100% possessive and aggressive alpha-hole, but he is... tinged with something else... and I’m not sure why, but my mind starts to blare the word: FERAL in big red warning letters. Loud thumps of my heartbeat start again as I exhale slowly to steady it.

If he wants to be the entitled male stealing away his mate like my fucking sperm donor did to my mom, I would not sit here and take it. Bat man has another thing coming.

Thoughts carousel around my brain, but I don’t dare move an inch. My legs are still wrapped in his, and I take notice of the spot where I am straddling one of his thighs and will myself not to think about how I’d been pressing down when I woke up. Or how I still feel the radiating heat there. My mind scrabbles for anything else to focus on, so I brace myself for a quick room-scanning squint.

My slit eyes are met with nothing but a bare tan, broad, heaving chest. Azriel’s sleeping, and burning Solas if I don’t want to look at his face. Just get one little glimpse. I slam down on the morbid curiosity to watch my captor sleep and refocus. If I angle my head just barely to the right, I can see through a small tunnel of his underarm. My eyes strain to spot my black strappy heels resting there, just atop the white blanket. Like he had tossed them casually beside himself after I’d gone to sleep, then glued his body to my side the entire night. The entire room now seems to be shielded in blue.

The bastard had warded the whole fucking room.

I would very much like to kill him for this, but I don’t think I could kill him—or even blind him necessarily. I have no weapons, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’d like nothing better than a chance to devour my light. We could fight, yeah, but I didn’t like my own chances. I wasn’t sure how much power I had to spare. I didn’t even have a knife or pistol on me for Urd’s sake—clearly, I had gotten a little too comfortable with my ability to flee any given situation. The Horn could jump me around the room away from him... but to the bathroom? Ugh. Fuck my life.

But I did still have my spiky shoes. And lots and lots of bullshit to spin.

I’d made a break for it—I’d grab the shoe, connect the pointy end with his big skull battle-axe style, and hope it took him by surprise enough to crack a path out of the ward. I’d teleport home and... my heart couldn’t take the thoughts that came next.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, little thief... don’t... you... dare.”

A low growl comes from just above my head as I pull away just slightly to look at him sweetly, lashes fluttering. As if to say, who, me? He lowers his head to give me a stern, menacing look of his own that makes my stomach flip in on itself.

“Good morning, Stalker,” I chime brightly, ignoring the roaring in my ears. Time to perform. “Again, I do think thief is much too harsh a term. Borrower would suit me much better.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“Did you sleep well?” His eyes search mine. Like he fucking cares, the sadistic prick. I roll my eyes away from him right back, but not because I am uncomfortable with his intense level of eye contact.

“No.” I respond defiantly, aiming for fucking pissed, “Something about being held down and forced to submit doesn’t really do a whole lot for me. Gives me the heebie-jeebies—you know, nightmares and all that jazz.” His brows raise at me in silent amusement as I catch his own shifting scent and swallow hard at my lie.

“So dishonest,” he tsks, but he releases his hold on me, backing up to the headboard, bracing his forearms against his knees, black leathery wings flaring wide. Cold air rushes into the space he had filled beside me, and something about it feels... wrong?

“Tell me. What is a heebie-jeebie?”

Ignoring him and the cold air between us, I sit up and adjust my sweater that seems to have risen up overnight, taking stock of the room now bathed in bluish light. I need more time to think, plan—

“I want to talk to you,” he says—though I wouldn’t deign to meet him in the eye. Unless it served my cause.

“I...” Slowly, my chin rests on my right shoulder to look back at him, my eyes crinkling at the corners. Honesty—everything I say needs to be somewhat honest. “You know, I could really use a shower first. A pre-chat rinse, if you will. Then I’m all yours.” I throw in a winning smile for good measure. “You mind?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and I can tell he’s grinding his teeth, probably hard enough to wear off the enamel. His poor dentist. If they even have dentists in the middle ages. The territorial demon probably doesn’t want me washing off his scent.

A single nod is all I get before he prowls to the bathroom door. And all I can do is try not to breathe, freezing at the sight of his too-tall shirtless body and his wide bare back. Somehow he managed to change between the hours of 3 AM and 8 AM while lying beside me. It’s puzzling to me, still in my sweaty sweater. He’s out of his leather armor, wearing nothing but soft black pants that put his two snaking V bones on display in a visual lead that goes straight down to the outline of his—fuck.

The predatory warrior looks so normal, minus the wings, of course; his night-dark hair is bed-mussed, completely unarmed, yet still taut with tense muscles. Counting his abs, I begin to lose track at number twelve when I realize I really want to know when the fuck he had taken his clothes off. Or how this male could dress and undress so easily. Whatever, probably some dumb magic trick.

Azriel disappears behind the door’s threshold, and the sound of water pouring from the faucet before turning on the shower echoes through the room. A chill courses through my body, and I shake it off violently, only for him to catch me mid-heeb-jeeb as he walks back toward me, giving me quite the view.

“Was that... a heebie-jeebie?”

“Yep.” My voice is a bit too breathless to be considered calm, cool, or collected. I recover my inner snake, waiting to strike.

“Thanks for running the water—I could have totally not done that myself.” Strappy heels in hand, I storm past him for the bathroom in a huff of annoyance, but he grabs my hand, almost tenderly if I didn’t know better.

“Five minutes. And then we talk.” Nearly sweating from the close contact, I give him my best withering glare and mean to scream I fucking hate you, but instead, I say, “Yes, daddy,” with as much sarcasm as I can muster. But it doesn't exactly land with the intended impact.

Hunt would have bristled, but Azriel's lips part in surprise as he huffs a laugh, walking toward the terrace. He calls over his shoulder, “Don’t make me come in there after you unless you want a spanking.” He closes the terrace door before he can hear my hiss of outrage or feel the shoes I hurl at his head, which lamely just bounce off the blue ward and land with a thud.

My cheeks are hotter than the sun by the time I get a good look at myself in the steaming bathroom mirror. Why is it that he can take all of my barbs and make them sound so... stupid? But I know why, and I fucking hate it. Hate him. My reflection in the mirror has seen better days—my glowing tan skin is wan, hollow bags are under my eyes, and red hair is mussed and sticky on one side of my face. I am a mess, and I know it. More hollow than the first level of Hel.

Five minutes have already begun counting down, and it’s the only time I’ve been granted by Urd to figure out how to escape my fated fucking mate.

Chapter Text

Bryce

Steam fogs the harshly lit mirror, clouding my face from view as I step out of the shower to face it. Water dribbles into the sink from squeezing out my hair. Quickly wrapping a towel tightly around me, I take a chance to peek into the hallway and check if the asshole is actually keeping tabs on me. Time likely ran out three minutes ago—

Pacing outside on the terrace, I spot Azriel's leathery wings twitching in irritation. I can almost feel the clench of his fist, his warring emotions pulsing tighter than a bowstring within my own hand, the sensation wholly unsettling. His eyes wince at the corners as if in pain, his jaw tense but moving... is he having some sort of conversation with himself?

I try to puzzle out who the Hel he is talking to when I hear five quiet taps scratching against the hotel room door. This is not a drill—it’s my big break for freedom. But before I can move, Azriel appears in front of me in an instant, shadows receding as his gaze rakes over my still-dripping body. “I ordered you some food,” he says. Fury simmers through my veins as he blocks me, making to open the door and carving a path through the blue ward for no one but himself.

This. Asshole. Can. Teleport?

I mean, well, obviously he got to this planet somehow, but still... he made me teleport him throughout the entire vacation from Hel?! Dick!

My rage momentarily fizzles out as I spy the tiny, precious otter, its yellow vest barely reaching Azriel's mid-shin. A quick exchange, faster than a drug deal outside the Raven, takes place involving the swap of a nondescript white bag and five gold marks—enough for an entire month's rent. The otter's little whiskers twist in thanks before it darts down the hallway.

"Special delivery," Azriel says, jostling the paper bag at me with a imperceptible wink.

The smell of what I know to be a chocolate flaky pastry wafts up my nose through the crumpled bag. Gods, he is really so presumptuous and annoying. To think he considers my forgiveness to be within the realm of possibility with the offering of a delicious breakfast treat—my favorite treat, no less, brought to me by the cutest animal in the fucking universe. Ugh. Am I really so easily bought? Well, I am, and I know it. But he doesn't need to know that.

I give him a look that hopefully says, ‘screw you, dickhead; I love pastries but I hate you,’ and retreat to the bathroom, closing the door to continue stewing in silence. Daring him to interrupt me, I take a few more seconds to spiral and stare at myself in the mirror—just so I can hate myself a little more. I don't know why it feels so good.

Last night, I broke up with the love of my life. And now, I am imprisoned in a hotel room with someone who would likely entertain the idea of trapping me forever. The shame of remembering that there were parts of me which didn’t entirely recoil at the thought of being pinned down by him is enough to send me running for the hills. I didn’t need this right now. At one point in my life the idea of kinky sex with a devastatingly attractive, too tall to be real stranger may have been incredibly tempting. But right now my self-worth seems to wither away inside me. Thoughts twist in my head that feel wrong and messy, but that thing inside me keeps feeding on them, wanting me to drown in my own shame and repulsion. It blurs any thoughts of revenge and self-preservation with an apathy so cloying I can't distinguish if there's even a part of me that cares enough to fight for anything anymore. Once I got out of here, I could spend the rest of this week weighing the depressing possibility of moving back home–to Nidaros.

The idea of going home seems to be the only light inside me that isn't snuffed out entirely. But I’ve been walking down this road for so long, with this evil living inside me, that the path back to myself seems hopelessly lost. And the price of the journey home feels far too high to ever pay. 

Maybe I deserve this fate. Maybe none of it matters anymore. Maybe, if Azriel is my fated mate sent by Urd herself… Maybe he deserves someone better than me. 

Azriel

It takes levels of self-control I never knew I possessed to keep myself from pinning Bryce to the wall as she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Having barely calmed the roaring in my blood, she emerges the second time in her worn clothes. Feelings of familiar inadequacy creep up for not having anything for her to wear, but I didn’t exactly expect her to hatch a bathing chamber diversion to get away from me.

Her exposed skin glistens, droplets clinging to the sides of her throat, her cheeks still pink and fingers soft from the heat of the shower. Stray strands of damp hair stick to her neck and shoulders—a vision I’ve only seen in my dreams, standing before me. Mine. 

She glares at the pastry bag I tossed on the edge of the bed, as if it personally offends her. "I didn't touch the food," I say quietly, keeping my distance and not wanting to provoke her further.

"Why does that matter?" she snaps, her amber eyes still narrowing at the bag with suspicion.

"It’s a... mating ritual, offering food. In my world." The words feel thick and heavy in my throat as I admit this small truth. My hands fist at my sides, and my wings twitch uncomfortably.

"Oh gods." She rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly disgusted and annoyed. 

"Again, I didn't touch it. So, eat... don't make me force you." My shadows curl restlessly around my scarred fingers, a manifestation of my agitation.

Her eyes flash with a dangerous glint. "What happened to ‘whatever you want, princess?’" She throws my earlier words back at me mockingly.

"I want to talk to you, and eating will make you less… angry." I freeze as she begins to move lazily toward me, the intent in her narrowing gaze deadly.

"Why waste time talking when this is why you came, right?" She closes the remaining distance between us, and her swaggering strut backs me into the bedside table, knocking over the lamp. I’m cornered, barely an inch separating our bodies. Her eyebrows raise as she teases a single finger trailing up the center of my still bare chest.

"What are you doing?" My voice comes out more ragged than I intended. It seems my light would like to play dirty.

She presses herself against me, driving me to the edge of my sanity. "Isn't this what you came for?" she purrs, but there's an unmistakable edge.

"I assure you–no. Well, not entirely.” My smirk is unavoidable, but I recover. “You’ve got me wrong." I grip her shoulders gently, trying to hold her at bay while maintaining some semblance of control.

"Do I?" Her breath fans hot across my face, the scent of her arousal mixing with her anger.

"Yes—stop, before I do something you’ll regret." My treacherous body betrays me, responding to her proximity and heat, and I grunt, struggling to pull away even as I try to resist.

She whispers in my ear, ensnaring me further. "What happened to stopping when I asked you last night?" Her words cut like shards of ice, accusatory and biting.

"Because you weren't listening then, and you're not listening now," I counter, frustration rising, a flush creeping up my neck.

"So that made it okay to hurt me?!" She shoves hard against my chest. I realize I may need to reconsider not apologizing.

I grasp her hand, which she has poked furiously into my chest, losing my grip on my demons. "I didn't hurt you," I scoff. "You spit in my face and bit me—you hurt me."

"Because you fucking had me pinned down!" She yells, her voice cracking with a mix of hatred and shame. The underlying suppressed lust has me stifling my groan. 

"Again, because of your inability to listen and follow instructions the first time given." I try to keep my tone level, even as my dominance begs to take control, my temper flares. "I might think you’re doing it on purpose. The way you keep fighting with me makes it seem like you’re begging me to do it again." With a single hand, I spin her to face the mirror across from us.

My better sense evades me as I whisper low and awestruck in her ear, “I can't help but notice how your words don’t match your scent.” A single command from me could make her knees buckle and she knows it. 

Helpless and blushing, her voice rises. "What’s the point of listening to you if you’re just going to overpower me?" The last two words waver slightly, and I notice tears glimmering in her eyes. That, I cannot take.

I exhale slowly, reigning myself in and releasing my hold on her wrists. I walk as far away from her as I can get. "Stop provoking me. What even was this plan of yours anyway? You are better than this... Sit. Listen to me for five minutes." Her ass plops down on the bed in shock, immediately popping back up. If she knew how much I am enjoying her disobedience, she wouldn’t be acting like such a brat. 

"Remove the wards," she demands, fidgeting with her sweater in a fluster.

"Okay, if you sit down," I agree, but of course, she doesn't.

"Power me up." Her chin juts out defiantly, and I resist the urge to grip it.

"In just a moment." I study her face carefully, uncertain if I can trust her or myself for what is to come next.

Bryce 

"Fine, don't sit. Just let me help you," he says, his tone laced with exasperation. Yeah, same here, big guy. Exasperation station, party of two. 

“Help me with what, exactly? I don't have any imminent kidnappings to plan,” I retort, crossing my arms. He scoffs, his dismissive sound making it clear he just—did he really just hush me? Again, he starts pacing, eyes cast downward, fists clenched as if he’s arguing points with the voices in his own head which is.... oddly relatable. 

“The truth is, I know what you're facing. You have a title you don't want and everyone is blaming you for destroying the life they once knew. A newspaper, as you call it, told me as much.”

Presumptuous dick. "Okay, what do you know about our life here? And who even cares? I welcome the incoming Middle Ages and isolating myself to a cabin in the woods. I really don’t give a damn—I can't wait honestly. I saved us from our overseers; the people of this planet should be grateful, and I should get to live in peace. The End. Technology has ruined everyone's lives anyway. Maybe I'll go down in the history books as a martyr." I check my nails for nonexistent dirt, reminding him he's not worth my time, even if I can’t stop playing into his hand. Because the big scary alphahole on steroids knows how to bait me.

“You won’t do that. You won’t let everyone live with this broken system and abandon that decaying land... my shadows picked up on that interesting tidbit during your very important meeting yesterday,” he presses, his voice steady. Like he's mad at me for my dream of living in fucking peace and quiet?

It’s all starting to click—he is here for this? Me. My problems. And he completely made up a reason to get me here thinking I’m too stupid to piece it together. The party girl vibe apparently translates across the universe.

“Hold on just a fucking second. There’s no death lord at the lake or whatever, is there?” I accuse, pointing into his chest. 

His lips part in faint surprise, eyes darting away from mine. “Yes, there is, but—”

“There’s no mission you need me to wield the starsword for... you just came here for me, didn’t you?” Maybe if I press hard enough, my finger will sear a hole. 

The silence thickens, heavy enough to choke me. Great... so he’s definitely a stalker. Yeah, time to go.

“Look, frankly, I’m flattered you came all this way to ask me on a date or whatever, but I’m not interested. So if you wouldn’t mind... let me go home. Please. If you pretend to care at all about me, you won’t keep me warded in here.”

A flush creeps over his cheeks, matching my own as he fumbles for words. I don't know why it makes my heart clench to see him trying to plead with me. But fuck, I’ve got to get away from him—all of this.

“Please, listen, I’m... not great with words. I just wanted one night to—”

“Just wanted one night to aggressively cuddle me?”

“I— I’m ashamed of my behavior but... I’m not sorry.” His flush deepens. “You needed to rest.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I need."

Running his fingers through his hair, he makes the most exasperated sound I’ve ever heard. Then, unexpectedly, he sinks to his knees, sending the floor shaking.

“No. You’re right, I don’t get to tell you what you need. But you can tell me.”

With a shadow of wind, a familiar black blade flies to his hand from under a crumpled pillow. “My knife—your knife. You needn’t return it. It's yours, as am I.” His eyes soften, searching mine, and I hate it. I have no clue what to think about this, where he’s going with it, as he takes the blade in his hand and points the hilt at me.

“There’s an old tradition called a blood oath. I can help you, Bryce. I could... be your weapon. Whatever you need. But I am trusting you not to command me to blast a hole through my own heart.” His chest attempts uneven shallow breaths, as if he can't breathe properly. But neither can I—a fucking blood oath is one of the oldest Fae customs, usually reserved for queens and their warriors. Not for me, the queen of nothing... and my stalker.

His expression sobers, the low rumble of his voice continuing. “You could command me to never touch you again, to open the wards, or to leave you forever, but... please. I know you’re smarter than that. I’m an asset to you.” His smile undermines the seriousness of this conversation.

“A pain in my ass, more like.” I deflect, unable to do anything else. The alternative is acknowledging the powerful male before me, offering his life, his soul—to me. My stomach does a flip, making me more than a little queasy.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do. Anything. I’d do anything to help you, your planet. Just say the word... use me. However you wish.”

“I’m not in the market for slaves.”

“Please. It’s not slavery if it’s voluntary service. Use that stunningly beautiful brain of yours.” He raises his eyebrows, twisted reverence glimmering in his annoyingly beautiful face.

“Flattery and bribery won’t work on me,” I shoot back.

“Then tell me not to—tell me not to flatter or bribe you ever again. Make me—”

I cut him off. “Are you insane, Azriel? You don’t even know me or what I’m capable of...”

“That is... not true. And I think you know it. You could release me from your command at any time if that’s what you want. But I warn you, I’d likely die in the process. Have a care for my life now.” His smile genuinely reaches his eyes, and something about the sight makes my breath hitch.

“Why does that make you smile? … Are you okay?”

“I have little doubt you’d enjoy watching my demise at your hands. And selfishly, I like the thought of your hands being the last thing I see before I die.”

My gulp echoes loudly in my ears, anxiety hollowing in my gut. I look down at my palms, twisted by the revelation of the offer laid before me—a gift I never wanted, yet one I’d be an absolute dumbass to refuse. True power. It sings inside my skin, calling to the blood in my veins. And it feels utterly fucking intoxicating. 

“How... do I do it?”

“Let me. Give me your hand. This will only hurt a bit.”

He moves faster than I can process, slashing his knife across my palm. He immediately catches the seeping blood with his lips, whispering softly into my skin.

“I claim you, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan. To any end.”

“...To any end?” Each note of my words hums in the wind, magic stinging in my nose like a hint of salt. 

Hazel eyes shine with something I didn’t want to place. Was it hope?

“To whatever end... yes.” His head bows to kiss the inside of my palm, eyes closing as if in prayer.

My stomach churns as the weight of what I’ve just done settles in—the understanding of what he would do for me, if only I dare ask. On his knees, mummering still to my blood, he shudders with power. But it’s too much when his gaze meets mine again, searching for answers I know I cannot give.

"Go home, Azriel." The words cut like glass between us, sharper than the knife still in his hand. 

Chapter Text

"Go home?" I scoff. I am already home. The familiar sea of icy rage frosts my eyes. Oh, she would pay for this particular injustice. But little does she know, there are many ways to fight around being blood sworn. A skill of which I am quite practiced.

Still kneeling before her, I tilt my head up to meet her fiery gaze. "You're going to have to be more specific." I throw her a bone because I am pathetically in love with her, and I'd crawl on hands and knees over a bonfire if she so much as asked.

She crosses her arms defiantly. "Fine. Lower the wards and power me up, asshole."

I rise to my feet, stepping into her space until mere breath separates us. "How much power?" I inhale through my teeth as she wriggles against my hold on her wrist, trying to set herself free. The attempt is laughable.

"A lot. Same as last time." Her nose seemingly pokes out while she looks down on me stubbornly.

I lean in closer, my breath kissing her face. "And what are you going to do once I do?"

"Now, Azriel." Her nostrils flare with impatience. I take the opportunity to whisper in her ear. 

"Then be still, Bryce." My dominance at war with her own power prevails. Her breath catches in surprise, she is clearly not used to raw commands and her instinct to submit to them. I try not to let the power go to my head. My intention to follow her commands as long as she listens to me makes the power of the oath easy to toe around.

I release her wrist and step back, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You didn't think I'd submit to you completely, did you?" I'm met with a furious glower so sweet, it nearly sends me into orbit.

I wonder if she knows I'm lying through my teeth.

Pacing slowly, I bow to her and gamble, "A final plea, before you go, if you would so kindly deign to hear it, Princess. This power,” I gesture slowly, a bit too theatrically with my siphon, “has historically only been considered useful in the art of killing. But it is raw magic. Perhaps it could bound—if you will. Just as your magic is many things, usually manifesting as pure light, this manifests as pure death."

Her brows knit together. "How do you know that? About my magic."

I seize her moment of still surprise to blast my power into the scarred void of her chest. The release of power feels nearly as good as the look of immediate bliss that floats across her face at our contact, the pure power in it. I want to keep the flutter of her eyelids with me forever.

But I continue, tempting fate, "This magic is many parts of a whole. I might think your light and my own are opposites. Raw death and pure life. Maybe there any technologies in this world that could bind our raw magic together, to form something else.”

A blank look of imperceptible defeat crosses her face, erasing her momentary pleasure. But she grins, smug as a cat, pawing back at me, “Don’t tell me you’re like obsessed with prisms or some weird shit like that.”

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Two liars. Fucking made for one another.

She swallows hard, her voice strained. "Alright, prism guy. Stay here… until I come back for you."

"Yes." I nod, trying not to let the pure love and joy shine through my eyes, or let her see the small leap of hope in my chest. I knew if anything would scare her off forever, it would be that.

As she disappears into nothing front of me, the view of the city comes into focus as if it didn't exist until that very moment, as if time had stood still. That's when I notice the still pouring rain, the wind whipping and bending the trees to its will. As the droplets pound the terrace outside, I steady myself on the cold bed, content to wait on her as long as it takes.

Like I had already waited for years.

Because for me, time hasn’t healed anything. Time has only rearranged my memory. And every single time I am alone with my thoughts, the abyss of the past swallows me whole. The memories of my sinister truth spin me back into their web. And just like my only light I’ve ever known, I know all too well what it feels like to be trapped.

Chapter Text

I'd needed approximately 6 hours spinning around in my office chair, staring at the gallery ceiling to unwind the night from Hel.

It was 3pm when I finally began typing the ever-changing security code into my apartment keypad, siphoning off yet another kernel of power to the city's veins. Not that it would do much—Midgard would be powering down to medieval town any day now. Days away from when I'd have to be out of the city or join a 33rd sponsored witness protection program. Maybe it'd be my excuse to finally dye my hair blonde. I still had time to make a plan, but right now I didn't have one. Thankfully, I did perform well under pressure. A weirdly specific, only occasionally helpful brain gift from my biological father. Ugh. I can't think about Einar right now. Not while I am going through all of… this shit. Not here, not now.

Stealing a quick breath, I brace myself before shoulder shoving the door open and barreling into the hallway, determined to face this nightmare head on. My suspicions are immediately confirmed. Hunt is already here, lounging on our pristine white couch, nursing a beer and watching an old sunball game. A quiet warning inside me intensifies. Run.

But like most things, I ignore it.

Black eyes pin me as he turns, gaze roaming suspiciously as if checking for anything out of place. Slowly, he gets to his feet, closing the distance between us like a hound on a scent. But I stop him, pivoting for the kitchen, putting a literal island between us.

"Why are you here? I thought you were staying at the barracks," a cold question.

"Mind explaining what the fuck last night was all about, Bryce?" He demands. At this point, I don't even notice the storms continuing to rage outside. The impending fight swirls around us like a tornado.

"It's like you read my mind, Hunt. I was just about to ask you the same question. Please, do expand on what the fuck you were doing stalking me. We broke up. Shouldn't you be off brooding elsewhere?"

Hunt laughs bitterly, eyes flickering. "You want to discuss stalking… who was the creepy ass demon who appeared from across the fucking universe? And what the fuck were you thinking taking him to one of our clubs? You were breaking like 5 million different laws last night, Bryce. You first. I'm all fucking ears."   

"The demon's name is Azriel, and he is my friend," I shoot back too quickly, even though we are so not friends. It was a lame comeback, especially since Hunt knew we were basically sworn enemies from two different worlds and I'd gleefully stolen Azriel's precious knife. Last night was a straight-up delusion that had, rather embarrassingly, led to me getting trapped against my will. I could see Hunt's point, but that didn't mean I'd agree with him, or tell him any of that. Even though some small part of me wanted to agree.

Sighing heavily, I try to quell the rising tension in favor of going to bed. The words make a smart choice, as Ember says, chime in my head.

"Hunt, I really don't want to fight. I'm tired of fighting. It's all we ever do. It's either the paparazzi, politics, the pressure of everything. Not that I owe you—but the truth is, last night I just wanted to blow off some steam. The Raven is the only place in the city I can go without getting harassed. I wanted to forget about our fight and all the other shit I'm dealing with right now. I wanted to be someone other than Bryce Quinlan, Starborn Queen of the Valbaran and Avallen Fae, Destroyer of Firstlight and Life as We Know It. I just wanted to be Bryce for a fucking minute."

I couldn't stop the words that came next. The words came out as a whisper that threatened to end with me screaming at him. "I thought you got that. I thought you got me." My voice cracks, my throat constricting, and I cut myself off with a hand to my mouth.

I couldn't slip back into the same fight from earlier. Not this time.

"Bryce, stop. I do get you, and I get it—I really do. I love you. I came back here to tell you that but... you weren't here. So, I checked your location, saw where you were, and when I got there you were with that creepy asshole… I spent the entire night in a fucking rage. I'm going fucking crazy…" He looks half wild. Eyes darker than I'd ever seen. "You hardly let me touch you anymore. We barely even hang out. All you do is message me to make sure I've let Syrinx out and fed him. And Syrinx can fucking teleport."

"You've already made your point, Hunt."

A part of him softens at my chill. "No, I haven't. Fuck, I'm barely keeping my shit together, Bryce—you win. I can't help being fucking jealous. I don't know what to do, and I'm really fucking trying not to explode. Solas, I can barely think straight right now." My hair begins to rise up around the swirling electricity as he tries to bank the power with a deep breath.

"You've been the only one to ever pull me out of a storm—I don't know how to do this, do life, without you. We can figure out the rest later, but I have to be able to trust you."

His eyes flash with something unholy and terrifying, his words seem to rumble across the stone countertop. "Please, just, tell me the truth. What were you doing in his hotel room? Tell me you didn't fuck him."

"Um... You know what? Fuck you, Hunt. Fuck you very much."

Lightning cracks outside through the windows and I start to see red so hot it burns white and blue. Of course Hunt had eyes at the hotel. And sure, okay, I did remember Azriel's hands on my hips and the feeling of needing to slide against his hard length at one point in the evening. Wanting, needing to feel something more—more, more, more.

But that was before he pinned me down and stuffed his fingers in my mouth, and I bit the shit out of him for it. Whatever. Honestly it didn't fucking matter. How dare Hunt not trust me, question me on top of everything else—on top of all that bullshit he said yesterday? We fucking broke up. He told me he hated me. I would never cross a line, break a vow, if there had been a line to cross in the fucking first place. But the line between Hunt and I had been made with invisible ink. And last night, that unspoken line between us had exploded. We'd both made sure of it.

We had hurt each other past the point of ever returning home.

"Have you ever stopped to think in that little angel brain of yours about how the Hel I am doing?! I am drowning, Hunt. The pressure is too much. I never asked for this—I don't want to be a queen or have any sort of obligation to anyone. I am fucking done making decisions. I saw my best friends dead in another plane of existence—I wanted to stay there with them… I don't even know why the Hel I came back. I can't claw myself out of this fucking pit. And maybe if you stopped thinking with your fucking dick, you'd see that... Gods, I don't know why I am wasting my breath, just fucking leave. I'm not your problem anymore."

I storm off, slamming the door to our room and locking myself in the bathroom. Stripping off my clothes in an icy torrent of rage, I jump into a painfully cold shower. I don't know why the freezing water numbing my skin feels so right. I shrug off the chill like a snake's second skin.

As the water heats, some invisible barrier between my body and my mind seems to dissolve along with my icy shivers. As if the horrible thing slithering below the surface of my thoughts finally could escape. The seething wave of underlying guilt and self-hatred takes my mood from unstable to absolutely rancid. Rotten. The longing for something to take my mind off the sluicing thoughts is at a desperate level of temptation.

Suddenly, the door flies open, falling off a hinge, but I can't muster so much as a glance at who I knew stood before me. Who I knew wouldn't be able to stop from feeding on me further. "We're not done here, Bryce." Something inside me sparks as I meet those dark eyes that a part of me knows I'll never be able to trust again. Hunt's stare flashes livid with light and what can only be described as insatiable hunger. They roam along my naked body as I stand there, water cascading over my all too exposed breasts. An inner part of me melts under his stare.

"You can't freeze me out like this. It's not fair. I love you, for fuck's sake." But his tone shifts as he begins to croon a sweet apology, closing the distance between us. His words purr into my ear like a half-remembered song. "I'm sorry. I'll do, be better for you—for us. I promise, Quinlan." He reaches for my hair to help smooth it out of my face, lifting my chin and rubbing my cheek with his thumb as if memorizing every part of me. Even the running water couldn't obscure my tears, hide the hollow notes in my scent. His lips brand the middle of my palm, searing a kiss atop the faint scar. I pull my hand away on instinct. "Shhh. Hey. It's okay. Let me in, okay?" And I knew he didn't mean to let him pull me closer.

"Let me in. I've got you, sweetheart. We can get back to how things used to be. I really do love you so much, Bryce, you have no fucking idea. You're everything to me."

I couldn't form a single thought. I didn't know—didn't really care why.

Dropping my eyes, I acquiesce to Hunt's unremitting requests, letting him grab me and pull me against him. Some small part of me didn't want to give in, but it was no use. It was like I had no choice. Want crept in. I was dying to feel something so badly, it charged through me like lightning. The need to feel whole. To try and climb my way out of this ravine with something that felt like home. I need to use his touch as a rope, a ladder, anything to pull me out of this fucking spiral. Anything to take my mind off my entire fucking existence. To not be the only one who could throw myself a lifeline. 

Ringing just roars and roars in my head. The only thought that dances across the surface is that I don't care enough to be picky about which vice I pick or which itch I scratch. I just want to be scratched like some dumb, needy fucking pet.

I let my head fall against Hunt's chest as he strokes, lightly scratching down my spine, as if memorizing each bone, mumbling more sweet nothings in my ear. As if he knew exactly what I needed.

I couldn't help but berate myself. Here was my Hunt, loving and caring for me, and all I could do was resent him for it. And I still needed him. Needed to live with him, needed his power, his help saving our world. What the Hel is wrong with me? The guilt began crashing over me in tidal waves, pressure ringing in my ears drowning out the shame of my thoughts.

I am dimly aware that it is my turn to apologize now. But I still couldn't muster a single sound amidst the water. All I could do was reach for him, a marionette holding my own limbs in its strings.

Wordlessly, I take Hunt's face in my hands. A silent apology. His fingers drift down to tease around my entrance, and his low chuckle and approving moan of amusement at my need consumes me. He circles a single finger around the opening of my core, placing his thumb on the top of my clit. Tiny zaps of lightning began pulsing through me and my body loses all control, arms clutching, legs clinging around him. He pushes his way inside me with a satisfied grunt, devouring my useless thoughts with each forceful pump into my core, his power manifesting in the way it always did when emotions ran high—and we ran out of things to say. To think.

Outside, rain undoubtedly continues to pour, but Hunt's internal maelstrom seems to stall in our joining, quieting the sounds of the gods rearranging their furniture in the sky. As if I held the key to some lock of darkness inside of him. Though I could have sworn I still felt far off thunder rumbling in the distance, echoing in my bones. The city was probably cursing us for the constant downpours, but right now, I didn't care. No, right now, I was practically levitating, hanging onto Hunt. Looking every bit as possessed as I felt.

I tilt my head back to let him work inside me until I see a tumbling black void of stars. It feels so godsdamn good chasing my release, fantasizing about invisible hands pinning me down, dark shadows encircling my thighs spreading me wide to present for someone else entirely. Dark mist swirls against me, coiling my pleasure at the base of my spine, lightning sending it lower into the pit of my belly. Shuddering at the realization of exactly who and what I am imagining, my release drags me under into bliss. Hunt drives into me harder, like he could push our entwined souls into the marble stone behind us.

My star blazes blindingly bright, shooting faster than a spear into Hunt. Light winks out almost as quickly as I came. Hunt shudders, steadying himself with a kiss to my brow, quickly leaving to fetch a towel to wrap around me. He carries me to our bed with the efficiency of a trained soldier. I am too exhausted to care if he came or not.

I hazily acknowledge I'd accidentally channeled my power into him. Whoops—my bad. I only siphoned my light for the city these days, making a conscious effort not to glow during sex anymore. I could usually control it, but this was the first time we'd been intimate in a while. Whatever, I was so sleepy. Self-control was a journey, not a destination and all that jazz. My thoughts silence idly as I snuggle into the duvet like a cat.

The last thing I hear is the brush of Hunt's lips against my ear, telling me he'd be right back, as I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When I wake three hours later to the quiet empty dark, I am ashamed to be grateful that Hunt is nowhere to be found. The sound of rain is relentless, pounding against the windows with a fury that mirrors the wavering storm inside me. Hunt's power is still riding him hard, apparently. But I guess it isn't surprising that I am not enough for him anymore. The sky itself seems to respond, mourning our former life along with me, our emotions wreaking havoc on the world. I stare out the window at the dark, swirling clouds, lightning spider-webbing across the sky.

Hunt is drowning like I am drowning. And now our world is drowning, too. I know we can't go on like this. The storms are getting worse. Hunt's loosening leash on his power is becoming yet another unsolvable problem I can't ignore.

Add it to the fucking list.

A power conserving news radio blares while I get ready to face my demons in the dark. Constant rain starting to flood parts of the Crescent City, Civitas urged to seek higher ground. Witches working urgently on a solution. Status report live from—

Guilt gnaws at me anew. Innocent people are suffering. And it is all because of me.

That's when the lingering night-chilled scent in the room hits me, mixed among the lilac diffuser mysteriously steaming. A carefully arranged bouquet of moonflowers mixed with sprigs of peppermint and evening primrose is tied together with a piece of butcher's twine. The bundle looks for all the worlds like it had been thrown, rather forcefully, onto the window sill. Stems of lilac are strewn across the floor. Lightning dances behind the night blooming flowers like an answering sneer.

And just like that, it hits me—my dumbass plan to fix fate and save the world? Yeah, it's sending me straight to Hel in a damn handbasket.

Chapter Text

Bryce

Singular strands of dawn light shatter, swirling into little coronas from the glass reflection of the terrace windows. It is the first thing I notice after teleporting back into Azriel's hotel room at 5 AM.

The morning light twinkling around Azriel's hulking sleeping form, fully naked on the bed with only a ripple of dark sheet covering what could be considered by some to be a third leg, is the second thing I notice.

Damp dark hair spreads across his forehead in the too-small bed, as if he'd been sweating all night, trapped in some nightmare. He is seemingly out like a light. A corner of the white duvet struggles in his death grip, barely covering the hard length of him, which is, to my utter horror, standing at full attention. A sharp curve of exposed right hip bone juts out like a lone peak, linking to a trail of rock-hard abs, marking a glorious rippled path up to his broad chest.

I stare up at the ceiling, teeth gritting as I try to calm the uninvited roaring in my veins steadily shredding my shamefully low self-control to ribbons.

Those gods-damned silk sheets. And those stupid V muscles snaking down into them. Shit. I am in such deep, unending shit.

He is so beautiful. And seemingly so at peace. But I know better. His slow breaths rise and fall in time with what I could swear is his heartbeat, or maybe our heartbeats, which I try my gods-damnedest not to think about.

I'm sure the irritatingly gorgeous male senses me the second I materialize, just like I've been surely ignoring any and all feelings of him stirring inside of me. I swallow my chasm of guilt and trepidation. "Ahem." I cough, willing myself not to be embarrassed, not to look away from him, not to let a single hint of pink drop into my cheeks.

He opens a single, narrowed, predatory eye at me in greeting. Hello. He glowers at me, and I return the favor, shooting a mocking glower right back. Buddy, I can give evil eyes all day. I flit my gaze so dramatically far back he gets the fucking gist. Trying to convey that I so do not care if you're grumpy. Of course, mister death with the big wings isn't a morning person.

"Is knocking a foreign concept in this world?" He grumbles, pulling the covers up in tandem with his slow rise to a seat, arms braced on his knees, dark wings flaring out wide.

"I..." Swallowing drily, I am at a loss for words. For once. All of my plans have suddenly disappeared into the gods-blessed ether as I drink in the sight of him. Absolutely massive. Fucking gorgeous and—

"You're drooling." His hazel eyes almost grin at me, but he seems a little more miffed than his usual detached coolness.

"I was beginning to worry if I'd ever see you again. I am shocked you deigned to come back at all. Care to tell me where you've been off galivanting?" Five gentle pats on the bed vibrate in my chest.

"If your extended absence has anything to do with your mission to save this world, surely it would make sense to bring me up to speed? For intelligence purposes." Time seems to snag inside my head, and I freeze. His expression hardens with something like concern. Well, say something. Why did you come back? Why are you here?  He huffs and prods with a tilt of his head, eyes blazing. "Your turn."

I can't look at what I see beneath those eyes, the small bit of light preventing those hazel depths from blackening entirely. Uncomfortable doesn't begin to describe what I feel, knowing what I am about to do. How I am about to shatter the hope that lies there. What I have no choice but to do.

My eyes avert from his, finding my very pretty high-heeled shoes, willing myself some inner divine feminine strength to do this terrible thing and forget about him looking at me like some lost puppy that I could cuddle into oblivion.

"I need to talk to you." My throat barely gets the words out. "About last night."

"Oh?" His soft question practically ripples the sheets with sex. Willing myself not to flutter my eyeballs into my skull again as his scent hits me like a stone dart—familiar cedar, mist, and something distinctly chilly that should be bottled and labeled "Warning: May Cause Temporary Brain Malfunction." My nostrils are traitors of the highest order. I bite my lip as if that'll solve things.

"Yeah." It’s the best I’ve got. I graze a single pointer on the console behind me, and haul myself to a seat on top of it, the cold, hard furniture biting into my bones.

"You see, I had the strangest dream." Leaning forward on my hands, my feet kick restlessly against the pine drawers. He tracks the movement, making me feel utterly exposed, like he knows exactly how nervous I am.

"Go on. I do love a good dream." The sound of his hum snakes through me. Coiling beneath that pit in my stomach.

"Liar. No one likes listening to dreams." I almost snort, but manage to kill the giggle before it escapes. "But hey, since you clearly have nothing better to do, let's plunge into my subconscious, shall we?" With a wink and crack of my fingers, I continue, "So last night, this creepy skeleton monster thingy in a bathrobe paid me a visit in the dream world. Sound like anyone you know?"

"I believe creepy skeletal monster thingy rings a bell or two."

"Weirdly, not the response I was expecting, but honestly, I'm starting to think nothing would surprise me anymore. Anyway, everything was all jumbled up and backwards in my dream world. Up was down and down was up and left was right. You know how dreams can be."

"Do I ever."

"So, dream monster's gabbin' away, right? But not really to me… no clue, not really the point. The important part is this crypt keeper whispers something that pisses me off. It says, all breathy and horror filmy, "The angel of death is your mate." I clear my throat awkwardly, suddenly realizing my monster voice impression is a certifiable choice. I recover my sanity, "Turns out, even dream monsters are thirsty for some hot goss. And you know what? Forget the rest of the dream. Cosmic coincidence? I think NOT. You show up here, Mr. Tall Dark Alleged Angel of Death, to stalk me, then trap me under the false pretenses of some stupid romance novel sub plot—for a fucking cuddle session. Just weird fucking timing, or Urd herself throwing me a bone? What do you think?" I bat my lashes at him, basking in the glory of all that is my ambush. 

Azriel has gone ashen, a ghost of his formerly smug self. A look of cold calculation frosts over his entirely too handsome face.

Watching the realization dawn that I am fucking with him is the sweetest, most delicious vengeance. A dish that will now be served cold.

"I came here to tell you that I am not your mate. And I refuse to deal with whatever or whoever thought it would be hilarious to invent this stupid, inconvenient, and entirely nonexistent 'thing' between us. Go home, Azriel." My words come out sharp and mean. But I can't figure out the look he gives me in return. 

"You, my light, are such a generous and benevolent queen to grant me such gifts." He smiles back faintly, recovering himself. Dark eyebrows rise like he can't wait to spar with me. "But please, don't insult my intelligence by pretending you just discovered you’re my mate from some made up dream. We both know you figured that out the second you carved that little line at my feet under the prison--months ago. You know, you're not nearly as subtle as you think."

"Ugh, gods, you're insufferable and you don't listen. Last chance, big guy... Leave. Remove yourself from the planet now, forever, or else. It won't be pretty." The face I rarely reveal—burning with white-hot contempt—meets his strangely accepting gaze. I want to smack it off his perfect face.

I don't miss the shift that occurs within him as his hands start to tremble, as if his very blood is dictating his movements. Like he's either holding back with immense effort, teetering on the brink of a burnout, or about to explode.

Darkness creeps into the room, smothering the city sounds below. His words escape in short, desperate pants, "And... if I refuse? Do you really want my death on your beautiful, pristine hands? It is entirely too early for bloodshed... but be that as it may, anything for my mate..." A wisp of shadow slithers out and grabs Truth-Teller from beneath his pillow. His face contorts with effort as he struggles against his own hand angling the blade inward toward his--what in the actual fuck.

I spring forward in a bolt of light, seizing his hand just in time to stop him from plunging his blade into his heart. "Stop it! I forbid you to kill yourself! Now or ever... No matter what!" I slap his cheek so hard that I feel the sting on my palm, even though it doesn't ease my panic. What in the holy Gods' name just happened? Azriel remains motionless, letting the knife drop with a resigned, sorrowful sigh.

Infuriating dickhead. Why did I know he would pull this kind of bullshit?

"Solas, did you want me to have to deal with a fucking crime scene on top of all the other shit I am dealing with?! You stupid, scary asshole." I shove him aside, clutching my chest as adrenaline and fear spike, while his eyes fall in submissive resignation. I haven’t got time to ponder my wording—no matter how fucked up this whole situation is, I don't what the big broody bastard to end up dead because of me.

"Apologies, my queen, I must have misunderstood the order."

"You're fucking insane, you know that?" He looks guilty. I don't want to even consider why in the Hel the guy who has already been exposed for being an unhinged alphahole prick would look guilty.

Blowing out a breath, I ready the snare I'd been lazily plotting since 3AM. Plan B. I anticipated he'd be impossible to shake, because again, I caught him fucking stalking me. This whole dumbassery would have been a lot smarter if I had crafted a Plan C... but Plan C doesn't exactly exist yet.

So, Plan B it is. 

I back away from him, restoring a safe distance between us. "Azriel, Hunt's on his way here... to arrest you. He'll be here at six. He's going to take you in—you're being charged with illegal border crossing and unregistered off-grid power usage." 

I am only met with his indignant scoff, and another annoying smirk.

"Siccing your dog on me? The move is beneath you. Surely, you could have handled me yourself. Though, I have been waiting for the opportunity to end... What's his name again?" He doesn't look like he's joking.

Dark whorls of ink stretch and flex as he crosses his should-be-illegal muscular arms. Membranous wings flare wide enough to nearly touch each side of the wall and my knees nearly buckle at the sight of him. A few small pointed scars catch in my all-too-observant vision. I try not to look too closely at what shape they seem to be, or care at all, trying my best to bury all foolish concerns of his past flesh wounds somewhere in a galaxy far far away. But the smallest, softest part of my heart twists, his stubborn stewing silence stabs at me like a knife, and I hate it. 

I hate feeling these feelings.

"Azriel, I'm serious... the angels, the Fae, and a buncha wolves are coming for you. A fucking army is on their way here... they have your location. They're going to put you in prison if you don’t leave for good." My voice wavers unintentionally.

In a single leap off the bed, he prowls for me, naked and fuck, every part of him is stiff—making this conversation a little harder than I had imagined in my head. My heartbeat hammers to a decibel I am sure you could hear all the way to the Abyss, but thankfully he summons a battle suit out of nowhere before he's towering above me.

"Why are you telling me this now, Princess?"

"For Urd’s sake stop calling me that. I know why you came here, I—." My voice comes out broken by accident. Again. Shit. Must. Get. It. Together.

He cuts me off. "Yes—we've discussed. And now I am bound to serve you, but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need. And I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already have a plan." His last words come out as a broken plea.

He searches my eyes, like he knows this is all about to blow up in his face, and is praying for a single thread of hope. Assessing the threat to me, him, everyone, he regains his rigid composure. "What is your endgame, Bryce?" No hint of resentment in the question. Or judgment. Just morbid curiosity. As if it weren't a horrible question to ask. The mind of a strategist, playing with an angle he couldn't figure out.

"I..." I throw a gigantic fumbling sunball. "I can't t—you just have to fucking go, alright? This is the only way I knew you’d leave me alone. So let me be clear. I want you to go home. I don't want you here or anywhere near me–I just... don’t want you dead, either. Because there is nothing I can give you. Nothing I want to give you. And you are not owed any explanation. I don't care what you have been through or what you want to do with your life. The sooner you can sort that out, the sooner I can be rid of you. You are nothing to me, and I literally do not care."

The unending ring of silence as he stares me down heats my cheeks against my will, and that's when I am sure the gods have fucking cursed me for eternity.

Whatever space remains between us dissolves under the intimidating weight of his presence as his deliberate, purposeful steps meet my toes. He looms over me, too close to my face, making his point crystal clear: "And I lit-er-ally do not care if you want me here." I swear the room shook. "I am staying." His growl was the growliest protest I’d ever heard and I hated how it made me nervous. Hated how it did incredibly indecent things to me. 

And fantastic, now the demon hulk looks pissed. I have an insane urge to snort-laugh, but I shove it down. Violently. Because the Hels Angel kinda scares me. Just a little bit.

He continues, a bit growlier on purpose. Like he knows how much fun it is for me to watch him be a big ole meanie. "Tell me what you are planning." His demand comes out in a low sinister vibration that makes me question all of my life decisions. "Explain the point of this... circus?" He gestures a hand to the clock on the nightstand, time sprinting toward 6 AM. He cocks an eyebrow at me. You thought this was a good idea? Really? Cold hazel eyes shoot the silent words at me like daggers.

I hold out a hand to stop the silent smartass right there. "Look, you don't get to know 'the plan'. It's storied... and many-layered... and highly strategic. You wouldn't get it." Crossing my arms to mimic his stance, I tap my foot, ignoring that I am stalling for time. That I'm lying to myself. That this entire plan was to save Azriel from whatever fucked-up shit is soon to go down between me and Hunt. Because I need Hunt. Because Midgard needs Hunt. Freshly elected to a seat on the Imperial Senate—and a total shoo-in. Hunt had come back to the apartment--thanks to merciful Cthona after I'd disposed of the night flowers--waking me at 3 AM to deliver the fateful news, rusting over what little remained of my heart.

This idiotic so-called plan of mine only had two hours to pivot and simmer before I decided to lay waste to hopes and dreams. Whose hopes and dreams, I wasn’t exactly sure.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Azriel sighs, "I guess you give me no choice. If you won't let me in on whatever this little scheme is, I'll simply have to make you tell me."

"You can't make me do anything. I forbid it. Forbid you... making do... whatever. Anything. You're freaking blood sworn to me. Or did you lie about that, too?"

"The oath is not a lie." He snarls at me.

"Jeez, you can be cranky."

"Spoken by a female with extensive experience in the field." Jaw shifting, he tries to look unaffected, but I watch him bite down and clench. "And I have good reason to be cranky." Slowly, he turns his head toward the clock, and then his eyes lock onto me like laser beams.

"Don't be so dramatic. You still have time. You should be grateful that I am so benevolent. So for the sake of all that is holy, just leave before the army arrives and save yourself. This is my command. Don't fight them. Or do anything else stupid. Just leave."

"Cauldron save us, are your ears okay? I will not be leaving you."

This oath shit is seriously pissing me off. Supposedly, he can ignore my requests, but there is also a risk of him taking me seriously enough to stab himself to death...? I know it relates to my wording, and if I could just figure out the right way to phrase what I need him to do... Gods above, this is so annoying, it's giving me a headache to feel like a fucking canary playing with a plains cat.

Naturally, because my emotions are sheer as a veil, the big menace watches the thoughts register all over my face.

A stupid smirk curls his lips. Not used to hearing the word 'no' often?

He grumbles aloud, "Where are those famous negotiation tactics? Did the feather duster put you up to this?"

I see red so hot it burns like acid in the pit of my stomach. I point a finger at him.

"Don’t. Don't bring him or anyone else into this." My words shake in the mirror of my own sins. Of what and who I'd already dragged into this Hel hole. And I can't stand it, can't stand to know how low I'd stoop, how awful I'd become. The thought makes me want to jump off the terrace, no one with wings around to save me. "Please."

Azriel

"Don't. Don't bring him or anyone else into this. Please."

The words strike a chord within me. Somehow it feels like I have uncovered a long-lost buried plea. Don't bring anyone else into this. The phrase rings hollow like a bell across each of my vertebrae. I don't know why that particular phrase sticks with me, but it does. Because we are something entirely separate. We are a world away from anything or anyone else. Never to be compared. In my wildest ideations, I cling to the ridiculous idea that maybe in another lifetime there'd be nothing between us, ever. That she would see me, all of me, and not be afraid. That she would one day see the truth of my soul and choose to love me anyway.

But I won't give her a reason to kill me just yet.

Anything else my stone-cold black heart can give her would be my command—as long as she realizes that she is my home… and perhaps why I could never leave her side to go back to my world.

I know I'll have to tell her at some point. But not yet.

My temper's leash is too short to be rational, cunning, or calculating. "Fine. I won't bring anyone else into this. This is about you and me. You left me here and I've been waiting an entire gods-forsaken day for you to come back. You left me and… I have nothing else. I know no one here but you. No one." 

And you know that. Somewhere deep down, you have to know that.

"I—had shit to sort out. Quit making me feel bad for you. Why aren't you leaving when I've asked you a million fucking times to go—"

Something primal takes over, and I cut her off. My hand shoots out, covering her mouth before I can fully register the action. I can't stop myself from towering over her delicate frame, effectively trapping her against the unforgiving furniture. Leaning in, close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of her hair, with barely leashed rutting madness I growl, "I'm. Not. Leaving. You." The words rasp in her ear, fueled by every ounce of defiance within my heart. A desperate, possessive vow.

"Ugh!" she hisses, the sound muffled by my hand. She scrambles to grip my forearms, a futile attempt to shove me out of her personal space. A searing cold, like glowing darkness, burns through my leathers where her hands touch me. 

My beautiful angel stands there, clearly stunned and amusingly frustrated by the unintended interpretation of her words. A crash course in semantics has just shot to the top of our to-do list—once she forgives me. "Leave here"—where, even, is "here"? I could step away from her side and be back in a heartbeat. "Leave the planet?" A single, controlled burst into the sky for one second would technically suffice. It's both maddening and endearing how she still misses the point entirely. She doesn't see that I expect nothing from her, need no explanations, and want only one thing—to be by her side or, at the very least, a single thread woven into the tapestry of her life. My cursed blessing from the Gods. My guiding light in all-consuming darkness. The only truth worth pursuing—even if she rejects mine. It would all be worth it, as long as it amounts to even a single thread of her light, her joy. Any fragment of her is enough. Even the smallest piece.

She has to know that.  So I don't bother repeating myself. 

"Listen to me, you insidious female." I say, trying to keep a hold on my mounting frustration, "I want to help you. I can be useful. Let me. Let me play guard, send me on a mission, let me help you with whatever scheme it is you've obviously only halfway hatched." I resort to begging, trying to contain my utter annoyance. Not that it works.

As if pulled by an invisible string, our gazes drop to where she's still clutching my forearms--where starfire continues to burn through my leathers.

Two perfectly seared handprints mark my flesh, etched like ghostly iron manacles.

She gasps, and I find myself wanting to bottle the air around that sound, as she yanks her palms from my burning skin.

Bryce

It has to hurt, the scars I've unknowingly burned into his skin. Lasered there with unnerving precision, the delicate, lace-like lines of my palms are now etched in stark detail on Azriel's flesh, as if they were two world maps, each a universe unto itself.

Okay, maybe a slight oopsie, but I highly doubt they'll scar. That's what I'm telling myself, anyway. The way Azriel is gazing down at the matching, bleeding wounds with something akin to reverence, as if he takes a perverse pleasure in the branding, concerns me quite frankly.

Forever guiding me home. I hear his thoughts curl around mine, a silent whisper that never touched the air. A shiver runs down my spine at the realization as he lifts his gaze to meet mine.

"Ouch." He smiles, the first genuine one since he woke. Of course, now that we're facing imminent entrapment beneath a mountain of bureaucratic bullshit, he decides to smile.

"The wounds will heal. They're not permanent, so don't get your psychotic hopes up." I roll my eyes, catching another glint of light dancing across his face before the dead, frozen mask slams back into place. Such hollow, joyless eyes. I have a feeling I look like that these days. Looked like that last night. I can't help but wonder what left him so utterly soulless? And why the thought twists through me now? A chill crawls into my ear as sirens begin to howl in the distance.

Azriel doesn't need to speak for me to see the silent plea in his eyes, a plea that pierces my chest like an invisible needle. Before it can weave its golden thread, he dares to ask the million-mark question, "Why would you plan something so reckless? When you knew you wouldn't go through with it anyway?" The question is worn, resigned.

I snap back, "Why would I partner with someone who seems more interested in my own scheme to save the world than I am?"

The sirens, wings, and approaching howls are closing in fast. There's no time.

"Because you're curious. And maybe you're just bored. Maybe even a little…desperate. But you need help. And maybe it's okay to ask for it — to not punish yourself for it."

Not at all what I expected. I hate him so much for it.

"Fine. Gods above, you're the most stubborn ass I've ever met. Come on, you big bat. Don't make me regret being nice to you this once."

He tugs reverently on my hand. "Wait." The deafening beat of wings and approaching sirens in the storm sets my teeth on edge.

"Gods above, you reckless brute. What now? We're going to miss our chance—"

Shadows swirl and he once again produces that fated dagger, extending Truth-Teller to me, its long, dark blade gleaming, singing with dark light. He grabs my hand, pulling it to the dagger, letting me feel its cool weight, lighter than I remember. Azriel looks into my eyes, past them, as if gazing directly into my soul, and says, "The dagger is for you. You forgot it yesterday when you left in such a hurry." Two huge, rough hands circle mine on its hilt.

With an almost imperceptible wink—a slow, deliberate blink—a cell in my heart clicks open. I stick my tongue out at him in response, willing the starlight to swallow us whole just in time. And I finally take the knife for myself.

Chapter Text

We land in a swirl of light and shadow inside a familiar light filled atrium, knife still in our hands, and that furious tongue still sticking out at me in exaggerated annoyance. She tugs the knife away from me, shoving against my armor with a shockingly low amount of force, like trying to push a boulder with a feather.

"Be careful or I might just grab that tongue of yours," I warn, voice dropping to that dangerous register that usually makes more sensible beings run in the opposite direction.

She clutches the knife tighter, chin jutting forward defiantly. "I have a knife, asshole. I'd like to see you try." She does it again to spite me. The challenge gleams in her eyes in direct opposition with the dark blade.

Faster than lightning, my hand shoots out and she gags as I grab that retreating tip of her tongue between my fingers and hold. I release it just as quickly, satisfaction curling through me at her stunned expression. She gasps for breath, eyes wide with indignation that would make lesser males panic.

"You mother fucking beas—" she begins, but I don't let her finish. I push her into the nearest wall, grabbing both of her hands, and bite her neck without an ounce of hesitation or sanity. She cries out as my teeth clamp onto the tender spot between her neck and shoulder. I can't move, can't think, acting on pure nonsensical instinct—my world narrows to the feeling of my lips and teeth brushing against her skin, the feel of my hard body pressing against her soft one. My bite is just strong and claiming enough, she is too stunned to move, to speak. I have her by the throat. I sink my teeth in harder, digging deep enough to bruise, to mark her as mine. A vision of spilled blood crawls through me and I shudder. My bite lightens. My tongue apologetically caressing over the spot my teeth had been. I can feel her heartbeat hammering under each swipe of my tongue as I kiss and lick her neck lazily, territorially. Intently. Neither of us can move as if we're frozen in time. Pinned—mine—golden light flares.

Her feral growl hits me with all of the force of reality as she shoves, and I stagger back a step, teeth dragging hard across her skin as she strikes my chest with surprising strength. We share a single blink, panting, her hand darting to that spot on her neck in shock and horror at the obvious shift in her scent. I could see in her eyes that she didn't feel any pain, didn't care about her bruising skin or that flash of light.

No, she looks like she wants to rip my throat out—rip it out with the dull canines she's baring at me as she roars, "I'm going to fucking kill you." She is fury personified in five-foot-nothing of rage, each word dripping with promise as she advances, pressing the knife to my throat, her hand admirably steady considering the circumstances.

I couldn't help but grin through the slice of the blade, the blood trickling down my neck, feeling alive in ways I haven't in centuries. "There you are. I've been waiting for you."

Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits, flickering before she yanks the knife back and slaps the blade into my armored chest. "I save your ass from imminent doom and the first thing you can think to do is bite me? Have you ever heard of fucking social cues? Or did you skip that day at your nonexistent etiquette school?"

I laugh, the sound rusty from disuse. "Save me? This disaster is entirely of your own making."

"And yours, Mr. Predator in the Night!" she counters, jabbing the knife tip dangerously close to my face. "Following me around like some kind of creepy shadow puppy—you left me with no choice!"

I cross my arms, unimpressed. "Your choices since I've arrived have been entirely your own. I didn't force your hand."

"Except for the forced sleepisode," she reminds me with venom. "That little magical knockout stunt."

"Except for that," I concede with exactly zero remorse. "And I'd do it again." I don't try to hide the threat in my voice, letting the promise hang between us. "But I had nothing to do with you deciding to get back with the bastard who had you in tears just so you could use him as a crutch." The words come out more bitter than intended.

Her face flushes with anger. "How is that any of your fucking business? And also, please stop being so fucking creepy, how do you even know that? More nighttime shadow lurking? Don’t you have anything better to do with your immortal life than monitor mine?"

"You're drenched in his scent," I reply coldly. "The bite seems to have helped you smell less... unsavory. You're welcome." I don't smile, keeping my face a bland mask of indifference that I don't remotely feel.

She hisses like an offended cat, reminding me entirely too much of Nesta. "Fucking alphahole prick of the tallest order. You were the one who left those flowers in my room." A statement, not a question. I shrug, neither confirming nor denying though my silence is answer enough.

"I hate flowers. Just so you know," she mutters, looking away.

I chuff, the sound half-laugh, half-dismissal. "You're a liar."

"I'm not. They're depressing. They always die. Why would I want to be reminded of death." She doesn't meet my eyes, and something in my chest tightens at the unexpected vulnerability. And the slight. 

"You do realize they can be enchanted, that magic exists..." I begin, then trail off as I see the look she gives me, making my heart clench as I realize the dusty prick has never cared enough to try. That she had never thought about the possibility of some eternal preservation just for beauty's sake. For some small joy. No, I remember, the useless moron had bought her a rock instead.

Her expression hardens again. "Stay out of my apartment. It's supposed to be warded how did you even—"

"Your doorman is shockingly lax with his security measures," I interrupt smoothly. "I swiped his master key. Don't worry, I waited until you were... alone. Didn't see... anything." I let the ice crack over my stare. Letting her know that even if I didn't see it, I felt every second of her little dalliance. And if she wanted to play eye for an eye, taunt for taunt, I would too.

She steps closer, knife still in hand, pointing at me like she’s about to fling it at my head. "Let me tell you something, buster. Next time I catch you in my business without my permission, I will not hesitate to command you to leave the planet for real. You may think I need your help or I am too soft hearted or whatever to go through with your homicide but I swear to all the Gods above in the ether—"

"Fine, you've made your point," I cut in, raising my hands in mock surrender.

Glad to see the soft launch of my past idiocy went over well. I am truly, irreparably fucked. I pivot to safer territory. "How long do we have? How do you intend to solve this?"

She scoffs, crossing her arms. "And here I thought you were the one with all the answers. Weren't you just begging to help me five seconds ago? Before your little vampyr episode?"

My lips curl into a wry smile. "Are you so keen to give up control? I'm happy to take over and give you orders." I can't help poking, she’s too tempting.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Bigs. You're my lackey now," she declares, pointing to the floor as if commanding a dog to stay. "So wait here like a good boy and I'll be right back. Try not to bite anything else." I shoot her my best withering glare as if I am not ecstatic to be getting exactly what I want. To get this chance.

She disappears with a dramatic flourish, leaving me alone in a light filled townhouse that I am all too familiar with—that I bargained to help procure and ward.

It is nice to see what she's done with the place, I think, running my fingers along a shelf lined with strange trinkets and ancient texts.

I make a point to tell her how impressive the place is when she returns, though at this point, not even good old-fashioned flattery would pull me out of the trench I've dug for myself. A trench so deep I could probably reach the molten core of the planet if I kept going. When it came to her, all of my carefully crafted plans were for naught—dissolving like mist in the sun the moment she fixes those eyes on me. All of my remaining moves end in either me living with an insidious lie, or me meeting some horrible end at her hands. And I'd bargain with death at her hands over lying to her any day—I just needed to help her first, to set things right, before the final truth. Then I'd be hers for the killing, a sacrifice I'd walk toward willingly if it meant she is safe. If it would make her happy. 

Chapter Text

After disappearing to grab my phone from the apartment, I call Hunt to spin some bullshit about my early morning 'treadmill sesh.' My delicate ears are immediately assaulted by wailing sirens and a stream of muttered curses—thank the gods, Hunt's distracted. I offer my sincerest sounding condolences for his spectacular mission failure, the picture-perfect image of a dutiful soon-to-be Imperial senator’s wife.

“Well look on the bright side, at least it's not public. We'll find him. I'll ask Dec to check the cameras. Hel, he probably went home... but I've got to head to the gallery and play scary asshole with the fire sprites on their day off. Good luck today, Hunt. See you tonight.” His day is already off to a rough start and is bound to deteriorate further with a line-up of congratulatory press conferences and a Hel of a lot of circle jerking prep meetings he can’t skip—buying me a few hours of peace. To finish plotting.

By some cosmic blessing from Luna, the gallery is closed today, providing the perfect temporary safe haven. Saturday is usually sacred—reserved for resting my laurels, mirthroot-assisted naps, and at-home spa treatments, but unfortunately today I had actual work to do. I hope the Gods won't smite me for the slight.

I take my time gathering supplies, cramming everything into a tote bag roughly the size of planet Thurr. Laptop, phone, check. Mirthroot, snacks, check. Clothes, toiletries, a few facemasks for funsies, check. Knife, sword, pistol, ammo, sheaths, holsters, check check check. The bag looks like a bomb ready to explode, even though I'm absolutely sure I'm fucking forgetting something important. But I can't linger here much longer.

Staring at the mirror, I cringe at the bite mark on my neck and quickly plaster on fifty shades of foundation. I toss my hair into a messy ponytail and pull on Danika's leather jacket—full badass mode, activated. I shoot a finger gun to remind myself that I am Queen Bryce Fucking Quinlan, and I will not be afraid. Of anything or anyone, especially tall dark handsome strangers who like to lurk in the night. Scooping Syrinx a second helping of breakfast, I pat his fluffy little head and tell him he's the cutest, bestest boy in the world. It's 7am by the time I return to the gallery to check on Big Death.

I'm not sure why I expected he'd still be standing there in the atrium like some frozen brooding statue, patiently awaiting my return. Of course he's not there. He's nowhere in sight. The faint sound of music reaches my ears, and my nostrils instantly flare with irritation. I slam down my massive bag—loud enough to announce my displeasure—and follow the sound, stomping through the space with zero subtlety, preparing my very best death glare.

Jesiba had the townhouse completely renovated, warded and keyed to a single owner—me. I gaze up at the mezzanines separating the three stories of long hallways, ironwood arches stuffed with books, and cozy sitting alcoves. The trinkets in the grand entry, my desk, and the Godslayer rifle are mostly for aesthetics. And, you know, in case I needed a gun in a pinch. The ungodly expensive and important crap remains behind glass, with the really ancient shit tucked away on the basement floor—all available for gawking by anyone with good enough knees to brave the spiraling iron staircases. During business hours, of course. Eleven to five o'clock, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Being my own boss is the shit, to put it mildly. Jesiba hadn't installed elevators, probably because of some crusty old superstition, but she had built a secret fifth level—a hidden hatch expertly concealed beneath the green carpet of the basement gallery. All for little old me. My heart squeezes at the thought.

I find Big Scary downstairs hunching over one of the long work tables, a scowl of concentration fixed on an ancient black and white marble game board that he absolutely should not be touching. Rock music blares from Danika's old beat-up boom box—the one I'd dragged out of storage in a nostalgia spiral—while three lust-drunk fire sprites sigh and giggle across from him, their backs to me.

Hazel eyes collide with mine. A single eyebrow arches. Hello again.

I don't bother acknowledging him first. ""Shouldn't you three be doing your job?" I ask, voice dripping with just enough sweetness to be threatening.

The sprites sing in perfect three-part harmony, "We're closed today, B." And then they giggle. Fucking giggle. I grit my teeth, allowing their giggles to boil the internal river of fiery rage this insufferable male makes me feel. The lava in my veins rises a few degrees higher. If I had actual fire powers, the gallery would now be a smoking pit of ash.

"Mind telling me what the fuck you think you're doing?" I snap, sweet as an adder. My eyes dagger, and a half-smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth—calm, cool, and just as pissed off. Like staring into a goddamn mirror. He redirects his gaze to the board, where the glowing blue and shadow black pieces command his attention.

"Playing chess," he deadpans, as if the answer should be obvious. Like I'm the weird one for questioning why he's fondling one of my priceless pieces of antiquity.

I throw my hands up like that's supposed to mean something or make a lick of fucking sense. "Chess?" He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, that I'm pretty sure is a dig.

"Am I to assume you don't play chess in this world?" He scratches his face.

"No we don't play chess. We play cards, billiards. And sunball. And video games. I mean I think I've heard of chess from history books—I'm not a moron or anything—but I think it might have fallen out of favor because it looks dumb and hard…" Gods dammit, I am word vomiting for some unknown reason, and he's not even paying attention to me, which is more embarrassing than it should be. He's just staring at the stupid black and white game board like it holds all the secrets of the multiverse.

"I mean, hello? I guess make yourself at fucking home, why don't you?"

"Thank you, that's uncharacteristically kind of you." His voice is bone dry.

Okay, no more Miss Nice Bryce, "Who gave you permission to touch my shit?"

"You just did. And the sprites were incredibly welcoming. You should consider promoting them." A piece of shadow moves without him deigning to look up. Gods, he works my fucking nerves down to the marrow of my bones.

"The sprites are in very real danger of being drowned in a bucket of water if they don't get the fuck out of here and get back upstairs to their posts." The three sprites shoot me furious fiery glares as they trail smoke in their flurry, practically sizzling with indignation as they float away.

"Easy, princess. What's got you all riled up? Run into more trouble?" A glance in my direction. But I refuse to answer that.

"How did you know how to work that boombox?"

"You seem to have a very low opinion of my intelligence. Or perhaps the males in this world have set the bar so low you could trip over it." Still staring at those damn game pieces like they're the most fascinating objects in the universe. I want to box his ears for the sheer audacity. Maybe rearrange that perfectly sculpted face while I'm at it.

I stomp over to Danika's decrepit stereo, turning it off with such force the volume knob nearly snaps off. The silence that follows is practically deafening.

"Don't touch this, or any of my other shit, without my permission, ever again." I seethe into the silence, each word like a simmering threat spat from between my teeth.

He folds his arms casually, muscles shifting beneath that unnecessarily tight armor. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be off playing vigilante or whatever it is you're up to."

I correct him before I can stop myself, "I'm playing spy, thank you very much." Well that cat's out of the bag. "And we have work to do. So stop looking at that old-ass grandpa game and pay attention."

I swallow. I shouldn't want his attention. I shouldn't want to work with him, need his help, or even be around this big bite-happy asshole for another fucking second. But my last remaining thread of sanity exited the building approximately the same time his teeth and tongue turned me into a pathetic wanting puddle.

Of course, he's smiling at me. That knowing smile that suggests he can see straight through my skull into the Hel zone that is my thoughts. Like he knows exactly how pathetic I am for continuing with this farce of galactic proportions.

"You want to play spy? Fine. Then I get to play spymaster." He abandons the game, blue and black figures dissolving into this air, giving me his full attention—which, annoyingly, is exactly what I asked for. "Let's hear the plan, then."

I make to yank the stupid checker board away from him but a shadow flicks away my hand, "Ah ah—we will be needing this, I'm afraid." At this point, I wouldn't be shocked if smoke began billowing out of my ears.

The chair across from him pulls out on a phantom wind. Sit. The unspoken command hangs in the air between us. We stare each other down like two rivals in an old timey spaghetti western film.

A brush of darkness pushes against my lower back, forcing my ass to plop unceremoniously into the hard chair. My dignity drops a few more notches, which I didn't think was possible considering how little I had left to begin with.

"What's the status of the mess we're in?" He asks, Mr. Business now.

"We are not in a mess. You are in a mess, that I so kindly saved you from, just in time. And then you fucking bit me for it. Not much of a thank you." I glare pointedly at his mouth, which is doing that annoying half-smirk thing again.

"You deserved it." I distract him with a dramatic hiss and land a well placed kick to his shin with the stabby part of my shoe. He tries to contain his wince, turning it into a glower that seems to say, well played. And I hate how the small approval of my violent tendencies makes my heart skip.

"The plan is I bought you twelve hours. Well, technically eleven now. You're welcome. Chop fucking chop, that's all the time you get here before I am teleporting your ass back to your homeland. That—is the plan. You help me like you said. You figure out a permanent solution to regenerate first light and save the dying planet, then you leave, and I take all the credit for saving the world." I cross my arms in smug satisfaction.

"Eleven hours to solve your world's problems is plenty of time." He nods as if I've suggested something entirely reasonable. "What about the flooding?"

Asshole picked up on that danger too, somehow. I try to will the guilt out of my answering shrug, but the reminder that the stakes are actually really fucking high makes me begrudgingly thankful to have his so-called help. Just for one second. Even if he is a complete asshole about it. The kind of asshole that notices things normal people wouldn't, which makes him both useful and insufferable in equal measure.

My stomach growls loud enough to interrupt whatever clever retort he was about to make. I keep forgetting to fucking eat. These days, basic survival functions like consuming food get pushed to the bottom of the priority list. Starborn Queen very busy preventing the tech-pocalypse and all that. But now I want a cheeseburger—a breakfast cheeseburger. With extra cheese. And bacon.

"Hungry?" He growls as if he's mad at me for having basic needs. Asshole, infuriating, presumptuous asshole.

I smile and lie through my teeth. "No."

He raises his eyes to the sky as if asking the gods why they continue to condemn him and closes his eyes, running his scarred hands upon his brow in a gesture of such exaggerated suffering you'd think I was forcing him to listen to a reading of my amateur writing.

I hate looking at his scars. Hate, hate, hate how they make me wonder what happened to him, who would do such a thing to him, hate how they somehow make him sympathetic, hate how they make his hands look strong and capable and rough in all the right places—

"Let's go. We have plenty of time." Without another word, he prowls for the hidden hatch in the corner, a hollow statue that opens into the spiraling staircase to my most private place. My inner sanctum, my temple of solitude.

And his stupidly delicious scent is about to be all fucking over it—I bleat in panic, "You can't—how did you—wait, stop!"

He stops at my command and turns to me with the leisurely confidence of a predator who knows his prey isn't going anywhere. As if he knows exactly why I'm panicking, he smiles, "No true Illyrian ever makes a home with only one exit. Do you often use the tunnel out?"

"Um, my old boss designed the house. She's not—there's no tunnel—" I stammer, because this stupid male makes me forget how to form complete sentences. How to fucking think straight.

"Yes, there is. Come with me and I'll show you." The certainty in his voice makes me want to strangle him with his own shadows.

"You've already been down there?! In my sacred space?!" My voice rises to a pitch that could shatter glass. This is worse than finding someone reading your diary or finding your vibrator in the night stand. This is like finding out someone has not only read your diary but has been watching you write in it, has annotated it with suggestions on why you should use the vibrator more often. Fucking invasive.

"The sprites mentioned it." Of course they did, the duplicitous little matchsticks. "And they said, very kindly, that there's a kitchen down there, too, should I work up an appetite."

"You can't go down there—" I protest, but I can already see in his eyes that he probably already has, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

"Why not? Your stomach is growling like an angry beast. And we apparently only have eleven hours to save the world. If I leave everything up to you, we will argue ourselves to death in never-ending, starvation-fueled circles." His logic is infuriatingly sound, which just makes me want to argue more on principle.

"Quit being all concerned with me eating. It's weird, quite frankly." I cross my arms defensively. "There's no food down there." Not a total lie. Snacks are upstairs in my bag. "This is a takeout only establishment."

"The sprites also mentioned that you can't be bothered to keep the kitchen stocked with anything that isn't liquid." Of course they did. The traitors. "They keep a few basics for themselves." He says this like he's gathered crucial intelligence on an enemy operation.

"Such a viciously rigid librarian I have on my hands, it would seem. So many rules, so many demands." His eyes travel over me in a way that makes my stomach swoop. "But with so much to do, and so little time to do it, it would only make sense we eat something first. To ward off any... imminent crankiness."

He smirks—that insufferable, knowing smirk that makes me want to either slap him or... something else entirely—and continues for the hollowed-out statue that would lead him down, down, down into the most guarded part of my soul.

I'm stuck between really wanting a sandwich and the knowledge that I wouldn't be able to go down into that cramped scent-slicked space without wanting to dry hump the furniture. Or climb him like a maypole. I swallow hard enough that I'm surprised it doesn't echo in the room.

Self pep talk. I can do this. I will talk calmly to Hulky Dory while he scrounges for food. Keep all topics saving-the-world related. Spy-plan related. No mentioning how his shoulders look like they were carved by a sculptor with a thing for really big Gods. I should let him do this, because I'm fucking starving. And not for his third leg. But fuck, that sounds nice, too. I bite the inside of my cheeks until I taste blood.

"Fine." The word comes out like I've just agreed to my own execution in Hel.

I make to follow him down into the dark spiral, but he stops me with an outstretched hand.

"After you." A courteous bow of his head, the portrait of a gentleman if I didn't know better—but I don't miss the hint of his mischievous grin as he gestures me forward. I go first, praying there is at least an entire block of cheese for me to consume to keep my mouth completely occupied.

As we descend into my underground studio, I wonder how he will react to the plush blush pink carpet and the matching soft iridescent lighting that screams I love sparkly princess shit! If he will even fit in the tiny but functional kitchen. If he will judge the antique collection of silver flatware and tea sets I've stolen for myself.

I make a point not to look at the iron four-poster bed or the hammered copper tub in plain view of the small kitchen table. I set my intention to gaze on the wall paneling, spelled to be floor-to-ceiling windows for a view of wherever the owner wishes. Wherever I wished. And right now I wish I was anywhere but fucking here. Only sweeping darkness dotted with millions of stars projected from the panes in answer.

Mate, mate, mate—I smack myself as his scent wafts up my nose and my buckling knees suggest I sit down. My body is staging a mutiny against my brain.

And that's when I get a brilliant fucking idea.

"It's beautiful, what you've done with the place."

The words don't register through his thick fog of scent mist and my own realized brilliance. I try to focus, but all I can think is that his voice sounds like what expensive whiskey tastes like, and damn if I haven't always loved whiskey. And really fucking missed the taste.

Chapter Text

Azriel

I take in the iridescent pink room, encased by a starry sky—a hidden cell fit for a queen. I'm ready to compliment her into submission when I notice the creeping look of an idea dawning across her beautiful face. Two universally perfect hands meet her mouth as she gasps. A strand of red hair bounces free from its tie. "You're brilliant!" she squeals in delight, hopping up and down, clapping with questionable glee.

I am?

I squint, astonished by the overt compliment falling from her lips. But before I can even process it, she's already taken it back.

"Actually, I'm brilliant." She stomps foot to foot, shaking her fists in pure delight at whatever undoubtedly maniacal scheme she's cooking. My astonishment dissolves into worry.

"Thank you! Thank you Urd, Thank you Solas, Luna and the rest of the Gods' dang gang!" she squeaks, face aglow with revelation. "You just gave me a million-mark fucking idea!" Her hands supplicate in prayer as she showers thanks upon her Gods.

"Why do I get the feeling I shouldn't say you're welcome?" I don't like the look of mischief and delight in her eyes one bit. Like clockwork, my wings begin to twitch.

I have a bad feeling. Bryce squeals with a jump, throwing her arms around my neck in an unsettling hug, but I catch her and hold her against me. All of my thoughts scatter as she plants a loud kiss on my right cheek.

I freeze, forgetting to breathe, my focus narrowing to the feeling of her in my arms of her own volition. She tries to let me go, but I refuse to release her. I squeeze her tighter, pressing her against me, my thumbs digging in to her back, praying that time will stop entirely. Amber eyes widen in horror as she pulls back, realizing what she's done. The light behind her irises winks out with the ramifications of touching me, however brief and thoughtless.

But now I have her trapped in my arms. Choices have consequences.

I grab her chin as she tries to push me away, making her look at me again, not caring if it makes her uncomfortable. I need to look into her eyes for one more godsdamn second. Time stops as our gazes meet. An entire universe swirls back at me, a tiny black hole widening at the center that I would willingly drown in. Our heartbeats pulse in tandem, a half remembered song, the air suddenly too thin, the moment stretching between us. I could die right here, listening to the sound of her heartbeat.

I want to grab her ass cheeks, make her legs tighten around me, ask if she'll kiss me again, for longer. See just how much she would permit me touching her in return. Dare her to allow a single brush of my fingers underneath her clothes, against her bare skin. Press her into the wall. Tease her mercilessly for thinking she could touch me like that, so gentle, without driving me fucking crazy.

But she looks so gods-damn lost. I can't help but stop. Because fuck, I want to touch her, taste her tongue, and bury my head between her legs. Live there forever. And I can't stand it. That look—I can't stand her sad, searching look. I want more than anything to be chosen—I want her to choose me. But then again—if she ever did make that impossible choice—I’m not sure I could let her go through with it.

Nevermind, of fucking course I would.

I didn’t deserve her. Not after everything I’d done. Considering I had taken away all of her other choices, I couldn't take her final choice for myself. She would rather kill me than ever lay a wanting hand on me if she knew the truth anyway.

I clear my throat, and let go—letting my certainty of a painful impending death at her hands break the wall of tension between us. Every ounce of control I possess forces my shadows quiet, though they remain curious, watching to see what I'll do next. If my control will break again.

"What's your idea?" I somehow manage to get out, my voice hoarse.

Bryce swallows, looking a bit sheepish, but launches into a quick explanation. "So, you said we're in a mess, right?" She tucks that loose strand behind her ear. All of the previous excitement, that perfect pitch of happiness, has already drained from her voice. I curse myself for being a fucking idiot.

I raise an eyebrow. "You're finally admitting we are in a mess?"

"Shut up," she retorts, regaining her usual coldness. "The planet and the government‘s power restructuring efforts are a mess. The flooding... is possibly my mess with Hunt. But your presence is certainly not fucking helping the situation.” She sighs. “Maybe this would’ve been inevitable anyway I sliced it, you know?"

I nod. I know all too well about the inevitable. And slicing.

"You're here for sinister reasons. And I know better than to think you'll tell me the real truth." My face remains a cold mask as she searches my eyes as if they hold the answers to her silent questions.

“But I do think you want to help me,” she says quietly, studying me with those golden brown eyes. “I can tell you’re not lying about that, at least. And you are blood-sworn to me, which—still not clear on how the Hel that works. Plus, you’re also like… linked to me in some stupid magical way. As much as I don’t want to acknowledge that little fun fact. So I hate to tell ya, big guy, you’re on my team now. Team Stalker. And I’m officially naming you as my… advisor. The right hand to the Queen—that’s me, F.Y.I. And just so we’re perfectly clear, Mr. Lurks A Lot, you can’t breathe a word to anyone about anything I tell you. Capiche?”

I nod again, not knowing what a capiche is, but consider my curiosity piqued. I cannot deny that I love making bargains with my willful little nemesis.

"I had this idea because you're making me go all mushy blender brain and I really hate it," she breathes, laughing nervously and fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket. "Because I didn't choose this. Any of it," she whispers, more to herself, and I will her words not to break me.

I nod knowingly, wanting more than anything to reach for her and tug her into my chest, bury my face in her hair, not caring if she chose me or even fucking wants me. If this maddening female would just accept that I'm not going anywhere, would just allow herself to be free from whatever shackles tie her down and have enough sense to let me tie her down instead.

"Kinda like the planet didn't choose to be thrown into a descent into the Middle Ages. And maybe the powers that be became infected by mushy blender brain, too. Because the stupid circle-jerking idiots in charge won't listen to me or my ideas and discount everything I have to say. It's some sort of resentful punishment if you ask me, and I haven't really cared up until now because I wanted to let other people figure it out—decide as a whole. Democracy or whatever. But we are getting fucking nowhere in terms of regenerating firstlight and rebuilding society as it was, before I blew everything to smithereens. And someone's gotta step up to the stupid fucking sunball plate, and throw the first ball, you know?"

Bryce's words tumble out in a frustrated rush. I nod, anger simmering in my gut at the thought of anyone dismissing her, resenting her—my mate. My smart, cunning, wicked, intoxicating, maddening mate. Smarter than all of those flying pieces of shit.

"Is your idea that I kill them all for you?" Not smiling, I search her eyes, conveying I would in a heartbeat.

No... She shakes her head and smiles sadly to herself, like she had already considered it and deemed it a bad idea. Fine.

The look of deep concentration on her face sends my basest male urges into overdrive, needing to touch her, smooth my thumb along her brow, tell her it's all going to be okay.

"Like—we all need our hearts and heads to talk to each other and agree on decisions and shit, right? All beings, everyone, and the world and its power systems," she asks me seriously. A genuine question. I consider it, a little shaken at our separate waves of thought now colliding—my heart and her head as one.

She takes a deep breath, dark amber eyes shining with hope and menace, a huntress ready to spring her trap. "I want to stage a coup against the 33rd, the city heads, the Imperial Senate, and anyone who stands in my fucking way of getting this planet out of the Hel hole I opened."

Pondering the validity of her conviction, she course-corrects, "Maybe not a total coup. A light mutiny, if you will." Her lips quirk and she rubs her hands together like she’s immensely pleased with herself. She looks like she's going to jump out of her skin, body practically vibrating in the silence waiting for my reaction. I don't give her the pleasure of a swift reply.

I nod slowly, mind already racing with calculations and logistics. It's reckless. A bit heavy-handed. But to whatever end...

She blows out her held breath. "Aren't you gonna say something?" Bryce’s uncharacteristically soft voice is demanding but hesitant. I hate how her confidence wavers, even for a moment.

"Why would I speak when it would just impose on your brilliance?" I reply smoothly. She shoots me that look. The one that says 'shut up'.

"As your Queen, I'm ordering you to give me your opinion. Of my magnanimous brilliance." She lifts her chin imperiously. I know she tries her gods damnedest not to wink. Or shoot some sort of finger gun.

I hide a smile. "I think you're onto something, but I'd like to hear the finer details before committing to my opinion. Though I am confident anything is possible as long as we have a good enough plan in place."

Bryce scoffs. "Anything is possible? You’re not going to say ‘that's a terrible idea’? Or ‘why would you do that’? Or even ‘why aren't you just happy to be alive’?"

"No," I say firmly. "I think this is the first good idea you've had in days." I give her a genuine smile, letting her see that I'm serious, and my encouragement seems to hit her like a stone. The realization that I believe in her and she should believe in herself. She had to know there wouldn't be anything that could ever scare me away. Not another male. Not an entire world to save. Not time itself. Especially not a light mutiny.

I want to tell her that I love her. And that means I will never leave her, even if she gives me exponential reasons to give up. I will always find one reason to hold on, even if it damns my soul to Hel for eternity. But the thoughts circle the cavern of my skull. There is a time and place for sharing such unspoken truths. And I wouldn't want to ever pull the shit Lucien did with Elain. The imbecile is still paying for it.

"First things first. Food. Then insurrection." I pull out a stool from the counter. Sit. The silent command doesn't need enforcing, I can tell she's swirling the abyss of her thoughts as she hops onto the seat and slumps, face hanging heavy in her hands. The entire weight of the world on her far too slight shoulders.

I move to snoop under her watchful gaze—my original purpose, my reason to exist—to take care of my mate. But the ice chest is nearly bare; a block of hard cheese, some cream, an old likely forgotten container and a few bottles of sparkling wine are the only remaining options. Apparently the sprites lied about keeping food stocked. Turns out, they don't actually eat, although the pantry has an ample supply of their preferred strawberry shisha for smoking. I spot a lone potato, some coffee beans and tea bags. Glancing back at Bryce, I raise an eyebrow: a single potato? Really?

She just shrugs. "Guess the sprites lied to you. You know they just wanted to follow you into the bedroom." Rolling her eyes at my feigned shock, she adds, "Don't let it go to your head, they do that to everyone."

Keep telling yourself that, Princess.

"Do you even own a pan?" I ask skeptically, wings flaring, shadows opening all of her cabinets at once. If she looks impressed by my obvious showing off, she doesn't give it away.

"Yep. Fully functional kitchen." Pouting, she continues, "Not sure what you're gonna do with a single potato and a block of cheese. I wanted a sandwich." She sighs, with the audacity to be disappointed, as if the troublesome female isn’t about to get a breakfast she would have never eaten in the first place.

"Why don't you let me worry about the food, and you worry about this coup that I doubt you've thought about beyond our first move," I suggest, as kindly as I possibly can.

Bryce ignores that, her mind already jumping to something else. "Wait, I thought you said eating together was like a mating ritual in your world?"

"It is, for the females to serve food to the males," I confirm. "I won't poison the potato. Or curse it with any mating magic. I promise." She doesn’t look entirely convinced.

"Umm, hold on so females have to serve the males food as a mating ritual? Who cooked that up?" She laughs at her own joke, I catch the words under her breath, "Probably Rhysand. Big villain energy."

I chuckle. "No, not even Rhys would create a tradition so diabolical." She huffs like she doesn't believe me.

Bryce watches as I begin, wisps of shadow and glowing blue light from my siphons make a show of the prep work.

"Do you need a knife?" In answer, a dark tendril holds the potato as a blanket of blue light slams down, parsing it into thin strings. Another shadows grabs open the silver drawer for an actual knife, and I give the potato a few cursory chops. I use similar method to slice the block of cheese, handing Bryce bits one at a time, watching her nibble. She accepts with an air of feigned reluctance, eating every single piece I give her, lacing my insides with pure male, primal satisfaction. I am delusional enough to allow myself this one moment of bliss.

Bryce

My left cheek smushes against the counter, absorbing the coolness of the stone as I question all of my life's decisions that have led me here—to my secret basement hideout, eating cheese with a scary male that I probably should have already murdered. But here I am letting him cook for me, invading my space with his heat-inducing scent—because obviously I have lost all sense of sanity and self.

I watch shadows make quick work of the tiny kitchen cooking disaster. Well, not quite a disaster. Big Shadow Daddy knows his way around a knife and a frying pan, much to my dismay. He needs to be bad at something, because I need something to harp on, and it can't be biting me or pinning me down. Because the fucker knows when I'm lying.

The silence is thick enough to cut and makes me want to bash my skull against the countertop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his irking smirk as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking, but I continue to stare absently into the void. Questioning what the Hel I think I am doing. Trying not to watch him show off while he cooks a fucking potato. I would laugh if I wasn't so fucking overwhelmed. Spiraling into that pit of inescapable darkness inside my skull—the governmental grenade I am gearing up to throw, my unsolvable predicament with Hunt, the bleeding out of my fucking soul threatens to pull me under. Not being able to stop any of it. Help myself, anything or anyone anymore. It has been a while since I've felt so out of control. So helpless.

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.

A single unsolicited tear drips out of the corner of my eye, streaming into the stone. Azriel's big irritating head snaps to me, pausing his ministrations.

"Ughhhhh. Allergies." Wiping my eye so he doesn't get any crazy ideas like I need comforting of any sort, I let out a frustrated groan and press my fingers into my eye sockets. Please please please. Don't look at me. Don't watch me spiral.

As if he heard me, the silence hangs like a weighted tapestry between us, letting me fall alone into that doorway of despair. Where I couldn't find my way out of the maze I'd dragged myself into—that I'd dragged everyone into—including the entire fucking world. And now he's here because I let him. My choices bite at my heels, and I accidentally kick the stone base of the counter, stubbing my gods-damn toe. I wince. Ouch. Another sharp glance from Big Head and for an irrational second I think he's going to rush to my feet and inspect my throbbing toe on his knees. I regain consciousness and glare at him, blaming him for the mind numbing toe pain. He white-knuckles the frying pan and flips the pancake with a flick of his wrist in response.

The lingering look of concern on his face says, from tears to sass in seconds?

I cannot, will not allow myself to think that this giant nephilim who can probably read my mind and looks like he was carved from dark marble might be really fucking hot. Or be impressed that he can cook. And seemingly wants to take care of me. Because that is totally creepy and not attractive whatsoever. I will simply use the towering terror for what he can bring to the table, and right now that's a Hel of a lot of power and—thank the gods—breakfast. I'm happy to ignore the rest, it is what I do best.

Ignore the fact that he fucking bit me and it turned me into dripping putty in his hands at the feel of his tongue on my throat. Ignore the claiming, the swooping feeling in my belly every time I felt the bruising spot. That I liked having his mark there. I want to punch myself in the fucking face. The asshole had bit me—hard, and had trapped me against my will, had stalked me, crept into my fucking bedroom while I was asleep. I have to fucking ignore the twisted ideas that made me like the idea of being watched. Ignore the wondering at what he saw when he looked at me, what he did after, if he touched himself. Ignore, that when he pinned me down I almost let my eyes roll back in my head, that I might like how it felt to be caged. Ignore, ignore, ignore the heat rising between my legs, up to my cheeks every time I looked at him. My personal freak flag was screaming red, red, red. And fuck me running if I didn’t really like that color. But I cannot, will not fuck this torturous male tease. He cannot be my mate, for Urd’s sake. I simply won't allow it. And Hunt, especially, wouldn’t allow it. Might kill me for the thought.

There is a guilt inducing angel and a temptingly hot devil facing off on my shoulders. How lovely it would be if they would just get along, play nice together in the sandbox—and if that sandbox were me. My eyelids feel heavy at the thought of having them both at once, pumping in and out of me in tandem, and that familiar throbbing starts again between my legs.

Azriel coughs, clearing his throat and sets a plate in front of me. Embarrassment launches me out of my twisted whorl of confusion and burning desire. But he doesn't seem to care. He's just… watching me. My face burns. I fidget, pressing my thighs together under the weight of his stare. That unreadable mask. Ignoring my obvious discomfort, he nods to me, pushing the plate closer. Go ahead. Eat.

Azriel smiles at me, just barely, and it's impossible to ignore that I don't entirely hate the sight.

Azriel

I finish cooking the large cheesy potato cake. Serving her makes me feel smug as a cat. Feeding my mate feels so right—as if I were meant for only this. In this small nest, this little distraction from the world. But I knew that fate needed more from us. And we had many mountains to climb before we slept.

I can’t help but revel in the small sounds she makes as she takes her first bites of potato. Eyebrows lift as shock registers on her face, and she grumbles begrudging satisfaction. Silence dances between us as we eat.

"A sandwich would have been more impressive." My eyes dart to her clean plate and then back to her own. I don't believe you. She shrugs. She can't think I don't see how uncomfortable I make her, how she masks it with feigned disinterest and hatred. The vexation I cause her is unfortunately equally maddening and adorable. I'd take an eternity of her ire if it meant she would deign to be in my presence for just a little while longer.

“It looks like a night court pleasure hall in here.” I try to smile at her. A beat of her fork hits the plate between us. She gives me a death glare.

“In a good way.” It was meant to be a compliment.

“I particularly like the iron bed, I’ve heard they can help with bad dreams, warding off evil spirits.” I scramble, mentally cursing my loose tongue. This is why I stay silent. She pointedly ignores me, keeping her stare fixed on her empty plate. Thank the Mother. I'm getting far too comfortable saying senseless shit in her presence.

The thought doesn't prevent me from resting my head on my fist, content to simply stare at her, even though I know how unsavory I must look. In an obvious effort to annoy me, she scraps her metal fork against the porcelain, the screech resembling some twisted crescendo from the Court of Nightmares. The fork halts and she gives me her best irritating sigh.

"What now, big guy? Is it time to discuss saving the world or what?"

"Yes. I’ll clean up and we can go back to the chess board. We'll need it."

Content to serve her forever, and wanting her to realize it, I make a show of magically washing the dishes in five seconds flat.

Bryce's eyes widen and shoot up to my face as I realize she’s not as impressed as I had hoped—because she's spotted the lingering burn marks. The two handprints she burned into my leathers have been wreathed in shadow, not allowing her a glimpse of the wounds. I don’t want her to know that I've been letting them fester on purpose.

Hopping off her perch, she strides over and grasps my forearm with an authority I’d gladly beg for. “Umm, what the fuck is this, Azriel? Why haven’t these healed yet?” Her eyes narrow, certain I’m up to something—and of course, she’s right. I don’t react.

"It's nothing." I'm not going to let her make a big deal out of my groveling depravity. My self inflicted punishment.

I try to change the subject. "Got any ink and parchment lying around? We will need it for vetting and planning this light mutiny of yours." It's only a half lie.

Chapter Text

As I catch Bryce moving toward the stairs—the opposite direction of the bed, something seizes all control inside me. Once more, I lose it. I nearly chase after her. She's marching off like a brat, so I send a tendril of shadow to coil around her waist and drag her back into my grasp.

I press her against the nearest wall panel of night sky to stop her from running away from me again. "Where do you think you're going?" Her breath hitches, and her scent shifts. She's a skilled liar, but her body unfortunately is a traitor.

"Back upstairs." She snaps. "To get the ink. And stupid chessboard."

"Ah, but the thing is, I never expected you to let me down here," I counter. Loving how she lets me toy with her.

"Let me go," she argues back, pushing away from me, but I can't let her leave yet. I can't believe I'm even down here with her, in her most sacred space. My basest urges could have already had her trapped in here and she knows it and the thought of it is making me go fucking insane. She had to know this was dangerous.

From the towering angle I can see straight down into her off the shoulder top, and how her hips just out from her waist making me want to run my hands over every inch of her.

I corner her until her back is against the wall and my knee is pressed between her legs. "I must say you wore quite the outfit to spend the day with me." A lecherous compliment, but she needs to know how much I love looking at her. Watching her.

I hear her heartbeat hammering in her throat, "I didn't pick this outfit for you. I only dress for myself." I love when she fights with me, I am only a male after all. She doesn't realize what she's doing to me, how badly I want to bite her fucking lip. So I tug her hair, angling her face upward just the way I want it, hover just over her mouth until she parts for me. That's it. She only fights me for a second, her fists pressing against my chest right before she melts into my hold and our mouths collide, our tongues sweep over each other in long hot strokes.

Shoving her harder against the wall, I pull her legs up around me. Gods, having her in my arms feels so godsdamn perfect. Feeling her soft skin in my hands and pressing her breasts against my chest is intoxicating. She must think so too because she's arching into me, moaning into my mouth, pulling me closer, and it's everything I've ever fucking wanted in my entire cursed existence.

"You fight dirty," she whines against my mouth.

I reply with my fingers, because fuck it I've lost it, running them up the inside of her thigh until I reach the moist fabric of her leggings. "Does fighting with me make you wet, Bryce? We can fight harder if that's what you want."

She tenses before pulling away from my mouth. "No—I—shouldn't want this, shouldn't be doing this, with you—I'm still mad at you for biting me and all of the other shit." She pants.

The more she struggles to get away, the harder I hold her down. I am done pretending to be good.

"Azriel, I'm serious—we can't." She whispers.

"Why?" I ask, completely serious. I don't give a fuck about anything or anyone else.

"Because you shouldn't be here! Because Hunt! Because you stalked me! And trapped me and bit me among other things—and now you're here, making me…"

"Making you what?" I tease with a grin. I'm not making her do anything she doesn't want as much as I do. She can’t still think she can lie to me.

"Making me like you dammit!"

Cauldron, she's absolutely stunning when she's furious. Even as her hand slaps me hard across the cheek.

"Believe it or not, I have gotten this complement quite a lot."

She rolls her eyes, hitting my chest with a frustrated ugh that I want to hear again.

"What? Am I supposed to believe you're some panty dropping ladies male?"

I shrug. I can't help the truth. I play the only card I have left, "Alright, then leave again, if that's what you want. Don't let me stop you this time."

She does that cute thing with her chin again, pointing it up at me like she's mad at me for forcing her hand, "No… I don't want to leave. I want to…"

"Want to what? Why are you okay with me here in the first place, princess?"

As her mouth opens to reply, she pauses. "Forget it." She pushes me away again, moving for the stairs. But I block her.

"Come on now. You're not going to let me win so easily? What is it you want, Bryce?" I taunt.

"You already know what I want. Don't you? With your scary mind reading abilities mixed with special mating magic or however it is your stupid powers work."

I snort, closing in on her again. "Not entirely correct. I think I know what you want, but I want to hear you say it." A beat of too long silence between us has me thinking I've overplayed my hand like a reckless idiot. But the Gods are smiling on me today—

"I want you, Azriel, okay?! I want you to fuck me down here until I get my fill, scratch this godsdamn itch then get you the Hel out of my life. Happy now?"

Not quite. I do the best to keep the smile off my face, but again, I am but a lowly male. And she can't say shit like that without consequences. I smile despite myself.

"Ugh! Shut the Hel up! You did know what I wanted and made me say it anyway!" She makes for the spiral stairs and this time I don't stop her. Content to let her think she could ever possibly get away from me. If she wants to play games…

Like Hel I would lose. I easily appear in front of her, lifting her small frame by the waist and tossing her over my shoulder. The fight she puts up isn't entirely convincing. If she really wanted down, she'd be fighting much harder. She can be mad at me all she wants, but she's not getting away from me this time. And she knows it. And I know she wants this.

"You're done being a brat, Bryce," I tell her as I smack her ass hard, heading for the iron four poster at the other end of the room. My thoughts have completely eddied away at this point—the only truth I knew at this point is that if Bryce told me what she wanted. Bryce told me she wanted me, and well… who am I to deny a Queen such a simple request? Every logical reason I shouldn't do this has been shadowed by her words, knowing she wants me, is choosing me. I could give a cauldron boiling fuck about anything else.

As I gently set her down on the bed, she looks around at the changing paneling before gazing up to me. The enchanted walls, even the ceiling have turned into mirrors. We are surrounded by the glorious view of me towering over her from every possible angle. The picture of me—an undeserving bastard—about to get everything I've ever fucking wanted from a divine goddess.

"This is what you want, isn't it? If you want to back out, you have one more chance."

Bryce takes one look at me, eyes sparkling and she leaps into me, throwing her arms around my neck and wrapping her legs around me. Before I can think, her lips crash onto mine, soft and sucking, as if she’s claiming me, if only for this one moment. Thank fuck.

I bury my hands in her hair at the nape of her neck and kiss her with frantic need. Pulling her bottom lip between my teeth, I bite the tender flesh just to hear her gasp into my mouth. And just as I expected, she bites me back like I needed her to, nipping my lip between her teeth so hard it hurts. We are a frenzy of biting teeth and stroking tongues, my undeserving hands in her hair and hers gripping the scales of my armor. I take it off in a blink.

Picking her up, I press her into the mirror, grinding my aching cock against her, already leaking at the tip just at the thought of being inside her. I cannot fucking come in my pants like Cassian, but my cock has been throbbing for the past hour. At this point, I am painfully hard.

Fuck, she's humming into my mouth, so without thinking I rip off her shirt and yank her pants down past her ass, just barely giving myself the access I need to feel the lacy under garments. I let out a growl when she eagerly tries to spread her legs wider for me. My hands hook under her thighs and she clings easily to me as I grind against her again. I want to tear my cock out of my leathers and fuck her right here against the mirrored wall but I refrain. As badly as I need this, I have to remind myself that she is the one in control. For this part, at least.

But her eagerness is obvious as she fumbles with the fastenings on my pants. I smile, letting her work for it, while I'm sliding down her bra straps to find her waiting breasts. I immediately have one in my mouth, so soft and beautiful between my teeth.

Fuck, I need to be inside her. Not even time itself could stop me now.

My control snaps again, and I can't take another second of teasing, not being buried deep inside her, claiming her. I carry her to the bed and stare down at her before I climb over her body with my swollen, throbbing cock between us.

I'm spiraling, needing to do so much more to her, but I can only focus on the beautiful female--my mate--in front of me that I desperately need to be inside. Just this once. My head is spinning as her lush thighs embrace me around my waist and her warm hand wraps around my cock, the room disappears around us into the void.

I'm rutting against her, my shaft seeking out the comfort of her body like it knows that's where it belongs. Those beautiful, thick thighs are tight around my waist, and I'm resting comfortably in the warmth of her legs willingly myself not to come all over her. She looks like she enjoys watching my control shatter, "Easy big guy."

My mouth doesn't leave her, not for a second. I can't stop, because if I do, I'll realize what a bad idea this is. I'll remember that this moment is fleeting, and even if she's letting me touch her now, when we're both done, she'll leave me for him, and go back to hating me forever, possibly even killing me when she learns the truth.

So I slam down on my mental shields, and shut out the thoughts and slide my hands down over her full breasts and soft stomach to the sweet aching center between her legs. When I dip my calloused finger in her heat, I find her dripping and it makes me groan so low and guttural against her neck I sound practically feral.

"Oh, Bryce. You're so wet for me." Gods, I want to call her princess, tease her, keep being mean to her, anything to stall myself from coming all over her stomach like a fucking amateur.

"Then fuck me already, Azriel. I'm tired of waiting," Pulling my face to hers, she stares at me with an all too serious expression. "Please. I need to feel you." She begs.

My body is covered in icy fire, goosebumps over every inch of my skin, more turned on by her one little plea than I've ever been in my entire life. She has me so completely tangled in her web, I'd do anything, destroy myself and the universe entirely if she so much as asked.

Bryce has always been mine. Even if I have never been hers.

Maybe it was always meant to come to this—and the gods were letting me have this one good thing—so I slide the head of my cock just a few inches into her wet heat, watching her face as I do. And I know she's watching the mirrored ceiling behind me. I freeze, the head of my cock just barely pressed inside her.

"Bryce," I say, bringing her attention to my face. "Eyes on me, beautiful. I need to see you."

The amber eyes I've been dying to look at me in this exact position gaze into my soul with something like trust as I thrust my cock in, piercing her tightness and pushing in until I'm almost all the way inside--but not quite.

She whimpers, not taking her eyes off of mine. Obeying. I stare at her with my mouth hanging open in reverent awe, amazed at how right this feels and how beautiful she is, and how much I want to stay here forever.

Gods, I can't remember how long it's been since I've felt like this... Never. How much I needed to feel it—this unspeakable feeling.

Everything about this with Bryce is better than perfect. The warmth of her body, the feel of her legs holding me close, the bond burning silvery gold pulsing between between us as we gaze into each other's eyes, our souls finally joining.

"Fuck, you feel so good," I growl. I wish she knew how much this moment means for me. How long I've waited to feel anything like this—over five hundred fucking years. I don't move, remaining buried inside her, and savoring the sensation without seeking friction, although the desire to move and rut inside of her is maddening and shredding my control to ribbons.

"You're so big," she laughs, her fingers reaching down to the place where our bodies are fused, running over the unsheathed base of my cock and down to where it disappears between her sex. With each small pass of her hand, I fight the urge to pump into her, and the smug look on her face says she really enjoys torturing me.

"Am I hurting you?" I grit out.

"I just need to adjust… to the stretch."

Leaning down, I kiss her pretty pink lips, softer than before. Not out of need to taste her, but the need to savor every second of this moment. To memorize the taste of her lips and pretend for a moment that I wasn't so wrong in the head and could be the guy for her—forever.

Bryce pulls away from my kiss and wraps her hands around my face.

"Azriel," she murmurs, staring up at me with heavy lids and lust filled eyes, "fuck me now. Please."

"Anything you want, princess."

Biting her bottom lip, I pry it from her mouth with my teeth, biting it back.

"I bet you want it hard, don't you?"

Blushing, she nods. It's all I need.

Losing control, I grab the headboard in one hand, bracing myself with the other, and I slam into her, watching her face. She cries out, and I watch her breathy moans of pleasure, mouth open and head back, as I pound inside of her.

Bryce's moans are sweet and loud, her sharp nails dig into my neck and shoulder, and I have to do everything in my power not to come too soon, because everything is fucking perfect. Her body under me, her voice, her face, her breaths coming short and fast telling me she's getting close.

And that's when I say fuck it and let my shadows pin her hands up to the headboard, and I take her ankles over my shoulders. Phantom shadowy hands swirl around each of her breasts, tugging on her nipples in tandem as I steadily drive into her. I watch her gasp as I rub and swirl my thumb over that perfect spot between her legs with each thrust of my cock. The image of her eyes rolling back is utter perfection, and I burn it into my memory forever.

"More," she begs and I press my body over hers, deepening the angle. She's almost taking me to the hilt. We move in perfect harmony, and the look on her face says she's nearing her edge with each press of my thumb.

But I'm not ready to be done with her yet. I can't lie to myself. I know now I'll never be done with her—I'll never want to pull out of her. I'm never going to let her go.

Shifting back to my knees, I slow my pounding back to steady pumps inside her, curl my free hand around her ass and press a finger inside her other hole.

"Yes, yes, yes, more, more, more, right there, right there." She's whining and I can't deny giving her exactly what she's begging for.

Our eyes meet while I'm buried deep inside her, and I briefly panic that none of this can be fucking real—but it is. I've never felt this close to a female I was fucking, let alone stared into their godsdamn eyes wanting to swim in their soul. It hurts it feels so good.

"Please. Don't stop," She nearly sobs. Reaching down, I finger her clit harder, faster. She's squirming and humming with pleasure, and I know what she wants.

"Look at me while I fuck you. Keep your eyes right here while you come, I want to watch you," I grab her chin and she whines at the missing contact on her clit. "Shhh. I'm right here." She's almost there, "Come for me, baby. Show me."

"Oh gods, I'm gonna come," she sobs in a breathy cry, her back arches, nails biting into her palms in their restraints, the muscles of her legs spasming over my shoulders. And I unload in her, fucking her hard and fast, losing sense of everything else in the room, the universe, nothing exists but her and me and the feeling of spilling my seed in her tight heat squeezing around my cock.

I stare down to where we are connected as I continue to spill inside of her over and over, and just like that ending my celibacy with the one person in the world I'd been dreaming about my entire life.

I just prayed the Mother and every God in the known universe wouldn't want to curse me for what I'd just done.

Guilt has me releasing her legs from my shoulders and curling onto the bed next to her shaking body, still riding the high of her release. I pull her in tight to my chest, not allowing her the chance to climb out of the bed or put her clothes on, not letting her consider the possibility of ever leaving me again. What surprises me more than it should have was Bryce tilting her head up to me and laughing, "Let's do that again."

Chapter Text

Just as I was pulling my mattress mussed hair into a bun in hopes of many more not quite afternoon delights, my phone vibrated across the nightstand. I hesitate before picking it up when I see the picture on the caller ID. 

"Ruhn Danaan, Ex Prince of the Valbaran Fae, Crowned Douche of Shooting his Mate in the Leg," is calling.

"Heeeyyy, Ruhnie Tunes."

"Bryce. Where the fuck are you?" Ruhn snaps. "Why has Hunt been flying solo for all of his senate seat announcement press conferences this morning? I asked him where you were and he said you were at the gallery. Doing fuckin' what? Reading smut while your mate falls on his sword?"

"Nice, as usual, brother. If you must know I'm working. I've got a lot of shit to do. Big save the world project."

"Bullshit." He spat. 

"Not total bullshit..." I flop back over onto the bed, rubbing at my forehead. "Ruhn, Hunt and I had a fight. I'm still… figuring some things out. And I really need someone on my side right now. So, can you please lay the fuck off?"

Silence. Then a sigh. "Shit. Yeah, yeah, fine. I knew things were tense between you two, but damn. And you know I'm always on your side. Is everything okay, B?"

I swallow my deceit. "Yeah, everything is just peachy. Call ya later."

The moment I hang up, I feel those searing eyes on me. I turn to find Azriel watching, his head cocked slightly resting on his fist, shadows curling around his shoulders.

"Why did you lie?" he asks softly.

I stiffen. "I didn't." 

He smiled like he could see straight through me. "You did. About being okay."

I don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I stretch out on the bed like a cat, letting the silence settle, pretending my body wasn't still thrumming from him. Pretending I wasn’t hiding down here from the world. That I hadn’t come here deliberately, knowing what would happen. What it would mean.

If actions spoke louder than words, then I didn't want to know what the Hel my actions said about me. That I was a dignity flinging whore with my mush brain in a bat blender, probably. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Ignore my problems, and they will go away. Bigger potato pancakes to fry.

Because right now there are no problems to be had. Azriel's dark wings cocooning around me after multiple orgasms is certainly not a problem. For now. Until I face the inevitable 'To Hel and Back Again—A Harlot’s Tale by Bryce Quinlan'. 

I have to make these mirrors go the fuck away. Don't need to look at myself while I am having these very stupid, awful and immoral thoughts. Don't need to see a picture of myself at the lowest rung of my integrity. Don't need any reminders of how much of a disappointment I am. What I've become.

Azriel growls, grabbing for me. Like the predator he is. Like he can hear my thoughts succumbing to the darkness inside of me.

I deflect. It's what I do best, “Show me how you think the whole 'I can turn our power into firstlight' shit is gonna work. Or whatever fancy trick it is you think our combined power can do.” 

Hulking over me with incredible panty dropping menace he does that stupid thing with my chin again, making me look at him, and my entire body goes slack with the need to obey, “What would you have done if you’d sent me away?” 

Is he really trying to insinuate I figure this shit out myself? Solas, he is such an asshole.

“I would’ve figured it out my fucking self.” I cross my arms, my only measure of self-protection at this point. I am naked after all. I wish this secret basement hide-out had a godsdamn closet. 

And to his point, I would’ve had to figure it out. Had no other choice. I basically lived in the damn library of Parthos. It would’ve only been a matter of time. Though this knowledge share route seems faster, even though he is taking his Gods blessed time explaining how the fuck this is all going to work. 

He's got that dumb ancient checkerboard again. He had disappeared, showing back up in seconds, laying it on the bed at our feet much to my lust addled irritation. 

Can't this guy read the sparkly pink room? We’re in the godsdamn bone zone. 

He sits up on his knees, and I lose my breath at the sight of him. Naked, covered in tattoos, hard, oh so very fucking sculpted abs framed by those dark wings. Holy gods. My mouth waters. His voice is gravelly, “Give me your hand. I’m going to teach you how to play chess. But first you’re going to help me create the pieces.” He rumbles, his shadows brushing loose hairs out of my face, tucking pieces behind my ear. Presumptuous much? 

I groan and swat. Mother fucker. I do not want to do this shit. Not now. 

"Not when you look like that.” I tease. Huge. Dark. Edible. I need about five thousand more rides from him, starting with my mouth riding his dick. This itch isn't anywhere near scratched yet. But he doesn’t react. His near soulless mask is back in place, and I hate it.

I try to provoke him with giggles, “That tickles! What are you playing at, Az.” I smack his shadows from around my face as I realize I've used his actual nickname. Oops. Go away, growing attachment. 

“Hand.” He commands and my legs go slightly jelly even though I'm lying down. I reluctantly slap out my hand as heat once again pools in between my thighs. Azriel pulls me up by the hand to mirror his kneel, our skin brushing, our hands create a halo. A circle of light and dark. A horizon line in between. The beginning and the end and life itself lay between us, inside our palms.

“Now, focus on making a small game piece. I suggest a deadly queen. Perhaps with a sword. The game's most powerful piece. You.” I swear he gives me something very close to an actual smile—with teeth. Did I just witness a single dimple forming? 

Focus, B. Impress him, let him know you’re hot for teacher, and you can blow him afterward as a reward. 

I like the idea of creating myself as a little sculpture. Kinda like the video games Hunt likes to play—my favorite part is creating the avatar in my mirror image. I won’t deny I occasionally enjoy playing God. 

Focusing my mind's eye, I visualize myself and blue light flares in front of my lids. I open them to find light and dark weaving together, now tinged with blue. Ice crystallized over the piece, carving my mind's image into something hard. Me on Jelly Jubilee—the sword and knife raised over my head. 

“Perfect. Good girl.” His growling nod of obvious pride and approval does something to me that I don't want to look further at. I try not to dissolve into starlight at his praise.

“Easy peasy.” I brush phantom dirt off my shoulder. So not affected.

“Our magic can generate anything we wish. We are conduits and conductors of all shades light, our magic is the raw essence of life and the lack thereof. I believe our combined power could regenerate in a constant stream if channeled properly."

I can't help but roll my eyes at Mr. Male Explains It All, "Do you even know what those words mean?" 

"Do you?" He gives me a look that says, don't lie. 

“I’ve already told you I don’t know how any of this shit works… and I don't really care to start learning now. I'd prefer to do more of that thing with my legs behind your head.” I waggle my eyebrows at him against all better judgement, content to let my bad decisions fester in the open wound of my psyche. And for some reason, I think he knows that. Is holding back because of it. I don't know what to fucking think anymore. My brain feels like scrambled eggs because I really wish he was scrambling my ovaries right now.

“You will care, because it'll solve all your problems. We can put your legs behind my head again later." He grins but his smile falters before he continues.

"I read something before I came to… visit you. A forgotten text from our world's oldest library—how humans created something called elec-tricity, raw energy, from the earth itself. There is hardly mention of it—all the records of it were burned. It explained how to harness the power from a planet's elements. And this made me think about… you. Our combined power—what it could do if it were combined into something else. If a preexisting well exists, something that previously distributed power, we could channel our power into it. We could then create structures to harness the planet’s energy sources that rely on no one, only the planet’s wellbeing. Our power would be nothing more than a temporary patching, until the planet could help itself.”

“Elec-tricity, huh?" I can't help but laugh at him, he's so fucking cute when he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, and especially when he can't pronounce things properly. Why the Hel does that make me melt?

"We have that here. But it's not… elemental. It doesn't power our shit unless it's from a person's power. I do like the idea… but it's sure as Hel not a perfect plan.”

"It will be once we have a strategy. Allow me a tactical tangent." He gestures to the stupid board I thought we were done with again. I groan. Ugh. More sucky fuck-y less show and tell-y please. My eyes wither to say I guess but I'm still naked. 

"The goal of chess is to pin the king—checkmate. Who would be considered the high king here, the one we need to back into a corner?" 

"I… don't know. I kind of already took down the empire and ended a monarchy. We have lots of different elected officials now—and they all exist to mainly jack each other off." A breath of a laugh escapes him, and I don't know why it laces my insides with satisfaction. Why I want to make him laugh again.

"In my world, this game is played by the rules of the gods—Gods' Chess. Meaning the pieces replenish, and the game never ends; the never ending cycle leading to infinite draws. The rules became popular in my world because Fae legends spoke of an ancient game, a popular bedtime story. Light was played by Fate herself against the darkness; a spider who could spin universes versus giant snake who could end them all in a single squeeze. Their game of chess used their most favored children as living pieces; the Gods. Not just gods, but beings of a higher, different existence. Beings for whom time was fluid, and bodies were things to be shifted and molded. Who could exist in multiple places, spread themselves wide like nets being thrown. They were as mighty and vast and eternal as a human was to a mayfly. They had struck some bargain with fate herself, to at last free them of being used as pawns, banishing all of the darkness with them. Leaving a clean slate. The game would've been ended however the snake took the spider’s queen, rendering her useless against ever pinning the king, but he loved her enough to keep the game going for eternity. The Gods' bargain to free themselves from the game was broken by the mortals they themselves used as pawns. So, the game continued. The players playing for eternity, in infinite iterations, the universe and time as their board. All that to say; Gods' chess is a long game. So, back to the strategy to pin your king, if you had an entire row of powerful people that were taken out; who would replace them? Start there." 

"Uhm. What in the gods blessed video game are you talking about? Are you talking about… real people… or chess people?" 

"Real people, obviously. Who do we have to defeat to win?"

I scoff. "Well, okay dork—the city heads, territory governors and the Imperial senate all currently hold the cards—their idea of democracy is circling the drain of ineffectual change." 

"And who holds their strings?"

"I'm… not sure? I kind of flipped it so that our people have a voice now in whatever the fuck the Big Cheeses are up to. There is also money involved. Controlling interests from donors and shit I don't fucking care about. It makes this metaphorical game feel a bit rigged."

"We need to get our pawns to meet the other end of the board, so to speak. That’s called crowning a Queen. It’s always a good strategy." 

"Tell me why the fuck this is relevant again?" I start idly touching myself to distract him from continuing with this bullshit. I yawn dramatically. 

"Because like in fairy tales and wartime stories, chess is a game about hidden queens, castles, their court and the kings that use them all as pawns for protection. If we want to take over your world's power grid, we need to identify the controllers, develop a strategy to get around them, and give them no choice but to either draw or submit." 

"Okay fine, I get it. So, I need to build a team—The Stalker Squad. Team Stalker. What are your thoughts on tee shirts?" I smile and poke him in his eighteenth ab.

A shadow grabs my foot, flipping me on my back, the gleam in his eyes has enough audacity to look threatening. Not like he's going to suck my toe, but like he's going to yank my foot to the bedpost and tie it there without my consent. Yes, please. 

"Who are you thinking, Princess?" He pierces me with that ambiguous stare that makes me need to know what the fuck he's thinking. He's so damn hard to read. He's giving me absolutely nothing except for his sexy smart brain which is unfortunately very fucking hot. Even if I am a little bored. 

"Ink and parchment, please." He flicks a hand to summon the supplies to him. 

"Fancy trick." I grind out. Trying so hard not to be very impressed. I start talking and he starts writing notes and drawing little symbols on the parchment. Pressing the ink pen into the wounds on his own forearm when he thinks I'm not paying attention. 

"My brother Ruhn and my friend Ithan. They'd back me up in a heartbeat. Ruhn's two idiot friends, Thing 1 and Thing 2, have unfettered access to pretty much any kind of network in the city I would need… where would I put them if they were my top dogs?"

Azriel pulls me to my knees to grab my hands again, cupping his much larger ones around mine. "Here. Make four pieces. Two knights and two bishops. Focus your power. Create them."

Together, Azriel and I make four ice blue pieces within the palms of our hands: Ruhn and Ithan both riding dreadwolves with raised swords, Flynn and Dec in headset helmets. Admiring my little sculptures, I can feel Azriel's heated gaze never leaving me. His ice-cold mask is practically beaming with feral delight, even if he refuses to show it. I can feel him. It. Whatever it is. And I don’t want to deny it. The feeling makes me all swirly-whirly stupid inside. 

"We've established you're the queen, of course." Infuriating smart ass. "Make three more pieces—two castles and a king. Then eight pawns in front of them."

"I don't like the idea of thinking of my friends as 'my pawns'. Seems fucked up." 

"This is a war game. Pawns can be highly strategic. In a game of structures, they are the soul, don't let their name fool you. But they’re also your sacrificial lambs. It's complicated. The goal is getting some sort of advantage and capitalizing on the other team’s mistakes."

"What about the castles? What do they do?" I’m really loving this whole holding Azriel’s rough hands while I stare into his hazel eyes and try not to swoon at this big hot naked hard professor. Keep on a small mask, even if he can see right through it. We make two cute tiny icy blue glass castles.

"Castles give your king an advantage and protect him. The king is the weakest piece on the board, but still somehow the entire game is about him." 

"Is this the part where you joke about being my king?"

He looks dejected, sad even. I don't know why I hate myself for making the joke. I shouldn't care, but it hurts for some reason I don't want to place. My fickle half human heart.

"I wouldn't dare consider it. I think you know who you need to protect. Although, I do forget his name…"

"Fine, so Hunt's the metaphorical king? I guess you and Lidia can be castles. Whatever, I’m tired. Can you just tell me what to do and be done with it so we can have some more fun." I’m not above whining and begging for another ride on the batman.  

"Who are your eight pawns?" I kick my feet in protest and pout.

"I hate this. I don't want to use my friends as game pieces." 

"Not even for an exercise in the greater good?" He stares at me. Why is his eye contact so hot? Damn him.

I roll my eyes. "Fine if it'll help you get to the fucking point… let's see, I'd want Queen Hypaxia. She's pretty much the baddest witch on the planet. She's smart as shit. My mer friend Tharion, a total dunce, but well connected when his head isn't on the chopping block. Sacrificial for sure. You said I need eight?"

He nods for me to continue, "Baxian is an angel who can shift into a dog which comes in kinda handy. June and Fury, I mean I haven't talked to them in a while, but they're my ride or die girlfriends." A snake feels like it's twisting around my heart. I miss them. I wonder what they'd think of me right now. Doing all of this—with this big scary asshole. 

"I don't think we will even need half of these pieces to accomplish our goal anyway..." He basically growls at me. Fine, fine, fine!

"Jeez. Okay, Grouch-riel. But I need Fury, she's scary as shit and a bad ass." He just gives me an annoyed shrug. Ooo-kay. "And June could provide a pretty distraction." A single nod, a silent command. Continue. 

"Three more. Be smart about it. Not the fire sprites—" It seems like he found a soft spot. 

"I need them to guard the books anyway. I… don't know who else I really trust right now besides my family and they’re a big fat nope. I don't know if I trust Hunt either to be honest and you've apparently put him on our team and I’m getting really fucking tired of this game. Why don’t you just tell me what to do." I stick my lip out, grabbing his shoulders to climb him like the big rock hard pole he is. Thankfully he gladly allows the aggravated assault. Big guy, take me away.

"I put him on our side because I know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if it were otherwise. And you'd gladly sacrifice yourself to save him if the scenario ever arose." He grits out. Looking upset, but also with something that absolutely cannot be admiration. What the Hel. Why so serious. 

"Yeah," I breathe out. "I guess you're right… I hate how the fuck you know that about me by the way." His grip in my hair is hard enough to keep me from tonguing him.

"Why?"

"It makes me… feel uncomfortable. Heebie jeebies and what not. I just don't like you psychoanalyzing me." Because, ew, vulnerability. 

"I can't help it. I am psych-o for you... I am truly sorry." His look is so deeply sincere and apologetic that it makes me want to laugh. He is so fucking adorable—okay no, not allowing it. Cannot think he is adorable any further. Even if I'd rather be sucking on his big, adorable dick right now.

“How psycho?” My evil side is feeling right at home. Cozy, even. I strain against his hold and inch forward toward him, pressing and grinding my sex against his washboard abs to tease him. Let's test these ridges shall we?

Azriel looks relieved at my insistence to move on from chess and move back on to his cock.  Because he's staring at my mouth, and my clit is quivering. My turn to be on top this time. 

But a dark idea lights like the dawn inside me. Someone is whispering in the back of my mind. Something I can't stop myself from saying, from testing out. The question I’d been wondering for a while. I relax my head back into his fist in my hair, content to languidly pounce on my tall hot victim.

"How psycho are you for me, Azriel? I’ve always wondered when it came to mates…  would you be able to feel my pain as if it were your own...? Should we test it out?" My catlike gaze drifts up to him. Azriel shoots me a warning look. I laugh, but he doesn't. 

“I know it's a crazy question, but... I’ve died before, if you didn't know, and I was just wondering… Did you feel it? An entire world away?” I tempt him with another grind of my hips against his middle.

He looks disturbed. Cautious and calculating. Like he's about to lie to me. Lucky him that he's, unfortunately, mated to me and I can smell his spymaster bullshit on him from a mile away.

"You were on an entirely different planet when I died. When I defeated the Asteri. Right, Azriel?" My heart is racing now.

If he was here the whole time…

Maybe he came to Midgard after I died? Before somehow? Or did he space stalk me after I left his world? I know I’m close but can’t shake the feeling I’m getting some stupid spymaster version of the truth. And I need to know what the Hel he isn't telling me. 

Azriel

Shit, shit, shit, fuck. How the fuck is she asking me this question right now? When I haven't even solved everything for her? When I still have five days left here before my truth would arrive. Five days left until she would kill me. I'd already gladly handed her the knife to do it.

I just needed more time. A little more time until the moment I'd already planned. I promise to the Mother, the Cauldron, and every godsdamn deity willing to listen that I won't touch her again—I wouldn't lose myself to this reckless lust filled hunger that threatened to destroy everything. I'd keep control. Be disciplined. Stick to the godsdamn plot I crafted so carefully.

“Of course I was on an entirely different planet when you died. And yes, if you must know, I believe I felt it.” I say, managing a tone that's almost convincing. It's not entirely a lie. When she'd fallen into that black hole taking the Asteri down with her, I'd been worlds away feeling her die helplessly from afar, the tether withering away in my chest, causing my spiral into this current insanity. But she doesn’t need to know the details. I pivot swiftly, praying she won't see straight through my small deception. "We need to talk about the game we're playing, not just the pieces." I toss her into the pillows. “Listen and behave.” I tut. 

Her skeptical look tells me she sees far too much already. I see you too, Princess.

"The sun, wind, water, stone, and earth—their elemental power," I pivot and resort to pacing again. "These five things will save your world. The planet has everything it needs to heal itself; it just requires our guidance."

"Dude," she says, disbelief etched across her infuriatingly gorgeous face. "Are you okay? You're jumping around like an actual psychopath. I'm not following."

I exhale sharply, irritation simmering beneath my skin as I pace entirely naked, thoughts spinning in violent circles. I pretend not to notice how her gaze heats as it travels over me, though I'd be lying if I said it didn't stroke my ego. I am fucking loving it, even if it makes me feel guilty as Hel.

"Try to listen, and get your head out of the gutter," My eyes gleam in challenge, she looks like she wants to pounce on me and my gods does it make me want to fuck her into the mattress she's lying on. But I can't. We can't. It will only make her hate herself more, and that's counterproductive to my—our goals. She needs help whether she likes it or not. Whether I like it or not.

"The first move: we'll provide the temporary power to this 'grid'—the energy well your world depends upon. Once stabilized, our combined power can begin healing the decaying land." Her gaze lingers dangerously, distracting. I push forward, forcing myself to evade her siren call. Bryce only pouts. Again. Fuck.

"Our second move: we'll forge a dam to halt the spread of decay, using the same magic we used to create the chess pieces. Team Stalker will infiltrate and divert Team Loser's attention, allowing us to operate unnoticed."

I tap impatiently on the sketch of a pinwheel I drew earlier. "Moves three and four involve building and placing turbines—using magic, crystal, stone or any conduit of your choosing. Whatever you think is best, of course." I raise an eyebrow, daring her to deny me.

"Once positioned, these elements—water, wind, sun, and the earth itself—can endlessly sustain the planet, independently. Five moves to win. Or at least, to force a draw."

She rubs her temples, clearly overwhelmed. But she doesn't argue. For once. Instead, she just looks at me slack-jawed with an appreciation that twists something deep inside my chest. And damn, I relish it. Need more of it. Haven’t had enough of it in my love starved existence. 

"Those in power will have no choice but to fund these new systems; as it benefits their own survival and the threat of rebellion against them disappears. You maintain position and control over the new system preventing it from being usurped by those with ill intent," I continue, feeling confidence surge back into my veins. "Even the flooding would become an advantage. Harnessing excess wind and water with turbines would turn chaos into salvation. It won't matter how much that jackass makes it rain."

I roll my eyes skyward, plotting countless ways to dismantle said jackass from my mate's life entirely.

"Any questions?"

Her laugh erupts unexpectedly, genuine and wild, sending cauldron boiling heat flooding through me. "Uhh… yeah, like five thousand. Turbines? Earth and stone magic? You made a world walking business trip to tell me all this? What in the fuckity fucking fuck are you even talking about, Big Guy?"

Her smirk widens, devastatingly wicked. "Come here, nerd. I'm horny." She whines out the last syllable and the sound shoots straight to my dick.

Shadows dart to pin her wrists and ankles, and she hisses. Apologies, again, princess. 

Of course, she has no idea I'd spent endless days poring over texts from Helion’s libraries, hidden behind the pretense of another mission. The truth was, I'd learned something profound about my own power—the silicon stone from the mountains I’d called home was at its core. Raw, unfiltered energy, waiting to be shaped.

Her magic, combined with mine, could create anything we wanted—violet, shimmering power like dawn and dusk entwined. The alpha and omega. The beginning and the end and life in-between. We could save the world, and we could engineer the world to sustain itself.

Her tightening voice breaks my train of thought. "Why do you even give a shit about any of this? About me?" She looks so beautiful tied up; I burn the picture of her at my mercy into the veins of my memory forever. 

I stare deeply into her eyes, unable to stop myself from revealing something vulnerable. "I give a shit about this—about you—because you’re mine. Every part of you. Your problems, your world, your needs, your safety. All of it. Mine. I don’t care about anything else.”

“Wow, nice--possessive, aggressive and sympathy induced. Love it.” She breathes.

My shadows tighten, twirling around the four posters and pulling her body taut in four directions, a subtle reminder not to be such a brat, “Don’t mistake my caring as sympathy for you. I look at you and it’s like looking in a mirror, knowing only luck separates your fate and mine. Your problems and my own, your world or mine. I am here to stay. To help you. To die for you. To cross universes for you, if need be. And I don’t give a gods blessed fuck what anyone, including you, says about it." Maybe too far.  

Her shocked expression punches through me, sharper than any blade. Of course, she couldn’t think I would ever abandon her or her planet to ruin. It was always part of this greater mission I'd disguised so cleverly. All the pretending, teasing, taunting—it was to get her to accept this very solution. 

I found her key in my world. And I'd escaped my lock to find her.

But now, I was trapped again—in the agonizing truth that though I was entirely hers, she would never truly belong to me. Until the truth set us both free. 

Chapter Text

The bands of shadows dissolve around me relinquishing the delicious tightness that pulled me in four unmovable directions. My ass plops on the bed in a disappointed huff. What a tease.

“Well thanks for solving all my world’s problems…" I rise up on my elbows. "Postponing the kinky sex on your stalker agenda?”

“For now.”

“Pretending you’re not dying to tie me up and fuck me is beneath you, you lascivious not so little liar. I must say this is not how I saw this going and I’m thoroughly disappointed.” I stick my lip out in an exaggerated pity inducing manner that hopefully will end with his cock poking at it in response. Because I know it drives him crazy.

The thrall of lust and want swim through my head like insidious clouds. Magnificent and hazy thoughts bubble around my psyche. If Big Scary doesn’t want to have fun anymore, I’ll just have to tempt him into submission like he did with me. Prick. If he wants to play games, well, check fucking mate baby.  Time for the Queen’s Gambit.

“My love language is touch, you know.” My hands cup my breasts, and my fingers begin to swirl over my dusky pink nipples. “Without it, I have a hard time expressing myself.”

Azriel lets out an agitated grunt. Oh, I’m so winning this game. Pawn of my dignity to D4.

“Hugs, kisses, and cuddles are my favorite.” I give him a genuine smile, “but it’s not the only kind of touch that does it for me. I don’t mind it rough.” Azriel white knuckles the bed post, never taking his eyes off me. Content to watch. And okay, maybe, I like being watched, just a little bit. Especially when my Sulky Stalker looks like that. Looking at me like I’m somehow the center of his entire universe. Like I am his sun and stars and he’s the darkness in between. 

“What about you, Bigs? What’s your love language?” My voice is breathy. He gives me a look that says what the Hel are you getting at? 

“I bet you’re the same as me. Touchy feely kinda guy. You don’t seem the type to be brimming with words, clearly.” I snort, continuing my self-indulgent roaming as he glares at me. 

“Not very gift oriented either.” 

He scoffs at me. “Your version of revisionist history?” 

“Flowers-smowers, if you must know my affections can’t be purchased with anything but jewels—them’s the rules…” I sigh and bite my lip, continuing my rejection lament. 

“Act of service… yeah, I’m not seeing much action from you in the service department. A little pancake and cheese fries hardly count. You servicing my clit would be much more appreciated.” I pout and he hangs his face in his hands, giving a long-exasperated sigh of suffering.

Should’ve thought about choices and their consequences before denying me a moment of fun in the dark sun. 

“Though I could take you for the quality time type.” My finger is circling my entrance now and I relish in the sight of Azriel’s hazel eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Shoe seems to fit considering you’re a big-time stalker guy and all that. Can’t say I relate, unless, again, the quality time is me riding your face.” I laugh and his shoulders shake with stifled mirth. He shakes his head at me slowly in faux dismay, unable to take his eyes off me with something akin to worship.

Azriel crooks a finger, summoning me over to him. Naturally, I flit my lashes and crawl on all fours across the big bed to where I’m eye level with his cock, and before I can flick my tongue under his frenulum, he grabs my fucking chin again, pulling my hair to tilt my face up to him. I let out an involuntary gasp as he pants with annoyed, very hot threatening menace, “I will speak whatever language you want me to, learn the language of the universe for you, but you’re not going to demonstrate your version of acts of service right now. Stop tempting me or I’ll have to force you to listen.” His abs shake with control, and I swat his hands away from my chin, crawling back to the pillows. I throw the duvet over myself in a furious huff. 

“Go away then. I have no need of you, peasant.” I steal a peak out of the covers at him and he rolls his eyes at me. And disappears. Only to land in the bed behind me, pulling me into him. 

“Have you slept more than a few hours in the past few days?”

“No sleep for the wicked.” I mumble into the pillow. Can’t deny I feel sated and sleepy and now he’s all Furious Furnace against my back. Cool breezes of shadow wisps over my arms and legs in response. Creating a perfect sleep-inducing temperature.

“Can you really read my mind? Cause that’s creepy as Hel and I hate it.” He laughs in my neck, placing a kiss on my shoulder that makes me shiver against the sleep pressing down on me. “No. I can’t read your mind. I can read you. You were starting to squirm, and the shadows noted beads of sweat forming. The busy bodies seem to want to keep you comfortable for some odd reason.” 

“Oh. That’s weird, too… What now, then?” 

“Semantics training. When you wake up, Princess. Sleep, for now.”

… 

I jolt upwards in bed as if I were hit with a bolt of lightning, “Shit, shit, shit! What time is it?!” I shriek. Azriel’s shadows grab my phone and place it in front of my face. Helpful. 

“6PM?! We slept for eight fucking hours?! No, no, no, no, no.” This is bad. My heart is racing, and I am in a full-blown panic. 

“You needed rest.” I can hear his leathery wings rustle with irritation as his grip around me tightens. Pulling up the location sharing app on my phone, I swallow my guilt and anxiety and check Hunt's location on the map as Azriel peers over my shoulder. Which is on the move. Flying what looks to be straight here. Reality slams in hard. I have five minutes to climb out of this pit of Hel I’d gleefully jumped inside to drown. 

“I don’t even have a fucking shirt! You ripped mine off me, you big hulk!” I squeak. Azriel just rumbles an irritated nonsensical response. Like he doesn’t give a shit if I greet Hunt in the atrium lobby with nothing but my bare tits and a still tender hickey on my neck. Oh, fuck what have I done. What am I going to do? I don’t have a fucking plan. Breathe, focus, keep ignoring your problems and pray to every God in the universe they could still go away. 

Cold air meets my back where Azriel has left me to now prowl toward the back wall panel with purpose. 

“Right here.” He presses into the panel on the far-left side, and it pops out to expose the darkness within. Uhh sooo there is a fucking tunnel in here. I really don’t want to know how the Hel he knew that. Content to chalk this one up to the creepy shadow shit. 

I launch myself out of the bed to run over to him, ta-tas bouncing under Azriel’s too pleased stare. Asshole. He’s clearly enjoying this. I pinch his arm to tell him I saw that, and he bops my nose with his huge finger. “I heard rumors of some sparkly clothes through the hollows of the wind. Looks like they spoke true. Nice dressing room.” 

I cross my arms over myself as I take in the top-secret walk-in closet filled with short sequin dresses, oversized band tee shirts, leather jackets, an entire wall of leggings and any kind of shoe you could imagine. Gods, yes.

“Holy gods. Jesiba outdid herself.” I mumble in awe and Azriel just huffs out a breath like an angry dragon. Like he should get extra credit for figuring out the assignment. I grab for the first big tee shirt and pull it on. Switching out my leggings, I hop up and down trying not to fall into the wall under Azriel’s watchful gaze. 

I fumble around.  She’s beauty and she’s grace. 

Once I get my pants on, I realize there is also an entire fucking armory in here, because Azriel has completely battle suited up and is now choosing knives and swords to sheath. Ooo-kay, Jes was apparently preparing for the tech-pocalypse. Serious about her books, that one. “I don’t have any time for this shit! Hunt will be here in three minutes.” I give Azriel a pointed stare at the knives, you don’t need to be armed for this. 

“By all means, don’t let me hold you up.” He growls.

“Stay down here, okay? Behave like a good boy.” I reach on my tippy toes and can barely achieve a condescending head pat and hair ruffle before he grabs my hand. Just to stare at me. Big empty threat. 

Panic starts to claw at my throat. “Shit. My scent. Do I… smell?” I wince. Pity me. Please.

“You smell like me.” Smugness curls his lips up ever so slightly. Dick.

“Can’t you use some scary shadow magic to glamour my scent?” I bat my lashes so fast I think I’m having a mini stroke. 

“Can I? Yes. Will I…?” A corner of his mouth lifts and he raises his head as if he is consulting the stars for guidance. Oh. My. Gods. I hate him. I hate him so much! 

Chapter Text

Azriel

Semantics. I’ve got to train this seductress female on semantics.

As soon as she faces her mounting problems head on. Sometimes temporary pain and a little torture is necessary to heal yourself from wounds festering into the future. I would know.

My light has some problems only she herself can sort, however, I am all too pleased at the prospect of playing mediator. If she needs me, of course. I try to tamp down on my excitement.

“Don’t follow me, asshole!” She pushes my chest. So feisty.

She rubs her palms together and takes an unsteady breath. I wish I could take her panic away. But it’s time for her to run this gauntlet and let me watch. King’s Gambit, the pawn of my sick mind to E4…

I won’t follow her. Right now. I will stay down here. For a moment. Oh, Princess. I’ll teach you better soon enough.

Let the game begin.

Bryce

Running up the two spiral staircases to stall the inevitable, I will myself not to descend into dizziness and vomit. My worst nightmare is about to play out in front of me. The mirror of my choices reflecting a picture I didn’t particularly want to see. Shooing the fire sprites, I threaten with a whisper, “Out! Anywhere but here! And you’re sworn to silence unless you want to be unemployed, you little traitors!”

Ding dong. Thump, thump, thump.  “Bryce?” 

I swallow. It’s showtime. Executioner’s delight. 

“Coming!” Squeaking in response, I take a final glance behind me to make sure the sprites have dispersed before unlocking the door. The hallway is dark. Too dark. And I realize who is standing there, with a front row seat to my demise. My eyes widen in horror. A shadow loosens from around a floating scarred hand, whose fingers twinkle at me in silent greeting. Utter fucking prick. 

Another irritated knock. I open the door. A bouquet of red thorny roses and Syrinx’s chubby little face startle me before I take in Hunt’s debonair suit and tie. Cameras flash behind him, and I quickly usher him inside to avoid getting photographed. 

“Hunt. Hi.” Syrinx trots right down the hallway. To Azriel, licking at the darkness. No, no, no, no, no. Bad boy! Stay! Ugh. But the treason goes unnoticed.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Hunt’s smooth voice storms in, all grace and muscle, and he casually sets the roses atop my spotless desk. That I’ve clearly not been working at. Solas. This is a fucking disaster on big wings. 

“Oh yeah?” I stay with my back pressed up against the front door. As if I could potentially make a run for it. Like this wasn’t the Gods final reckoning for my rotted soul.

Perfect view of the dark hallway and the predator within. 

“Today was a real wake up call. Having to do the press tour alone without you by my side sucked.” Hunt prowls for me, caging me in against the door. Oh fuck. He’s going to try to fuck me right now. And Azriel’s about to get a first-class ticket to the freak show.

Hunt purrs in my ear, “I know you need space, Bryce, but I’m going to try to do better. For us. I need my wife, especially now as Senator.” He pulls back to wink at me, returning to kiss and lick my ear, my throat. To my utter horror, I feel a cold shadow spiral on my leg, another tugging apart my other leg at the ankle, as if saying open up. Oh Hel no. Not today, you sadistic fucking prick! 

“Hunt. I’m not your wife.” The shadows disappear.  “We haven’t been legally bound since I ended the Fae monarchy. The revised paperwork was never completed. You know that.” My retort stops him in his tracks. That one’s going to sting.

Hunt's nostrils flare and he visibly bristles. “Has something happened since dawn? I assumed we were working things out.” 

“Well assuming makes an ass out of you and me.” I reply hotly. I briefly panic. Azriel’s watching all of this, taunting me to tell the truth. Get the weight off my chest. I hate that I know what the big sadist is playing at. Would he step in if things went south? 

Hunt stares me down, taking a few deep, bone chilling breaths. 

“What the Hel is that?” Cthona’s tits, here we go. 

“What is what?” I lie. I know exactly what. 

“That smell.” Can’t believe it took the idiot this long. At least he’s handsome. 

“New perfume.” Another lie. Thankfully I’m wearing a shirt that covers the spot on my neck. Lightning sparks in his irises.

“You’re lying. You smell like that fucking demon. Is he fucking in here right now?” Okay so this is the part where Hunt kills me. Great. Hope Azriel is adept at grave digging. Seems like he could be the type. The electricity in the room short circuits my laptop. 

“I—can explain. Hunt, calm down. Don’t do this.” He’s scaring me. Luna and the gang, hear my plea, I don’t want to die today. Not after only one ride on the dark merry go round.

A low menacing growl sounds from Azriel as he appears out of the darkness behind Hunt, “Before you get ahead of yourself, Sparky.” Gorsian manacles clamp down on both Hunts wrists. A shadow darts to roll my office chair over, blue ropes of siphon light tie Hunt's middle to the chair, and I think he’s slipped a shadow down his throat because Hunt chokes, unable to speak. I’m frozen in the face of my previous life dissolving before my very eyes. 

“Lose your shit again and it’s the knife.” Azriel points the blade tip at him. “You wouldn’t want the press catching wind of your uncontrollable rage. You’re welcome,” Azriel threatens him before going to a lounge chair, tossing the knife in the air and catching it by the tip, kicking his feet up on a coffee table. The portrait of casual relaxation. A mob boss on vacation having the time of his life. 

Hunt's black rage filled eyes stare back at him, clearly plotting his death. 

“Continue, Princess.” Azriel drawls. Bored. 

“Ugh, you let him call you princess?!” Hunt spits out the shadow, gagging. “Should’ve fucking known. You’ve always been a bitch, but now you want to be a fucking slut too—“a world ending storm swirls in Hunt’s black eyes before Azriel guns for him. 

One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d launched himself at Hunt with a flare of blue light and tackled him, sending his chair backward, wooden floor shattering beneath them. 

Shit.

I was met with a wall of blue. Azriel had sealed them in and as his scarred hands wrapped around Hunt’s throat, I shrieked, “Enough!”

Azriel squeezed, Hunt thrashing powerless beneath him. “Enough, Azriel!” I screamed again. 

Azriel dug his knee–and all his weight into Hunt’s gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Hunt’s body. My starfire struck his blue shield, over and over, but it skittered off and fizzled out. Any strands that escaped were torn to shreds by shadows.

“Get off him you overgrown bat.” I ordered him. I was not enjoying this. Hunt problems or not–-he could have ended this seconds ago. He gave me a glance as if to say so. And an invitation to join in on the fun. 

I remained on surprisingly steady knees. Felt him tense as I walked toward him, my big tee shirt ruffling against my skin. As I put a hand on the hard, near invisible curve of the shield and said, tone softening like maybe it would help, “ Stop it right now, Big Guy.”  I will myself not to smile.

Azriel stopped.  

Hunt gasped for air as those gorgeous, scarred hands loosened. As Azriel turned his face toward me–the feral delight there rooted me to the spot. Beneath it, I could almost see the images that haunted him. A cornered female, with no moves left, being told that they are unworthy when it was anything but the case. But it was no excuse. And now, behind us, Hunt was shaking in his chair. Pale and shaking.” 

I only offered my hand to Azriel, “Come sit.” I didn’t let my hand tremble as I kept it extended. And waited. Azriel’s eyes slid to Hunt’s, panting beneath him. And Doctor Darko leans down to whisper something threatening in Hunt’s ear that made him blanch further. Probably something about flaying him alive unless he apologized to me. Alphahole.

But the shield dropped. The shadows lightened into starlight. 

Azriel took my hand and rose. The scars were rough against my fingers, but his skin was like ice. Pure ice. I opened my mouth to say something to Azriel, but he put a hand on my bare neck and shook his head. Regret lacing his stare.

I led Mister Loose Cannon Part Two to the empty chair he had vacated–then disappeared to the basement kitchen below, to pour myself a glass of wine. Much needed.

I brought the bottle of sparkling and two extra glasses up with me. One could hold many large objects simultaneously if they simply dared to try. Sigh.

No one spoke until I offered it to them.

I broke the silence, “Take off a manacle. We all need a glass of wine for this.” I ordered Azriel, jutting my chin toward Hunt. 

Sometimes, in life, you just need to grab two angels by the wings.

Hunt just shook his head in disgust and met my fuming gaze. My voice was as cold as Azriel’s face as I said, “I don’t care if we are all sworn enemies. I stared and stared at Azriel, who refused to look at me, who refused to do anything but give Hunt that death-gaze. 

Hunt, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “ Sorry, Bryce.” 

I actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on my face as Azriel settled himself.” 

Rubbing my temples, I say, “Ya know, this so does not bode well. Can we all have a fucking adult conversation, now?” 

But Azriel smirked. Prick.

Before either male could reply, “You’re both old as shit but you act like teeny tiny little babies. Just had to get that off my chest.” I crack my knuckles. Ready to crack two big beautiful skulls. Bastards, both of them, for leaving me to be the responsible one. 

They both look at me like my head could combust and they’d be fine with it. I’m about eight seconds and one snide remark from joining their little loose cannon club and blowing some shit up.

But I suppose this is my curse. My curse is to be the very mature, very competent female, with a crystal clear head, and the God’s blessed capacity for making mostly intelligent decisions. Time to make these bitches listen. 

“Listen up, losers.” I point at Azriel, “You, down boy. Stay. Permanently. Until I say you can move, you don’t. Not an inch. Not even for a weapon.” He acts like he doesn’t hear me, staring only at Hunt manifesting his death. I look at Hunt, who I do feel bad for, but he also just called me a slut and not in a fun way. My river of empathy is currently in a drought. 

“You don’t have a claim to me anymore. We are done, Hunt. You told me everyone hated me, we’ve been on the outs for months, and I can’t live my life feeling like every time you're upset, it’s my job to placate you and console you with sex like I did the other night. It’s fucked up. And I may have used you in the past but you’ve sure as Hel used me, too. Neither of us are innocent here. I’m sorry for all this shit I’ve put you through the last few days, I’ve been a mess, because… I didn’t choose any of this and it’s been fucking with my head. But you do deserve the truth.” I spare a glance at Azriel who is looking at me now with reverent intent. 

“Azriel is my mate. In the Fae sense.” Lucky me. I mutter to the ground. “I didn’t know, or I guess–I didn’t acknowledge the bond even existed until a couple days ago. So, I’m sorry for that.” Silence fills the room as Hunt lets out shaky breaths, only to hang his head in defeat. 

“His turn.” Azriel interrupts unexpectedly. 

“What do you mean?” Azriel doesn’t move an inch but darts his eyes over to Hunt. “His turn to tell the truth.” 

Chapter Text

Bryce

“His turn.” Azriel interrupts unexpectedly as I pop the top of the sparkling wine. Some party this is turning out to be. 

“What do you mean?” I ask Azriel, who doesn’t so much as flinch, but darts his eyes toward Hunt. “It's his turn to tell the truth.” 

We’re all living in three separate worlds as I spot the print atop the wine cork, “Oh, lookie here guys. An eight-pointed star! Tough conversation is clearly on the right track,” I try to lighten the mood as I pour. 

“You can’t blame everything on that fucking star, you know,” Hunt spits, retorting with restrained, white-hot anger.

“Why not? Didn’t you blame everything on Shahar?” I blink twice.

I catch Hunt’s gaze drifting to my bag on the floor.

“I knew it,” he deflects, venom sharpening each word as he ignores Azriel’s implication entirely.

My oversized tote looks ready to explode like a can of spilled beans.

Shit. 

“You were planning to run away with him, weren’t you?” Hunt’s eyes flick between the bag, me, and Azriel. He throws up a hand — middle finger raised in a vulgar death promise.

Gods above... At least he’s a pretty idiot.

“No! What the fuck are you talking about, Hunt? I was going to stay here. To get away from you.” 

“Please — let me shut him up.” Only Azriel’s eyes move to mine, his expression slipping from feral glee to ashen restraint.

“Azriel, fucking chill, okay? No. We’re all going to talk like mature adults, right, friends…” I console like a mother preventing two children from fighting over Jelly Jubilee. 

Hunt scoffs like the scorned asshole he is—a little too much like me. Fallen within his own nightmare. I shiver, and shrug off the knee-jerk empathy. 

Gulping down my glass of bubbles, I swallow hard and grind my molars, “Hunt, shut up and agree or I’m telling Azriel to remanacle your ass.” 

There will be no toddlers running the daycare on my watch. 

“Fine. Whatever.” Hunt grits out with venom, reluctantly taking the glass I offer, swallowing it whole as well. 

“His truth, now.” Azriel demands. Still not moving. Impatient grouch. No wine for him. Forgiveness is an expensive maze of navigating my good graces and he’s lost. 

Hunt throws back at him, “What the fuck are you getting at, my truth? Did you possess Bryce’s mind or something, you creepy-ass demon prick?”

I roll my eyes as he rallies another storm.

Azriel looks begrudgingly impressed with the insult as if saying no but I would’ve if I could. 

Two big broody drama kings. Whatever would I do with them both at once!? A sick feeling answers that only one of them is up to the task...

Azriel still doesn’t move but gravel-rumbles, “Tell her, demon prick … why you felt relieved when she told you I’m her mate.”

The silence is stunned.

Azriel rasps, slow and surgical, “My shadows say hello. They also say you’re stupid… as fuck.” He winks, grinning sideways with sadistic delight, and kicks his boots onto the coffee table again. Black boots hit the table with the casual confidence of someone with a grenade in their pocket.

Dueling nostril flares give away the lack of any emotion in the room besides toxic alphahole dominance and silent rage. 

I avoid eye contact.

Totally not thinking Azriel looks unfairly sculpted as a seething, possessive, stubborn, and aggressive alphahole.

Shit.

For Urd’s sake, am I seriously getting tripped up over my godsdamn gorgeous nightstalker? 

An injustice. Simply unfair.

I will be speaking to the Gods about this particular smiting when I ascend to their realm — where my VIP pass awaits.

Even Azriel’s twenty-four (unfortunately invisible) abs can’t distract me from this: I feel safe in this shitstorm.

Maybe because he’s here with me.

Some part of me knows Azriel would catch me, if I fell into an icy chasm of this breakup I couldn’t navigate on my own.

My Vanir brain is a flaming dumpster parked in the seventh level of Hel. I refocus, like an eight-pointed compass dragging itself back toward the sun of sanity.

Azriel barks, “Explain yourself, angel. I’ll know if you’re lying.” Azriel — possibly my new daddy — sharpens like a blade. Veins bulging with restraint, like he’s trying not to grab a knife. But he still doesn’t move.

“What are you getting at, you fucking psycho? You’ve got to be joking—” Hunt’s power ratchets and sputters.

Fucker. Thank the Gods for that single, random-ass gorsian manacle.

“Tell her the truth about your bond,” Azriel commands, in a tone fit for some tier of Hel reserved exclusively for betrayers.

The feeling of an earthquake rolls under my feet.

Okay, I’m getting serious ‘there’s a backstory here’ energy. Noted for later, when I kick Azriel’s ass for this shituation. Solas and Ogenas better take him before I do. Big black hawk down.

The thought makes me wince — involuntarily.

Hunt deflects with a bitter laugh — But his smile falters when our eyes meet. And in that moment, I know there’s something he hasn’t told me. My stomach clenches.

There’s more than one lying douche canoe afoot.

“What fucking truth about our bond, Hunt?”

Hunt

Hunt’s throat locked. He hadn’t admitted it aloud, not even to himself, not really. 

But right now... something in his chest had uncoiled. Like a tether had snapped — not in grief, but in relief. 

He’d known. Deep down, he’d known all along that the time between them was borrowed, temporary, never meant to last. And still, he’d tried to keep her. Gods forgive him, he’d tried.

But that day — the day Rigelus burned that crown of acid laced thorns into his forehead — everything changed.

He hadn’t let himself think about it at the time. Shoved it down deep, buried it in the pit where all his worst memories went. Where he had even forgotten about Bryce’s life entirely in the face of pain and torture. Where he’d forgotten about being made for her—another choice that was not his own. 

But the memory was woven into the core of his soul.

***

No breath. Not one flicker of light remained. Just a stone gag and shackles clamped to his wrists.

A ribbon of Rigelus's power hauled him to his feet. “A short stop before the dungeons, I think,” Rigelus announced, turning left—toward the shattered ruin along the hall. Toward the now-empty Gate. 

Powerless to do anything but follow. 

He’d been at the end of the hall when Bryce had made her spectacular run after flaring her light at Rigelus, teleporting as fast as the wind toward the black hole that had opened within the small Gate.

Never considered how she might have had all that power without his lightning fueling her up. 

No trace of the blackness or Bryce remained. 

Rigelus halted before the Gate. “Get the angel on his knees.” Bryce’s scent still lingered in the air of the empty space framed by the Gate. He focused on that scent and that scent alone as Pollux shoved him to the floor before the Gate. 

She’d gone from one Hel to a literal one, but … she’d gotten away.  Their last chance at salvation. 

“Go ahead, Hammer,” Rigelus said, smiling, cold death in his ageless eyes. 

The Bright Hand approached, a hand lifted and near-blinding with white light. “I don’t think I need one of the crones this time.” Rigelus laid his glowing hand on his brow.

Anything but this. 

Pain erupted through his skull, his muscles, his blood. As if the very marrow of his bones were being burned into mist. Power slithered and spiderwebbed, piercing into him with every spike of the halo’s thorns that Rigelus tattooed there.

Screams echoed off the stones, off the Gate. The pain was blinding, his vision splintered. The halo spread over his skull, worse than any gorsian shackle. 

His power writhed in its iron grip, no longer his to fully command. 

Just as his own life, his freedom, his future with Bryce … Gone. 

Darkness swept in to claim him, and his soul screamed into the void. 

*** 

That memory plagued him. 

It wasn’t until Bryce had come back from that other world. Until she looked him in the eye with that distant, flickering light, and her soft ‘Hey.’ That he realized. 

It was different. There was something different in her posture. In the way the light seemed to shimmer from her. She was Bryce and yet she was… not. Older somehow. In her eyes. Like she’d been through some major shit. He recognized it, because he knew it lay etched in his own face, too.

They were different. 

And not in a way that could be undone. He swallowed his guilt and shame. Hatred. 

The invisible string that had once pulled him toward her had frayed into silence. Gone slack. Withered away to dust just like the halo that had changed him. 

But the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt… peaceful.

A dark breath slithered into the space where their spark used to live, where life and possibility once hummed between them. A quiet, yawning emptiness. Peaceful. Inevitable. Like a weight had finally slipped off his shoulders.

But that didn’t mean he still didn’t want her. Need her. Crave her body like a drug. 

And he’d hated himself for it. Hated how right it felt. Knowing they had chosen each other and knowing he must honor that choice. 

He would always choose her. 

But he knew what Azriel was the second he saw him next to her at the Raven. What he meant to her. From the very first time she’d said Azriel’s name, it had been carved into his ribs.

And still, he had kept holding on. Trying to be enough. Trying to be the one. Despite everything. 

Now the shadows had called his bluff. And Bryce was looking at him like she knew. Like she had always known he was the liar she feared. And he wasn’t sure if the truth would damn him or set him free.

“I’m sorry, Bryce.”

Chapter Text

Azriel 

It was a reckless gamble, but the godsdamn truth needed to come out. I couldn’t keep running—no matter how much I wanted to ignore my problems, much like my mate.

Sometimes, the mirror of our similarities terrified me more than any enemy ever had. I knew she was pissed—and that I’d be groveling for this. Forever.

But if my unyielding light could face her nightmares head-on, and I couldn’t... what did that say about me? Nothing good.

My debt was finally coming due. I could feel the impending cost in my bones.

“I’ll leave you to it.” I locked eyes with Bryce, who gave a single nod— fine. Dismissed, I slipped into shadow, down to the level below.

It wasn’t much, but I could give them this sliver of privacy. I wasn’t a complete monster.

He would be confessing to all of it.

I knew—because I’d been there.

I had watched as Rigelus burned that crown into the angel’s skull. Watched it rewrite him. Unmake him.

But my sins? Far worse. I’d made a choice.

And all I knew—all I had ever known—was this: Bryce had to jump through an archway. Power would be barreling toward her in a grand hallway. The angel and her brother—already in Asteri custody.

My job was to recreate that scene. Down to the last detail.

So I did.

All I had was a single glimpse—one fleeting vision from the Veritas orb, years ago, when Bryce was interrogated by my brother. That memory lived inside me. Rotating, flickering, burning.

A curse, carved into my mind. It circled the drain of my soul. Dizzy, shimmering strands of the past spiraled in the pit of my stomach.

Standing in Bryce’s gallery showcase, I remembered my sins. Never in order. Just a spiderweb of fucking despair.

Her voice faded beneath the screams that never left my head.

I was back there again—eight months ago, in a laboratory security center, waiting for the moment everything began to fracture.

***

Smokestacks billowed behind the lab, which seemed to be at least half a mile long and twice as wide. The board was set. Every piece in place.

The moronic Mer muttered to his smarter accomplice—who made me briefly question my understanding of souls, time, and fate, before I chose to ignore it, “Look at this place,” as Cormac pulled up to the steel front doors. 

They opened as if by invisible hands. I’d been in place, waiting to press the security override that would let the idiots inside the heavily guarded lab I’d been planning to infiltrate for over a year. They had no real plan—just a fake meeting with Doctor Zelis and an empty threat to call the head Asteri himself. Fools. Short-sighted, lightning-chess-playing fools.

But it was a necessary sacrifice. The pawn storm had been launched. The Asteri were already en route.

I had other places to be against my better judgement. The two dunces would be left to blow themselves up, taking Pippa and the lab with them. I'd been ready to end them all for a long time. Sacrificial lambs to the overlords. Four birds, one stone.

Any distraction to keep my light’s path clear, to ensure she landed at my feet. The final moment of truth. Would it still happen the same way? Would I even be there when Bryce fell out of the sky into my world?

Faith, hope, and prayer were my only beacons. Not that I trusted hope much. Of all the tomes I’d read, only one theory brought me solace: threads. Infinite spools of life spun in a single direction, even when someone tried to weave a new one. An echo always remained. An echo of soul. Threadbare, maybe. But it was the tether I clung to.

A small part of me knew—when Bryce landed in my world, I’d be there. Any other idea was laughable. She is mine in this timeline, and every other.

This moment was it. Her plan was in motion–her brother, the angel, they were all in place. Their next move: storm the palace. I was stationed to intercept, to shield Bryce long enough for her to reach the Gate; I knew the angel and Ruhn would be captured. That was the cost of my plan. Their sacrifice, the crux of everything. 

She’d shown us her escape, frantic and breathless—my first glimpse of her world. That memory shuddered through me like a living thing.

If I could, I’d save Ruhn next. Then I'd end Ophion. My final mission. No more bloodshed. No more synth, guns, bombs, mechsuits, zealots. I’d dismantle their hate from the inside. Every threat to her—to her world—eliminated, no matter the cost. Even if it damned me. Acting as Ophion’s Command and strategically dismantling the prejudiced unit from inside out was the heart of the mission I’d sculpted from the dirt of this cursed planet. I didn’t care if it made me irredeemable. 

I’d spent too long in service to Jesiba, Fury, and the Viper Queen—sewer rat, shadow-guard, installed Commander. Their eyes and ears, protecting well-meaning but sinister interests. And once again, I’d gone rogue.

My only mission now: get Bryce to that arch—the one from the Veritas memory. The one that led her to me.

With gloves on my hands, a prayer in my heart, and a shadow within my soul, I donned the mask of Ophion’s Command—the nameless, faceless male I’d sculpted from darkness, deceit, and necessity. The invisible man behind too many curtains… ready to play another game. 

I had to focus. Had to keep an eye on the clock that day. My plan depended on it.

Hidden in shadow, I waited in a stairwell made entirely of white quartz. She teleported – alone – and I gently tugged: To me, to me. 

Whether she recognized it or not, she came. Tumbling through that void of darkness within her.

Bryce took steadying inhales as she surveyed the spiral staircase. Firelight glimmered golden and soft, lighting the carved steps downward. 

An invisible veil shrouded me against the wall behind her–always at her back. Or front. An unguarded side. Wherever she needed. 

Bryce began to creep down the stairs, her black utility boots nearly silent against the quartz steps. The hallway had been emptied, I’d made sure she saw no one. Heard no one. Not even me. 

But I could feel her heart racing along with mine. The veins of firstlight in the quartz throbbed with each beat, echoing our bond in light and stone. As if in answer. 

I tugged again. A whisper of power to make her pause. Hel forbid she get comfortable.

She assessed the long hallway ahead. When it revealed no guards, exactly as I’d arranged, she stepped into it. 

There were no doors. Only this cursed hall. Where she needed to find out everything she already knew, in another lifetime. The one that would end with her leaping through fate itself—straight to me.

I sent a blast of power into the crystal at her feet, telling her to look. The crystal at her feet flared, and Bryce squeezed her eyes shut, dropping into a crouch.

But nothing happened. At least, not to her.  Like I would ever let anything happen to her by choice. 

Still, the thought nibbled at my heart: I had brought my mate to an all-you-can-eat buffet—to watch her overseers devour the power of her people. I had to be the worst of my brothers for this choice.

“Holy gods,” Bryce whispered as she realized the Asteri fed on power. The quartz, their conduit. Exactly like the Gates in Crescent City.

Bryce studied Fury’s rough map of the palace layout that I had painstakingly plotted at Fury’s behest. Because Bryce had pestered her to death. We were seven levels below the throne room. 

Nausea constricted her throat. My light was going to be sick. There, there. My shadows eased the back of her throat. But Bryce began shaking. Veins of light wending beneath her feet… I yanked her gaze down as far as she could see through the clear stone, into that brilliantly shining mass. The core of firstlight. 

She had to see. See what the Asteri were hiding. See that they could be destroyed. That she would be the one to do it.

Team Fuck You’s plan unraveled by the second, twisting into the web I’d spun beneath it. Time was slipping. She needed to return to her brother, their mission.

But I was selfish.

One more minute. Just one.

There was more she needed to see—more I needed her to see.

As Bryce began racing back to the top of the stairs, bile burning her throat, I tried and failed to soothe her panic. From behind her I sent a sliver of siphon into the door handle to the main archives hallway. So that it seemed to gleam.

My queen didn’t doubt herself. Didn’t doubt me– as she slipped into the dim and dusty hallway. Utterly silent.

She sprinted through the library, reading titles as fast as she could. I knew that her friends had kept up and were moving the cameras away from her–of course I’d covertly assisted in providing coordinates for the tech outfit. 

The doors along this stretch had been named similarly to the courts of my world. I shuddered at the infinite implications. Dawn. Midnight. Midday. 

My lovely light slipped inside the one in the center after it snared her eye: Dusk. And in she went. 

Bryce would be late, and if all went to plan, the angel would be caught. Plan B existed if not. This extra research was important. I had left the door unlocked, sucking the firstlight that powered the electronic keypad into my void.

Braziers of firstlight glowed in the corners of the room, dimly illuminating the space. A round table occupied the middle. Seven seats around it. I felt her blood chill as she spotted the small metal machine sitting in the center of the table. Her attention snagged on the stone walls, covered in paper. Star-maps–of constellations and solar systems. Map to map, Bryce read the notes.

Bryce backed away from the wall, crashing into the table as the cold full force of the parasitic reality she lived in hit her like a skipping stone. It had taken me almost two years to get in, to see, to back into this end game.

She twisted the projector device in the center of the table, the orrery, stretched an arm out and hit the button. Stars and planets and nebulas erupted. Above her, rotated the map of the universe.

She began flicking through the planets, one after another, sinking into one of the chairs as her heart stopped at one. Hel. 

A light flickered through my insides as I could feel how dimly aware she was of her own shaking body, her shallow breaths. The note highlighted how Hel had developed attachments to the Midgard colonists. Literally. Metaphorically. Canonically. I’m here, obviously. 

My mate began sobbing through her teeth. 

Shhhhh. I was such an asshole to bring her here, to make sure she saw how this empire, this world was just one massive buffet for the six beings ruling it. 

“You will not find our home world there,” a cold voice said through the ceiling. “Even we have forgotten where its ruins lie.” The sound nearly made me jump out of my skin. 

Bryce panted, and I could feel only rage coursing through her as she said, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Talk about shit going to Hel. This was not supposed to fucking happen. 

The drawling voice from the ceiling above just laughed. “I was under the impression that you were only here to access the information for which Sofie Renast and Danika Fendyr died. You’re going to kill me as well?” 

Godsdamnit. I should’ve killed Fury when I had the chance. I’d always known she was shady and selfish—but now? I was sure of it. She’d sold me out. My mission was compromised.

Celestina hadn’t given Rigelus enough to piece it all together—until that feathered dumbass tipped them off, strutting around like a prize cock with his helmet and duffle bag.

The Asteri weren’t supposed to know the endgame. Not of the brat pack’s half-baked plan.

And then the voice in the ceiling launched into a villain monologue straight out of a bad theatre production—right as I was scrambling for any kind of fucking diversion to protect my mate from whatever nightmare was about to drop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The meeting with Rigelus was meant to be on my terms. My watch.

But I’d been betrayed. And I hadn’t seen it coming.

I realized I was fucked. Again. I’d made an enormous mistake coming here.

While Bryce was horrified learning what I had already gleaned about the inner workings of cross planetary parasitic eugenics, I stalled for time until the final piece of information dropped on both of us like an anvil. 

“So we did a little tugging. Pointed Micah toward synth. Toward Danika.” 

“No.” The word was a whisper.

“All it took was some nudging, and he killed her for us. Had no idea it was on our behalf, but it played out as we planned: he was eventually caught and killed for disturbing our peace. I thank you for that.” 

Bryce shot from her chair. They’d killed Danika–to keep all of this secret. 

She would rip them to shreds. 

I cursed myself for the oversight. This idiotic mistake. 

“You can try to run,” Rigelus said. “If that will make you feel better.” 

Bryce didn’t give me a chance to move before she teleported back to the alcove. 

Thankfully, the angel was on his knees, helmet discarded on the stone floor beside him. Hands behind his head, bound with gorsian manacles. His eyes turned wild, pleading, but there was nothing Bryce or I could do as freezing stone clamped around her wrists as well, and she found herself face-to face with a grinning ‘Harpy’. The angelic pet name made me shudder.

Only the glamour of my scent and my shadows kept me safe from the sadistic bloodhound and his harp winged female counterpart as they both escorted them to the dungeons where Bryce’s brother already lay waiting. 

I was their only shot at getting out of those chains. There were no reinforcements to send. Paralyzed with fear and not knowing what to do as they were taunted by a flying female sadist–my choices squeezed my throat like a vice as the tip of the Harpy’s knife pierced my mate’s brother, her favorite living person’s throat. 

They’d walked in here so foolishly, had been so blind to the trap they’d stepped into. Fuck it. Time to act.

As the Harpy sucked in a breath, muscles tensing to shove in the knife, I sent a shadow down her throat to suck the air out of her lungs, but something golden barreled into her side and sent the Harpy sprawling instead. The Hind.

Back into the darkness, I retreated, saved from my glaring ineffectiveness. Watching and waiting. But we didn’t have much time. I have to get them out of here.

“Was this a trap?” Bryce demanded. My brilliant mate. A beacon of intelligence in the room. 

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” the double agent said. And I couldn’t help but agree. Just not in the way that she was thinking. 

There is a great deal that they didn’t understand. But I waited for them to hatch their own plan–they had to make it appear real. And I knew Bryce understood when she smirked, “I shouldn’t enjoy this so much.” Before punching the Hind in the face, sending her sprawling. 

Seconds later, everything whirled deeper into Hel. 

Pollux appeared in the doorway. He beheld the dead Harpy, beheld Bryce bloodied with the Hind beneath her, being pummeled, beheld Ruhn advancing drawing his sword. Pollux grabbed Bryce by the neck and hauled her off the other female. Grabbing my mate by the neck. Held her off the floor so that the tips of her boots dragged on the bloodied stone. She managed to put up a fight, feet kicking blindly. But Pollux finally lowered Bryce to the ground, an arm wrapping around her middle as he grinned. He sniffed Bryce’s hair. 

My vision iced over with rage as Pollux said, “This is going to be so satisfying.” Bryce was shaking. I had to get her out. She wouldn’t die here. 

My desperation yielded to the Harp for the final time. I gripped it as if I could squeeze time itself into obedience. One pluck. One second. One more chance. Please. 

She had to get to that gate. To me.

Eleven minutes was all I needed.

The next few minutes were a blur. 

And then I was back under the cover of shadow in that white quartz stairwell–watching cold manacles clamp onto Bryce’s wrists.

I needed to alert the Hind to Ruhn’s presence in the dungeons, the danger Bryce and the other one would be walking into and tell her to bring keys to free them. 

The Hind could save me, too—from having to stop the Harpy from slitting Ruhn’s throat and blowing my cover. I’d also alert the Asterian guards. Tell them the request came from Rigelus himself. Just enough to buy us time. Just enough to tip the board.

But truthfully, I had no idea what the Harp had cost me. Whether its pluck had sent ripples backward or forward. Whether the timeline had already shifted beneath my feet.

It didn’t matter. I’d do it again. A thousand times.

Anything for her.

She was my only hope. My broken hands only existed to guide her—to that arch, to that Gate, to me.

I had no other choice but to follow my stupid, fragile plan. And pray it held.

The consequences of my actions struck me like a punch to the gut—Bryce’s shoes. When I returned with the guards, trying to pull her from Pollux and steer the scene back on course, I saw them.

Black boots were now neon pink sneakers. My heart plummeted.

What the fuck had I done?

There was no undoing it now. No stitching the timeline back together. Only watching—helpless—as time unraveled the tapestry I’d so carefully woven, thread by thread, into scraps of misery and mistakes.

I knew no one was coming to save them. Knew it was likely my fault. 

I could barely stand to watch Bryce’s fingers against the angel's as they walked down the long crystal hallway surrounded by a legion of guards. Couldn’t stand the sight of the impending doom lying before them. 

I wished I’d kept her from ever leaving my side–in those caves so long ago. Wished I could redo everything, all of it, all over again. But not even the Harp could rectify the mountain of my misdoings. 

At the far, far end of the passage, I could make out a small arch. This was it–the quartz Gate. 

We entered a pair of colossal open doors. Seven thrones towered on a dais at the far end of the cavernous, crystal space. The Center throne glowed, full of firstlight. Funneling it right into the being who sat atop it. 

Something feral opened an eye in my soul. And snarled. 

I registered the chilling threat to my mate or myself, I wasn’t sure. Words purred through the darkness, “I do hope you’re ready to pay for it.”

I wasn’t sure I could get through this, wasn’t sure I wanted to get through it anymore, but the long con to finally get them here was finally paying off. 

But the cost was too high. Rigelus wanted her allies. What did he know? 

Bryce quipped, “There is no one else. But let’s talk about how you’re intergalactic parasites who trick us into making the Drop so you can feed off our firstlight. And then feed off our souls’ secondlight when we die. ”

I started, sucking in a breath at her words, anticipating swift retaliation for the impertinence. Leave it to my mate to poke at the beings who held her world in chains. The angel went still beside her. For a second, I could have sworn he heard me behind him. 

Rigelus pointed at Ruhn. “I’m sure you could enlighten me as to who has been helping you. I know of Prince Cormac—I’d hoped his rebel activities might be of use someday. When we learned of his treachery, I thought it might be … valuable to see where and to whom he led us…”

A test. This was all some fucked up test — Rigelus was letting them live so he could use them all as pawns in a game he’d rigged just like… my brother. Me. I swallowed the bile in my throat.

“Why kill one traitor, when we could kill many? Alas, he’s dead now. That’s where my other siblings are—drawn out to the lab, as you no doubt expected. But they reported that another male was with the prince and fled.”

Tharion had escaped unidentified, and not to help. All the while his so-called friends were trapped. The moron was marked.

Bryce made a low sound in her throat. Rigelus turned to her. “Oh yes. Cormac incinerated himself and the lab. A great setback, considering how useful he was, but one we shall overcome, of course. Especially with Pippa Spetsos among the dead.”

My head spun. A great setback to what? What would these sick fucks overcome by way of using the dead? 

“Perhaps we shall call in your father to assist with the questioning,” Rigelus went on, bored and cool. “He was so skilled at wielding his fire to get things out of you when you were a boy.”

Bryce’s blood-flecked features were alit with a level of rage I’d only seen once. Not toward Rigelus, but the male who’d sired her.

“Isn’t that what so many of the tattoos are for?” Rigelus continued. “To hide the scars he left on you? I’m afraid we’ll have to ruin some of the ink this time around.” 

This time around? This… time… around…?

How many times had this sick cycle repeated itself?

I’d barely grazed the surface of what the Asteri were truly doing—what kind of necrotic power allowed them to harvest this world’s people. Strip them down to the kernel of their souls. Weave those sparks of life like thread in a loom.

Midgard wasn’t just a feeding ground. It was a place to spin souls like silk—binding them together, over and over. Breed them. Bind them. Control them.

Cross the threads of magical and mortal blood, until powers could be predicted and bonds could be bent. Desire twisted into obedience. Love recoded into submission. 

Love was their trap.

Not just to sustain their hunger. But to build a population that could be managed. Manipulated. Rewoven. 

This wasn’t the Weaver’s cottage in the woods—it was an entire planet rigged for production.  An industrial soul-forge. A system. A long-term strategy.

And the stars in my world were going dark. Fewer every Starfall. Not lost—taken. Consumed.

Where were the originals? Were there prototypes?

Not now. I couldn’t go down that path. I’d vomit all over the crystal floor. And that would surely give me away.

So I turned the sickness into rage. And I felt it mirrored back at me. From her. 

My light. Already burning. 

Fucking Hel. Bryce’s lips had gone white from pressing them together so hard. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

My racing thoughts froze at Bryce’s plea, “You want me to open a portal for you? Fine. But only if you let them go and agree to leave them unharmed. Forever.”

No, no, no. The Asteri, these fucking vultures, couldn’t come through with her–my blood iced over at the possibility.

Fuck, Rigelus had anticipated their every move. “You played along beautifully.”  Guilt twisted in my gut. This was all my fault. 

My invisible hands — shadow now tinged with light — curled into fists. I should have seen it, should have pushed Bryce away from it, should have taken her when she had landed at my feet the first time and gone to a place where no one could ever find us. Not to the fucking townhouse. 

Though no matter where we went now; someone would always find us, in this world and every other. 

The gorsian chains on Bryce’s wrists were unlocked. If she could throw them off, she could get out. I’d shield her, do my best to block the Asteri and Bryce could keep running.

The stupid fuck beside her tried to deny their guilt, spin some half baked bullshit, “You’re full of shit. We’re not rebels. Celestina can vouch for us.” 

Rigelus laughed, and the dope bristled. “Celestina? You mean the Archangel who reported to me immediately when she saw you leave the barracks heavily armed?” At the words, I landed an uppercut from behind, a phantom punch to his gut for the mistake. Because now these parasites were going to use Bryce—they’d come with her into my world—and I’d just damned my family to Hel.

Bryce cut in, “My bargain holds. You let Hunt and Ruhn go freely and unharmed–forever–and I’ll help you.” Thankfully, her brother pleaded for her not to do it. 

“Fine,” Rigelus said, and smiled, triumph on every line of his lanky body. “You may say goodbye, as a sign of my gratitude for your assistance.” 

I had to watch my own terror and pain and grief mirrored on my mate’s gore-splattered face. The sight threatened to bring me to my knees. Had to watch as general good for nothing professed his love to my mate, “Our love is stronger than time, greater than any distance. Our love spans across stars and worlds. I will find you again. I promise.” 

Utter bullshit. I had it on good authority that he would do no such thing. 

Had to watch him kiss her, the sight etched itself into my soul. I didn’t hate either of them for it, reserving the entirety of my ire for the Asteri, and the Gods themselves. 

One day, I would make them all pay for this unending torture. 

She couldn’t do this— I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let her go again. A helpless scream stuck in my throat. 

My heart was shattering; and I couldn’t tell which of our bones were screaming louder that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

As she clung to her brother, unable to stop her sobbing, I dropped a small weight into her pocket as they said their goodbyes. 

A communication crystal, the twin to the one in my pocket of nowhere, and with it a prayer. I have no regrets in my life, but this. That I did not have time with you, Bryce. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise. My silent beseeching plea to all the Gods above wrapped itself on the wind. 

Long live the queen. 

Bryce didn’t give the others a chance to puzzle it out. 

She flicked her wrists, chains falling to the floor as she grabbed Gwydion and whirled toward Rigelus. 

She plunged into her power in a blink. And before the Bright Hand could shout, she blasted him with starlight as I pinned him to his throne. 

Her useless mate threw his chains to the ground the moment Ruhn said the word queen. And as my mate launched her blinding power at Rigelus, he had hurled his at the male, too. 

Lightning struck the marble pillar just above the crystal throne. He fucking missed. 

Of course the buffoon direct ed his initial blast of power at Rigelus, rather than charging up Bryce, risking an attack from Rigelus before it was done. 

It was a gamble staying behind them. So I ran. I wielded whatever power I had inside me, us, the stone, the bond, yanking on that mental soul bridge; to me, to me. Come on. 

Bryce ran toward the doors, towards me, Starsword in hand. 

Another angel lunged for her, but the Helhound was there. He tackled the male to the crystal floor. Behind him, Mordoc was bleeding from a gash I had given him in his throat. The Hind was on the floor, unconscious, Baxian having knocked her out first, her treachery a surprise to him. 

I didn’t care about Hunter. Not as Baxian got Pollux down, and Bryce raced through the doors, to me, out into the endless hallway. She turned left, red hair streaming behind her, and I took position at her back.

If luck existed at all, Rigelus would kill Hunt for me. Power blasted him into a nearby pillar. At least some prayers were answered. Glowing like a god, Rigelus leapt off the dais, the crystal floor splintering beneath him, and barreled after Bryce, death raging in his eyes. 

Not today, you fucking wyrm. 

I felt Bryce’s heart crack piece by piece with each step she ran from that throne room. As she sped down the long hall. 

My tidal wave of power rose behind her, and she dared a look over her shoulder to find Rigelus on her tail. He blazed white with magic, fury radiating from him. 

Rigelus sent out a blast of power, and Bryce zoomed left. A wave of ebony dark pivoted the Asteri’s power, smashing it through a window, glass spraying. Bryce slipped on the shards but kept running toward the arch at the end of the hall. Go. 

To the Gate . 

Our fight was messy using only a veil to block his blows. Rigelus shot another spear of power, and Bryce ducked, sliding low just as I ran to her right, my shadows slamming into his power, diverting it away from her to shatter a marble bust. Fragments I couldn’t shield her from sliced her face, her neck, her arms, but then she was up and running again, clenching the Starsword so hard I could feel how her hand ached. The slide had cost her.

Rigelus was ten feet behind. Five. His hand stretched for her trailing hair. And my power exploded.  

Lightning from all seven of my siphons speared down the hall, shattering windows and statues in its wake. Bryce welcomed it into her heart, her back. Welcomed it into the tattoo there as my power singed her very blood— I felt it sparking. Light ruptured from her scar like a bullet passing through. Right into the archway of the Gate. 

The risk of powering her up from behind was worth the cost, because the angel and the others that still lay incapacitated from Rigelus’s blow on the throne room floor were just now stirring.

Bryce didn’t dare look to see who stood behind her after that flawless shot. 

Not as the air of the Gate’s arch turned black. Murky. Rigelus’s fingers snared in her hair, as I tugged her to meet me in the ether. 

Bryce gave herself to the wind and darkness and teleported for the Gate. Only to land ten feet ahead of Rigelus, hitting a wall. A series of wards.

But Rigelus shouted in rage and surprise, as if shocked she’d even managed to get that far, and slung his power again. Ten feet at a time, then. Bryce teleported, I ran defense, and another statue lost its head.

Again, and again, and again, Rigelus shot his power at her and Bryce leapt through space, ward to ward, zigging and zagging, glass and countless statues shattering, the Gate nearing— Bryce leapt back—right behind Rigelus. He whirled, and she blasted a wall of light into his face. Reckless female. I held him back, but he wormed through my tethers like they were spider webs. 

He howled, and she teleported once more—Bryce landed ten feet from the Gate’s gaping maw and kept running. 

Rigelus roared as Bryce jumped into the awaiting darkness. It caught her, sticky like a web. 

Time slowed to a glacial drip; I plucked a Harp string, to pause time, to stop him. Though, neither Bryce nor Rigelus were strongly affected by its thrall.  

Rigelus was still roaring, lunging. Bryce thrust her power out, and I reached—into the bridge between us.

Into the thing I had no right to touch. The bond she didn’t yet know existed.

I didn’t scream. Didn’t plead. I focused. 

Willed the Gate to take her and her alone. And it listened.

The archway yanked at her like a vacuum – her favorite weapon.

She was suspended, body arching backward, hair streaming behind her—straight toward Rigelus’s straining fingers.

He was too close.

Still cloaked in shadow, unseen, I dared one more interference. Just enough. Not power. Not light. Only a ripple of shadow—a whisper of my magic threading through the air.

I didn’t strike. Didn’t reveal myself. Only nudged his lunge—barely a breath’s resistance. His snarl split the chamber.

“NO!”

It was the last sound I heard as the darkness within the Gate swallowed her whole.

 And I collapsed. Invisible.

The pressure in my ears threatened to pulp my brain. I was screaming—not aloud, but in my mind. Through the bond. To her. Screaming into wind and stars and emptiness and the endless silence where she’d disappeared, screaming because she’d left me behind. Because I hadn’t gone with her.

Screaming—

And then—I reached.

I summoned the communication crystal—the twin stone to hers—and quieted my mind. 

Mind-stilling. 

No more rage. No more panic. Only silence. Only control. I inhaled—slow. Steady. Let go.

And fell—not down, but sideways. Slipping past time, beyond space.

I landed in the stillness of myself—where the black sea waited. A void of glittering starlight. Not empty. Not lifeless. The bridge between our souls. Our minds. Not a destination. Only a thread—mine, reaching for hers.

A maze of memory. A desperate pull. To the one place I’d always meant for her to find—The Sidra. That quiet riverbank. Mist curling at my boots. The moment I’d saved. Frozen in time. Where I had always been waiting.

And then I yanked. Hard. Across the bond.

To me. Not to the Gate. Not to Midgard.

To this. To the memory of me—standing still. Waiting for her to land at my feet. 

***

The memory folds back into itself, ash on the wind. 

I blink, and I’m back in the gallery—my shadows drifting up under Bryce’s ankles through the ceiling as they like to do. Lingering snakes.  

Listening to her voice catch on her words, “You let me believe I was broken for not loving you the way I was supposed to. All this time… you knew.” My heart splinters.

Hunt whispers hoarsely, “It was never your fault.”

Chapter Text

Bryce

“I don’t know what else there is to say.” Another apology, another spat — nothing seems like it could fill the empty air between us. 

“Will you remove the manacle now?” Hunt rasped, nothing but pain in his hollow eyes. Not a flash of lightning remained.

“It depends... I… need your help.” I bite my lip, and my eyes dart around the room for any hint of a watching shadow. This would be another gamble. 

“No. We’re done, Bryce—“

“Hear me out,” I plead, hope shining in my eyes. “I think you owe me that much.”

“Maybe if you remove the fucking shackle, Quinlan. Can’t believe you put me in chains…”

“Technically that was Azriel… but yeah. Alright.” 

Hunt looks like he is going to breathe fire, but my fear is absent. In the back of my mind, I know I’m safe and Azriel’s here… somewhere. 

“Will you promise to listen? I only need three minutes and you don’t have to agree to anything.” 

A breeze whispered through the rafters. Subtle, but I saw Hunt flinch. A reminder, maybe, that Azriel was still watching. Still waiting.

“Fine,” Hunt muttered. “Three minutes. That’s all you get.”

With a sigh of resignation, I turned on my heel and stalked for the stairs, pulse thrumming.

Azriel waited in the dark, arms crossed like he’d known the exact second I’d come looking. Of course he had.

“Keys,” I said, palm out. He didn’t move. Just stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Give me the key, Azriel. I need Hunt to work with us—I’m letting him go.”

His shadows curled tighter. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll only make this worse,” I whispered, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him. “Please.”

He didn’t argue. Just leaned in. Close enough for gooseflesh to bloom along my neck as he murmured, “I know how to stay hidden.”

“I can take care of myself.” I pushed him, and he stepped with me.

“I know. But you’re mine to protect.” My pulse spiked at the possessiveness in his voice. Totally should not find that so hot. 

“Just because we fucked doesn’t mean you own me—we don’t even know each other.”

He said nothing. Just lifted the key high above his head like the smirking bastard he was.

“Asshole,” I muttered, jumping.

He caught me. One arm locked around my waist, the other bracing us against the wall as my back hit stone.

I squirmed, trying to reach behind me where the key now pressed between us. My chest slammed into his, and my legs wrapped around his hips before I could stop them.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just looked at me like I was the only string holding him together.

“You’re lucky I don’t bite you again,” he whispered, his mouth brushing my ear. I stilled, breath caught in my throat. He inhaled deeply, burying his face in my hair.

The moment stretched too long. Dangerous. So I wrenched the key from behind me and wriggled free.

His hands lingered at my waist as I slid down his body and hit the floor, breathless.

Without a word, I turned and headed back up the stairs, heart hammering, unsure if any of this would work. If anything ever could.

I can’t believe that actually worked. Hunt seemed onboard with the idea — getting renewable energy turbines or whatever installed and creating a system for free renewable firstlight for all citizens of Planet Midgard. Hunt and I may be broken, but I knew his heart was in the right place. 

It was one thing we could always agree on — a better world. 

He may hate me forever; and I may never fully trust him again. The disintegration of our relationship may be a crumbling stone inside my soul but that thought of a better world kept me going. Hunt knew how important it was to me, even if I didn’t say it; to fix the society I had broken. 

Hunt left with a nod of truce and not another word. Something inside me withered to dust, and I descended the spiral staircase below to the other Hel that awaited. But I didn’t know if I had another fight in me. Azriel deserved a flaming fist of my ire but I didn’t have the energy right now. Didn’t know if I ever would. 

I had been running on pure adrenaline. But something in my heart was sputtering out. I was losing steam—it was getting late. As much as I felt like another fight was in the cards; a part of me couldn’t muster the strength. I wanted to curl into a ball. Disassociate. Drown under the weight of something—anything—else. Wine, a body, a pile of mirthroot, a blanket, a rock. I didn’t fucking care. 

“Azriel?” I called out for him as I descended into the dark basement, the firstlight dying out with the time on the clock. Nine o’clock in the evening started conservation hours. I began to light the candles, taking an oil lamp along with me into the dimness.  

No answer came. Only silence rang in my ears.

“Azriel!” I yelled louder. If he jumps out to scare me I swear to all the Gods above I couldn’t be blamed for throwing this oil lamp in his face if he did. And I would hate to ruin such a pretty thing.

Still, resounding silence was the only response. 

I disappeared back upstairs to see where he went. “Sprites?” I called out for someone, anyone to answer me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I don’t have time for this shit! Sasa, Rithi, and what’s your name—you can come out now! … Please?” I beg, equally annoyed and jumpy. 

Three glowing embers zoom from the upstairs stacks to meet me in the dim atrium. And they all look murderous. 

“Hey guys. Have any of you seen Azriel?” 

“Why should we tell you?” Sasa, I think, seethes. Rithi continues with a high pitched offense, “Didn’t you threaten to drown us in a bucket of water?” 

Shit. “Okay fair. I’m really sorry—I’ve been… on edge. I didn’t mean it, and I would never ever do that. It was an empty threat. I’ve just not been myself lately.” The three glowing balls of fury cross their arms in tandem. 

“So… I take that as a no, you haven’t seen ole big wings lying around?” I try to lighten the mood, defying the souring of the soul inside of me.  “Any idea where he might have sulked off to?”

“No.” Sasa tuts. “Though I’m sure he got a clue and decided to stay the Hel away from you.”

“Ouch.” Alright. I deserved that one. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you more strawberry shisa, and your own laptop to watch whatever trashy reality shows you like. I need a new one anyway…” Since Hunt fried mine a few hours ago when he realized Azriel’s scent was all over me. 

Three tiny chins raised in unison, “Fine.” And with that, they flew off again. Sheesh. Guess I’m on my own for this mission.

I head back downstairs and make for the hollow statue leading to my sacred nest; the spelled walls now reflecting a vision of tall pines and snow capped mountains amongst my pink sparkly room. 

Home…

“Azriel?!” I bellow, giving him one last furious, frustrated try. I’m met with the sound of a dripping faucet and flickering candlelight. My copper bathtub is full of steaming water, bubbles, and a tray laying across it. Getting closer, I realize it holds my fancy lavender soap and oils, a book, and… my waterproof vibrator.

You’ve got to me fucking kidding me. That big snoop went through my nightstand! 

My instinct to want to scream or sob is now replaced with indignant rage. He’s gone… he left me here without a note or any explanation. And I don’t know what I expected or why it hurts. Even with the overt display of what some would consider affection. All I see is red.

Okay. If he’s my mate… would a mate know… would a mate feel… me? How exactly does this fucking mating bond bullshit work? I’m not getting into that tub no matter how nice and relaxing it looks without trying to summon his big scary ass first.

Closing my eyes, I cross my arms, and try to see if I can conjure Azriel out of thin air. Feel him wherever he’s lurking. Or something. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I swear to Cthona if he is hiding in here somewhere only to try and scare me, I’m gonna kill him. 

But there’s something there; at the bottommost pit of my soul. A sea of glittering starlight. And some kind of bridge. Or is it a rope? Whatever the fuck it is, I do the only thing I can think of and I yank. Hard. 

Nothing. For Urd’s sake. Can someone make a tutorial guide for mates already? Maybe I could write the book once I figure this shit out. 

A push of wind answers a moment later. Pushing me towards the tub. Bastard! I hiss at no one.

“I hope you can hear me, asshole! Come. Here!” I tug again on the tether like it’s field day at CCU. If anyone was watching me right now; my behavior would certainly warrant me committing myself to the nearest psych ward for unhinged Vanir. 

Again. Nada. Zilch. Zero response. I swore I felt something watching me. A shift in the shadows. But there was nothing there when I checked. 

I roll my eyes to the sky, speaking directly to Urd now, “Well?! Care to explain yourself? Thanks a lot, bitch!” I wince, hoping I don’t freeze in Hel for that one. 

Fuming, I rip off my clothes. “Fine.” I, again, mutter to absolutely no one. The inviting hammered copper tub is still steaming, and I don’t want to make any more stupid mistakes today. My toe hikes over the ledge to test the water — it’s annoyingly perfect. So I set down the lamp and get in. Perhaps to drown. 

I sink into the tub, bubbles tickling my chin, and heave a reluctant sigh. Gods, I don’t want to admit how good this feels. How much this is exactly what I needed. To be alone. To process all of the stupid shit that’s gone down. Even if I am unbearably lonely for some reason I can’t place. My heart sinks with me,  heavier than the water. Quiet as the ache I can’t shake. 

Picking up the book to drown out the cacophony of psychosis in my head; I read the title Azriel picked. ‘Pack Darling’ by Lola Rock. Forward by Sellyn Drake. My jaw fucking drops in outrage—it’s a multi mate wolf romance with only one female and five males. I blush and snap the book shut. What the fuck, Azriel?! 

Looking around for him in every direction, I realize I’m really, truly alone… so I sink deeper and open the book again, eyes wide as saucers. Like maybe the bubbles will hide the fact I’m reading about five asshole alpha males and one obviously self inserted female. The vibrator on the tray catches in my periphery and I hiss. The audacity of this big guy! How did he know I had a thing for wolves… 

Time slips into the ether as I devour the book. But of course it’s a fucking slow burn. Dammit all to Hel. I can’t even justify using the pretty periwinkle vibe unless I use my godsdamn imagination… which I decide to do. A few times. And fuck, how did he know I needed that release? 

Boneless and thoroughly marinated in bath oils, I throw the book across the room when I get to the wildly depressing ending. A fucking barrel?! What the fuck did he just make me read! Nightmare fuel?! 

I sigh and realize I’ve probably been in here for hours, but the water hasn’t even gone cold. My skin on the other hand looks like a crone’s. 

The book’s unfortunate ending creeps into my psyche like strangling vines. I really don’t think Azriel had any clue how this one ended… or maybe he did? Who knows. But call me a godsdamn Darling because I can’t help but think I know exactly how Lilah Darling felt by the end. 

Defeated. Tired. Like she wanted to hide from everyone, hide from the world, and especially hide from her mates. Like she would rather burn and drown than face her reality. 

Like I would. Because I am lost. And I do not know the way. 

So I sink beneath the water. Let the pressure roar in my ears. And hope it drowns the ache—even just a piece of it. The twisting, choking sickness I was never meant to carry alone.

Azriel

I watch my beautiful mate slip under the water, feeling every ounce of sadness coursing through her. I shouldn’t have picked that godsdamn book, but the cover looked light hearted. Like the distraction she might need. 

How the fuck was I supposed to know the ending was apparently depressing as Hel? At least now I know why they say to never judge a book by its cover…

Trying not to overreact, I give her a second to pop up for air. But she doesn’t. Naturally, I launch into full blown panic. I drop the bag of food I’m holding, and appear at the side of the tub from the shadows I’d been lurking in.

My armor is off in a blink. On my knees, I scoop her up out of the water, wrapping her in a towel as she coughs and shrieks in surprise. 

“Don’t you ever. Ever. Do that to me again. Do you hear me?” I seethe, wrapping my arms around her tighter, pressing her cheek to my bare chest, brushing the hair out of her face. I’m panting with desperation and relief; I can’t believe she would do this to me. That she would ever think to leave me. Especially like that. It’s unthinkable, the second time she’s tried to—

“How dare you pull that bullshit.” I scold her, palm to her chest, assessing every part of her, making sure she is alive. Unharmed. Her eyes are wide with shock as she coughs, spitting with usual venom, “How dare you scare the shit out of me like that! Where the fuck were you?! And just how long have you been watching me, you big creep?!” She tries to push me away and I only hold her tighter, carrying her dripping wet body to the bed where I plan to force her to remain, even if she fights me. 

“Put. Me. Down. You’re overreacting. I was just practicing holding my breath.” She coughs again. Liar. 

“No.”

Her eyebrows furrow at me, furious as we lock eyes. But I don’t miss the sad exhaustion behind her angry stare. I certainly don’t miss how she stops fighting in my grip. 

“Some book you picked, genius.” Her voice cracks and she averts her eyes from me as I gently lay her down, cupping her body against mine, cradling her head to my chest, letting the sound of my heartbeat calm the roaring within us both. 

“I’m so sorry.” I kiss her head, “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t—“ 

“Next time read the last page, dumbass. Maybe check the online reviews.” 

I pull back to grab her chin to look at me, “I will take the blame for this.” I kiss her forehead. “But if you ever… try to do anything like that again. I’m going to make you regret it.” Gently, I stroke her jaw like she’s made of glass and kiss the tip of her nose. She shivers against me. 

“Regret it… how exactly?” Nuzzling into me, I feel her widening smile against my chest. 

“There you are.” I growl and smack her exposed wet ass with a hard slap that stings my palm. She yelps, “Ouch.” She giggles softly and I can breathe. 

“Relax. It’s not like I was trying to drown myself.” A pause. Then she quietly amends—“I think.” 

I grab her cheeks between my forefinger and thumb this time.

“It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.” My grip loosens and I pet her hair, tucking wet strands behind her ears and out of her face, still scared shitless. Annoyed that she always insists on being so flippant.

Burrowing into me like nothing happened, she grumbles against my chest, “Where’d you go?” 

I feel guilty for a moment, but she had to know I wasn’t going to let that famous asshole run off into the night and not follow him to assess his intentions. “To get you food. A cheeseburger. Cheese fries. And a chocolate milkshake.” I sigh, and squeeze her against me tighter.

She huffs. “Where else?” Shit, she’s good. 

“I… followed the angel to make sure he didn’t have any bright ideas about betraying us.” Her head unfortunately leaves my chest to glare at me, and I swallow my guilt. 

I don’t apologize. “You’re too trusting.” 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise at me in challenge. “And I suppose you had a better idea as to how to get his help with this master firstlight plan? We need him onboard with this, Azriel.”

“We need no such thing.” I growl, yanking the towel off her to dry her sopping hair, a little harder than necessary. 

“Hey!” She grabs for the blankets to pull them around her exposed breasts as I finish rubbing her head and prowl for the dressing room, grabbing her a pair of leggings and sweater. I throw them on the bed, and make for where I left the bag of food. 

She props herself on her elbow to narrow her eyes at me as I make quick work of heating and plating the food, bringing it back to her, placing it on the nightstand. 

Instead of thanks, I’m met with covers flying over her head as she plops back to the bed, hiding herself from view. I can’t make out her muffled mumbles but the meaning of I’m still being a brat is clear enough. 

My wings flare wide and I hope she hears them snap in irritation. I rummage through the dresser to try and find a hairbrush. Two can play this game.

I walk slowly back towards the white heap of blankets that is my sullen mate in the middle of the iron four poster. Sitting slowly so as to not rattle my precious cargo, I position my back against the headboard, wings out wide. 

“Come here,” I order. 

A nearly unintelligible slur comes out, “I’m sleeping.”

“No you’re not.” I’m tired of playing by her rules. I rip off the blankets to find my naked mate’s face buried in the mattress. 

“Nooooo!” She whines in protest as I haul her slight frame between my legs, caging her back against my chest, pinning her to me with a single forearm. I grab the hairbrush off the nightstand and press her head forward with it in silent command. 

“You don’t need to brush my hair. I’m not a child.” 

“No. But you’re tired. And you should see your hair.” She slowly turns her wild mop of red hair to glower at me.

“Lean forward. Please.” I tap her nose with the brush. She elbows me in the ribs and I pull her in tighter, fisting her long hair in my grip and working the brush through the tangled ends. Her shoulders slump as I maintain my hold on her hair, working in silence. When I’m done, I braid the still damp strands into a plait, setting it on one side of her shoulder. 

“All done.” I click my tongue. “Was that so bad?” 

“Torturous.” She replies. I can’t help but chuckle. “Well you’re going to hate what comes next.” I grab the plate from the nightstand and set it on the towel next to us. Grabbing a fry, I dangle it in front of her mouth. 

“Eat.”

Her head backs into my chest as she tries to run away from the offensive fried potato, “Gross, you want to eat in bed?”

“Would you rather me haul you over my shoulder and strap you to a dining chair?” 

She sags into my hold, tilting her chin up to look at me seriously. “Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” 

I press my lips into her ear, “When is the last time you let someone take care of you?” 

She doesn’t answer—just melts into me. So I hold her like I’ve waited my whole life for the chance.

Chapter Text

Bryce

“When is the last time you let someone take care of you?” Azriel growls in my ear. 

The words cut deep. But I’m not thinking about Hunt. Or Danika. Or my endless parade of trust issues. Not now. Not when I’m touch-drunk and pressed against this big, warm body.

I sigh and burrow into him, ignoring the implied threat of affection.

Like he’s inside my head again, he presses a straw to my lips so I don’t have to move, “At least try the milkshake, you stubborn thing.” 

Twist my arm I guess. It’s not like he’s threatening to break it. 

I take a long sip of chocolatey decadence and shiver. “Ooosh.”

A breath later he’s pulling my cropped gray sweater over my head. Tapping my thighs in silent request – I lift my hips, letting him slide on my leggings. 

I sink into him again. Maybe I could get used to this. The big guy could work well as my new body pillow. My personal stepper and fetcher. Filing that fantasy away for later.

“Better?” Azriel holds me tighter. 

Somewhere along the way, I think I forgot that this was the entire point. To feel safe. Held. Cared for. To be wrapped in strong arms—arms I knew without question would always be there to catch me if I fell. 

Azriel’s thumping heartbeat pounds in my ears, and it makes me feel alive. Like I want to live—not just survive or exist, but live. The realization hits like a free fall into nowhere. But this time, letting go doesn’t feel like slipping into an endless abyss. It feels solid. Steady. Like home. Like a rock where my sea of emotions could swell and crash. And I don’t know what to make of it.

“Yeah.” I hear him chewing behind me. 

I turn to him, wrinkling my nose. “Hey… I thought that was my cheeseburger?” 

He raises his eyebrows while chewing, like, oh, now you’re hungry?

I open my mouth in silent expectation—gimme bite—and feel his stomach ripple with silent laughter.

Gods, making him laugh is dangerously addicting. I hum into the greasy, glorious mouthful he feeds me.

Still chewing, I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater. The portrait of a royal lady. 

“I’ll… be right back.”

Azriel’s eyes narrow. “Where are you going?”

I don’t answer. Just vanish in a flash of light to the atrium.

I grab my Thurr-sized overnight bag and sling it over my shoulder. A quick pat to snoring Syrinx, sleeping in his little nest under my desk. Wine bottle? Check. Two glasses? Check mate.

Reappearing by the bed, I drop the bag with a thud and carefully set down the wine like it’s My Precious. I leap back onto the bed in front of him, landing on my knees, glasses in hand. 

“Let’s have some fun.” I wink and pass him the glasses. He gives me side-eye but pours anyway. Good boy.

“I'm glad the past few hours haven’t dimmed your usual good spirits.” 

I tap a finger against his lips. “Shhh.” He bites me.

“Ow! Asshole.” But I grinned.

“Shut up. Watch this.” I rifle under the pillows, fishing out the remote. “Lookie here.” With a click, a TV screen rises from the foot of my bed. 

“Jesiba, my old boss, had this place pre-furnished with all this shit.” 

“Shit?” Azriel’s nostrils flare in annoyance. 

“But I added a few touches of my own. This thing right here big fella?” I gesture dramatically. “The greatest invention on Planet Midgard. Say it with me now: tel-eh-vision.”  I bop the remote against his head with each syllable.

He sighs, predictably exasperated, taking a long swig of his wine. Silent permission to proceed.  

“This,” I announce, flipping to MidTV, where late-night music videos always play, “Is a music video.” I coolly drain the rest of my drink like I’ve just shown him the Holy Grail. 

The Wyrd Sisters croon a soulful string trio on-screen. Normally, I’m all in on a moody folk ballad. But right now? Too emo.

Besides, Azriel isn’t watching the TV. He’s watching me. As usual.

I scooch over to him on my knees, lips pouting, “Please sir, may I have some more?” Hand outstretched, glass angled like a plea for mercy.

Azriel doesn’t roll his eyes, but he’s close. His sigh sounds like a yes, and when he pours me a stingy smidge, I take it as a win.

He barely gets a word out—“Are you–”—before one of Midgard’s new Hot 100 songs interrupts him, and the room explodes with synth and bass. The kind of song that demands to be danced to.

“Holy Gods! Fucking Urd, I love this song!” I squeal over the music, already gulping the rest of my bubbles. I hand Azriel the empty glass like he’s my royal cupbearer.

“This is Chappell Ruhnn.” I shout unnecessarily. “New artist — Mer. Total Diva. She’s kind of a bitch.” I grin. “Obviously, I love her.”

Azriel glances around like there’s anyone else in the room I could possibly be talking to.

It’s you, bigs. My captive audience.

Without hesitation—without sanity—I scramble over his lap, limbs flailing, reaching for the hairbrush on my nightstand.

Azriel’s rough hands catch my thighs before I can faceplant into the carpet. Big and strong and far too helpful. And just a little too firm to be innocent.

“Careful,” he mutters, but I can feel his eyes and curious little shadows linger on my ass in his face. 

Grabbing the hairbrush, I bolt upright. About to commit a crime against my dignity.

Time to scare this dude off. Two glasses in and my give a fuck’s have gone on vacation. I jump, knees launching me up as the beat pulses. The mattress bounces and the brush becomes my microphone. I channel my best Bat Penatar, ready to wail like a banshee, and lose my godsdamn mind.

“Five, six, seven, eight
I could be ‘the one,’ or your new addiction”

I high kick over Azriel’s head. Barely. His brows lift. Just a little. I swear he almost flinched. I think he likes my moves. Or fears them. Possibly both.

I stomp and bounce like I’m headlining a godsdamned arena, hair flipping with abandon.

Azriel leans back against the headboard, arms folded, wings spread. But he’s watching. Intensely. 

“It's all in my head but I want non-fiction
I don't want the world, but I'll take this city!”

I spin, dropping it low. My ass touches the mattress before I roll back up, hips snaking. My free hand curls a come-hither toward him and I wink. 

“Who can blame a girl? Call me hot, not pretty—
Baby, do you like this beat?”

I almost fling the brush at him like a dagger to see if he’ll catch it while I’m sashaying, but I’m the epitome of restraint. Instead I strut across the bed like it’s a stage. When I spin again, my sweater rides up, flashing him a peak of tit. It’s intentional. Obviously. Somehow I manage to not fall off the bed.

“I made it so you'd dance with me—
It’s like a hundred 99 degrees!”

I drop to my knees again, arching my back like I’m doing a striptease and sweep my wet hair off my neck. The brush trails down my chest as I undulate my hips on the bed. 

Azriel is completely still, but his eyes trail every move. I watch as his jaw ticks. Dead giveaway. He’s into it. Which is… incredibly surprising. 

“When you're doing it with me, doing it with me
H-O-T-T-O-G-O”

Kicking a pillow off the bed like it personally betrayed me, I air guitar with the brush. The queen of officially losing my shit. 

“Snap and clap and touch your toes—
Raise your hands, now body roll”

Naturally, I body roll. Right in front of him. My ass is practically in his face. And I can hear him exhale behind me, like he's drowning himself in self-control.

“Dance it out, you're hot to go
H-O-T-T-O-G-O”

I leap into a split. It’s not great. I used to be better but I’m a little out of practice these days. Doesn’t matter.

I whip my head around, hair flying, as if I’ve just finished my world tour.

Tired of being weird, I toss the brush behind me and crawl into his lap, straddling him slowly. I drape my arms around his neck with a stupid grin like I’ve lost my last brain cell and I couldn’t be happier about it.

I pause. Let my silence stretch as the music continues to thrum. Let him take me in. A veritable madwoman in his lap–just so he knows who exactly he’s dealing with here. 

Then I say, too sweetly, “Well? I don’t hear your applause.” 

A beat of mirth before I can’t help but let out a wild cackle at the absurdity of it all. Of me.  

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile.

He pins me to the bed in one smooth move. Shadows curl up my legs. And my core goes molten. 

And finally—finally—he smiles. And it’s devastating.

I smile back. I can’t help it.

“Do that again.” I whisper.

He raises a brow, “Do what?” 

“Smile.” 

Instead, he glowers at me. Typical. But the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting it.

Shadows slither tighter around my wrists, pinning me down as he leans in. His thumbs drag across my cheeks. I can hear the quick breaths he’s trying to slow. Can feel every inch of his arousal pressed hard against my thighs. And fuck, my body is fully betraying me—melting into him, aching for more.

My world narrows to only him—those wings, that wild darkness, echoing something unspoken inside me. He waits for me to quip my way out, but I waggle my brows, clinging to flippancy like a lifeline.

I underestimated him. Again. His hazel eyes darken and heat fills his gaze, making it hard to look away. There’s an assurance there that makes me think he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Bastard.

I hear the demand in his tone when he finally speaks. “Show me what else you’ve got, Princess.”

I falter. Fucking Hel, he makes me weak. He can’t be serious. He’s baiting me and I know it. I try to scoff but it doesn’t land. 

He needs to fucking kiss me. Right now.

I really don’t want to embarrass myself further by asking.

But I need his tongue to melt into my mouth.

And I refuse to debase myself any more than I already have by begging for it.

Except… well, my throbbing clit is saying otherwise. My body is trembling under the weight of his mouth hovering just out of reach. 

Please, please, please, debase me before I have to do it myself.

I try to move closer but his thumbs keep my head still. My arms are pinned. My hips locked under his. And he just watches. Like he’s savoring the moment.

Another stupid game. He’s messing with my head like he’s got a godsdamn fetish for it. 

What the Hel is the matter with me? I’m practically feral, squirming beneath him. I’d slap myself if I could.

But he is swallowing me up in his huge arms and I forget to be furious. I can’t get over how small I feel beneath him, how I am the center of his focus. 

He’s gazing down at me, and I have no choice but to face him as his thumb drags across my lip with brazen possessiveness – and gods, I wish I could suck on it. Need boils in my core. 

Not an ounce of me is mad about it. 

Azriel inches closer to my mouth, teasing me, the corners ticking upwards ever so slightly. And either I’m hallucinating or I can feel his pulse throbbing in between my thighs. 

My palms start to sweat, but I can’t exactly wipe them on the front of my leggings — leaving me exposed so he knows exactly how unnerved I am. I’m too aware of the heat radiating from his soft leather clad thigh, his intoxicating scent of cedar and mist, the raise of his mouth as I await his next move. 

I bite down on my whimper. 

There’s a subtle shift between us, and my heart beats faster in my chest. The look on his face is full of desire and anticipation. And I’m holding my breath as I wait – so godsdamn ready to give in to the heat between us. 

Azriel’s thumbs trace my jaw. Slowly. 

My lips part on instinct.

He stares—silent, searing—bathed in siphon light, like he’s seeing not just me, but something buried deeper. Soul-deep.  

Then he leans in. No hesitation this time.

He closes the distance between us, pressing his parted mouth to mine, and my entire body lights up with excitement. Fuck yes.

The second our lips meet, I can’t stop the pulsing waves of heat unfurling inside me, rippling down my body, tingling in the tips of my breasts before pooling even lower. He tastes like home. And chocolate milkshake. 

My tongue tangles with his, meeting him stroke for stroke. He makes a low guttural noise in the back of his throat. The erotic sound vibrates through my body as his tongue slicks over mine. 

He softly strokes my cheek as his lips memorize mine, the scratchy feel of his scars on my skin intensifies the pleasure already wreaking havoc on my body. The sheer roughness, the maleness of him triggers another burst of need.  

I need more.  

With an anguished moan, I angle my head to deepen the kiss and my tongue eagerly explores. Hungry for him. Our mouths are fused as I arch into his body, needing to run my fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

There’s a soft hum from Azriel as our kiss picks up speed, growing wilder. 

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, and I barely let him get the question out before I’m actually whimpering now, beyond words, eyes pleading with his own, silently begging him to come back down. 

“Yes,” I cry out against his lips. I feel like a fiend, wanting more, needing more. I’ve never needed anything so much in all my life – never needed anyone like this. The energy between us devouring each other has me wanting to explode. I love it so, so much.

Azriel threads his fingers through my hair, one powerful arm curling around to cradle my head, tugging me closer to him. My breasts crush against his rock hard chest, and I can feel the wild pulsing of his heartbeat matching my own. His raw, husky groan tickles my lips and it sends my pulse skittering into orbit. 

Something’s happening to me. He’s too addictive, and I’m no longer in control. 

“Pull up my shirt,” I whine, and Azriel’s scarred hand darts toward the hem before pausing, looking down at me with warring hesitation before I nod emphatically. 

“Yes,” I say in a panting moan. Then my sweater is off in a flash and my aching breasts are exposed, his large hand quickly covering one soft mound, squeezing and pinching the tight bud of my nipple. 

The more he massages my breasts, the more his hips grind against me. And the satisfaction I feel at his insistent hardness rubbing between my legs while not being able to move is maddening. I want him to fuck me so much it hurts.

A part of me knows he probably won’t—considering everything that’s happened tonight. His control’s on a short leash. But the way he’s consuming me right now? It’s got me questioning everything. This is well past distraction. Way past itch-scratching.

Azriel’s mouth moves over mine with a skill and confidence that steals the breath from my lungs. When he nibbles on my bottom lip, I feel an answering tug of cool shadows twining around my perked nipples. I try to keep from floating away into nowhere, from dissolving into a pool of starlight – just from his kiss. 

His hot mouth moves from mine, traveling along my jaw, dipping down to my neck and breasts, where he plants open mouthed kisses that leave me shivering in their wake. He’s sucking and nibbling at my nipples, sending ragged moans into my flesh as his grip tightens around my skin hard enough to leave marks, which is driving me fucking crazy. 

But I’m desperate to feel his mouth on mine again. I never want him to stop kissing me. All I can do is pull my head forward and whine, which summons a low chuckle from him.

“Is this what you want?’ He rasps, and then his lips find mine, and he thrusts his perfect hot tongue back into my mouth, consuming me entirely. 

My back arches and I let out a loud tortured hum of needy pleasure. But I can’t quite slam down on my mental shields—my mind feels uninvited, intruding on a private moment between two souls who desperately need to be joined with each other. 

Gods above, how long have I needed this? Needed him? Have these feelings been lying dormant or is it just the nature of who and what we are that’s driving this passion? Either way, I can’t believe how good this feels. Like I’ve needed this for eternity.

Mine. 

“I need to taste you,” Azriel groans, and I think he’s losing himself just as much as I am. I let out a small yelp of protest at his missing mouth. Trembling, I lift my head to stare down at him.

“I have to – please, let me taste you,” he begs half-wild, his feral gaze on my face. 

“Is that okay?” He pants, and I nod again.

“Please,” I nearly sob, writhing for more of him. 

I would take anything he’d give me.

But before he moves down between my legs, he grabs my face and pulls me up to his mouth to kiss him again – like he knows exactly what I need. When he’s had his fill, he travels down my body, tugging off my leggings so I’m bare for him. 

For a brief moment, I hesitate, wriggling my knees together as he runs his rough hands along my soft thighs. And I know he can tell — feeling my resistance to being so exposed. So vulnerable. Utterly at his mercy. 

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” He whispers. “Let me see how beautiful you are.” 

My knees finally fall apart and my breathing picks up. At the sight of my naked cunt, Azriel lets out a growl. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, Bryce,” he whispers as he lowers himself between my legs. 

First, he plants a soft kiss against my belly, and I watch my tender flesh erupt in shivers and goosebumps at his touch. He presses his lips reverently to the inside of each thigh, and I begin panting and humming in anticipation. 

“More.” I mewl. 

When he turns his head up to look at me, he smirks, and I bite my lip as he leans over me again, taking my mouth in another bruising kiss. 

I let out another loud whimper as he pulls away. When I glance down, Azriel’s mouth is already buried between my legs – his perfectly sculpted, golden body framed by those huge shadow-drenched wings. I watch as he licks at my sex, lapping his tongue eagerly against my clit.

“You taste like I dreamed.” Azriel rumbles against me.

I can’t help the squirming and clawing at the bed with my nails as he tongue-fucks me. Darkness consuming every part of me. 

“Azriel, yes!” I cry out. I can’t help but glow for him. Shadows brush back my damp hair, their phantom hands trailing down my throat, tugging and twirling at my sensitive nipples while his tongue works deep inside me. 

“Look at you, princess. So beautiful like this.” Azriel’s voice roughens against my sex as he gazes up at me, tongue plunging between my folds while his thumb circles that aching bundle of nerves. My legs writhe around him, my back arches, and those cool, coiling tendrils playing over my breasts send me spiraling—each languid stroke of his tongue and thumb dragging me deeper into the ether.

“I need to come, Azriel.” He hums again, a song of promise against my flesh. 

“Keep your eyes on me.” His dark command locks my gaze onto his. Then he sinks two fingers inside me, pumping and curling deep as he sucks eagerly on my clit, making me scream. 

“Look how soaked you are for me.” 

My breaths grow slower. Deeper. That telltale sign I’m about to lose it–and he knows it. But instead of dragging it out, he gives me permission. His hands wrap tight around my thighs, bracing me, his voice a low murmur against my heat, “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

Another phantom hand curls around my throat as I lock my thighs around his head—and I cry out, raspy and raw. My orgasm slams into me, hips jolting off the bed as I pulse and shatter beneath his praise.

“Good girl,” he growls.

“So perfect.”

Nothing but darkness and starlight and wings remain. Nothing had ever felt so good as my soul letting go—twining around his in a space where time no longer seemed to exist. I wasn’t even sure if my body was still on this planet—my vision sparkled with stars. It wasn’t just my body Azriel had taken. It was my soul, too.

A shooting star, caught in his dark web. 

My head lulls to the side in a haze of euphoric bliss, my throat left bare for him. He gathers me close, cradling me. We lie in a tangle of limbs, every inch of us touching. Slowly, I begin to drift back to reality as the pulsing fades. Azriel kisses me again—soft, sweet brushes of his tongue against mine—and I taste myself on his lips. He gently sweeps my red, sweat-slicked hair from my face with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.

“That... was amazing. I kinda liked that,” I whisper, grinning against his mouth.

“I like you,” he blurts, the words tumbling out before he can stop them, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

He kisses the tip of my nose, fingers stroking gently through my hair. “Very much.”

The sincerity in his touch, in his stare—it unraveled me.

My eyes devour the sight of his muscles—taut, trembling with restraint. My gaze drops, zeroing in on the bulge in his pants.

He catches me staring. His blown pupils drag down my body, landing on the evidence of exactly what I’m thinking. Fuck.

My breath hitches.

With an unspoken plea, I search his eyes for the same kind of permission he gave me before. “What now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me. A long, calculating silence. Then, wordlessly, he grabs my leggings and slides my legs into them, pulling the fabric gently into place.

When his gaze lifts again, I’m biting my bottom lip—because I’m confused. For once, I don’t know what to say.

“What about⁠—” I protest.

“That’s enough, Bryce,” he says, the cold mask slipping back into place as he drapes his body over mine. “Let’s get some sleep.”

His hand strokes down my back, like that gentleness might soften the blow.

I pull back to glare up at him. “I don’t want to sleep,” I pout. Like he honestly thought I’d be okay with stopping now.

“You’ve had a long day. And we have a lot to do tomorrow.” His words leave little room for argument, but I’m as stubborn as he is.  

“I don’t care.” I breathe, looping a leg over his hip, seeking out more of that friction I crave. My hand slides out, curious, brushing along the soft velvet of his wing—

His cock twitches hard against me.

A sharp inhale hisses between his teeth.

I already let him have his way with me, and this time I want to win this little game of ours.

“Come on, big guy” I purred into his neck. Drinking in his scent, grinding my clit against his throbbing hardness, “Let me have my turn.” 

“If you don’t behave–”

“Please,” I whisper, all soft lips and wandering hands. “I promise I’ll be good for you.”

His control was already fraying. I could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the shadows flickering like flame around us. So I slid a hand between us—right over his leather pants.

“If you don’t stop—”

But I didn’t stop. I needed to feel him—needed that thick, impressive length filling my hands, my mouth, my cunt. I’d lose my godsdamn mind if he denied me now. If I couldn’t get these blasted, over-complicated leather pants off him.

So I rubbed him through the fabric, savoring the heat, the weight of him—my other hand still tracing light, teasing strokes along his wing.

I needed to see him fall apart. For me.

Azriel groans again, low and long, as I cup him through his pants. His kiss deepens—grows wilder—as I fumble with the endless laces and buttons. There are too many, and I don’t know how to undo them. So I start yanking at the waistband, desperate to get him free.

His soft laugh brushes my skin as he nips at my bottom lip. I moan into him, giving up on the stays entirely—my other hand still lazily stroking his wing. Azriel bucks when I press the heel of my palm down his thick arousal, my mouth watering at every impossible inch.

Mine. 

“If you keep doing that, I’ll—” I press again, cupping and dragging my palm upward toward the tip straining against his abs—and he loses it. His hips rut toward me, his head tilting back, throat bared, as I keep working him through his pants, needing his release just as badly as he does.

Azriel grits his teeth, chest heaving, and the sight of him unleashing himself breaks me. I sink my teeth into his neck—sucking, marking him—and he hisses. With my name on his lips, he pistons into my hand with a force that makes my core throb.

Another slow stroke to his wing. Another drag of my lips on his neck. And Azriel erupts with a low, guttural moan against my hand. His wings spasm as he comes, each pulse of his release shuddering through his pants while I keep gently stroking him through it.

He goes still, breathless. Only then do I pull my mouth from his neck.

His hazel eyes are wide. A blush stains his beautiful cheeks. Like he’s embarrassed.

And that just won’t do.

“How do I get these stupid things off?” I laugh, still needing to touch him. Needing to soothe whatever’s fraying inside him. Comfort him. 

When he doesn’t answer, I take matters into my own hands.

Leaning in, I press a soft kiss to his mouth, my fingers brushing his cheek before I roll away with casual dramatics.

I stroll over to grab Truth Teller from my bag, snag a vibrator from my nightstand, and waltz back to the bed.

Azriel’s hand shoots out, gripping my wrist before I can press the blade to his waistband.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking your pants off.” It should be obvious. “Unless you’d like to do it for me?”

“Why?”

“So I can clean you off.” I wink, all saccharine innocence. “I still need to taste you.”

I kiss him again, and feel his chill melt under the weight of my nonchalance.

As if he doesn’t already know how badly I need this. Need him.

Slowly, deliberately, he undoes his stays, eyes locked on mine the entire time—like he’s searching for something.

“That’s it,” I murmur, smiling in approval as his soaked length springs free from the confines of his pants.

“Don’t move,” I threaten sweetly, lowering my watering mouth onto his slick, still-hard cock.

I watch him through my lashes as I take my time, tongue lapping up every trace of his release, humming with each swallow.

“Mine,” I whisper darkly.

“Bryce—” Azriel’s voice breaks, his shadows exploding in a surge of midnight around us.

But I’m too drunk on his shaft to care.

Too far gone.

Powerless against the tide of lust dragging me back under.

I fumble through the sheets, grabbing the vibrator I know is there. I flick it on and press it to my clit, moaning as I keep teasing him with slow, deliberate licks. My other hand wraps tight around his base.

Azriel jolts with a grunt, hips shifting in demand. I oblige, suckling the throbbing head of his cock.

His darkness coils around us, thick and tangible—it heightens everything. I can’t see, only feel, and that makes the sensation of his cock pounding the back of my throat all the more intense.

My orgasm builds like a slow, relentless wave as I take him deeper, as deep as I can.

Desperate to show him just how good it feels, I pause to moan against him, swirling my tongue and flicking the underside, pumping and twisting my hand around what I can’t quite fit inside my mouth.  

“Fuck Bryce,” he growls as I pump and suck. His fingers grasp for me, and I feel a tug at my hair and I know Azriel’s trying to pull me off, wanting to finish again inside of me. But I’m having too much fun. 

“I want you to fill my mouth,” I whine, bratty and demanding. I eagerly open wide for him, silently begging him to use me.

With a hand on the back of my head, he guides himself back inside, sliding his length across my tongue. I let him go deep. Deep enough to feel my throat constrict around him. 

“Oh fuck,” he barks. He thrusts into my mouth and his grip on my hair tightens. 

“Bryce—” He moans, and the sound of only my name on his lips is my favorite song. It feels so natural, like we should have been doing this all along. He’s incoherent, mumbling and groaning and barely breathing while my mouth is around him.

“I need to come,” he breathes as I’m sucking him down, ready for him to meet me. My hands clench around him, my nails digging hard into his ass, pulling him deeper, hoping he feels it, hoping he knows this is my way of saying I want you. Need you.

Both hands slide from my hair to my neck as Azriel curls over me, lost in the same crashing wave. He shudders as I swallow every drop he unloads down my throat. I can feel his cock spasming as he finishes, leaking more of his seed into my mouth as I milk him. The taste of him sends my vibrating orgasm exploding through me as I cry out with a sob, tears streaming down my cheeks.

My cheek lands with a slap against his bare thigh—boneless, spent, an utter mess.

“Come here,” he rasps, and I barely have the strength to move before he lifts me, pulling me into his chest.

Time blurs as we breathe each other in.

The walls I’d built—my careful defenses—have completely crumbled.

We feel like one body. One soul. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me into a peaceful daze.

My head nuzzles against the warm rise and fall of his chest.

But I don’t want to sleep. Not yet.

“Let’s stay up all night,” I murmur, grinning against his skin.

Azriel tucks me in tighter, like I’m something fragile. Precious.

And for once, I don’t mind being held like I’m the only thing in the universe that matters.

His lips brush my temple.

His voice is soft. Wrecked.

“Anything for you.”

And Urd help me…

I believe him.

That’s what scares me.

Chapter Text

Bryce

“What the Hel is that?” Azriel’s voice cuts through the dim light as I strut across the bedroom in a one piece, hot pink, crotchless, lace teddy. The leggings were getting restrictive. 

I say nothing. Don’t smile. Don’t apologize.

Azriel’s shoulders tense imperceptibly, his mouth tightening into a line. He sits up, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes locked on me like I’m an unsolvable puzzle.

“You forgot the bottom part,” he grumbles.

I blow out the oil lamp on my nightstand. His gaze never leaves me.

“There is no bottom part,” I say breezily, yanking back the covers to inch closer to him. “It’s this or I go naked. You can cuddle in the tub if you’ve got a problem with it.”

I hand Azriel the rolled Mirthroot after taking a drag. For him to finish off. He takes a long pull, exhales slowly, and snuffs it out in the little star dish I’ve been using as an ashtray.

He doesn’t mind the stuff, he said. But the way he’s watching me now? There’s concern.

“Why do you use it?” he asks eventually. Not demanding. Just… curious.

I shrug, fiddling with the wine glass stem, nails tapping against the glass like a ticking clock. “Helps me sleep.” He nods once, clearly uneasy. But then, his mouth quirks like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

“It does make music sound better,” he admits. “And touch.” His big rough hands pull me in tighter.  

We’ve been sprawled across the bed for hours. Cuddling, occasionally passing the joint back and forth, draining the rest of the wine. 

At one point, Azriel—my shirtless professor—spent a full hour teaching me how to throw a dagger properly from a sitting position. Making me hold my wrist just right, his hand curling around mine like it belonged there.

And I? I subjected him to every single cultural masterpiece Midgard had to offer. Music videos. Reality TV. Fangs and Bangs. A sunball match. He was disturbingly into that last one. I felt guilty for the amount of power I’d used, but another part of me thought it had been worth it.

My head swims with warm fuzzies that attempt to drown out my mounting anxiety. 

I was getting tired. It was nearing 5 AM.

And I was still stalling.

My camera roll was now fully dedicated to pictures of Azriel—from steamy selfies to criminally tasteful abs and wing shots. A few with me licking his knife on my knees. Nothing too crazy. There were only so many thirst traps I could take to distract myself.

I hadn’t gotten to the real reason I was still awake – still here. I needed to ask him things I didn’t want to hear the answers to. I was tired of knowing—and yet never knowing the things that mattered most. Like all things in life, I’d just have to take control of the shituation. Grab this big guy by the wings. 

I couldn’t be one of those girls in the books I read that just… never sees the shoe dropping.  I’ve been gaining the courage for my final assault. I just wanted to have one last ride with him before I had to choose myself… or five… and maybe one more for the road. I thought I could control this itch – control myself. Compartmentalize the sex and well... I can’t.  The joke was on me. I hadn’t built a wall around him; I’d built a door and left it wide open. And now every stupid look, every touch, every smile chipped another piece of me.

Fuck fate for showing up with her big pickle and dropping it right at my threshold before I could test this guy’s penchant for sexual punishments… But I couldn’t let myself spiral into him further. Not when I am already terrified of how far I’ve fallen. For him. 

My gut twists – “Let’s play twenty questions,” I say innocently, crawling into bed beside him. 

He blinks. “How do you play?” Oh, he’s exhausted. Vulnerable. And right where I wanted him. Perfect.

“I ask you twenty questions. You answer.”

“No other rules? No strategy?”

“Nope. Just a way to get to know each other.”

“I don’t like it,” he mutters. “I’d rather try that video game you mentioned.”

“I didn’t ask if you liked it. I said I want to play.”

He groans. “Fine.”

“Favorite food?”

“Beef stew. With peas. And bread.”

“Mine’s a warm, flaky chocolate croissant. Wait—wait. You were the one who brought me food in the cell, weren’t you? In your world?”

His silence is confirmation enough.

“I couldn’t very well let you starve,” he says at last.

“Five-star service. Although I could’ve used a glass of wine. And dessert.”

“Noted.” He smirks. 

 I tap a finger to my lips.  “How old are you?”

“Old. Five hundred something… I lost count.” 

“Jeez. You’re lucky I have daddy issues.” I grin at him and he pinches my side, making me laugh. I swat his hand away.

“Favorite vacation spot?”

“Right here. With you.” 

My turn to blink. That one hits hard, somewhere low in my gut, warm and dangerous.

“Mine’s Avallen. There’s this little island here… I have a flerd of winged horses. My pegasi.”

His brows rise. “Flerd?”

“Group of horses. With wings. Keep up. Surely you’ve been somewhere better than my basement bedroom?”

“Vacation is… not something I am very familiar with.”

“You’ve never gone somewhere just for fun? Or do you just hang around misty riverbanks waiting for females to fall at your feet in your copious free time?”

“I’ve been on plenty of missions to different lands.” He pauses. “But there’s no place I’ve ever been that compares to being by your side.”

“Solas. You’ve never taken a fucking vacation? We’ve gotta change that... We should go to Avallen in the morning!”

“There’s too much to be done.”

“Fine. Staycation then. Right here. It’s Sunday. We’re taking the day off. I insist.”

He hums, twirling a piece of my hair around his finger. “My turn. Are you… okay?” My heart stutters.

“Yeah.” I pause. “Why’d you leave without telling me earlier?”

“Wanted to give you some alone time.”

“You don’t understand the concept of alone time... Don’t do that again, alright?”

“Alright.” He nods. “It’s a promise.”

Azriel stretches out beside me, one arm behind his head, the other still playing with my hair. 

The low light catches on his tattoos, and the faintest of them inked across his forearms, the scars of my palm prints crisscross his golden skin. A map of my soul. The sight makes my chest ache.

I roll onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow.

“Next question,” I say, voice a little softer. “Where did Hunt go when you followed him?”

Azriel’s face hardens slightly. “Barracks. Talking to the female angel with black wings.”

“Naomi.” I say more to myself. His expression doesn’t shift.

“Does that bother you?” he asks.

“Should it?”

“You tell me.”

There’s a beat—a sharp, uncomfortable pause.

“It should,” I admit. “But it doesn’t.”

I pick at a loose thread on the comforter. “I think… I was grasping at straws with Hunt. For a while now. I think maybe he let me off easy.”

Azriel scoffs under his breath. “You discount your own feelings for others.” His hazel eyes glitter. “You say that, but what if he doesn’t help you when you need him most?”

“He will,” I say firmly. “I know he will.”

Azriel just shakes his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tightening. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

I flop back onto the pillows, glaring up at the ceiling. “You must think this is all really stupid.”

Azriel tucks me into his side. His skin was so hot it felt like I might catch fire if I stayed too close. The lingering taste of wine coated my tongue, thick and bittersweet. I swallowed it down, trying to smother the knot tightening in my stomach.

“If it grieves you…” His voice is rough. “Then no. I do not think it stupid at all.”

“Well... That’s nice.” I fling an arm over my face. “It just feels like… Urd’s been pointing me all over the place. To both of you. And I don’t know which way is right and I still feel fucking trapped in the unknown... But you’re both here for a reason. I can’t not trust fate. I don’t have a choice but to trust him to do the right thing.”

I pause. “I just wish… there had been another way. I loved him once. I owe Hunt my life and I wasted months not caring, letting the world crumble around us and it took you coming here to blow it all up in my face. I was just flailing around. Writing and doing dumb shit like ignoring our problems. And I wish I hadn’t because I hurt him.” My throat tightens. “Gods, I wish–”

“Do not feel bad for one moment for what brings you joy,” Azriel interrupts quietly. “And there’s always another way. Another choice. But sometimes… fate sends us lessons instead. It is up to us to listen.”

I roll my head to the side to look at him. “Are you one of those ‘all is fair in love and war’ types?” I challenge.

He frowns slightly. “I’m not sure what that means. But yes. I think it’s true. There’s always a choice in love. And in violence. What would have been your alternative; you sacrificing your own happiness for his?”

Something inside me stutters, a chord struck too deep.

“I guess what’s done is done. It’s not like I can go back in time and change it.” Azriel glances away, guilty, and it pricks the hairs on the back of my neck. 

He continues, “If you found a flower that you loved more than anything… Would you pick it? Or would you let it live untouched, able to admire its beauty forever? If choosing violence meant people would die, but ultimately there’d be a better world… would you still choose to fight?”

I bark a soft laugh. “Didn’t you explain to me how magically preserved flowers worked? I’d pick it. Duh. You told me that.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Sometimes our choices can’t be solved with magic.” He meets my eyes and something heavy lingers in his stare. “Sometimes fate has her own plans.”

I chew my lip for a second, heart hammering. “And what, exactly, is my choice when it comes to you, Azriel?”

His smile is all gleaming teeth and shadows. “Your choice is simple, Bryce. You can deal with me… Or you can kill me.”

I snort. “You’re sick.”

He just smirks, poking my ribs. “If I’m sick, what does that make you?”

“Healthy,” I declare primly.

Azriel raises an eyebrow. As if to say sure. And I glare at him. 

I roll toward him again. I hadn’t been able to help noticing his tan, muscled arms were covered in lace-like whirls flowing across his shoulders and over his sculpted pecs. Between his wings, a line of them ran down the column of his spine, the same placement as my own, but different symbols.

“What do your tattoos mean?”

He opens his mouth like he was thinking about his answer. “We get the tattoos when we’re initiated as Illyrian warriors—for luck and glory on the battlefield.”

“In my experience it’s never that simple when it comes to tattoos…” 

I barrel on, not wanting to get sidetracked by the idea of his own tattoos perhaps having a more sinister meaning… considering all I know from my own experience. 

“About the whole mate thing.” I feel my cheeks heat, but I push on. “I don’t want to do the whole ‘what are we’ talk, but…”

“What do you mean ‘what are we’?” He says, like I’m an idiot.

“You’re mine.” He growls.

I nearly choke. The worst part wasn’t what he said. The worst part was that some reckless, breakable part of me wanted it to be true.

“No, okay, slow down, big guy.” I pat his chest sweetly. “That’s not how it works here. Sex is great and all, but I just got out of a relationship and—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He says it like it’s a simple truth, immutable as the stars.

“Well, it matters to me.” My voice goes sharp. “I need to sort some shit out first…” I swallow hard, unsure if I am ready for all of his unspoken truths. “What does mate mean in your world—does it mean I’m your property or something?”

Azriel is silent for a long moment, his wings shifting slightly behind him.

“I can’t tell you what it means to others. Only what it means to me.”

“Okay…” I whisper. “Then spill.”

He sits up slightly, bracing his arms on his knees.

“A mate is a match,” he says slowly. “A missing half of your soul. Someone who challenges you. Someone who sees all of you—and isn’t afraid. Someone who loves you, whether or not it’s right or smart or good.” He glances at me then, almost shy. “One you’d recognize in total darkness, without words or sound. One you’d recognize in another lifetime, in a different body, in a different time. The person all roads lead to—even the ones you take to forget.”

Silence stretches between us. The weight of his words press down on me. Gods, how am I supposed to survive this? I clear my throat, voice thick.

“And here I thought you were going to say something about breeding powerful offspring.”

Azriel’s mouth twitches.

“It’s not about sex,” he says. “At least… I don’t think it is. Again, there are choices that are our own.” A beat. “Children would never be my choice.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning. “You don’t want kids?”

“No,” he says quietly. “I mean it’s not up to me. Why would it be?”

My stomach twists. “You don’t think you have a say in your own life? In your own wants and desires?”

He shrugs. “Not when it comes to someone else’s body.”  Azriel's voice drops even lower. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what I want. I am bound to serve my brother’s court. I couldn’t provide a good life for a child. Not with my… line of work.”

My brows knit. “What do you mean, bound?” I was terrified of what I already knew he did for work. Gods bless I had a type. 

He exhales through his nose, gaze distant. “My mother was a seamstress. Poor. Unmated. I was… born with gifts.” His shadows whirl around him in response. “A particularly rare talent for spying.” He winks at me without a hint of mirth.

“Rhysand’s mother—” A faint smile, more sadness than warmth. “She was friends with mine. Took me in when no one else would.”

I listen, trying to stitch the pieces together.

“She raised me alongside Rhysand. And Cassian. They all took me in when I had nothing. I owe them everything. They’re my brothers. I wouldn't be here if not for them.” There’s something bleak about the way he says it, like it’s carved into bone.

“So what?” I ask softly. “You’re just… what? Stuck forever? Playing soldier for them?”

His mouth tightens. “It’s not like that.”

I stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Sounds like it’s exactly like that.”

When he doesn’t answer, I push, voice sharper: “Azriel… that’s not good. Being indebted to someone for eternity, even if you love them… even if you’d die for them…”

He stays silent, so I press, letting it out before I lose my nerve considering his own oath to me. “If someone really loved you—they wouldn’t need you to serve them just to keep you close. They wouldn’t love you for what you could do for them.  They wouldn’t need you for your gifts, or your usefulness, or your loyalty like it’s some kind of fucking price.”

He flinches, just barely. But I can’t let him off the hook. Not for this.

“They’d choose you," I say fiercely. "For you. Not for what you can offer.  And they’d love you and let you stay with them even if you never lifted a blade again.”

My voice softens, the crack sneaking in anyway. “Love isn’t supposed to come with strings.”

He’s still. Shadows curling at his temples, as if bracing him. “Love and duty are two very different things.”

“And you say I discount myself,” I mutter.

He actually smiles at that. “See?” he says. “Mates. Mirrors.” His voice gentles. “Someone to hold up a light when you don’t want to see your own darkness.”

I whisper, half-joking, half-aching: “The role of the lover is the same as the role of the artist. To make you aware of what you do not see. Even if it means I have to hold your feet to the fire.”

He chuckles lowly. “Maybe. I don’t claim to understand how it works.” He meets my gaze. 

“But you do claim to understand a lot of things, don’t you, Azriel?”

My heart starts hammering harder.

“Video feeds. Languages. Newspapers. Electrical grids. Hidden closets and vibrators…” I narrow my eyes. “You can’t possibly think I forgot how suspect all of this is. That I’d let you off this easy.” 

This was it. I had been biding my time long enough.

He freezes. “No–I–”

“How did you know how a vibrator worked?” I smile sweetly, venomously. “You left one on my bathtub tray that just so happened to be waterproof.”

He shifts, clearly caught. “Well, um, it was a guess really. I wasn’t sure—”

“Save it.” I cut him off. “My turn to shine a light on you.” I sit up fully, tossing the blankets aside like a challenge. “I’ve let your secrets stay hidden for far too long.” Azriel’s shadows ripple, like they know what’s coming.

“My questions must be asked,” I say. “And they must be answered.”

I meet his stare head-on, no flinching now. I drag Truth-Teller from beneath the pillow, the blade gleaming between us.

Azriel doesn’t flinch. He just watches me with those haunted eyes, letting the dagger press against his chest like he somehow deserves it. 

"I want the truth." I whisper, a breath away from his face. "The whole story. From the beginning. And don't you dare leave a godsdamned thing out."

For a moment, Azriel hesitates. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Shadows recoiling back into him like mist. 

Then Azriel leans forward—slowly, deliberately—and kisses the tip of my nose. My cheeks. The tip of each ear. The corners of my eyelids. Each touch a soft apology. A goodbye, maybe.

My throat tightens. I almost drop the dagger. 

His voice rumbles low against my skin, soft as a vow. Another kiss to my forehead.

"It’s a long story, Princess."

I press the dagger closer. 

"I'm not going anywhere. So start talking."

A ghost of a smile graces his beautiful face and my heart sinks into my stomach, knowing what this would cost me.

Chapter Text

Azriel

“It’s a long story, Princess.”

The story was too long to tell. But I had to try. It was only right that I started at the very beginning. When I felt her die. The first time. 

The memory haunted me. Feeling the death of my mate. Having never met her. With no idea who or where she was. 

I thought the cauldron had just chosen me to be unlucky. Cursed. 

I hedge. “You asked if I had felt you die. And I have. Many times.” I cut a glare at her—my mate should know what reckless mass of chaos she ravelled in her wake.

“The first time... I had no idea you existed. Or what had happened. But I felt it right here—“ I rubbed the spot on my chest where the tether had shredded. “And I knew what it meant.”

“It was before you landed at my feet. I was in my world, alone, when I felt it. Weathered it. Made peace with the fact I’d never know who you were. That you were gone.” 

Sucking in a breath, she whispered to herself, “When I made the Drop.” 

I nod. “I’ll… come back to that. Please.” She looks confused, brows scrunched in question. “But I… tried to move on with my life. And it worked for a time. I think… the not knowing was easier.” I swallow my hesitation.

“A few months later, I had been outside on that misty riverbank where I met you. Contemplating… all sorts of things. Cursing the Cauldron mostly. The female I had wanted was forbidden to me. Would never want me anyway—much like everyone I’d ever wanted to be with.  I had fucked up so many things and I was so angry at myself and everyone, damning the Mother—“

“Another female.” She cut in, brows raised, looking very unimpressed and even more pissed. “You were sitting there thinking about someone that wasn’t… me?” She mumbles a bit sheepishly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks and a scowl tensing across her face. 

My eyebrows raise. She can’t be — “Are you jealous?” 

“Hel no. You wish.” But everything about her posture, her face says she’s seething. And I would be paying for it.  

I bite my the inside of my cheek, unsure, before I quickly amend trying to undo the damage, “Nothing ever happened between us. Not even a kiss.”

“But you wanted more to happen. Badly, it seems.” She hurls the accusation as fact and glares at me. Fuck. 

“It’s not important—I—what’s important—“ Cauldron boil me, I was already screwing this up. My last chance. 

She clicks her tongue. “I think it is important.”

I huff. “Fine. If you say so.” 

I proceed to tell Bryce about Elain. Lucien. Rhysand. The cursed necklace. Gwyn. And the four months of dodging everyone like a coward that followed.

Her brows reach as high as they could possibly go before she barks out a wild laugh.

“You did what?” She practically howls, clutching her sides with laughter. My jaw ticks. 

“Please tell me they both found out that you regifted that necklace. You absolute bonehead—" she cackles again to herself. Muttering under her breath something about males. And karma being a bitch.  

My nostrils flare. I hate that she is right. “A story for another time. It’s not relevant, like I said… Satisfied?” I flicked her ear before I prop myself on my elbow, scowling. 

“Oh yes. Very.” She laughs again. “Male idiocy, a universal constant.” 

I give her an incredulous look. “Shall I continue with the parts that pertain to you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. So you were sitting there brooding…”

“Yes.” My mouth twists. “And your smart ass landed at my feet. After asking the Mother for a sign… Such is my luck.” I roll my eyes.

She snorts. “And I take it you thought I was your sign.”

“You were.” I don’t even try to soften it. “You… changed everything.”

Her grin fades a little and her breath hitches, belying her nonchalance. “Love at first sight, huh?” 

“It was...” I rake a hand through my hair. “It was mostly confusion. Because—I knew my mate was dead and yet—there you were. I didn’t know what to think.”

Her eyes narrow, teasing, “So you threatened to slit my throat… Nice.” 

I grimace. “Your grand entrance wasn’t exactly stealthy.” I resist the urge to flick her nose. “You landed on Rhysand’s front lawn. Armed. Appearing out of thin fucking air. He was notified as soon as you arrived.” I arch a brow at her before admitting, “I thought you to be a puca. Perhaps worse. Something with iron nails and teeth.” 

“A what-ah?” 

“Puca. Shape shifter. They use your own desires to lure you to some remote place. Then they eat you. Slowly. I had been weak enough to fall for one’s charms…” 

“Got a thing for damsels in distress huh?” She wiggles her brows.

I glower at her. “I realized that you weren’t an apparition when I demanded you reveal yourself. And you stayed on your knees. So I hauled you up to get a better look at you. See who you were.” I swallow, needing to brush her cheek. “So beautiful. Even covered in blood. And smelling like death.”

“Gee thanks.” Her eyes roll backward and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“I asked for your name.” My heart breaks at the memory. “But you couldn’t understand me. Couldn’t stop your chest from heaving with panic, your voice from breaking with fear.”

Her mouth tightens.

“I wondered if you were in pain—who had done such a thing to you.” I let some light into my eyes. “It took me only a few seconds to realize I had underestimated you. And whoever’s blood covered you was the unlucky one. It didn’t take me much longer to realize what kind of vicious pest I’d be dealing with when you lunged for me. Thankfully, you missed.” I waggle my brows back at her.

“Yeah yeah, you’re quick. Whatever. Big flex.” 

My voice softens. “When you started crying, begging, it felt so… human. I didn’t know how to help you—get you to trust me. I thought you perhaps the very sight of me may have frightened you.”

She laughs, “Don’t think so highly of yourself. You’re not that scary looking.” 

“But you were afraid of me. Shaking. Even after I tried to gesture at you to come closer. Tried to show you I wouldn’t hurt you… I thought the blindfold might help…” 

“Ah, yes. Nothing quite like blindfolding the woman clearly having a breakdown in front of you.” 

“You were already terrified. And I had no idea if flying would send you bolting from my arms in terror. I thought it best you couldn’t see.” 

“It wasn’t flying that I was scared of you dolt. Something more to do with thinking I was in Hel and Hel’s angel threatening me with a knife.” 

I grit my teeth. “I know that… but I didn’t have any time. I had to get you off Rhys’s lawn. If you had taken a step closer toward his home—his child—he would’ve misted you.”

Bryce’s eyes widen, “Did you just say… mist… me?” 

“Yes.” I don’t offer further explanation for my brother’s dark gifts. 

“So you didn’t blindfold me because you didn’t want me to know anything about your city?”

“That too—my brother didn’t want you to see any more than you already had. But there would’ve been no need… Rhys can… well it wouldn’t have mattered what you saw.” She looks horrified. I barrel on. “He told me, mind to mind, to take you for questioning. So I did. I just… didn’t follow exact orders.”  

“The study.” She tries to piece things together. “You took me to your house?”

“No… Well—I had been staying there. But it’s one of Rhysand’s residences.”

“So you took me to the villain’s vacation villa? The guy who wanted to mist me.”

My jaw torques. She’s not making this easy. 

“Yes—and you were a pain in my ass the entire time.” I huff. “I… felt you shaking in my arms. So I tried… tried not to scare you any more than I already had. Even though you didn’t understand anything I said.”

“Did that become obvious when I almost ate it because I couldn’t fucking see?” 

“Ate it…?” I shake my head in amusement at her. “Yes, I guess it did become obvious when I had to haul you like a sack of potatoes because you didn’t heed me telling you there were stairs.” 

She slaps my chest. “Rude. You knew I couldn’t understand you.”

“You hadn’t given me a reason to trust you. I couldn’t rule out that you might be lying and as it turns out…my instincts had been correct.”

“I only omitted, I never lied. You of all people should know the difference.”

I try to muster a faint turn of my lips, “I thought… Perhaps by taking your hand you’d see I meant you no harm. But you were such a stubborn thing, fighting me every step of the way. Resisting even me setting you in a comfortable chair. And…” My heart felt like a dam bursting.  

“I just wanted to know your name.”

Her eyes look haunted at the memory. The blankets between us shift with her breathing. I can feel the warmth of her leg pressed lightly against mine, our ankles nearly tangled—and still, I don’t reach for her. Not yet.

“But I couldn’t… get through to you—help you. I didn’t know what your words meant but I understood you well enough—doubled over, sobbing and terrified. I’ve never felt so useless, knowing things were so out of my control. Knowing they would get worse when the others arrived. And I could do nothing to stop it.”

She cut in matter of factly, as if trying to catch me in a lie, “You understood Hel, though.”

“Yes—Hel must be… a universal constant, as you say.” Her eyes narrow, as if she was contemplating the weight of those words.

“The others began arriving… curious to assess you, the Ward Breaker that you were and all.” 

“Love that I was some kind of freak show to you all.” 

“Rhys was especially curious to assess the kind of threat you posed. And… I thought I could convince my brother, it'd behoove him for you to trust us—show you what was behind our mask, and you’d do the same. Thus why I didn’t take you to a cell.”

“Didn’t take me to a cell at first.” She amends. “Rhysand obviously didn’t like your idea.” 

“No. He did not.” I confess.

The space between us in the bed had gone cold. Truth-Teller, an aptly named line lay between us. 

“So all your fantasy film friends arrived… to what… give their expertise on my threat level? See if I performed any circus tricks?”

“Amren and Nesta, yes. Cassian is just a busy body.”

She snorted at that, seemingly remembering how he sniffed her like a dog. “That checks out.”  

Her eyes search mine, recalling the memory, “Did Mr. Busybody make some comment about us being mates when the daggers started reacting?”

“I believe it was something along the lines of ‘looks like the Mother chose you for this one.’ My brother can be a prick. But he means well.” I force a slight turn of my lips. 

Bryce scoffs. “I’m surprised he didn’t just tell you outright that I was your Cauldron blessed problem.”

“I’m sure that would’ve been next—if he wasn’t so terrified of Nesta.”

That gets a bark of laughter from her. “Fair.”

Her grin fades slightly, like a shadow of night brushing over the stars. “So… that’s when you knew?” Her voice lowers. “That I was your mate?”

“No.” I pause. “I didn’t. The blades… they just left me with more questions than answers.”

She arches her brow. “Willful ignorance?”

“Perhaps,” I admit with a smirk. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing.” She lifts her hand and inspects her nails with faux boredom. “I always face my problems head-on.”

I chuckle, and she begrudgingly smiles—and for a moment, I let myself believe I’ll get to keep that smile.

“So when did you find out?” she asks again, sharp now. “And what the fuck does this have to do with how long you’ve been here?” She jabs a finger at me. “Hurry it up, buster.”

I clear my throat. “Right after… you showed us your world. The guns and bombs made the revelation overwhelming to say the least.”

Her brow furrows, and I feel my vocal cords tighten. ““You fell out of your chair… swallowed that metal bean so we could understand you, and then it broke you. You were glowing. Light bleeding out of you. And something like I’d never felt just… snapped.”

Her lips part. Her eyes lose focus for a second, like she’s standing on the edge of that memory.

“Truth-Teller was already in my hand, I didn’t even realize I’d drawn it.” I murmur. “Not because I thought you’d attack. Because something bone deep in me knew you were in danger. From them. From me. From yourself and whatever the Hel was happening to you. And I would’ve done anything to stop it.”

I shake my head. “It didn’t make sense. I didn’t know what it was—just that I had to protect you. Because you were seconds from saying something stupid and getting yourself killed.”

She gives me a flat look. “So you threatened to kill me yourself.”

I grumble, “I needed you to explain. And I needed you to know just how much was at stake. For both of us. Rhys would’ve killed you—and if any of them had laid a hand on you…”

I glance down, noticing my fingers have curled into the sheets. I flex them once, slow.

“I would’ve brought the fucking mountain down. I would’ve torn worlds apart, if it meant keeping you safe.”

She doesn’t speak, but the air between us goes very still. And I know she feels it too—that awful, burning certainty. Even then… I would’ve chosen her.

A breath. Then she snorts—sharp, bitter. “You’ve got a funny way of showing you care. For a second, I thought you might cut the Horn right out of my back.”

I exhale through my nose, the bite of it deserved.

“It was an impossible choice.” I say quietly. Then, with a sharp glance her way, I add, “And your behavior certainly didn’t help. The surreptitious quips. The haphazard threats. I thought I’d have to fight off my brother and Amren just to keep your insolent ass alive.”

She gasps, mock-offended. The portrait of shock and outrage. “I was a rabbit in a wolves’ den!” 

I arch a brow. “A glowing rabbit with a smart mouth, and no sense of self-preservation.” I can’t help but smirk, “Didn’t you bait us to find out why the Asteri wanted you dead so badly?”

“Oh. That.” She waves a hand. “I wanted you all to give the scary asshole act a rest. And I guess it worked. Because you left me. Alone. In a cell. Your mate.”

“I was waiting for a good reason to let you out.” My voice lowers at the memory. “You weren’t giving me one.”

“I was a delight. Nothing but a cooperative joy.”

“You were a threat. And stubborn. And reckless.”

Bryce’s eyes narrow. “You were going to let me go insane in there until I was banging on the walls, howling for someone to come talk to me weren’t you?”

“You had food. Water. And frankly, some time talking to a wall might’ve done you good.”

“Some mate you are. The bar is literally in Hel.” 

I fight a grin. “Rhys relayed the fact that you already had a mate. I still didn’t think it possible you were mine. But it was clear you were… my pain in the ass.” She gives me a grudging smile, the kind that tugs at my chest in a way I hate. One elbow bent, she’s propped against her pillow, wild red hair curtaining her bare shoulder. I don’t let myself look too long.

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” She winks and sighs, continuing her lament. “I know I was the perfect prisoner. Quiet, respectful—”

“Your so-called stealthy escape from the cell was so loud, I thought the entire Court of Nightmares might come down to investigate.”

“Har har. Joke’s on you—no one did.” She brushes invisible dirt off her shoulder.

“Of course not. Not with the sound shield I had up in case anyone got curious about the racket you were making.”

Her mouth drops. “Oh, so you’re doing the thing where you take credit for all of my brilliance?”

“Brilliance?” I echo. “You jumped into a den of night beasts.”

“So what? They loved me. I think the poor creatures just needed a friend. Loneliness kills, you know.”

My eyes slice to hers. “They answer to me, Bryce.” I lean in slightly. “I assure you—they eat their friends. You’re lucky I am proficient with leashes.”

Bryce’s eyes dart to my lips and I try to swallow the rising heat before she snuffs out the flame.

“Well. Good to know my escape plan was engineered by a bunch of assholes who wanted to stalk me into the dark.”

“Whatever you were searching for, whatever it was that warranted the risk of landing in an unfamiliar world—I was going to help you find it. Set up be damned.” 

Brimming questions race across her eyes. “You knocked the breath out of me! And you almost let me fall into a chasm, you know. Not very mate-like behavior.”

The sheets rustle as she shifts, and the lamp beside the bed casts a golden glow across her face. I memorize every inch. Just in case this is the last time I get to.

“You ran from me. And I would have never let you fall. But I would teach you a lesson not to give into your fear. Not to freeze and keep your wits about you.”

She blows out a breath. “Another test. Nice. Who died and made you my chosen professor?”

I can't force another smile.

“No one chose me. I chose myself. Because someone had to make sure you survived.”

A pause. She opens her mouth. Closes it again.

“I followed you, Bryce. And I would do it again. A million times. Because I couldn’t stand the idea of you being alone.”

She blinks, throat bobbing.

“But you never were,” I murmur. “Not really.”

Her throat bobs again. But she doesn’t look away.

I reach out, brushing a knuckle down her cheek.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Her breath catches. My hand falls away.

Chapter Text

Bryce

“What the fuck do you mean you’ve been here the whole time?”

Thoughts shoot around my brain like stars. I knew he had been here longer than just a few days but– 

“I couldn’t bear it.” Azriel’s low rasp comes out broken. “It would’ve been so much easier if I’d just never met you.” 

My face is a scowling question with a million exclamation marks. “You have five seconds to tell me what the fuck–” 

“I wish you would have never landed in my world. I wish–” His gaze has gone somewhere else, far away.

“Azriel. Get it the fuck together.” My fingers snap in his face. “Tell me what you mean. Did you follow me into that portal? Did you jump in after me?” 

And had I somehow been so focused on getting home that I hadn’t realized it? 

“No–I–I let you go.” His eyes refocus on me.

“Let me.” I let out a laugh. Glory stealing asshole. “Well I’m about to not let you out of here alive if you don’t tell me what the fuck you meant by you’ve been here the whole time.” My eyes narrow at him as my fingers slowly grip the knife between us. 

His stare drifts to the knife in my hands, resignation etching every line of his beautiful face. “Go ahead. Do it.”

I roll my eyes. The defeated stare is pissing me off more than the idea of him stalking me for months. “You’re not getting off that easy. Start talking before I start by cutting your hair like you’re one of my dolls. And trust me, you don’t want that kind of chop job.” The threat is stupid at best.

But a hand darts to his gleaming dark brown hair and he frowns at me. A flash of glee surges through me to see him pulled out of his sad daze. My eyes catch on the raised ridges of his scars, but I will myself not to look. Not to see. Not to be distracted by any feelings I may have for him. Ice might as well start cracking over my heart. 

The silence swirls around us, mirroring the shadows now wreathing his face. “You’ll still kill me anyway.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Get on with it, big guy.” 

His dejected stare is distant, but searching for something in the center of my chest. 

“I told you I felt you die… a few times. The second time was worse than an ash bolt through my chest… days after I let you go. And I knew what had happened. Who you were. Where you were.” His throat works. “I shouldn’t have done it. I betrayed them all. My family. To come find you–to save you.” A hand rubs idly against his sternum. 

When I’d fallen into that black hole with no plans of ever coming back. When Jesiba traded her life for mine. 

“You came to Midgard when I died—how?” I demand.  

Chest heaving, he confesses with a breath, “The Harp. I think. I’m not sure if it was the Harp or my own shadows or both but–I just had to find you. I winnowed straight to you, I grasped onto the shredded tether and pulled.” His eyebrows knit together and his voice rasps with pain at the memory, “But you were already dead. I was too late.” 

His hollow eyes meet mine. Gooseflesh creeps up my arms at the sight, hair prickling the back of my neck. 

“What did you do, Azriel…” I whisper, shuddering through the chill. 

A plea, not a question. Nesta had said the Harp was Made. That it stops time, but… what else? It was as if that question were a missing puzzle piece that brought the entire picture into focus. But I need to hear him say it. To tell me I was wrong for thinking it.

Azriel grabs for my hands, and I yank them away. “Tell me.”

His hands scrub his face and he can no longer meet my eyes, “I–it was unforgivable.” Guilt eats away at his features, contorting into a mask of regret. But I don’t care. 

“You played the Harp. You messed with time, didn’t you? Why can’t you just tell me?” Each word is louder, angrier than the next. 

“Because I am ashamed,” he says. “Because I’ve known since the moment I did it—no matter what—you’d never forgive me. I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I deserve to die for it.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “And because I’m afraid. Afraid that the second you know everything is the second I lose you forever.”

I don’t bother agreeing with him. 

I’ve been so stupid. Thinking of him as just my stalker; covertly liking his obsession, secretly reveling in what lengths he’d gone to find me. Ignoring the obvious red flags until they blew up in my face. Thinking that maybe we just might work, despite everything. 

Thinking that maybe he might love me, even if I didn’t deserve it, even if he didn’t really know me. That he’d chosen me anyway. That Fate had chosen. Thinking Urd might grant me some stupid fucking happily ever after because she’d dealt me such a shitty fucking hand. Because maybe I finally deserved to be happy. Gods–I just wanted to be fucking happy. Tears well in my eyes. 

“How far back?” I demand. “How far back did you go, Azriel?”

His eyes drop. “Far. Just before… Danika put the Horn in your back.”

The whole time. He said he’d been here the whole time.

My mind whirls. My throat closes.

“Danika?” I whisper. The name scrapes past my lips like broken glass.

I didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not over this.

But there it is—that unbearable weight pressing on my chest. Not just Azriel’s betrayal. Not just the lies. But her. Always her.

I see her smile. The tattoo. The moment I thought it’d be us, best friends, forever. That she loved me. All of it built on lies. 

Hope is a cruel god. One that burns me alive, every single time I get close enough to feel its light.

Teardrops fall from my eyes before I can stop them.

Azriel’s hand rises—thumb ready to swipe one away—but I catch his wrist.

“Don’t. Touch me.”

His face twists. “I didn’t mean to—I was just trying to stop it. I had no idea what I’d done. You don’t understand, Bryce. You had to live. I couldn’t bear it.”

“So you decided to play god?” My voice breaks. “What the fuck, Azriel? This is—this isn’t—you’re not what I thought. You’re worse–”

Panic flashes across his face. “Fury knows. She found me.”

“Fury?” My voice goes shrill. “Fury?!”

“And Jesiba,” he says quickly. “She needed me to be your… guardian angel. She knew, too.”

My blood runs cold. I shut out the flashbacks, the questioning of every moment of my life the past two and a half years that I didn’t want to see. 

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I stumble back from him. I’m suddenly too aware of my stupid pink teddy, the fact that I’m half-dressed while the floor drops out from under me. I grab my leggings, my sweater. I throw them on like armor, like I can layer myself back into sanity.

“Bryce—wait. Stop.” Azriel tries to reach for me. “It was all for you. I bargained my soul. Everything I did was to fix the threads of fate—”

My mind spools. 

“You were there when I made the Drop,” I say, my voice hollow. 

“I shielded you,” he says hoarsely, his own sharpness intensifying. “Over and over. For more than two years, Bryce. I lost count of how many times I stopped you from dying. From trying to kill yourself.”

“You don’t get to be angry!” My voice cuts like a blade.

His mouth snaps shut.

I crouch low on the floor, head in my hands. Trying to breathe through the spinning, the storm in my mind. 

‘The angel is waiting for you, Quinlan.’ 

Jesiba’s words, that memory—sharp and sudden—hits like a sucker punch.

And Juniper knowing to call me just when my hands were braced on that railing? Fury. 

They all knew. They all fucking knew.

“Who else?” I croak. “Who else knew you were here?”

“The Viper Queen,” he admits. “You owed her a favor—and I handled it. She doesn’t know anything else.”

“I changed my fucking mind, I don’t want to hear the rest,” I snap, chin trembling as I fight back another wave of heat in my throat.

“You’ve been lying to me.”

“No,” Azriel says quietly. “I would never lie to you.”

My eyes flash. “Omissions are lies, Azriel! If you were really my mate, you’d know that. You’d want to tell me the truth. I don’t know why I ever thought—”

“Everything I’ve done was for you,” he interrupts. “I blew up mech suits. Destroyed synth. Yes, it was all unforgivable and a fucking obsession—but I had to end all of it. For you. I let you run back to him. Let you go, again and again. And then I just—snapped. I made a choice.”

“And decided to ruin my life in the process?”

“I was trying to save it! You weren’t fucking happy.” 

“No. You weren’t.” I shove my arms into my sweater. “You were trying to make yourself feel better.”

“You needed someone watching over you!”

“I didn’t need a hulking shadow-creeping guardian angel rewriting my entire life!”

“You needed me.” His voice rises. “You’re reckless, you’re stubborn—”

“Shut up.”

Azriel freezes. I look at him, really look, and something inside me dies.

He picks up the knife I left on the bed, offering it to me. He walks over slowly, careful like I’m the one holding the blade. But it’s him. Always has been. 

“I know I don’t deserve you. Don’t deserve to go on. If this is checkmate, then I accept it.”

“This isn’t a fucking chess match,” I bite out. “It’s my fucking life. And I want you out of it. In a galaxy far, far away.”

He doesn’t move. I hold out my hand. 

A silent command.

His jaw tightens. His shadows curl low around his feet. He places the knife in my palm.

And I don’t even flinch.

Not because I’ll use it. I don’t have to. Because I’m going to cut him out of this world myself. And he knows what’s coming. It’s beyond time for him to leave now and never come back. 

I’m done.

Lies didn’t break us. Not really. The truth did.

The truth I never asked for. The truth he should’ve buried. The truth I’ll never crawl back from.

The thing that made me monstrous—

Was the same thing that undid me.

Not betrayal. Not loss.

Hope.

What blinds an Oracle?

Love. Always love.

I let it blind me, too.

And I never wanted to see it again.

Chapter Text

Bryce

It was just past six when we stepped into the street. The breaking dawn highlighting the ugliness of the truth still to come.

Later, I’d lie awake wondering if I’d meant goodbye. If I’d truly meant for it to be the end. But at six a.m., with the world quiet and broken around us…

I only knew one thing: I couldn’t look at him and pretend I didn’t hate what he’d done.

The city hadn’t stirred yet. Not really. Garbage trucks were still groaning in the distance through the CBD, the first delivery vans just beginning to circle like flies around a corpse. In half an hour, it would be morning.

And in half an hour, he’d be gone.

Azriel had said nothing when he took my hand–when I teleported us out of our frozen dream of the gallery’s basement and to the nightmare before us.

The chill morning air clung to my skin. The Old Square was empty save for a few lingering stars in the red sky overhead and the steam rising off the cobblestones. My grip on his hand didn’t loosen, not until we reached our final destination.

The Heart Gate.

Azriel looked at me. But I didn’t look back.

The Gate hummed softly like a taunting pulse. A stark reminder of the familiar ache throbbing in my chest—the bond I had refused to give any life to.

I stepped back from him, facing the archway before us.

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet wind and the hum of vehicles in the distance.

A question that had been clanging around in my skull for weeks, years, echoed through me as I faced him.

Does it matter what someone’s done to hurt you… if you love them?

I thought about Danika.
I had let her take care of me. Until she didn’t.
Until she made choices about my life without me. Kept secrets. And it got her killed.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Not really.

How long have I been pretending I could do it all alone?
Was she the last time I trusted someone enough to lean on them?
Would I ever be able to let someone else carry any part of me?

I certainly hadn’t let Hunt carry any of my burdens. With Azriel… it had seemed possible. But it was all just a stupid dream.

A part of me knew that I wouldn’t let anyone close enough to take care of me ever again. Not after this final straw.

I wish it could’ve been different. I had wanted–Hel–nearly needed to let Azriel take care of me. 

Until he made choices about my life that weren’t his to make. Kept secrets.  Even if… gods, even if I wanted so badly to let myself love him. To give in to him.  Even if some part of me still ached for him and wanted to rewind everything. Make it not true. 

But what did it matter? You can’t turn back time. And you can’t just replace half your soul. Not when their truth leaves you broken. Not without consequences. 

I crossed my arms, rubbing at my own skin as if I could keep myself stitched together.

Azriel’s shadows shifted, curling low, waiting for the inevitable.

I looked at him, really looked at him. His truth. His hidden scars. Was he truly reprehensible? Was I any better than him? Wasn’t being rigid and stubborn and unforgiving just as despicable as letting love turn you into a monster? Did it not make me just like my father?

I shut out the gut wrenching thoughts. 

“I’m not sending you away to punish you,” I said. “I’m doing it because I can’t live in a world where I look at you and forget what you did.”

He didn’t move. His face was impassive as his eyes bore into mine. Resigned. A silent plea for mercy. No hope lay there. As if in answer.

My power passed through the Horn from the star on my chest—that link to a different world. Reorienting the Heart Gate, as I had before, to open elsewhere. That was my theory, at least. I hadn’t ever tried to manipulate the city Gates to open but—

Starlight erupted from my back like a bullet passing through right into the archway of the Gate. The air of the Gate’s arch turned black. Murky. I maintained an eerie calm until the void filled the entirety of the massive Gate. Cutting off my light, we stood before the wall of darkness. Darkness—flecked by starlight.  

“Go home, Azriel.” I said softly. For the last time. “And never come back.”

He took one step toward the portal—then turned to me–a moment of hesitation. As if he’d fight me. Beg me to change my mind. Find some loophole. 

But his eyes just lingered on my hand. The one still loosely holding the blade.

“Please,” he said. His voice cracked. “Forgive me.”

It was the last sound I heard as he stepped backward into the Heart Gate’s gaping maw. The awaiting darkness caught him like a web, swallowing him whole. Toward his world. His home. Where I’d never follow. 

No words came as I willed the Horn to sever the connection, to collapse the bridge between our worlds. The last image I had was Azriel suspended in the archway, the darkness pulling him backward. His hair trailing behind him like a ghost. His hand—reaching through the void for mine, still clenched at my sides. 

I thrust my power out, willed the Gate to take him alone before it closed. 

And he vanished.

—

My knees wobbled. The Heart Gate was shut. And Azriel was on the other side of it.

Time slowed to a glacial drip. Someone was screaming into the wind and stars. Screaming into the Gate’s emptiness. Screaming—

The bond stretched. It thinned and frayed so far I could barely feel it. Like an echo underwater. Like something trying to survive a drowning.

My knees buckled. The crystal of the Gate bracing my fall behind me.

I rubbed at my sternum, the ache making my throat close up.

And I cried.

I sat there like an idiot, oblivious in my cropped sweater, pink lace peeking out from underneath while the city started waking up around me.

More people passed. A couple of early runners. A vendor dragging a food cart. Someone on a scooter slowed as they stared. Angels flew overhead toward the Comitium. 

And I didn’t care.

I should have. I was famous. Azriel was a wanted criminal. The public thought I was with Hunt. Hunt, who was running for fucking Imperial Senate.

It was all so, so stupid.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t check it.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

7:01 a.m.

I swiped up with a groan, answering on the third ring.

Ruhn’s voice came in hot. “What the fuck are you doing, Bryce?”

I blinked at the empty Gate. “Good morning to you, too.”

“I’m with Dec at the Aux. You’re on camera. Do you understand the shitstorm you’re about to start?”

I snorted. “He left already. Don’t worry. No one’s going to find him.”

“Not the point. People saw you. With that demon–the one that’s been all over the news. Half the press outlets are calling for access to photos.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. And I don’t care what the fuck is going on between you and Athalar, but the optics of this are shit. For both of you.” He exhaled. “Get your ass up. Meet me at your apartment. Now.”

I didn’t answer.

“Bryce.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I croaked. “Okay. Solas.”

He hung up.

But I was still here.

Still breathing.

Still in some fresh version of Hel.

Maybe this was my new home. Maybe I’d never climb out of the icy river raging inside me—choking me, dragging me under.

I had to pull myself out.

Because no one else would.

And that’s when I realized: My worst moment wasn’t my Ordeal. It wasn’t dying.

It was the moment I became the worst version of myself. When I lost hope. 

This. This was the moment. 

Me giving up.

Refusing forgiveness out of sheer stubbornness.

Refusing understanding, when betrayal stared me in the face.

Abandoning hope in favor of stupid, realistic principle.

Abandoning the idea that I’d ever be worthy of fate bestowing something as soul-deep and sacred as a bond.

A mate.

Abandoning any hope of true love—the kind you only ever read about in fairy tales. 

Because every gift had a fucking price. 

The light in my heart withered at the thought. That love… would never be for me.

So I clung to the only thing I had left: air in my lungs. One breath. Then another.

Even with my heart heavy in my chest, aching for reasons I didn’t dare name.

For now, taking care of myself had to be enough.

Pulling myself out of this festering pit no one was coming to save me from—had to be enough.

I had to be enough.

Just me.

Alone.

Again.

And Gods—I didn’t want to be.

Get up, I told myself, gritting my teeth.

I swallowed hard, like I could force down the shaking. Slid out a leg. Forced it to bear weight.

Took one step.

And I vanished, too.

Chapter Text

The last drawer jammed. Of course it did. I yanked it open hard enough to make the whole dresser shudder, like it might fall apart in protest. Mismatched socks. Old photos. The one I’d kept of me, Danika, June and Fury in the back of my phone. The tiny red lace thong I hadn’t touched since the war. And Danika’s keys, still in that stupid lopsided ceramic bowl she’d half assed during a fluff pottery course in college.

I stared at the mess for a long minute before sweeping it all into a box labeled: Bedroom Bullshit. 

The apartment was nearly empty now. Bare walls, taped boxes, the kitchen down to one mug and a half bag of coffee I’d probably leave here. I was heading home tomorrow—real home. To Ember, Randall, and Cooper. Accompanied by Syrinx, of course.

Just for a while, I told myself. Just until I could figure things out. Just until breathing didn’t feel like something I had to remind myself to do. Until it didn’t hurt anymore. Until the noise died down. The headlines. The photos of me with a winged male who wasn’t Hunt. The speculation about who I’d met before dawn. The scathing looks. The whispered questions. I didn’t owe anyone answers—but I didn’t have the energy to pretend I wasn’t breaking. Or to keep facing the world.

I was giving my apartment to Ruhn and Lidia. Ruhn hadn’t fought me on it, beyond grilling me two days ago when I made the decision. Right after I sent Azriel through the Gate. I told them I just needed some time. Handed Ruhn my key and told him to not ever message me about how to work the damn coffee machine. Their boys needed the space more than I needed this city. And maybe… maybe I wouldn’t come back at all.

But I still had the Gallery to pack up and secure. Firstlight Zero was coming in a few days, apparently. The timeline kept being extended by our benevolent government officials who donated their power under the guise of charity. The real motivation being placating the soon to be rioting masses. 

Once the power ran out, the looting was predicted to begin. I couldn’t leave the books unprotected. I needed a few days to secure the Gallery’s wards. Spells. Whatever else I could manage in the fog I’d been living in.

Still no word from Hunt. No rage texts. No threats. No more storms. No mention of the firstlight regeneration idea I’d sprung on him days ago. Just silence. Which almost hurt worse. Maybe he understood in a way no one else could: what it felt like to be so hated by everyone.

I folded one of my sports bras with precise, too-careful movements, trying not to think about it.

Then my phone pinged.

It was sitting atop the dresser next to the packing tape and a stale granola bar I hadn’t touched since yesterday. 

One unread email. From myself.

From: [email protected]
Subject: (none)
Attachment: OpenMeBryce.txt

What the fuck–someone hacked my email? 

I picked it up slowly, my hands already cold. The file opened in Notes, nothing dramatic—just plain black text.

But I didn’t need formatting to recognize the voice. 

My heart stalled. Froze.

By the second line, I wasn’t breathing.

I read every word.

Dearest Bryce, 

Heir to High Queen of Prythian, Queen of the Valbaran and Avallen Fae, my unyielding light, my rock against which the surf crashes, the everlasting rose to all of my thorns–

If you're reading this alone, reveling in your victorious vigil, then you've finally, rightfully, been made aware of my most distressing truth—and have, I pray, put an end to my miserable, unworthy existence.

If things have taken a different turn, and I’ve succumbed to the worst version of myself by remaining duplicitously at your side—there are manacles in your gallery bedroom closet. Push the far-left panel. Fifth shelf on the right. Fetch them and shackle me. I don’t trust myself. Neither should you.

I’m writing this on that terrible invention, your lap-top, while I wait for you to come fight with me further. Because I am not good with words. And you deserve words. So many of them. I would write you a novel using every word in the Midgardian dictionary if I thought you’d find it the least bit funny. Or on the off chance it would endear even the most infinitesimal fragment of your heart to me.

But I know you are likely in no mood for games. And I’m not either. Although, I cannot deny—I love playing with you. In my darkest spirals, I wish we could play forever, until the universe swallows itself whole.

So let me write it plainly: I apologize. For everything. My insanity. My impertinence and impropriety. Words could never describe the gaping wound your existence—and your absence—hollowed inside me. Feeling your joy, your life, if only briefly, has rendered me useless for any life without you. Much to my dismay, you already forbid me from ending my life on my own accord, and I do not break my oaths. My wicked mate. So very cunning and brilliant.

I have no choice now but to live until I meet my fortuitous end. To atone.

I only ever wanted your happiness. My life has been too long, too dreary, and I won’t bore you with the details, but you are a summer’s day in the dark winter of my life. I thank the Mother every moment she allowed me to linger in your orbit, even if I was never meant to. I just wanted you to be happy, Bryce. To live. And I’m sorry. I’m so endlessly sorry for it.

I take ownership of all my wrong doings. I took away your choices. Your time. And I hope you ended me thoroughly and remain angry with me forever. I hope you never feel guilt at the thought of my death.

Because I love you. I am in love with you, Bryce. I have been for a painfully long while. 

And I know there are limits to what you will believe from me, and I know you might never take the time to read this. But I’ve spent centuries wandering—empires, kingdoms, wastelands—never stopping, never settling. Always chasing the next horizon. And now I know: the whole time, I was just looking for you.

You are all of my happiest places.  

I cannot imagine there’s much in my world that would interest you. But if by some divine mercy you’ve spared me—if you remain a universe away while I still draw breath—I urge you. Come be angry at a nearer distance. Come shout at me. Come fight with me. Come tell me you hate me. Just come and say it to my face. Come and break my heart, if you must. Just come find me. 

Please.

Above me is the Godslayer rifle you’ve used to slay your enemies. Looking at it makes me recall the press of your blade against my throat, my dagger against your spine and other romantic moments. 

I will never deny what I’ve done. Your vexation is earned. I’m sure you believe a life without me is better than one beside me—and I can’t say that you’re wrong.

In my most wretched hours, I imagine I can take it all back. That one day, you’ll find me in another life, one where I never hurt you.

 But why would you, save for fate’s pesky interference? You’ve seen the worst of me, and I fear the best wasn’t enough to matter. I flattered myself that there were moments you had feelings for me other than contempt, but even were that true, I fear we would be but pieces on a board, pawns to wield in some greater game. 

And yet, my heart remains forever buried with you here in the strange soil of Midgard, as it fell with you into the depths of space.

It was yours before I ever admitted it.
And forever yours it shall always remain.

I will wait for you in the Afterworld, if nowhere else. It’s a promise. And my most beloved, sincere threat. 

You seared a map home into my skin. I will cherish the burns forever. 

I’ll always find you. In every lifetime. In every universe. 

Because even if it’s not me for you, it's always you for me. 

Even when our worlds are a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will still love you.

Until the darkness claims us both,

My sincerest apologies.

Yours. 

Always,  

Az 

Xxxxx

PS: Of course I learned how to hack your account to send a delayed email. You need better password management. JellyJubilee123! is unacceptable and beneath you. 

PPS: Check the closet tunnel. Keys beyond the 2nd concealed door. Press the left side of the wall of leggings. Watch the video feeds. They will show you everything. 

PPPS: There is a gift for you, too. Check the desk. 

PPPPS: I love you. Most ardently. Thorns and all. 

PPPPPS: Please, forgive me for taking so much of your time. 

By the end, my face was wet. My pulse felt like it was stuck in my throat. As if my body couldn’t decide whether to run, laugh, sob, or scream.

That smug, infuriating asshole.

I didn’t remember the tears falling. Didn’t remember sitting down. One moment I was folding clothes, the next I was on the floor, wedged between boxes, phone trembling in my hands.

Azriel said things no one had ever said to me, not like that. 

Even if it is not me for you, it is always you for me.

I pressed the heel of my hand into my chest, like I could stop the ache clawing up through my ribs. My eyes burned. My whole body burned.

That bastard.

That beautiful, stupid, bastard.

I scrolled past the PSs. The tunnel. The gift. The password joke. His signature.

Yours. Always.

My breath caught.

And then I whispered—quiet, bitter, broken—

“Fuck you, Azriel.”

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. Sat there for a few more minutes, realizing he must have written it before my laptop fried. 

That he’d been planning everything to blow up in his face since I found him. 

He had known it was all borrowed time. 

And he wasn’t expecting me to come for him.

I stood. Brushed off my jeans. And teleported to the gallery bedroom, stalking for the hidden closet.

The sparkly dresses, tee shirts and leggings were all still perfectly arranged. Remnants of what I realize now, Azriel must have picked for me himself. Months ago. Without ever expecting anything in return. 

But I pressed my palm against the back wall’s left side panel, beside the wall of leggings, just like he said.

A soft click.

The wall shifted.

And behind it—keys. 

Of course there were.

And of course there was a dark tunnel beyond. 

Waiting.

Just like he had.

Chapter Text

The tunnel stretched out in front of me like the throat of some old god. Cold, damp stone beneath my sneakers. The walls were rough, scarred—like the underground veins of the city had grown brittle from keeping too many secrets.

I frowned into the dark, illuminated by the light from my star. It was glowing. Brighter now.

I glanced back at the well-lit closet.

The light dimmed. 

I turned toward the gloom.

The starlight flared in answer.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered. Not again.

But the star had never led me wrong before. If it wanted me to go into the tunnel…

My feet started pounding a steady rhythm as I jogged forward, starlight flaring from my chest, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

It reminded me too much of the caves—those tunnels Azriel, Nesta and I had traveled through in that cursed land. Back then, I had company. And purpose. 

Now, only silence walked beside me. 

And regret. 

I kept going. For what felt like hours. Long enough that I wondered if I’d somehow crossed through the entire city. Past the business district, past the Gates, all the way to the Western Road. My legs ached as I walked. Time stopped meaning anything. The stone walls narrowed, then opened again. My breath echoed back at me, louder than I wanted it to be. Should’ve brought some fucking water—

And then—I saw it.

A massive metal door, etched with a colossal eight-pointed star in its center.

The lowest spike of the star extended down, right in front of me. I laid a hand on the cold surface and pushed. It groaned beneath my palm. The spikes of the star began to expand and contract, as if the door were breathing. 

It opened. Like it knew me. Like it had been waiting.

I stepped inside. My star flared once—then went out.

The air changed. Cooler. Cleaner. Dry. The space opened around me—so wide my starlight wouldn’t have reached the edges even if it were still shining.

Concrete floor. Concrete ceiling. No windows, only faelight dotting the walls. A vault carved beneath the skin of the city.

And in the center of the cavern: a gods-damned motorcade.

A whole fleet.

Two of everything. Lined up in symmetrical rows. Dusky lilac juxtaposed against black and blue. His colors. And mine, too.

A pair of helicopters—a periwinkle helicopter? Seriously? A lilac scooter and a sleek cobalt motorcycle. A violet convertible with a matching black sapphire twin.

All of them parked on circular platforms carved into the stone floor, like they were meant to rise to the sky above. The ceiling overhead was split down the middle—like it could open to the stars.

Of course he planned a flamboyant escape route. Show off. 

I blinked. Slowly.

On the left, a wall of thick glass stretched to the ceiling. Double doors sat at its center. Sealed. The handle—a golden mermaid, her tail delicately curved into a keyhole.

Behind the glass: weapons.

Two halves of the same wall. The wall was split down the middle. Left: black and silver. Right: soft purple and gold. Pistols, rifles, knives, swords, ammo, maces, morning stars, metal shields and gauntlets, armored vests, and holsters, all in their respective colors. Arranged with terrifying precision. 

And in the very center of the arsenal—a vault door. Round. Steel. Military-grade. Another matched it above, built into the ceiling. A ladder reached up toward it.

Another exit.

I didn’t move. Could barely breathe. Illyrians never built without a second exit. He’d told me that once.

This place had been here a Hel of a long time. 

Across the room, against the right-hand wall—more gleaming metal.

Screens. Dozens. Nine rows of them. 

Seven rows showing a panoramic view of the districts surrounding each city Gate. The eighth row—horizon to horizon of The Eternal City. The ninth—

The gallery. Inside. Outside Every angle. 

My stomach dropped. Again, of course, he’d been watching.

Below the screens sat a massive wooden desk, its surface cluttered with switchboards, controllers, and keyboards—half computer lab, half war room. A beat-up chair was pushed back. Below the desk sat a small bed. A food bowl and a sealed container sat beside it.

For Syrinx?

I staggered back a step.

He’d lived here.

Azriel had been here. For months. Years?

Watching. Waiting. Tracking everything.

Tracking me.

In the corner, a messy bed. A stone-built open pantry stacked with canned soup and water jugs. A hot plate. Plates and mugs. Minimalist. Militaristic. Him.

I didn’t know what I expected to find. 

But this? Doomsday prepper bunker? Was not it. 

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to drop to my knees. And I wanted to hurl the keys in my hand at the screens.

“Took you long enough.” A lilting voice crackled through the silence.

I yelped, nearly dropping the keys.

My heart shot into my throat.

“What the fuck—?”

I scanned the room, pulse spiking. No shadows. No figures. No—

“Right here, Miss Quinlan. The mermaid.”

I turned slowly.

The golden tail on the door shimmered faintly. I could’ve sworn it smiled at me. 

I squinted. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You don’t recognize my voice?” Cool. Dry. Eerily familiar.

No. It couldn’t be—

“... Viktoria?”

“Pleasure to be reacquainted.” The mermaid purred. “Long time no see.”

My spine locked. “You’re supposed to be at the bottom of the Melinoe trench.”

“I was. Boxed in the dark, forgotten. Your Azriel found me, though I was nearly mad. Had an omega boat drag me out. Although I’m not sure becoming a talking doorknob counts as a rescue.”

“You’re alive in there?” I asked, horrified. “He put you in that… thing?”

“Let’s call it… containment. He said only you could decide whether I deserved to be free.” A pause. “I apologize for my part in your pain.”

I crossed my arms at the memory of Hunt’s betrayal. Viktoria’s part in keeping me in the dark. “How long have you been here?”

“A year, maybe?” Her golden tail flips with her sigh. “At least for a time, I had someone to talk to. Even if he is a rather prickly sort. You seem to have a type.”

“Yeah, yeah…” I grit my teeth. She’s not doing herself any favors. 

“He left. Months ago. When you and Athalar ended the Asteri. Well done, by the way. I’ve been monitoring everything since. Including you. Lonelier than you can imagine.”

“I’ll bet,” I muttered.

She sighs. “You and Athalar made quite good television. Though if the gossip is to be believed, there’s trouble in paradise.” 

“Seems like you’ve become quite the busybody.”

“Guilty as charged.” I could’ve sworn the mermaid smiled. “He said you’d come. Eventually. Once he got the nerve to explain.”

I laughed. Sharp. Cold. “Of course he did.”

The golden mer lets out a small laugh. “I pray you don’t hold grudges like he does. He can be quite…”

“An asshole.” I finish for her.

“But for what it’s worth,” she added, her voice flattening into something more formal, more like the detective she used to be, “I understand how you’d consider him unsavory—but he never stopped watching out for you. Not once.” A beat.

“I’m not sure there are many males who would’ve done the same. Considering you were in love with someone else.”

I say nothing. 

Viktoria’s voice dropped a notch. “You’ve brought the keys?” 

I nodded slowly, blinking at the keys in my hand. 

“They open this lock. And the vault behind me.”

I stepped toward the door. 

“I never really blamed you, you know. But… I still have about five thousand more questions.” 

“He never said that you did. He blamed me. For hurting you. I’d wager he took out his frustration on me, considering he couldn’t on Athalar.”

I kept staring at her. At the golden tail. The keyhole. 

Considering.

“You’ll answer my questions if I free you?”

“To the best of my ability. You have my word. If you’re willing to hear it.”

I didn’t answer. Just let my gaze drift past her glass wall.

Back to the other side of the hangar. To the desk.

I stepped closer, letting the glow from the monitors spill across my hands. They buzzed softly above me—nine rows of screens, flickering in their quiet, endless loop.

There, taped dead center on the bottommost monitor, was a single yellow post-it. The edges curled slightly from time and heat.

START HERE.

That was all it said.

No timestamp. No signature. He didn’t say “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say “please watch.” Just… START HERE.

Undoubtedly Azriel’s handwriting—slanted, all-caps, and unmistakably his.

I stared at it, my throat tightening. My fingers hovered above the controls.

Behind me, Viktoria spoke. Her voice had dropped into something softer. Older.

“He said you wouldn’t want to look,” she said. “But he thought you deserved the truth.”

A pause.

“He said it wasn’t his right to shield you. Not anymore.”

The words sank deep. Caught somewhere between my ribs.

I sank into the chair. My knees didn’t want to hold me anymore. My fingers curled around the edge of the desk.

He hadn’t chosen to protect me this time.

He’d known there was nothing left to save.

I wasn’t ready.

But I hit play anyway.