A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a short, humorous little Elriel ficlet. As you can see, I sort of...failed on that account.
Lucien's hands traced her skin, combing along her ribs, her thighs, golden dark skin gleaming in the candlelight, a flash of red hair and wicked fire—
"Lucien…"
She arched her back, waiting for those hands—
Suddenly, the touches were gentler, softer, the rough scratch of scar-tissue along soft skin, red hair turning to black, and shadows danced and wound along her body.
Her lips parted, and it was another male's name who escaped—
vVv
Elain jerked awake with a gasp, something inside her stretching, tearing, that bond reaching out, tying her soul down—
The room around her swam, the floor rising and contorting into fractals of ice, spearing for the ceiling, an all-too familiar firebird dancing among them, scattering embers that threatened to set her room alight.
She scrabbled frantically for some measure of control, for those lessons the she-monster Amren had given her—
The images slowly sank away, and Elain lay there, gasping, her sheets and nightgown tangled around her as that ever consuming silence closed in.
Nowadays, those dreams were common. That Fated tether reaching out to her fire-haired mate so far away—but something else looking for the quiet warrior whose presence was draped in silence and shadows.
She eased out her of bed, the open windows letting in the moonlight and fresh sea air, washing away some of her panic.
But even this was too enclosed, too locked up.
Elain didn't bother to put on a dressing gown over her nightdress as she closed the door to her room, the vast red stone halls stretching out before her.
She'd asked to move back into the House of Wind as soon as they returned to Velaris, and these…dreams had started. She didn't want Feyre or her High Lord knowing about them. And she especially didn't want Nesta to know.
Her older sister had offered to move with her (offered, being a kind term. Insisted was more like it) but Elain had put her foot down. She needed her own space, somewhere high above the world, where only the night would bear witness to her nightmares.
She entered one of the many sitting rooms open to the elements, the slender pillars bleached into shadow and light under the stars, various chaises and tables' indistinct dark forms.
The platform looked out over the glittering, silent expanse of Velaris, and a tangible sea breeze wound around Elain's bare legs as she looked down into the drop, that sheer plunge into nothing.
She felt strangely detached, a normal reaction to these nightmares now. She…didn't know what to do with him.
Her mate.
She shivered, wrapping arms around herself, suddenly very cold, but then she felt that sweep in her mind, the faint command to look. To see what was coming.
The shadowy form against the luminescent sky banked, seeing her and coming to land in the sitting room behind her with quiet, shadowy grace.
Footsteps were soft, settling beside her, the two of them looking out into the silence.
After a moment he shifted a bit, and she glanced sideways at the warrior, no doubt exhausted from his recent trip to the Day Court.
And Elain met Azriel's eyes quietly, not surprised at his presence.
The visions were hard to control, but somehow more frightening was the little things. The knowing. She hadn't consciously chosen this balcony, just as her gift had steered her here. Towards the Illyrian currently staring at her.
She was suddenly very aware of the short lace nightgown Mor had given her, of everything it exposed, as his eyes slowly trailed along her skin, not even touching her, yet causing some inner burning fire that not even Beron's son could conjure from her.
After a heartbeat, Azriel's eyes met her own, and that tug she'd felt, that tie binding her to Lucien, the one she wasn't sure if she even wanted, faded away, leaving only the moonlight, the stars, the shadows, and him.
"I knew you would come here." Her voice was quiet, shaky, but certain.
Azriel's face didn't shift as he inclined his head. "You have a gift." He spoke gently.
He only used that tone on her.
But Elain tilted her head, sifting through the depths and currents surrounding her, weaving through her head and soul. She said, "I understand the quiet. It is in me…constantly. We feel the same, in a way the others do not."
Azriel's wings flared slightly, in surprise or concentration she couldn't be sure, and those beautiful, dancing shadows wound through his hair.
There was wariness in his eyes, and consideration, but he just looked at her and said, "I know."
He didn't say anything to else, but Elain drifted forward, something inner guiding her, and trailed her thin, pale fingers along his hands, tracing the scar tissue and deep burns.
He shuddered, wings pulling in tightly, but didn't pull away as she learned their shapes and curves. Elain looked up at him, hair hanging around her shoulders, their eyes meeting. His were burning, and his breath was heavy. Many thought his eyes were a deep, flat brown, but she could see the hidden depths, the emotion and pain and spirit swimming deep beneath. For a moment she saw gold twirling around them, a joyous dance, flowers and shadows entwining, then she blinked her vision away.
And realized how close they were standing, how their breath mingled and their hands were clasped together as they stood on the edge of the House, on the edge of the world.
Suddenly cold and unsure she withdrew, turning to go—
But then his shadows reached towards her, winding around her hands and wrists, pulling her back.
Azriel's face was more open than she'd ever seen it, almost desperate, she would have thought. If she had been capable of thinking. She held still, barely breathing as those living traces of darkness wound up along her arms, even as Azriel's hands remained clenched at his side.
The strokes were slow, exploring, a rhythm that had been found and memorized in the space of a single night and would never be forgotten again. They were cool and smooth, yet they left lines of fire on her skin. So different from the effect Lucien had on her. That was a pull, an impulsive urge to be with him. This was slow, aching and hung still between night and day. She dared to look up as they reached her shoulders, tracing along her collarbone, her neck…
Elain sucked in a breath, tilting her head almost without realizing it, granting him better access.
He paused, as though realizing what he'd been doing, and she almost cried out at the loss of contact, but, understanding, she looked at him, at this space still between us, the choice lying before them.
Azriel's breaths came in sharp bursts, and his fists were clenched, his face, his eyes barely leashing that emotion—
And she wanted him. Wanted all of it.
So Elain took a step closer. One step. That was it. And then she tilted her head again, arching her back and baring her neck in a silent invitation as she closed her eyes.
Waiting.
Azriel seemed to still as the promise in the action, but instead of shadows dancing smoothly along her skin…it was warm breath and the trace of barely restrained desire.
His lips ghosted along her collarbone and she shuddered, pressing closer to him, trying to feel him through those fighting leathers, needing to touch him—
But Azriel kept a distance between them, even as his wings flared, cocooning around them together in the darkness, even as he drew invisible lines of fire on her throat with his mouth.
His lips were smooth and warm, his breath a living pattern…
And then there was the cool stroke of shadows around her parted mouth, her flushed cheeks and shaking legs.
There was nothing and no one but the darkness, the shadows, the caress of his lips and them.
Azriel moved up along the column of her throat, the shape of her jaw…
Hovering over her lips.
Their breath came in pants, eyes meeting despite their considerable height difference—
And then there was a flash as Azriel withdrew his wings, stepping away from Elain as quickly as possible, leaving her flushed and wide eyed, blinking in the sudden light.
She shook her head, trying to understand why he'd stopped—
But as she tried to follow him, to keep going, Azriel held up a hand, the motion as telling as the sudden swirl of magic around her.
The knowing that she hated.
His face was tormented, their distance tangible and agonizing between them.
But just as terrible was the name, the wall.
Lucien.
She could see it in his eyes, heard it in her soul.
Her mate.
And…Azriel. The male who'd understood her, saved her. Brought her back from the brink.
And who had almost kissed her.
Almost…
She wanted to say she didn't care about Lucien, that he could go to hell, that all that mattered was him.
But it would be a lie. Lucien would always be inside her, this bond the tie and shackle between her past and present.
And making a decision now…
She needed to talk to Lucien. When he returned. Needed to…sort herself out.
And maybe, she realized, watching Azriel, seeing the scars, physical and emotional gleaming in his eyes, his beautiful eyes, she wasn't the only one.
Mor and Lucien…two barriers. Maybe not for them, but for Elain and Azriel…
Healing and waiting.
A little of both.
So Elain smiled sadly, just a little bit, and nodded in acceptance as she turned to go.
She looked back, just once, as she entered the long corridor leading to her bedchamber.
And saw the silhouette of a proud Illyrian warrior, framed beneath the luminescent night sky, poised to take flight.
She could wait.
They both would.