Chapter Thirteen
She stared at the canvas of the tent, eyes locked in the same spot they had been for hours. The darkness of the night bathed her in blackness, a single candle melted to near non-existence lit on the cot-side table offering a thin sliver of light to stretch across the floor.
She had not told Azriel and Cassian of the Illyrian males who had cornered her, or the bruises that marked her with the shape of their fingers on her arm. She feared the look she might see in Azriel's eyes, feared that they may send her back to the House of Wind and call it protection.
She could handle two jackasses who meant to frighten her, could put it in the back of her head and forget them. Her hands shook on her blanket, her fingers raising up to stroke the mark hidden beneath her long sleeves.
She let out an unsteady sigh, and tried to take even breaths, counted them as they lifted her chest and concaved her belly.
She was safe, she told herself, she was safe.
Shadows leapt across her thin strip of light, blocking out the muted brightness of the candle as they climbed her walls. She quickly threw herself down on her cot, tossed the blankets up to her chin and squeezed her lids shut.
It would be like him to catch her. She'd wondered if he'd known something was off since she'd returned. She had told them she wasn't hungry because of what had happened in the clearing with the females, that her low mood was because she was disappointed. In a large part, it was, but she hoped Azriel hadn't sensed more, that her catching his hazel eyes finding her throughout the afternoon hadn't meant he knew of the males. He couldn't.
His weight sank the bed as he sat down, but still she kept her eyes closed, pretending he wasn't there, buying her precious moments to sort out her thunderous thoughts.
"What is it, Naya?" his voice caressed her skin, wiping away the dirty touches of the males with its soothing tone. "What's wrong?"
She held herself still for a minute longer, imagined what it looked like for him to be on her bed at night, so close she would barely have to lift her arm to touch him.
"Speak to me." He pleaded, and her heart gave an uneven beat.
She slowly turned to face him, shifting on the cot to peek up at his face cast in darkness. He was worried, his dark brows furrowed over beseeching eyes. His hand was frozen in midair as if he had intended to touch her, but changed his mind halfway through.
"I'm okay." Naya whispered, and he closed his own eyes, took a breath in.
"Tell me."
She couldn't, would not. She was here for a reason. This was her purpose. He had gifted her this…this reason to go on, and she would not let him take it away.
So instead, she thought of the females in the clearing, of pregnant bellies and future generations. She allowed herself to mourn just a little.
"I don't believe I've changed anything here, that's all."
His gaze turned sad, almost disappointed.
He knows, her mind taunted, he knows you're hiding something. She shut it up by twisting her thumb painfully.
His hand continued its journey, coming to a rest on her hip through the blanket. White hot, that's what his touch was like, a flame to find in cold, winter months, ready to offer a warmth she so desperately needed. She shifted so the expanse of his hand would stretch further.
She didn't try to hide the little gasp that escaped her parted lips.
He jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned by his own flame, stared down at her with a thousand questions they both knew they wouldn't ask.
The silence allowed for them to hear each other's wild heartbeats, the shallow breaths they were both taking.
Finally, he spoke and it was as if he was begging. "You can talk to me."
She threw herself back into a sitting position, dodging his soft invite by shaking her head. "There's nothing to talk about."
The blanket gathered in her lap, and she played with the folds of fabric. His wings took up the majority of her small, divided room. It was separated by only a thick layer of canvas split in two to make a doorway. If she angled herself just right, she could see into the rest of the tent where both males were meant to sleep.
"Then why were you awake?" he challenged.
"Why were you watching me?" she retorted.
His mouth opened to bite back, but no words came. He closed it again, sank further into her cot. He was so close. His fingers were inches away.
"Are you in love with Mor?" the question was out there, ripped from her mind and thrown into the space between them without her remembering to even decide to ask it.
Her eyes rounded as his expression closed off and shields were thrown up.
"Why would you ask that?" The friendly tone was gone, replaced instead by a guarded and angry one.
Naya had no clue. She scrambled to make it right. "I…" she tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, rubbed her hands over her eyes in disbelief at her own boldness.
He found no mercy for her, levelling her with a stare, waiting for her reply and refusing to fill the silence until she gave it.
"Something Lucien said." She settled for the half-truth.
The flame that was his touch blazed in his eyes. She couldn't stand the fire. She shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his watch.
"I just wondered if it was true." She continued quietly. "I'm sorry I asked. It's personal. I had no right."
He glared down at her and shook his head, refusing her answer. "Why did you ask, Naya?" he pressed firmly.
She studied the shapes of his face, the downward cast of his brows, the set angle of his clenched jaw. She knew she found him attractive, knew having him close set an ache in her that could only be relieved one way. There was nothing wrong with that, she told herself. It was perfectly normal to have those needs, to imagine what it was like to have him atop her, or any male for that matter. She was of mating age. Those feelings were only natural.
She let her boldness carry her further, let it guide her to lean forward, to close the distance between them and press her lips gently against his. She held still, waiting for rejection, for him to leap from the bed and call her a child, a fool.
When he didn't immediately do so, she lifted herself to her knees and brushed a soft kiss over his mouth again. He tasted like peppermint and whisky, felt soft and warm and hard. She moaned into the night.
His hand shot up to grab her jaw, pushed her back gently. His confused eyes searched, delved into her wanting gaze and searched, for what, she didn't know. He shuddered at whatever he saw there.
She took it one step further, encouraged by his seemingly shaken manner, recalled the many times she had caught him watching her when he didn't think she was looking. She reached up to cover his hand with hers as she moved to settle herself onto his lap, the insides of her thighs against the outside of his as she kneeled.
"Naya…" his breath was uneven, coming out in rough pants. His hand held her at a distance.
She tried to read him, tried to see if he felt that need too. She wanted him to want her.
"You don't like it?" she whispered, tucking her face to kiss his palm, the inside of his wrist.
His head fell back, eyes sliding closed and he groaned from the sensation. She took it as an invitation and claimed his neck, tracing up the length with wet, hot kisses.
He ground his hips once, twice and she matched his pace readily, relishing in the friction she felt of him against her.
"Azriel." She called wantonly.
His grip found her waist and he lifted her, pulled her to his mouth, slanted it over hers and hungrily deepened the kiss. His tongue darted out, traced the fullness of her bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening as he trailed kisses to her ear and back again.
She didn't care that she was loud, didn't care if they were heard. This was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It was raw need, a craving that couldn't be quieted. Her insides were clenching, twisting and pulling and aching for more, more, more.
"Yes." She cried out when he pressed her more firmly into him. She could feel the length of him through his pants, so long it reached the middle of her thigh. "Please, yes."
She greedily reached for the buttons at the back of his shirt that would allow her to pull it away from his wings and over his head, felt hot skin against her fingertips as she clumsily tried to unfasten it.
"Wait." Azriel stiffened, pulling her away suddenly and panting hard. "We have to stop."
She didn't want to stop. She didn't think she could. She tried to convey just that with another grind of her hips, smiled when he moaned.
"Please." She whispered huskily, looking at him through half-lids and begging for that friction to continue.
He was as undone as she was. His hair was a ruffled mess from where her fingers had pulled through its length, his eyes alight with the same want hers held, his breathing quick and shallow.
"I want you." She brashly exclaimed, and lowered her hands to the bottom of her sweater so that she may lift it to offer him what was underneath. "You can have me if you want me."
He lifted her from his lap and jerked himself away, standing in a solid movement and taking several paces backwards.
"Stop." He ordered harshly and reality crashed in.
He didn't want her now, it would seem. His chest rose and fell in rapid pace. His jaw was set, his arm stretched in front of him as if to hold her back if she tried to assault him again.
She pulled the blanket to her chin, covering her body, ignoring the quickly quieting pull between her legs.
It was impossible to meet his eyes, to see them different than what she had thought she'd seen them as moments before. He didn't want her. It wasn't her he was thinking of. She'd just mentioned Mor, Cauldron damn her. She was so stupid, so fully and embarrassingly stupid.
"Mor?" she asked, and her voice wasn't her own, broken and awkward and ashamed. "It's Mor, right?"
His inhale was loud, louder as it rode out on a sigh. He ran his hands through his black hair, disrupting it further.
She tried to block the wave of disappointment that hit her full force and rocked her into disbelief. She shook her head against her own thoughts, her own wants. Mor had given her so much. Azriel had. What was she doing?
"I'm so stupid. I didn't mean to come between…" she let her words drift off, unable to finish them.
Azriel paced the floor, his footfalls silent as he did. "Listen to me, Naya. There is nothing between Mor and I."
Naya's gaze flitted up at his words.
"There was a time," he stopped before her, cut her off before she could ask. "That I believed myself in love with her. I've had a few centuries to realize it would have never worked. There are no feelings there."
That only confused her further.
"Then why?" Those damn thoughts were trying to come back, to whisper dirty thoughts of her own lacking qualities.
He waited, knew if he was silent long enough her traitorous gaze would seek him out and meet his stare.
When it did, he asked. "Have you ever been with a male before? Fully, I mean."
She blushed deeply, locked with his eyes only by the sincerity there. She didn't believe he was mocking her. Still, the question angered her.
"Why does that matter?" she demanded. "Afraid I won't be skilled enough to please you?"
Her irritation seemed to brush off him easily. "Have you?"
She threw the blanket aside and stood, glaring up at his saddened expression. She didn't want his damn pity. She didn't want him to look at her like she was a child in need of a lesson.
"So, this is about virginity?" she scoffed. "If I were to go off and lose it, would that make it better for you?"
He stepped forward in his own anger. They were so close that when he breathed out his chest almost touched her.
"This is about what I can offer you." He growled. "And what I can't."
"I didn't ask you for anything." She bit.
"You've never been with anyone like that. You don't know what can come with it."
"Oh yeah?" she challenged. "Are you sure it's not just that I'm not good enough for you?"
Fury flashed across his face. He lowered it to hers so she could feel the full brunt of it, so she could be scorched by its heat. "You've got it all wrong."
"And you're shit at explaining."
His hand was a flash as it bolted up and grasped her chin roughly. He pushed her to the edge of the tent, pressed her against the canvas. His lips crashed down on hers, hard, punishing before he ripped away again.
"There are people who aren't worth getting involved with." His words washed over her face, hard as his mouth had been against hers. "I'm one of them. Remember that."
He was gone before she could respond, disappearing into the shadows that followed him, leaving her a puddle of confusion and fury to stare at the empty space he had occupied.