SUMMARY: Azventures in Berdarasitting.

Some NSFW Moments. Enjoy!

This was not a temple hymn. No. This music swelled through her body like a separate entity. Life and death. Flame and frost. Happiness and heartache and everything within entwined. And Gwyn allowed the rhythm to invade her, use her as her hands twisted above her head toward the colorful blinking fae lights. She dropped her ass to the ground and came twisting back up to the low pulse.

"You weren't watching her?"

"We were keeping an eye on her, Az."

"She has a fucking bargain tattoo, Mor!"

"She's an adult, Azriel, and she's having fun. You remember what fun is, don't you?" Mor poked him softly. Azriel did not seem amused. Not in the slightest. "Emerie, Nesta, and Gwyn made the bargain in friendship, and Nesta was sober enough to verify the terms. And, for your information, we weren't funneling the shots down your girl's throat, for Cauldron's sake!"

Azriel swore under his breath. "She did shots? With you?"

Gwyn beamed at him and nodded enthusiastically. The sublime flavor of him lingered on her lips, and she wanted to kiss him again. Gods, he was pretty. The way the bright faelight above the dance floor shone on his fierce features and thickly lustrous black hair… And those long, dark eyelashes. Why were males so lucky to have such full lashes?

So this is what swooning in those romance novels actually meant. Gwyn sighed contentedly.

Mor smirked, leaning in to whisper something to Azriel, and Gwyn tried to hold back a reaction to get rid of Mor's perfect ass. While Mor's golden hair slipped over Azriel's broad shoulder, a surprising noise rumbled from deep within Gwyn's chest.

Azriel's lips quirked as Mor's elegantly sculpted golden brows shot up to her hairline.

After several blinks, Gwyn realized what she was doing. She was growling.

"I'm sorry," Gwyn soughed, pressing her hand to her throat.

"Don't worry," Mor assured, with a wink at Gwyn and a crooked smile at Azriel. "It's getting late, anyway. I'm about to take my girl home. Go get 'em, Gwyn."

A teasing wave of Mor's fingers floated across Emerie's shoulders as she murmured in her girlfriend's ear, causing Emerie to suck in her lower lip and nod. They cut all the other talk off as Mor kissed Emerie, sliding a single finger along the edge of Emerie's wings before catching her hand and towing her Illyrian lover out into the night, stumbling as they giggled between kisses.

But Mor was drunk. How was she going to get Emerie to Windhaven…

Oh.

Unless they weren't traveling to Windhaven, were they? Mor lived close to here...

Azriel was using his thumb and forefinger to rub his temples as Gwyn peeked out from under her lashes. Meanwhile, they were still on the dance floor.

"Dance with me, Shadowsinger," she said, encircling his wide shoulders with her arms, soft fabric against her bare skin. Inhaling deep and breathing loudly, he brushed his fingertips along her forearm in a graze that caused goosebumps, before reaching behind his neck and unclasping her hands.

His bandaged hands, she realized with narrowed eyes.

"You covered your hands." The powerful male in front of her exhaled a long, rough breath. As she met his gaze, she raised her chin high. "I don't like that."

Cauldron, she was thirsty.

Gwyn weaved through the crowd, signaling for another fancy drink when she became swathed in darkness. The only sound above the hiss of the engulfing shadows was the astonished gasps of club patrons.

"Where are you going, Gwyn?"

She teetered on her heels, whirling around. A hand came out to steady her. Ah yes, that vexing question asker.

"I'm going to get myself another yummy drink," Gwyn replied. "Oh! You should have one, Az! Let me order you..." Azriel's arm didn't let go as she tried to walk, and he mouthed something to the closest server as he led her away from the bar and the dance floor.

"Hey! Where are we going?"

"Let's get some fresh air," Azriel suggested, clutching a clear beverage in his hand. Oh, hopefully, the same as those shots! "Close your eyes," he whispered, his deep voice enticing. Oh gods, was he going to kiss her? She would do anything he said.

After Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut, her hair lifted to a crisp breeze, brushing her skin. "Okay, you can open now."

Azriel kept his arm steadily on her till, for some reason, he learned she could stand. Insufferable male.

With that drink in her hands, Gwyn walked along, her heels clicking on the tile. Velaris was truly the City of Starlight. Colorful orbs of faelight and small firepits lit up the night like a solstice celebration. And music. There is so much music coming from every direction. Gods above.

"What are you doing?"

In a moment, Gwyn realized she was revolving in slow motion. Her eyes widened as she found those hazel orbs and said, "Spinning, of course!"

The shadowsinger's expression dulled. "Drink, please."

"Yes, sir." Gwyn knocked back the refreshment and found it lacked the infernal bite she was used to and that its contents were not effective. "It's water."

With a nod, Azriel stepped closer. "Yes, and you'll drink them until you're sober."

As she grunted and wildly waved her hand at him, he snorted back in disgust. "I'm not drunk, Shadowsinger."

"The classic words of a drunk. "A wry smile crossed his face as he adhered to her as she wandered around a rooftop.

"Where are we?" Gwyn asked, rubbing her arms, willing heat into her limbs. Her eyes trained on the small fireplace on the other side of the rooftop lounge, as she turned like a pig on a spit in front of the lovely flame.

"This is the rooftop of Rita's."

"You winnowed us up a flight of stairs?"

As his eyes roamed down her legs to her silvery heels, and back up, Azriel said, "I didn't want to die catching you falling because I know you'd be dragging me with you."

Her fingers met nothing but air and shadow as she swatted at him. Azriel shoved another glass of cold water into her palm and pointed to it in request.

With her eyes glaring at him over the glass rim, Gwyn sipped this one deliberately slowly.

Across the street, a fresh melody floated. At first glance, the building appeared extremely high class, and the tune would have required dance steps.

Gwyn glanced sidelong at Azriel and set her water on the rail, shifting to face him. One step led to another until she was right in front of him. Hands in pockets, brow arched, the shadowsinger stood there. Shadows watched as his wings twitched.

"Shadowsinger?"

"What?" He asked cautiously.

"Do you dance?"

He choked on his mirth. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Gwyn drew out the word, "The last winter solstice on a roof nearly a year ago, I asked you if you sang."

"Indeed." A simple smile stretched across his beautiful face at the memory. She was overjoyed he likewise found it meaningful. "But you also asked if I sang because I am a shadowsinger."

"And you said yes—and, just a friendly reminder, I have yet to hear you sing, shadowsinger ."

"Noted."

"So are you suggesting you don't dance because your title isn't shadowdancer? "

Despite Azriel's bland expression, his amused shadows spun and fluctuated. Gwyn held out her hand to the shadowsinger, smirking.

"Yes. I dance, Berdara."

"Perfect, because I want to dance." Gwyn stepped into Azriel's space, till her chest brushed his and she could feel his shuddering inhale.

"Are you asking me to dance with you?" He closed the distance.

Gwyn placed a sure hand on his shoulder, holding his hand with the other, waiting.

And when they finally moved, she was swept away.

The ability to dance was an asset to a spy. The same way loose-lipped soldiers would share information for drink or coin in taverns, a spy would swoon a female until she became putty in their hands. A bunch of gossipy sex-seekers would be the second easiest prey for him, even though the idea and practice disturbed him, and he only used the scheme as a last resort.

His role as spymaster allowed him to Waltz with many, charm his way into their lives and secrets. Sometimes, they'd beguiled him into their beds. Most of the time, however, a few spins on the dance floor with a colloquial female were worth more than months' worth of intelligence.

Apart from those, the occasional turn on the floor with friends at special events was all there was. Azriel had too often found himself tucked in a corner, watching Mor dance with Cassian and beckoning him to join. As a buffer from Eris, Azriel danced with Nesta the last Winter Solstice at the Hewn City when he'd received her from Cassian into a sweeping Waltz.

He enjoyed certain parts of dancing. His favorites were those reminiscent of battle. Ultimately, all battle is a dance. The first move required patience. Start and stop. Steps performed with precision. Pace and breath control.

But dancing with Gwyn?

The experience was unparalleled. Even if she couldn't find her correct step half the time, he did his best to lead her, eventually letting her feet stand on his to do so.

There were flaws. Neither of them was elegant. He didn't dare spin Gwyn for two reasons: she was atop his shoes, and he was afraid she might get ill. Even so, his heart never pounded as hard as it did now. Never has anybody stared at him with love as intense as Gwyn while her teal eyes were shining straight into his fucked up heart. Never were his shadows dancing with him. Nothing had ever felt more real.

Soon, the song was over, and Azriel slowed down, letting her regain her bearings.

Her laugh, the ultimate solution to all his woes. Even though Az had everything against him, he thought, if he came home to Gwyn, if he came home to her smile, it would blind all the darkness in his heart.

As an alert hound, Gwyn's ears focused on the song from across the mezzanine. After tearing away, she skipped to the railing to see if she could find the source of the music. Putting his palms on the balcony, he effectively cowed her in, setting behind her just enough to grab her if she somehow tumbled over the barrier.

In combination with the hornpipes, ominous drums beat by hand and other percussion created a tempo of eerie seduction.

Azriel peered over her shoulder. Her eyes twinkled in the firelight as she inhaled, her lips parting.

"What's that place?" Her voice sounded soft. On the beat, her hips swayed.

His voice was rougher as he confided, "A pleasure house."

"Oh," Gwyn breathed, letting the music consume her. She rolled back into him until she was cradled in his thighs, her hips moving to the music. And no matter how much Azriel shifted back, her ass followed with invading heat. The grip he kept on the railing left his knuckles white. Please have mercy on his soul, Gods above.

As Gwyn leaned against him, her back arched against his chest. Together, their bodies found the rhythm. Her silver dress was cool and slippery under his palms.

"Are you familiar with that place?" Gwyn asked, her fingers twining around the short hairs of his nape.

"Where, my priestess?"

"A pleasure house." She tilted her head back against his shoulder, sweeping his cheek with silken waves.

He let out a long, forlorn breath against her collar. "Yes."

"And what indeed happens there, Shadowsinger?"

Anything and everything a perverse mind devised. "Conversation. Dancing…"

"Sex?" Whilst her body writhed in his embrace, her words ceased. "Have you experienced... pleasure there?"

His chin scraped her neck. As hard as he could, Azriel bit down on his lips to stop kissing or licking. From tasting her luscious skin. Or tracing her new tattoo of a sliced ribbon, starting with the tailpiece on the right collarbone and running over to the left with his tongue.

"Occasionally, I've found myself at one seeking satisfaction," he admitted, choosing his words carefully. He could only describe his presence in there as scratching an itch.

And what about your predilections? The demons in his mind jeered. Did you think about doing these things with the priestess? Are you plotting to ruin her even more?

Fuck him, he could. His cock swelled with excitement at the image of doing things with Gwyn. Seeing her bare before him, shadows bound around her wrists as she begged for him. And didn't that just make Azriel a sick bastard after everything she'd—

Gwyn hummed her response. "Would you take me one day?"

Her words caught him by surprise. Even his shadows drifted about, dazed.

"Where?" He questioned cautiously.

"A pleasure house," she sighed as she ground into the bulge under his pants. Azriel's eyes rolled in the back of his damn head. Fuck him. "I'm—"

He pressed a soft kiss against her temple. Safe enough in her condition, he supposed. As Gwyn danced, her body stiffened. "You're what?"

Her movements slowed, but she did not answer.

"Don't be embarrassed, Gwyn." Never with him. Everything she had in mind piqued his interest. "Tell me."

Her face tilted toward him as she swiveled in his embrace.

Those crimson lips were smirking sleepily as she answered. "I'm just curious... I guess," she replied, lifting her shoulder. Those lips were all his eyes kept darting to.

Gods, why did she have to be drunk?

Fuck, he wanted her. Had she not been wasted, Azriel would have carried her over to that lounge near the fire. Created a cover for them with his shadows. Lain her down on the velvety cushions under the blanket of stars. Hiked up that short as hell dress and pleased her with his mouth. His tongue. Allowed her to move those hips, let her follow the dance against his face. Drank her pleasure.

"Azriel," she whispered, her lips a hairbreadth from his. He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. "Would you take me home?"

Oh, praise the mother-fucking Cauldron. She could be safe in bed, and he could work himself out of his misery in private.

"Okay, Gwyn. We'll get you home and to sleep."

Her head swung back and forth. Gwyn rose on her tippy toes so they were eye-to-eye. Her palms caressed his chest, gliding down his front lower... and lower.

"No, Az." She crooned his name in a seductive tone that made him throb. Ocean eyes held him in place. "I want you to take me home. Like Cassian took Nesta home."

Gwyn slid her fingers lower until she was playing with the top of his pants before skirting alongside, her knuckles following the hardened length hidden beneath. He bit back the moan building down low. Fuck.

"I want you to take me home." She leaned forward to kiss his throat, her tongue darting out to flick at his skin. "Like Mor took Emerie home."

"Gwyn," he groaned, finally placing a firm but gentle hand on her wrist. " Please. "

"Please, what?" A kiss on his collar. His jaw. The corner of his mouth now set in a hard line. "Should I beg, Azriel?"

Holy fucking Cauldron. Mother, give him the strength of the gods.

Gwyn drew back again, her stare as unrelenting as his grip. "I want you to take me home, Azriel. Take me home, and have sex with me. Fuck me. Make love to me. However you want me, I want you. So, take me home and make me yours."

His hand squeezed her wrist and waist as he closed his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Why? Why did the Cauldron hate him so much?

His shadows offered no support, only concerned for her well-being and mocking his misfortune. Wispy dark pricks.

'We are sorry for your pain, shadowsinger. But you need to get her home.'

The face before him was determined, but those glazed eyes were vulnerable. His fate was worse if he did than if he did not.

"As much as I want to do all of those things and worship you." He groaned in resignation. "You're drunk." His hand tucked back wavy bronze strands as he whispered, "We can't. And tomorrow, you're not even going to remember asking me to have sex with you."

Gwyn's whole body tensed, and she reeled backward. The more she grew nearer to the railing, the more his heart arrested. The shadows behind him pushed at her as he clutched her wrists.

Her voice was muffled as she said, "It's okay. I understand."

With a sigh, Azriel reached out to her and said, "I'll fly us home." Before Gwyn could even ask. "If I winnow you like this, you'll get sick." She fastened her arms around his neck. He gathered her up and held her close, setting a brief peck on her forehead. "Shut your eyes and hold on."

Gwyn held on as Azriel flew them home, her eyes closed until she saw white. The heady warmth of regret replaced sensual fervor.

Shame.

Cauldron, damn her. She had been rubbing against him like a feline in heat.

Gods. What had she done? She wanted him, that's all.

A logical part of Gwyn realized Azriel was simply being considerate. Responsible. Sweet. But she didn't need sweet. Or polite. Or conscientious. Gwyn wanted wildness; to have the unleashed, uninhibited version of Azriel. The one that came out to play in the pleasure house with those others.

Others. The thought turned to ash on her tongue.

Speaking of which, gods, her mouth was dry.

Gwyn craved a bit of roughness with him. Dreamed of those hands seizing her, tugging her hair. Nipping and scraping her skin with his teeth. To leave his mark. And she wasn't afraid—because it was Azriel, and his intent with her wasn't to cause her harm. He hungered to please her, and gods, she had wished to be satisfied.

Dancing with Az reminded her of slipping between sheets, and Gwyn hoped that was where the night had been heading. Until he'd uttered those words. "You're drunk. We can't, sweetheart."

Drunk. She wasn't drunk. True, Gwyn had a few drinks and danced a little. Fuck, Gwyn had fun. But drunk?

The words he whispered to her on the way home didn't register, as she was too lost in her guilt spiral. So stuck that Gwyn didn't even apprehend when they landed on the balcony of the House of Wind until she realized Az was walking.

She quickly wiggled until he loosened his hold, letting her get to her own feet.

The first thing she did was to kick off those heels in the middle of the hallway and moan in relief as she spread her toes against the wooden floor.

The shadowsinger snorted. "If the first thing girls do after a night out is to sigh happily after taking off their shoes, one would think you'd stop wearing them."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Mor called these fuck-me-pumps, and since no one was getting fucked, the shoes came off."

As Azriel smoothed his temples in a way that spoke volumes, Gwyn huffed and wobbled her way to her room. A pair of loud, quick footfalls ran behind her as her fingers brushed the knob.

"Where do you think you are going, Berdara?"

Her chin jutted out. "My room, of course, since there's absolutely no reason to be in yours."

Azriel caught her hand and yanked her close before she could protest, putting a finger to her lips. His eyes darkened as Gwyn nipped at his finger. Leaning in closer he said, "That's Nesta and Cassian's room."

Gwyn stepped back and considered. That was absolutely true. Imagining that she could have strolled in on whatever they were doing made her cheeks flush even fiercer. Gods, she really was hot. She needed somewhere cool... but not something to eat because her stomach was…

With an arm around her waist, Azriel guided her to her chamber. Instantly, when she entered, Gwyn wanted to clamber on top of her bed. Not under the blankets. Too hot. Though she didn't wish to wrinkle Mor's dress. Thus, she battled with the knot at her collar, unable to coordinate her absolutely sober fingers.

The amused snort from Azriel made her want to commit violence.

"What are you doing, Gwyn?"

"I'm trying to get this cursed dress off so I can cool off! I'm so hot."

His exhalation was audible. "May I help you?"

As she nodded maybe a little too aggressively, amazing chilled wisps of darkness sketched the curve of her spine to her nape. Shadows caressed her skin while they unraveled the string.

Rather than catching the dress, Gwyn let the fabric drip at her ankles, leaving just her underwear on display.

"Fuck, I'm hot." As she swung to face Azriel, she fanned herself, her stomach gurgling furiously. "Aren't you super warm? How are you wearing a sweater?"

Azriel's expression was one of concern. "No. It's mid-November, and I already opened the window." Exhaling loudly then, he took a decisive step toward her. "Hey, Gwyn, are you sure you're al—"

"I'm fi-," Gwyn could not complete the lie.

Acidic bile rushed up in her throat as her stomach roiled violently. Gwyn shook her head and covered her mouth with a hand, praying to the Mother that she would reach the bathing chamber in time.

For the last half-hour, Azriel held Gwyn's hair and smoothed her back as she retched uncontrollably until she was dry heaving.

"Oh gods, I'm never drinking again," she whimpered pitifully, sniffing as she tipped onto her side and pressed a cheek to the cold tile floor.

Seated with his back to the wall beside her, Azriel thought he had heard that phrase before.

A sigh of contentment spread over her as his shadows curled around her neck, cooling her forehead and her cheeks.

"That feels so nice," she mumbled.

'Watch her,' he ordered his shadows as he stood and made his way to his bedroom. First changing into sleep pants before snagging the pouch on his nightstand. A gift that sat unused next to his bed for nearly two years. Until now.

Getting back to her room as fast as possible, finding Gwyn hadn't moved a muscle as Az stepped around her, filling the short glass tumbler on the basin counter first with the headache powder and then water.

He supported her by sitting up slowly, his wing wrapping around her for balance. "Here, drink this slowly," he encouraged, helping her bring the short cup to her lips.

Little by little, she sipped.

"Azriel," she slurred, fingers gripping the glass in her hands.

He swept back her hair. "Hmm?"

"I don't think Elain likes me."

His hand froze on her cheek. "What? Why—what makes you say that, Gwyn?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. She was acting strange at the club."

That's right, Elain had been there. Fuck, what had she said or done to Gwyn?

Squinting at the dangling charm on her bracelet, he clenched his jaw. "Weird how? "

After finishing the drink, she remained silent. Despite dread lying like lead in his gut, he abandoned the conversation when she yawned. For now.

"Let's get you to bed," he said as he took the cup and scooped her up, slowly carrying her and tucking her into bed on her side. He grabbed a wastebasket before settling beside her, just in case she was sick again.

'She's fast asleep, Shadowsinger.'

Her body moved in easy, even breaths as he observed her back.

As Azriel attempted to fall asleep, stinging thoughts flooded his mind with what Elain might have said to Gwyn. And at the core of his being, he knew if something did truly occur at the club? It was all his own fucking fault.

Song inspiring Gwyn dancing at the beginning: "So It Goes..." by Taylor Swift

Song inspiring the music emanating from the Velaris pleasure house: "The Wolf" by Fever Ray