SUMMARY: Gwyn and Azriel have an honest, heated conversation.
Warnings: NSFW

️ NSFW

Hope you like it!

Training was grueling. Brutal. Gwyn could scarcely breathe, her chest heavy, and it wasn't from the exercise. Gods. He hadn't glanced at her once. Not once. Something about that chilled her to the marrow. Particularly after what Nesta and Cassian said at breakfast. And when they'd sought the same practice sword on the weapons rack, their fingers brushing at one point? Az did nothing but turn and leave.

The sadness Gwyn held changed into resentment in her veins. Suddenly, nothing seemed to function. Her body. Mind. Heart. No matter how sloppy and uncoordinated she was, she had to convey her aggression.

Or she would burst.

As if sensing this, Cassian pulled her aside and claimed Gwyn as his partner. In hand was a blunt training sword, and he gestured for her to take her stance.

"Az is being a broody prick," Cassian muttered, flipping the weapon in his large hand. "Show him what you got. Ensure he can't ignore you, Berdara. I saw him avoid you, and I know it must upset you—"

Gwyn refused to let the General finish. With a war cry, she lunged at him, aiming for his collar. Her blow glanced off wood as he knelt and bent his elbows. His brute strength sent her tumbling back as he pushed upward. A feral smile adorned Cassian's face as he beckoned her to attack again.

Blow by blow. Strike after strike. Her wooden sword found his in a dance of combat. Even though the December morning was crisp, and the gusts whipping, sweat raced down the back of her fighting leathers and coated her brow.

Cassian dropped low. Gwyn attempted a block. Too sluggish to react, she didn't see him feinting right. The sword struck her in the side. She lost her legs when Cassian spun and hit her again. With a roguish grin, she twisted out of the way of the General's next blow.

"Nice," Cassian said while he glimpsed over at where Azriel was standing—only to find Nesta and Emerie leading the novice class.

While roaming over, Gwyn was panting.

"Nes, where's Az?" Cassian asked as they neared.

"He had to leave," Nesta said, her measured gaze falling on Gwyn. "Sounded like spy shit."

Unease roiled in her gut, the way the shadowsinger hadn't even glanced at her this morning clear in her mind. Azriel may have kindly spared her from drinking the tea, but Gwyn couldn't escape the truth—he was indeed furious with her. By the Cauldron, he'd overheard her inner thoughts today as she spoke with his brother. With Nesta.

"Are you all right, Gwyn? You look a little pale," Nesta pointed out.

"And green," Emerie added unhelpfully.

"My stomach," Gwyn confessed, although her heart hurt much worse. "It's a teensy bit off."

Cassian clapped her on the shoulder, causing her to rock forward. "Serves you right for dumping all the sugar into your breakfast. "Don't forget the hot chocolate." His mate slyly glanced at him.

The back of Gwyn became plank-like, and her lips grew thinner. No. The hot chocolate was too important for her to ignore. No matter what.

One day passed…

Then two…

Then three…

Three days with no word. Azriel may have been conducting his own rescue mission—or even, godsforbid, attempting a spontaneous assassination.

Had he gone in against the High Lord?

Kneeling in front of an ivory candle on her nightstand, the flame danced from her sigh; she did something she hadn't done for months. She prayed. Prayed for Azriel's safety. Prayed he would return home.

During their quarrel, a knot had formed in her chest, one which only became tighter and higher until now it was almost a choking noose. Long missions, miles apart were not unusual for them. But this lasting enmity in his absence didn't sit well. Not in the slightest.

"Please," Gwyn breathed out, hands clasped around her sister's invoking stone. A stone that had originally belonged to their mother. Gwyn still couldn't bear to hold her own.

Her hand warmed as she sang a quiet hymn for a safe journey home. In an instant, Gwyn's palm grew so hot that she dropped the rock. Her gaze fell on the glowing amulet on the floor. A swirl of blue cobalt in the center reminded her of Azriel's siphons. Strange.

She carefully stashed the stone in her nightstand drawer. Drapes drawn back, Gwyn stared up at the clear night, the round moon. The sky was a dark blue, bordering on ebony, both reminding her of the shadowsinger. Where was he?

Tears she'd shed left her body aching and her eyes puffy. Caudron, she was tired. Weary.

Despite her exhaustion, she shifted away from the bed and went to her bureau to switch into her scalloped leathers. In an easy, boot-footed stride, she entered the hallway. Her eyes caught sight of the clock on the mantle in the sitting room. Two in the morning.

The chilly air that besieged her made her eyes water as she stepped outside the door, and her ears picked up the familiar melody of flesh meeting canvas.

Gwyn nearly collapsed in relief when she saw him safe and home. Nearly threw herself into his arms. Except…

With his back to her, Azriel grunted, beating his knuckles into the heavy bag over and over. Over and over. Moonlight glistened over each magnificent wing's dark-tipped talons. Shadows hovered behind his back. They wriggled when they saw her as if a wagging dog were waiting to be freed to run.

His scarred hands came to rest on the sides of the swinging bag as he faltered, seemingly alerted to her presence. With each intense breath, his back rose and fell.

A biting wind caused her to cross her arms over her chest, rubbing over the leather covering her biceps as she tentatively approached.

He didn't move. Not an inch.

Fine. She veered to the equipment rack and wrapped her hands, curtly saluted him with a nod as she strutted by. He was lucky she hadn't greeted him with something far more vulgar.

Then, she proceeded to a far bag, setting her stance, and started punching. One, two. One, two. Jab, cross. Jab, cross.

"What brings you up here so late?"

Her count stumbled, and she caught the bag at his question. Taking a wipe at her forehead, she resumed punching. One, two. She counted as her fists pounded on the cloth.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, stopping from asking about the reason he smashed his hand to a bloody pulp. No, she focused on her instead.

As Gwyn watched, his fists remained grasping the sack, his forehead resting on it. His hands adorned with split knuckles and bleeding blisters.

Her throat became knotted.

Inhaling deeply and swallowing her pride, she strode toward him. A few shadows glided over her hand discreetly, but most remained by his back. Oh, yes, she'd missed the misty busybodies as well.

The corners of his eyes were dull, his face shadowed by several days' worth of dark stubble. Upon reaching for his hand, he flinched. Recoiled.

Each step backward was harder than the previous, as Gwyn swallowed hard. Suddenly depleted, her throat constricted as she walked back to the House.

"Why aren't you able to sleep?"

Without turning around, she replied, "I just couldn't.".

"Did you lose the dagger under your pillow?"

Her lips twisted upward in surprise. "It wouldn't comfort me because, unlike you, I'm not a child. And did you really just make a joke right now?"

When he didn't reply, she glared over her shoulder at him. He leaned against the bag, his fingers gouging into its sides like hooks. His shadows hovered between them, like an uncertain child deciding which parent to comfort. This was absurd. Words were just about to pass her lips when she heard him speak.

"I'm sorry."

Azriel had to speak up. Had to end his suffering. The last four days had been a living hell—a complete, devastating nightmare.

To have Gwyn here with her unique scent reminiscent of water-lilies and carnations teasing his senses was too much. Sweetness and spice, just like her. Her empathy and goodness. The depth of her soul. Her selflessness. Her hardheadedness. Neither bend nor surrender attitude. All the things he adored about his little Valkyrie.

Which was why Azriel had fallen upon the sword to end this cruel stalemate. He needed Gwyn more than air to survive. In the three days he was gone, the shadowsinger realized Gwyneth Berdara was the only thing he truly required.

He waited for her reply in ragged gasps, his chest pinching to the point of pain. Instead, he fixated on the crimson blood like spattered paint upon the tan swinging canvas. The tight-knit of the fabric against his forehead. The crisp December wind whistling between his wings.

"What?" she asked quietly.

Turning fully, he saw she was facing him, waiting. "I'm sorry."

"For?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised one auburn brow.

He exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry for what happened before I left."

"Which part, Shadowsinger? The part when you told me no? Or the part where you insinuated the reason for your grievous injury at Sangravah was because I was a distraction?"

His fists opened and closed at his sides. "I—"

Cold and frustration produced a flush on her cheeks as he stepped closer. "I'm not finished—"

With every pointed stride, his leathers creaked, bringing them a foot apart. "I heard you in the dining room, Gwyn. You don't need to go into detail about how shitty I made you feel again. Hearing it once was enough fucking for a lifetime."

"I—I didn't mean to make it sound like—"

"No, Gwyn, you can't do that. You were speaking from here," Azriel told her, pointing to the center of her chest. "So, please, spare me."

Gwyn narrowed her sea-green eyes. "You know what? You're right. I was. Because you hurt my feelings, Azriel." His heart broke along with her words. "I can do this."

"I know."

"Do you?"

The shadowsinger nodded, advancing until there was only a handbreadth between them. "Gwyn, you're a formidable fighter. And you're inarguably capable."

Shit.

'Shadowsinger, you need to face the truth.'

"I'm the one who's not."

Shadows stretched out to hold him up, covering his back. She lurched back at his words. His fingers circled her wrists, steadying her. His grip never let go.

"I realize you're competent. You're so fucking strong. You are loyal and valiant. Perfection is in your nature. Despite this, you are not yet ready for the Autumn Court."

She glowered and worked to pull away. He wouldn't let her. Instead, he yanked her forward with his firm grip on her wrist.

His growl rumbled against the shell of her ear. "You know nothing about what those sick bastards are capable of, Berdara. The descriptions in books would not be adequate for the atrocities committed by them. The Vanserras are the worst of the worst—and Beron is the worst of them all."

Her arms were pinned to the sides of her body as he held her close. "Do you remember the day of the friendship bracelet incident? When you saw me return a mess? They killed one of my spies on assignment in Autumn. Severe torture mangled her body so bad, Eris was forced to cremate her. He said it was a blessing I hadn't seen her remains. Those bastards slaughtered her, Gwyn. They relished the kill. And, before you ask, my only purpose in using torture is to get information; it isn't for," he sneered before continuing. "Fun."

"I wasn't going to ask you that, Azriel. It is disheartening that you think I would compare you with such monsters," she responded cautiously, firmly.

As Azriel contemplated what he would say, tremors streaked through him. "I spent the last few days trying to locate Nuala with Cerridwen. Autumn has her. And I do not doubt—"

"Do you believe they are torturing her?" Her tone was delicate, but as her understanding dawned, Gwyn's expression became more agitated. Sometimes, Azriel wished he was like Rhys, a daemati who could explain without speaking.

"Yes."

In his arms, Gwyn lowered her head as she shivered. "Will they kill her?"

His voice filled with coarse gravel as he spoke. "Not if I can help it, but they are the type of fuckers who would string someone up at the border as a warning, Gwyn." He tightened his arms, and she raised her face, her oceanic eyes watery.

"I'm sorry, Az. I didn't—"

"That's what you volunteered for. If this was another court, I would be more accommodating. My judgment call had nothing to do with your abilities, Gwyn. This is about safety."

The truth. In smaller, less meaningful reconnaissance missions around Velaris since the library incident, the young Valkyrie showed she was stealthy. Her forgery skills were beyond reproach. Certainly, Gwyn had proven herself.

"But you don't know that something would happen," Gwyn countered, still arguing in her position. "I would no doubt have blended in better than Nuala within Autumn. Moreover, I am trained in defensive tactics."

"I can't, Gwyn."

"So you truly don't doubt my abilities?" He shook his head, slow and controlled, in response. "You believe I would blend in well?" He nodded in the same fashion. Based on her knowledge of the Court, Azriel did not doubt her claim. "So why, Azriel?"

As Az stared at her with relentless focus, he angled his head to one side. "Did you not hear me describe the torture you might face?"

"I did," Gwyn said as she raised her obstinate freckled chin, which he easily grasped between his fingers.

"Gods, you're so... You want me to finish that sentence you dared me to during the Inner Circle meeting? Fine. You're brave to a stupid level. Reckless to a fault."

Her pinked lips twisted up into a sarcastic laugh. "Says you, who is the first fighter to plunge into combat. To risk his safety for his family and friends. Tell me, how long did it take our illustrious spymaster to recover after you went to Hybern for the Cauldron? How about the repair of your wings during the war? Oh, non-reckless one, scold and enlighten me."

His nostrils and wings flared as he exhaled, his temper slipping. "I'm not scolding you like a godsdamn child, Berdara."

"I see. You're not? In that case, do you also speak to any other Inner Circle member in this way, Shadowsinger?"

"I rarely have to. They usually trust my advice and heed what I tell them."

"Usually leaves a space for the occasional, yes, they do."

"Cauldron above, you are a genuine pain in my ass, Berdara."

"Usually," she said with a mockery of a smile. "And you're a bullheaded male."

"Usually," Azriel countered. "Gods, you are such a smartass."

"Braggart."

"Know-it-all."

"I trust the word you are searching for is an expert, but I'll gladly accept both."

The shadowsinger was close to snapping. Did Gwyn not grasp how serious he was? Was it not clear to her what was at stake?

"You are unbelievable, Gwyn. Un-fucking-believable. The problem is not that I think you're not good enough. Or fast enough. You're just so…"

"So what?"

"Stubborn!"

"I'll take that as a compliment, Shadowsinger! And you can stop being an overbearing prick!"

Azriel tightened his grip on her chin when she tried to pull back. Admiring her rosy face, he spread his wings. Her porcelain skin dotted with freckles. A pair of blue-green eyes bursting with indignation and grit.

His siphons blazed on his hands like two luminous sapphires. "You are reckless. Lack of self-preservation."

'No, she is brave and selfless,' were his shadows' words.

"Pretty certain I disproved both of your points wrong during the Blood Rite."

'Our Valkyrie speaks the truth.'

"Fuck, you don't understand, Berdara! The idea of you there, in danger, kills me because—"

"Oh, because what?!"

"Because I fucking love you!"

Holy shit.

The world halted. The breath he took. The beating of his heart. The wind at his back. In the stillness, his shadows appeared to hover, obsidian mist melding seamlessly with flurrying snow.

Dread coursed through his veins. By the Cauldron. What had he done?

'You told the truth!' His shadows exclaimed in a frenzy of excitement around them.

'About time!'

'Took him long enough!'

'I thought he'd never say it.'

Azriel's only thought was of Issie. His mother. A curse. Had he cursed this, too? Gods, how could he—

Those thoughts dissolved as Gwyn clasped his cheeks between her hands and pressed her lips on his. There was no gentleness in the kiss. There was only elation and desire. After a shiver swept through him, he tugged her closer. His throat tightened as her hands plunged into his hair, and he moaned as she tugged the strands between her fingers.

Azriel didn't want to rip away, but as words rose, he couldn't resist them. Their pants mingled as he propped his forehead against hers.

"That's why I didn't want you to go. If something were to happen to you? Shit, I would never fucking recover, Gwyn." His next breath was rough and heavy. "Never."

"Shadowsinger… you can't protect me from everything."

"Don't say that."

She shrugged as she stroked his nape with her fingers. "It's true," she declared. "I could slip on the stairs on my way to the library and break my neck or—"

"And that just makes me want to walk or winnow your ass down there myself."

Rolling those pretty eyes, she smiled. "Don't be silly, Azriel…"

"I can't lose you, Gwyn."

He repeated the phrase over and over, all while imagining her lifeless body swinging from a cave entrance, her blood dripping to the dirt below over fallen red leaves. Perfect flesh ruined. Burnt and flayed. Unrecognizable.

I can't lose you. I can't lose you.

Gwyn's arms encircled his shoulders as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him to access her neck. His mouth was rough against her skin as Azriel claimed her. His emotions ran wild. Raw. A stripped, exposed soul, he sought only to find himself in her. To lose himself in her.

I can't lose you. I can't lose you.

She spread her legs wide, inviting. He pressed into the cradle of her hips.

Her leather top came undone, exposing skin as he wrenched the buckles apart. As she clung to him, he nipped and sucked her collarbone, leaving his mark on her.

Gwyn moaned his name as if in prayer. "I understand, Az. I need you, too. Please."

Any control he had snapped at her plea.

Azriel's words, his confessions, resonated in her ears.

"Because I fucking love you!"

"I can't lose you."

They both seized Gwyn like claws, clutching her heart like his fingers gripped her leathers. Sinking into her very skin. Tonight may have started as a battle of wills. But this was no longer a war; it was love. And lost in his darkness, in his turmoil, Azriel needed her.

Gwyn had seen those beautiful hazel eyes sullied in shadow before, dark and frantic—the night she'd chased him into the woods outside of Sangravah.

Azriel's mouth was bruising against her skin. His scarred fingers worked furiously on the buckles of her jacket, baring her to the cold elements, but her breast only uncovered for a few seconds before he sucked it into his mouth.

Her legs obediently around his waist once he hoisted under her thighs. The world disappeared and tore around them until Gwyn grunted; her back thudding against a door.

Gwyn's head spun with friction as he ground into her, thankful for the warmth. The soft fae light of his room cast a warm glow over his handsome features. Mother, she'd never seen Azriel look so disheveled, his hair sticking up as if he'd spent hours flying high above the clouds. The portrait of untamed, rugged beauty. A sight that made her want to rip off all of his clothes. Cut them off with the trusty black blade on his thigh.

The hand went down his body, caressing the powerful muscles of his torso and lower until it cupped him through his pants. Amid working his mouth against one of her swells and palming the other, he growled and pushing his hardness against her hand.

"Gods, Gwyn. That feels so fucking good," Az praised, his hips rolling roughly into her open palm. "Do you feel how fucking hard you make me? Can you see how much I desire you? How badly I need you?"

The sound of blood pounding in her ears accompanied her head, bumping the wooden panels. A teasing tongue circled her nipple before heading toward her neck.

"Mmm... are you wet for me, Gwyn? Only me?"

Her legs tingled with pleasure as she said, "Yes. I am wet for you."

While he swore, he slipped his rough, calloused hands into the fasteners of her pants.

"Are you sure?" Azriel asked, blowing harshly into her ear. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes." Pushing him away so she could look into his eyes, Gwyn said, "I want you inside me."

Gwyn ripped at his pants in a frenzied way while Azriel growled. Wriggling out from his embrace, she wiggled out of her britches until she was naked below the waistline. In an instant, Azriel's leathers fell open, and she bent over to drag his bottoms to his ankles. As she did so, his hand fell hard on her ass. An intense sensation seized her core. The touch of his hand soothed the slight sting on her backside.

"Do you like that, Gwyneth? I love watching your ass bounce and seeing that lovely shade of pink spread."

Then, she challenged over her shoulder, "Again." He cursed and granted her with another. And another.

Fucking Cauldron. This is the Azriel she knew lay beneath, the one she admired in the dark, the one she glimpsed in the margins. This was him unleashed. The one she had longed for. Her ultimate fantasy.

And a male who would pay for spanking her.

Still stooped over, her tongue rounded the tip of his cock, teasing, until she took his long rigid length into her mouth as far as she could go. His hips bucked.

"Fuck!" Az barked out, his hands threading into her hair, moving it away from her face, guiding her head as she bobbed on and off. "Have I told you how beautiful you look with your lips around my cock, Gwyn?"

In the heat of her mouth, she moaned, causing him to jerk and twitch. Gwyn took him as far as she could, her eyes watering. She was proud of herself when the shadowsinger gasped and his cock throbbed against the back of her tongue as he nearly came.

Gwyn was yanked off him suddenly, lifting her. She coiled her long legs around his trim waist, crossing them behind his lower back at the ankles. As his tip nudged at her entrance, Gwyn's breath caught in anticipation.

He sank into her with one powerful thrust, searching her gaze for signs of distress. Low and long, he groaned, making her gasp and her back bow. He stretched and filled her in delicious ways with every hard, scalding inch of him. After waiting for a heartbeat for her to adjust, Azriel began thrusting.

His arms bulged as he held her, pounding into her like a man consumed. He clung to her reverently with all his generous strength.

"You take my cock like such a good girl, Gwyn," he grunted into her ear as he continued his deep, frantic pace.

Gwyn surrendered, her head swimming in the pleasure he was giving her.

"You're so perfect. Can you see why I can't fucking lose you?"

She cried out when he hit a spot deep inside, a mixture of pleasure and shock. He was ravenous and unrelenting, his hips snapping into hers. She tried to help, lifting herself on her forearms to raise and lower herself, angling herself until her sensitive bundle of nerves rubbed against him with each thrust.

Harder and harder. Faster and faster. Closer and closer. Sweat beaded on their heated skin, their voices hoarse.

"AZRIEL!" Gwyn cried out as she felt the surge of wet heat between her legs, her body tensing as the waves of bliss abruptly washed over her.

The shadowsinger drove into her, pinning her back into the door until he didn't just cry out—he roared. His leathery wings spread wide and quivered behind him as he pulsed and spilled inside her. Heaving with each gasp, Gwyn's nipples brushed the worn leather of his jacket as she whispered in his ear what he needed to hear. "I love you, Azriel."

Azriel's face dropped to her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. His tousled, night-dark hair was like silk between her fingers as she kissed his temple.

"Shadowsinger?" Gwyn asked softly. His answer was a solitary whimper. Was he crying? Her heart tinged at the notion. "Az, are you all right?"

He only asked, "Have I hurt you?"

"No," she replied, chuckling tightly.

Azriel lifted his handsome face, his golden-green eyes lined in silver. "Did I scare you? I didn't—fuck, I don't know—"

"Shh," Gwyn soothed, her hands easing back the hair plastered on his forehead. "You needed me. If I didn't want to, I would have told you to stop. It was… wonderful. Enlightening, even. And I felt safe the entire time." She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Because I was with you."

A shaky breath left his lips as Azriel raised his head to kiss her. He took his time, kissing her lazily, tenderly. As if they had all the time in the world.

"You should probably sit down, though," she murmured against his lips. "That was a lot of bicep and abdominal work for someone your age."

In a muffled laugh, Azriel removed one, bracing her in one arm as he returned them to the bed. "Smartass."

"You love it," Gwyn said, grinning broadly.

Shadowsinger spun them around and sat her down on the edge of his bed. She removed both her torn top and jacket, which were now ruined. In front of her, he removed the top of his leather scalloped armor and his gauntlets, leaving him tanned and glorious. Heat pooled low as she stared at him, leaning back on her forearms as she watched Azriel turn around to his bathing chamber and return with a cloth.

With a slight spread of his wings, he brought a warm, damp washcloth between her legs as he kneeled before her. Azriel's hands were busy massaging each knee, her thighs, as he washed away the evidence of their coupling.

As he was with most things, the shadowsinger was thoughtful and methodical in his task. Her eyes burned as her entire world focused on the way his gentle fingers eased aching muscles. On how his lips drifted over her skin. On how Azriel made her feel cherished—and deeply loved.

He washed her perfect skin with shaky hands. Fuck. What had he done?

Azriel hadn't intended to release those insecurities and fears that way.

Fuck.

While changing the dirty wet cloth for a dry one he needed to finish caring for Gwyn, he saw himself reflected in the mirror above his sink.

Fuck. He had done it. He said those three words.

'And yet, nothing happened, Shadowsinger.'

Yet, dark thoughts hissed at him in a cruel warning.

No. He wouldn't listen. Gwyn had now truly seen all of him. All of his razor-sharp edges. Each and every scar. Despite everything, she was still here.

Back in the bedroom, he finished his task before tucking back the covers and wrapping her in his arms.

This, he thought. He missed this the most while away. Having someone to hold on to. Allowing thoughts to float away for a moment because someone you love is in your arms. Something to focus on besides unending calculation and strategy. Time to… breathe. To simply be.

Az smiled crookedly as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck.

"Shadowsinger?" Gwyn uttered in a sleepy voice. "Do you still think I was stupid for wanting to go to Autumn?"

"Incredibly."

"Believe it was a rash, foolish decision?"

"Utterly."

"You still consider me stubborn?"

Azriel snorted, burying his face into her sleek copper hair. "Absolutely."

Gwyn pushed up, leaning on her arm over him. "But you love me?"

He nodded swiftly, his nose brushing her cheek. "Completely."

Her answering smile was like watching the sunrise over the snow-covered Steppes for the first time. "Hmm… I think we need to add interrogation to my growing list of attributes. And, you know, Shadowsinger, for someone who claims to lack linguistic skills—"

Azriel chuckled darkly, cutting her off, his mouth drifting from her jaw to her ear. "I said I was bad with words, not with my mouth, Berdara." She barked out a laugh that turned into a moan as his tongue tasted her skin, following the ribbon tattoo across her collarbone. "This is a bad idea, Gwyneth."

"Why? Feels like a great idea."

With a rakish grin and a quick shift, Azriel rolled her underneath him.

"Besides, you won't hurt me, Shadowsinger. And you know why?"

His mouth lingered over hers. "Why, Gwyn?"

"Because I love you." Her chest swelled against his as she whispered in his ear. "And you love me."

Apparently, the next couple of chapters are going to include some NSFW things. I mean, it was a slow burn, and our babies deserve some fun. In my outline, I had a fight planned, but somehow it morphed into intimacy. But, Azriel is not great with feelings, and I'm almost positive he used sex in the past to work out feelings. Placing him in this vulnerable situation with heightened emotions, he was lost, and Gwyn stepped in to take care of him. Chapter 47 teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) this weekend!