I'm sorry for the delay this time around...some personal issues came up and I was indisposed for a while. Thank you for your patience!

Chapter 6

Azriel flew to the House of Wind, his shadow reflecting starkly against the homes below. A full moon, pearl-white and glowing, hung heavy in the sky above. The higher he climbed, the colder the air became, but Azriel couldn't feel the chill. He took short, swift breaths in hopes of staving off the strange sensation of the taught thread, its presence inside him a confusing and jarring one. But the farther he flew, the stronger the pull felt. Until quite suddenly, the thread evaporated.

He dropped into a dive, landing hard on the eastern balcony. His shadows did not scatter, but clung to him, vibrating restlessly as Azriel held a hand to his chest. He felt lighter...almost empty. As if the thread had been filling some pocket inside him he didn't even know existed. Until now.

He turned away from the house, bracing his hands against the ledge of the balcony, the carved stone came close to buckling under the pressure of his grip. Though he appeared to be surveying the city now far below, his gaze had turned inwards; shadows circling around him with aching slowness.

What's happened? He sent the words on a shooting shadow and watched as it slithered down the mountain side at a breakneck speed.

The answer came in seconds, but each tick of the clock felt like an eternity. As he waited Az mentally reached for the thread but could only sense a trembling darkness as thick and as angry as a bank of rolling black storm clouds. His eyes darted back and forth as he attempted to penetrate the strange mass and a shiver wracked through him as the familiar twinge of magic stung his senses.

The curse, He realized, Perhaps Bryn had managed to temporarily break through whatever magic had been bound to her. He knew that no magic was all powerful and there had been tales of fae and human alike that had bested spells under moments of staggering duress. Azriel's air left his body and he doubled over, wracked with guilt. His experience with magic, human magic for that matter, was minimal at best. And with the construction of the wall, there was no telling how the medium had evolved in the years since. But if she had managed it, then the string could be a remnant of that call.

But...why did it come to me?

The question hung over him like a fog. He had a theory...that was why he was here. The implications of it were threatening to overwhelm him when Nuala's response finally came.

Madja is still working, the answering shadow settled amongst its brothers at the turn of Azriel's shoulder. He could sense the question the half-wraith chose not to ask.

Azriel breathed, only just sensing the gentle burning in his starved lungs. The stillness around him, the beauty of the city bathed in moonlight, mocked the turmoil spinning inside of him. He tucked his wings in and turned towards the house. His movements were slow, weighed down by the heaviness in his heart; his mind working on more important things.

It was only now that he realized he didn't know what to say to Rhys. He only knew that he couldn't be entirely truthful. He could not reveal to his High Lord the presence of a human in the walls of Velaris. At least...not yet. Azriel could remember clearly the day that his High Lady had first come to Velaris. He could remember that dinner, now likely to be seen as an auspicious evening in history's telling of Rhysand's reign. And he could remember the fragile, fluttering beats of Feyre's overwhelmed heart, as she was bombarded by the deeply sewn bonds of the Inner Circle. Time had been a deciding factor then. Time, along with Rhysand's infamous flair for the dramatic. It had been a test, coolly planned and seamlessly executed, as was Rhysand's way. There were moments yes, where such introductions were necessary, but this was not one of them. No, Azriel would not subject Bryn to a baptism by fire. He couldn't bear to be the cause of any further discomfort.

As if that's all she feels now, Azriel thought, his scarred fingers constricting into fists as another image of Bryn's bruised face flashed through his mind. He could still feel the burning of her blood on his fingers. As if it was still stuck to his skin. As if it always would be.

"Azriel?"

He looked up, shadows swirling around him like a makeshift shield. Feyre stood under the threshold. Her hand touched one of the stone columns that framed the entry. Opaque, violet curtains hung down around her, marking clearly the brassy tones in her straw-colored hair. She was dressed casually tonight. The large gray sweater, a favorite of Mor's, meant to protect from the crisp night air.

Azriel bowed his head, "My lady."

As always Feyre's eyes were assessing, glinting busily in the moonlight as they took him in. Azriel held tightly to his shadows, every muscle in his face working to contain the turmoil that simmered just underneath his usual veil of indifference.

"Rhysand is here?" He asked coolly.

"...yes," Feyre said, brows dipping together. "In the study."

"I don't mean to interrupt-" Azriel started.

"Don't be silly," Feye said, "I was just leaving actually."

Azriel nodded tightly and moved towards the house, but Feyre stepped in his path. A small smile flickered over her face as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

"It's good to see you, Az," She said softly, but didn't meet his gaze. Azriel straightened his shoulders, convinced now that she could sense something was wrong.

"You as well, my lady." Azriel said, trying and failing to sound at ease.

Feyre stepped back, a small but sad smile gracing her still very human features. He cringed, recognizing traces of Bryn there. The wildness and fervor that came from living a mortal life, knowing that time was fleeting.

"How many times must I tell you, there's no need to call me that in such an informal setting." Feyre said, drawing his attention back.

Azriel merely nodded. "I must speak with Rhysand,"

He couldn't think of a clever lie to spin, not when his head was so full.

Feyre nodded in turn. "There's a dinner tomorrow. I hope to see you there. We all do."

With another bow he stepped around Feyre and headed into the House of Wind.

It had been a long, long time since Azriel had visited the study. In the years past while the Inner Circle had spent their days in the war camps, Azriel had spent most of his time outside of the city entrenched in a veil of deceit. He had been younger the last time he was here. Far younger than he felt now. A different person. Practically a stranger.

The room was lit only by a large, crackling fire held in a glittering hearth so large, it filled half the of the back wall. The rest of it was covered with books, stacked somewhat haphazardly in an expanse of shelves that lined not only that wall, but the other three. The ceiling was crafted of domed windows, a thick parade of stars gleaming against the navy blanket of night above. At the center of the room sat upon a circular rug of the finest craft was a large obsidian desk. Azriel's only memories of it was one of chaos; every inch of it's surface covered in papers, maps and ancient texts. But now that they lived in a time of peace and burgeoning prosperity, the desk had been cleared. Blurred flames danced across the smooth surface like shadows of pure sunlight, the warmth of them settling deep into Azriel's bones. Rhysand's chair was turned towards the fire, his head visible just over the top of the ornately carved back.

Questions flew through Azriel's head, each one too obvious or too vague. He couldn't decide which one was the right one to ask.

"Azriel," He greeted, turning his chair. "How is-"

The High Lord's face changed from one of cool contentedness to one flushed with concern.

"What is it, what's happened?" Rhysand asked, rising to his feet with one hand anchored against the desk.

Azriel cursed himself. In a flurry of shadow, he disappeared from the doorway and reappeared in one of the two upholstered chairs that sat in front of the desk. He tucked his wings in and crossed one leg over the other. It took much of his discipline to relax the muscles in his face and shoulders and lean back in the chair. He banished all images of Bryn from his head, sending them into a pit of shadows.

"Nothing," He intoned quickly, running a hand through his hair.

Rhysand lowered himself back into the chair, even though his violet eyes watched the shadowsinger carefully. But if he suspected anything, he kept it to himself. He simply snapped his fingers, and a pair of glasses appeared between them, each one containing a slim line of amber liquid.

"We didn't see you at the party," He began, leaning his elbows against the desk and weaving his fingers together. "Not that I can blame you."

Azriel forced a smirk, but it vanished quickly; the remaining traces settling uneasily in his stomach.

"I'm afraid I wasn't," Azriel started, "...well."

He realized then that he couldn't be sure of what Cassian had told the rest of them. The truth most likely...but what Cassian deemed to be the truth of the situation Azriel didn't know. Cassian had not attempted to see him again since their last rooftop conversation.

Rhysand only chuckled. "If not for the bond, I think I'd try my hand at an excuse like that...not that Feyre would believe it."

There it was, his chance. Heat and smoke filled Azriel's lungs as he opened his mouth. He blinked, struggling to pull the proper words from his throat.

"There is something I need to ask you," Azriel said, never one to mix words.

The spark in Rhysand's eyes rescinded. "Of course."

Azriel ran his thumb over his scarred knuckles.

"When," he started. "...did you begin to sense the signs of the bond?"

He hoped Rhysand would understand, knowing that even if he wanted to he couldn't elaborate further. Speaking Bryn's name, even alluding to her, would let loose the flood he was only just able to hold back.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, unable to hide his surprise. Of all the things he expected the shadowsinger to say, that had certainly not been one of them.

Azriel watched Rhys carefully, attempting to gage the thoughts that stewed in his lord's head. The shadows that pooled around the legs of the chair ached to crawl upwards and take a look for themselves, but Azriel held them back. He knew he had chosen the right question. He had asked them of himself time and time again. Even since...ever since first meeting Mor. But out of respect to both Mor and to Rhysand's precarious familial ties to her, he had chosen never to broach the subject. Even though he had been tempted to do so since word of Feyre's arrival in the city had spread throughout the Inner Circle.

"And," He continued, unruffled. "How did you recognize them for what they were?"

Rhysand leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the desk and he folded his hands together. His gaze turned thoughtful, but no less intense as they faded into a memory. He looked down, avoiding Azriel's eye, and caught sight of his reflection in the smooth surface of the desk.

"Under the mountain," Rhysand said, noting the full body cringe that overtook Azriel at the mere mention of that cauldron-forsaken place. "I began to have visions…"

Rhysand told the story, one that only Feyre had heard. Details were clipped here and there, but Rhysand knew the struggles and sacrifices Azriel had endured to ensure the safety of their lands and he staunchly believed that Azriel deserved nothing less than the truth from him. The truth and most definitely more as far as he was concerned. Even so there were parts of the story that weren't his to tell.

"...it wasn't until Feyre had freed us all," He said, leaning back in his chair. "That I was certain."

He paused, but Azriel said nothing. A heavy weight had filled the room, the depth of Rhysand's emotions.

"I don't know what it was." Rhysand said, finally. "The transformation into a true fae or maybe it was just that the end of the whole ordeal had come and my head was finally clear...but standing on the mountainside, I knew then. I slammed into that realization. So much so that I panicked. I ran from it. It was too much. Too much to take in and...I knew she didn't feel it. How could she?"

A small smile graced his face. "It seems so long ago now."

Azriel couldn't return the smile. Rhysand's words were still stirring inside of him.

I slammed into that realization.

The sensation of the string, that first pang of pain...it echoed in his chest. Azriel rose to his feet, needed to do something with the nervous energy inside him. Rhysand rose as well; slowly, watching his friend with growing concern. But Azriel didn't see him.

I don't know why I thought…

Messy. This was all too messy for a simple answer. But, it had given him something to do while Madja worked. Azriel's eyes drifted to the large grandfather clock by the door. He needed to get back.

"Thank you," He said, in a low voice. The shadowsinger's eyes were dark, far away from the study.

"Azriel," Rhysand said, standing again. "You would tell me, if something was wrong?"

"Of course." Azriel answered without hesitation. He could sense that Rhysand was unappeased, but knew the High Lord would not question him further. For now.

With a short bow, Azriel left the study and headed back to his home.

I ran from it...it was too much to take in.

Azriel shook his head, Rhysand's words continuing to acost him as he flew.

This is different...There were no visions, no connection...I didn't see the signs. No like...like ti was with...

Rhysand's words had been helpful, but not in the way Azriel had hoped. What they had done was open a door he had only just closed. Locked up tightly with no intention of ever visiting it again. Not that he could ever forget the day he found Mor.

That day had been different. There had been no string to tug. No inexplicable pull. He had just known. His shadows had known too. From the moment he had woke that day they had been jittery, reflecting the unease in his heart. Cassian had told him not to go. To leave it be. But Azriel had seen his trepidation reflecting in Cassian's eyes that day. And when he did leave, Cassian had made no move to stop him.

He had been certain then. So damned certain that he loved her so completely, she had to be his mate. He could breathe more easily in her presence and when they were apart, he felt empty. Hollowed out like some cracked shell washed up on a lonely shoreline. She was an ocean he could happily drown in.

How was it that he could be so wrong for so many years? He had assumed that the fates were testing him. He had assumed so many things…

But Bryn...there had been no such wealth of knowledge. In fact, he had not seen any of it. There had to be signs, there always were. Humans and Fae alike were bound to their thoughts and fears and while some were better at hiding them than others...Azriel could always see. How had he missed them? Was his grief so absorbing? Were his abilities so unknowingly compromised by the truth Mor had unleashed after all those years?

And if she is my…

Azriel shook his head, unable to finish the thought. He recalled Rhysand's words.

No, she couldn't be. He decided, even as a small part of him still protested. I would've felt...something sooner.

He felt foolish. Only two months had passed since Mor had spoken with him and now he was searching for a new connection. Forcing it on the very first female he had encountered after the fact. Azriel believed in the fates yes, but life was rarely so poetic or easy as all that.

He thought about the conversations they had had, the words unsaid.

She is...a friend. He thought as his feet came in contact he the floor of the roof. The word shuttered through him. And I failed her.

His head spun as the guilt returned, knocking into him like a tidal wave. But he made no move to dispel it. After all, he deserved it. He descended the steps into the house, his heart hammering louder with each footfall. Standing in the living room, he allowed the stillness and quiet to soak through him before moving towards his bedroom.

"She's asleep." Came Madja's throaty timbre from the kitchen. Azriel turned and stalked through the door, even though every part of him was begging to go to Bryn. To confirm Madja's words personally. To see something other than blood. He didn't pose the question, waiting instead for Madja to do the talking.

"I've given her a small dosage of sleeping draught," She explained, running her hands through a basin filled with clean water. By the time she was done, it had turned a sickly shade of pink. "Never having treated a human before, I didn't want to overload her system."

Azriel nodded as his stomach began to knot.

"The cuts are shallow, only a few of them needed to be sewn, but I'm afraid there will be muscular damage. I've healed the orbital fracture," Madja touched her finger to her own temple and dragged it down around her eye to her nose in reference. "But the bruising will take some time to clear."

Nuala appeared silently under the threshold, Madja's coat in her outstretched hands.

"I've done what I can for now," Madja said, crossing to the door and slipping her arms into the coat one after the other. "What she needs is rest. Lots of it. She's suffering from a serious concussion. She will likely be confused when she wakes."

Azriel nodded in understanding, the action though small, caused his head to spin.

"She should sleep through the night. I'll need to do some more research in the meantime."

Azriel escorted Madja to the door, Nuala following closely behind.

"Thank you, Madja," Azriel said, bowing his head to her.

Outside the night air was thin and still, marking the early hour.

"For your expertise," He continued. "...and discretion."

Madja's thick brows rose high passed the thick line of bangs that framed her face, but she nodded in turn.

"Nuala will escort you home." Azriel said before offering his hand to her.

Madja took it without hesitation, though her dark eyes kept a wary watch on the shadows that slid up Azriel's tattooed arms.

"I will return to morrow," Madja promised.

"Thank you," He said again, squeezing her hand. His eyes seemed to glow with the intensity of his gratitude.

Azriel slipped inside, pushing the door shut until the sound of the lock clicked into place. He leaned against the door, exhaustion seeping through his veins.

I should sleep. He thought, but realized it would be impossible. Although his eyes were aching to close, he knew he couldn't give in. He was being pulled in two different directions. There was a part of him that still hungered to return to the farmhouse and tear the men to pieces. Blood lust burned through him as he imagined all the things he wanted to do. Truthteller seemed to hear the thoughts in his head, it called to him. Tempting him to act.

He turned his gaze towards the hall, towards his room that lay at the very end of it. He knew that was where he needed to be, by her side. He pressed his wings harder against the door, wincing at the pressure.

I...can't. Images flashed through his head. He didn't know what to expect, but his imagination was painfully alight. He broke out in a sweat, his throat dry as he tried to swallow down his fears.

She's needs...He stopped the thought, cursing himself for his foolishness. There was nothing he could do for her now...except perhaps enact revenge.

He spun around and gripped the door handle, when a piercing scream burst from the bedroom and echoed down the hallway towards him like a carefully aimed arrow.

Bryn did not know where she was. Or even what she was. Or when…

She couldn't feel her body, couldn't feel the pain. She floated, somehow both heavy and weightless all at once, peacefully through a silent black sea unabated by color or light. She let her eyes slip shut, listening to the air and water.

Until a voice, slippery and sharp, sliced through the darkness.

What did I tell you, darling?

Sensation slammed into her like an arrow piercing her chest and spreading through her. She gasped, sucking air into her lungs and began to tremble; she was a leaf caught in a hurricane torn out at the root and utterly helpless in the wake of the storm. With each breath, the pain in her chest grew sharper until she was certain she was doused in flames.

A familiar sight flooded her mind like water rippling across a still pond. She recognized the dusty trail before it stilled, the colors darkened and blurred as the pain traveled to her head a marred her vision. The road was smooth, untouched by prints of any kind, as if traveller and animal alike knew this was a path better left untraveled. Large, gnarled oaks lined each side; their bark black and ashy with sickness, their bodies choked by vines of ivy. Bryn planted her feet in the dirt, but she was dragged forward as if the the very air had taken hold of her. The road seemed to narrow as she was pulled up the winding path, the trees bending closer together as if reaching for her; their branches resembling tentacles as they twisted and turned with far more dexterity than should have been possible.

We both knew this day would come. When you could no longer abide those boorish halfwits.

Rounding the bend, a towering iron gate rolled into view. It's bars, topped by jagged points, grew taller and taller; stretching into the sky. The latch creaked open, scratching noisily against the rusted lock. The gate swung open at the center, groaning like some wounded beast.

Don't you remember? We had an agreement, you and I...

From the heavy fog, a figure emerged. Tall and lithe, cloaked in a cape of slate that seemed melded to the mist. Gray irises, so sapped of color and shadow they were almost white seared through her. A smile grew on those thin, pale lips revealing sharpened canines. And though the lips didn't move, the figure's voice had only grown clearer. Louder. Surrounding her like a vice. Fingers, cold as ice, brushed against the hollow of her neck. And she could feel it again, for the first time in nearly seven years. His hunger. His noxious desire that left her paralyzed like an animal caught in a trap.

I will find you, Bryn...and bring you home.

Thank you all for reading and hanging with me during the delay! Hopefully, the rough week won't rear it's ugly head again. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and I can't wait to share the next chapter with you. ^_^

(ps. I 'm sorry I'm such a sucker for cliffhangers, I can't help myself)