SUMMARY: Gwyn and Az have some fun, and our shadowsinger has a life-changing epiphany.
Some NSFW toward the end!

Shrill cries rang out, echoing right through the stones and into his very bones. This is precisely what he'd dreaded. Holy gods, those fucking screams. Beron's taunting laughter, basking in each one that tore from her ravished throat.

No. No.

Thud! Thud! Fists slammed into the iron. Thud! Thud! Over and over. Until the flesh throbbed and split wide. He patted down his body, over his shoulder. No weapons. Not a single one. But he still had his… Where the hell were his Siphons? Shit. Shit. If he had to, he'd rip open that godsdamn cell door with his bare hands.

She wasn't supposed to be in there. Not her. "Gwyn!"

Thud! Thud! His wrists and knuckles crunched with each desperate blow. No matter how hard he fought, pleaded, and pounded, he couldn't fucking get to her.

'Not real, Shadowsinger. Not real.'

"Azriel." A jostling nudge had him surfacing, gasping for air. For Gwyn—and he found her. Rolled on her side, facing him, hand still clamped on his shoulder. Dampness glazed her freckled cheeks, those bleary teal eyes. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyelids, willing his startled heartbeat to slow.

Delicate fingertips swept back the strands clinging to the terror dotting his brow. Her voice trembled against his skin. "Only a nightmare. A bad dream, Azriel."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," He murmured, leaning into her touch now on his right cheek.

"You didn't. I woke up at the same time. From the same thing."

Azriel wondered whose demon had torn her from sleep—his or hers. Had the horrors of what happened replayed in hers like a Symphonia? Was hers as warped as his?

Soft lips kissed his chin, the corner of his mouth. "We made it. This is real, Shadowsinger." Another to the opposite edge. "Real." Again, this one kissed his lips fully and with terrible gentleness. The gesture made his chest ache. But it was not long before those kisses turned insistent, demanding more. More of this. Of him.

Mother knew Azriel would never, could never, deny her if that's what Gwyn truly wished. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her. Bury himself deep within her, allaying all the lingering fear. Nothing but intense, endless bliss.

But before he could, his shadows stirred, veered between them, urging him to 'Look.'

Azriel pulled back with what had to be the strength of the Great Powers, holding her flushed face in his hands. Thumbs rubbed her freckled cheekbone, snagging her attention. He studied those brilliant sea-blue eyes, her pretty features, as he would any report that came across his desk, seeing what the shadows did. For there was no hint of the lust that had flared in them earlier. Only panic, staggered and quiet, remained.

He closed the distance between them, his lips caressing hers tenderly, reverently. Then he kissed her right cheek, the left. Set one upon her bunched brow, softening everything as she shivered against him.

"Come here." He gathered her close, cradling her against his chest, staying true to his promise two Summer solstices ago. "I've got you, love."

Giving him a hearty squeeze for emphasis, she said, "Perhaps it is I who has you, Azriel." The shadows wriggled around them, tittering. "And I know. I know."

Feet tucked between her calves, fronts smashed together. Chest to chest, heart to heart. Gwyn finally settled in, calming, as his fingertips dragged up and down her spine.

The irony hadn't escaped the shadowsinger. The fact he couldn't stop touching. After centuries spent avoiding the risk of rejection, pity. Touch of any kind—unless it was on his terms. Even when he allowed himself fantasies of a mate, gods, he never imagined this truly possible. To find pleasure in the simple touch of another. Delight in simply holding someone's hand...

No evasion. No wraps. No barriers.

This had only ever happened once before. When his mother would sit his slight form on her lap. Hug him tight with his cheek atop her heartbeat as she serenaded softly into his hair, soothing him as they relished those fleeting minutes before his father snatched it all away.

Fuck, where in the Cauldron had that come from? That memory had been forgotten long ago, sealed behind a wall of bitterness and resentment.

Perhaps the Seer Stone had driven it to the fore. Or maybe it had been the healing love of the female in his arms. Whatever the cause, it was clear now. And for the first time, he saw the memory for what it was. Why, even though he had tucked it away, it had remained. For past the long-held pain, the disdain for the bastard Illyrian lord who sired him. Beyond all the rage, the remorse… there was love —the love he felt wrapped in his mother's arms and her voice, those ancient lyrics.

Those same verses trickled out of him like rushing water, finding fissures in a cliffside. Each note was a flood of reclaimed melody, as indelible as the tattoo pigment on his flesh. He hadn't even realized he was singing aloud until Gwyn whispered into his chest, "That's incredibly beautiful. What is it?"

Azriel's throat worked, his lips grazing her temple as he spoke. "It's Illyrian. A lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me."

"Huh." She paused, and he felt her forehead bunch against him. "Strange."

"Strange?"

Gwyn chuckled softly, and his heart stirred at the sweet sound. "The song isn't strange. Neither is your mother singing to an adorable, smaller version of you. It's just…" Another laugh and a shake of her head. "Forgot I said anything. It's nothing."

The shadowsinger didn't believe that for a second. Something had spurred her strange comment, and it was unlike her to simply—

Her soft, blissful sigh and an arm wrapping around his back broke his thoughts. The unintentional knee to his stomach brought him right the hell back to a grunting reality. But even that sudden shock couldn't stop his lips curling up on one side as Gwyn sought to burrow her face into his collar.

Finally snuggled together in warm silence, his fingers traced her spine as his mind kept working. While he would not press her regarding this strange comment, they had some matters at hand.

'Yes, you need to talk to her. Be forthright, Shadowsinger,' the shadows asserted.

'But keep some levity. You both need it.'

'Yes, keep our mate happy.'

Taking his shadows' unsolicited advice, Azriel offered, "A truth for a truth."

Leaning back, Gwyn blinked up at him in confusion. "What?"

Azriel's lips twitched, his hands continuing to stroke her back. "A truth for a truth. You tell me one and I tell you another. Unless you're not up to play?

'Yes! Play! Play!' They sang and spun.

The Valkyrie narrowed her gaze in battle-ready anticipation. "Fine. Any truth?" He shrugged, his fingertips skimming up to her shoulder blades, drawing lazy circles. "A pegasus can not fly backward." He snorted and her teal eyes rolled. "What? Is it not the truth? That is a proven fact about pegasi."

Amused shadows wended around her arm and then her hand like an ethereal black ribbon. "That's…" Sighing, he pecked the tip of her nose. "Perhaps I should have been more specific. Personal truths, Berdara. Something I don't already know."

"Ah, so this game is your attempt to bring your," Gwyn cleared her throat, sinking her voice lower to mimic his smoky drawl to say, " We need to talk, from last night, but disguise the questioning in a shrewd challenge? And did I not reveal enough at your mercy earlier?"

"One, that was under persuasion. "

She puffed. "Are you implying that is the only reason I was being truthful?"

His palm slipped under her fall of copper hair to her nape, thumb stroking over her thrumming pulse. His other slid to the curve of her ass. "Not at all. Even though I knew you were so desperate for release, you would have eventually told me anything I wanted to hear."

The sweetness of her arousal belied the irritation on her face. Before she had time to rebut or make some witty quip, he added, "And as much as I enjoyed hearing every one of your confessions, there are other matters to discuss."

She swallowed hard, the fingertips on her right hand tapping one by one over his left pectoral. "Indeed. Would you like a breakdown of all things I discovered the last few weeks in the Autumn court, Spymaster?"

"Later. This does not concern missions or courtly duty."

"Oh." Her eyes glittered in the lingering daylight shining in from off the sea. "Very well. So, it's your turn, I suppose?"

He shot her a droll look. "Really?"

Smirking, Gwyn shrugged under his arm. "What? The pegasus information is accurate, per evidence I've gleaned from the historical tomes. Besides, I'm only following your rules."

"Fine. Truth. Sometimes I wonder… what I would do if I wasn't Spymaster. If I relinquished my position," he admitted while toying with her hair.

"What would you do if you retired?"

"Retired? You say it as if I'm some feeble male."

"Feeble, absolutely not. Impressively fit and virile, in fact. But you are undeniably old, Shadowsinger."

"Smartass."

"You can't deny you adore me for both those attributes."

With a low chuckle against her smirking lips, he tapped her ass for that one—but he indeed didn't, nor could he, deny his love for either.

"Still your turn, Shadowsinger."

Hours and hours passed as they stayed in bed, only pausing conversation to take care of their needs or for food. They spoke of thoughts and opinions. Revealed deeply guarded secrets and embarrassing tales.

Gwyn told him the story of how she and Catrin had conspired to lure a river otter to the temple to keep as a pet. "So we were nearly in our room when another acolyte saw me carrying a squirming otter. She screamed and…"

Azriel told her about the first time he and his brothers got drunk at Rhys's mother's cabin at age sixteen. "Both Cass and the railing still have a dent. Anyway, when his mother came home, we sat on the sofa, trying to hide the magically set stain and the fact we were shitfaced, but I had a raging case of hiccups and…"

Still cackling at his misfortune, Gwyn told him about the first time she went skinny dipping in the lake on the outskirts of the temple—and how Catrin had run off with her robes. He told her how old he was when he learned to fly. She admitted to him she was so nervous when she received her invoking stone; she vomited on the dais, right onto the High Priestess's shoes.

On and on, turn after turn, the shadows swaying happily around them, content.

"You're serious? Your first kiss was with Rhys's sister?"

"Hand to the Mother—and don't you dare tell a soul, Berdara. I mean it. Especially Nesta."

"I promise." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Does Cassian know?"

Azriel snorted. "Do you think if Cassian knew Rhys wouldn't?" Between those two busybodies, the whole Night Court and all of Illyria would have known. "Even though we were practically kids, teens, Rhys would have misted me for kissing Isra. You're the one who will ever know."

Since Gwyn had confessed months before how blessed Az had been to be hers, telling her was only fair. A spark flashed through the mating bond with possessiveness at the reminder. At his lips being the only ones she'd kissed with her own. Like a string ready to snap, his body tightened at the thought of claiming her. To unleash. While Gwyn was still giggling between snorts, he took a moment to reel in instinct completely before doing anything frenzied and rash like…

"My turn." Gwyn loosed a breath, fingertips grazed over his jawline. "Truth. I think I like the stubble. Though I do not think you can pull off a beard. But this does indeed give you an air of handsome ruggedness."

Azriel puffed a laugh, the sound of hers calming the mating urge. By the Cauldron, her laugh was pure magic. And he was so relieved her mischief, her spirit somehow remained intact after everything. Because, gods, what if… Unable to get the next truth out while looking at her, he tucked her head beneath his chin.

Shuddering out an exhale, he pressed her forehead to his neck. Mother, did she always smell so damn good? "Truth. When you left? I've never been so scared, Berdara. Not when I was locked in the keep as a child. Not when I was dumped at the camp. Not even during the war. But when Beron had that fucking blade—" The shadows hissed. His thumb at her pulse stroked over and over. "Losing you would have fucking gutted me."

She trembled against him. "I was scared, too." A kiss to the center of his throat. "When I found you? In that cell? I thought I was too late. That I had lost you and I…"

Azriel hated that for her. Hated Gwyn had experienced the anguish of loss even for a second. Grieved over him.

With a tender grip on her jaw, he tilted her to look into her eyes. So she saw his promise. "But I will never underestimate you. I will never speak on your behalf. I trust you, Gwyn. And trust is not something I hand out—and you've seen why." After all, she had seen everything through the Seer Stone, hadn't she? "So, when you feel compelled to act, I will never stop you. Never again. Whether you decide to do research or to fight a battle in a foreign court. I'll always have your back, even if I'm not by your side."

She drew back, and the wide, watery smile on her face melted the last remaining ice around his heart. "Together, then."

Shadows curled around her wrist. His. Looped around theirs like infinity. And all he wanted to do was flip her over, pin those wrists into the mattress, and…

"I know I'm speaking out of turn, but… Truth. These mating bond urges scare the shit out of me," he admitted softly, timidly.

"Oh? Is-is that why you stopped to take a breath before? After I said mi… " She paused, searching. "The M-word which rhymes with dine?"

"Dine? Really?"

"I may be a tad bit hungry. But that was it, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "It's unlike anything I've felt before." After hearing that word from her lips, the need to claim her, mark her over and over, rode him hard. "I'm… I'm terrified, Gwyn."

She cocked her head, her brows furrowing in disbelief. "What?"

"Before I stopped? I had this impulse to fuck you—"

"Well, that was obvious," she interrupted teasingly.

"Gwyn, I didn't just want to fuck you into the mattress. I wanted to fuck you through it. Gods, I've honestly never felt anything so, so…"

"Primal." She offered, licking her lower lip. Hooking a piece of stray hair behind her ear, she cocked her head. "And if I told you I was feeling the same way? How I wanted nothing more for you to mark me as yours?"

He hissed, inhaling sharply, her heated words surging through the bond. Breathe. Breathe. "I'd say those were dangerous words, Berdara. I don't think you understand how much restraint it took not to… All I saw in my mind was your face the night I scared you. And, bond be damned, there is no way in hell I will ever put you in that position again. I can't be the cause of your fear. I won't."

Understanding softened her features. "Azriel."

Not meeting her gaze, Az went on. "I know the bond should make it impossible, but I can't take the risk. Not when I was so damn close to it."

Not when he wasn't absolutely sure. Knowing the bond had snapped for Gwyn and she had still burned him on accident. When he'd witnessed what had happened when Rhys withheld the truth from Feyre. When Cassian and Nesta held back from one another. Physical and emotional hurt were two different beasts, after all.

Azriel exhaled slowly and raggedly. Then he barked a bewildered laugh. "Holy gods above, I can't believe I'm about to say this—"

She considered him with the keen way she assessed everything else, not missing a thing. Her jaw dropped. "Are you… do you not want the bond?"

He gaped and took her small hands in his own, gripping them tight. "No, no, I'm not saying that. Not at all, but… I'd like to wait on it. If that's all right with you."

"Azriel, we're in this together, right?" Gwyn kissed the heart of his palm. "So we wait. Until we are both ready."

Hope and wonder stung his eyes. "Is it as simple as that, then?"

"I really can't believe you just asked that. Are you truly surprised?" Teal eyes flashed, mouth fell open. Azriel blinked, wings shifting uncomfortably behind him. "Of course, it's that simple! I love you, Az, why wouldn't I—" His mouth slanted over hers, cutting her off, surprising her as Gwyneth Berdara constantly surprised him. He tasted the truth of her words on her lips, on her tongue, as he kissed her deeply, slowly, and forever. They were both flushed and panting when she finally broke off the kiss, his fingers still tangled in coppery-brown silk.

She cleared her throat, swallowing. "As I was saying before you interrupted in the best possible way." He smirked. "How could I not wait? You waited for me, I wait for you. That's what you do when you love someone—mate or not." She shrugged, irreverently, as if what she said wasn't completely life-altering. Mother above, this female. "We both need time, to be honest. Time to make sense of everything that's happened, good and bad. Time to heal." Her fingertips, her eyes, traced over fresh scars pale across the planes of his stomach. "Priestess Eirny once described healing as a journey with no map. One often winding with no direction, no marked path, the destination varied. But now, we'll walk it together. Hand in hand."

Hand in hand. Together.

"And if I get out of preparing your meals until further notice? All the better for me. I'm proud of you, Shadowsinger. For someone who was fixated on mating bonds for most of his life? You came to a very mature decision." She patted his chest, the shadows lilting. "Perhaps it is true what they say, that with age comes wisdom. By the way, I think it's once again your tur—"

Their game could wait. Azriel silenced her again in the best possible way, kissing her over and over. And before long, they became tangled in the sheets once more. Hand in hand pressed into the mattress. Together.

"September thirteenth," the shadowsinger muttered casually between kisses.

"Mmm… and what exactly is September the thirteenth?" Gwyn leaned back and peered up at him through heavy lashes.

"My birthday."

Surprise rushed through her. Her mouth fell open. "What?!"

Gwyn rolled him onto his back, tossing one leg over his waist, the move ending on a grimace. A move Azriel seemed to appraise. "What's wrong?" he asked, searching her for the cause of her wince.

"I'm fine. Really. My... abdominals are a bit sore from the many..." She left the word climaxes unsaid, nor was it needed by the shadowsinger's smug expression. Her cheeks heated. Cocking her head to the side, she asked, "When we return to Velaris, think you might get me out of doing anything abdominal next training session until I recover?"

Azriel snorted, his hands trailing up and down the bend of her waist. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not in charge of your training outside of daggers."

"Well then, could we perhaps do all that again instead of planks and curls? It must be a more proficient workout. And far more fun. Think you can ask Cassian for an exercise substitution?"

"You would ask that. You manipulative, clever thing. But I doubt anyone would approve of my face buried between your legs in the middle of the training ring."

She sighed dramatically. "A dream denied."

His crooked grin slipped, his palms stopping above the flare of her hips. Hands flexing, he exhaled slowly out his nose. "I was too rough with you earlier."

"And I loved every single minute."

"I should have made love to you."

"Shadowsinger—"

"Gently. Thoroughly."

"Azriel—"

"For hours and hours like you deserve. Especially since it's been so damn long. I should have—"

"Az!" she snapped, his shadows joining her admonishing.

His mouth set in a hard line. Agitated dark mist swished between them, a cacophony of whispers Gwyn could not decipher. Her lips pursed with annoyance. Staring at him unblinking, her hand cupped his neck at the nape to seize his attention.

"What if I told you I want you to bind my wrists?" she asked. "What if I told you I wanted you to pull my hair earlier, tug hard? Hmm? You've seen my list, Shadowsinger."

All the things she wanted to try, entrusting him with taking care of her. Of showing her everything. Numbered, cataloged, ranging from innocent to filthy, he had to have been surprised by the former priestess versed in them. Such was the power of the ever-inquisitive mind—and Sellyn Drake.

"Do you love me, Shadowsinger?"

Darkened hazel eyes going wide, his forehead creased. "If you feel the need to ask, then I am not doing a good enough—"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Vying for my court position now, I see." Amusement curled the corner of his perfect lips.

"Do you?" She poked him in the center of his chest. "Love?" She drew a heart on his skin with her fingertip. Then, pointing to herself in the same manner, she uttered softly, "Me?"

Azriel's hand engulfed hers, resting over the beating beneath. A steady, unending cadence—as fierce and unwavering as what she felt for him. He held her stare, what he was about to deliver swelling in them, around them in inky darkness. "With everything I am, Gwyn."

A faint smile pulled at her lips. "Then we made love."

"I don't think that's how it works, Berdara."

"It does if I say it does." But Gwyneth Berdara was determined to prove her point beyond any doubt. She slanted her mouth over his, their chests mashing together. When she leaned back to catch her breath, she whacked his chest, keeping her palms splayed over his hard pecs. "I can not believe I missed your birthday!"

His lips twitched. "Well, I won't hold it against you, as you didn't know, and I was recovering from being held captive."

"Not funny, Shadowsinger." She tipped forward, lowering onto her forearms carefully on either side of his head. Her fingertips skimmed his lips. The height of his cheekbones, tracing his features with adoration. With love. Her words caressed his lips. "Well, I plan to rectify your mistake."

"My mistake?"

"You got captured. Not me."

A smirk spread across his face. "Do I even want to know what you are planning?"

"Oh, an enormous party. You as the center of attention. Fun hats and streamers." The shadows whirled around them, and she swore she heard them chuckling. "By the way, how old are you now? Will we need to put out a massive fire if you can't blow out your candles?" Bright teal eyes danced with amusement as she pressed a long kiss to his lips. "What do you want for your birthday, Shadowsinger?"

His hands tightened on her bare waist, moving along the soft skin to her firm, round backside. "I have everything I want right here."

Azriel's gaze was warm, his smile so wide and as glorious as the sun cresting over the mountains and seas beyond. Love, so much boundless love there. "Although, I can think of one thing I would very much enjoy as a late birthday gift."

"Name it."

He smiled back warmly before lightly slapping her ass. "You. Riding me into oblivion."

"Of course. As you wish. But first." With a hint of rising heat in her eyes and her mischievous grin, she brushed lingering kisses to the tip of his nose. The center of his forehead. His cheeks. Until she blazed a sensual path down his neck and collarbone—and lower still.

And he watched her descend the length of his body. She reveled at the coiled tension in his taut muscles with every soft brush of her lips over his bare skin.

"What are you up to, Berdara?" He swept the hair back from her face, holding back the tresses with one hand.

"Proving my point."

With a hand on his chest, she felt his chest rise and fall like bellows as he watched enraptured as she wrapped around the smooth hardness of him. First with her hand. Then with her mouth.

When Gwyn had first wondered about sex, she had tried to compare it to something she knew. A concept she could grasp. And then one day, she realized. What was sex but two bodies locked in a dance? Sex was harmony. Sex was a symphony. Sex was music.

Sometimes the tempo was a slow seduction. Coaxing, flattering, caressing. Other times it was lilting and jaunty, setting a fun, frisky mood. Others opened slowly and ended at a brisk, feverish pace, sending pulses strumming.

Both could express happiness and heartache. Enmity and envy. Lust and love. Simple and complex. Many things at once.

Gwyn loved him with her mouth and fist. With long, languid strokes and sucks and licks. A rhythm of love and desire. Every stroke resonated with how beautiful she thought he was, inside and out. Her relief he was once again safe. Her unfettered joy to be his. How he made her feel secure and adored beyond measure. Her love for him and him alone.

His powerful hands didn't tug her hair in demand, but merely held the sides of her head. Not handling, but holding her like something precious as she moved on him unhurried. Chilly wisps brushed kisses along the back of her neck, and she shivered.

His hips followed, restlessly shifting with her, moving in harmony. The muscles of his firm thighs flexed under her free palm, her fingernails digging into their strength. The barest hint of pain with the pleasure. Bottomless hazel eyes penetrated hers from under heavy lashes, an unreadable blend of emotion burning in them as she took him deeper.

His voice entered with a duet of praise and encouragement. "Look at you, Gwyneth. And so godsdamn beautiful, and I—" His words cut off with a grunt, a growl of pleasure she felt in her very core.

She hummed over him, rubbing her thighs together as she lifted her head. Hand pumping, she purred, "Do you see my point, Azriel?" She squeezed his balls gently, licked across the broad head, making him groan. Deep and husky and male. "Do you see?"

"Gods, you're so fucking good. Too good," he hissed as she stroked his cock—her fingers taking their time, slow and steady and firm. Near torturous.

"Have I proven my point, Shadowsinger?"

She dragged her tongue all the way up his warm, hard flesh in one smooth motion. "Fuck, Gwyn," Azriel gritted out, his wings quivering. Yet she still felt the gentleness of his hands as he held her, his gentleness warming her heart. "You-you always prove your point. Get your way. Don't you, Berdara."

"It doesn't matter if there's a careful rending of clothes or tearing in a frenzy. If I'm on my back or my knees. On the floor or up against the wall. No matter how we have sex, no matter if it's slow and tender. Hard fucking." His eyes widened at her words, darting from between her eyes and her fingers still wrapped around him. "It doesn't matter as long as there is trust and affection behind it. Do you see, Azriel? Do you feel it?"

Gaze locked on his, Gwyn lowered her mouth again and slid him between her lips. Azriel bucked, and she took him a little deeper, as far as she could go, her hand working the rest. Slow and steady.

And when he reached the crescendo, Azriel came on a deep, satisfied groan, making her go molten as the flavor of him burst on her tongue. She held his stare as she slid off of him, kissing the damp tip before releasing her grip.

She raised a brow, smirking. "I believe I proved my point regarding lovemaking."

He huffed a laugh. With his fingers absently combing through Gwyn's hair, Azriel said between panting breaths, "Gwyneth… Berdara… You… Are a menace."

She placed a kiss on his still trembling thigh and smiled up at him. "A menace I may be, but I'm your menace."

Eyes dancing with mischief, he levered up until they were nearly nose to nose. "Indeed, you are. And I love you, Gwyn," he said before sweeping his lips over hers. "I really fucking love you."

A shriek flew out of her as strong, wonderfully rippled hands circled her waist, lifting her up and over until her knees straddled his dark head. Her hands landed flat on the polished sunstone wall above the headboard.

Her greedy eyes wandered over the handsome, powerful male beneath her. To the splayed wings underneath him—ones she was careful not to kneel on. Those darkened hazel eyes focused on hers, still racked with want. At the flush coloring those high cheekbones—one she had put there.

His calloused palms teased from the underside of her breasts down her belly. Until they settled on her thighs and gripped them with delicious intent. "I thought you wanted me to ride you into oblivion?" she asked, voice breathless, anticipation thrumming.

His lips curled upward. "So I did. But I didn't say what I wanted you to ride, Gwyneth."