Gwyn huffs as she walks into her house. Cassian had dropped her off after training and had informed her that Azriel had been working all day. He wasn't quite sure what mission he was on, but he knew that it was important since he and Rhys had been hush-hush about it. That didn't do much to quell her anxiety, or the persistent dread welled up in her chest as she prayed to the Mother that he would be okay. It has become a prayer that she's included in her daily routine.

Today she had gone to the Cesere Temple to pray in the early morning. Azriel had been gone when she awoke but had left a sweet note with some pastries on the kitchen counter. He had told her that today would be rough and that he had an early start, but that didn't quell the disappointment she had. He had spoiled her recently by staying just a bit longer to cuddle in their bed. That ball of silent dread had ached a hole through her all day, despite trying to distract herself with extra Valkyrie training. Luckily Emerie had been there, and they had exchanged stories about recent happenings in each other's lives; mostly about Azriel and Balthazar.

Balthazar had shown up to fly Emerie home and the pink flush to her face was delightful to see. Her friend deserved that happiness, and he seemed like an amazing male.

Coming out of her brain fog, Gwyn realizes she has been pacing around the house for a while. Feeding her anxiety won't do her any good, so she heads to the washroom. 'A hot shower should help', she tells herself.

Once the water has heated and she has stripped the clothes off of her body, she steps under the stream, the warmth and the steam easing her nerves a little.

.

.

.

Azriel huffs and presses his hand to his side, where blood is now pouring out. Rhys had asked him to attend a private meeting with him early this morning. Since Eris is no longer in Autumn, he needs some spies there to try and get a read on Beron's plans for the war. While he had certainly done what his brother and High Lord asked, he couldn't help but realize that this was a clear distraction from the real problem—Illyria.

Rather, that the Queens and Koschei are overcoming Illyrian males to fight for them in the war. Not any Illyrian males, but Blood Rite survivors and trainees—most who have earned siphons. If the Queens can control their minds and they take off their siphons, they will be a deadly force that is unstoppable. He would know...a few centuries ago, his half-brothers had tracked him down once and ripped them from him; locked him up again when they created a fake mission that they had all thought to be real and he had gone alone as he usually does. He went mad, not only from the trauma but the killing power that resides inside of him, his shadowsinging making it all the more potent. He had nearly killed Rhys and Cassian when they had rescued him, barely leaving his half-brothers alive, and definitely maimed.

He shudders, knowing that if he had hurt them, he never would have forgiven himself. He would most likely be ten times harder on himself than he already is, if that's even possible. About now he isn't thinking so highly of himself...not with having snuck onto Illyrian territory against Rhys and Feyre's word to see if he could get any sort of indication of how large their puppet army is so far.

{ "You stay away from Illyria. I know it isn't your favorite place anyway, but it's pertinent that neither you nor Cassian step foot there. Understood?", Rhys demands.

"It's too risky", Feyre adds. "We don't need to lose anyone when we are so close to a peaceful Prythian."

"Understood. My spies are gathering intel on Autumn, whatever scraps they can retrieve. I will confer with them." }

Liar. He is an insolent liar. He went right to Illyria the moment he received word that intel-gathering was very slow in Autumn due to all the wards.

Never had he been so quickly discovered. Never had he been ripped from his shadowy disguise like that. The Caldron magic that swirls within the Queens and those puppeted Illyrians is as strong as Nesta once was. It had sensed his magic being used.

{ Crouching near the foothills of the nearest camp, Azriel blends into his shadows, becoming that dark, swirling mist that they are. A sense of unburdening and welcoming always settles within him when he is in their form. He watches as Illyrian brutes bumble around, seeming to do everyday tasks. There are no visible markers that they have turned sides that he can see.

Suddenly choking out a gasp, he is yanked backward, forcefully pulled back into his bodily form, a hand tight around his throat as he is slammed to the ground. His shadows swarm in distress, gripping the wrist that holds his throat and trying to pull back, to no avail. Azriel is stunned, seeing three males leering down at him. For a split second, he sees his stepbrothers. Then he blinks and realizes that are just random Illyrians. They are shirtless—not unusual, however, Azriel notes that blackness that has taken over their veins, making them look like dark spider webs. Dark magic. These males are infected by the Queens and had sensed unfamiliar magic. }

In an unfortunate moment of PTSD from the old attack from his brothers, he had frozen for a split second, and that was all it took for one of them to drive a blade of their own into his side. Fortunately, he had sprung into action just in time for it to be more of a shallow stab than deep, but still deep enough to bleed heavily.

{ One of the males brings a twisted blade down quickly and Azriel grips the wrist holding him, sending a sharp blast from his hand siphon into the male's eyes. The male loosens his grip and Azriel rolls away, but not quite fast enough as he feels the blade puncture him. Blocking out the pain the best he can, he kicks his leg out and brings the male down, quickly popping up and blasting the other two attempting to get a hold of his wings to rip into with their own blades.

As the first male begins to get back up, seemingly unaffected, Azriel brings his boot down hard on his face, hearing the crunch of bone under it as he refuses to relent, crushing the male's nose into his skull, and fracturing his jaw. Still—not a sound of pain. They really are just empty shells of magic now. Used for brutality and strength.

Then again, what is he, really?

Pulling truth-teller from its sheath on his thigh, he swings to the left and drives it into the other male's temple to the hilt. Hot, black blood spurts out onto his hand as he yanks it free and tosses the body away from him.

The third male is unrelenting and about twice Azriel's size in bulk. Azriel blasts him with his cobalt power as much as he can until the hulking male staggers back a step, relenting for just a moment. That's when Az takes action, quickly slicing across the male's throat. As he twists to the side, he finishes him off by driving the blade into his heart, more of that poisoned blood spilling out.

Panting slightly, the pain begins to rip through him from where he was stabbed and he lets out a grunt, stabbing truth-teller into the first male's heart too, just as a precaution. }

He has seen crushed and decayed faces come back to life due to Nesta, and it's something he never wants to see again. Creepy as fuck.

Landing back in Velaris, he doubles over in pain, the stab wound beginning to burn like fire. He can't think of anywhere else to go except home. There is no way he can go to the River House, not after he defied a direct order from both of them. The shame would be worse than the pain surging through his body.

One word floats through his mind as he falls to his knees on their front porch.

Gwyn, Gwyn, Gwyn.

If there was something in that blade, he wants to be with her if he gets ripped from this life. At the same time, he doesn't want to terrify her.

Panting through the burning sensation, he places his palms flat and thinks of her; thinks of his glorious mate to prevent those flashes of his childhood as the familiar burning takes over his skin near the puncture. Blood drips onto the slate gray of the porch and a small whimper escapes him.

Gwyn comes flying out of the house in a panic then, calling his name.

"Az! Azriel!? What happened?" Gwyn sidles up next to him and slings his arm over her, helping him try to stand and dragging him into their small foyer. "Azriel", she breathes out, noticing the blood flowing through his fingers, pressed against his wound. "Oh my gods, Az...how—"

Her eyes are wide as saucers as he peers up at her, using his free hand to cup her cheek. "It-It's okay. I-I'll be f-fine."

"You're not fine", she chokes out. "We need to get you to a healer. We need—gods, why didn't you just go to a healer!?"

Azriel leans back against the wall and breathes hard. "I can't. I couldn't l-let Rhys know that I defied o-orders."

"I think he would be more pissed off if you died!", she exclaims. "And I—I will be pissed off if you die. I only just got you...who did this to you!?"

He swallows hard. "Illyrians. Controlled by the Queens. I was ordered not to go into Illyria, and I did so that I could gain info. That way we could have a better chance of winning the war. But their Cauldron magic sensed me. I fought them off but...one got me with their blade. It can't be good", he grunts. "Because it burns like fucking hell a-and the blood won't stop flowing out", he pants.

She cups his face, then closes her eyes, trying to think. "Okay...okay...think, think, think."

Azriel grunts in pain, but pushes up and kisses her. Deeply. Desperately. Gwyn kisses back equally before pushing him away with a hand to his chest.

"No. You will not be giving up. I have an idea."

"What idea?"

"You'll see", she swallows, getting up and quickly rushing down the hall. Azriel looks down at the wound, his hand covered in blood and a small pool of it on the marble floor. He firmly taps his large, sapphire chest siphon and his leathers peel back from his wings, allowing him to shuck the top part off, leaving him in the black t-shirt that he wears underneath. He lets go of the wound for a moment and pushes his t-shirt up with his bare hand. Hissing, he puts pressure on it again, dread filling the pit of his stomach as he sees the black outline of the puncture. Cauldron-made blade. Like Nesta's sword. Powerful to kill a god if driven deep enough into the flesh. Luckily, his wound is shallow, but he had no idea about the effects a blade like that could cause long-term, or if death is just delayed with shallow piercings.

"Gw...", his lungs feel like they're on fire and he coughs, gasping for breath.

"Az!? I'm here. I'm here", she rushes back to his side, kneeling beside him.

His eyes widen a bit as he gasps, staring up at the turquoise-blue diadem on her forehead. "Y-your..."

"Shh, don't talk. Yes, it's my invoking stone. I won't allow my guilt to prevent me from saving my mate, and I know that Catrin would never want that either."

She slowly moves his hand and places her own over the stab wound, bowing her head and reciting a muffled prayer to the Mother. The stone on her brow begins to glow brilliantly, the shine of it spreading and casting a white aura around Gwyn's entire form.

The burning within him slowly fades away, quelled by the good magic of the priestess's healing and the Mother.

He takes long drags of air and stares at her in awe. His shadows squeal in delight at the moon-bright glow of his mate as they cast refracted shapes of darkness along the walls of the foyer.

"Gwyn", he breathes out in admiration.

The priestess raises her head, her teal eyes alight with the same soothing glow, a white glint to them. Her hair seems to hover in copper flames, and her white sundress makes her look bathed in pure moonlight despite the sun shining.

"Azriel", she murmurs, her voice like a soft caress of silk.

They both look down as she removes her hands, stained with red like his, to reveal healed skin. No puncture mark, no more blood flow.

As the light seems to draw back into the stone, she grins and tackles him, throwing her arms around him tightly and burying her face into his neck, the sobs finally coming out from the mix of adrenaline and fear she had felt.

Azriel tears up and hugs her close to him, lightly.

"I don't care about blood getting on the dress", she chokes out. "Just hold me."

He clings to her tightly and sniffs. "I love you."

"I love you."

"I'm so proud of you, love. I'm so thankful to you."

Gwyn draws back and rests her forehead on his, looking into his eyes. "Don't ever scare me like that ever again."

He chuffs out a laugh and brushes his nose against hers. "I'll do my best." He strokes her cheek tenderly and mutters. "You have blood on you. I'm sorry."

"I don't care. It only matters that you're okay. Blood can be washed away, and clothing can be replaced. You can't." Gwyn strokes his jaw, blood streaking down his skin from her fingers. "I'm not queasy", she murmurs.

Azriel swallows and kisses her desperately, pulling her close on his lap. She kisses back deeply and her fingers slide up to tangle in his hair. Brushing his tongue against hers, his hands slide down to her hips.

Gwyn moans softly and tugs on his dark locks, eliciting a deep moan from him. He holds her around his waist and gets up, lightly pressing her against the wall as he pulls away ever so slightly, his lips brushing against hers as they both pant.

"Gwyn...", he whispers.

"I'm fine, Az", she replies, looking into his eyes. She smiles softly and brushes her lips against his again. "I promise."

"Yeah?" His voice is gravelly with arousal and his bright hazel eyes rove over her body before reaching her eyes again.

"Yeah. I—you're my mate, Az. I want to take the next step with you. And I know it won't be easy and...I can't promise my trauma won't pop up, but I want to try. With you. Only and always with you."

Her wide, teal eyes hold his gaze and he can see the truth within them. "I love you, Azriel. Nesta may have given me my courage back, but you gave me my heart back. You showed me all your kindness, resilience, and silent strength. You joked around with me even when you weren't the most outgoing. You chose to help me at every turn when you could have declined. You proved to me that it...it can be okay—even good, to love again. After my mom and sister..."

Gwyn takes a breath. "I never thought that I would open up so completely to anyone again. But you tore all those walls down with that intense gaze, smug one-liners, and constant comfort. Even when you weren't around, I would wonder what you'd think of certain things, how you would react to the next dumb joke I made, or if you'd enjoy the next challenge I threw at you. And I began living not only for my family's memory, or for my friends, but I looked forward to seeing you. You made my heart race and made me feel things I never felt before. These butterflies in my stomach, and the longing in my chest. You breathed me back to life; completed that need inside of me to freely feel okay again without guilt."

A small, embarrassed smile appears on his full lips and he leans forward, trailing kisses down her newly tattooed neck. She bites her lip shyly and tilts her head to the side to give him easier access. "Az?"

"Yes?", he pulls away immediately, meeting her eyes.

Gwyn smiles and lifts her blood-stained hand to his jaw once more. "Though I just had one, we should...shower. Get the blood off."

Azriel smirks and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. "We could just wash our hands and use a cloth, you know."

"I know", she whispers, a teasing glint in her eye. "But maybe we need a shower."

Azriel carries her into their large washroom and sets her down on her feet, pulling his t-shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor. He can't help the grin that graces his face as he watches her stare—the same way she had the first time she saw him shirtless, then naked.

Going over to the shower, he runs the water and scrubs his hands under it for a moment.

Gwyn takes her circlet off and places it carefully on the counter, troubling her lip with her teeth nervously. Reaching back, she maneuvers to unzip her dress.

"Let me help?"

Gywn smiles and nods. Azriel shakes out his hands and slips behind her, unzipping her dress slowly. He caresses her skin as he goes, leaning down to kiss up her shoulder and neck. As the fabric pools at her feet, she leans back against him, eyes hooded as the feel of his lips causes goosebumps to prickle all over her skin.

"Azriel", she murmurs breathily.

"Mhh, yes, my sweet melody?"

"Your hands..."

Azriel begins to pull away and she shakes her head, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around her, her back to his chest again. "No...I mean...I want them o-on me. I want..."

He sways and kisses her shoulder, then her cheek. "You want me to touch you...?"

"Gods, yes", she whispers. "Please. I love your hands."

He blushes and nuzzles the side of her neck, roaming his hands down her sides and across the flat planes of her creamy stomach flecked with freckles, .

Her breaths come a bit quicker as she breathes in his scent to calm herself, nearly getting lost in the space between reality and her PTSD.

"I'm here", he murmurs in her ear. "It's me, Gwyn. Love you. You are always safe with me."

She nods and looks up at him, turning to face him, her chest against his. "I know, I'm so—"

"Don't ever say you're sorry for something you can't control."

She blushes and moves up on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to her lips. Azriel kisses back and smiles, fiddling with her necklace. "I would hate to know what would happen if this fell off in the shower."

Gwyn can't help but let out a snort, followed by a loud giggle. "Nothing good, I'd be stuck with fins on the bottom of the shower, unable to turn the water off, and therefore unable to get dry and turn back."

"Hmm, maybe we should just always shower together from now on. Just in case", he winks.

She laughs and slaps his chest softly before kissing over his heart. "Come, my mate", she grins, holding her hands out and taking his, leading him to the shower.

"You know, shadowsinger, I have heard many rumors about you."

"Rumors? Can't be good."

"Ohh, you know, something about the correlation between wingspan and...a certain appendage that males tend to love so much."

His cheeks pinken but a wide grin spreads on his face. "Ahh, that rumor. Alright, that isn't a bad one."

She slides her hands up his chest and over her shoulders. "So...your wings..."

Azriel leans closer to her. "Yes?", he mumbles in question.

"May I...um..."

"Yes", he repeats, his eyes slipping closed, preparing for her touch. Gwyn slowly caresses her fingers over the thickest tendon, trailing slowly onto the soft, leathery membrane. Azriel visibly shudders and his breathing quickens. She continues, stroking up another tendon, towards the talon.

Azriel moans deeply and clamps his mouth shut. "G-Gwyn..."

She stops and pulls him close, holding his sides as she kisses his chest. "That's...so intriguing."

He swallows and looks at her, chest heaving and a large bulge under his trousers. "They are almost as sensitive as if I were to...stroke you."

Her face reddens, but she doesn't balk away. "Really?"

"Mhm. Or so I have heard."

"From your previous lovers?", she teases, smirking.

"I told you I'd always be honest with you, so...yes."

Gwyn giggles. "It's okay Az. You have lived centuries, and I'm just beginning that journey."

"None of them could ever compare to you."

"You haven't even...had me yet."

"I don't need to, to know that you are better in every single way that matters. Not only are you my mate, but you are the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I fight my battles so hard. My first thought when I believed there was a chance I could be dying today, was you. I didn't want to go to a healer and see some stranger in my final moments, I wanted to see you. However fucking selfish it was to put you through that, I—you had to be the last beautiful thing I saw."

Gwyn tears up. "I understand. I would want to see you too. I'm sorry I was so upset."

"I would have been too, love", he murmurs against her forehead, kissing it.

"Now, let's get into that shower before we use up all the water."

"That isn't even possible."

"It's a figure of speech, silly. Ugh, you old old bats", she laughs.

Azriel laughs softly and strokes the clasp of her bra. "May I?"

Gazing up at him shyly, she nods.

"Tell me", he says. "I won't do anything unless you verbally tell me I can."

Gwyn's lips part and she lets out a breath, the weight of that sentiment hitting her.

"Yes, Azriel. You may."

His shadows disperse into the next room to give them privacy and she smiles prettily, blushing up at him.

Azriel skillfully unclips it and holds her gaze as it drops to the floor.

"You've seen me before", she whispers. "In the bath."

"Barely", he murmurs.

"It's okay...to look, I mean."

"I am."

She chuckles. "You know what I mean."

Azriel smiles that boyish, yet roguish grin and nods, his hands trailing down the sides, his tanned skin a beautiful contrast to her porcelain. His eyes rove over her with a hungry gleam, trailing back up, his gaze stopping at her neck. "Have I told you that seeing you with those tattoos on your neck make me...feel things."

Gwyn smirks teasingly. "What sort of things?"

Azriel groans and slides his hands up to gently cup and fondles her small breasts, her pert nipples pebbled from the open air. She bites her lips and shudders softly. "Many, many, devilish things."

"They don't make me look too...odd?"

"Odd? No. You're just as gorgeous as you've always been. They suit you actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, love."

She turns to the side and looks into the mirror, a small sigh leaving her lips as she traces the path of the pale blue tattoos, shapes of soft, yet crashing waves. Azriel wraps his arms around her and kisses over it, across her throat. "Gorgeous", he murmurs. "Intoxicating, beautiful, addicting, maddening."

Gwyn laughs. "The tattoo or me?"

"You, my sweet melody. Always you."

"I don't know if you can really call me that anymore..."

"Just because you can't sing anymore does not mean that I don't remember when you could. You are still part lightsinger by blood, even if your ability to sing was taken away."

"It's something silly to feel bad about losing, but it was...it was a big part of my life that I feel like I have lost again. I would do it all over again to save him but...it still sucks."

"I know", he murmurs.

"But anyway, enough about me and feeling sorry for myself." Gwyn turns around and kisses him on her tiptoes, then slips her underwear off shyly, her skin flushing pink.

Azriel strips and suppresses his smirk as she stares at him once again, taking in his nude form in all its glory. He steps into the shower and lets the water run over his body, making it a show for his mate as his chest tightens with male pride.

As gorgeously sexy as his entire body is, Gwyn can't seem to keep her eyes off of...it. His thick, long cock. Standing proud from their previously wandering hands and lips.

Gwyn's mouth runs dry as she watches him lather his body, his hair. Every single movement tingles through her like sparks, as the most unbearable heat takes over her. When he rinses out his hair, his hand, gods that deliciously rough yet soft hand, wraps around himself as he begins pumping up and down, his chest heaving as his breaths come.

Groans and pants of pleasure are soon paired with her name falling from his lips over and over. She nearly melts to the floor at the sound of it, keeping her eyes peeled on his movements, his pace, his facial expressions, the way his wings twitch as if they itch to be stroked as much as his dick.

Before she can realize it, her hands are roving over her own body. She moans his name as she pinches one of her nipples, squeezing her legs together. That's when he looks over and catches her gaze, staring into her eyes as he rubs himself faster, harder. Moaning her name louder over the roar of the shower stream. He doesn't break eye contact.

Gwyn bites down on her lip so hard, she begins to taste a bit of blood. Blood that is pumping uncontrollably through her, flushing her from head to toe. She'd be shocked if her skin didn't match her hair in color. Staring back at him, he body nearly screams at her to walk over and fuck him, her core throbbing for her mate.

Feeling much bolder and her head muddled with need, she finds herself walking over to the shower slowly, his eyes seeming to beckon and beg her.

"Az", she whimpers. She can feel herself burning; burning like she will turn into the very threads of fire within her if she doesn't get to touch him soon.

Wordlessly, he widens the shower door, a silent question.

Gwyn slips into the shower in front of him and pants softly.

"Fuck", he growls, pumping his cock desperately as he looks over her body. He tips his head back in pleasure and it takes all of her self-control not to pull him close and kiss him down his throat, over that damned Adam's apple.

"Gwyn", he groans, his tone both smooth like silk and rough as gravel.

Her breathing gets more labored as she watches intently, completely stunned by the moment that is both surreal and, admittedly, a bit awkward. At least it should feel that way. It should be mortifying for her to have never witnessed a naked male up close, aside from the ones whose memory makes her sick and curl into herself. But it isn't humiliating or awkward. Because this is her mate; this is Azriel in all of his vulnerable glory—for her and her alone. This is intimacy and trust. Everything she wants and carries for him.

Her body shudders again in response as the steaming water runs down her own bare body from the opposite showerhead. "Az..."

His eyes flicker to hers again and he swallows hard, looking slightly pained.

Mate. Mine. Love.

The intensity of his gaze makes her heart thump harder, and she steps forward, placing her hands on his chest and running them down the hard planes of his body. Her own feels like a live wire, buzzing with desire for him. She refuses to let her fear get in the way any longer. How long did she spend at the library hoping and praying for healing, for a better life? Praying for someone of her own? Praying that she would be able to do this one day with someone she loved?

Now the moment is here, and she will be damned if she disappoints herself by overthinking. Azriel has also waited long enough to feel valued, cherished, and truly loved. She doesn't want them to waste one more second being apprehensive because of their insecurities. All she wants now is him.

Matching his gaze with her own, she decides to tap into her inner courage and go for it. "May I?"

Azriel nearly splutters as his partially pleasure-addled mind tries to process what she is asking. "Wh-what?"

Still blushing, Gwyn motions to his cock, chewing her lip softly. "I've been watching you...and...is it okay if I...touch?"

His eyes widen to saucers, but he gives a curt nod, panting as he releases himself from his palm.

As her hand wraps around his length, he can't help but moan. Gwyn smiles in approval and begins to pump her hand the way she had seen him do. Slow at first, then faster. Azriel places his palms flat on the shower walls to steady himself, his grunts and groans only serving to make her need grow.

With her free hand, she strokes his chest and abs lightly. "You are a marvel, Azriel", she murmurs.

He stifles a whimper and leans down to capture her lips with his, the kiss heated and filled with the desire for more.

Gwyn pants and kisses him again, lightly and teasingly. "I'm going to touch your wings now if that's okay."

He moans and his heavy cock twitches in her hand, his wings fluttering as well. "When I told you I am yours, I meant it", he murmurs breathlessly. "All of me is for you, Gwyn."

She gives him a heat-laced smirk and trails her fingers past his shoulder. He pants harder, rocking his hips into her fist.

Fingers meet rigid tendon as she slowly and lightly drags them down the strong muscle of his wing, causing him to moan louder, more erotically. It's a filthy noise, and she loves every second of it as she continues her exploration, stroking over the tough yet extremely smooth membrane as she had earlier, though not as feather-light.

Azriel yells out her name—chants it over and over—as he cums hard. The all too familiar mate-bond sparks elicit a shuddering moan from Gwyn as well as she realizes how badly she wants him. Everywhere. As long as it's his body against hers.

"Gwyn", he murmurs, trying to catch his breath.

"Yes?", she smiles prettily, her hair clinging to her face and pooling over her shoulders and beside her breasts.

"Fuck...you're the only one."

"Well I am your mate, so I hope so, going forward."

"No, no. I mean—the wings...you were the first person I have ever allowed to touch them."

Her teal eyes get wide and she beams. "Good."

"It's something so, so terribly intimate that many Illyrians reserve that right only for their mates or partners."

Gwyn hugs him around the middle and kisses his chest, hearing the soft rumble of a groan as she grins. "Thank you. For trusting me."

Azriel wraps his arms around her, holding her body flush against his as his molten hazel eyes stare into hers. "Always. The question is...will you trust me now?"

Her face flames red and she looks up at him. Of course he can scent her need as much as she can scent his. She doesn't want to think, just feel.

Nodding her head, she takes his hands, placing them on her sides. "Yes. I am yours too." She looks up at him breathlessly and gets goosebumps despite the warmth of the shower streams.

Bright eyes gaze over her entire body hungrily, and his fingers twitch on her skin as he sucks in a breath. "Gwyn..."

She tugs him closer and kisses him deeply, stroking his jaw. "I want those glorious hands all over my skin, Azriel. That's what I want", she murmurs on his lips. "Please", she whispers. "Please, touch me, Azzy."

Fucking gods, if he wasn't about to do whatever she wanted before, pleas falling from her lips make him feel feral; feral enough that he would do anything she commanded. He would get down on his knees and worship her if need be. Worship at her altar. Any time. Anywhere. She could mark him, claim him, own him...and he would thank her for it. He would willingly let her light win over his darkness.

Because she wants him. Only him. Him. With his dark past and tainted heart and evil career. With all his insecurities, nightmares, and self-loathing.

Gwyn needs him. With all his terrible scars, flaws, and ferocity. This perfect female chose him. And he never knew just how fucking much he wanted to be chosen, wanted to be someone's first choice, only choice. Wanted to simply be loved for who he is, underneath all of the hardened walls he had built up and enforced for five hundred years; five hundred years he spent crying alone in his bedroom just praying to feel wanted.

She chose him. She keeps choosing him. Even when she has witnessed him at his very worst.

From the version of him that gets soaked from head to toe with another's blood or his own, exhausted from interrogations and torment on Rhys's command, to the shaking and haunted inner child that wakes up crying at night, still feeling the flames on his skin and his own screams that ring in his ears.

She chose him, knowing that these very hands that were once used as his own torture, now wield truthteller with the precision to kill and maim others. That these are the same tainted hands, perpetually bloodied by sin that now touch her delicate priestess skin. They touch her body, her face, her very soul—all things that these hands should never behold—never deserved to behold. How can one commit monstrosities and then use those same hands for joy, tenderness, pleasure? He is the darkness outweighing her light—the demonic to her angelic.

Knowing this, she still chose him. And that fact alone is enough to break him into millions of shards just for her to piece them back together one by one. Something he will never deserve in this lifetime. But his inner demon craves her like nothing else. Needs her like an addiction. Chooses her to bear it, to honor their bond, because he could never live without her again.

Selfish. As the darkness and the damned usually are.

"Please", Gwyn repeats. "Touch me."

So Azriel does.