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Chapter 7: What if all I need is you?✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The fact that Oriana had taken off her necklace after nearly a century and then promptly left the mountain again after breakfast that next morning…well that probably would leave plenty of Tartera foaming at the mouth.
Enya promised to write to her about all the gossip and theories that would swirl around the mountain after her departure…her grandmother gave her a secret smile, and her mother hugged her…
And then Cyrus and her made their way out of the mountain.
"How are you feeling now that it's gone?" he asked her. She thought about it for just a moment, swallowing against the feeling of a free throat…nothing, absolutely nothing holding her to Wynstan anymore…
"Free," she answered. "I feel free."
"So putting yourself through that was worth it?" Cyrus asked her, no judgment in his voice. "You could have died. I do not have enough sisters that I could afford to lose you." He said it lightly but she could read between the lines.
She tucked herself under her brother's arms in response.
"You aren't going to lose me," she promised him. "But I wanted nothing to tie me to him anymore. Not after what he did."
"You didn't tell Grandma or Mama about it," Cyrus said softly.
"Would it result in anything but to hurt them?" she asked him. "It has been nearly a century."
She was over it. Or at least she liked to pretend she was. Could somebody really get over something like that? Oriana wasn't sure.
But she could try.
"Will you tell Azriel?" he wondered as they reached the entrance.
She hummed. "I think I owe him the truth."
She owed him an explanation…and…well. She didn't want there to be secrets like that. There was no need for that. Not about this.
He was her mate. Created by the Mother to be her second half.
And she did trust him. So why not trust him with this as well?
She was thinking about it when they finally reached the Rainbow. The hike down the mountain had been enough for her, especially with her magic still being weak after she had expelled so much of it, just two days ago.
The tell-tale cramp that nearly made her double over as soon as she walked up the stairs made her groan.
Were six months over already?
It clearly seemed like that.
There wasn't much she could do against it. High Fae cycles were notoriously bad. Tartera were more lucky about it, less painful but seemed to take an awfully long time…well, Oriana already hated the 3 or 4 days that she needed to spend in bed twice a year.
It sucked.
Especially right now.
She just about managed a shower, before the worst of them hit, and she crawled into her bed, downing the first of many pain relief potions she kept stocked in her apartment just for that.
Enya made them especially for her, different for day and night, though right now Oriana really considered just knocking herself out cold to get some relief.
The shadows were swirling around her like they were being worried, but they didn't ask.
Still, crawling into bed under a mountain of blanket and closing her eyes for just a moment seemed…nice.
She woke up to the sound of steps in her living room. She had enough trust in the wards she set that there really was just one person that it could be.
"Bedroom, Azriel!" she called her voice hoarse, forcing herself to sit up.
She heard him hesitate for just a moment. "If you want a conversation, you'll need to come to me," she mumbled, sure that his shadows were going to tell him what she just said as she let herself fall back into her pillows.
She had really hoped that the first time she got him into her bedroom would be under different circumstances.
Like this, she saw his nostrils flaring as he entered her room, freezing in place.
"I smell blood," were his first words to her, eyebrows furrowing.
She sighed. "Yeah, that's me," she quipped with some amusement. "Azriel. You are 500 years old. You can surely figure out why I smell like blood and don't have an injury."
He swallowed and she watched dark hazel eyes widen. "It's your cycle?" he asked her, his voice quiet.
"Congrats. You aren't an idiot," she gave back drolly. "Are you gonna come here, or will I need to continue to crane my head?" she asked him with a sigh.
She hoped he wasn't going to be too angry with her.
That was all the permission he needed to carefully sit down on the edge of her bed.
He reached out with a shaking hand, a broad palm curling against her cheek and she leaned into his touch. She met his eyes, seeing the softening nearly imperceptively.
Not that angry after all.
"You are looking horrible," Azriel said quietly.
Her lips pulled into a smile. "You really know how to treat a lady," Oriana responded, her voice hoarse. "You know, this really sucks. I took off that stupid necklace and I was in a celebratory mood, even if my magic was around as weak as a kitten. And now this."
"What happened?" Azriel asked her softly. "The shadows said something about a fire chamber?" he prodded her and she sighed.
"Are you sure you want to know the whole story?" she asked him.
He nodded. "Yes," Azriel said. "Everything. I can't demand your secrets, I know that. But whatever you want to share with me…" he trailed off.
"Alright. But can you do something for me first?" she asked him. If she was already going to recount everything that happened, then…well the least she could do was to make sure that she was comfortable. And he was as well.
She knew it was going to take a little while.
"Anything," Azriel said softly, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss against it.
"Lay down next to me?" she requested softly.
He nodded at that, standing up and walking around the bed, kicking off his shoes, and then crawling on the bed next to her.
He held out his hand questioningly and she turned to her side so that it was the two of them facing each other, her head tucked under his. Oriana heard his wings rustle behind him, probably stretching out so that he was comfortable.
Feeling him so close to her, a warm, broad hand settling on her back, the other still holding hers…it made her forget her pain for just a moment.
"I'll start at the beginning," she said softly. "I was born as the third daughter of the first daughter of Cyra, the Custodian of the Mountain. Do you know what that means?" she asked him.
If he didn't, now was the time to explain it to him.
"It means that you are the closest thing your kind has to a princess," Azriel said drily. "You never mentioned that before though," he pointed out and she shrugged, closing her eyes.
"It doesn't really matter," Oriana said softly. "I don't claim the title, I don't even live in the mountain anymore. The shadows told you?" she wondered.
He hummed his agreement.
"That also told me that you took your knives with you," he told her, his voice sounding proud. "Thank you for that. And they said that you are called Oriana Fireborn."
The corner of her mouth pulled up at that.
"Well, I was. Fireborn that is," she said with a shrug. "I use Belmonde as a surname…but Oriana Fireborn is who I am in the mountain."
"200 years ago…None of us was married when I reached the age of majority. Not Titania, my oldest sister…nor Enya, the middle sister," she explained softly. "There had been talk about a marriage alliance of our family to Wynstan's family for decades, but it was coming to a point where... It was going to happen. One way or another," she started her story quietly.
"Let other creatures make war, let Tartera marry," Oriana recounted. "That has always been our unofficial family motto."
They had taken their pacifist leanings as far as they could. They didn't want to make war. They wanted to make art.
But that only worked if people knew that it was very stupid to fight with them for the mining rights in the Mountains.
Azriel made a soft noise and she curled nearer to him. Right here in her bedroom, surrounded by him and his calming scent, it only seemed half as bad.
"My mother made multiple marriage alliances throughout her life. Titania and Kiran are from one male, Enya and Samson from another. And then me and Cyrus," Oriana continued. "From a political standpoint, I was worth less than Titania and Enya. I was only a third daughter, after all."
Azriel nearly growled at that. She held his hand a bit tighter.
"I am only half Tartera. But my magic made me attractive. A more powerful female promises more powerful offspring," she recounted, not letting bitterness bleed into her tone. "Titania was in love with Toron. But Toron was not coming from any kind of prominent family…and for the heiress to Cyra, that was…well…." she trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Not good?" Azriel offered and she just nodded in agreement.
"Grandmother wouldn't have cared, but my mother was displeased," she said quietly. "Which is ridiculous because she herself picked my father. But in her mind, she had already given birth to two heiresses that could take on the mantle of my grandmother and now she was really allowed to have some fun. Or something like that…But she wanted Titania to marry Wynstan's brother, Titus. And if not Titania should marry him…then Enya," she explained.
"Titania was in love with Toron. And Enya…Enya has never wanted any kind of romantic companionship. She's stonehearted. That's what we call it. She never outright stated it…but…It's obvious," Oriana continued. Neither of her sisters had been options.
She couldn't watch one sister lose the male she loved…or see the other being absolutely miserable by playing at being a wife when all Enya had ever been was a healer.
Enya wasn't interested in anything but friendship from anybody.
And it wouldn't have been fair to put her into a position where she was expected to…
"It was either going to be my sisters, both of which would be absolutely miserable in an arranged marriage… Or it could be me."
Azriel was silent, and then scarred fingers reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, stroking the lightly pointed tip of it. "And you wouldn't be miserable?" he said softly.
Oriana grimaced. "I would have been if I married Titus. But I didn't. I set my sights on his younger brother. Wynstan. He was my age. Not as magically gifted or strong as me, but he was a gifted silversmith. Not the best but far from the worst. And if I married him, his father would get the alliance he wanted…" she trailed off pointedly, opening her eyes and looking at him, begging him to understand.
"And your sisters would be free," Azriel ended her sentence. She just nodded.
Her voice shook as she continued, as she thought about these days, so long ago…and still so fresh in her mind. "I thought I could be happy with Wynstan. If not that, then at least content," Oriana recounted. "He was a friend. I thought…I could grow to love him."
And by the cauldron, she had tried.
"And did you?" Azriel wondered, nearly sounding curious.
"As a friend, yes. As anything else? No," she whispered. She couldn't even look at him as she admitted that. "I never loved him like a wife should."
It was a harsh truth that she didn't like to dwell on.
Maybe it was her fault.
"Wynstan was more similar to his father and brother than I thought he was," Oriana finally said. "He couldn't deal with the fact that I was only a half-breed, but I still had all the inborn abilities of a full-blooded Tartera. I was better silversmith than him, even when that was never my passion…I was the foremost enchantress of the mountain after my father's death. I took over his place, without a moment of hesitation. I made money hand over fist. I was good, Azriel. I was the best," Oriana whispered as he cradled her face. It wasn't even arrogant that she said that.
It was the simple truth.
"What happened then?" Azriel asked softly.
She took a deep breath before she let it escape again.
"A few decades into our marriage… Wynstan wanted children, but by then I was…hesitant because our marriage was not going smoothly at all," Oriana recounted, grimacing. "We fought. Constantly. About that, about my work, about my place at my grandmother's council table…And then..well. It all came to a head."
She closed her eyes again, her hands tightening against his hand, a warm broad hand on her back keeping her anchored in the present, as she fought her way through memories.
"I still don't know what it was that finally made him decide… that… that getting rid of me was the way to go," she forced out. "Maybe…I don't know. Maybe he didn't want to kill me. Maybe he just wanted to hurt me badly enough that I was going to be…crippled in some way."
She was in a way.
"Everybody thinks it was an accident," she whispered. "But it wasn't. I know that."
"Maybe he just figured that if I didn't have children with him, I should have never had them with anyone. Maybe…" she trailed off, pressing her eyes closed, because she couldn't look at Azriel when she recounted the worst of it.
She felt his hands tighten against her.
"Wynstan…said he was experimenting," she whispered. "It's…different metals can carry different amounts of magic. You can get around it with a few tricks, but…if you aren't careful…then you overload them. And they each react differently to that. You need to be really careful with silver," she explained to him, her voice shaky. "If you pour too much magic into it and you don't have the control you need... it doesn't end well. Wynstan used to have that control. He was a good silversmith and he knew what he was doing."
"He made a silver sword that day," Oriana said softly. "I remember that…He didn't do weapons. Neither of us did. Not really. He forged it and he dunked it in this pool of magic-infused…potion and…It… One moment it was all fine," Oriana whispered.
" One moment he was showing me the sword…and then…then he dunked it in the potion…and…then the sword was in… me." Every word came out haltingly.
She felt more than heard Azriel pulling in a sharp breath.
She remembered everything. The pain. She remembered. She remembered looking down and being impaled and…
"And…I didn't do it on purpose…but…the magic…my magic…it…it lashed out." She begged him to understand.
"You killed him," Azriel said, his voice quiet in realisation. "Your magic defended you."
"Yes," she whispered. "I…I burned him. I burned everything. I don't know how. There was nothing but…a corpse, burned to a crisp. I must have made a magical fire, but I was…unscathed. Just that…sword. Buried in me…" She could feel the tears bite in her eyes, felt them drip over her face…
and then Azriel was enveloping her in his arms, pulling her even closer to a broad chest, until they were intertwined.
"It was self-defence, Oriana," he whispered. "He tried to kill you."
"I took his life without a thought," she whispered, her fingers weakly curling against him. "It wasn't even on purpose. I just…I burned him. I burned everything."
He shushed her, broad hands spanning her body.
"The sword…" he finally asked…"
"I melted that," she whispered. "While it was still stuck in me. I…Enya doesn't think I'll be able to have…" She didn't need to end the sentence.
Wynstan hadn't taken her life. But he had probably taken her ability to have children. "I should have told you before," she whispered. "You deserved to know that."
It wasn't something she liked to think about, to dwell on. And she hadn't needed to. For decades. Until now.
"No," Azriel disagreed. "That's alright. That's wasn't…I don't care," he promised her, fiercely.
"You don't want children?" she wondered and he pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"I never even thought about it," he admitted quietly. "I never even thought I would get to have a mate, to have you. So no. It doesn't matter. I can have you and that's all I need."
That was everything she wished to hear, she tipped up her head and he brushed a kiss against her lips before he leaned his forehead against hers.
"You are the only one who thought that the experiment going wrong was on purpose?" Azriel asked, puzzled and she just nodded.
"Wynstan knew better than that," she said quietly. "I…it was nothing that he hadn't done dozens of times. There was no reason to repeat it. There was no reason to even make the sword. He was a silversmith, not a blacksmith," she recounted. "He was upset with me, from a fight the evening before," she explained. "I think he acted out of anger. Maybe he realised that I was never going to love him."
Azriel said nothing, still holding her tightly.
"Enya saved my life. But even she could do nothing against the scar. Not with the magic that was still pooling there," Oriana continued softly. "And then…I overheard my mother talking later…And I made the necklace into what it eventually became. I protected myself. I couldn't let any male do this to me again."
"She was talking about marrying you off again after you just nearly died and your husband was dead," Azriel said flatly and she sighed.
"The alliance of our families was on very thin ice. Their youngest son dead," she agreed. "I understand where she was coming from. But I couldn't let them do that again…So I…played the grieving widow," Oriana whispered, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "And then I moved out of the mountain…and for 80 years, I was completely fine with just being myself and never worrying about any male ever again. And then you came, Azriel."
And suddenly…she had been in love again.
"What happened two days ago?" Azriel finally asked her. "You wanted to remove the necklace?"
"Yes," she agreed. "I figured out that the safest way to break the enchantment I placed and get rid of the necklace…well, that was to cancel out the anti-melting charm and let the fire have at it," she admitted. "Fire has never hurt me. I had trust in my abilities."
"The necklace burned you last week."
"Yeah…It wasn't the best idea I ever had," she admitted drily, making him snort in dark amusement. "We have a…There is a chamber. Deep in the mountain. We call it the fire chamber. It's home to the Eternal Flame. It's our…religious focus," she said softly. "If the mountain has a beating heart, this flame is it. As long as it burns and burns and burns…the world is alright. If it ever goes out…the world as we know it will be ending," she said softly.
"If we are old…and ready to depart from this world, Tartera walk into the flames. We bless children when they are born by passing them through it…and if the eternal flame gifts you a piece of herself…you are blessed."
Like it had given her.
"It…purifies," she explained softly. "But to come to the flame in the middle…you need to walk through the rings of fire. We only ever use the outermost rings for our ceremonies. That was the one I was planning to use…Use the containment in the fire chamber, burn off the necklace, and return it to the flame and the mother. I was…going to walk through the first ring…and that was it."
"But it wasn't," Azriel said quietly. She nodded.
"It wasn't," she agreed.
"How many rings are there?
"Three."
"Through how many did you walk?"
"Three…then I reached the Eternal Flame." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand and he reached out for her neck, for the dark skin that lay there, unblemished, free.
"The necklace was still there. I was desperate," she continued. "So I walked into the Flame…I knew the risks. I knew that if I…if the Flame didn't think that my purpose was pure…It would judge me. But I…I couldn't live like this. I wanted no part of him anywhere near me anymore. I didn't want this reminder of a marriage I never really wanted in the first place around my neck like a noose," she whispered, desperately.
"You could have died," Azriel said, his voice hoarse. "I thought you died. For just one moment, I thought..."
"I am sorry," she apologised. She had never wanted to hurt him. Not like this. Not…ever.
"I would have rather never kissed you again than have you die because of it," Azriel finally said. "I need you to know that."
"I was selfish. I did this for me."
"If you ever do anything like this ever again, I am going to be so angry with you," he whispered, and then kissed her again, desperation bleeding into it.
And she curled her hands against his chest and held on.
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Her whole life was there, laid out for him to see.
Every bit of trauma, everything she had gone through…her reasoning of why she had done what she had done.
And he looked at her.
He wondered if she had worried that his view of her was going to change.
Maybe it had.
Azriel had seen Oriana as pure light and sunshine. But now he realised that he had been wrong.
She was the fire. Beautiful and deadly all the same.
She hadn't killed on purpose. He didn't think that she would be able to live with it if she had.
But she had killed nonetheless. for her own protection. Her magic and her fire had protected her.
Good.
That was what it needed to do.
Still, as she fell asleep against his chest and he ran his fingers through her hair, for once urged down her back into one long braid, not pinned up, he suddenly realised how long it was.
The smell of her blood and pain was still lingering, even with the potions she had taken and he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it any better.
But he could be there.
And that was all he wanted to do.
So he waited, looking at her, committing everything to memory, the way her brows furrowed, her hand stayed curled into his shirt.
She had told him everything. And he…he still hadn't.
She had told him about her family…about her husband who had tried to kill her (And he agreed with her assessment that it had been on purpose. Otherwise the pieces just wouldn't have fit together.)...she told him that she never would be able to have children.
He had never really thought that he would ever be in a place to have children in the first place. Didn't think that a mate was waiting for him that thought that he would be worth the trouble.
He hadn't thought any of that.
But he had Oriana now. And the idea of having children with her…that would have been…nice. And still…if it never worked out, then that was fine. He would never love her less for that.
And he did love her.
She moved in his arms lightly. "You should have kept me awake," she murmured and he just pressed another kiss to her brow, delicately tracing his fingertips over her soft skin. so different to his own.
"You need to rest," Azriel disagreed softly. "What do you think, I'll make dinner?" he suggested.
"You can cook?" Oriana wondered with a yawn and with a grimace he thought back to rabbits over open fire in the Illyrian Steppes. If you could call that cooking…
"I can make a mean spit-roasted rabbit," he finally answered drily and she stared at him.
"If I am like that, all I can keep down is Porridge," she warned him. Ah. Well, he could manage that at least.
"I can do that," he agreed.
"My kitchen is yours then," Oriana said, giving him one of these soft smiles of hers. "If you want to make yourself something else, be my guest too."
He did manage to make porridge without burning down her kitchen. He even managed to scrounge up a handful of blueberries to put on top of it, mostly thanks to some curious shadows that slithered through Oriana's cabinets.
"Here," he finally said as he handed her the bowl. She had made her way to her couch, pulled that ugly blanket over her and he sat down next to her. "Your kitchen has not burned down."
"I wasn't aware that that was an option," she gave back with some amusement. "Thank you. This is good," she told him with a smile. It was.
It was so domestic and he loved every minute of it.
"Will you stay the night?" Oriana asked him suddenly and he stared at her. What?
He hadn't expected that invitation. It had been their unspoken truce that he never stayed the night. He would go home.
"I…If you do, I can…take a stronger potion. I don't do it if I am alone," she said softly. "And…I missed you, Azriel."
These words from her…there were…
His salvation.
"I'll stay," he whispered. "I'll stay. I missed you too." She smiled at him, a secret lovely thing.
"Good," she agreed like she hadn't just offered him…This.
They were both quiet as they ate their porridge, though he couldn't help but stare at her, take in the flawless column of her neck, the necklace that had never really seen to fit her no longer there…just her uninterrupted dark skin.
"Come to bed, Sweetling," Oriana said, holding out her hand, as they were both finished with dinner and he stood to take it, letting her lead him to her bedroom.
The room was somehow so her, with dark red bedding stretched over a metal wrought frame bed, that he half wondered if she had made it herself.
It was a canopy bed, the metal wrought to be tree branches and there were even tiny leaves and flowers all over it, dotted with precious stones. He took it in for the first time, wondering where one even found something like that.
It was such a…distinct piece.
"I made it," she answered his unspoken question, sitting down on the edge of her bed, and pulling out a corked bottle from her bedside table.
"I need to warn you, there is mirthroot in this. I am mostly just going to fall asleep, but I can't be held accountable for anything I say while under the influence," Oriana said drily and he couldn't help but chuckle at that.
"All good," he promised her, thanking a shadow as it dropped a pair of simple linen pants on the other side of the bed. He slipped out of his shirt and put them on, while Oriana stepped into the bathroom.
She curled up under the blankets as soon as she was back and he joined her there on his side, wings tucked in.
"Is that comfortable with your wings?" she asked him curiously, pupils already blown wide, probably thanks to whatever concoction she had just taken.
"Don't worry about that," Azril said. He had slept in worse places than a comfortable bed with his mate. Even if he needed to keep his wings tucked in.
"But I do. Is that how you normally sleep?" she asked him and he sighed.
No, not really.
"If it's just me… I normally sleep on my stomach and stretch them out," he explained. "But I don't need to do that to be comfortable," he hurried to assure her.
"Do it," Oriana told him, eyes already closing. "I can sleep through anything."
He hesitated for just a moment before he turned and stretched them out, carefully so that he wasn't accidentally going to hit her with them. Still, one wing came to rest on top of her and Oriana just hummed softly. "Like a leathery blanket," she mumbled and he couldn't hold back the quiet laugh as she burrowed herself under his wing and promptly fell asleep.
If that was the worst thing she said while high on pain potion, that was more than harmless.
He slept better that night than he had in what felt like centuries.
All thanks to her.
The next morning, he woke up before her, once again watching her sleeping face.
"What are you thinking about?" Oriana said quietly, not even opening her eyes and he pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"I know all the worst parts of your life. You don't know mine," he admitted honestly. That opened her eyes, the fire in them burning once again. He loved her eyes.
He had never thought that he would love fire, not after what was done to him. But…her fire…he loved that.
"Sweetling," Oriana said quietly. "You don't owe me this. This is not a transaction," she told him fiercely, a hand reaching out to curl against his neck, fingernails scratching his scalp.
He knew that.
But it still didn't seem fair.
He lifted his hands, staring at the scarred flesh, where once skin had melted away, giving free sight of the muscles and tendons and bones underneath.
"My half-brothers did this to me," he finally said, the words not sounding like his own voice to himself. "The results of an experiment. How does oil and fire mix?" he continued.
"Azriel," Oriana whispered, her voice shaky. But he continued. If he didn't…he would never get the words out.
"I was…the result of an affair my father had. My mother spent years working off that particular punishment. He took me from her and he put me in a cell in the bottom of his keep…and then he kept me there," Azriel said, his voice even, near without emotions. If he didn't, then…
"I think he hoped that I disappear. That I die and just…My stepmother…she wasn't very pleased with me being the obvious evidence of his infidelity. And her sons, well, they…hated me," he continued. "I… was…5 years old? Maybe? I don't even know. Young. A child. My father's guards came to rescue me when they heard that my screams didn't stop."
Not that that had stopped the pain. It had stopped them from killing him though.
He had used to wonder if dying in that keep wouldn't have been a blessing.
"Azriel," Oriana whispered, warm hands cupping his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
"The shadows…they came to me just days later," he admitted.
We did, Master.
"They did?" Oriana asked softly. "Did they keep you safe?" she wondered.
"They tried," Azriel whispered. They had tried. Not always succeeded, but they had always, always, been on his side. Unapologetically.
We are, Master, they agreed quietly. We'll protect Master and Mistress.
It was like they seemed to want to prove it as they wrapped themselves around Oriana's wrist once again.
Oriana caught one of his hands in hers, lifting it to her lips. She pressed a kiss against the scarred skin.
It was such a sharp contrast to him. Her beauty against the ugliness of his scars. How she even could stand to touch them…he didn't understand it.
"I tried everything to get rid of the scars. Nothing worked," he recounted. "But then…they match. Maybe that's what I deserve."
"What do they match?" Oriana asked him, her brows furrowing.
He couldn't help the grimace, the pain that spilt over his face. "They are as ugly as everything these hands have done," he finally whispered, the self-loathing apparent in his voice.
For a moment Oriana was quiet. Then she grasped him at the scruff of his neck like a mother cat would do to an unruly kitten.
"You know for somebody as smart as you are, you are being ridiculous," she spat out and he was so shocked by her outburst that he just stared at her. "For cauldron's sake, Azriel! Nobody deserves scars like that! They aren't some kind of cosmic revenge for whatever bad deeds you may or may not have done in your life."
"You don't know what I have done," he disagreed quietly. "If you did, you wouldn't…"
"I wouldn't what? Love you?" she questioned him sharply. "Newsflash, sweetling, there aren't that many things that you could do that would make me hate you. Unless you murder somebody in cold blood that I love, you are stuck with me," she told him tightly.
He was still stuck on her loving him.
Oriana just barrelled on.
"So what? You killed in a war. You work for the High Lord. You told me once that you thought you were being righteous. Do you doubt that?" she asked him.
"I don't know," he admitted in a whisper.
"I think I would worry more if you never doubted it," Oriana gave back fiercely. "But you do. And there isn't really enough room in this bond for you, me and your guilt complex, Azriel. You are beautiful. Inside and Out and I am going to tell you that every damn day for the rest of our immortal existence. And don't you ever think again that you deserved any of the pain somebody else decided to inflict on you again. Because you don't."