fiftyshadesofdepressedd

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

I wanna be yours

Chapter 2

Azriel x Hermione Granger

Summary: After finding her husband in bed with another, Hermione Granger finds solace in her job at the ministry as an Unspeakable in the department of Mysteries. Experimenting in The Space Chamber leads her to whole other dimension. Can she find her way back home? Or is she doomed to stay in a world so much different than her own. And why does the winged stranger with shadows surrounding him look at her like she's the answer to every prayer he's ever made?

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CHAPTER 2

Up in the Illyrian Mountains, Azriel and Cassian were patrolling the grounds. The cold, harsh wind cut through them as they were making their last round before calling it a day and flying back to Velaris. Azriels boots were drenched after walking in the snow for hours. His scarred hands aching from tightness after being outside for so long.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything’, Cassian said as he blew warmth in his cold hands. “We have been walking for hours and nothing seems wrong here.” Annoyance seeping through his voice.

Azriel turned his attention to his brother, walking a few steps ahead and inspecting the snow covered rough ground.

“I much rather be at home too brother, but we can never be too careful. His shadows were swirling around him, constantly on the lookout for something. The Illyrian Mountains were one the most dangerous places in the Night Court. A treacherous place where dark creatures were lurking and only the strongest survived.

“And besides, he smirked, knowing it would piss him off even more, “Rhys wouldn’t just send us here for no reason.”.

‘No, Rhys is just being a paranoid mate”, Cassian grumbled, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. Not that it did anything for him. The Illyrian Mountains were always chilly, but in the winter, they were freezing.

Tension between the three brothers were at an all-time high. With Nesta’s forced relocation to the House of Wind, Rhys pulling rank on Azriel to stop his pining after the middle Acheron sister and the worst of all, the matter of Feyre’s pregnancy…

“I understand with Feyre being pregnant, his protective mating instincts have been in overdrive,” Cassian sighed, his wings twitching, “but we have been patrolling every week and there has been no sign of any threat at all. Frustration could be heard in the generals voice. They were treading on dangerous grounds, literally and figuratively.

“And we all know … he started, his voice shaky, but then stopped himself as if speaking the words would make it all too real. “We all know that the real threat to Feyre is not outside, but…” he trailed off, still not being able to finish the sentence.

Azriel closed his eyes and sighed, thinking about his brother and his mate. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How things could change so fast. What should have been the most joyous news quickly became a thing of nightmares. Feyre, his High Lady, and his nephew, would most likely not survive the birth.

The babe in her womb had wings and the survival of a non-Illyrian female giving birth to a winged baby was almost non-existent. Her anatomy was simply not made for it. Life certainly could be cruel.

“We shouldn’t speak of it”, Azriel said sharply, stopping to fully turn to Cassian. “It invites bad luck. And there might be a solution we haven’t come across. You know Rhys, he would stop at nothing to save her. Defy fate itself. That’s why he’s in Dawn right now”, he said, reminding his brother.

“All we can do is pray to the Mother all will be well”, his shadows, so in tuned with his emotions, deepened.

Hoping everything would be right was one of the only things he could do, which frustrated him to no end. The Shadowsinger cared deeply for his family. He spent centuries spying, dealing with the lowest of the low among faekind and humankind alike and fighting literal wars to make sure they were save.

Being the Spymaster and Head Torturer of the Night Court was not easy, but it was a necessary evil he was willing to commit. Even if he felt utterly worthless after every mission, even when there were days he hated himself so much that he wished he had never survived past age eleven and even when he’d spent hours in the bathroom scrubbing his scarred hands raw because he was convinced he still had blood on his hands. All of It would be worth it if his family were happy, save and healthy. He could endure it. No, he had to endure it.

“Do you think what we’re doing is right? With not telling her of the risk?”, Cassian whispered.

His stomach tightened. The air around them thick with tension. It was a conversation that was waiting to happened. They both had skirted around the subject for too long, ashamed of their decision in following Rhysands order.

The truth was, Azriel didn’t agree at all with Rhys’s decision. And he argued with him over it until the color of his face was as blue as his siphons. Azriel couldn’t understand his brother’s hypocrisy. He always preached about females being equal to males and how they should be able to make their own choices in life. How was this any different? How didn’t he understand a lie by omission is still a lie and refusing to tell his mate was the worst kind of betrayal?

On some level he understood him. The protective, irrational part of him. Rhys didn’t want to frighten his mate or add more stress. Especially while she was in such a delicate condition. But Feyre wasn’t just someone, she was a warrior in her own right. Feyre ‘Cursebreaker’, who died for them. She was not just a delicate female at all and he felt strongly that by not telling her, Rhys didn’t respect her fully. Didn’t truly regard her as an equal and the High Lady of the Night Court.

“No”, Azriel said looking up at the sky, jaw tightening. It was getting dark and he could hear the wind breeze behind him. “But.. he gave us an order and you know we can’t do anything but follow it. Doesn’t matter what we think or don’t”.

He couldn’t stop the bitterness that he was feeling from seeping through his voice. If Azriel would one day be blessed by the Mother to have a mate, he couldn’t imagine making the same decision as Rhysand.

To deceive the one the Mother made for you, your equal, your love would be inconceivable to him. To let them think nothing was wrong to then pulling the rug directly underneath them when it was too late was just cruel.

Azriel scoffed internally. As if HE of all people would be given a mate. Someone unworthy as him would only be good for killing and fucking.

He knew he was undeserving of a sacred bond like that. The blood on his hands, the stain on his soul, even the circumstances of his birth made him someone who could never be truly loved. Never be chosen. Forced to always be alone.

And even though it was out of the realm of possibility, Azriel craved love fiercely. He himself wasn’t born of it. His worthless father forced himself on his poor mother and then punished them both for years. His existence should have never happened. A bastard was al he was.

And when he was finally released of his birth family’s tyranny and found his chosen family, he still felt like he needed to earn a place among them. That’s why he desired the mating bond so much. In his mind, his mate would be the only person that could accept every ugly, dark part of him. It was the only way for him.

When he met The Morrigan, she was like a breath of fresh air. Completely different from any female he had ever met. She was beautiful, bubbly, outgoing and a warrior herself. He fell in love instantly. So overcome with it, that he was convinced a mating bond would appear between them. Kept the hope alive for five centuries. Even when everything happened with Cassian and Eris, he stayed patient. When she would sleep with any male but him, he stayed patient.

Through the years it became apparent that the romance was but a delusion in his head. He had put her on a pedestal so far above him, that after a while she truly became untouchable. Every time he tried to confess his feelings, she would find a way to reject him. This only worsened his own self-worth and self-esteem. She was never comfortable around him if there wasn’t a buffer with them, like Cassian. A declaration of love from him was truly so offensive to her.

He had no choice but to move on. He forced himself. Kept his distance and even did some deep self-reflecting on the many nights he wasn’t able to sleep. He didn’t deserve the way Mor treated him. Didn’t deserve the years of agony and doubt. She never entertained the idea of them being together, but she did enjoy the attention. She kept stringing him along, giving him just enough crumbs that would feed his unhealthy infatuation. It was cruel, especially after finding out she preferred females. That was truly a dagger to the heart. Painful as it was, it was also the straw that broke the camels back. After centuries he could finally close the Mor chapter.

And then Elain Archeron happened. He flinched just thinking of her. At first he only cared for her because she was his High Lady’s elder sister. But when both of his brothers found their mates with two of the Archeron sisters, a seed was planted in his mind. What if the Cauldron was wrong? What if he was supposed to be her mate instead of Lucien?

From then on he started to pay more attention to her. She wasn’t as fierce and outspoken as her sisters were, but she possessed a gentle kind of strength. A rose with thorns with a kindness that should never be mistaken for weakness. Her gentle disposition and her beauty captivated him. And even when he knew it was wrong, their small secret touches and soft spoken words excited him. If someone so pure could want him, then perhaps he wasn’t so unworthy after all.

But the cracks in the glass were there before Rhys ordered him to stay away. His self-reflection with Mor stayed with him. Him and Elain were doomed from the start. He was just repeating the cycle again. Putting a female on a pedestal, but ultimately never be able to touch her.

Maybe that’s why he kept falling for unattainable females. If external circumstances prevented them from choosing him, than it wasn’t really him they were rejecting. The mating bond between Elain and the Autumn Court male was perhaps a blessing in disguise. He simply knew he couldn’t compete with a mating bond. Even if she acted like she wanted nothing to do with Lucien he knew deep down, he was not the one suited for her.

Elain Archeron was sunshine personified and Azriel the Shadowsinger, thrived in the darkness. He would only dim her light with all of his inner demons. No, Vanserra was the better choice for her.

And what if one day he found his own mate? It would be wrong to pursue Elain and her rejecting the bond with Lucien for him, to then be with his mate. Because he knew deep down, that the pull of the bond would be something he couldn’t ignore. Especially after he spent centuries on his knees praying to the Mother for a mate.

He would leave Elain for his mate, he was sure of it. He felt ashamed to even think it, but it was true. He desired and cared for her, but he didn’t love her. They were both hurting and trying to find solace in each other. But this wasn’t the way. When he realised that, keeping his distance from her became a lot easier. She deserved to have someone that wasn’t so broken like him.

Azriel shook off all thoughts of Mor and Elain. It wouldn’t do him well to start thinking about them. He needed to stay focussed on their mission.

He looked around scanning the area once more. “I think we’re done here. It’s getting dark and…”, suddenly something felt off. A shift in the air. His shadows grew larger than normal and abruptly became frantic.

“Master we found something…” a shadow whispered in his ear. Azriel immediately became alert and signalled to Cassian.

“ A female lying unconscious on the ground, two miles up north” Another shadow said giving more information. A sinking feeling of dread filled his body. The hairs on his back stood up and wings flared out behind him.

“What happened”, said Cassian grabbing his sword from behind his back, eyes scanning the area. A warrior ready for battle.

“A female lying on the ground. Up north”, repeated Azriel trying to communicate with him and his shadows at the same time. Something was wrong. He had never seen his shadows act like this.

“Is she alone?”, Cassian asked, trying to asses of the situation.

“Yes”, cried the shadow.

“You must make haste Master!”, Azriel had never seen his shadows so agitated. It shocked him.

“Is she hurt?”

“Yes!”, they all but screamed, “Quick master before it’s too late, before everything is lost!”

Acting on instinct and with the help of his shadows Azriel and Cassian shadowwalked to the destination. Lying on the ground, almost completely covered by snow, lay a female.

No…not a female, a woman.

Her ears were not pointed like the High fae, but were round just like his. Darkhaired and dressed in a black robe in a style he had never seen before. On her shoulder was a small beaded bag and in her hand, clutched like a lifeline, was a wooden stick.

Her face was as white as snow with almost no sign of life. Azriel could hear a faint heartbeat, but the woman needed immediate medical attention or she wouldn’t make it.

“A human?”, Cassian said in confusion. “What in the Mothers name is a human doing all up here in these mountains?”

It was very strange. The Human lands were so far removed from the Night Court, it was impossible for a human to travel all that way. Illyrians had a difficult chance in surviving these mountains let alone a human, who physically were more fragile and weaker than any fae.

Rushing to the woman, they found her almost frozen to death. If they didn’t act quickly she would freeze to death. His shadows covered her whole body , a nervous energy surrounding them.

Wasting no time, Azriel took of his cloak and draped it over her body. He then picked her up in his arms and yelled to his brother to take hold of him. He needed to shadowwalk them back to Velaris immediately. He had never shadowwalked such a big distance before, but somehow they made it. It completely drained him and he didn’t understand where he found the strength, but somehow his body refused to slow down.

In Velaris they immediately took flight to the House of Wind.

“I’ll go and get Madja”, yelled Cassian over the wind.

But Azriel couldn’t think past getting the woman in his arms to a warmer location. The fear that consumed him took him completely by surprise. As if his body was overrun by instinct and the only thing on his mind was to save this unknown female. It perplexed him, he didn’t know her at all, so why was he feeling this way.

Reaching the House of Wind, he kicked the front door open in a hurry. Nesta, who was having dinner, gasped. Astonished by the frantic look in his eyes and the unconscious female in his arms, she immediately got up.

“What happened? Nesta said, rushing to help him put the woman on the couch.

“We found her lying on the ground up in the Mountains, Azriel said, his voice raspy. The exhaustion was taking over, but somehow he was still standing.

It took her by surprise how Azriel, normally so composed and stoic in any circumstance, was now acting like a male possessed. His hair was dishevelled by the wind, hands were shaking from the cold and his shadows, who normally were calm around him, were out of control.

“We have to remove her wet clothing”, Nesta said taking charge, seeing that the Shadowsinger was about to collapse from draining his magic.

“House, can you please supply us with towels, warm clothing, thick blankets and warm, dry compresses.”

Nesta had never been more grateful that she was living in a half sentient house.

The house immediately put al the things on the coffee table next to the couch.

“We need to make sure we warm her up slowly, otherwise we could do more harm than good”, she said picking up the thick towel.

Nesta knew a thing or two about hyperthermia, having spent many winters in the cabin huddled up with her sisters sharing warmth.

“You need to turn around Azriel”, Nesta said while trying to take off the clothes and making sure she was protecting the woman’s modesty. Putting the beaded bag the woman came with on the table and prying the wooden stick from her cold hands, Nesta waited until he turned his back. When his back was turned she stripped her naked and did her best to dry her off.

She couldn’t stop herself from gasping at what she saw.

“What?!”, Azriel cried and tried to turn around.

“Don’t”, Nesta’s voice was sharp. “I’m not done yet”.

On the woman’s arm, coated in dry blood, was a nasty deep cut. It looked like someone carved into the poor woman. Nesta couldn’t make out what it said, as it looked like the words were written in a language she had never seen before. But is unsettled her. It felt like the wound was infected with a dark energy. Who would do such a thing? And why?

Deep in thought, she got to working. After Nesta was done, the young woman was dressed and multiple thick blankets were draped over her, but she was still unconscious. Her lips were still blue and she still felt like ice to the touch.

After what felt like an eternity, Cassian, with Madja in his arms, entered the house.

Madja immediately started to work. Using her healing magic to warm the woman slowly. After what felt like hours to Azriel, he finally saw some change. Her breathing wasn’t as shallow, her heartbeat grew stronger and even her lips slowly returned to a soft pink. She was still pale and still felt a little cold to the touch, but Madja reassured them that they needed to keep her warm with blankets and to have her drink enough warm beverages when she woke up.

If she woke up.

Because that still hadn’t happened.

They moved the young woman to one of the many guestrooms in the house. Making sure that the fire was lit and she was tucked in the bed. They decided that it was for the best that Nesta stayed with the woman for the night. As waking up in a strange house in a strange bed with an unknown male by her bedside would probably upset her more. Even though he was reluctant to leave her for the night, he agreed that it was for the best. His shadows however refused to leave her side.

“Before you go Madja,” Nesta started, not forgetting the deep cut that she had seen on the strangers upper arm.

“When I was changing her out of her wet clothes, I saw that she was cut in her left arm.”

Madja lifted the woman’s arm and took a look. The cut was very deep indeed and was coated in dry blood. Azriel furrowed his brows, taking a look over Madjas shoulder as she tried to heal the wound. His stomach dropped seeing that nothing happened. Even after Madja tried at least three times.

“Why isn’t it healing”, Cassian said confused.

I don’t know, Madja murmured, all her energy focussed on the wound and trying different healing spells.

“I have never come across something like it. It’s as if the cut was imbedded with a dark kind of magic. Magic I have never come across in all my centuries as a healer”, she said giving up.

“I need to do more research and I need to know what happened. But she has to wake up first though.”

All four of them were looking at the young woman who still hadn’t stirred. A complete mystery is what she was.

Not being able to help any more, Madja left with the help from Cassian.

Nesta and Azriel both took a chair by the womans bedside. Hours had passed since Madja left them.

“She’s be alright Az,” Nesta said softly. She could sense that the Shadowsinger needed reassuring.

Azriel nodded, Madjas confidence that she would make a recovery did comfort him.

Sitting by her bed, Azriel was finally able to really take a good look at the woman.

And what he saw made his breath hitch. Brown, curly hair surrounded the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

She had a heart shaped face with the most loveliest freckles. Her lips were neither too full or small and she had almond shaped eyes. He wondered what colour her eyes would be. Would it be a striking blue or a warm brown? Or perhaps a mesmerizing green?

Deep in thought over the potential colour of her eyes, he missed the slight twitch in her hands. But his shadows hadn’t.

“Master, she’s waking”, one rebel shadow whispered excitedly as it made its way to her and caressed her face.

Shifting a little closer, he could see her eyelids fluttering.

And when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him with the most enchanting brown eyes he had ever seen, Azriel felt something shift inside him.

A warmth he had never felt before entered his heart and the thread in his chest finally snapped after 500 years leading to the unknown human woman in front of him.

Mate.

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

I Wanna Be Yours

Hi all, this has been a story that I wished somebody else came up with. Unfortunately this ship is not a popular one, so I took matters into my own hands and voila.

I've never written anything, bedside mediocre school papers, so please be kind in the comments. Also English is not my first language.

If you like the story please be so kind to let me know in the comments as it would motivatie me to continue.

Summary:

''The emotional range of a teaspoon indeed”, Hermione spat as she shoved her clothes in her duffel bag. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Her whole world tilted on it axis. She should have seen it coming, but somehow it completely blindsided her.

After finding her husband in bed with another Hermione Granger finds solace in her job at the ministry a an Unspeakable in the department of Mysteries. Experimenting in The Space Chamber leads her to whole other dimension. Can she find her way back home? Or is she doomed to stay in a world so much different than her own. And why does the winged stranger with shadows surrounding him look at her like she's the answer to every prayer he ever made?

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CHAPTER 1

Friday 17th of december 2004

''The emotional range of a teaspoon indeed”, Hermione spat as she shoved her clothes in her duffel bag. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Her whole world tilted on it axis. She should have seen it coming, but somehow it completely blindsided her.

Ronald Weasley in bed with Lavender Brown. Her husband of two years. The betrayal was too painful. She knew they were having relationship problems, but what couple didn’t? She had been trying to make more time for their marriage, but she was just promoted as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries and she absolutely loved her job. It was everything she could have wanted for her career in the Wizarding World.

“Hermione please just hear me out!” yelled Ron as he desperately knocked on their closed bedroom door. “Just let me explain for Merlin sake”. The tremor in his voice apparent.

“Explain what Ronald?” she screamed as she finished cleaning out her closet. Only his clothes remaining behind.

“That it was an accident and your cock just slipped inside Lavender huh?”

‘That you broke our fucking vows and ruined our whole marriage just because you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”

Her hands were shaking as she ran them through her curly hair. Frustrating and adrenaline seeping through her whole body.

“What am I forgetting?” she muttered as she paced through their bedroom. She picked her mother’s jewellery box from her vanity. Inside were the only remaining pieces she had left from her parents. Tears welled in her eyes as she opened the box. Inside was her mothers cherishes sapphire heart necklace and her fathers old brown watch. As a child she had been fascinated by the way the necklace clung to her mothers neck. The way she would clutch it when she was but a young girl as her mother would carry her.

“One day my love this necklace will be yours”, Hermoine’s mother softly said when she tucked her in when she was five. “When you turn sixteen you shall have it”, she promised.

And she did, on Hermione’s sixteenth birthday, she gifted her the necklace. A small piece of joy in an eventful period of her life. A shudder went through her body as she thought about that time before Harry defeated Voldemort. The uncertainty and powerlessness that she felt during that bleak period. She never truly forgave herself for obliviating her parents. The disgust the felt for herself would never go away. She blinked the memory away, it wouldn’t do her well to start thinking about her parents. Especially now. She put the jewellery box in her bag as well as her most favoured and used little beaded bag that kept her, Ron and Harry alive during the Horcrux hunt and checked if her wand was still in her pocket.

She looked back at her bedroom, the memories flashing through her mind. Only his stuff remaining in the room. They were happy once. They truly were. After the war had settled and everybody tried to move on with their lives, Ron and Hermione clung to each other and gave a romantic relationship a true chance. She remembered the way it was so easy to fall in love with Ronald Weasley. The way he would nervously hold her hands, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The soft touches and kisses they would share.

After four years of dating he asked her to marry him during a picknick at the park. As she settled on the blanket on the grass after eating a delicious meal together, she opened her favourite book Pride and Prejudice. As she looked inside, she found that her usual bookmark was swapped with another. “Will you marry me?” she read as she turned to Ron and found him on one knee. She gasped as tears were streaming down her face. In that moment she truly felt that she couldn’t love him more. That whatever would come their way, they would overcome. Even though they bickered and fought regularly during their whole relationship, it was the usual. They would always make up, as they had done in their years at Hogwarts. The would go back to being a young couple in love and all would be well.

After being married for a year Hermione got promoted as an Unspeakable in the Space Room in the Department of Mysteries. She had never been more excited to learn all the secrets this job would show her. She had always been an erudite and learning and experimenting with magic pertaining to other planets was honestly a dream come true for her. It was a demanding job, but a fulfilling one.

At first he loved the way she was so passioned about her work. After knowing her for so long it was no surprise that she was so invested in it. She wasn’t called a swot her whole life for no reason. But as she moved up on the ladder in the ministry and as she spent less and less time at home with him, the endearing character trait became an irritating one. Pride for her accomplishments became contempt as he saw her living her dream. And after a while he started coming home late as well. Often the smell of firewhisky prominent on his breath.

“Oh so you’re the only one that can home late, but it’s a problem if it’s me?” his words would slur as he stumbled drunk in the living room. “You are such a hypocrite Hermione.”

Working with George at the shop wasn’t his dream. He often told her it felt like he just replaced Fred and that a career as a Quidditch player was what he wanted. To play for his favourite team, the Canons.

It also didn’t help that their physical relationship simmered down to an almost stop. She often was simply too tired and he stopped initiating after a while. And when it happened… it was the most passionless sex she could imagine. She never shared a bed with anyone else besides Ron, so she couldn’t really compare, but she knew deep inside that they were just going through the motions. Desire gave away to duty in the bedroom. Yet finding her husband balls deep in her former roommate in their marital bed was something she never expected.

She knew there were cracks in their marriage. And after she finally felt a little settled at work she started to put in more effort at home. She’d come home on time again. Cooked his favourite meals and made an effort in her appearance to ignite that spark in the bedroom again. She did that for months. And when she felt that her efforts weren’t appreciated, she tried to talk to him, but it all fell on deaf ears.

The hurt and frustration she felt drove her back to work with a vengeance. It was the only source of joy she had, besides the times she would visit Harry and the children. She was the first one in the office and the last one out. And the cracks in the relationship became a chasm of loneliness, betrayal and hurt.

She pulled the door open as she rushed through the hallway looking for Crookshanks. Ron hot on his heels behind her.

“Please Mione just listen to me, I’m trying to explain here”, his voice cracking as he tried to grab her arm.

“Don’t you dare touch me Ronald Weasley”, she snarled as she yanked her arm away. “You don’t ever get to touch me again”. “ I don’t want an explanation, I don’t want to hear excuses, I don’t want anything from you”, she yelled as she frantically searched for her cat in the house.

“Do you actually think I would just forgive this?” She spat in disbelieve. The audacity this man had. “ I have been trying these past months to mend our relationship. I know I’m at work a lot, I know. But YOU have also been pulling away. Coming home after midnight doing God knows what. Spending money in bars getting rounds for every stranger you meet in there. “

“I’ve tried to talk with you before and now I’m done talking!” She was proud that her voice didn’t shake as she finally found Crookshanks and scooped him up. The orange cat, aware of the emotional state his mistress was in, hissed at Ron when he came closer to her.

“Baby please I don’t want to lose you. It was just once, I swear, I’ll stop drinking, I’ll do better but Mione please you have to stay, just let me show you I promise you.” Tears were now also streaming down his cheeks. His hand shaking, the fear and realisation that he was losing not only his wife but also one of his best friends.

But Hermione just turned around making her way to the door where her coat was hanging on the rack. Finding her coat she felt her anger disappearing and only sadness remaining.

“I want a divorce Ron”, she said softly as she put Crookshanks on the floor and pulled on her black rain coat and turned to him. The silence in the house was deafening. Only the ticking grandfather clock and de breaking of their hearts could be heard in the room.

“I don’t like the people we have become. We used to be happy together and we haven’t been in a long time. I know it and you know it.”

She put her bag over her shoulder and picked Crookshanks back up in her arms. “ We can’t go longer this way. I’ve tried, I truly did, but some things are beyond saving. And I for one can’t forgive nor forget infidelity. “

“Baby please”…Rons voice shook as came closer to her. “One chance I –“

“I’ll be staying at Harrys for a while” she cut him off, “please don’t come after me.

“Mione “ Ron gasped.

“Goodbye Ron” she whispered as she apparated away, not knowing this was the last time she would lay eyes on Ronald Weasley.

Hermione apparated in the foyer at 12 Grimmauld Place with a heavy bag and heavier heart. With a deep sigh she put Crookshanks on the floor as he made his way in the house.

“Crooks!” she heard James squeal in the living room. “Look mummy Crooks is here!”

“Crookshanks?” she heard Ginny’s surprised voice. “What?” she could hear Harry’s confusion.

Harry’s footsteps came closer until he made his way in the foyer. “Hermione, what a surprise, we were just having dinner. Is Ron with…you?” his voice trailed off as he took a good look at her.

“Hermione what’s wrong”? But seeing her longtime friend looking at her with worry and confusion in his green eyes broke the last remaining piece of strength she had left. Gasping for breath she fell to the floor, tears blurring her vision.

Hearing her breakdown, Ginny had immediately picked up James and rushed him upstairs. Fortunately their newborn son Albus was already asleep in bed. “Time for bed Jamie, she said, trying hard to not let the shock of hearing her friend breakdown seep into her voice.

“But auntie Mione – he started, “Auntie Mione is fine and will be here tomorrow, but now is bedtime sweetie”. Thankful for her child easy going nature she didn’t have to wait long before he was sound asleep and she made her way back down to where Harry and Hermione were.

Hermione was thankful for Ginny’s quick thinking, she didn’t want to upset James and she knew that seeing her in this state would distress him.

“Mione please tell us what happened”, Harry’s desperately asked her. His eyes imploring her to make sense of what was happening in front of him. She didn’t know how she was able to put the words out, be somehow she did.

“That prick of a brother of mine is dead when I see him”, Ginny growled as she pulled Hermione in for a hug. “I’m so sorry Mione, I don’t understand what he was thinking”.

“Thanks Gin, Hermione murmured in her hair, completely drained from her emotional outburst.

‘I just want to sleep really’, she said softly as she picked her things of the floor.

“You’re always welcome in our home Mione, you know that”, Harry told her, the sincerity apparent in his gentle voice.

She could see the anger in his expression though. The disbelief that their friend would do something like this. In that moment she was just grateful that he knew her well enough to not get her to talk more. She didn’t do well with emotions. She was a more rational type of woman and relied on facts and statistics to get her through life. So whenever there was something that demanded to be felt, she always needed her own time to process everything. Otherwise the emotions would choke her and the formidable Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age, would crumble. As she had done on Harry Potters floor.

Hermione stayed the whole weekend in the guestroom. Only coming out to use the bathroom and eat a little breakfast to appease Harry and Ginny. Dinner she skipped as she wasn’t able to leave the bed after crying her eyes out. And even though they made the effort to keep her company, Hermione had never felt more alone. No husband, no house, no parents. At least no parents that remembered they were her parents. And all of this just before the holidays. The only silver lining was that tomorrow she would be back at work. Her happy place, she thought bitterly. How utterly pathetic.

She was in an emotional turmoil. Part of her was relieved that her marriage to Ron was over. Relieved even that she didn’t have to have The talk with him. So much for that Gryffindor spirit she thought miserably. To feel relieved because she got cheated on instead of having an adult conversation about their failing marriage.

She was also so very angry. Angry and hurt. Hurt because even though she loved to learn and valued knowledge, Hermione Granger was a hopeless romantic at heart. She dreamed about a love so passionate and fierce that would leave her breathless. To irrevocably love, honour and cherish that one person. And more importantly to be so fiercely loved in return.

She had never felt like she was anybody’s number one. Even in the early days in her relationship with Ron. She always felt like a outsider. It was no secret that Harry and Ron preferred each other’s company over hers. She always had a difficult time making friends.

It shamed and pained her to even think it, but she knew that there was no way their friendship would have survived for so long if Hermione wasn’t so brilliant. She studied so hard, not only to be the best in class, but because she measured het worth with her cleverness. If she didn’t know the answer to a question, after a while they would stop asking questions. And she would again be utterly alone again.

Monday 20th of december 2004

The Department of Mysteries was on the 9th floor in the British Ministry of Magic. Being the first one in, as per usual, gave Hermione enough time to try to get her day started as she would have normally. With a cup of mint tea in her hand she made her way through the dark room full with models of planets that were floating in the mid-air. She still was in awe of the room after two years of working there. She could never get used to it. The planets were miniature versions of the real deal, but the details were extraordinary.

As she settled in her own office, she immediately started with the files on her desk. She had at least an hour before the other Unspeakables would enter the floor, so she knew she had a little time before she had to pretend that everything was fine.

“Accio Project Paradise Portal, she said as the file with her latest experiment flew to her outstretched hand. Project Paradise Portal or P3 was an experiment that only she and the minister of Magic, Kinsley Shacklebolt, knew about. She was trying to find out if there was a way to make a portal that would allow them to enter other viable planets.

It started as just a theory. Could such a magic exist? What kind of spell would it be or perhaps something in the form of a portkey? Would there even be a witch of wizard strong enough to make such a journey? What if you couldn’t get back?

But the morality aspect was the one where she had the most scruples with. Who would be allowed to make the journey in the event that something catastrophic would happen to Earth? How would they select the people that were worthy to enter ‘Paradise’? Only witches and wizard or would muggles also be allowed? Was there a quota? What would they bring with them and what would happen if they found out that there were other living beings on the planet?

It was something that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Hermione was mostly excited about the theory of it, because a huge part of her didn’t actually believe it was possible. Even for her. She read enough sci-fi to know that.

Across her research she had found numerous books that speculated about the possibility of opening portals to other dimensions. But it was al speculation. Nobody ever accomplished it. So when Hermione tried to pick up her tea and accidentally dropped the book Dimensio et Portal from her desk, she was dumbfounded when the book opened up to a chapter she had never seen before. She could have sworn she had read the book in its entirety twice.

Sipping her tea and reading, the passage spoke about wyrmholes and the theory of relativity, things she already researched in the wizarding books as well as muggle. But this passage introduced a spell she had never seen before. It spoke about portals opening for people in times of extreme need. In moments where fate intervened and allowed souls to transcend to other realities to heal and restore the balance in that realm. The magic to open such a portal would only be accessible to the one worthy, able and strong of character. It would reveal itself to the one ready to take the journey. The spell would work the best during solstices and equinoxes, as the magic would be the most potent and strongest during that time of the year.

“Fascinating” Hermione breathed as she read the chapter in awe. She opened her beaded bag, that she always had on her person, and took another book that spoke about magic during solstices and equinoxes out of her bag. She checked a few things and put it back.

Apparently the spell didn’t had to happen on the solstice itself, but there was a window of time a few days before and after. If she wanted to try to see what would happen, this would be the perfect time, as the winter solstice would be tomorrow, she thought.

Something reckless came over her, almost as if she was no longer in charge of her own mind.

“Say the words my daughter”, a soft beautiful voice appeared in her mind. “Seek what you didn’t know, seek what others covet. You have been destined for another life my child, its time to make the journey and follow the string of fate”.

Something sparked in her chest, she had never felt that sensation in her life.

“Aperi porta ad compar meum spatium” she whispered and then everything went black.

And life as Hermione Granger would know it would never be the same.

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

Do you think Gwyn would like to invent things? We know that she’s very intelligent and resourceful. She seems to enjoy researching and learning new things. I think if she saw Rhysand’s little invention (the one at the beginning of ACOSF) she would get all excited and even ask to touch it. I could actually see Gwyn randomly bringing up facts/unusual scientific stuff at very random times. “Here is today’s interesting fact…”

anon, I am loving the way you're thinking.

I think Gwyn would have an absolute whale of a time inventing things! you are spot on with the fact that she is so smart and resourceful, especially with her current job in the library, there's no doubt that her mind is always going.

your ask got me going, and I'm picturing Gwyn leaving the library and seeing the rest of the world. As she's learning about everything she has missed in the past 2 years or just hasn't seen from primarily living in Sangravah, she starts thinking of little gadgets and tools which can help with every day life! Her knowledge, curiosity, and even just her caring personality, would make her the perfect little inventor!

thank you so much for sending this to me! I adore this!

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

Just a thought (pls dont come for me)

So in a way the three brothers/ 3 sisters thing can still happen.

Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are not blood brothers but CHOSEN brothers.

Nesta and Feyre are obviously sisters, but Nesta and Gwyn are each others CHOSEN sisters ( Just like the bat boys). Being blood related is not a condition.

Nesta is the sister that Gwyn and Feyre share in common, making them 3 sisters

I don't think that SJM did this on purpose, but it's a beautiful coincidence I think. And less cliche and corny.

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

Can't wait for part 2! Love it😍

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt. 

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain. 

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler. 

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black. 

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets. 

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over. 

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes. 

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.” 

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise. 

“That one was close by.” 

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.” 

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her. 

“Do you see that?”  

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club. 

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair. 

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air. 

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings. 

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side. 

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail. 

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed. 

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers. 

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice. 

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving. 

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one. 

“I’m-I’m a mated male.” 

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head. 

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him. 

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color. 

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind. 

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood. 

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master. 

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate. 

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right? 

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back. 

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed. 

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one. 

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean. 

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.” 

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously. 

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.” 

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him. 

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean? 

His mind — I can’t get into it. 

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor. 

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights. 

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold. 

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain. 

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious. 

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves. 

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving. 

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all. 

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle. 

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears. 

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her. 

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate. 

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth. 

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them. 

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!” 

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates. 

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold. 

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate. 

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process. 

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now. 

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse. 

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet. 

He heard the rush of air a second too late. 

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch. 

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold. 

Gods, she was beautiful. 

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore. 

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes. 

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” 

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement. 

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.” 

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her. 

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said. 

…I see your point. Cassian muttered. 

Be careful around this one. 

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female. 

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression. 

You think?! Azriel all but growled. 

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time. 

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection. 

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside. 

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel. 

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real. 

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently. 

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing? 

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow. 

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them. 

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind. 

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked. 

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.” 

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.” 

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?” 

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?” 

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise. 

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib. 

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her. 

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.” 

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world. 

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves. 

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on. 

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick. 

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.” 

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings. 

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation. 

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind. 

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail. 

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them. 

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed. 

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen. 

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose. 

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.” 

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor. 

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home. 

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body. 

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail. 

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors. 

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had. 

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.  

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness. 

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep. 

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it. 

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could. 

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little. 

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors. 

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

My man is going through it🤭 Love the story, pls keep going!!😍

Hello, everyone! Here’s Chapter 4 – things are starting to get a bit romantic! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it because, honestly, it was an emotional rollercoaster for me. 😅

If you’re enjoying my fanfic, please follow and like the chapters – your support means the world and motivates me more than you could imagine. Love you all, and I’ll see you tomorrow! 😘

FATES BARGAIN

Chapter 4

SY

The next morning arrived with the pale light of dawn spilling through the windows of the River House, casting long shadows across the halls as the house slowly came to life. Sy had barely slept, her thoughts tangled in the events of the previous night, in the quiet intensity of Azriel’s gaze and the unsettling questions that still lingered in her mind. But she had forced herself out of bed, knowing that today would bring new challenges—challenges she couldn’t afford to face unprepared.

She found herself standing in a quiet study tucked away near the back of the River House, where the windows overlooked the river and the mountains beyond. Nesta and Amren were already there, waiting for her. The air felt charged, as if the room itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Amren leaned against a bookshelf, her petite form draped in robes of dark, shimmering fabric that caught the light like scales. Her silver eyes, ancient and sharp, tracked Sy’s every movement as she entered, her expression cool and unreadable. Nesta, by contrast, stood near the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid. The morning light painted her features in stark relief, highlighting the hardness in her gaze and the stubborn set of her jaw. Sy couldn’t help but feel the weight of their scrutiny as she stepped forward, trying to steady the unease coiling in her stomach.

Nesta was the first to speak, her voice clipped and direct. “You’re late,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she glanced at Sy. There was a challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring Sy to falter under her gaze.

Sy bit back a nervous response, forcing herself to stand a little straighter. “Sorry,” she managed, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “I didn’t realize how quickly time would pass this morning.”

Nesta’s gaze remained cool, but she didn’t push the issue further. Instead, she turned back to the window, her expression thoughtful as she studied the river beyond. Amren, however, didn’t bother with pleasantries. She straightened from her place by the bookshelf and crossed the room with fluid, feline grace, her silver eyes narrowing as she appraised Sy up close.

“So,” Amren began, her voice like the rasp of a blade being drawn from its sheath. “Let’s get one thing clear before we start. You claim you have no knowledge of any powers, no training, no... understanding of what you might be capable of here.”

Sy swallowed hard under the weight of Amren’s scrutiny, feeling the full force of the ancient being’s gaze. “That’s right,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended. “I don’t know if I have any abilities in this world. If I do, I have no idea how to access them.”

Amren’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “That much is obvious,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she studied Sy, as if searching for some hidden layer beneath the surface. “But the fact remains—you were brought here by an ancient power, one that does not meddle lightly. Hekate would not have chosen you, would not have severed you from your world, unless she saw something of use.”

Sy bristled slightly at the implication, but before she could respond, Nesta cut in, her voice sharp. “We’re not here to coddle you, Sy. Whatever you might be, whatever power you might possess, it’s better for all of us if we understand it. So we’re going to test you—see if there’s anything worth finding.” She pushed away from the window, stepping closer until she stood just a few feet from Sy, her gaze unwavering.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Sy asked, glancing between them, her unease growing with every passing moment. The idea of being examined, of being prodded for hidden strengths, left her feeling exposed, vulnerable.

Nesta’s eyes flashed with something that looked almost like impatience. “Amren and I have... methods,” she said simply, her tone leaving little room for argument. “You’ll cooperate, and we’ll see if there’s anything inside you that’s been waiting to surface.”

Amren nodded, her expression turning more serious. “If there is power in you, we’ll draw it out. Whether you’re ready for it or not. So I suggest you brace yourself.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, growing heavier, and Sy’s pulse quickened as she glanced between them. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from this meeting, but the tension in the room was far more intense than she had imagined. It felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into the unknown.

Amren gestured to a chair in the center of the room, her expression inscrutable. “Sit,” she instructed, her voice leaving no room for defiance. Sy hesitated for only a moment before moving to the chair, lowering herself into it. She forced herself to keep her back straight, to ignore the feeling of being trapped under their watchful eyes.

As she settled into the chair, Nesta came to stand beside Amren, her arms still crossed over her chest. There was something in her eyes—something almost akin to pity, though it was buried deep beneath her usual frostiness. “This might be... uncomfortable,” she said, her voice softening slightly, though there was still a hard edge to it. “But it’s necessary if we’re going to understand what Hekate might have awakened in you.”

Sy nodded, though she couldn’t keep the anxiety from twisting in her gut. “I understand,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. What she did understand, however, was that there was no turning back now.

Amren stepped closer, raising one hand, and a flicker of silver light gathered at her fingertips, twisting like smoke. Her expression sharpened, her focus narrowing as she directed that strange, otherworldly energy toward Sy. “Hold still,” she murmured, her voice almost gentle, though the power in it made Sy’s skin prickle.

The light touched her, and Sy sucked in a sharp breath as a cold sensation swept through her veins, as if ice water had been poured directly into her bloodstream. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was disorienting, like a current tugging at something deep within her, trying to drag it to the surface. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white, as she tried to hold still, to keep her breathing steady.

Nesta watched her closely, her gaze flicking between Amren’s concentrated expression and Sy’s reaction. “Anything?” she asked, her voice low and tense, as if she was afraid of disrupting whatever fragile balance Amren had created.

Amren’s brows furrowed slightly, the silver glow at her fingertips intensifying. “There’s... something,” she said slowly, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty that Sy had never heard from her before. “But it’s buried deep. It’s as if she’s... disconnected from it, like a cord that’s been cut. The potential is there, but it’s locked away, restrained.”

Sy gritted her teeth as the sensation intensified, a pressure building behind her ribs, like a door rattling on its hinges, trying to burst open. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, or if it was something Amren was doing to her, but it made her breath come faster, made her vision blur at the edges.

“What does that mean?” Nesta demanded, her tone sharp with impatience. She glanced at Sy, her expression still hard, though a flicker of concern crossed her features as she saw the strain in Sy’s face.

“It means,” Amren replied, her voice tight with concentration, “that there is power, but it’s not ready to reveal itself. It’s tangled—knotted up like a thread that’s been severed and twisted back together.”

Sy forced herself to speak through the pressure building inside her chest. “And... can it be untangled?” Her voice came out strained, barely more than a whisper.

Amren released her hold, the silver light fading from her fingers as she took a step back, her expression turning thoughtful. “It could be... if we had time, if we could find a way to bridge the gap between what she was and what she’s becoming. But it will not be easy. And it might be... dangerous.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she studied Sy, as if weighing the risks against the potential reward. “You’ll have to decide if it’s worth the effort, Sy,” she said, her voice cold but not unkind. “If you want to know what Hekate left behind inside you, you’ll have to face whatever comes with it. But understand—if you become a danger to this court, to Velaris, we won’t hesitate to deal with it.”

Sy met her gaze, the weight of the threat settling in her chest like a stone. But despite the fear that knotted her stomach, she nodded slowly, determination hardening her voice. “I understand. But I can’t keep living in the dark, not knowing what’s inside me.”

Amren’s silver eyes gleamed with a hint of approval, though her expression remained as inscrutable as ever. “Then we’ll continue. But prepare yourself, girl. You’re about to walk a very fine line between the known and the unknown.”

And as Sy took a steadying breath, the morning light spilling through the windows seemed to cast long shadows over the path that lay ahead—one that would demand every ounce of strength she had.

They worked through the morning, until the sun had climbed high into the sky, signaling the approach of lunchtime. Nesta, Amren, and Sy poured over different methods, trying to find any clue about the power that might be buried within her. They tried everything from meditation to focus exercises, even some ancient rites that Amren insisted might coax out hidden magic. But no matter how hard they pushed, no matter how deeply Amren’s silvery energy probed, they found nothing concrete. The power remained elusive, like a distant echo that couldn’t quite be reached.

By the time they called a halt, Sy’s head throbbed with exhaustion, her body feeling like a tight coil of tension. She could see the frustration in Nesta’s eyes, the way she pressed her lips together in a thin line, and even Amren’s usually inscrutable expression had turned more guarded, as if she was reevaluating everything she had assumed.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Amren said, her voice sharp but carrying a note of reluctant resignation. “But not to find what power lies in you—rather, how we can draw it out. Sometimes, a locked door needs the right key, not a battering ram.”

Sy nodded, trying to muster up a sense of hope, though uncertainty gnawed at her. She wondered if this would be another dead end—if whatever lay inside her would remain locked away, just out of reach. The idea made her feel hollow, like a shell that rattled with unanswered questions.

Nesta caught her eye as they left the study, her expression still severe, but there was a flicker of something softer in her gaze, something almost like understanding. “Get some rest,” she said shortly. “You’ll need it if we’re going to make any progress tomorrow.”

Sy murmured her thanks and made her way to the dining room, where Elain, Feyre, and Mor were already seated, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun that filtered through the windows. She slipped into a chair at the edge of the table, the soft hum of conversation flowing around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in. Her mind kept drifting back to the events of the morning, the unsettling emptiness where answers should have been, and—despite her best efforts—to the memory of last night on the balcony with Azriel.

She thought she was being discreet, keeping her thoughts to herself, but it seemed that she wasn’t as subtle as she imagined. Feyre shot her a knowing look from across the table, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth, while Mor’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand.

“Someone’s awfully quiet today,” Mor remarked, her tone teasing, though there was a gentle curiosity behind her words. “Thinking about a certain shadowy someone, perhaps?”

Sy felt her face heat up immediately, a blush creeping up her neck, but she tried to play it off with a quick shake of her head. “No, it’s not... I mean, I’m not thinking about... It’s just—” She floundered, her words tangling together, and she could see Mor’s smirk widen, Feyre’s expression turning downright amused.

Feyre arched a brow, her smile turning sly as she exchanged a glance with Mor. “Really, Sy? Because you’ve been staring off into space for a good ten minutes now. And you seemed a bit... distracted at dinner last night, too.”

“I wasn’t distracted,” Sy protested weakly, but even she knew how unconvincing she sounded. She caught a glimpse of Elain beside her, who gave her a sympathetic smile, as if to say she understood what it was like to be the target of her sisters’ teasing.

Mor’s laughter was light, more affectionate than mocking, and she waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright, Sy. We’re just teasing you. It’s only natural to be curious about Azriel—he’s not exactly the easiest male to figure out, is he?”

Sy tried to muster up a laugh of her own, but the weight of her own thoughts made it fall flat. She couldn’t help feeling like she was being foolish, letting herself get caught up in thoughts of Azriel when she had barely been in this world for two days. It wasn’t just that he was undeniably handsome or that his quiet intensity intrigued her—it was the way he had looked at her, the way he seemed to see something in her that even she didn’t understand.

Seeing her discomfort, Elain reached out, placing a gentle hand on Sy’s arm. “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” she suggested softly, her voice a soothing contrast to Mor and Feyre’s teasing. “The garden is beautiful this time of day, and it might help clear your head.”

Sy shot her a grateful smile and nodded, eager for an excuse to escape the watchful eyes of the others. As they stood up and made their way toward the garden, she could still feel Mor’s and Feyre’s playful glances following her, but at least they didn’t push any further.

The garden behind the River House was lush and serene, filled with fragrant blooms and the sound of the river rushing nearby. Elain led the way along a gravel path lined with flowering vines, her steps slow and measured, giving Sy time to gather her thoughts.

After a few moments of silence, Elain glanced sideways at Sy, her expression gentle. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she said softly. “It’s natural to feel a connection to someone, especially when you’re in a new place and everything feels so uncertain.”

Sy let out a shaky breath, her hands twisting together as they walked. “I don’t know, Elain. It just feels... complicated. I’ve only been here for two days. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to do, and I’m already letting myself get distracted by... by him.” She shook her head, frustration edging her voice. “It feels wrong somehow, like I’m not allowed to think about anything except figuring out what’s inside me and what Hekate wants from me.”

Elain’s smile turned understanding, a warmth in her eyes that reminded Sy of sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’re allowed to feel, Sy. You’re allowed to wonder about people, even if you don’t have all the answers yet. And Azriel...” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not easy to know, but I think he sees something in you that interests him. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Sy bit her lip, thinking of the way Azriel’s eyes had lingered on her the night before, the way his voice had softened when he spoke to her, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual reserve. “But I don’t even know what he’s looking for,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “And I don’t know if I’m ready to find out.”

Elain stopped walking and turned to face her fully, her expression serious. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just take things one step at a time. Focus on what you need to do today, and let the rest unfold as it will. Sometimes, the things that seem the most complicated end up making sense when you least expect it.”

Sy managed a small, grateful smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you, Elain. I think I needed to hear that.”

Elain’s smile widened, and she gave Sy’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Anytime.”

They continued their walk in companionable silence, but Sy’s mind felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted, if only just a little. She wasn’t sure what would come of her tangled thoughts about Azriel, but Elain’s words gave her a measure of peace she hadn’t expected.

Eventually, Feyre joined them in the garden, her expression bright but tinged with curiosity as she approached. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, her eyes flicking between them.

Elain shook her head, smiling warmly. “Not at all. We were just talking.”

Feyre fell into step beside them, and her smile softened as she glanced at Sy. “I heard you had quite a morning with Amren and Nesta. How are you holding up?”

Sy exhaled, glancing down at the pebbled path beneath her feet. “It was... difficult. We didn’t find anything definite. Amren said it’s like there’s a power there, but it’s disconnected—like a thread that’s been cut.” She bit her lip, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “I just wish I knew what it meant. I feel like I’m stumbling in the dark.”

Feyre’s expression turned thoughtful as she listened, her brows knitting together slightly. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, powers can be tied to emotions, to experiences you haven’t fully processed yet. Maybe what’s inside you is waiting for the right moment, the right push, to reveal itself.”

Sy looked up, meeting Feyre’s steady gaze. There was a sincerity in her words, a belief that made Sy feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t completely lost. “Do you think... do you think it’s possible to find that key?” she asked, her voice barely more than a murmur.

Feyre nodded slowly, her expression determined. “I think it’s possible, Sy. And we’ll figure it out together—step by step, just like Elain said.” She offered a small, encouraging smile. “You’re not alone in this, no matter how isolated you might feel.”

Sy’s chest tightened with emotion, a mixture of gratitude and hope swelling inside her. For the first time since arriving in this world, she felt

AZRIEL

Azriel stood in the training ring, the cool morning air sharp with the promise of winter. He stretched out his wings briefly, feeling the tightness in the muscles from a restless night. The training area was empty this early, except for the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the occasional murmur of the river nearby. But even the tranquility of the scene did little to soothe the tension coiling in his chest.

He had woken before dawn, thoughts tangled with the memory of last night—of the way Sy had looked up at him on that balcony, the way her breath had hitched when she’d collided with his chest, her scent—a mix of something warm and sweet, like honey with a hint of something floral—lingering in the cool night air. He had tried to push the thoughts away, tried to bury them beneath the routines of the morning, but they clung to him, stubborn and insistent, like shadows that refused to disperse.

Now, waiting in the ring, he found himself struggling to focus on what lay ahead. Training her should have been a simple task—one he had done countless times before with recruits, with new soldiers. But with her, it felt different. There was a restless energy under his skin, an awareness that sharpened every time he thought of the way she had looked at him, the vulnerability in her eyes.

Get it together, Azriel. He forced himself to take a deep breath, letting the cold air clear his mind. She’s just another assignment, another person to protect. That’s all this is.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about her—something that drew him in, even when he tried to keep his distance. It wasn’t just that she was a mystery to unravel, or that her presence stirred his curiosity. No, it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name, but that made him want to understand her, to reach beyond the guarded look she wore like armor.

He caught her scent before he saw her, that same warm, sweet fragrance that made his shadows twist with restless curiosity. He turned, and there she was, making her way across the field toward him. The morning light caught in her hair, highlighting the softness of it, and her expression was a mix of determination and uncertainty, as if she was bracing herself for what was to come.

She looked so small against the backdrop of the training grounds, yet there was a quiet strength in the way she carried herself, a resilience that he couldn’t help but admire. He tried to keep his face neutral, tried to remind himself that this was just training, but his gaze lingered on her a moment too long, tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her breath misted in the cold air.

“Good morning,” she said softly as she reached him, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. She pulled her arms tighter around herself, as if trying to ward off the chill.

Azriel nodded, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. “Morning. Are you ready to begin?”

She nodded, trying to hide her nerves, and he motioned for her to follow him into the center of the ring. “We’ll start with some basic stretches,” he explained, his tone taking on a more professional edge, even as he fought to ignore the way his heart seemed to quicken around her.

He demonstrated a few stretches, showing her how to loosen up her muscles before any real training began. She followed his movements, her brow furrowed with concentration, and for a while, they fell into a comfortable rhythm—one he could almost forget was different from all the other training sessions he had led.

But then she attempted a stretch, twisting her body in a way that clearly put too much strain on her lower back. Azriel winced, seeing the misalignment, and without thinking, he stepped forward, reaching out to correct her form.

“Wait, like this,” he said, his hands coming to rest on her waist, guiding her gently into the proper position. His touch was meant to be clinical, but the moment his fingers brushed against her sides, he felt a jolt of heat, as if his own shadows had turned against him, igniting something inside his chest.

Her warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her clothes, and her scent enveloped him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket, filling his senses until he couldn’t think of anything else. His hands tensed against her waist, and for a moment, he found himself leaning closer, drawn to the way her breath hitched, the way her pulse fluttered under his touch.

Focus, Azriel. The thought cut through the haze like a blade, sharp and cold, and he forced himself to step back, clearing his throat as he let his hands fall away. He hoped she didn’t notice the way his face felt uncomfortably warm, or the way his shadows seemed to curl around him more tightly, as if trying to hide his own confusion.

“There,” he said, his voice coming out strained as he gestured for her to continue the stretch. “That’s better. Just... be careful not to overextend. You could hurt yourself.”

Sy straightened, her cheeks flushed, though whether from exertion or something else, he couldn’t be sure. She offered him a small, tentative smile, and he felt a pang in his chest that he couldn’t quite ignore. “Thanks,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He nodded stiffly, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism, though he could still feel the ghost of her warmth lingering on his skin. He focused on the next part of the training, guiding her through basic defensive stances, showing her how to block and counter a strike.

To his surprise, she picked up the movements quickly, her body adapting to the rhythm of the strikes with a grace that spoke of some natural instinct. It wasn’t perfect—her footwork was still hesitant, and her balance wavered at times��but there was a spark in her movements that caught his attention, a hint of potential that made him reconsider his initial assumptions.

She might have been new to this world, but she wasn’t helpless. There was a fierceness in the way she moved, a determination that shone through even when she stumbled. And as he watched her, he found himself... admiring her, the way she refused to back down, even when she was clearly out of her element.

They moved through the drills, their bodies falling into a rhythm, and Azriel found himself enjoying the exchange more than he’d expected. He corrected her form when needed, but each time he touched her, he felt that same warmth coil inside him, that same pull that made him wonder what it was about her that unsettled him so much.

Before he knew it, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, signaling the end of their session. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed—hadn’t noticed the way the afternoon had slipped away in a blur of movements and unspoken tension.

“You did well,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual as he watched her catch her breath. “You’re picking this up faster than most.”

She looked up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips, and there was a hint of pride in her expression. “Thank you. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it... sort of.”

He nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth at her words, though he tried to keep his own reaction hidden. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—off-balance, uncertain—and he couldn’t quite figure out why her presence affected him so much.

Sy gathered her things, and as she turned to leave, there was a moment where she paused, glancing back at him with an almost shy expression. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but then she seemed to change her mind, offering him a quick, awkward smile instead.

“See you tomorrow, Azriel,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of something he couldn’t quite decipher.

He nodded, watching as she turned and walked away, her movements quick, as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. And yet, there was something about the way she glanced back over her shoulder, the way her cheeks flushed, that made his heart tighten unexpectedly.

He watched her retreating form, standing in the empty training ring long after she had disappeared from view. His shadows whispered around him, carrying secrets he couldn’t quite grasp, and he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath.

What are you doing, Azriel? He could feel the weight of the question pressing down on him, but he didn’t have an answer—not one that made sense, anyway. He knew he should keep his distance, that he should focus on his duty, but every time he looked at her, that resolve wavered just a little more.

As he finally turned away, the memory of her smile lingered in his mind, like a spark that refused to be extinguished. And he couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if he let that spark grow into something more.

AZRIEL

Weeks had passed since that tense morning in the training room, but the memory of Sy’s calm, steady gaze, the way her warmth had filled the room, lingered in Azriel’s mind with haunting clarity. He had tried to convince himself that his interest was merely professional, a sense of duty toward someone unfamiliar with their world. But each time he tried to rationalize it, the image of her drifted back, as vivid as ever.

When he thought of her now, it wasn’t just her actions or her potential abilities that he recalled. It was those stormy grey-blue eyes, clear and unguarded when they looked at him, yet sharp with determination. It was her hair, light brown and straight as a blade, falling to her waist with a natural grace that made him wonder what it might feel like slipping through his fingers. He found his thoughts betraying him with images of the gentle curve of her waist, the elegance of her frame, and the pink of her lips—a color as subtle as it was maddening. Her scent had grown familiar too, a soft blend of warmth and sweetness that lingered long after she’d left a room, so intoxicating that it invaded his thoughts at the most inconvenient times.

Every time he caught himself drifting into these thoughts, he tried to shove them aside, reminding himself of his duty, of his need for professionalism. She’s a stranger here, he’d tell himself, as if repetition could douse the fire burning within him. But his resolve grew weaker each time. And now that Sy had become more at ease within Velaris, he found himself noticing the changes in her. Her laughter had grown freer, her smiles quicker, and even Nesta—who rarely warmed to anyone—seemed to hold an unspoken respect for her.

Then there were the nights when Sy would stay close by, assisting Rhysand and Feyre with Nyx when the little one grew restless. It was a talent Sy had barely discovered, yet one that seemed to resonate with the child’s needs. Her presence was soothing, and Nyx, who seemed to recognize it, clung to her during these times. More often than not, Azriel would be lying in the next room, hearing her soft words or the lullabies she’d hum. He couldn’t deny the peace that washed over him knowing she was nearby, her calmness seeping through the walls as if reaching him in his own restless solitude.

But tonight, there was no solitude. Velaris was alight with the preparations for a festival, a celebration that brought all the Lords and dignitaries from neighboring courts. The evening promised long hours of diplomacy, and Azriel’s day had already been stretched thin with preparations, overseeing the security, coordinating with Cassian and Rhysand on potential threats, and ensuring each guest's arrival went smoothly.

And then there was Eris.

Azriel’s jaw tightened involuntarily at the thought of the Autumn Court heir, the arrogant male who wore his mask of indifference all too well. No one at the table welcomed his presence, but his attendance served political purposes, securing fragile alliances that the Night Court couldn’t afford to jeopardize. Mor, who bore the deepest scars from Eris’ cruelty, avoided him altogether, keeping as much distance as possible from the gathering. For her sake, Azriel kept his own restraint firmly in check, though his shadows bristled at the mere thought of Eris at the same table.

As he took his seat beside Cassian and Nesta, he surveyed the room, the hum of voices mixing with the strains of distant music. He exchanged a few words with Cassian, his gaze flickering occasionally to the doorway, a strange anticipation pooling in his chest. He told himself he was scanning for threats, keeping watch for anything unusual. But when he finally caught sight of Sy entering the hall, his every coherent thought seemed to vanish.

Sy stood in the doorway, and even from across the room, she was nothing short of breathtaking. The dark blue gown she wore clung to her frame, its deep, midnight hue intensifying the fairness of her skin, making her seem almost ethereal in the soft glow of the lanterns. The dress hugged her chest, emphasizing her delicate collarbones, her waist, and flaring slightly at her hips before falling in waves to her ankles, giving her an elegance that felt both regal and effortless. Half of her hair was braided and pinned like a crown, the rest cascading down her back, shimmering with each movement. She looked… otherworldly. And all Azriel could do was sit there, utterly struck.

His heart pounded in his chest as he tore his gaze away, feeling a surge of emotions that left him reeling. A sense of fierce pride mixed with longing that he didn’t quite know how to name. He forced his expression to remain neutral, even as the sight of her seemed to settle like a weight in his chest. But when his gaze swept the room again, he noticed he wasn’t the only one captivated.

Eris’s stare was locked on her, his eyes narrowed with a dark, assessing gleam that made Azriel’s blood simmer. Eris had always enjoyed admiring beauty, but the intent behind his gaze as he looked at Sy bordered on something more. Azriel clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself to breathe. The jealousy surged, coiling in his veins, raw and insistent. Every part of him wanted to stride across the room, to put himself between her and Eris, to make it clear that she was not for him—or anyone else—to ogle.

His irritation only deepened when Rhysand introduced her as his “distant cousin,” a flimsy excuse to explain her presence to the other Lords. Yet Eris’s expression was hardly placated, his gaze lingering on her even as she moved toward the table.

When she finally took her seat, it was right across from Azriel, directly beside Eris. Azriel’s jaw tightened as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair, her gaze briefly skimming over him before flicking away, as if she were making a conscious effort not to look at him. He wanted to catch her gaze, to see if her eyes held any hint of acknowledgment, but she seemed determined to keep her focus elsewhere.

Cassian leaned over, murmuring something to him, but the words barely registered. His mind was too caught up in Sy’s presence, in the way she avoided his eyes, her own gaze set resolutely on her plate as though she sensed his turmoil and wanted no part of it.

And Eris… The male leaned slightly toward her, a subtle movement, his voice soft as he greeted her, his tone filled with a dark charm that made Azriel’s teeth clench. The sight of it stoked the fire of jealousy even further, the restraint he had so carefully built starting to fray at the edges.

He forced himself to focus on anything else—the wine glass in his hand, the faint laughter echoing from across the room, the rustle of the fabric as people shifted in their seats. But every time his attention wandered, it snapped back to her, to the way the blue of her dress seemed to deepen the stormy grey in her eyes, the soft blush in her cheeks, the way her lips curved in a polite smile even as she seemed uncomfortable under Eris’s gaze.

Azriel felt a desperate urge to reach across the table, to pull her gaze to his, to remind her he was there—yet he knew he had no right to ask for such acknowledgment, no claim to make her look at him the way she had that night on the balcony. But as Eris’s hand drifted a fraction closer to hers on the table, his patience snapped.

Without thinking, Azriel cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate in the quiet hum of the conversation. Eris glanced up, his brows lifting in mild annoyance, but Azriel’s cold stare was unyielding, a silent warning that left no room for interpretation.

The Autumn Court heir offered him a smirk, an infuriatingly knowing look that spoke volumes, as if he’d already pieced together Azriel’s poorly kept secret. But Eris leaned back, abandoning whatever game he had in mind, and turned his attention to his wine.

Sy’s gaze flickered up then, meeting Azriel’s across the table. Her expression was wary, unsure, but her eyes held a question he couldn’t quite decipher. She looked at him, and he felt that familiar warmth, that ache that had grown sharper over the past weeks. He couldn’t explain the pull between them, the way he felt drawn to her despite his better judgment.

But he couldn’t let himself forget who he was, what his duty demanded. He was the Spymaster, bound to protect those around him, not to indulge in feelings he couldn’t afford to have. And yet, as she held his gaze, a subtle vulnerability in her expression, he felt his resolve falter.

The meal continued, but Azriel barely tasted a single bite. His attention was consumed by every glance, every word spoken between Sy and Eris, every shift of her gaze as she tried to avoid meeting his eyes. He wanted to pull her aside, to demand an explanation he had no right to ask for, to find out what was happening beneath her calm exterior. But more than that, he wanted to understand why she had woven herself so deeply into his thoughts, why she felt like a piece of his life that he couldn’t bear to let go.

As the evening wore on, he made a decision—a reckless one, perhaps, but the need to know had grown too strong. He would find her after this cursed dinner, confront her, speak to her, anything to break the tension that hung between them. He didn’t know if he was ready for the answers he

SY

Sy stood at the edge of the ballroom, engaged in light conversation with some of the more amiable attendees when she felt a presence beside her. Turning, she saw Eris, dressed in his usual sharp attire, a faint smirk on his face as he took her in, gaze lingering a bit too long. His amber eyes seemed to gleam with mischief, though whether it was friendly or predatory, she couldn’t quite tell.

"You look stunning tonight, Sy," he remarked, voice smooth as velvet, but there was an edge to it, as if he was sizing her up even as he complimented her. The words were flattering, yes, but also rehearsed, like he was reading from a script.

Sy gave a polite smile, her tone firm yet not unfriendly. "Thank you, Eris. It’s always interesting to hear a compliment from the infamous heir of the Autumn Court." She let her words hang in the air, letting him know she was aware of the kind of character he played in her own world’s stories. Her polite deflection was enough to make him chuckle softly, but he didn’t push further, a glint of curiosity flashing in his eyes.

As their conversation waned, Sy’s gaze wandered across the ballroom, where laughter and music filled the air. But her eyes inevitably landed on Azriel. He was standing in the shadows at the far side of the room, wings partially unfurled behind him like a cloak, a steady, watchful look in his dark gaze that was fixed entirely on her. There was something intense, almost predatory, about the way he was watching her—as if he were a hunter, assessing his prey from across the room.

Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, a rush of heat coloring her cheeks as she wondered, Why is he looking at me like that? There was something deeply searching in his gaze tonight, as though he was trying to unravel her very soul with a single glance. But then her mind flickered back to Eris standing beside her, and it dawned on her—perhaps Azriel’s attention was only piqued by concern. After all, Eris wasn’t exactly known for his… altruism, especially not in her world’s stories.

Maybe he’s just watching out for me, she thought, a twinge of disappointment curling in her stomach. She pushed the feeling down, reminding herself of what she already knew: that Azriel was ever the dutiful Spymaster, loyal and vigilant to a fault. Why would he look at her with anything beyond duty?

"Excuse me," she said softly to Eris, offering him a polite nod before she slipped away to where Mor and Elain stood chatting. Both women greeted her with bright smiles, their faces softening with warmth as she joined them.

"Ah, escaping Eris already?" Mor teased, raising an eyebrow as she gave Sy a knowing look.

Sy laughed, a genuine sound that melted away the tension that had been curling in her chest. "I’m just… not sure how to take him," she admitted. "He’s a bit of a charmer, but I can’t forget what he’s capable of."

Mor’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, a tightness in her expression that Sy recognized instantly as anger. "Oh, he’s capable of a lot, alright. Most of it’s terrible." She exchanged a glance with Elain, who offered a sympathetic nod.

Sy lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. "I’ve read about him in my world—about how he hurt you and Nesta. I can’t forget that." She frowned, feeling a fierce protectiveness for Mor, as if the memories of reading those stories were somehow her own.

Mor shrugged, trying to mask her discomfort with a cavalier smile, though the sharpness in her eyes remained. "Trust me, I’ve got more than enough power to fling him out of this place if he steps out of line. Or maybe I’ll just toss him through a window." She shot Sy a wicked grin, and they all burst into laughter, the sound lifting the heavy air around them.

As they laughed, Sy glanced up, her gaze drawn instinctively across the room to where Azriel stood. She could swear there was a hint of a smile on his face, barely visible but enough to make her heart skip a beat. She was surprised to find him watching her, a slight warmth in his eyes that seemed so out of place on his otherwise stoic face. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something more—a tenderness, an unspoken feeling that made her heart race.

But then reality settled back over her. She reminded herself that Azriel had shown no interest in her beyond what duty required. It was an observation she’d made from the very start; he maintained a careful distance, only speaking to her when necessary, his glances typically fleeting, as if unwilling to linger too long.

Still, as she watched him now, Sy found herself caught in a flurry of thoughts she couldn’t shake. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of his hands—those calloused fingers, so skilled and sure in battle—wondering what they might feel like if they touched her with tenderness rather than force. She imagined what it would be like to bury her fingers in his dark hair, to feel the softness of his lips brushing against hers. A blush crept up her cheeks as she wondered about the feel of his strong hands against her skin, about how it would be if he held her, not with the controlled strength of a warrior, but with the gentleness she sensed he kept hidden from the world.

But as quickly as those thoughts arose, she forced them away, grounding herself in the reality that these feelings were nothing but fantasies, moments she’d observe from afar, never truly daring to hope for. The pull between them, however real it felt, was likely nothing more than a trick of her own heart.

Breaking the silence, Mor’s voice pulled her back to the present. "Speaking of Azriel," she began, her tone laced with curiosity, "you and he seem to have been keeping a careful distance from each other. Is that just me?"

Sy sighed, smiling wryly. "You’re not imagining things. Since that first day in training, it feels like he’s made a point of avoiding me. Or when he does see me, it’s like he can’t decide whether to run away or… I don’t know, stare right through me as if he’s reading every secret I’ve ever held." She shook her head, laughing softly. "Sometimes, I swear he looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out completely, and other times, it’s as if he’s seeing someone else entirely. Either way, he’s as elusive as ever."

Mor and Elain exchanged a knowing glance, both women stifling laughter. "Classic Azriel," Mor said with a smirk. "He wouldn’t know how to handle feelings if they hit him in the face."

They laughed again, the sound light and freeing, and as Sy’s gaze drifted back across the room, she felt her heart leap. Azriel was no longer on the other side of the ballroom. He was standing mere inches away, his tall, powerful frame like a shadow looming beside her. Her laughter died on her lips as her pulse quickened, a flutter of nerves filling her chest.

She tried to look anywhere but at him, to keep her composure, but the heat of his presence was impossible to ignore. After a tense moment, she gathered the courage to look up, her gaze finally locking with his. The intensity in his eyes was enough to steal her breath, a quiet storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. The world seemed to fall away, the hum of the room fading into a quiet buzz as they looked at each other, caught in an unspoken moment that felt as if it might shatter with a single breath.

AZRIEL

Azriel’s gaze was fixed on Sy, unable to look away even if he tried. She was stunning tonight, wrapped in a deep navy dress that highlighted her fair skin and every graceful curve of her body. Her hair, half pinned and half cascading down her shoulders, moved like liquid silk with every shift and turn, and her grey-blue eyes, so strikingly bright, seemed to shimmer under the soft ballroom lights.

He couldn’t ignore the way her lips parted slightly, a faint trace of surprise in her expression as she caught his gaze. What would those lips feel like pressed to his own? The thought came unbidden, hot and unrelenting, and he swallowed, trying to steady the storm rising within him. Or better yet, how would they feel against his skin? On every inch of him? He felt the tension coil tighter, threatening to unravel him right there. No. He needed to rein this in before he lost himself completely. Pushing away those maddening thoughts, he managed a low, “Hello.”

Sy blinked, clearly surprised, but she returned his greeting, her voice soft. “Hello.”

Before he could say anything more, she took a small step back, as if trying to put some distance between them. The movement hit him harder than he cared to admit, a pang twisting in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to close the space between them again, but he forced himself to stand still, even as he felt the urge to pull her close, to make her stay. Why is she pulling away? he wondered, struggling to keep his expression unreadable, his emotions tightly locked down.

“Did Eris… bother you?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. “I hope you didn’t let him… play his little games.”

Sy’s eyes flashed, and though her response was calm, he could sense her irritation. “I’m just trying not to draw too much attention, Azriel,” she replied, her voice steady yet laced with a subtle edge.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, the image of her standing next to Eris searing itself into his mind. He remembered how Eris had looked at her, the amusement in his eyes, the way Sy had laughed softly, even if it was just polite conversation. His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the simmering jealousy clawing its way through his veins. He knew he shouldn’t react—knew that his emotions were pointless, unjustified—but the thought of Eris near her, speaking to her, touching her, made his blood run hot. Still, he kept his face perfectly composed, betraying none of the turmoil churning within.

They stood there in silence, a charged moment hanging between them. Azriel met her gaze, allowing himself to linger in the depths of her eyes, letting himself get lost, just for a moment, in the gentle storm that seemed to swirl within them. It was foolish, he knew. But the longer he looked, the harder it was to break away, the more he felt his resolve slipping. I don’t want anyone else to have this moment with her, he realized, the admission curling dark and possessive in his chest. I don’t want anyone else to see her like this.

This isn’t duty, he thought, almost surprised at the realization. My assignments don’t make me feel like this. His mind echoed with the word jealousy, a word he rarely allowed himself to entertain. He almost laughed at himself, bitter and incredulous. Since when do I get jealous over a mission?

And then Eris appeared at Sy’s side, breaking the moment like a blade slicing through silk. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” he asked, his voice smooth as he extended a hand toward her.

Azriel watched Sy’s reaction, a tight knot forming in his chest as she offered Eris a polite nod, her hand resting delicately in his as he led her to the center of the ballroom. Azriel felt the sting like a physical blow, his jaw tensing, though he kept his face a mask of cool indifference. But beneath the surface, his blood was boiling, a silent fury simmering as he watched Eris pull her into his arms.

As the music started, Azriel’s gaze never left them. He watched the way Sy moved, her body graceful and poised, every step smooth and fluid as if she were gliding. She was exquisite, a vision of elegance, and he felt his heart twist painfully at the sight. Eris had his hands on her, his gaze never leaving her face, and Azriel wanted nothing more than to storm over and pull her away. But he remained where he was, his body taut as a drawn bow, every fiber of him focused on the scene unfolding before him.

Eris’s hand rested lightly on her waist, guiding her through the steps, and Azriel’s gaze hardened as he watched. That should be me holding her, he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. He noted every smile, every gentle laugh that escaped her lips, each one searing itself into his memory as a reminder of the moments he wasn’t a part of. Yet he also couldn’t help but notice that her eyes didn’t shine quite as brightly as they had when they were talking before. She was polite, yes, but her warmth didn’t seem to reach Eris, her laughter softer, less genuine. It was a small comfort, a reminder that perhaps, even if she was dancing with Eris, her mind wasn’t fully there.

But then Eris’s hand began to slide lower, drifting just slightly down her back, his fingers inching dangerously close to the curve of her hip. Something snapped in Azriel, a white-hot surge of protectiveness, possessiveness, igniting like fire in his veins. His expression remained stone, but his entire body moved of its own accord, cutting through the crowd and reaching them before his rational mind could hold him back.

Without a hint of hesitation, he stepped onto the dance floor, his gaze fixed solely on Eris, his voice as cold as steel. “Eris,” he said smoothly, though there was an edge of command in his tone, “may I cut in?”

Eris arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk as he met Azriel’s gaze. There was a challenge in his eyes, but he relented with a casual shrug, releasing Sy’s hand and stepping back with an exaggerated flourish. “All yours, Spymaster,” he drawled, casting one last lingering look at Sy before moving away.

Azriel took Sy’s hand, his fingers gentle yet firm as he pulled her into his arms. His touch was warmer than she’d expected, steady and grounding as he guided her into the dance. She looked up at him, her gaze uncertain, and he could see the question in her eyes, the hesitation mixed with something that looked almost like relief.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured, though her voice held no trace of reproach.

“Maybe I did,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he held her closer, guiding her through the movements. His hand rested just above the curve of her waist, his thumb grazing her spine in a barely-there touch that sent a spark of heat through his skin.

They moved together in silence, the music filling the space between them, though neither seemed fully aware of it. Azriel’s focus was entirely on her—the way her eyes caught the light, the softness of her lips, the gentle curve of her frame against his own. He found himself memorizing every detail, every nuance of her expression, every shift in her gaze as they danced. The warmth of her, the feel of her so close, it was intoxicating, stirring feelings he’d long since buried, emotions he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He forced himself to keep his face neutral, though his heart hammered in his chest, each beat a reminder of the dangerous line he was treading. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not yet. Not when he was finally holding her like this.

As the music swelled, he looked down, meeting her gaze fully, allowing himself to be vulnerable, just this once. “Sy,” he began, his voice soft, a hint of something raw slipping into his tone. But he faltered, the weight of his own feelings crashing over him, too much to put into words.

She looked up at him, her gaze searching, and for a moment, he felt as if she could see straight into him, past every wall, every shield he’d ever built. And he knew, in that instant, that there was no going back. This wasn’t a duty. This wasn’t an assignment.

This was something he could never walk away from.

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

Too cute 🥺

I regret nothing.

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

Hey do you remember the story where Az and Reader accepted the bond some time ago? I don't remember the whole plot but it turned out Az didn't really accept the bond and that is why no one could smell the bond on him. It was surely angsty and had 2 parts I think

I can't find the link or author and I would be grateful if someone knew this one 😌🙏

[fiftyshadesofdepressedd]

It's so obvious😩

His shadows are obsessed

He’s noticing little details: her hair, her freckles, her teal eyes

Her happiness makes him happy

And their banter? The flow of conversation?

BURYING THE IMAGE OF HER DEEP INSIDE HIMSELF???

Stfu, I’m done for.