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nikethestatue · 2 years ago

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Elain's Potatoes

Elriel Month: Happy Solstice

Summary: It's Solstice and Elain Archeron is suffering from her cycle. Azriel sneaks out to see her, and cooks her Solstice dinner, and some potatoes, with a twist. He is also on the forefront of the advances of menstrual pad design. Romantic fluff ensues.

(what book was Elain reading?)

Nobody dies in this one, but it's a biggie--8K words

“Elain cancelled on me.”

Nesta’s lower lip jutted forward, and even though she attempted not to show that she was upset, Cassian could see that she was in fact, upset.

“Elain cancelled?” he peered at his wife in confusion, “Elain never cancels,” he argued and Nesta sighed and sipped her coffee from her huge cup, which Azriel brought her from the continent–along with this new drink, called coffee. Cassian’s had it before, because Azriel was a fan, but coffee was bitter and strange tasting. Personally, he preferred tea. Nesta found a kindred spirit in Azriel, and they liked their coffee as black as their souls.

“Did she say why?” he asked, taking a bite of his eggs.

This was a busy week–Solstice week. It was possible that Elain was running around, preparing, buying gifts and all that, but still, it was unusual for Elain to cancel on anyone, let alone Nesta. The two of them have been looking forward to a day together–shopping, buying mantle ornaments and tinsel, and then they were expecting to meet Feyre for afternoon tea at one of the Tea Houses. Cassian had no say in the matter, but he frowned upon these afternoon teas, because it was just an excuse to eat unhealthy things such as scones and pastries, but it’s not like anyone would listen to him if he told them to indulge in a nice salad. So he kept his mouth shut. At least the three sisters were happy(ier)--nicely filled out, all three with a purpose, one a mother, two mated, the third…well, she was a head-scratcher that’s for sure, and Cassian didn’t exactly know what was happening with her. Elain, so very beautiful, soft, likeable, kind, good natured, and sweet, had way too many men problems.

“She has her cycle,” Nesta grunted.

Cassian cleared his throat and buried his face in his tea cup. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his sister-in-law’s bleeding. But he did ask, “so she’ll be indisposed for the whole thing?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta admitted, “but we won’t make her come to dinner if she doesn’t want to come.”

Cassian took a sip of his tea and turned the page of the newspaper that he was reading. He loved these quiet mornings with his wife, his beautiful mate. It’s been less than a year since they had their gorgeous mating ceremony, followed by a much quicker and quieter wedding, where it was only their families present. Nesta wanted a human ceremony and Cassian didn’t mind it. Since then, they’ve been falling in love. The time’s been quiet, and wholly theirs. They went on their honeymoon to Day Court, where Helion offered to give them a seaside villa, which was absolutely enchanting. Nesta wouldn’t leave the azure waters of the sea, swimming from morning ‘till night, only leaving to eat, nap and make love.

“Azriel will be disappointed,” Cassian muttered absently, turning the page again.

Nesta threw him a sharp look and raised a brow at his comment.

“Why would he be disappointed?”

Cassian shrugged and explained, sounding very casual, “Well, you know how he likes the odd little gifts that she gives him for Solstice. I think he will miss that.”

Nesta hummed to herself but didn’t say anything further.

Did Cassian finally begin suspecting something?

Azriel arrived at the River Estate on time, as usual, but without any enthusiasm or any pep in her step.

The shadows that swarmed him already informed him that Elain was not at the house, and he wondered if she was just running late. That was unlike her though. She was punctual, just like he was. Additionally, he assumed that she would be busy preparing dinner, maybe baking Feyre’s birthday cake. But the shadows confirmed that she was definitely absent.

The moment he opened the doors, he was swallowed up in the glitz of the estate, the abundant and glamorous decorations and the scent of roasting chicken.

Try as he might, Azriel couldn't get used to the River Estate. It didn’t feel like anything to him. A shell. In the past, they’d all cram into the townhouse, and it was tight, but heaps of fun all the same. Sometimes, they celebrated Solstice at the House of Wind, and that was a free-for-all of wild shenanigans. One time he woke up dressed as a cow. Another time Mor and Cassian were betting that they could swing from a chandelier–not surprisingly, both fell on their asses and the chandelier fell on the floor, which resulted in the five of them sweeping a million crystals the following day. Cassian swore that he wouldn’t go barefoot into that room even now. Mother’s tits, those were some fun times!

The River Estate made him tense. Like he was in the presence of his High Lord, and not his brother and friend. The baby and Elain were the only two things that he liked about being here–they softened the edges, and made the vast place feel more homey. There have been a few times when Rhys and Feyre were out, and Elain stayed with the baby. Azriel made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop by on those days, under the pretence of delivering something for Rhys. Or ‘forgetting’ that his High Lord wasn’t around to see him. Whether Elain realised that he was chancing an evening with her, he was not entirely sure, but Elain always managed to see right through him. It doesn’t matter. Those evenings were special. They cared for the baby together–fed him, played with him, bathed him, changed him and put him to sleep. Elain had a terrible singing voice, though she played the fortepiano, as he found out. He, on the other hand, had a very good voice, but he never sang…not in front of anyone. When it was just the three of them though, he felt pretty comfortable, and he sang some Illyrian lullabies to his nephew. Elain sat, with her cheek propped on her knee and listened quietly.

“Where is my beautiful mate?”

It was the first thing that reached Azriel’s ears the moment he stepped into the house. Lucien’s voice. Attempting to school his scowl into something presentable and not frightening, Azriel removed his jacket and then stepped into the large parlour where the family and guests were gathered. His eyes immediately went to the window seat, where Elain liked to sit when there were larger gatherings–observing, being part of the party, and yet, always separate. Much like he did himself. Tonight, the seat was empty, and something broke inside his chest at the sight of it, at the absence of her. That’s all he was looking forward to tonight–just stealing a few moments together, exchanging a few sentences, brushing his hands over hers, maybe the opportunity to wrap his finger around her braid. Between Rhysand and Lucien hovering on the periphery, he knew that any chances of something more meaningful would be impossible, but he was used to living on crumbs of opportunities and affection that were thrown his way.

“She won't be attending tonight,” he heard Feyre answer.

“Oh, what happened?” Lucien sounded concerned.

There was a pause, and then Feyre offered, “she is indisposed’.

“Doesn't she live here?” Lucien pressed.

“No,” Cassian boomed, “Ellie moved out and now lives at the townhouse.”

“So, I won’t see her at all this week?” Lucien inquired meekly.

“I am sorry, Lucien. I don’t think so. I should’ve let you know…”

The shadows immediately peeled away from Azriel’s body and slithered off and away, rushing to investigate further.

Mor was getting a platter of cookies and another bottle of wine from the kitchen, when an iron grip clasped her upper arm.

“Aw, Az, what the Hel?” she hissed, not having heard him materialise behind her.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said quietly.

“Now?” she cried and he squeezed her arm tighter, warning her to keep quiet.

“Get off me,” she growled, ready to go to battle with him. “What do you want?”

“Yes now,” he said simply, and gently, but urgently dragged her into the hallway.

“What in the world is so urgent on Solstice?!?” she slapped his chest.

It was cute, but not as cute as when Elain did it.

Sometimes, he did something incorrectly on purpose, so Elain could get all adorably frustrated and huffy with him, and push him or slap his chest. He really loved it.

“I need you to winnow me,”

Her brows knitted together and she gave him a look of pure incomprehension and disgust.

“Are you drunk?” she demanded.

He wasn’t, but he wasn't so sure about her.

“I am not winnowing you, Azriel,” she grunted at him angrily, rolling her eyes at him. “You can winnow yourself! Why are you wasting my time when I just want to go and get more ham and drink more wine,”

Hissing through his teeth, he muttered, “you don’t need any more wine, trust me.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped rudely.

She could feel the response on his own lips, but he held back.

“Mor, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” he said seriously.

She finally set the bottle down on the counter and he let go of her arm, which she then crossed on her ample chest.

Sometimes, it surprised him that he’d been so attracted to her once in his life. He supposed that when he was a seventeen year old virgin, who barely even spoke to women, let alone saw them in Widnhaven, she seemed amazing. Indeed, she was–brashly beautiful, with her golden hair and big lips and large brown eyes. He even saw something of Elain in her–same intense beauty, though Elain’s was always softer and more delicate. But personalities–-why did he think that this could ever work? They had nothing in common. Their temperaments were polar opposites–she pushed and pressured, she needed things to be done her way, she wanted and if she didn't get it, she demanded it. Azriel did not mind, generally. However, it did grate on his nerves at times, and also, emotionally tired him out. He wasn’t one for endless conflict, acquiescence, and arguments.

Thinking about all of this, only made him want to get out of here sooner and go where he really wanted to be.

“Why can’t you winnow?” she insisted.

“I can winnow, but you need to come with me. It will only take 2 minutes of your time. You don’t even need to put on a coat,” he assured her. She frowned, disbelieving, but at least she was listening.

He continued quickly, “I just need you to let me into the townhouse.”

The request clearly confounded her. Her expression was befuddled to say the least, and she just stared at him dumbly.

“Rhys’s townhouse?” she asked at last.

He nodded.

“Why in the world……….oh,” her brown eyes blew up and turned into orbs, as comprehension dawned on her. “Ohhhh…ohh,”

“By the Cauldron, stop it!” he snapped at her.

Thinking, she cried out, “what are you going to do?!? Stalk her creepily?! She has her cycle, and I don’t see why and what you can do for her,”

“Exactly!” he nodded. “It’s Solstice, and she is completely alone. Suffering and in pain,”

“She might be just sleeping,” Mor argued reasonably.

“Or not,” he cut, “and even if she is sleeping, someone still should be with her. Caring for her,”

“And you are the one to care for her?”

“And why not?” he asked defensively, suddenly wondering if this was actually a bad idea. What was his plan, exactly? Barge into Elain’s bedroom, while she was bleeding and in pain? They were…what were they? Friends? Unresolved lovers? Definitely not lovers. He could only wish and hope, but that was in the past. Now, he was to be content with just being her acquaintance. Who desperately wanted to care for her during her cycle. Something that only mates and husbands did for their females. Lucien, certainly wasn't breaking down doors to get to her right now. He was happy to drink Rhysand’s expensive wine and eat the delicious roast.

Mor looked him over and said, “you aren’t exactly the caring type, Az.”

“I care when I want to,” he said, getting tired and annoyed with this conversation. “Can we go now?”

She hummed and pursed her lips, saying, “I am not sure we should. It’s her personal space, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You don’t need to come in,” his patience was running out. “And if she gets upset, I will take all the blame,”

“Hmm, I don't think so,”

“Morrigan!” she snarled.

“No, I don’t think I will do it,” she concluded.

“Fine,” he said calmly, but a clear threat was thundering through his deep midnight voice.

“I am glad we agree,”

“I will tell everyone that you are seeing Gwyneth,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

She gasped and clamped her hand over his mouth.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” he challenged.

Azriel was the only one who knew about the two of them. Furthermore, he was the only one who knew about Mor’s ‘secret’, though why the hell she kept it so, he had no idea.

It was scandalous though–Mor and Gwyneth. Mor was the teacher, regardless of Gwyn’s Carynthian status, and Mor was 500 years older, vastly experienced, and one of the founders of the Library, in charge of the priestesses’ well-being, and identities. A relationship with one of her students would be considered unethical at best, especially since Gwyn still lived in the Library and still served as a priestess there.

“You asshole,” she moaned. “You are such an asshole!”

He smirked and offered her his arm.

“Ready?”

“I hope she fucking throws you out!”

“She won’t,” he said confidently.

“And I’ll tell Lucien,” she threatened.

Breezily, he waved his hand and muttered, “Oh, I am terrified!”

A minute later, they stood in front of the white marble townhouse, which was decorated with pine wreaths and had a crooked snowman standing in front of it from the snowfall that they experienced in the fortnight. The snowman had a carrot for a nose and seven blue dots scattered around its body. Mor blew on her hands and chuckled at the snowman.

“Maybe she won’t throw you out after all,”

They entered the front garden and she poked at the two giant wilted leaves from some plant, which were stuck in the snowman’s back.

“Wings,” she noted.

He noticed everything as well and was quite pleased with the snowman.

She turned to face him and prodded his chest with her finger.

“You promise you won’t say anything to anyone!”

“I promise,” he agreed. “Though I don’t know if it’s me you should be worrying about.”

“Who else knows?” she exclaimed worriedly.

“No one. But I am curious how you’ll explain getting that pegasus from Helion and gifting it to Gwyn, after Gwyn will inevitably blabber about it to Nesta, who’ll blabber about it to Cassian, who will definitely blabber about it to Rhys. Because there is no fucking way that Gwyn isn’t going to be talking about her new flying horse.”

Mor let out a muffled, pathetic sigh and grabbed Azriel’s arm, turning him to face her.

“By the gods,” she lamented breathlessly, the seriousness of the situation dawning on her. “Az!”

“What?”

Pleading, she asked, “What do I do?”

He shrugged, still feeling petty over how she almost refused to take him here.

“Azriel!”

“What do you want me to say, Morrigan?” He opened his hands widely. “I can do many things, but keeping Gwyneth Berdara silent isn’t one of them.”

“But if Rhys finds out…” her voice died in a heavy exhale.

“Yeah, there would be hell to pay,” he agreed callously.

“But I love her,” she murmured.

“Not sure it matters to him.”

It definitely didn’t matter to Rhysand when Azriel was in a similar situation only recently.

Azriel regarded Mor for a long time, considering whether he should give her advice.

Azriel held grudges. It wasn’t his finest trait, but he couldn't help it. He was an Illyrian, and a Fae, and his grudges lasted for thousands of years. Could and did he forgive Mor for all the years of incomprehensible rejection? No, not even a little bit. At the same time, he also moved on. There was someone that he was interested in and who reciprocated his feelings and who concerned him much more than Mor ever would again.

“It might not be the perfect solution,” he said at last, “but use magic. There is a secret keeping spell that you can use, or a Confounding spell,”

“Oh yes, yes…” she was nodding eagerly.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s something. It will tide you over until you figure out what to do. She is young and impulsive–I wouldn’t trust her to keep a flying horse a secret.”

“You are right. Maybe a Confounding Spell, where she’d just forget to talk about it and it won’t be on her mind…”

“We done talking about Gwyn? I want to go inside,” he stomped his feet. “It’s colder than Apollion’s asshole!”

She cocked her brow at him and muttered, “I wasn’t aware that you were so familiar with his asshole.”

Elain was in her bed, on top of the covers, curled around her stomach.

Fae periods were atrocious. They were uncomfortable and painful, though not as frequent as when she was human. But her new body still confused her. Why go through so much pain and discomfort only to have to wait years, sometimes decades to get pregnant. It seemed pointless. Why suffer this much, only to wait and wait in vain to have a child?

She couldn’t complain really–her cycle was pretty bad, but not as debilitating as Feyre’s, or even Mor’s. Somehow, she and Nesta avoided being subjected to the horrors that so many other Fae females experienced during their cycles. It wasn’t pleasant by any means, but she wasn’t crying and sweating, or shaking and moaning like her younger sister. However they were Made, she and Nesta were given a little bit of a reprieve from the fate of all other Fae females.

The pain was manageable, but she was bleeding profusely. It was so abundant, it didn’t allow her the opportunity to leave the house for at least 3-4 days.

Did she want to go to the Solstice celebration at her sister’s? Frankly, she was glad that she was missing it this year. Because he would be there. And the other he. The one she wanted, and the one who laid claim on her. And she didn’t want to deal with either one of them. She was lonely, but by now, this was something to be expected–she didn't have many friends beside the wraith twins, and she didn’t have a male either. She was almost 27 years old and she definitely thought that her life would’ve been very different right now–she might have had a loving husband in Graysen, and perhaps, even a baby by now. She would’ve been Lady Nolan, wife to a Lord’s son, mistress of the domain, wealthy and respected, and maybe even happy. Instead, now, men ran away from her, knowing that she had the blasted mate bond, which rendered her invisible in their eyes. Even Azriel seemed to have lost interest–why wouldn’t he? He was prohibited from seeing her and to him, she was unavailable anyway.

She was feeling sour. Unhappy with herself, unsatisfied, unaccomplished. How did Nesta of all people get married before her? Nesta, who never had a relationship in her life, was happily, joyfully mated to a great male, and Elain…well, Elain needed to find it in herself to go downstairs and warm up some soup or something. Nuala promised to bring her leftovers from today’s celebration, but for now, she had vegetable soup to look forward to.

She turned onto her side with a grunt, feeling the blood sloshing between her legs, and wrinkled her nose. Gods. It was so gross. Tucking her nose into the book she was reading, she got lost in the world. She wondered if there was really an academy for the Fae, where they studied and honed their skills and powers? That would be amazing to attend. Not just stumble about in the darkness, not understanding her own capabilities, but actually learn how to harness it and how to do spells and other incredible things. If she had a handsome vampire Professor, she wouldn’t have minded either. He reminded her of Azriel–brutal, brash and solitary. She also liked the other character, the big dragon shifter, who was dripping with raw masculinity. Biting her lip, she turned the page eagerly reading about the angry dragon chasing his love interest across the bubbling hot springs, until they finally finally kissed. Elain’s been waiting for this moment for four books and it was here, at last!

She didn’t know what it was, but she suddenly shifted on the bed, feeling someone’s eyes on her. The townhouse was well-protected, with ironclad wards, fit for Rhysand. No one could get inside. Ever. And yet the feeling of unease spread over her and she lifted her eyes from the pages of the hefty tome. She looked around her bedroom, but there was nothing amiss, except for the unusual clump of darkness in the corner. The shadows typically didn’t gather like that in that spot. And then, to her horror, a figure stepped out of the darkness–a figure of murky gloom–a huge male body, swathed in shadows…

“Aaaahhhhh!!!!!!!” Elain bellowed at the top of her lungs, deafening her own ears with her scream, as she hurled the thick book at the male.

“Auuuu!” she heard the man’s voice. “By the gods, Elain! What the fuck,”

Shockingly, it was Azriel who was now standing in her bedroom, the book in one hand, while he was rubbing his forehead with his fingers, where she smacked him with full force. “You could’ve taken my eye out!” he complained.

She scattered back, pulling her robe, her eyes wide with both fear and relief, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“What are you doing here?” she cried out. “How did you get inside?!?”

He was still grunting and wincing, rubbing his face, “Mor let me in,” he growled.

She began to calm down a bit, but then crossed her arms on her chest and repeated,

“It doesn’t explain what you are doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating Solstice with the others?”

“Yeah, come to think of it now, I should be,” he growled.

“Then why aren’t you?”

His left eye winked a couple of times and she couldn’t help, but giggle. He looked so...defeated. Like she sprung on him and completely took him by surprise.

“I think it’s obvious that I came here to check on you,” he said dryly.

“Oh,” she sat back on her heels and looked guiltily at him.

His shadows were gone, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket, which told her that he probably winnowed straight from the party.

He walked to the white stone fireplace and poked the burning logs with a poker, adding another log into the fire.

This was enough excitement for Elain, and she was now feeling exhausted, so she slipped back onto the bed, wincing from pain and discomfort. He caught her expression and turned to her, asking, “how are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” she admitted and he chuckled.

She wore a comfortable pair of cotton leggings and a hoodie. Her feet were bare and he looked at them, taking in her painted toes and a thin gold anklet, which surprised him for some reason. He looked at her for a while, in complete silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. She watched him too, silent and serious, and then extended her hand to him, and held it there, waiting. He took two steps to the bed and grasped her small hand in his, while sitting down on the edge of the bed. She smelled heady and the scent of blood, arousal, her womb, her skin, her natural scent of jasmine and honey almost made his eyes roll back in his head. It was the most delicious aroma he’d ever scented. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her wrist, feeling her pulse beneath his lips, before opening her hand and kissing inside it. Her breathing became uneven and he watched a lovely pink blush spread over her cheeks and her exposed neck. He loved kissing her hands, small and calloused, and covered in a thin net of various scars. She explained that most were from gardening, some were from burns, knife cuts, splinters, scalding water, from doing laundry in the winter and chopping wood, from weeding, and mending clothes. Gentle, pretty, but working hands.

“Thank you for coming to check on me,” she murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of his thick, black hair away from his eyes. “You should get a haircut,” she then decided.

He nodded, “I should.”

His rough, scarred knuckles brushed against her cheek and he admitted, “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend Solstice with anyone but you.”

He looked at her bed, and then smiled, “now, who is this?”

She glanced over her shoulder and then took a stuffed pig that rested by her pillow and handed it to him. Azriel chuckled, stroking the soft toy.

“It’s Darius,” she explained.

“Darius the pig?”

“Yes. I used to have a stuffed pig when I was young and then it…” she stopped talking and swallowed heavily.

He rubbed the pig’s fluffy head with his thumb and pressed, “What happened to him?”

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she murmured, “When the creditors came…they ransacked our house, taking everything and anything that was of any value. They even took our hair ribbons and pins. And I was holding him and crying, because I barely understood what was going on and then one of the men snatched him from my hands. He tore his head off…and then stomped on it, so it wouldn't be possible to reattach it later.”

Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks and Azriel just…moved. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to love and comfort her. He wanted to protect her and cherish her. So when he pressed his lips to her face, gently kissing off the tears, it was not lustful or domineering, but a promise. A promise that he would always comfort her and hold dear what was important to her.

“I found this one here, because he reminded me of my Darius.”

“I’ll always take care of Darius,” he vowed, kissing her soft, beautiful face. “Of you. Of everything that is yours and ours.”

Her arm fell across his shoulders and she looked at him, her eyes wet, her lips parted, the pig squished between their bodies.

“You are just,” she whispered breathlessly, “you are…extraordinary.”

“No,” he shook his head, as his nose slid down her cheekbone, “just a male, who’d worship and adore you if you allowed me to.”

She cupped his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his forehead.

“You may…you know. You will always have my permission.”

He kissed her hand again and then pulled away. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself. Even now. Even knowing that she was bleeding and aching, tired and weak, but also ripe and ready for him, he didn’t trust himself and certainly didn’t want to take advantage of her. Because he knew that he could. And she’d be willing. And it’s not like he cared about blood either…But he knew that this wasn’t the time and she wasn’t ready. Besides, as much as he desired her, he also wanted to court her and taking advantage of her willingness and proximity didn’t seem fair. So, he pulled away, even though he was gritting his teeth.

“May I take the pain away?” he offered.

Elain leaned on her elbows and looked at him with a perplexed expression on her face. Her hair was a mess, slipping from the knot on top of her head and it endeared him even further.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t heal, but I am able to take away pain,” he explained.

“How?” she was shocked, for this was an ability that only some of the more powerful High Fae possessed. Rhysand, she’d seen Helion assist his soldiers on the battlefield, and perhaps Morrigan was also capable. Elain wasn’t even sure that Feyre could, or Lucien. Feyre was powerful in her own right, but she couldn’t take pain away.

He shrugged and didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know.

But…there was always something odd about Azriel. His power was vast. It was like a churning ocean of dark, mysterious raw energy that spoke to her own. It responded to her, drawing her own like a magnet, pulling it to her skin, so it vibrated and sought to escape so it could dance and play with Azriel’s power. They’d never discussed it, but the most acute sharing of power that they experienced was during the final battle of the war. She could sense it: his power of Death, deeper than the swirling eddies of the Cauldron, and her power, bright and calm, benevolent and immense–the power of Life.

“You can do that?” she murmured, looking at him in awe.

He smiled softly at her and said,

“You know me better than anyone. You always have.”

She supposed that she did. The mysterious shadowsinger was never much of a mystery to her. He allowed her in.

Azriel lifted her hoodie a bit over her stomach. It allowed him the view of a sliver of her flat belly. She lay back, a little tense, and he whispered,

“Think of me as a healer.”

She raised her brow at him, giving him a look. He smirked and then placed his large palm on her stomach. She concentrated, and then her eyes lit up and she grinned, after he pressed and held his hand to her skin.

“It’s working!”

“I would hope so,” he nodded, holding his hand to her belly longer than was necessary. His index finger moved lightly near her belly button, writing something that only he understood. Mine.

“It feels so good,” she almost moaned and Azriel sighed. He wished that she would whisper the same words, only under different circumstances. When it was from the pleasure that he gave her, when her beautiful body opened up to him, and welcomed him inside. Gods, she would love it. He would make it incredible for her, her body bowed beneath his, writhing, begging him for more, needing him, yielding to him, falling for him, submitting to him.

He smiled softly, mostly to himself. He was going to have a fun time filling his Elli’s belly with his babies. This little tidbit might not have been something that he shared with anyone, but Elli was his. And the desire to create a family with her, make them children, ran almost rabid in his blood. He was a patient male, and he was willing to wait. But the fact that she was going to become his wife, his lady and the mother of his children was all but a guarantee. He was even more careful on his missions now–not because of any sort of fear, but because he wanted to ensure that Elain got what she wanted–and that was him. He needed to be hers just as much as she was going to be his.

Elain’s slender finger wrapped around his wrist and she whispered, ‘thank you’.

“You are welcome, beautiful,” he whispered and then dropped the hem of her hoodie down. “Now, have you eaten?”

Unenthusiastically, she muttered, “I have soup.”

“That is thrilling. Soup.” He tsked sarcastically, but then added, “it didn’t answer my question though. Have you eaten?”

“Nuala made me porridge in the morning.”

“Alright then,” he got up and then fluffed her pillows, announcing, “I shall tend to you and make us a fine Solstice meal indeed.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “I don’t need to eat…I am not hungry…”

He hummed and said, “Keep reading your thick smutty book that you’ve used as a weapon,”

“I am sorry!”

“Good aim, by the way.”

She laughed softly.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Only my pride.”

“You know,” he jerked his head towards the book, “I’ve read it,”

“You have?” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah, where are you at?”

“The dragon shifter and the phoenix are in the hot springs,”

Azriel’s long whistle interrupted her.

“They are about to do it.”

“Do what?”

“It. Elli. It.”

He winked and then disappeared, but not before smirking at her blush.

In the kitchen, Azriel took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and headed for the basket of potatoes.

In Illyria, produce was often scarce, but potatoes were always available, and dozens, if not hundreds of recipes, included or were dedicated to the humble spud. Females had all sorts of secret recipes for their cycle times, and while Azriel never bothered to find out much about them, he could cook up amazing mashed potatoes, roast them with garlic and rosemary, fry them, smash them with cheese and butter.

He filled a large pot with water, grabbed the basket and sat down. Considering his options for a moment, he decided on using Truth Teller to peel them. His dagger wasn’t only for killing and maiming–he used it casually as well, but only for himself. Shrugging, he figured that Elain might actually benefit from a mash made with a Made utensil.

Once peeled and cleaned, he dumped the potatoes into the pot, put it on the fire, and began setting the table–he pulled out the nice china from the cabinet, crystal glasses, and the real silver silverware. Then he lit candles in a large beautiful candelabra and grabbed one of Elain’s flower-filled vases, and placed it on the table as well.

When Elli was going to be his and they’d be living here together, he was going to make some design changes. The place was a bit stuffy for his taste, and could benefit from fewer walls. He liked wide open spaces, air, lots of light, windows, unfussy furniture.

“Az!” he heard her yell from upstairs.

Smiling, he yelled back, “What’s going on, beautiful?”

“I am bored!” she complained.

“I’ll come and get you in a few minutes, gorgeous. I am just finishing up here.”

“Whatchya doing?”

“Preparing Solstice dinner, because we are not savages and we’ll have a proper celebration.”

Azriel found some cold ham in the ice box, pate, smoked chicken, a few varieties of cheese, and then headed to the cellar for the wine.

Elain was feeling hot and heavy. Not because of her menstrual pains–not at all, because Azriel successfully took all of that away–and not even because of her blood, but because of the highly erotic chapter that she just read. And quickly re-read. She couldn’t believe that Azriel read the same thing! It made her tingle in places where she shouldn’t be tingling right now, and brought a wave of heat to her cheeks, and between her legs. Her breasts were aching and her nipples grew hard. It didn’t help that the object of her affection was downstairs, preparing dinner. Gorgeous and red-bloodied Illyrian warrior whose touch drove her wild with lust and desire. And he read this very book–its erotically charged chapters, with the handsome dragon shifter doing things to his phoenix lady that Elain could only dream of. She was so engrossed in the book that she didn’t even notice Azriel, who stood in the doorway, his tattooed forearms crossed on his chest, an amused smirk on his lips.

She blinked at him, pulled back into reality.

“So?” he asked, “did they do it?”

Elain snapped the book closed and exclaimed, “I can’t talk to you about that!”

He laughed and teased, “but why not? I’d like to know what your thoughts are,”

“Well, you can’t!” she argued primly.

“Well…” he sighed. “Maybe later. When you are mine.”

She looked up at him from the bed and he enjoyed watching her squirm under his penetrating gaze, watching her little bare toes scrunching, as she pressed her thighs together.

“Azriel,” she breathed, almost frightened by the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s not negotiable, Elli,” he told her firmly.

“But,”

“It’s all superfluous, you know. All the barriers, real or perceived. You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been, and I won’t let go of the feeling. You’ll be mine.”

Then he tossed her some kind of white lump and said, “for now, go change–I’ve made some adjustments to your pads.”

Elain grabbed the cloth that he gave her and got up from her bed, scurrying to the bathing room. She was still not used to the ease with which Fae males approached menstruation, seemingly unconcerned about it at all, and willing to assist in any manner, treating these messy, violent female cycles as part of their lives just as much as they were part of the females’. Still, at least he didn’t offer to go inside the bathing room with her.

What she was holding in her hand was her usual cloth, but it was folded and stuffed with cotton balls, as well as a strip of bandage inside, which made the whole thing water resistant. She glanced at it, awed. It was genius!

She washed and changed and instead of stuffing her underwear with six cloths, she only needed the one pad. It was actually perfect–comfortable, provided ample coverage, and Elain was thinking how to replicate the design for further usage. When she opened the door into the bedroom, she found Azriel sprawled on her bed, long muscular legs crossed at the ankles, reading her book.

“This is quite the scene!” he decided, looking at her. “Ready to go?”

“Thank you,” she said softly, her cheeks rosy. She had rebraided her hair, put some blush and lip tint on, and changed into a different, prettier shirt. “For the pad…it’s very cleverly made,”

He sat up and said, “glad you liked it. I’ve made you a set. It’s downstairs.”

He got up, took two strides towards her and then swiftly picked her up off the floor.

She absolutely didn’t mind it, though she attempted to protest rather feebly and he basically ignored her with a chuckle.

“No, take the bag!” she pointed to a bag by the door and he grabbed that as well, groaning,

“What the hel is in it, beautiful?”

Azriel carried Elain downstairs and into the dining room, and she gasped, as she took in the beautifully set table, resplendent with lit candles and flowers. The fireplace was lit now, and it made all her Solstice decorations glow and sparkle to her great delight. Azriel gingerly placed her down in the chair and filled her glass with wine, knowing that she liked white. He filled his own, and then stood with his glass raised, saying,

To the blessed darkness from which we are born, and to which we return.

“Happy Solstice, Az,” she smiled at him and he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“Happy Solstice, Elli.”

“Thank you for spending it with me.”

“Of course, beautiful. I’d rather be here, with you, than anywhere else. Now, let’s eat.”

Elain felt like a queen, being cared for and served hand and foot by a mighty Illyrian warrior no less. It was surreal, but it felt nice, and what’s more, it was obvious that Azriel wanted to do this with her, and for her.

He brought platters to the table and then a big bowl of some of the creamiest looking mashed potatoes she’d ever seen. Just the sight of them made her salivate.

“You made these?” she gushed, once he sat down at the table.

“Potatoes for my Elain,” he grinned and placed a heaping serving on her plate.

Elain attacked them ravenously, and Azriel had a satisfied look on his face watching her eat.

“Remember our first Solstice?” she asked him, as she helped herself to more mash. It was truly amazing. Not only delicious, thick and rich, creamy and satisfying, but there was something special to them as well, which she couldn’t quite figure out. It’s like every spoonful gave her strength, made her feel better, eased the heaviness of her cycle.

“How could I forget?” he leaned back in his chair, twirling the glass stem between his fingers. “It was the first time you served me food.”

She swallowed another forkful of potatoes and argued, “it so wasn’t’.

The glass paused mid-air and he looked at her surprised.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Nope,” she popped her lips.

“So when was it then?”

“The potatoes–which I did serve you directly–were just the first time I fed you in public. So everyone could see,” she explained patiently. “But you’ve been eating my food for a long time. All the blackberry tarts and lemon cakes–I make those for you. They are your favourites.”

“You made them for me?” he repeated, his voice quiet.

“Sure did. So, if you believe in all that mating nonsense, then we’ve been mated a long time ago.”

He raised his brow and asked, “Mating nonsense?”

Elain shrugged and sipped her wine. She was feeling pretty good actually. Normal. Like she felt when she had her period when she was human.

“I mean, you can’t possibly believe that a big pot is somehow able to find your perfect counterpart?” she challenged him. “Someone who fits you perfectly, and will love you forever?”

Azriel was so taken aback by her argument, he didn’t know what to say. His belief in the existence and the power of the mate bonds was so ingrained in him, and so unquestionable, he always took it as fact. But…what if…

“Look at Rhys and Feyre,” he threw back at her. “Or Nesta and Cassian,”

“Yeah, bad example,”

“Why is that?”

“Nesta fell in love with Cassian at first glance,” Elain said simply. “A lightning strike. He was everything she ever wanted, ever dreamed of, ever needed–he was perfection in her eyes. It was cute,” she smiled, remembering, “watching her back then. How besotted she was, how she wanted to talk about him all the time, how she’d look up at the skies to see if he might be visiting. All I am saying is that she fell in love with Cassian long before she knew anything about any mate bonds. Even the fact that we were different species didn’t stop her.”

“They do exist though,” he insisted.

She cocked her head and waved her fork around, looking like she was humouring him and his silly beliefs.

“Sure, I guess explain then why I am eating your delicious mashed potatoes on Solstice with you and not with my mate? Why you came here to care for me and cook and why you wanted to spend Solstice with me, and not him?”

To that, Azriel had no answer.

“I don’t believe in mate bonds,” Elain admitted truthfully. “But if it makes it easier for you, then I will feed you all the food you want.”

Lightning struck me too, Azriel wanted to tell her. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you as well.

“What did you add to them?” she wondered, changing the topic and pointing to her plate.

“A little magic,” was all he said.

So she could feel the presence of Truth Teller’s magic. It was good to know.

“I want to give you your presents!” she almost bounced in her chair, rejuvenated by the potatoes and Azriel’s healing magic.

He smiled, “what about dessert?”

“We’ll eat it later. I want to give you your presents.”

“Fine, I want my presents too.”

Impatiently, Elain reached into the bag that she insisted Azriel bring with them.

He wondered what it would be this year. It was always something odd and hilarious.

“The bag is for you,” she said, and sat back, watching him, while he rummaged inside.

Firstly, he took out one book, and then, another.

How to Use Your Words and 10,000 New Words for Your Vocabulary

“Excuse me?” he glared at her, though a smirk threatened to break out on his lips.

She was laughing silently.

“You like?”

“Hmmm…I know there is a message somewhere in there,” he told her, “not sure what it is though.”

“There is one more,” she nodded to the bag.

He took out something soft and then unfolded it.

It was a scarf. It wasn’t a beautiful scarf. It was black, knitted somewhat inexpertly, with a cobalt blue thread running through it.

Azriel’s heart jerked in his chest.

“Did you…” he glanced at her, “did you knit this?”

She nodded, suddenly feeling shy.

“I am not good at knitting,” she confessed quickly. “I know it’s very ugly,”

“It’s not ugly!” he cut her off immediately, feeling the texture of the scarf in his hands, loving it already. “It’s perfect.”

She licked her lips and finally said,

“I think it’s Made.”

“What?”

“I wanted to Make it, so it’s magical,” she wrung her fingers, “it’s supposed to keep you warm at all times. I wanted you to be comfortable when you are out there, on your missions.”

“Elli,”

“Try it tomorrow, when you go to your snowball fight. When the other two are freezing, you should be warm,”

“You are giving me an unfair advantage?” he laughed.

“Umm yes! All is fair in love and war,” she winked. “But then you are expected to win, you know.”

“With this thing warming me up?” he puffed his cheeks, “I will destroy them. They won’t know what came at them.”

She clapped with a nasty little giggle and Azriel couldn’t stop laughing.

Then he got up and went to retrieve something from his jacket. He handed her a flat box and said,

“I know you don't believe in mates, but it’s the prerogative of a mate or a husband to give his woman jewellery for Solstice.”

When she opened the box, she found an opulent hair pin inside. It was stunning–large, so it could actually hold the mop of her thick hair, but also…

“I wanted something that spoke to you and of you,” he began explaining softly. “So I made it look like a flowering branch.”

The delicate branch was gold, and leaves were made of various gemstones–mother of pearl, diamonds, pale sapphires, and tiny specks of stones that she did not recognise.

“Azriel,” he gasped. “I can’t…it’s too much…”

Wordlessly, he picked up the pin from the box and then gently, but firmly thrust it in her hair.

“Beautiful,” he marvelled.

A rush of…power suddenly engulfed Elain. It was different from her own, but also familiar–she recognised it immediately. It was Azriel’s.

Her fingers flew to the pin and she whispered,

“What is it?”

“Tiny bits of my siphon,” he said softly. “For luck, and for you to always have someone of mine. And protection. And when you need a little more power, I hope they give it to you.”

“Az…” she looked up at him, her eyes filled with happiness and tears.

He cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked her face, before drawing slowly over her lips.

“I am tired of hiding, Elli,” he said gravely. “You and I–we are written in the stars. I know it’s more than you expected, but I want the world to know that you are mine. I am your man. No one else. You wear my gifts, my jewels. And you will be claimed as mine. The pin took a year to create, for every stone I found myself, in different parts of the world. When you are mine, I will explain the meaning behind all of them.”

His thumb lightly wrote Mine on her lips.

“I might be Death, but you will forever be my gentle fawn.”

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