#oc veil of dreams | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookslastbutton · 1 year ago

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When I Say Forever ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Today’s your wedding day and the slightly shy yet handsome, doe-eyed stranger who chased after you when you dropped your wallet on the street three years ago just happens to be the man standing before you today.

Original request: can you please write something about oc's and Jungkook's wedding? Your readers just need to witness it. We would highly appreciate it. Thank you!

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre/AU: fluff, smut, wedding au

word count: 4,696

warnings: a cute wedding where jungkook gets emotional and is very eager to be married, they get a little scolded during the ceremony ahaha, jk is romantic and prepares something very special for his lovely bride, mentions of absence of parents on oc's side (nothing gets too deep but I chose to go this route due to the very real factor that parents aren't always around), and finally sexual content bc come on it their wedding night 🥺

sexual warnings: soft dom!jk, sub!reader, swearing, explicit s*x, jk asks for consent bc yeah i don't even need to justify it, f*ngering, oral (both m. and f., multiple orgasms, dry humping, t*tty suck, heavy making out, overstimulation, possessive!kook, m*ssionary, c*wgirl, oc claws at his back which jk seems to have a kink for, a little bit of steamy rivalry at the end (just a hint), our kook is attentive even though it gets kinda rough

now playing: My You by jjk

a/n: my you has been one of my on repeat songs and im not sorry. Also, thank you for the request, i hope this is alright! Anyway pls enjoy! ❤

Dozens of cherry blossom trees are sky-high in the air, covering you as you walk down the aisle in the grass. Some of the blush pink and white blossoms shake from branches every few steps to shower over you in a cascading effect. The temperature is also perfect, a steady 68 degrees.

This is why you and Jungkook chose to marry in the spring–it was beautiful.

You look to your left, then to your right. Rows of seats filled with family, friends, and co-workers stare at you in awe. The only two people missing, however, are your parents.

With the passing of your father years ago and your mother's absence in your life since then, your half of the guest list isn’t extensive by any means. It's for those reasons that you both agreed a small wedding would be ideal.

Still, even with the minimized guest list, you find it difficult to hold eye contact with any of them. It's not because you're nervous exactly–you simply don’t believe your reality is real.

Was this another one of your silly dreams?

Are you going to wake up just as you reach the front?

You keep your eyes straight ahead and towards the man who's waiting for you with tightly clasped hands. He makes all your worries melt away in that instant.

No, you remind yourself. This isn't a dream.

The veil you’re wearing drags on the ground behind you and flows over the small train of your delicate, white gown. You chose a form-fitting sheath dress that’s made from the softest satin fabric. Its clean, sharp lines allow the semi-deep-v neckline to appear more elegant than revealing.

The closer you get the more Jungkook’s cheeks wet with his tears. He knew he was going to cry today. But he was hoping it’d happen towards the end so he could see you walking down the aisle to him without his vision blurring.

“Hi,” he whispers to you once you’re fully in front of him. He wipes his face with his thumbs as subtly as he can.

You bow to each other in greeting and, with the request to join hands from your officiant, you hand your bouquet of fresh-cut flowers to your maid of honor and place your hands in his gentler ones.

“Hi,” you reply, equally quiet and with a small smile.

Jungkook’s dark, raven hair parts in the middle with a few strands tastefully out of place. He’s wearing a black, pin-stripped suit with a matching vest and plain black tie. The white dress shirt underneath is buttoned all the way up to the top too and he’s kept all his piercings in, including his lip ring. He’s unbelievably handsome–and he’s yours.

When your officiant begins making the welcome speech, the guests settle down in their seats all at once. Yet you and Jungkook keep whispering to each other as softly as you can.

“You look amazing.” His thumbs rub soothing circles over the top of your knuckles.

“So do you.” Your gaze holds his reddened ones. The fact that he’s still on the verge of tears causes you to form watery eyes as well. But you blink them back. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know. I feel the same way.” He pauses and grins at you. “Did you see who came with whom?” He gives a side-eye, gesturing at Jimin, one of his best men.

“I saw.” You and Jungkook start giggling at once because the person who Jimin brought as his plus one is perhaps the most annoying person in the world to him–your co-worker who’s had an insane crush on him for the last year. They insisted that Jimin be a “gentleman” and show them a good time while at your wedding.

“Do you think they’ll…you know,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively to finish the sentence.

Jungkook shakes his head lightly. “I don’t know, maybe. I can’t really bother to think about who’ll sleep with who when you’re gonna be the one under me tonight.”

Though he says it with the most sincere tone, more endearing than flirty, you swallow hard. It’s not your first time with Jungkook but you’re unsure what to expect tonight. You’ll be his wife after this.

“Why do you get to top?” you mouth.

Jungkook gives a half-smirk.“Why do you pretend to hate it?”

You open your mouth to form a response but the harsh clearing of a throat behind Jungkook orders you to stop.

“Everyone-ahem-can hear you,” Taehyung coughs. “Stop it for god sake.”

“Yes, if the bride and groom could please save the after-wedding affairs for later, we can move forward with the ceremony. Thankfully I don't see many children in the crowd today,” the officiant adds as humorously as she can and the crowd chuckles.

Oh god. You bite down on your tongue to keep from embarrassing the two of you further.

Once your officiant is able to finish her welcome speech she turns her attention to you. "__ do you want to marry Jungkook, to be your husband, to love and to cherish all the days of your life, today, tomorrow, and always?

"I do. Yes."

She looks at Jungkook afterward. "Jungkook do you want to marry __, to be your wife, to love and to cherish all the days of your life, today, tomorrow, and always?

He stares at you, wordless for a moment as every memory between the two of you hits him like a tidal wave. His hand starts shaking in yours, and tears start spilling from his eyes again.

"You okay?" You whisper and this time it's your turn to rub soothing circles on his hands, calming him down.

"Yeah," he sniffs. "I just never imagined myself to be standing here today. I love you so much."

Your officiant decides it's best to wait for the right time to speak but Jungkook smiles at her softly. "That means yes by the way," he jokes and the guests laugh in unison.

She turns to the ring bearer, aka Namjoon's eight-year-old son who stands on Jungkook's left by his father. "May we have the rings please?"

The boy walks over to her, hands over the small gold bands, then returns to his previous position.

"The couple will now exchange rings as a symbol of their love and devotion. I understand they have prepared their own vows thus binding promises to love, honor, and cherish one another. __, please place this ring on Jungkook’s finger and when you're ready you may begin."

You take the ring and begin slipping it on Jungkook's finger. "They say when you marry someone you become one. You consider each other in every decision, make compromises for the other, and be the strength when the other cannot. We've been together for three years now Jungkook, doing those exact things and I couldn't fathom stopping now. I love you and I promise I'll always be here next to you, however and whenever you need."

"Jungkook," your officiant hands him your ring. "Please place this ring on __’s finger and when you're ready you may begin."

"When I saw you years ago, waiting at the crosswalk, I thought you were the most beautiful and intriguing person I'd ever seen in my life." He puts the ring on your fourth finger. "And then you dropped your wallet and it gave me the best opportunity to approach you. Little did I know, the sight of a man running after would make you run too. But you took my number in the end and three years later, the love of my life is standing before me. Everything I am and have belongs to you __, always and forever."

Your officiant smiles at you both as Jungkook struggles to keep his distance from you a few seconds longer. He's been waiting for this very moment since the day you agreed to be his boyfriend. He just can't take it any longer!

"In the presence of...oh for the love of might," your officiant stops mid-sentence when she sees Jungkook shuffling his feet closer and closer towards you. "Never in my twenty years of performing marriages have I seen a groom this eager to get married. Go ahead and kiss your wife hun! Mr. and Mrs. Jeon Jungkook everyone!"

Massive grin on his face, Jungkook grabs your waist and dips you low into a romantic kiss. The crowd goes wild at the dramatic gesture, whistling and clapping behind you.

After about a million more tears, speeches, first dances, a surprise song preformed by the wedding party, and Jungkook practically ripping off the lace garter around your thigh with his teeth, the wedding festivities come to an end. But not before you both find yourself being guided to a secret place led by Taehyung.

The wedding party insisted you be blindfolded beforehand. So here you are, almost pitch black out and clinging to Jungkook's arm.

"I don't understand why I need to be blindfolded and you don't," you say.

"I'm not sure," he replies. "Maybe they got you a gift or something."

"We're here! Stop!" You hear Taehyung shout from a few feet ahead and Jungkook freezes in place. You're body jolts forward a little with the sudden pause.

"__." Jungkook calls your name softly. "Open your eyes."

You flutter your lids open and at first, the sight before you is hazy as you adjust to the night sky. But then, your jaw drops to the ground.

In front of you is a charming river surrounded by perfectly arched cherry blossoms with lanterns hanging from the branches. All the lanterns illuminate the entire length of the stream, including around the bends and curves. At the edge of the stream is a small dock where a wooden row boat floats with a set of oars inside.

"Oh my god." Your eyes trail as far down the river as you can. You've only ever seen this in movies, so you're incredibly overwhelmed by the sight. "Jungkook, are we-are we going in there?"

He watches as you openly gape at the scene in front of you. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

You whip your head in his direction. "Are you kidding? It's amazing! Did you know about this?"

His big grin tells you everything you need to know.

"He planned everything himself," Namjoon speaks up. "Come on, your boat's waiting. It'll take you all the way to one of the best hotels in Seoul. I know you're going on your honeymoon tomorrow but we thought a night up in a five-star hotel might be nice. Unless you want to go back to Jungkook's house of course but...we kinda already grabbed your suitcases for the trip and had them put in your room."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious __."

You snake your arms out Jungkook's arm and swing them around him. "I can't thank you enough for doing this, Joon."

He places a gentle hand on your upper back. "Of course, but like I said. Jungkook planned everything so you should thank him more than me." He laughs and breaks away from you when he sees the younger man eyeing the two of you excruciatingly close. "I think your husband would like you back now."

Jungkook comes up behind you and sneakily slips your hand in his tatted one. "Are you ready?" He gestures towards the boat.

You nod and he pulls you towards the dock, helping you into the boat first when you approach it. He sits across from you after and grabs the oars of the boats, lowering them into the water one at a time.

"Wait!" Taehyung lunges over the edge of the boat with something small and black in his palm. "Don't forget this." He clips a tiny microphone to his shirt and you scrunch your eyebrows.

"What's this about?" You ask.

Taehyung only half-smirks at you and backs away from the boat. "We'll see you when you come back from the honeymoon okay? Have fun! But please, for the sanity of us all, don't text us any details. In the words of the wise, keep the private things private!"

Jungkook laughs and starts rowing the boat forward and down the stream. You, on the other hand, wave goodbye to everyone as you drift further and further away from the dock.

"So, husband," you sit with your elbows on your knees. "What's the mic for?"

Jungkook doesn't reply but shushes you instead. He tests the mic a couple of times before soft music comes from either side of you. Apparently, there are stereos lined down the banks of the river.

When he starts singing, you cover your mouth in overwhelming joy.

"Summer has already spread in the air

Breeze is already blowing.

The last cold snap is going out

The days were getting longer and longer

But my days were still going on and on and on

I got wet in the sunshower, I looked up at the night sky..."

At this moment the lanterns start twinkling, reflecting like raindrops in the water. You look all around you, taking in the change of atmosphere. Jungkook's cool eyes focus on you intently as he continues serenading you.

"It was quite a lonely night

In the blink of an eye, the dark faded out

Blooming under the sunlight

Memories with me and you..."

The boat rows left and you peer over your shoulder. Taehyung and the rest of the wedding party are barely visible by now. When you look ahead again, you see that you're about to go under a stone bridge. On the other side are more cherry blossom trees and a glimpse of downtown Seoul.

"All these lights are colored in by you

All these times are precious due to you

Four seasons have passed with you

Four scents were left 'cause of you

All the reasons why I can laugh out

All the reasons why I sing this song

Thankful to be by your side now

I'll try to shine brighter than now..."

Jungkook rows the two of you closer to the city as he finishes his song, passing a number of other couples taking night strolls together. The wind blows a little but it doesn't make you shiver at all—his voice warms your soul.

And when you lean in to kiss him once the boat reaches the dock near the hotel, fingers grazing his cheeks, your body yearns to be near his.

It takes little to no time for the two of you to find your hotel room. Jungkook swipes your keycard in the door and in you both go, your hand shamelessly yanks at his tie.

He presses you up the back of the door once it's locked shut and kisses you with a fiery passion. It's different from all the other times; neither rough nor soft, as he sucks on your bottom lip, eagerly begging to deepen the kiss.

"Kook," you let out a muffled moan when his tongue finds its way into your mouth. It's a wrestle at first, your tongues toying with each other. And once you get the hint that he's not about to back down you start threading your fingers through his hair.

"I love it when you do that," he groans and pushes himself against your body, grinding his growing bulge against your center.

You whine against his lips and grind your hips back into his. "I know you do," you tease and a strong pair of hands wander your waist before traveling behind to grip your ass.

You yelp when he squeezes your cheeks and starts rutting himself into you faster. He moves his pillowy lips to the side of your neck too, peppering you with kisses from the the sensitive area right below your earlobe and all the way down to your collarbone.

"Fuck," he grunts, nothing short of frustrated, when your dress stops him from kissing down any further. The hands gripping your ass move up to find the zipper of your gown. "Please, baby, can I remove it?"

"Yes, go ahead," you nod and retract your hands from his hair to let the gown fall off your shoulders. Jungkook watches lustfully as your bare breasts are revealed to him little by little. He's seen them a million times but each time is always like his first, his eyes never fail to dilate.

"Perfect," you hear him whisper under his breath. And when the gown pools to the ground around your feet with a heavy thump, he can't hold himself back any longer.

He needs you.

One by one he starts tearing off his suit jacket, then his vest and leather belt until he's left standing in nothing else left except his black underwear. His muscles bulge without even having to flex and his pecs are more than solid.

If he weren't the love of your life, you'd say he was damn intimidating. Yet the pleasure you get from simply viewing his perfectly toned body is ridiculous and what pushes you further is the gold band wrapped around his fourth finger.

Jungkook must be feeling the same as his hands are back on your hips in the seconds following, pushing you to the wall adjacent to the door and attacking the area near your collarbone again with his plushy lips. You whine when his large pecs rub against your pebbled nipples.

"God what have you been lifting these day Jeon? Half of Seoul?" You rest your hands on his biceps which tense at the touch.

"Uh uh," he tsks in response. "Can't call me that anymore. We share the same name now." He kisses your shoulder then moves his mouth over to a nipple. He licks one first, teasing it with the tip of his tongue until you moan for him to keep going.

"You have such soft boobies," he comments before finally sucking on one. Your head falls back from the pleasure it sends up your spine.

"Do you have to say it like that?"

He switches to the other breast, licking and sucking it firmly like the he'd done previously. "What's wrong with boobies? I like the word."

You chuckle and decide to let him have his fun. Pick you battles __, you hum to yourself.

Jungkook tugs at the string of your underwear after placing one last kiss atop each boob. He slowly pulls the thin material down your legs at your consent and you step out from them.

"Lean against the wall and throw your leg over my shoulder," he tells you on bended knees.

You do as he says, swinging a leg over his shoulder. The movement has his head face to face with your cunt which is not in the least bit dry from all the teasing and grinding earlier.

Jungkook sticks a finger in his mouth, wetting it with his spit and then rubs it back and forth between your folds. The lubrication mixes with your own arousal.

"Jungkook," you whine when he doesn't sink his finger in right away, despite the fact that you're well prepared for it.

He blinks at you through his lashes with a devious smirk. "What?" He asks. "You don't like this?"

"I do but I need more. Please," you beg. "Fingers. In me. Please."

He groans at the way your voice seems to crack the more you beg. Well, he's made you wait long enough. Jungkook pushes his finger into your velvet walls all at once, dragging it back and forth in search of your sweet spot.

He knows he's found it when you instantly buck your hips and the leg that's over his shoulder reflexively clamps down on him.

"Right here?" He curls his finger inside you and it has your pussy already throbbing for him. You don't even have to ask for a second finger before he does the honors himself, sliding another into you then proceeding to make a scissoring motion with both digits. "Or here?" He asks again.

"Anywhere," you barely make out through your gasps. "Just don't stop what you're doing."

"What if I wanna lick your pussy?" He pumps his fingers faster all while maintaining focus on your face. "Make you come all over my tongue."

"God Kook, do whatever you want," you reply and it's all the push he needs to remove his fingers from out of you to replace it with his mouth. "Fuck!" You cry as he desperately licks long stripes up your slippery folds, tongue dipping inside for additional pleasure.

He repeats the motion several times until he decides its not enough and sucks on your clit.

"Oh, that feels so good, fuck, fuck Jungkook," you moan with eyes closed and a shaky breath.

Your legs start trembling as your first orgasm of the night builds inside. It gets closer and closer as Jungkook works faster and faster before finally, the cord inside you breaks free.

Jungkook happily swallows as much of your cum as he can. He uses his wrist to wipes his mouth after, cleaning up any leftover.

"First time eating my wife out," he starts, guiding your leg over his shoulder back on the ground. "What a fucking turn on."

Jungkook stands up and pulls you into an embrace with both hands, your bare bodies press tight against each other. Then, without any warning, he swoops up your legs with one hand supporting your lower back and lifts your into his arms.

"Kook!" You call his name in suddeness of the action.

"Yes? What is it wife?" He carries you to the large, king size bed that's covered in rose petals and lays you on top. His handsome face leans over you with careful, attentive eyes while a hand reaches for one of the soft pillows nearby to slip under your head.

It's now that the weight of the moment hits you, as if you've just doven off a steep cliff and head first into the rushing rapids of the ocean.

"I love you," you say.

Jungkook sticks his thumbs in the band of his underwear and pushes it down until he can easily remove them. He's fully hard when he crawls over top of you after, and places his hands on either side of your head.

"I love you too." He lowers his head to capture your lips into a deep kiss. "Now," he continues, sitting up on his knees and shimmying his thighs up your frame. "I think I might need some help here."

He grips his pulsating length, tan tip leaking with pre-cum. You widen your mouth gladly and he shoves his length to the back of your throat.

"Mm!" You gag but to say you hate it would be a lie.

Jungkook doesn't move at first, letting you get used to the weight of his cock on your tongue first. He bites his lip as you hallow your cheeks the best you can.

"I don't want to come, I just want it wet okay?" He tells you and you nod in understanding. "Fuck, so good," he lets out a throaty growl after the first thrust.

You suck him as hard as you can as he fucks your mouth at a steady pace, making sure his cock will be nice and well-lubricated with your spit this time.

"Can't believe we're married," he thrusts faster, teeth clenching together. "My wife, mine forever. No one else can have you. I won't let them."

You blink your glassy eyes at him, thighs struggling to rub together due to the arousal pooling between your legs for the tenth time tonight.

You love him so fucking much.

Jungkook pulls himself out of your mouth while you're in thought, a string of spit following. He backs himself down your body until he can properly hover over you in a straddling position.

"Legs up," he commands and you wrap them around his waist in a criss-cross position. His wetted length finds your entrance with little guidance and pushes forward, stretching your walls so deliciously well.

"Oh my god," you shudder as his cock sinks all the way in thanks to both of you being incredibly worked up and lubricated. Your hands fly under his arms after two thrusts, to grip his back. "Fuck, you're so deep Kook."

"I know, holy shit," he grunts and beats himself into you. He likes the feeling of your body bouncing up and down underneath him so leans down on his elbows to fuck you faster and harder. "I think this might be the deepest I've been in you baby, so wet for me—fuck!"

He moans loudly when your nails claw his back. "Shit I'm sorry!" You relax your fingers immediately when he winces at the slight pain.

"No," he nips at your jaw. "I like it, keep doing it. Mark me up." He snaps his hips into yours and you claw at his back again, harsher than the last time; not enough to hurt him but enough to make him moan in your ear over and over again.

"Jungkook! Too much," you pant as he burries his head in your neck, trailing hot open mouth kisses to the area. "It's too much, I'm gonna come!"

"Fuck, that's the goal baby!"

"Yeah but, don't wanna come so soo—"

He shuts you up with his tongue shoving between you lips, kissing you with a purpose. You's body squirms at the pleasure and you find yourself clenching around his thick length that yes, twitches in response.

"Three years together and you still think I'll give you one round and call it quits. Since when baby?" He groans as he feels himself achingly close to his high (you too). "Tell me, since fucking when?" He emphasizes once more.

You're too lost in how close you are to your second orgasm to give him an answer.

"That's right, never."

One hard thrust later and you come on his length. It takes little time before he releases in you as well, yet he continues his pace.

"That's one down," Jungkook says, riding out both your orgasms which slowly works you up to another. "Not including any eating out. And if my memory serves our record is five. Don't you think we should surpass that now that we're legally bonded to each other Mrs. Jeon? In sickness and in health was it?"

"I'm still trying to recover from the first two orgasms I had tonight, including the fingering and you relentless dry humping."

"Baby," he coos. "My sweet baby, come here." With both arms Jungkook lifts your body with his until you're both in an upright, seated position. Your legs that were once wrapped around his waist rest on the mattress as he thrust up into your cunt. "Don't you know I just want to make you feel good? Why recover when you can be wrecked so heavenly over and over again?"

You moan and squeeze your hands on his shoulder. Jungkook studies your face, maintaining slow, calculated thrusts into you.

"Come for me again," he says.

And you do, sticky white liquid dripping down to the base of his cock and onto the sheets under you.

"You enjoyed that didn't you?" He smirks. "Let's see you get on all fours now. I'd love to see how well my wife takes it from behind."

You catch him off guard by pushing on his chest and guiding him flat on his back. "Mm no," you refuse him. "I think I'd like to get a taste of my husband as a bottom instead."

Jungkook's cock hardens inside you and his fingers settle around your hips as he smirks up at you. "Go ahead then," he tests. "Try getting yourself off."

"You think I can't do it?" You narrow your eyes and grind forward on his cock, earning you a deep growl from your new husband.

"We'll see how long you'll last before I have to flip you on your back and take over," he spats. "But good luck beautiful."

With a huff and determination in your eyes, you start a strong pace. Jungkook watches you with lustful eyes as you bounce on him– enjoying the show a little too much.

a/n: Thanks for reading! Lmk what you think 🥰

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toodelusionalforreality · 5 months ago

Text

Azriel x OC | Chapter 3

Bastards

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Sanctuary

Word count: ~9.4k Warning: Slight mentions of blood [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. A lot is going on here that editing is a lost cause. I'm sincerely praying none of you know anything about fighting.

Ahead.

His shadows urged him as if he couldn’t hear the call himself. They snaked through the trees, leading him through a darkness softer than their own. The melody tugged at his heart, enough for him to lurch forward, tripping and stumbling over the overgrown roots under his feet. Her voice grew nearer, clearer, the tremors in it raking over his skin.

Ahead.

As he emerged through the entangled branches, his breath hitched. Moonlight broke through the canopy and illuminated a wide circle in the clearing. And she at the centre of it, her head tipped skyward.

Her shirt, barely a white veil in the dim light, caressed her skin as the breeze danced to the rhythm of her song, her words unintelligible and foreign. The soft waves of her hair whipped in the gentle wind. A thick white mist stood a barrier between them, shielding her from him as though she wasn’t his to embrace.

Ahead.

He took another step. Twigs snapped under him. The fog lifted. She lowered her eyes and blinked. Her lips stopped moving. She stood, frozen in front of him, radiant than a full moon above the mountains. The word hung in the air, whispered by his shadows and the breeze.

Mate.

Azriel opened his eyes to a cloud of darkness flittering above him. With each gasp of breath, the weight in his chest sank a little deeper. Every time he saw the same face. Some nights, she sang for him under the golden lights in her bar. On others, they were far away from the rest of the world, alone and safe. But she always smiled. At him, only him.

Despite the torture of facing reality at the crack of his dreams, he went to sleep every night only to catch a glimpse of her.

Masochist, he might be, but it was all Azriel had of her.

His brothers never mentioned being plagued by visions of their mates after the mating bond snapped for them. He didn’t have the gall to ask either, partly because he didn’t dare believe it was what he suspected it to be. The clear whisper from his shadows only haunted him in his dreams. A mere word said into his ears once and gone, leaving him to wonder if he had dreamt it as much as his hallucinations of her. But every time he woke up with his skin prickling with need and heart swelling with bittersweet longing, he swore he smelled that same fragrance of spices.

And then, there was the matter of the bond itself. His emotions and desires came crashing down on him so fiercely, so fast, that there was no other explanation, even if he wanted to deny it. The tether wound tight around his heart every time he refused to seek her. But it was quiet. So eerily quiet. If he sensed her, he told himself, he would know for sure.

His brothers realised the moment the growl erupted from his throat. They scented the bond on him, Rhys had said. It was the feral look in his eyes that had convinced Cass though. Azriel believed him, for he had wanted to tear every limb of the man that night.

He could see it as he sat in the booth with his hands fisted on the table—thundering up the stairs past Uri’s protests, ripping the door that snapped shut softly above them off its hinges, going straight for the man’s throat. He wouldn’t have used his knife. No, he had wanted to do it with his bare hands.

Darkness exploded around him at the sight of the locked office door. His siphons shone bright like hellfire against the black of his shadows. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him out of the bar a minute later, his shadows would have claimed the one who belonged with them, belonged with him .

What truly stopped him was her eyes.

Even after months, he remembered the pure disdain and disgust that filled them when she defended the fae against a pervert. The flicker of alarm, the following rage, and then the void. No, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to be the cause of it. Mate or not, he didn’t want her to look at him with those eyes.

And when he shot to the skies and flew over Velaris until sunrise—afraid to stop, afraid he might end up in front of her doors—all he thought of was her smile, her voice, her.

His brothers didn’t bother to stop him. Even Cass didn’t make one of his jokes. After hours of trailing him, they left him to his own misery. But not before a slow, careful presence nudged against his mental wards as if he were a breath away from shattering.

Whatever you’re tempted to do, Rhys had voiced when Azriel allowed him in, don’t.

And he listened.

He listened every day since. He fought his impulses to run to her, to see whether she had felt anything that night. Even when he knew mating bonds didn’t work that way.

Rhys made it easy though, or so Azriel believed, by sending him on mission after mission with barely any day to spare in between. Months ago, he would have visited Pharus even during only a day’s break. But now, he didn’t trust himself enough to be in the vicinity of the bar, day or night.

Cass took the honour of owning the loosest lips in the family by telling everyone what had transpired that very night. Apparently, Rhys had wanted to wait until Azriel was ready.

One look at Mor’s brown eyes and he knew when the conversation veered towards Ayla. But five centuries of friendship counted for something as she picked up on signs of his frustration and let him be. Nesta gave him a disapproving stare but respected his silence, on occasions. At least Cass backed off when he showed no interest in pouring his heart out like a lovesick youth.

But Feyre, believing she was as sly as her mate, took him on errands for her paint supplies. And supposedly remembered an important meeting always somewhere close to a specific red-bricked building. Azriel wasn’t a fool, and so he left his High Lady to attend her meetings alone. Honestly, it was Elain’s company he tolerated, the only one in his family who never asked about Ayla or his brooding over his own cowardice.

Rhys’s generosity lasted for a whole of three grand weeks. He dismissed every pressing concern Azriel brought to him and bound him home. With an endless list of people who loved to pry into his matters, each day posed a new kind of torture.

Given they were aware of his obsession with the middle Archeron sister and the consequent dispute with his brother—the High Lord, it was safe to say his longing to be mated like his brothers surfaced with not much of a shock. And they all had one question.

Why hadn’t he done anything yet?

To begin with, Ayla barely knew of his existence. When the mating bond snapped for his brothers, they were acquainted with their mates to some extent. Feyre knew Rhys enough to hate him. Nesta and Cass. . . they were at each other’s throats as much as in each other’s pants. And he distinctly remembered Elain’s reaction. She hated Lucien when he declared the bond in front of everyone, resented him for it, and resisted it with all her might.

So Azriel listened. He stayed away.

He stayed away as years of rejection finally caught up to him and fear snagged his heart. He stayed away though centuries-long prayers were answered in a heartbeat. He stayed away when everything he ever wanted was so close to his reach.

Shackled to home day after day, his options were limited—antagonising himself with his family’s nosiness, running errands which gave his legs, wings and shadows a reason to seek Ayla, or training.

‘Ready to talk?’ asked Cass the moment his brother took his stance before him and raised his fists to his chin.

Azriel threw the first punch, and that was the end of that conversation.

It became the new routine. Waking up at night with thoughts of her and releasing his tension in the ring in the morning. He expected Cass to coax him into action, but Rhys was the one to intervene.

Glaring at his brother’s back, Azriel froze in his steps. Close to the southern border of Velaris, stood a lone white stone building along the wide bend of Sidra curving into the city. The turquoise blue on the carved iron doors demanded attention from miles away. One of the heavy double doors was pulled open while the other remained closed, blocking the view of the inside. Through the mesh-covered grilled window, hot air billowed out only to be carried downwind over the waters. Smoke coiled out of a chimney in the back.

Two horses—creatures of beauty and grace complimenting each other in every way—were tied to the stump outside a modest stable erected beside the quaint smithy. One, as stark as Rhys’s hair and the other, as pale as Amren’s grey eyes. They shuffled silently at the sight of the three brothers who invoked their primal need to surrender their beastly control.

‘Why are we here?’ Azriel ground out. His hands clenched, twitching to throw his brother into the river. Not nearly adequate, but enough to get his point across.

Rhys adjusted the cuffs of his tunic. ‘I fancied a new blade. It’s been a while since I got any, don’t you think? You could get one too.’ He glanced over his shoulder with the same insufferable smirk at the Truth-teller strapped to Azriel’s thigh. ‘Give it a little rest maybe.’

Cass rubbed his sore shoulder from two mornings ago. ‘Do you think I enjoy getting my ass handed to me every day?’ He scowled, stalking up to the two wide doorsteps made of the same stone as the building. ‘I don’t care what you do there. Get. Inside. ’

Azriel stared. Cass stared back.

His brother’s solution to everything was training until his body was limp and trembling. If Azriel had gotten him grumbling about a few landed hits, he definitely pushed this too far. He took a step forward and Cass breathed in relief.

Rhys opened the other door and peered inside.

Azriel came up behind him and said quietly, ‘You told me not to do anything.’ His shadows drifted ahead before he could reel them back.

‘That night, Az.’ Every trace of amusement disappeared from Rhys's face. Shaking his head, he entered the shop with his brothers on his trail. ‘I told you not to do anything stupid that night.’

A short counter took the space along the breadth of the room across the door. A metal mesh formed part of the wall on their left separating the forge from the shop front. Wood groaned and crackled beyond the partition as a shadow moved in front of a glowing furnace.

To their right, cabinets with glass doors spanned the wall from floor to ceiling. One half showcased knives, swords, and arrowheads made of iron and steel fit for regular use. The other exhibited an interesting collection.

The polished metal of the blades gleamed with a liquid sheen under the soft morning light. Gold and silver made their hilts. Gems of every colour, cut and size adorned the intricate swirls along them. Little wooden placards took a place next to each with centuries, lands—except Night Court—and a few names of fae lords, long dead or forgotten, etched on them.

The brothers studied each weapon carefully, their breaths held in reverence in the presence of ancient blades that had been lost in time, wielded by warriors who once walked and warred and bled to death.

If his brothers chose to wield a sword of their own and name it, Azriel knew, long after they were gone, they would be as coveted as the ones before them. One day, his Truth-Teller would be too, and it had nothing to do with him. The sheathed knife weighed heavy on his thigh as to confirm his belief.

Metal groaned behind them. A man pushed the mesh wall aside and came through. He offered a mild smile, sealing the path again.

Azriel had seen an uninhibited version of that smile once, hated it, and wanted to carve it out of that face.

Cass strode past to Rhys and blocked him from the clueless fae. He muttered under his breath, ‘What were we thinking? This is a bad idea.’

But his brother smiled smoothly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Azriel resisted the urge to snarl at the man. His shadows curled around his ears, hissing how they wished to shred the one who dared touch Ayla apart. His face that brought a smile to hers, his lips that kissed her cheek, his hand that held her body. Another reason he had stayed away.

‘How can I help you?’

Orvin was no warrior but his build suggested he could handle himself in a fight. His wrapped hands implied he indeed helped Ayla in the workshop. His eyes held an effortless sparkle, unlike the one Azriel usually had to muster for anyone but his family. His short chestnut hair curled at the ends and all Azriel could think was the way Ayla would have tugged at them that night when he—

‘We were hoping to talk to her.’ Rhys tipped his head to the mere shadow looming beyond the makeshift wall against the roaring golden of the fire.

Orvin folded his arms across his chest. His smile faltered a little. ‘She’s busy. Whatever you’re looking for,’ he nodded at the case beside them, ‘you can find it here.’

Cass’s eyes roved over every steel with the warrior's scrutiny, unable to resist his instincts. ‘They’re not good enough.’

And Rhys didn’t deign to look at them, ‘We have a special request.’

In a blink, Orvin stood to his full height—his chin held high, his smile vanishing. ‘She doesn’t work with lords and High Lords.’

While Azriel watched her as she moved farther into the shadows, Rhys purred, ‘Surely you can make an exception once.’

Metal hit metal in a steady rhythm in the other room. For long minutes, they stared at each other. Feet shuffled. A harsh hiss cut through the silence.

Orvin remained unfazed. ‘She doesn’t make exceptions. For anyone. You can either buy one of these or leave.’

All his life, very few who weren’t a lord or High Lord had defied Rhys. He never abused his power in Velaris. It was one of the reasons the city thrived and people admired him. Still, no one ever forgot who he was and what he was capable of under that beautiful face and charming smile.

Yet, the sheer arrogance Orvin radiated at that moment, looking down at the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed like the scums he drove out of the shop, was not something anyone had dared do before. He either had a lot of courage or little common sense to deny Rhys what he wanted.

‘I’m no lord,’ Azriel said finally, his voice gratefully even and low. ‘She makes weapons for others though, doesn’t she?’

Orvin slid his gaze to the darkness swarming the shadowsinger's shoulders, ripples and ripples of them challenging him, threatening him. He brought his eyes back to the glowering hazel ones that promised nothing good. Then he turned to the forge. ‘I’ll have to ask her first.’

‘Don’t tell her who we are,’ added Rhys softly.

Orvin paused to throw a warning look over his shoulder. The sliding door clanked gently into the stone wall behind him.

Azriel heard her heart beat as steady as every clang of metal that rang through the air. Time crawled as he waited and waited. For a moment, he considered if Orvin had returned to his work instead. Finally, every sound came to a halt when light footsteps headed towards them.

‘Make yourself presentable,’ her friend sighed. His voice was smooth as a caress when he spoke to her.

Her feet stopped. She took one sharp breath and bit out, ‘If they want me to look pretty, they shouldn’t interrupt me while I’m working.’

Cass pressed a fist to his lips in a useless attempt to hide the stupid grin on his face. Rhys turned to him, his usual amused eyes glowing that set Azriel’s nerves on edge.

Another sigh, long and deep. ‘At least wash your face.’

‘I regret hiring you.’

Her quiet grumble left Azriel’s heart fluttering in his chest. He surveyed a short sword perched on the lowest shelf to hide his smile from his brothers who watched him intently.

‘You wouldn't have a business without me,’ Orvin’s voice followed her to the back and the sound of running water muted his words. ‘How do you plan on selling anything when you hate talking to your customers? You need me to run this place.’

Water splashed. ‘And you get compensated for it.’

In her bed. The words birthed something wretched and slimy in his gut. Azriel closed his eyes as if the simple act could erase his filthy thoughts. With each breath, he tamed the self-loathing that filled him at his own perverseness.

Rhys spoke with a touch of kindness. ‘She doesn’t take an interest in him that way.’

‘Did you,’ his words came out in a low growl and Azriel didn’t try to hide it, ‘look into her mind?’

Though his brother had done it to many over the centuries, none of them ever tempted him to throttle Rhys to death. He could have as well laid his hand on Ayla in ways he shouldn’t.

Rhys simply shook his head. The cockiness in his eyes from mere seconds ago vanished as a calm contemplation replaced it, the one that overtook him in the face of an unknown opponent.

His. Hers is shielded. Rhys held his brother's glare and admitted solemnly, That night in the bar, she knew I peeked into her mind. I didn’t mean to. Her shields went up so fast I could barely find my way out. She knew what she was doing, Azriel. But she didn’t chase me. Any Daemati would have, but she didn’t.

That was months ago and Rhys chose to disclose it with Ayla only a few feet away. Revealing it now meant one thing. A warning. To a brother. From the look on Cass’s face, it was obvious he had been privy to that information as well.

The groan of wheels against the floor brought the three out of their mental conversation. Ayla walked out, wiping the back of her neck with a washrag. A sheen of sweat coated her flushed skin below her collarbones. Hair slipped loose from her braid curling along the curve of her face. She didn’t come any closer.

Azriel had been so wrong. He had a glimpse of her legs that night, and yet he never could have imagined what he saw in front of him.

Her oversized shirts and pants were a disguise for what truly lay underneath. Every inch of her body was a sculpted perfection. Every curve and dip of muscle earned from years of training and discipline. Her light sleeveless shirt hung off her shoulders and shifted with each breath she took. The tunic underneath and her dark pants clung to her like a second skin. The scratch on her exposed calf had turned into a fading pale strip. And a fresh scorch mark stained the inside of her forearm.

How long had it been since that night? Weeks? Months? It felt like aeons. And now he stood in her presence, mere steps away from touching her. If he wanted, if she allowed. Azriel couldn’t breathe. His hands trembled by his side. He focused his will on binding his shadows to himself as they chanted her name and begged to be set loose.

‘What can I do for you?’ Her voice lost the airiness from moments ago. Her words were polite, yet her frown asked— Why are you bothering me?

Rhys smiled like the beautiful prick he was. ‘We hear you're crafty with weapons. We’d like to commission you to make one for us.’

None of the brothers missed the slight roll of her eyes. ‘We don’t make weapons. The ones on display are for sale. My partner will help you with that.’

Her partner leaned against the sliding door, wearing a smirk on his face. A smug, satisfied smirk.

Ayla turned around. She was halfway through the door when Rhys’s words stopped her. ‘That’s not what I heard. You have quite the reputation all over Prythian. And beyond.’

‘You heard wrong.’ She noted each of their faces with nothing but a blank observation.

Don’t you remember me? Azriel wanted to ask like an insolent child. You sang for me!

‘So what’s that hammering back there about?’

‘I deal with arrogant fae men every day. Helps with stress.’

Rhys lifted a brow. Ayla mimicked him.

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle. A calm warmth smothered the anger, jealousy, and everything vile that consumed his heart.

‘Indulge us,’ Rhys gave her a smile that charmed everyone into compliance. ‘Just one weapon. It shouldn’t be much trouble.’

Ayla blinked.

‘For him,’ Orvin lifted his chin, ‘at the back.’ Maybe she wasn’t into him, but he sure seemed to be protective of her.

Ayla dragged her eyes across his face, peering through the mask of indifference he wore, or Azriel hoped he did.

‘One for each of us,’ amended Rhys, earning a glare from her partner.

‘Special requests cost extra.’

Orvin paled. He opened his mouth but Rhys interrupted, ‘We can afford it.’

‘This way.’

Ayla turned on her feet and headed back.

Orvin stalked her, his eyes widening and yet, they softened for her, ‘Listen, they are—’

‘It’s fine. I’ll handle it.’

‘But they are—’

A heavy quiet fell in the room. The brothers went in before Orvin revealed their identity. Heat swallowed them the moment they set foot inside the forge. Sweat trickled down their bodies, making their leathers stick uncomfortably.

Azriel tucked his wings close to his back, wading through the narrow path between two wooden worktables. He keenly avoided the fire that gorged on coals on his left. The scarred skin on his hands stung and tingled. His shadows swarmed away to his other side, twitching against his wing.

As they crossed to the end of the room, he took in a breath, her overwhelming scent etched in every corner soothing him. The sweet and bitter scent of spices. All those months when he had thought it was the bar, it had been her.

Ayla stopped in front of a carved wooden door. Removing a heavy iron key from a hook above her head, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside.

All the while, Orvin stood beside her and scowled at Rhys. His brother flashed him one of his perfect grins and peeked into the room over Ayla's shoulder.

Azriel appreciated one thing—her partner’s refusal to back down even knowing who Rhys was. And couldn’t decide how he felt about his unwavering loyalty to his mate.

‘It wasn’t my fault this time,’ called out a voice. A young fae, no older than twenty, walked in and came to a halt when she spotted the three brothers.

Her skin glowed golden in the light from the furnace and the brown in her eyes turned into a pool of molten copper. A purple bruise adorned her child-like face from her cheekbone to her jaw.

Ayla arched her brow, bored and challenging.

The fae shrugged, but there was panic in her eyes. Fear of disappointing Ayla, Azriel realised. ‘I mean it! He came at me.’

Finally, losing interest in the brothers, Orvin went to the girl. ‘When did this happen?’

Her thick red hair swayed as she jerked her face out of his grip. She scanned them from head to toe, the frown on her lips deepening with each passing glance. ‘You’d make a knife for another one of these rich bastards, but not me?’

‘I’ll consider making one for you when you come in here without a scratch,’ said Ayla mildly.

‘I have to stop defending myself against those bastards to get a weapon?’

With her bared teeth and fiery eyes, the fae looked like a portrait of a feral cub. The brothers tried to hold in their smiles.

Ayla cut them the same bored look and it was enough to sober them up. When she turned to the fae, her eyes shone. ‘I meant don’t get hit.’

For a moment, the girl only blinked. Then her lips parted in a childish grin as she let Orvin inspect her bruises and answered his questions.

When none of the brothers moved, Ayla said to Rhys, her face placid. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Azriel couldn’t hide his smile this time. He bowed his head as he entered the room after his brothers. The shell of his wing brushed against her shirt and a shiver shot down his spine.

A short writing desk stood beside the door. Ayla went on to pluck a notebook from the shelf next to it leaving the brothers to their inspection. The room, almost as big as the store and forge combined, included a training mat in the middle. Weapons ranging from knives to swords to maces to war hammers were mounted on one wall. The other carried practice weapons with blunt edges and wooden swords. Long windows, as wide as his hand, split the continuous racks on either side. No way in or out except for the carved door.

‘Who is she?’ asked Rhys, eyeing her every move.

Cass had been unnaturally quiet since they arrived.

Ayla unwound the thread holding the notebook close. ‘I don’t see how she's your concern.’ She flipped through the pages, the soft crinkle echoing through the air. She continued without looking at them, ‘You will not tell anyone that I made these for you. You will not speak of this room to anyone. You will return here if and only if you need a replacement.’

‘You seem to be fond of rules,’ Rhys drawled with a tilt of his head, gauging her every reaction, her every word, her every breath.

She lifted one of her beautifully arched brows. ‘You can leave if that’s an inconvenience to you.’ With a pencil in her hand, she looked up. ‘I’ll need your names.’

‘Silence for silence. We won’t talk about you and you won’t know us.’ The words fell off Rhys's lips as if he had been expecting it.

‘This is for me. You shall choose your weapons today. If you prove safe to use one, you will get one.’

Rhys stared at her. Ayla stared back. Her face was a vision of calmness, one that even he never mastered.

A minute passed. Then another. The silence was stifling. His shadows nipped at his neck.

Speak .

Azriel took a steadying breath.

Speak.

He opened his mouth.

‘Rhysand. Call me Rhys since we’re about to be good friends.’

No widening of eyes, no parting of lips in a soft gasp, no shaky breath as the name hung in the air.

Instead, Ayla stood still. Her eyes roved over Rhys’s form in an agonisingly slow, measured scrutiny. She took in every feature, from his infuriatingly perfect face to his broad shoulders to his toned chest to his shaped legs. And all the while, Azriel ground his teeth.

‘Rhysand it is,’ she said in a voice that left his skin prickling. She made notes in her notebook and his shadows writhed to know what she observed.

Cass crouched in front of the stack of longswords finer than Illyrian blades. He had a sincere smile on his lips and appreciation in his eyes. ‘You know how to use all these weapons?’

‘Most of them, yes. Others, I have a working knowledge.’ Ayla frowned, shrugging a shoulder. Her gaze lifted to Rhys again before she jotted more. Finally, she closed the notebook marking the page. ‘Pick your weapon.’

Rhys walked along the shelves surveying the assortment, before he stopped in front of the double-edged swords. He ran his finger over the one at his eye level. Sunlight hit its gilded dark edge and scattered on his palm. A thick white rope corded along the length of its hilt for a better grip.

‘Which one do you recommend?’ He asked softly with a ring of awe in his voice.

‘It’s not up to me to decide yet. First, I need to know what you can do.’ Rhys looked over his shoulder and she added, ‘We’ll assess your strengths. Pick a weapon of your choice. Knock me off my feet.’

Rhys faced her with a wicked smile. Cass grinned walking up to Azriel. His brothers knew. Even his shadows didn’t find out this little slice of detail in their spying.

Ayla moved to one end of the mat. Her feet planted shoulder-width apart. Her hands clasped behind her back. She had not an ounce of doubt or worry on her face as she waited.

Did she know who they were? Would she still be calm if she knew of the wars they had seen and fought in? The Illyrian wings must have clued her in. Yet, she stood poised and composed.

Rhys lifted his hand, fingers brushing against each other, ready to get rid of his jacket with a single snap. Then, he reached for the buttons instead.

Ayla didn’t even blink at the sight of his naked warrior torso, and a petty satisfaction churned in Azriel's heart. Her gaze shifted though, when he picked a broadsword, the one he admired.

Her brows furrowed, ‘You sure?’

‘Your turn,’ was Rhys’s only reply as he swung the steel, testing its balance.

‘I don’t need one.’ Rhys looked up. Ayla shrugged, ‘I’m making an assessment. I don’t need a blade for that. When you’re ready.’

Grasping with both hands, Rhys adjusted his grip on the hilt and grounded his feet. He winked at Azriel. How do you like her now?

How did he like her? He wanted to shove her against the wall and devour her lips. He wouldn’t care if his brothers watched. He wouldn’t care if the whole of Prythian watched. He wanted to feast on her, feel her body against his, naked and sweaty. He wanted to run his tongue over her skin until the taste of her was all he remembered.

Azriel took a shuddering breath and crossed his arms against his chest. His shadows sheathed his body hiding the one true indication of where his thoughts had wandered. His brother chuckled, and he scrambled to put his mental shield back up, tripping over and over again.

Rhys took a step forward and swung his sword lightly. Ayla didn’t move. He inched forward and did it again. Not a blink. He held back his thrusts, stopping short with lazy flicks.

Azriel smirked at his dilemma. How do you like her now?

Rhys straightened, his hand and sword limp by his side. ‘At least pick one of those blunt ones,’ he smiled. ‘It’s impolite enough to fight a lady.’

The corner of her lips twitched. ‘If I need a blade to win a fight, I'd rather learn how to fight first.’

Cass laughed and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. ‘She’s fun. I bet—’

‘We both can’t bet against him.’ Azriel grinned back.

‘Ten gold marks says Rhys will be on his ass in fifteen.’

‘Twenty marks. And make it ten.’

Rhys opened his mouth when Ayla sighed softly to herself, ‘Rich bastards indeed.’

The three brothers shut up but had identical grins plastered on their faces.

Rhys moved in the precise steps he had mastered over years and years in war camps and battlefields. His hands set to motion to match his stride—fluid, quick. The edge almost grazed her arm and Ayla leaned back an inch.

Pulling the sword back, he swung it to her other side. Ayla swerved, but barely. Every move was calculated, nothing more than to dodge the attacks, none to waste her energy or lose her balance.

Rhys noticed too. Do you mind if I nick her a bit?

Azriel smiled. You can try.

Smirking, Rhys launched into attack after attack. With each step, he pushed her back. He cornered her against the wall stacked with the training swords, careful not to hurt her, much.

And she stood rooted every time, her hands behind her back.

Her body twisted and stretched with grace. Her feet slid against the floor in effortless drags. Her serene face gave away none of her thoughts. Her gaze darted between his arms and legs, swift and cunning. A glimmer flickered in her eyes but it vanished as soon as she blinked.

In her presence, at the sight of her, Azriel trembled—not out of fear. But with need, with reverence. He wanted to run his hands down her every curve and watch her move at his touch, at his kiss. Just the thought of the curl of her delicate body against his or the glide of her hands along his skin was too much to bear. Every fibre in his body cried to get on his knees for her.

Rhys swept high and went for her neck. Ayla moved with the blade, ducked low, and turned away as she grasped a wooden sword off the rack and blocked his next strike.

‘I thought you didn’t need a weapon,’ Rhys smirked and aimed for her leg.

Ayla sighed, twisting out of his reach. ‘You’re taking too long.’ She nodded at their audience, ‘And I have other customers.’

She made no attacks. Splinters flew with each blocked hit. Every move was as fluid as her breathing.

Rhys quickened his pace. His smile fell off his lips, but the spark in his eyes remained. He went for her shoulder, the flat of his sword hoisted to land a hard blow.

Ayla leaned back, dropping to her knees, her sword tucked along her spine. She swivelled around and rose to her feet behind him. The blunt tip of her sword tapped Rhys thrice. On the back of his neck, right behind his heart, at the base of his spine.

They were done in seven.

Azriel was mesmerised. He had never seen anyone move with such precision or swiftness. But he didn't have the chance to linger on what she had done for long.

‘Or your wings if I’m being generous with your life.’ She walked past Rhys back to her desk, ‘Do you not prefer using them in close-range combat?’

Rhys faced her, palming the spot on his neck where he took the soft hit. His lips parted with a mild gasp. ‘You can see them?’

Ayla shrugged and opened her notebook. ‘Most glamours don’t work on me. They are still hidden by shadows.’ She glanced at Azriel, and he sucked in a breath. ‘Not like his. But faint outlines, more of a disguise by a dark smoke.’

Azriel hadn’t realised his shadows were perched on his shoulders, watching her without their usual chatter.

‘It’s not a glamour,’ mumbled Rhys. The earlier wariness returned to his eyes as he met his brother’s stare.

She wrote in her notebook again. ‘Then I don’t have an explanation for it. That one is too heavy for you,’ she peeked at the sword in his hand, a frown tugging at her lips. ‘You need a lighter steel since you don’t use your wings. The weight throws you off balance. But then, you’ll need more force in your thrusts.’

Rhys gaped at her.

Cass agreed with a simple shrug. ‘You better show up for training tomorrow.’ He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder as he did his shirt. Rhys shoved his hand off, the buttons at the top left forgotten.

‘Where did you learn to fight?’ Cass asked her. Noting Azriel's unwavering eyes on her like a creep, he gave his ribs a harsh nudge.

‘Around,’ she mumbled, flipping through her notes, scratching with her pencil, and marking a few details. She opened a new page, ‘Next.’

Cass clapped his hands and skipped forward with a feral smile that showed all his teeth.

‘Azriel.’ He smirked when his brother mouthed a curse at him and walked to the middle of the room.

Ayla looked up. She studied him—every inch of his face and body. For a moment, Azriel let himself believe she took longer than she did with Rhys. She blinked slowly, her lingering gaze setting his skin on fire. When her eyes landed on his wings, they flared by a degree in response. She scribbled in her notebook as his brothers chuckled under their breaths.

Azriel had already decided what he would do once they walked out—kill Rhys for his mental comments and then Cass for indulging the prick.

Ayla went to the racks. She returned her sword and rearranged the ones misplaced by her earlier. ‘Choose your weapon,’ she said gently.

Azriel hated that she never spoke his name like she did Rhys’s in that sweet voice of hers.

The moment they entered the room, he spotted the one he wanted to try. Narrower and longer than his Illyrian sword, the simple piece of art swallowed the light around it. Leather wrapped along its hilt as a seamless extension of the abyssal black of the blade. His shadows glided over it, testing it for him, almost as drawn to it as himself.

A muffled ring of metal sliding against leather echoed in the quiet. Ayla turned around to find a curved knife in each of his hands.

Though Azriel had knives and daggers sheathed on him at all times, he favoured swords. But not that day. They wouldn’t allow him to get close to her, give him a chance to touch her.

Taking her place across from him, she quietly assessed his hands, the way he brought them to his front, gripped his knives ready, and shifted his weight on his feet.

She murmured, ‘Odd choice. Most don’t go for these. They prefer something big and flashy,’ she smiled, bringing her gaze to his face. ‘Requires a lot of practice to master. How long did you take?’

Azriel blinked. Every thought went out of his mind at that smile. ‘Been a while to remember.’

Wisps of hair fell over her face as she tipped her head. Her eyes shifted over his shoulders and arms. ‘Your shadows,’ darkness wreathed around him anticipating the little touches they longed to steal, ‘need to sit this one out.’ There was a flicker of hesitation, a weight on his back. ‘Just you and me.’

Like it had been a command from him, his shadows drifted to a corner of the room.

Just you and me.

Her words roved over his skin. He stared at her. His brothers fell silent too.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said softly.

For a full minute, Azriel stood frozen. Then, he lunged forward.

The same dance ensued, him leading with the first move, her dodging with minimal movement. A strangely familiar rhythm they both fell into with an ease that rendered him senseless. Her warmth grazed his body, her breath hit his fist, and her hair caressed him every time he got too close. Unlike with Rhys, she didn’t keep her distance. She threw her own punches this time.

Azriel summoned every knowledge he acquired fighting for five centuries to take down one woman—his mate.

He wanted to win her challenge only to pin her down under him, to know what she felt like against him. He was, by no means, a simple warrior. Even without his shadows, he was easily one of the most powerful the Illyrians ever dreamt to be. And yet, in her presence, under her calculating eyes, he hardly remembered to steady his breaths.

‘Your left footing needs work,’ she said, stepping back to miss his blade that almost slashed her rib.

His footing needed no such thing. She was goading him, mocking his consideration, that much her smile told him.

Cass yelled from one corner, ‘Don’t let her win again, brother.’ His eyes twinkled.

Training with each other for centuries left no mystery in their technique or style and removed the freshness of a challenge. If his brother got the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate like Rhys, and Azriel knew.

Rhys scowled beside him, a look so foreign on his face. ‘She didn’t win against me.’

‘Sure, she didn’t kill you thrice either.’

‘She didn’t have a real blade. I was being courteous.’ Rhys’s lazy smugness returned to his voice. ‘It’s something you wouldn’t understand.’

Azriel breathed a laugh.

Her gaze dipped to his lips and then to his hand that came at her. She swerved to her right, grabbed his wrist and ducked under. And as she came back up, her other fist met the inside of his bicep. She retreated a few paces. Feet apart, hands behind her back.

Pain rippled through his muscles. He shook his arm twice, slowly. His skin burned and ached where her fingers had been. His body came alive as though it had felt her grip elsewhere. His heart pounded in his chest, their beat drumming in his ears. He let out a long exhale.

How he wished to throw the knives away and grab her waist instead.

She observed every move he made—the flex of his fingers before they wrapped around the daggers, the rise of his chest as he heaved in a breath, the shift of his legs under him for his next move.

Azriel wanted her eyes only on him anyway. He wished he had taken off his leathers like his brother had done so. Maybe she would have appreciated that too. He would have definitely enjoyed her hits.

He threw the same punch. She swerved. He went for her chest. She glided back. He took a step forward and swept his dagger across her torso before she landed on her feet. She skipped back. He smirked. The corner of her lips twitched. He aimed a strike at her face again. She leaned to her side, and Azriel slammed his left fist into her jaw. She staggered back a few steps, far from his arm’s reach.

‘You always favour your right,’ he remarked softly.

Ayla didn’t move. Her feet planted on the spot. Loose strands of hair veiled her averted face but not the patches of red blooming on her jaw. Her breaths were uneven for the first time since they started. Even his brothers went silent.

She slowly turned to him, her head hung low, her eyes trained on the ground. She reached a hand to her face. A streak of crimson, thin and sharp, ran along the smooth curve of her jaw through the framing bruise.

Azriel stared at his blade. Blood gleamed along its edge. His grip loosened. Dread filled his chest along with an ache. He looked at her, breathless, as her fingers ghosted over the cut, pulling away with smears of pale red on the tips.

Apologise, Rhys hissed in his mind, now .

Azriel opened his mouth.

‘You,’ she wiped her fingers on her shirt below her ribs—the stains akin to the ones she tried to erase that first night, ‘learn fast.’

Her eyes met his, and a dangerous delight swirled in them. She moved quick. She took two long steps and lunged at him.

Azriel crouched and rooted to his feet as he brought his arms up to block her incoming blow to his face. It wasn’t her hand that met him, and he wasn’t fast enough.

She stepped on the inside of his thigh hard to shift his weight, propelled herself up, and her other foot pushed into his chest. Using the momentum, she swung herself over and around his shoulder.

Before Azriel could blink, his feet gave out. His wings spread behind him easing his fall.

Her grip was strong. She pressed his hand to his throat, the edge of his knife cool against his skin. Her face hovered over his.

Azriel let his head rest on the ground. Painfully aware of her body pressed against his—straddling his waist, her hands around each of his wrists—he willed himself to hold her stare steady.

She breathed, ‘You’re dead.’

‘So are you,’ he rasped the words out. He lifted his head to peer down between them. The glinting tip of his other blade poked at her chest, where her heart was, where he was sure a spot of blood would soon taint her white shirt.

She followed his stare. Her lips pulled into a smirk before she looked him in the eye. ‘As long as I take you with me.’

Azriel yearned for nothing more. For her to take him—to death, to hell, to his damnation.

Her braid fell over her shoulder, and the ends tickled his face and neck. Her short breaths hit his skin, the scent of her making him heady. Her hands were warm against his shadow-kissed cold ones. Blood rushed to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down between her brows, followed the curve of her nose, and trailed down her cheek.

Azriel wanted to trace it with his tongue, taste her. Her blood, her sweat.

Beautiful. The word clanged in every corner of his mind as he took her in, raw and bare.

Beautiful. The blade dug deeper into his skin, reminding him she held his life in her hands.

Beautiful. Especially when she had him at her mercy.

His mind chose the inappropriate time to conjure the other ways she could have him at her mercy. Gods, if she moved, she would feel him.

His shadows crept up to them, teasing her hair, teetering along the cut on her jaw, furious for what he had done to her.

His head fell back. He took a deep breath and still, it wasn’t enough. The delicious burn of cool metal scraping against the column of his throat felt painless compared to her intense gaze peering into his soul. He swallowed. She tracked the movement. He swallowed again, her eyes snapped to his. Every nerve in his body urged him to reach up, let the blade slit his throat, only to kiss her once.

And for a sweet moment, he thought she wanted it too.

She blinked. She pulled back an inch and looked up.

Orvin hurried in with the red-haired fae. Panic flashed in his eyes. He shoved the fae inside while he lingered close to the door. ‘She’s back. She’s here.’

Ayla shot to her feet taking every sense of warmth around him with her. ‘It’s fine,’ she urged them in and stepped out. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

The door closed behind her. Azriel’s feet followed her on their own.

But Rhysr’s voice in his mind brought him back. She’s gone. Quiet your thoughts a little.

He turned around with a snarl to find both his brothers sporting a cruel grin.

The key clicked into place and so did an invisible force. ‘It’s warded,’ Rhys observed the narrow slits along the walls. His smile vanished. ‘Why do you have wards here?’

They turned to Orvin, but he stared at the closed door. He shielded the fae with his body and coaxed her back, far from the entrance. He didn’t answer.

Outside, a fire crackled in the furnace. Metal whined. Sharp clicks bounced off the stone floors and walls. Both Orvin and the fae sucked in a breath.

‘So,’ said a voice low and feminine, ‘you’re hiding in the monster’s den. I can’t decide if you’re smart or losing your mind.’

Orvin shivered at the sound.

Rhys studied the door, lost and distant in his thoughts. He reached out a hand despite Cass's warning. His palm rested on an invisible field a few inches short of the wood. His touch sent out glimmering waves along the walls, floor, and roof. The wavering stilled once they merged on the far side. A breath later, they rippled and eddied until they reached his palm again. Rhys stepped back staring at his hand.

Ayla spoke calmly. ‘You wouldn’t have found me if I were hiding.’

‘I wasted a long trip on this.’ The voice sighed, every word tinged with a seductive drawl. ‘Let’s not dally. Come with me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Have you forgotten your deal already?’ The voice got closer and closer to the door.

‘I never made a deal with you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ The voice hummed. Long and light. ‘Never mind. We can always make a new one.’

Bare feet shuffled across the floor, drawing away from the locked door. The wards muffled some of the conversation, but their fae hearing helped. Ayla’s voice barely carried through the room. ‘I don’t work for any court.’

Heels stomped across the floor. The intruder whined, a delicate teasing sound. ‘Name your price. I’ll get you whatever you want.’

‘I have everything I need.’

Metal groaned against the wood. A sharp thump, metal against metal. Another and another. Each one harder than the previous.

The voice snorted. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of this pathetic excuse of a court.’

Cass stiffened beside them. He asked Orvin, ‘Who is she?’ Neither he nor the fae answered.

Ayla said softly, ‘This is my home.’

Those simple words from her lips made Azriel’s heart clench in his chest. A twisted approval of who he was, an acknowledgement of his existence.

‘This? Velaris? Don’t fool yourself.’ The voice laughed. It would’ve been the most melodic sound Azriel had ever heard if not for the mockery in it. She moved away and away, stalking Ayla, circling her. Venom dripped from each word she spouted. ‘What did you expect? You’d find a man here, maybe a lord , fall in love, have a cosy little life like a common fae?’

Ayla chuckled in response. So soft, so tender that it made Azriel smile, too. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing here?’ Her voice lingered, drifting farther past the furnace, past the fires. ‘Gods, sounds like you’re projecting your dreams onto me.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ The voice turned into what it truly was. A vile, cruel shrill masked by the sweetness of its lull.

‘Or what?’ Ayla paused, and Azriel could see the smirk on her lips. ‘You come into my home and threaten me. Did you expect me to kiss your feet next?’

The voice fell silent.

Azriel turned to Rhys, and he shook his head. Her mind is shielded.

The heels turned to the door again, hitting faster and faster. They stopped right in front of the door. ‘Where’s the half-fae youngling?’

Orvin hissed behind the brothers and gestured to them to step back. They all turned to the fae who cowered to a corner, yet schooled her face in defiance. The pointed arch of her ears peeked through her thick hair. But the tan skin, the hazel eyes.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Please,’ the stranger whined with a thrill at the tightness in Ayla’s voice. ‘I can smell her.’

Rhys asked the fae kindly, ‘Why does she want you?’ When she didn’t answer, he tried again. ‘I’m Rhysand. You know who I am?’ She nodded once. ‘I can help you if you tell me who that is.’

But one look from Orvin had her pursing her lips.

Ayla padded over, biding her time. ‘It’s just me. And I’m very busy. So leave.’

‘Right, since the silver-tongued half-fae High Lord finally gets his way with you.’

A long silence. Despite Rhys’s warning looks, Azriel checked the wards. Shadows writhed along the door prying for a way out.

‘The men inside,’ she huffed a breath. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Of course, I knew. Who do you think they are?’

Another moment of silence, only longer. A heart beat faster and faster while the other remained steady outside the door.

‘You didn’t know,’ the voice whispered. ‘Of course, they hid it. Very clever.’ Her breaths filled the pause as if she were calculating her next words. ‘No matter. You already had your doubts, didn’t you?’ She let out a dreamy sigh, one many men yearned to hear in their beds. ‘Well sculpted, beautiful beyond measure, skills better than that of an ordinary warrior. Come on, they are Illyrians! ’

From her tone, it was certain she meant more than just their appearance. The brutal savagery of their kind.

Ayla was silent. So very silent. But her heart—the one that remained calm and rhythmic while fighting—now raced like a fawn’s being preyed upon, trying to break free of her ribcage.

Azriel inhaled sharply. His own heart filled with fear, anger, and confusion. A breath later, it was gone as swiftly as it had overtaken his senses, leaving a hollow in its wake. So was the frantic beating of her heart. He pressed his fingers to his chest. His brothers noted it.

Finally, Ayla said, ‘Who I do business with is none of your concern.’ Her voice was surprisingly composed.

‘Oh, but it is. Your hypocrisy is my concern when it stands in the way of getting what I want.’

‘Whatever that is, you need to look somewhere else.’

A low grunt rumbled through the door and sent his shadows skittering.

The intruder hissed, ‘You know, your righteousness is starting to get old.’

The wood jerked when something hard slammed against it. Shadows exploded against the ward, only to be pushed back and contained inside the room. A whimper escaped the young fae behind them.

Ayla gasped. Feet scraped against the stone floor.

Before he realised, Azriel pounded at the door. The ward wavered like it did against Rhys’s gentle palm and settled into stillness. He hit it again. Again. And again. His shadows slithered along the walls, searching for an escape, through the roof, through the narrow slits of the windows.

‘She won’t even hear you, Shadowsinger.’ Orvin spoke, concern lacing through his words. ‘The ward strengthens with each impact.’

His brothers only watched him. When Cass looked at Rhys, he hesitated, ‘I can’t get through.’

There was a strain in his voice, worried for Azriel. Worried about the danger his mate posed. Worried what might become of his brother if something happened to her.

The voice hissed, ‘Remember.’ A strangled choke left Ayla’s lips when her head hit against the door again. ‘Remember what you owe them. For once,’ the voice ground out, ‘remember everything.’

Silence returned, suffocating and intense.

‘Finally!’ Another soft thud. ‘Next time, don’t play too hard. Make the bargain.’

Ayla sucked in a breath. The sharp footfalls pulled away from the door, from her. She growled, ‘Next time, I’ll melt you.’

The air stilled. A dark promise carried through in those words of hers. With each passing second of quiet, the gravity of her threat settled deeper and deeper.

Then there it was, the grating mockery of that angelic laugh. But no words followed. And the intruder was gone.

The key clicked. The ward faded. Azriel took a step back and so did his brothers. The door slowly flung open.

Ayla stayed outside. She took in their faces as carefully as she did before, as every other time. Her stare settled on Rhys. For the first time, recognition flickered in those still eyes. A deep red handprint tainted her delicate neck.

Azriel gritted his teeth. ‘Did she do that to you?’

He didn't truly need an answer. His whole body shook with rage as his shadows swallowed him, ready for his command. Cass came to stand beside him.

Ayla only looked at Rhys. ‘I don’t work for High Lords. You need to leave.’

Azriel reached for her, but Rhys held a hand out. He glared at his brother.

But Rhys ignored him. ‘I can explain,’ he spoke as gently as he would to a babe. ‘We had our reasons. We didn’t me—’

‘I respect them. I want you to respect mine.’ She stepped aside from the doorway. ‘Leave.’

Rhys waited for a moment. He then turned to his brother and nodded. But Azriel stood his ground, watching Ayla. Later, Rhys promised. You will come back for her later.

Azriel released his breath. He took in her distant eyes once. He stormed out without waiting for his brothers, his knives clenched tighter in his fists.

He and his shadows were going on a hunt.

Next Chapter: Shadow

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