Chapter Text
Azriel (Autumn- ACOSF)
Gods, Azriel had wanted to kiss her that night along the Sidra.
He hadn't slept for two nights straight after flirting so shamelessly with Elain while they baked strawberry shortcake a year ago.
He had, however, stared at the wall, hating himself. Then he had fisted his cock until he came into his hand, the taste of those berries still on his lips and Elain's scent still clouding his senses.
Then he had stared at the wall and hated himself some more, plagued with shame.
How could he have put Elain in such a position without knowing what she wanted?
She had enough to contend with. She had trauma she was still working through, a mating bond that he knew made her feel trapped, a new life to accept.
She didn't need a miserable bastard wreathed in nightmares panting after her. What could Azriel offer Elain beyond a warrior’s protection? She deserved more than that. She deserved someone as kind and generous and warm as she was.
He was aware, on some level below dungeons and dungeons of self-hatred, that Elain was her own person, and it wasn't up to him to decide what she deserved or wanted. But the problem was that he didn't know what she wanted. And it sickened him that he had flirted with her in such a forward way without that knowledge.
His thoughts drifted to the feel of running his scarred finger up that rivulet of juice on her smooth, smooth arm. And then, thinking about that red juice on her lips, he had pleasured himself again. And then hated himself for it again.
The next night was the same.
~~~~~
A year had passed and Azriel had wound his leash so tight he felt suffocated, but he would not push himself on her again without her desire or consent.
Elain seemed to truly have joy now, to have found a place- a home- here in Velaris.
He had been so horrified to hear how hopeless Elain had been, what she had told him on the bank of the Sidra. How close to slipping from this realm she had been.
Azriel had wanted to wrap her in his arms, then. He had wanted to hold her, to stroke her hair and cry in relief that she was still here with him, that she had fought her way through it with her own strong, gentle, light spirit.
But then Elain had told him what his friendship meant to her, and it had broken him all over again.
He should have told her how much her friendship meant to him, too.
He should have told her how she saved him, too, shining her light on him so gently and generously.
He should have told her that he, too, knew what it was to feel hopeless, to feel done living in this miserable fucking world.
But that she had given him hope in the darkness.
Hope for people to be better, kinder, for the world to be better.
He should have told her so many things.
But he couldn't. He didn't know how.
He feared that if he started he would never stop, that it would all erupt out of him in a torrent of lava so hot and so strong it would burn her alive.
And he feared that if he began to tell her what she meant to him, he would do something he had promised himself he would not.
But gods he had wanted to kiss her.
She had held his hand for so long, had touched him in ways she never had before. Ways no one ever had before.
Had brushed her lips against his scarred, ruined wrist. On the vein that led all the way back to his heart.
But she also told him that his friendship was precious to her. Had helped her, by some miracle he did not understand.
So Azriel was resolved that he would not bring further turmoil, further complication, to her.
Unless she asked for it.
No matter that she had given him a Solstice gift that had made him laugh harder, more genuinely, than he had in decades.
No matter that that little vial now sat on his bedside table at the House of Wind, the only adornment in his bedroom, and that he found himself gazing at it nightly.
No matter that he did other things nightly. Things that involved his cock in his hand while envisioning what her fingers would look like there instead. How strong her scent would be with his face buried in her neck. What kinds of sounds Elain would make in her pleasure.
No matter that his heart strained with desperate yearning and loneliness when he saw his two brothers finding love and acceptance- wholeness- with their mates (even if Nesta had yet to admit it).
No matter that he saw Elain watching her sisters being and falling in love, and that sometimes her brown doe eyes would find his, and there would be a knowing look in them. A wanting look.
No matter that they had held hands on a sleepless and moonless night along the Sidra, and he had shared things with Elain that he had never shared with another.
Because she had not kissed him that night, and had not asked him to kiss her.
So Azriel tried to maintain his distance while also maintaining their friendship.
He attempted not to spend too many late nights alone with her at the townhouse, in the quiet that only they found peace in.
He attempted not to brush his fingers against her own in fleeting, subtle ways only she would notice.
He attempted not to glance at her when Rhysand and Feyre exchanged loving, intimate gestures that made his chest ache.
He attempted not to pleasure himself every single night, thinking about Elain's perfect mouth, her beautiful eyes, how he might stoke her desire until she found euphoria on his tongue or his hand or his cock.
He tried, but he failed.
Over and over he failed, and over and over he hated himself for it. Azriel barely slept despite his hours of training the females on the rooftop and the endless exhausting work Rhysand needed him to do to secure the safety of the Court.
He barely slept because to be alone with his thoughts was to become overwhelmed with need for a female he could not have, and to drown in self-hatred for needing her.
~~~~~
So when Mor sent a message through Rhysand to ask the family to join her at Rita’s one chilly autumn day (he had to, she had insisted, since she was away so often and wanted them to be together on this short return trip), Azriel accepted. He thought that losing himself in drink and cards and music and whatever else they would encounter in town that night was a good enough escape. And he expected, or at least hoped, that the drink and revelry may help him finally find some much needed sleep.
What he had not expected was for Elain to join the family at Rita’s. She had never joined before, and had always seemed more comfortable staying home and cozying up with tea and a book or her journal of gardening plans. Azriel had chosen to remain back with her on several of those occasions, taking the opportunity to find peace in their shared silence or soft chatting, as he always did.
So as Azriel waited for the rest of his family in the sitting room of the Townhouse, he was shocked to see Elain coming down the stairs looking dressed to go out.
No- looking dressed to go out could not do justice to how Elain looked. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun with curling pieces framing her porcelain face, her neck exposed and enticing. Her eyelids were dusted gold and she wore tiny gold hoops in her earlobes, with a matching thin gold band around her upper arm.
But it was what she wore beneath the neck that had Azriel’s heart stilling.
He was absolutely sure this piece did not belong to Elain. Elain usually favored casual, straight-shaped or loose gowns that suggested curves but did not accentuate them. Their necklines usually dipped just above her breasts at the lowest, and they tended to include some sort of sleeve and skirts that hung to the knee or ankle depending on the season.
But Azriel stared and stared at Elain as she stalled on the steps upon seeing him. She was not wearing one of her usual styles of gowns.
No, tonight she wore a jade green dress that brought out the richness of the gold in her eyes and hair. It was not tight, did not hug her curves like the gowns Mor and Nesta tended to favor. And it was not essentially cobwebs, tiny scraps of sheer fabric leaving nothing to the imagination like Feyre preferred.
This gown reminded Azriel of something an ancient goddess would wear. It was made of jewel-toned silk chiffon that billowed loosely over her curves, feathering over her breasts in a deep, deep vee. It seemed to flutter around her exposed cleavage and sternum on a phantom wind, loose enough for a hand to slip right under it to caress a breast.
The gown was held up by straps no wider than Azriel’s forefinger, and billowed loosely down to the floor. Somehow the fabric flowing freely over Elain’s hips made them seem wider, more reaching…more beckoning to be gripped.
The skirts floated to the floor in a cloud of jade mist. But it was the slit in the side of the dress that had Azriel’s blood pumping straight to his cock, Mother damn him. The skirt split on one side all the way to her upper thigh. The way Elain had frozen with one foot on the step below her, her entire leg and most of her thigh were exposed. And that leg looked so...delicious.
Fucking damn him to hell.
Azriel had to use every ounce of self-control to make his brain work again. Where was the rest of the family? Why was Elain coming down the steps by herself? Did the Cauldron and the Mother plan this very moment just to torture Azriel as some sort of punishment?
Elain was just standing there staring at him, seemingly unable to move. A lovely rose blush washed over her face and chest.
Azriel cleared his throat and willed his mouth to move.
“Elain,” he greeted her, thanking the gods that his voice didn’t come out the husky rasp that he feared. “You’re joining us tonight?”
His voice seemed to shake Elain from her stupor and she began to move again, continuing her way down the rest of the staircase. With every other step that slit exposed her creamy thigh again and again, and Azriel thought he might be dying.
“Yes,” she answered casually, belying the furious blush that still enveloped her. “I thought a night out sounded like a nice change.” And then after a moment she looked around the empty sitting room and asked, “Where is everyone?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You haven’t seen them?”
Elain shook her head, coming to stand beside him.
“Mor said that everyone is joining. We must be early,” Azriel said, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Oh please,” Elain answered, smirking. “You know that we’re on time and everyone else is late.”
Azriel huffed a laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well…” Elain looked around rather sheepishly. “Shall we sit and wait?"
Azriel nodded and followed her to the sofa. He sat a respectful distance away from her and tried not to look at the freckled thigh that seemed to be winking at him, saying
Come here…come and feel me…come and sink your teeth into me…come and run your hands along me and then higher, higher…
Azriel mentally punched himself in the face, looking anywhere but that thigh.
He strived so very hard not to imagine kneeling before Elain in that gown, gripping the backs of her thighs and kissing all the way up that slit from her ankle to the top of her hip.
He attempted not to imagine running his hands up under the skirt to cup her ass as he drifted his lips over her hip and towards the apex of her thighs.
He tried so fucking hard not to imagine what sounds she would make as he got closer and closer to that spot he dreamed of tasting. Breathy little moans? Desperate whimpers? Needy groans?
Would she scream as she came on his tongue?
Fuck. No. This time he mentally slammed his face against a wall as hard as he could, just as Elain’s voice cut through his pathetically desperate thoughts.
“You look very nice, Azriel,” Elain said with an unmistakable touch of shyness. Azriel felt a blush of his own bloom on his cheeks. He looked down at himself. He had forgone leathers and armor for a simple yet- he hoped- elegant black silk shirt and tailored pants. There was little he could do about the unruly waves kissing his brow and neck but his hair was at least washed and going in the right directions.
He kept the siphons atop his hands and Truth-Teller at his side, naturally. He never knew when he might need them.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “You…”
Fuck. What was he supposed to say? You look like a flawless goddess, Elain? You look like every sublime dream I have ever conjured? You look like a heavenly creature of moonlight and forgotten worlds and everything good in the universe? You look like your body may kill me slowly and happily?
Say something you godsdamned fucking idiot.
“You look rather dashing,” is what came out of his mouth.
Dashing? Dashing, you miserable fucking bastard? Azriel had never hated himself more.
Truth be told he had never used many words with his lovers over the centuries. Azriel was aware that others found his physical appearance pleasing. A few intense, charged looks and carefully timed touches was usually all it took for Azriel to express his interest and to receive a yes of consent to cross a physical line with others.
But Elain was not like the others. He wanted to make her feel good with his words. He wanted her to know with more than just his gaze how utterly captivated he was with her.
If she somehow miraculously allowed him to touch her one day, Azriel did not want to rely on his physical appearance and eye contact alone.
Because Elain deserved to be worshipped in every way. With his eyes, with his hands, with his tongue, with his words. She deserved to know how absolutely fucking destroyed he was by her beauty. How he had known she was the most exquisitely perfect person he would ever see from the moment he laid eyes on her. How every part of her ruined him in a way he feared he would never recover from.
So before Elain could answer he amended, “You look very beautiful, Elain.”
Her blush deepened and Azriel hoped he had saved the moment.
She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress.
“I've never been to Rita’s. It's not too much?”
It is too much because it will kill me, slowly, as all the blood drains from my head and into my cock.
Azriel shook his head. “All sorts of people go to Rita's, wearing all sorts of clothes. No one will bat an eye.”
That was a lie if he ever told one. Everyone would be staring at Elain, because she would no doubt be the most bewitchingly stunning person in the establishment. As she was the most bewitchingly stunning person anywhere she went.
Azriel would be sure to watch those wandering eyes tonight. Very carefully. And step in should he need to.
Elain seemed reassured though, nodding. “Feyre picked it out for me. She said she saw it in a shop and thought I needed something more…exciting.”
Azriel was 500 years old. He could handle this conversation with tact. Couldn’t he?
“You look beautiful in your usual gowns as well,” he said gently, still not looking too hard at her.
Elain opened her mouth to answer but the front door swung wide and Feyre and Rhys sauntered in, both looking dashing. Rhysand wore a black and silver-threaded shirt and pants and Feyre wore loose silk silver pants and a matching shirt that displayed her midriff.
Thank the Mother others were arriving. Azriel didn’t know how long he would have lasted having that conversation without doing something incredibly stupid. Even more stupid than the strawberry licking incident.
“Elain!” Feyre called from the doorway, and then bustled over and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You look incredible. Every male will be falling over themselves.” Elain looked alarmed at that and Azriel held in an affectionate chuckle.
The fact that Elain remained embarrassed and unwanting of too much attention despite no doubt being called beautiful and having males panting after her for her entire life warmed something deep inside his chest. She was so unassumingly perfect.
Rhysand approached and clapped Azriel on the shoulder before lifting Elain’s hand and brushing a kiss to it. “She speaks the truth,” he drawled.
So everyone could kiss Elain except himself, it seemed.
Elain simply blushed again and offered a small smile.
Nesta and Amren emerged in the front hall together next and both looked like they hadn’t changed at all from their regular daytime attire. Nesta wore training leathers and Amren wore her usual loose pants and top, looking like Feyre’s tiny dark-haired twin.
“Womaned up, did you, Elain?” Nesta asked her sardonically, glancing pointedly at her exposed cleavage. Elain was now redder than the strawberry juice Azriel had licked off her arm.
“I- I just-” Elain stumbled, but then Nesta amended, “I’m sorry, femaled up.”
Azriel bristled at Elain’s apparent discomfort with all of their attention and Amren seemed to notice, narrowing her eyes at him.
Feyre weighed in, now. “You do look…exceedingly attractive, Elain.” Rhysand casually nodded his agreement as if they weren’t openly discussing how ravishing Elain looked.
Elain appeared as if she was going to melt into the cushions of the sofa. Azriel was becoming agitated now with how uncomfortable she was. Before he could stop himself with even a modicum of common sense, he spoke.
“I’m not sure what all the commotion is. Elain looks exceedingly attractive every day. Why not compliment her on her bright mind or kind spirit?”
Fuck. Azriel mentally ripped his hair out of his head in fistfuls.
That was not the right fucking thing to say. You pathetic, creepy, stupid, desperate, inept excuse for life.
Feyre coughed and Rhysand and Nesta each frowned at him deeply. Amren slowly smiled in a terrifyingly spine-chilling way.
Azriel slid his eyes to Elain, his cheeks blazing, terrified of what he would see on her face. Elain had her hands clasped on her lap, looking down at them. Her body language still seemed uncomfortable, but the faintest, tender smile rested on her lips.
Azriel looked away quickly, willing his shadows not to swallow him whole even though he wanted nothing more in this moment.
They all stood in awkward silence for a minute or two until they heard Cassian and Mor’s bickering voices approaching from the front walk. Thank the fucking stars.
“I’m just saying, ” Mor was spitting at him. “I’m starting to feel like a godsdamned transport service! You don’t see me for months and you expect me to just up and cart you around so your lazy ass doesn’t have to fly?”
The door flew open and Cassian’s huge frame appeared. He, too, was still dressed in leathers. “I was in Windhaven and already late!” He threw back at her. “Flying would have taken too long. You all would have gotten drunk without me.”
He moved further into the house and Mor appeared behind him, wearing a golden dress nearly identical to the color of her hair that shamelessly hugged every curve on her body before falling to the floor around her ankles.
A couple of years ago, Azriel would have lost his senses seeing Mor in that dress. There was no denying that she was flawless, with a sensuous, confident swagger that used to give Azriel blue balls for days at a time. But now Mor, in all her golden light, paled in comparison to the female sitting beside him.
He inwardly cringed with guilt to think such a thing. It wasn't fair. Mor was beautiful, inside and out.
But it was Elain’s spirit that made her glow like a goddess, that made her already beautiful form into something so exquisite it physically pained Azriel.
Mor made her way around the room offering hugs and kisses in greeting. She gave Elain yet another kiss (Azriel’s lips felt so empty), and then offered Azriel an awkward pat on the shoulder. He gave her an awkward nod in return.
Cassian just stood there and stared at Nesta as she smirked at him. Azriel tried to catch his brother’s eye to give him a look that said “You’re drooling,” but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Nesta. Oh well, let him drool.
Azriel wished he could look at Elain in such a way without judgment from the others.
But Elain had a mate. The godsdamned Autumn prick. What he wouldn't give to punch Vanserra in the jaw just one time. He didn't have to kill the male. Maybe just scare him. Maim him a bit. Maybe break a toe or two. Or some ribs.
“Well,” Feyre said, looking around the room at the unnaturally good-looking assembly of fae. “Shall we get going?”
Mor crossed her arms. “I am not winnowing. I winnowed all the way from the Continent today and then that one -” she glared in Cassian’s direction, to which he threw up his middle finger, “-made me winnow him from Windhaven. I’m so drained and I need to save my energy for dancing .”
Rhysand chuckled and looped his arm in his cousin’s. “Don’t forget drinking. Let’s walk, shall we?”
And the pair led the way out the door.
The family shuffled out, Azriel and Elain leaving last as they had been deepest in the sitting room.
Azriel slung a black leather jacket over his shirt as they exited, his shadows sealing up the slats for his wings.
He noted with a frown that Elain did not wear a cloak or coat. It was a chilly fall evening. But he didn’t say anything to her. Because she was a grown female and not his mate.
Mother spare him, Azriel was not centered tonight.
They trailed at the end of their group as they walked towards the center of town, not talking. The rest of the family kept the chatter and banter up so Elain and Azriel just walked and listened, as was comfortable for them both.
It took a good few minutes for Azriel to work up the courage to speak to her.
“I'm…sorry about earlier,” he said under his breath, so the others would not hear. Elain glanced sideways at him.
“I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just trying to…” He ran a scarred hand through his hair, feeling utterly inept at explaining himself.
But Elain gave him a warm smile. “I know,” she breathed back quietly. “What you said was very sweet.”
Sweet. Well, that wasn't bad. Azriel could work with sweet.
“I meant it,” he murmured. “You are beautiful, Elain.” His heart thundered with nerves. “But you are also clever, and kind, and strong. Those things matter more than beauty anyway, and you deserve to hear them.”
He swallowed and dared to glance at her once more. He was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes. Had he said something idiotic again?
“No one has ever praised me for anything other than my looks,” she said quietly, sadness and something else- something like disbelief - lacing her voice.
Azriel felt his heart plummeting. Had Elain spent a lifetime believing her worth lay solely in her physical appearance? He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to tell her how spectacularly singular she was. How magnificently wondrous her very soul was.
“Elain…” he started, trying. He would try for her.
“I have lived for five hundred years. And I have never met anyone who is as kindhearted and generous as you. You make the world a better place just by being here. You are a truly good person. More than all the rest of us- and that is no lie.”
Azriel was speaking truths he never had before, and had not meant to speak now. Being around Elain was more and more feeling like a drug that removed his inhibitions and loosened his tongue.
He was feeling quite unhinged and overstimulated by it all.
Yet he couldn't stop.
Yet he needed more.
Elain looked at him in wonder. “Thank you,” she whispered. And then her gaze turned reproachful. “You are kind too, Azriel. More than you know.”
He didn't want to turn the conversation to himself, so he said nothing in answer.
Azriel truly wished it were so. She deserved that much in a friend. He felt it as he sank into himself, into a well of hatred. She could have anyone. She could have a high lord. A god. A king. Someone truly as kind and generous and luminous as her.
He could never, and would never, be enough for her. As he sank further and further into himself, he remained quiet, and so did she. He hoped she couldn't sense the violent waves of self-hatred coursing over himself.
By the time they reached the Sidra, Elain’s teeth were chattering, her arms were wrapped around herself, and Azriel could ignore it no longer.
Before they crossed the bridge Azriel halted her with a gentle hand on her elbow. His shadows were already releasing his wings from his jacket. He peeled it off.
“What are you doing?” Elain asked him.
“Your lips are turning blue,” Azriel murmured. Indeed, she looked alarmingly cold at this point. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her hands were a stark white as they gripped her arms.
He held out his jacket to her and Elain began refusing, shaking her head adamantly. “Elain,” Azriel started with a no-nonsense voice. “I’m not going to let you freeze next to me. Please, just let me. Or you can have my arm around you, if you prefer.”
Cauldron boil him. He was still flirting despite it all.
Elain flushed and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” she said, and held out her hand for his jacket.
“Let me,” Azriel murmured again, and moved behind her, gently lifting an arm and threading it through the sleeve of his jacket.
Elain swallowed as he did the same with her other arm, and then shrugged the jacket up over her shoulders.
“There are slats in the back to accommodate wings,” Azriel explained. “I’ll close them up to keep the warmth in.”
Azriel peered over Elain’s shoulder to see that the rest of the family was jovially making their way off the bridge and toward the bustling nightlife of Velaris, not even realizing that they had stopped.
Azriel quickly cinched the slats up and then turned Elain around by her shoulders.
This was stupid. So fucking stupid. Elain could button a jacket herself. But something still possessed Azriel to stand there before her, mere inches from her body, and slowly join each button from the bottom of the jacket all the way up to the neck.
Elain swallowed again as she watched his scarred fingers move up her torso.
He tried not to imagine untying the laces of a gown from Elain's neck to her waist, the bodice loosening and shrugging downwards. He failed.
He tried not to imagine tugging that bodice up over her head and exposing a silky, sheer slip beneath. He failed.
He tried not to imagine running tender fingers across Elain's bare, freckled collarbone and watching goosebumps trail in their wake. He utterly failed.
Azriel truly could not fucking help himself. He then lifted one of the sleeves of the leather jacket, which was so long on her that her entire hand had disappeared, and rolled it up until her fingers were free. He did the same with the other sleeve. And Elain let him, just watching his face with quiet curiosity, and something else.
He finished, grazing her fingers with his as he gently lowered her hand.
“Azriel,” she started, a slight quiver to her voice.
He froze. Was she going to tell him to back the fuck off? That she wasn't a youngling who needed help putting a jacket on? That he should stop being a godsdamned creep?
But Elain said none of those things. Instead, she stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes.
Azriel stopped breathing. He did not want to move one single muscle for fear of ruining whatever was about to happen.
Elain lifted a shaking hand and, so fucking slowly Azriel thought time itself had warped (but knew it hadn't because of the rapid thudding of his heart), grazed his jaw with one gentle finger, letting it linger just below his lips. Like she wanted to touch them. Like she wanted them to touch her.
That one solitary finger below his lips sent a tingling course of shivers through Azriel's entire body.
yes
more
more contact
more touching
more fingers
more skin
his body sang.
Azriel was a heartbeat from asking her to kiss him when a pained expression crossed Elain’s face and she dropped her hand. She murmured a rushed, “Thank you,” and then turned on her heel and bustled away across the bridge after her sisters. It was over so incredibly quickly.
Azriel stared after her for ten full breaths, wondering if he should catch up or just accept defeat and fly away.
Don't be a fucking child, he told himself. He rustled his wings and set into a brisk pace. He wanted to stop Elain, to ask her what it was that she wanted, truly wanted. But by the time he had caught up to her she was walking amongst the rest of his family, and their moment alone was well and truly over.
~~~~~
Upon entering Rita’s loud and crowded interior, Azriel could tell Elain was already uncomfortable. The group shuffled their way through the crowd, people offering them warm smiles and friendly greetings when they recognized who moved amongst them.
Azriel supposed they must be a formidable group indeed to enter a dance hall, so he tried to mimic Rhys's non-threatening, casual grin.
Elain seemed overwhelmed, clutching Azriel's huge jacket around herself as, indeed, many male (and female) eyes roved hungrily over her divine face and exposed leg.
Azriel met each of their stares and dropped his friendly smile, silently promising them exactly what the Spymaster was known for if they didn't avert their gazes. They all did.
Elain looked sidelong at him and pulled his jacket tighter still. Azriel gave her a warm look. “Keep it, if you'd rather stay covered up,” he said quietly, nodding to the jacket. She gave him a small, grateful smile.
Azriel ignored the fact that seeing Elain wearing his jacket did something very specific inside his chest.
A party of three fae sitting at a table in a booth made for many more noticed them looking for a spot to sit and jumped up, insisting that they take the large booth. Feyre tried to refuse graciously but they wouldn't take no for an answer and all shuffled away before the argument could go on.
Mor just shrugged irreverently and slumped down onto a seat.
“Someone else get the first round,” she announced to the group at large. “I'm taking a break.”
Cassian threw her a mocking salute, turning towards the bar.
“I'll help,” Azriel said, and followed his brother’s large, winged frame through the crowds.
At the bar, Cassian ordered eight ales. Azriel stopped the bartender with a scarred hand and amended, “Seven ales and one whiskey.” When Cassian quirked a brow at him, Azriel shrugged and explained, “Elain prefers whiskey.”
Cassian lowered his brows at that. While they waited for the drinks to be poured, his brother drummed his large fingers on the wooden bar surface.
“You know…” he started, and Azriel held up a hand. “Don't,” he warned. “I'm just getting her the drink she prefers.”
Cassian opened his mouth again but Azriel cut him off. “Please don't, Cass. It's nothing, alright?”
Cassian frowned again and crossed his arms, but grumbled a frustrated, “Fine.”
Azriel loosed a relieved breath. He was not ready to talk about Elain with…anyone. Not when he didn't even know what she godsdamned wanted from him.
Had she been about to kiss him? Had she changed her mind when she remembered what a worthless, morose bastard he was? Had she wanted to say something else to him?
He could still feel her cold, shaking finger tracing the curve of his jaw, like it had left a trail of ice that clung to his skin despite the warm interior of the dance hall.
As the drinks were plunked onto the bar, he and Cassian both dug out coins from leather pouches and divvied up the cost. Cassian managed to balance three mugs of ale in his massive hands and then looked down pointedly at the remaining five.
Azriel raised an eyebrow at him.
Cassian scoffed. “You have your shadow magic shit! All I have are these huge mitts.”
Azriel gave a dry laugh and shook his head, and then indeed willed his shadows to pluck up three of the glasses while he took the last two in his hands. He made sure one of the drinks he held was Elain's whiskey.
The crowd gave them a wide berth with their massive wings and 8 glasses balanced between them, and when they had made their way back to the booth Azriel saw that two spots remained open. One beside Elain, and one beside Nesta. Of course.
Cassian threw him a wry grin and pressed in next to Nesta, slinging an arm over her shoulders. His fingers bumped Mor’s head and she scoffed, throwing him a dirty look, and then started sliding ales around the table.
Azriel steeled himself and then slid down next to Elain. They were just crowded enough that he had to be pressed up against her. Against that exposed thigh. Enveloped in her honey and jasmine scent.
Azriel sent a prayer to the gods for sanity and then handed Elain her glass, keeping the final one for himself as his shadows distributed the rest of the ale.
“Whiskey,” he murmured, and she grinned at him.
“Not an ale?” She asked under her breath.
He shook his head. “I know you much prefer this.”
Her cheeks flushed and she mumbled a quiet thank you.
~~~~~
An hour and a half later, the group was getting well and truly raucous. Mor had perked right up after an ale and then had ordered them drink after drink, charming a bartender to bring them directly to the table rather than making her walk back and forth.
“Keep them coming,” she had said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
The poor young male had nearly tripped over his feet he nodded so vehemently.
Feyre, Rhysand, and Mor were already up and dancing, and Amren had prowled off to find someone to beat at cards.
Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, and Elain were left at the table, on their fourth round of drinks.
Azriel’s nerves weren't quite so frayed after some drinks and a bit more space at the table. Elain had unbuttoned Azriel's jacket but left it on, and that did something even more specific in Azriel's chest…and his cock. Seeing the black leather of his jacket framing Elain's porcelain, perfect cleavage had him shifting in his seat and trying not to stare.
It didn't help that Cassian kept throwing him knowing smirks and waggling his eyebrows when Elain wasn't paying attention. Azriel just returned them with flat, icy looks.
All four were laughing (even though Nesta had tried to remain stony faced) at Cassian’s recounting of Feyre getting Rhysand kicked out of the birchin last Solstice.
When he finished, Cassian tossed back the rest of his drink and nodded towards the dance floor. “Let's go, Nes. I know you want to dance.”
Nesta crossed her arms and frowned at Cassian. He just crossed his arms back and tapped his foot, waiting.
Nesta rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she grumbled, resigned, and slid out of the booth.
She followed him onto the dance floor, leaving Elain and Azriel alone in the booth.
Azriel felt contentedly tipsy, and if Elain’s constant giggling (one of the best sounds he had ever heard) was any indication, so did she.
He looked sideways at her. “Are you having fun on your first excursion to Rita’s?”
Elain smiled and answered, “I am. I can see why you all enjoy it here. There's something…freeing about it.”
Azriel nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Rita’s was a sort of escape for him, as well.
He waved a hand toward the dance floor. “You don't want to dance?” Azriel asked.
Elain blushed. “I don't really know how to dance…like that.” She looked towards their family, all moving in their own free ways on the dance floor. Cassian was spinning Nesta, Feyre’s back was pressed up against Rhysand's front, and Mor was…shaking her ass, to put it plainly.
Azriel grinned. “How do you dance, Elain?”
Her eyes lit. “My favorite dance is a waltz. I could waltz all night at a ball.”
Azriel’s chest squeezed at that. Rhysand’s mother had taught them all to waltz as adolescents, and, if he wanted to brag, he was quite good at it.
He and Esela used to sneak wine into the house as adolescents and drink themselves stupid, waltzing for hours like laughing idiots while Cassian and Rhysand were out getting into their own mischief.
He hadn't felt that measure of joy since before their little sister was ripped from them so brutally.
“I enjoy waltzing as well,” he told her, fighting away the gripping melancholy at the memory.
Elain looked at him in surprise and let out one of those divine giggles, chasing his sadness right away. “Really?”
He nodded. “Would you like to?”
Elain blanched. “Waltz?” She asked with a disbelieving tone. “Right now? Here?”
Azriel shrugged, the ale and spirits he had drunk fizzing merrily through his body. “Why not? People dance however they want here.”
Elain considered, and then nudged him with her shoulder, sending a shiver through his body.
“If I didn't know better, Azriel, I would think you're trying to get me out of this jacket.”
Fuck. His blood heated instantly.
Fuck, was Elain…flirting with him?
Fuck.
The drinks were giving him just enough confidence (and idiocy) to see what would happen if he pushed a little further.
He threw caution to the fates and answered, meeting her molten chocolate gaze.
“I don't know, Elain. I like seeing you in my clothes. But I suppose I would like seeing you out of them even more.”
Azriel’s heart was thumping out of control. He had no idea if he was fucking up right now. But he couldn't help the heat he knew was in his eyes and the smoke in his voice.
Elain swallowed and held his gaze despite the blush that washed over her face. “Would you?” She asked.
Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up.
Azriel steeled all his courage, honorable be damned, and moved his hand.
He stroked a knuckle, featherlight, down Elain's thigh, from the top of the slit to just above her knee. He let his knuckle rest there.
It took everything he had to not outright tremble at the feel of her cool, smooth skin.
Elain, however, did tremble. And better still, the scent of her arousal drifted up to him as her eyes fluttered closed.
Holy fucking gods. It was more intoxicating than the drinks. It was decadent. In the span of a heartbeat Azriel’s entire existence zeroed in on a command that blasted through his head and body.
Drink and drink and drink and drink her.
His knuckle still lingered on the top of her bare knee, hardly touching.
“I think you already know the answer to that, Elain.”
And there it was, that husky voice that he had tried to avoid earlier in the night.
Elain's eyes opened at his answer.
“I don't, Azriel. I-”
She was cut off as Mor, Nesta, and Feyre prowled straight to her with mischievous looks on their faces. Azriel snatched his hand away.
The three females pounced on Elain, goading her as a team to get up and dance with them. They ignored Azriel, thank the Mother.
Elain protested but eventually let them drag her out of her seat and onto the dance floor.
Azriel’s heart was still pounding out of his chest so hard he was sure only the music drowned out its hammering.
Well. Maybe they had interrupted the moment, but Azriel certainly wouldn't mind watching Elain dance, either.
What had she been about to say? She didn't know that Azriel was attracted to her? That could not possibly be. He had been such a godsdamned fool with her since the beginning. He had been kicking himself for a year for being too obvious about his feelings, pushing her too much without knowing her own.
And holy gods, the feel of her bare skin beneath his knuckles. The rich, heady scent of her arousal. Touching her in such a way felt forbidden but simultaneously so, so right. He could have touched her forever. Ran his hand up higher and higher until it-
Fuck. No. Don't get hard. He shifted in his chair and willed his cock to behave.
In spite of his swirling thoughts, Azriel grinned as he watched Elain, still wearing his jacket. She had started swaying awkwardly, with Feyre standing behind her, her hands swishing Elain's hips, and Mor swinging her hands in front of her.
She was so fucking exquisite.
Indeed, many heads began turning in her direction. Azriel watched each one carefully.
Nesta handed her another drink and Elain was beginning to dance truly as she sipped.
Her hips undulating, that delicious fucking thigh peeking out, her gorgeous face with the most beautiful smile he had-
Amren slid into a chair across from him.
She tracked his gaze across the dance floor.
“You should pick your chin up from the floor, boy,” she said drily.
Azriel snapped his gaze to her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Amren rolled her eyes. “Are you sure? Because I can smell your thoughts.”
Azriel lowered his brows at her but said nothing.
“Be careful,” Amren drawled. “Rhysand won't like that.”
Azriel was positively glowering now. “Rhysand doesn't weigh in on who I take to bed.” Dangerous waters, but Azriel was worked up indeed tonight. And pissed that he didn't know what Elain was going to tell him. And that the females interrupted them when his fingers were touching her heavenly thigh. When Elain was aroused by Azriel touching her heavenly thigh.
Fuck. She was attracted to him.
Amren snorted, interrupting his thoughts. “I think you want much more from that girl than what she can provide you in bed, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel just crossed his arms, shadows coiling agitatedly, and looked back to the dance floor. No response to that could possibly be advantageous.
Amren smirked at him. “It’s been centuries, boy, and I've never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” He asked, voice flat.
“In love.”
Well, fuck. That was something Azriel was absolutely not willing to confront tonight. He didn't even know what Elain wanted from him. He was not ready to admit even to himself what had been clawing at his chest since carrying Elain out of that army camp.
He decided to deflect.
“All of you were well aware that I loved Mor.”
Amren snorted again. “Please. Stop lying to yourself.”
Azriel threw her his most terrifying stare, one that usually caused flinching and cowering.
Amren returned one just as withering.
“I’m not lying,” he answered.
“You pined after Morrigan. As some sort of sick punishment for yourself, no doubt. You are damaged, boy, and you're looking at that girl like she might fix you.”
Azriel’s heart dropped low in his stomach at that, but he kept his mask up.
“I wasn't aware that you were an expert on matters of the heart, Amren.”
He was being a dick. But gods damn it all he just wanted to have his hands on Elain again.
A wicked, serpentine smile spread across Amren’s face and she opened her mouth to answer.
But Azriel did not hear the words that came from her mouth, because in that same moment a tall high fae male with short brown hair approached Elain from behind, slid a hand around her waist, and began to shrug Azriel’s jacket off her shoulders. An alarmed frown was crossing Elain's face, and Azriel moved.
Before even a shoulder blade was exposed, he had stepped through his shadows and appeared at the male’s side, and in less than a heartbeat he had gripped the vermin’s wrist and winnowed them into the alley behind Rita’s.
The tall, thin male was gaping and staggering back in alarm, but Azriel wrapped his hand around the faerie’s throat and slammed him against the wall, lifting him off his feet.
The male sputtered and thrashed but Azriel pressed his other arm across his torso. White hot rage was coursing through his blood, roaring filling his ears. He would rip this piece of trash to shreds.
“First of all,” Azriel said too quietly, his face inches from the male’s and his voice pure ice and death. Here was the Spymaster they all feared. Here was the monster and torturer of the Night Court.
“Don't touch my fucking jacket.”
The male looked positively terrified then, eyes bugging out and grappling his hands against the arm that crossed him. Azriel kept his fingers gripped tightly around his throat.
Shadows were coiling like snakes across the high fae’s torso, around his arms and legs.
“Second,” he pushed his elbow into the male's gut.
“I should kill you for touching a female without her permission.”
Tears began forming in the corners of the male’s eyes.
“But something tells me you have friends that are just as bad as you. So perhaps instead I will send them a warning to keep their fucking hands to themselves.”
Azriel dropped the male and he fell to the floor, gasping. “I'm sorry,” he croaked out. “I'm sorry, please let me go.” He was scrambling back from Azriel but he was trapped against the wall. “I didn't know she was your female- please!”
Azriel squatted down in front of the swine while drawing Truth-Teller from its sheath. The male’s face went white as death as Azriel rested his elbows on his knees, blade balanced between his two hands, and looked at him menacingly.
His shadows reared around his head and shoulders like asps.
“She is not my female,” Azriel said, his voice as smooth and quiet as death itself. “Despite what you may think, females do not belong to males.”
The piece of shit was absolutely cowering now, his back pressed up against the wall and his legs still trying to scrabble away from Azriel. The Shadowsinger was much larger, though, and caging him in with his wings spread wide.
Azriel cocked his head at the male in an animal, predatory gesture.
“I don't think you should be able to touch a female or hold a drink for the rest of the night. Maybe a few nights. What do you think?”
The male just lowered his head and whispered, “Please…”
Azriel moved so fast the creep did not even have time to gasp. He thrust his blade straight through the male's palm, punching all the way to the other side.
The male shrieked, but Azriel just pulled out the dagger and stabbed it through his other hand as well.
The fucker was screaming and crying now, huddled on the ground with both hands spurting blood. Azriel had barely moved.
He simply wiped Truth-Teller off on the male’s pants and stood, re-sheathing it at his hip.
He looked down at the whimpering scum.
“You had better hope I never see your fucking face at this establishment again, or it will be your balls next time. And then your throat.”
And he turned on his heel and walked out of the alley, blood coating his hands.
Azriel re-entered the dance hall and went straight to the washroom, which was mercifully empty.
His vision was still tunnelled, his ears still filled with violent roaring. He numbly washed the blood off his hands at the sink.
He would have gladly fucking killed that trash without hesitation for touching Elain. The only thing that stopped him was the small corner of his mind telling him that Elain would most likely not have wanted that.
When his hands were clean, he gripped the edges of the sink, leaning his head over it and trying to steady his breathing. His arms shook below him.
He felt such rage, such wrath. He wanted to rip the limbs from the disgusting excuse for a male, and then pull out his organs one at a time, slowly.
Suddenly, Rhysand’s midnight voice was cutting through the haze in his head.
“What the fuck just happened? Where are you and why is there a male bleeding out through holes in his hands in the alley?” He sounded calm, casual.
Azriel cringed. If he was being honest he had forgotten Rhys was even here. He couldn't deny what he had done. His brother could identify his handiwork anywhere.
Azriel thought back, “I dealt with a male that couldn't keep his hands to himself on the dance floor.”
He felt Rhysand arch an eyebrow through their mental connection. “You couldn't have used your words instead?”
Azriel smirked. His blood was beginning to cool, his heartbeat slowing. “I used my words, too.”
A smooth, wicked laugh came through the connection.
“Come out from wherever you're hiding, you terrifying bastard. The females want to dance.”
Azriel grimaced and splashed some water on his face, trying to center himself. He took a few deep breaths. He had to check on Elain anyway.
Azriel made his way out to the dance floor and spotted all of them, even Amren, dancing together. Elain seemed to still be having a good time. She was smiling and twirling on Nesta’s arm. He was relieved to see that she didn't look too shaken.
Cassian and Mor started drunkenly calling Azriel over. They were both howling with laughter.
As soon as Azriel reached them Cassian clapped him on the back so hard he had to brace himself.
“You fucking put holes in his hands,” Cassian was shouting, tears pricking his eyes in laughter.
Azriel felt Elain's eyes swivel to him, huge and alarmed. He shrugged at Cassian. “He deserved it.”
Feyre came dancing up beside him, nudging him with her shoulder and handing him a drink.
“Merciful stars, Az,” she said. “Remind me to never piss you off!”
He raised the glass she had handed him in a mock salute and then downed the entire thing in one go.
His family was dancing around him and as the drink hit his system, he started dancing, too.
As they all became engrossed in their revelry, Azriel danced towards Elain, moving his body to the music that had turned quite sultry for this very moment, it seemed.
She was distracted, laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous dance floor antics. He positioned himself a couple inches behind her but did not touch her. Instead Azriel leaned his head down to murmur in her ear, causing her to jump slightly.
“Are you alright?”
His body sang to be so close to hers.
Elain nodded. “Yes,” she answered quietly. “You didn't have to stab the male.” She didn't sound reproachful or judgmental. In fact, Azriel thought her voice might be quivering with…desire. Her hips and devastating backside were swishing slowly back and forth just inches from Azriel's groin.
His nose grazed the skin of her pointed ear as he said, “I would have done much more for you, Elain. But something told me you wouldn't have appreciated me gutting a male in the alley for touching you.”
She didn't answer but he felt her draw in a shuddering breath.
He struggled not to imagine sliding broad hands around her waist and then drifting them over her ribcage.
He struggled not to imagine pulling her close to him, so he could drink in the scent of her arousal as her ass molded to his groin, just the way he wanted it.
He struggled not to imagine grinding against her to the music, the world falling away from them as his hands roved between her breasts and over her hip.
He struggled not to imagine slipping one of his broad hands beneath his own jacket so he could stroke a gentle thumb over her peaked nipple, unseen by anyone else, as he pressed heated kisses to the side of her neck.
He struggled not to imagine those things. But, as always, he utterly and completely failed.
He was so lost in a maelstrom of need for her.
He would do anything for her.
Be anything.
Offer up anything.
And in that instant, completely undone by her scent and the music and her laughter and the drink and the ebbing rage and the dancing and her deep chocolate eyes and the wildflowers beginning to coil around his heart, he chose to.
Azriel didn't want to draw the attention of the others, so he started to move away from her. But before he did, he let his lips graze her ear as he murmured under his breath,
“You tell me you want me, Elain, and I am yours.”
And then he was drifting towards Feyre on the dance floor, offering an arm to spin her.
He didn't look at Elain's face for her reaction. If he was being honest with himself, he was scared shitless.
He had offered himself to her, and he didn't know if he was a fool for doing so.
All he knew was that he could no longer fight the need to offer.
What she did with that offer, with his shadowed, mangled soul she held in the palm of her hand, would be her choice.
So he only danced with his family, letting the drink and music transport him to a place of freedom for a few blessed moments.
After another round of drinks and a card game that Azriel won with little effort, the group readied themselves to leave.
Elain had glanced at Azriel intermittently throughout their last hour at Rita’s, but her gaze gave nothing away regarding how she felt about his last words to her.
As they moved back out onto the street, Cassian threw his arm around Azriel and drunkenly led him in front of the others.
“Don't fucking say it, Cass,” Azriel warned under his breath the second his brother’s mouth opened.
Cassian gave him an exasperated sigh.
“You would have done the same fucking thing if you had seen,” Azriel muttered.
His brother scoffed. “I would have punched the male in the face, sure. But I wouldn't have taken the sorry bastard out to the alley to maim him and haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life,” he said drily.
Azriel just shook his head, so Cassian continued, much to his ire.
“Listen, brother. I know you're not going to talk to me about anything unless you want to. I've learned my lesson there. But just…don't fuck up, okay?”
Azriel looked at him sidelong with a flat expression. “Thank you for that excellent advice, Cass,” he deadpanned.
Cassian just gave a hearty laugh and clapped Azriel on the back, then released him. Azriel rolled his eyes.
He kept away from Elain on their walk back to the Townhouse, leaving her to walk arm in arm with her sisters.
When they got to the front door Azriel volunteered to winnow Cassian and Nesta to the House of Wind wards, wanting to give Elain time and space.
Before they departed Elain simply shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him with a light, “Goodnight,” and then vanished into the townhouse behind Mor.
~~~~~
Once at the House, Azriel collapsed onto his bed and plunged his face into his jacket, breathing deep.
Honey and cedar and jasmine and mist and holy gods it was them, together. What their scents may be if they claimed each other, body and soul. What they would each smell like after a night of holding each other and fucking and then holding each other again.
And maybe it made him the most pathetic kind of bastard ever to walk the planet.
Maybe it made him a fucking perverse excuse for life.
Maybe it made him a pitiful, woeful, sorry, desperate fucking disaster of a male.
But he clutched that jacket to his face, blocking out all light so that in the darkness all he could sense was her, them, their blended scent. He held that jacket over his face, breathing deep, and fisted his cock until he came.
Three times.
Their shared scent drowning him.
He couldn't get the image of her in that jade dress, her freckled thigh beckoning him, out of his mind. He couldn't stop feeling the smooth skin of her leg on his ruined fingers. He couldn't stop seeing her eyes go wide with shock and ire when that asshole put his hands on her. He couldn't stop feeling the skin of her ear on his lips as he whispered to her, offering himself. He couldn't stop scenting her sweet, rich arousal, keeping him feeling drunk far after the alcohol had left his system. He couldn't stop seeing her hips swishing in that green gown or her cleavage peeking between the gap in his leather jacket. He couldn't stop thinking about her gentle words, her soft hands, her depthless eyes, her kind heart.
He couldn't stop.
He tried, but he failed.