Elana felt the click of the door before the storm in her finally broke.
She had held herself together in front of the others, refusing their pity.
But the pain clawing up inside her was worse than anything she'd endured these past days.
Azael had a woman.
Eira sounded confident, mature—not 'little' like her. Caesar also mentioned she was pretty.
Her fists clenched. Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned.
She would never let him touch her again. Not ever.
She would leave with the soldiers no matter what he said—unless he killed her himself.
And yet, the memory of the warmth of his mouth ghosted her mind, the way her body had leaned toward him without permission. She hated that it remembered.
She collapsed onto the bed, covering her mouth to muffle the sob that tore through her. Her fingers fisted the velvet sheets.
Suddenly, even the prison and the monsters out there felt kinder than the ache inside her chest.
This part of her feelings for him was ripping her open from inside out.
And the worst part was how helpless she was to stop it.
**
Azael's eyes felt heavy as he stepped out of the room where his coffin rested. The moon hung high, its pale glow spilling across the main chamber.
Under its cold wash, his naked skin took on a bluish tint.
He still had unfinished business with Fen, which meant roaming his territory tonight. Fen was unpredictable now—reckless even.
"Azael. The man that you are."
Eira's voice drifted from behind him.
Her sudden appearances were becoming a nuisance.
He turned to find her perched on his bed, draped in nothing but red lace.
She lay propped on one elbow, the pose curving down her waist to the tempting line of her hips.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind—using her for temporary relief. It was gone as quickly as it came.
Her gaze slid over him, slow and hungry. A smile tugged at her lips as she pushed herself upright and stood.
"You're addicted to testing me these days, Eira," he said as she approached, hips swaying with every step.
"So perfect," she whispered when she reached him, her eyes locked on his.
The top of her lingerie barely covered her breasts, Elana's scarf flickered through his mind.
He could satisfy his body, yes, but a rarer struggle twisted in him: forcing himself to want Eira even if only for a moment.
Her cold fingers traced his chest, Elana's trembling hands flashed through his mind.
Still, he didn't stop Eira. Maybe—just maybe, her touch could spark something inside him.
"Do you mean testing you in a good way?" she breathed, pressing her body against him.
Her chilled skin and the grainy lace glided over the ridged lines of his chest.
"You look starved, Master," she whispered. "Let me please you."
He held her gaze, trying—failing—to ground himself in the moment, to see her under the moonlight the way he once might have.
But all he saw was Elana, her face on the balcony the night he kissed her.
He stepped back from Eira and walked toward the bathroom. Nothing was working.
"Should I have stayed human?" Eira called after him, her voice cracking.
"You should be gone when I'm done," he said over his shoulder as he entered the bathroom.
The marble floor warmed his feet. Water cascaded over him, the drizzle matting his hair and running down his skin like heat trying to thaw stone.
"I need to stay for a while," Eira said from the doorway. "I'm sorry I barged in like that."
"Even now you're still here," he muttered, glancing at her. His eyes traced her bare thighs. Not even a stir.
"I got into trouble," she continued softly. "I need to disappear for a bit. I don't mean any harm. I even said hi to your guests."
Azael sighed, letting the water beat against him. He didn't have time for her games, her fears, or her desperation.
"You will stay for a fortnight. Not a day more."
Eira nodded. "I'm sorry I assumed you liked that blind girl. She seemed…affectionate with that human boy. I knew instantly that I was wrong."
Azael's eyes opened slowly. Something dark stirred.
"You stand there long enough and I'll reconsider letting you stay at all," he said, his voice even.
She finally left, her synthetic scent fading with her.
Azael pressed a fist to the wall.
The image of Zane holding Elana's hand flared across his mind.
Envy nearly provoking his demon to the surface.
**
Trisha brushed her fingers over the night-blooming flowers in the field, their soft glow pulsing gently against her palm.
She plucked a few, placing them into the wicker basket at her elbow.
These she would take to her sister's descendant—her great-great-nephew—just as she had every year since she found the bloodline.
It had become a tradition—following her sister's lineage. Her sister had been burnt to ashes at the stake but had a child.
It had taken her half a century to track them.
Half a century before she felt that burst of hope, that spark of warmth she thought her undead heart could no longer hold.
The flowers she gave fused with her energy to carry them with good luck through the year. Still blessing their family with the gift of her power.
Her smile dimmed.
The last few days had unsettled her and all because of Elana.
Could she really save Azael from this storm fate threw his way?
At first, it was thrilling to see him so concerned about her—Elana had stumbled into the castle like a living trap Trisha hadn't predicted.
Trisha sighed.
Desire mixed with longing was an underrated form of destruction, especially on a man like Azael.
Poor girl—she didn't yet realize that fate had delivered her as a ticking bomb to him.
Her mind flickered.
Azael on the floor, a stake buried in his heart.
Red flames swallowing bodies.
His hands reaching for a convulsing Elana—her eyes white, blood sliding from her neck, from the mark he'd left on her.
Trisha inhaled sharply, shaking herself back to reality. Her short visit to her great-great-nephew promised at least a little relief.
She teleported to the throne room and immediately spotted Azael, leaning in the shadows of his throne.
To the outside world, a cruel soul; to her, a fallen angel who had glimpsed heaven only once. Zel.
"Ready to go, Trisha." his voice was calm as always.
Sometimes she wondered if the centuries he had lived made him immune to surprise.
She smiled. "Promise to behave while I'm gone."
He scoffed, majestic and effortless. "Is there a solution?"
Trisha met his burning crimson eyes, hesitant "I'm not sure I und…"
"Elana." His word ended the sentence.
She nodded.
"The solution is in your hands, Zel. You have to let go of her yourself. Besides that human boy could be keeping her busy. You could just go about your day fine without trying too hard."
He reclined into his throne, "Have a safe trip, Trisha."
"So saucy," she muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" he asked, a slight amusement flickering in his tone.
She guessed he knew she was trying to get a rise out of him.
"Thank you." She corrected herself with a smile then appeared where she entered into the carriage waiting outside, her heart sad for him.
**
Syrus hovered in the black mist, hidden from mortal eyes and most immortal senses.
The castle itself was forbidden ground—its owner, ancient, sharp, and aware.
If he went too close, it would taste him instantly.
He had been waiting. Enduring.
Until he saw the carriage leaving the domain of the castle.
He followed it from afar, keeping distance, drifting like a shadow, trying to use his spell to see through. It proved effortless.
The handiwork of a great sorcerer had made it magic-proof.
He continued to follow it only stopping when it passed the spiritual cast protecting this Ancient's territory.
Just as the carriage passed to the other side ,
a white-furred wolf, twice the size of a man and almost as the little boy had described—burst from the shadows and slapped the carriage sideways, sending it careening into the trees.