Chapter Text
It had been a month since that night on Winter Solstice.
Four weeks since she’d offered herself to Azriel, accepted and then rejected his gift.
Twenty-nine days since Lucien had left. Not that she was counting.
Without a word or a note to say goodbye—he’d finally taken the hint. It wasn’t a severing, so much as a tear. A jagged ripping of seams that never should have been sewn together.
She’d believed it, and finally, it seemed he did too.
The following afternoon, Azriel found her in the garden and apologised for how their encounter had ended. She told him it was water under the bridge as far as she was concerned, but she could sense he wasn't being completely honest with her. Judging by the way his shadows made themselves smaller when she looked at them, and his eyes didn’t fully meet hers, he had more to say on the matter.
She brushed the dirt off her fingers, suddenly wishing she’d had a pair of gloves—
“What did you do with it, the necklace?” she asked him, interrupting her own train of thought.
He flushed slightly, as if not expecting her to ask for it.
“I returned it,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’ll find you something nicer.”
She tensed at the thought, because it was lovely, if a little more colourful than her usual taste in jewellery, but decided to let him. She owed him that, after all.
“I also wanted to tell you…” He trailed off, looking for the words.
“Tell me what?” Elain queried, studying the reticent look on his face.
He sighed. “That night on Solstice, Rhys told me that you and I need to stay away from each other.”
Heart thumping with humiliation, Elain couldn’t stop the flush of her cheeks. It was mortifying to think Rhys had one: known about what had happened between them, and two: put a stop to it.
“He thinks it would cause trouble for us. Beron might seek to use your bond with Vanserra and call for a duel.”
“A what?”
He explained the Blood Duel, an Autumn Court tradition. A fight to the death.
“And what did you say to that?” Elain asked, fingers tapping on the sleeve of her dress in impatience.
“Well, I said I’d easily be able to defeat him—”
“You can’t,” she said, flattening her tone. “Killing him would kill me.”
Elain knew in her soul, in her bones, that if anything happened to Lucien, it would wreck her. The pull of the bond and its power over her was all-encompassing—even in its unclaimed, unsealed form—the very notion of it being ripped away from her was unfathomable. If the heartbeat she could never quite tune out stopped beating… It was a non-starter.
Azriel stared at her, unblinking, his features stark with surprise at her response, brows straining at the reminder of its existence.
“Well,” he replied, running an uncharacteristically nervous hand through his onyx hair. “Then it obviously won’t come to that.”
“So what do we do?” she asked. Part of her wanted to rage at her sister’s husband for meddling in her business. Part of her, a small, stupid and mindless kernel that wrapped around her ribs, understood his warning to tread carefully.
“I can’t disobey Rhys, Elain,” he said, not meeting her gaze.
She knew they were brothers in all but name, but if he truly wanted her, surely it wouldn’t matter, to Rhys especially.
“Then we can meet in secret,” she said. “No one needs to know.”
She marked the shift in his scent when he heard, understood, what she meant.
“We can’t,” he said, a tad harshly, eyes close to pleading. “Your bond—”
“I don’t care about it, neither should you,” she bit back. Even though she held her head high to look up at him, her shoulders twitched at the words. Physically recoiling at the idea of trying to ignore the bond. It made itself known between her ribs, though, burning hot with indignation.
Azriel didn’t seem to notice any of it as he took both of her hands in his. “Are you sure you want to do this? Go against the bond, against Rhys?”
In truth, she didn’t. Elain had only given in to Azriel’s desire for her to feel something other than the relentless thrum of the bond. Her proximity to Lucien that night had made it unbearable.
Azriel happened to be in the right place and the right time for her to channel the ache between her legs into desire for someone other than her mate. That wasn’t to say that had it been Rhys or Cassian, it would have gone the same way, but if it were Lucien… it didn’t bear thinking about.
He was a stranger. And that was that.
“I want to try,” she admitted. It was all she could offer.
It wasn’t a yes, it wasn’t a no.
Elain had been teetering on that bridge of indecision for months now, and this was a tentative step in one direction. It was something, anyway.
So, that’s what they did. They tried.
Elain kept things cordial and pleasant with Azriel around their family. Luckily, everyone was so focused on Feyre, still heavily pregnant, or with Nesta, to notice any stolen glances.
They agreed to meet once a week under the cover of darkness in the townhouse. With Nesta and Cassian at the House of Wind, Mor and Amren at their respective apartments, and Feyre and Rhys at the River House, it was the only place they could have a semblance of privacy. Elain practically lived there now anyway, while Azriel always kept his movements quiet unless someone asked. It was an ideal cover.
Elain would have liked to be out and about, though. To wander through the markets with him, to feel the sun on her skin while she got to truly know him. But Azriel said it was better to keep things just between them at the house for a while, at least until she was sure about fully pursuing a relationship with him. She, albeit a little reluctantly, agreed to that.
On their first evening together, she had cooked him dinner. She had spent all day preparing a three-course meal of leek and potato soup, roasted chicken and potatoes sautéed in herby garlic butter, and chocolate tortes for dessert.
He complimented her food, and while she beamed at his praise, she noticed that he’d been quiet while they ate. A good sign, Elain figured, as it meant he really liked it.
She had rummaged around the townhouse’s wine cellar and found a bottle of white wine, a Day Court speciality gifted to Rhys by Helion, judging by the cheeky note around its neck, which paired with the food perfectly. It had also calmed Elain’s nerves enough to allow Azriel to hold her hand over the table.
The evening ended with a chaste kiss to her cheek; though she could tell he wanted more, she appreciated his respectful restraint, allowing her to call the shots at this early stage. That, and Elain felt she needed a little more of that Day Court wine before she allowed things to escalate between them.
The next week was more of the same, only he came prepared with a bottle of Summer Court orange wine for her rainbow trout main and peach pie dessert. She poured two glasses of the fragrant, apricot-infused wine, a tart, fruity bouquet produced on the island of Ischia, just off the Adriatan coast.
They had talked a little more this time. He had spoken at length about training the Valkyries, and she had listened, waiting for an opportunity to ask if he had any interests outside of his work for the Night Court, but it never really came. No matter, she thought, they had time for all that.
The bond, at least, had quieted a little, but she also wondered what that meant. Because even as she sat there across from Azriel, listening to him talk, her mind flitted to Lucien now and again. It was wont to do that at the most inconvenient times, whether her mind raced with thoughts and feelings, or when she’d managed to finally empty it before drifting off to sleep.
The bond constantly tried to put him front of mind, tugging at her to think about him and only him, even when it wasn’t necessary.
When looking at her garden, the bond would make her wonder what Lucien preferred: houseplants or flowers?
When shopping for food, it would make her think about the kind of desserts he would like. Did he like sweet pastries or savoury biscuits? A herbal tea or a strong cup of coffee? Wine or cocktails?
When planning her menus each week, she found herself asking whether Lucien would prefer chicken or fish? Light meat or dark? Or was he a vegetarian?
She cursed herself every time.
Most especially when daydreaming while waiting in line to pay for her wares, or for her dough to prove, and flashes of his objectively handsome face appeared in her mind’s eye.
When she popped into the tailor's, she wondered what his body looked like beneath those fine clothes.
As she bathed, she found herself fantasising about the taste of his sweat after he’d been sparring.
At night, as she undressed, she thought about how Lucien would undress her: would he slowly peel her clothes off, rip them apart, or burn them clean off her body?
Obscene thoughts her human conditioning resisted and shut off at every turn.
Very inconvenient indeed.
So she pushed every intrusive visage of him down to focus on the choice she’d made. On the male before her now, holding her hand and rubbing his calloused thumb over the top of her soft skin.
When he got up to leave, he leaned down for another goodbye kiss to her cheek, only for Elain to turn at the last moment and sneak her lips onto his. He pulled away at first, just to check that she’d meant it, then quickly resumed.
His lips were warm, his tongue slipping between her own to deepen the kiss. Scarred hands moved from his sides to her waist, as she gently guided her own around the broad expanse of his shoulders. His wings twitched at the sensation, the proximity of her fingers to the tendons that controlled them.
He broke the kiss to lead her from the dining room to the lounge, taking a seat on the plush red velvet sofa of the townhouse living room, pulling her down to sit next to sit beside him.
“Can I keep kissing you?” he asked, licking his lips and swallowing.
Elain nodded. She liked kissing him, and despite her lack of experience with men, she wanted to keep going.
As she settled on the seat beside him, she thought for the first time that perhaps she really could do it. Break the bond with Lucien and be with Azriel. He was safety and stability, a perfect mirror of her sisters’ relationships. They could all be together as one big happy family in the Night Court, and everything would be fine.
He leaned in to kiss her again, this time a little more forcefully, teeth crashing as his hands resumed their position on her waist. She placed hers over his, and he stilled, pulling away and breaking the contact between them.
“I think I should go,” he said, sounding a little winded as he leaned his forehead on hers.
She drew back, knitting her brows in confusion.
“You don’t have to,” Elain said, panic a rising tide in her chest. “Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes widened. “Cauldron, no, I just…” He shifted in his seat. “I just don’t want to rush this, not with you.”
His handsome smile was genuine, even if the change in his scent told her he probably wanted to keep going too.
“All right,” she said, resigned to wait a little longer.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
“Same time next week,” she answered.
He pressed another tender kiss to her lips and stood up to see himself out.
When he left, Elain took a long, deep breath and quickly washed up after their dinner. She didn’t mind doing it by herself as it kept her mind occupied on something other than what Lucien would say if he knew about what she was doing.
If she was really going to do this, he would have to know why—he deserved to know why. Why she’d chosen Azriel over him, what might end up driving her to break the bond. Would he understand? Or would he go mad?
Elain didn’t like to spend too long on those questions, which is why she spent the next week desperately avoiding answering them.
When her third evening with Azriel rolled around, she’d prepared a joint of roast beef sirloin, with a cheesy potato gratin and homemade rosemary gravy.
Unfortunately, the only suitable red wine she could find was an Autumn Court variety. Full-bodied with notes of cinnamon, blackberry and vanilla, aged in maplewood barrels.
Fantastic.
When Azriel arrived, a little later than planned, Elain had finished getting herself ready. Tonight, she wanted to make things official with him and made sure she looked the part.
Elain had chosen a soft amethyst gown with a lower-than-usual neckline, allowing her corset to do what it was actually made for, and make use of the cleavage her new fae body had been endowed with. She’d slipped on her usual stockings and swapped her silk plimsolls for a pair of matching kitten heels. She’d also pinned up her hair, only just removing the last pin before Azriel rang the front doorbell, its pealing notes clanging through her ears.
This was it. The last step before she gave herself to him entirely.
She spritzed on a new perfume, bought from a vendor in Velaris who told her it contained complementary notes to her own honey and jasmine scent.
“Sweet, ripe pear; earthy, musky ambrette; and sensual, delectable vanilla—it’s going to drive your mate wild,” the perfumer had said with a wink.
Elain flushed with embarrassment at the realisation that the fae male could scent her bond, and at his assumption of Lucien being the one intended to scent it. But the perfumer was so enthusiastic, Elain didn’t have the heart to correct him.
She hoped what would work for one male would work for the other.
After one more assessing glance of herself in her vanity, Elain took one last deep breath and padded down the stairs to let him in.
When she opened the door, she found him sweaty and out of breath.
“Are you alright?” Elain asked, not hiding her concern.
“I’m good, sorry I’m so late,” he breezed through the door to plant a rough kiss to her cheek. The scent of his sweat wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was enough for Elain to wonder if it would be impolite to ask him to freshen up before dinner.
He also still wore training leathers, which again, she didn’t really mind, but he’d been smartly dressed on the last two occasions, and she much preferred that side of him.
“I got into a sparring match with Berdara,” he said breathlessly as he pulled away. “Almost handed my ass to me, but I won.”
She blinked, not recalling the name. “Who’s that?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry—she’s one of Valkyries—the first one actually.” He smiled broadly, and Elain could have sworn it was pride that made him beam so.
She also didn’t miss the heat in her chest at realising that “Berdara” was a female.
“Gwyn—uh, Gwyneth is a priestess in the House of Wind. Good friends with Nesta,” he listed off her attributes so naturally, like he’d been waiting to say them aloud.
“Oh?” Elain asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nesta’s never mentioned a ‘Gwyn’ before.”
Though in truth, she and Nesta hadn’t been speaking much recently.
Azriel sat down on the same red velvet sofa they’d kissed on last week, and began to untie his boots. His muddy, slush-covered boots dripping gods-knew-what over a rug she was sure cost more than she could conceive of. She bit it back, as nagging him in a house he’d been alive in longer than far longer than she had would definitely spoil the mood.
So she handed him a glass of wine, which he took gratefully and sipped away at.
He scented it. “Autumn Court wine?” he asked, sending Elain’s pulse spiking. “That’s one way to bring him up,” he said, features tense with hesitation.
Elain’s pulse spiked, making her pause before answering, trying to find the right words. “It wasn’t my intention; it was the only red I could find in here.”
Azriel nodded, though he didn’t completely relax. His wings still tucked in tight behind him, flexing every now and again as if waiting for the moment they could pop open.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, scenting the air and… scrunching his face in displeasure. “What’s the funny smell?”
Elain drew her head back. “Roast beef? And cinnamon rolls for dessert?”
“No, they smell great,” he said, sniffing again, harder this time. “I think it’s you?”
Shame and embarrassment flooded her. “Oh, I’m wearing a new perfume. You don’t like it?”
Azriel winced. Actually winced. “It’s fine, I’ll get used to it.”
He stood up and kissed her lips, a soft press, but Elain didn’t miss the way his nose scrunched up again.
This was already going poorly.
Azriel sat down at his place at the table, as Elain brought in the first course of prawn cocktail.
“Ah, I’m allergic to shellfish,” he said, scratching his jaw. “Could we just skip to the beef?”
“Oh, gods! I’m so sorry,” she winced, pivoting on a heel. “Just give me a minute.”
“Anything I can help with?” he asked. The first time he’d ever done so, she realised.
“No,” she replied from the kitchen. “All good.”
She grabbed a wet flannel from the sink and rubbed away the perfume on her skin. It lingered on her clothes, but if she could salvage this evening, they wouldn’t be a problem for long.
The main course passed quickly, as Elain recounted her week. Checking in on Feyre, shopping with Feyre, and confusing conversations with Amren, who constantly asked about her visions.
“Rhys hasn’t said anything to you about me, has he?” she asked after a beat of silence.
Azriel shook his head. “Not a peep. Still our little secret,” he said with a conspiratorial smile.
Elain couldn’t help the disappointment in her chest at his low yet jovial tone, as if they were getting away with a crime.
She took another sip of her wine, letting its rich Autumnal flavours coat her tongue and burn her throat. Of the three she’d tasted on these dinner dates with Azriel, she had to admit, this one was indeed the nicest. She finished the glass, and Azriel topped her up.
“So, have you decided what to do yet? About him?”
She tapped her fingernail against its stem. He would never use Lucien’s name. Not ever in front of her. It was always ‘Vanserra’. Or ‘him’.
“I don’t know what to say to Lucien,” she said, giving him the dignity of using his name at the very least. “I don’t know what you and I are yet.”
He didn’t respond to that, but reminded her: “You can’t string him along forever,” he replied, drawing his finger round the rim of his glass, ignoring the latter half of her statement. “You should do it sooner rather than later.”
Elain didn’t know what to say or do about any of it.
She certainly still felt attracted to Azriel. He was handsome, with a dazzling smile and sweet hazel eyes—flesh and muscle chiselled into a living weapon. But something about him, tonight especially, wasn’t the same.
Without answering him, she rushed to clear the plates, cutlery and porcelain clanking awkwardly as she brought them into the kitchen.
Thankfully, the cinnamon rolls had risen perfectly and were still warm and pillowy—at least those hadn’t failed her.
When Elain returned to the dining room, she suggested they move things to the sofa. Azriel happily obliged, taking both their wine glasses over to the coffee table.
A low fire burned in the hearth, and Elain definitely had too much of that damned Autumn Court wine because she could have sworn its embers were trying to get closer to her. A warmth stemming from the thread around her ribs began to seep into her bones, heating her blood, her skin, her entire body, right to the core.
Azriel, too, sat closer. His arm draped around the back of the sofa behind her. She watched him lick his fingers over the rim of her glass. The cinnamon from his lips overwhelmed her, reminding her of another’s distinctly spicy scent.
“Azriel?” Elain asked, forcing the thought out of her mind before it could fully form. “Kiss me,” she said breathlessly, feeling as if she was running out of time.
He wasted no time. His wine glass landed on the coffee table with a ring of crystal on wood, as his mouth flew to her lips. The bond in her ribs thrashed with displeasure, like stormy waters raging against a cliff that would not budge.
She ignored it, ignored every instinct and drive telling her no, telling her to stop and find her mate and be with him.
Her Cauldron-given, Mother-blessed, soulmate.
It was pointless to think of him. They may not have officially severed their bond, but she wasn’t going to pursue anything with him. Azriel was solid. Azriel was stable. Azriel was here.
Instead, she willed herself to focus on his hands as they gripped her waist, and swiftly moved up to her breasts, aching under that corset, begging to be freed, to be touched.
“Elain,” he moaned her name against her lips. “Are you sure?”
Was she? Elain wasn’t sure about anything in her life. She wasn’t sure about her powers, her place in the Night Court, or her relationship with Nesta. She hadn’t had a vision since the war, hadn’t known what the hell she was supposed to do with her life. But she knew damn well that something had to give—why couldn’t it be this?
“I’m sure,” she whispered back, masking any doubt that lingered in her mind, her heart. “I want to.”
His lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes, eyes that had always held such kindness and compassion when they looked at her, were now pools of midnight, dark with lust and desire. “I’ve wanted this since that night on Solstice,” he said, “ever since I have dreamed of having you like this.”
Elain’s fingers found his, holding them over the swell of her breasts above her dress. She didn’t say anything, unable to form a response to that. Elain melted back into his kiss, hoping her lips could say what her words couldn’t.
She wanted to be here. She wanted him.
She could worry about Lucien another time.
He laughed wickedly against her skin, trailing kisses along her jaw and down the column of her neck, moving his hands lower and lower along the planes of her dress. She braced herself against the arm of the sofa for support.
“I want to taste you, Elain,” he growled. “Please.”
Pleasure shot through her at his words, at the dark tone of his voice, again a marked difference from usual.
Hot anticipation coursed through her, nervous excitement at the prospect of doing this. Of finally crossing the boundary, of making this choice for herself.
Elain hitched up the skirts of her dress, finishing what his hands had started. There was nothing slow about the way they moved together. She had kicked off her heels, he had peeled off her stockings, and spread her legs wide open, kneeling between her thighs.
Any awkwardness she’d felt between them had slipped away. Nothing and no one was standing in their way. Only the heat from the fire and the lingering scent of cinnamon.
Her fingers twisted into the couch as he pulled her underwear to the side, baring her sex to him. There was no going back now, not for either of them. Whatever consequences they incurred by doing this, they would weather it together.
The contact of his fingers on the wet, sensitive skin between her legs sent a pang of desire coursing through her. He wrapped a hand around her ankle and lifted it to rest on the back of the sofa.
“Gods,” he groaned, teasing her entrance with just one finger. “All for me?” he purred, slipping it in, filling her with it.
She moaned in affirmation. She wanted this so badly, had wanted to calm her baying senses with the touch of another. This could be so right, so picture-perfect.
Three sisters, three brothers. United in Night.
Another finger joined the first, slipping in and out, agonisingly slowly. Whatever wave she was about to crest, she knew it would take time, but this felt good, and she wanted to savour it.
Azriel lowered his lips to her aching thighs, tracing the trembling muscles with kisses.
She placed a hand over her ribs, and though the bond pulsed discontentedly, it did not roil as it had done previously. Almost as if resigned to let whatever was happening continue without it.
Azriel lowered his lips to her clit, the sensitive bud now throbbing with want. He teased and kissed the skin around it before directly taking it into his mouth, sucking and licking in tandem with his fingers, curling inside her to bring her up and up and up—
“Come for me, Elain,” he purred. “Let go.”
She tried to. Elain willed her muscles to tense and relax, to release in the way she needed them to. Azriel kept going, slowing down and building back up again, the walls inside her coiling tightly before—
“Azriel,” she moaned. “I’m so close, keep going.”
He started pumping now, less of a sensual curl, more a filthy plunge—in and out, faster and faster, desperately creating fiction. She shifted her hips to find a better angle.
“Get out of your head,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to the collar of her dress, freeing her breasts from their gossamer prison. “Focus on me, on us, baby.”
Getting out of her head was no easy task; Elain constantly worried about everything. But she had to let go, had to—
“Come for me, dove.”
A voice sounded in her mind. A rough, sultry one that she knew in her bones.
This voice was usually light in her presence, so gentle as if to go any lower would cause her to crack. Always laced with concern or unease.
But here, the voice was low and filthy. Hoarse from overuse, deep with masculine command, and dripping with desire, bringing her out in goosebumps.
“Such a lady for everyone else, but not for me. Only I get this side of you.”
Her eyes shot open, to find Azriel had pulled her forward, her legs hooked over his shoulders, his face buried between them. It wasn’t his voice, since his tongue was occupied.
The only sounds she heard from him were his gentle moans into that sensitive flesh. Unaware and unbothered by what was happening in her mind.
She felt her eyes roll back into her head, her periphery going white at the corners. It had nothing to do with pleasure.
Because she was having a vision.
She was somewhere else now, far, far away from her own body. A different time, a different place.
Only here, it wasn’t Azriel between her legs, kneeling in front of her—but her mate knelt behind her.
Lucien’s powerful arm reached across her chest, his hand between her thighs, gently and reverently teasing her clit with one hand, squeezing her nipple with the other. His hard body a pillar of muscle at her back, his cock buried deep inside her from behind.
They were on a downy, luscious bed, a cloud of soft cotton pillows and smooth linen. Before them both stood a wall made entirely of mirrors.
Elain couldn’t believe not only what she was seeing at the most inappropriate time, but what this version of her was doing. And who she was doing it with.
She had never, ever, thought herself so brazen to do something like this.
What was happening with Azriel on that sofa was practically nothing in comparison.
It lasted seconds in real life, but the vision felt far longer—like she was looking through a window—a scene interrupted.
“Look at you, so undone with me filling you up. Ready to come again for me, dove?”
Again? Her body in the present couldn’t reach a single climax, with an attractive and available male between her legs. But here, she could feel it, that weary euphoria of having shattered in Lucien’s arms, over and over again.
The scent of him, that sweet and spicy cinnamon; earthy cloves and sun-warmed cedar, so potent and heavy with lust that it drove her to frenzy. One of her hands gripped the side of his head, while the other clawed at his arm, rippling with pulsing veins and tense muscle, hard enough to leave red welts—proof of her claim on him. Her territory.
“What about you?” Elain whimpered, voice weak from moaning his name. “When will you—”
He cut her off with a kiss, turning her head around to meet his lips. “I’ll fill you up when you come for me,” he growled. “Just one more, dove. Please.”
She didn’t have it in her to deny him, not when he begged.
And so he resumed his rhythmic thrusts; the filthy sounds of his skin slapping against hers alone had the power to send her over the edge.
“When you’re alone, you think of me, don’t you, dove?” he teased. “You think of this. Of us together, of me inside you.”
Her legs shook with pleasure. His body felt so right against hers, truly made for each other.
This was everything.
Everything she could ever want and need, right here in this sunlit room.
Him. Her. Hers. His.
“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispered in her ear, massaging her throbbing clit between two fingers, slowly coaxing her back up once more. She lifted her arm behind his head, clutching the back of his neck, gripping those silky red strands, exposing more of herself to his reflection.“See what you do to me?”
Elain did as he asked, looking over at the mirror and taking in every inch of herself, her normally pale skin flushed pink with pleasure, gleaming with perspiration. Curls as wild as she felt around her shoulders, draped over the golden skin of Lucien’s forearm, clutched across her chest. Tangled and entwined together as mates should be.
Bared only to him. Only for him.
“Let go for me, dove.” His gentle command, with one final pump inside, one last pull of her clit, and she was liquid in his arms.
“Lucien!” she cried, howling his name as loud as her exhausted lungs would let her, as that wave rose inside her again—building and building until she could no longer hold on; melting around him, into him. His fingers slowed their pace, drifting up her body, leaving every muscle he touched trembling in their wake. He cupped her head, steadying her against his chest. Deep panting was the only sound between them.
Still connected, two bodies made one, hearts beating in unison, she took the fingers he’d used to undo her so thoroughly, pruned from their time between her shuddering legs, glistening with her arousal and slid them into her own mouth to taste her pleasure. He moaned at the sensation, at the obscene display.
“Good girl,” he purred, kissing her neck as she deflated, rocking his own way to release. “I love you,” followed quickly in a whisper, a soft reminder of the adoration beneath the lust, for only her to hear.
“I love you,” she repeated back to him. Her heart so full of it she could burst—
The vision cut short, pulling her back to the present.
She blinked her eyes open slowly, trying to reconcile what was real and what wasn’t. She wasn’t in a sun-drenched room with Lucien, but in the townhouse living room, with Azriel’s tongue still languishing between her legs.
Oh gods.
What the hell had just happened?
Her breath turned frantic as she realised it, thankful that she could at least write off the vision she just had to the throes of pleasure she was supposed to be feeling.
“You think of this. Of us together, of me inside you.”
Yes, she did. She recalled the image as clearly as she’d seen it only moments ago.
Would it be so wrong to cling to that vision to get herself to climax with Azriel before her? Who would know, only her and her mind?
Not that she asked it, but the bond hummed its approval, as if to say, I won’t tell if you won’t.
Azriel pulled his mouth from her, panting for breath. “I can feel you, Elain, you’re so close.”
And she was. Closer than ever, thanks to this eureka moment.
“Keep going,” she gasped, glancing between him and the ceiling. “Please.”
To his credit, Azriel only grinned, mouth glistening with evidence of his hard work, and went back to it. His hazel eyes shuttered, and Elain couldn’t help but wonder if his mind was entirely on her, either. He had wanted this as much as she had, perhaps even more so. Though if he was thinking of another, Elain could hardly judge him.
Elain shook the thought from her head, clearing her mind of everything and anything else as Azriel had instructed. She moved her hips in tandem with Azriel’s tongue, finding that friction she so desperately needed.
And only when she felt herself reach that peak once did she picture that moment.
Of blazing red hair and hungry eyes—both russet and gold—finding hers in that mirror, in that mystery room with endless sunshine. Of calloused fingers pinching her nipples and rolling her clit between them. Of full lips and sharp white teeth sucking and nipping her neck—whispering filthy words in that low, throaty growl that skittered over her skin.
“Come for me, dove.”
And Elain obeyed.
***
Azriel left quickly after she had, saying that it would be wise for them to take things one step at a time. When she protested, claiming she wanted to return the favour, he declined.
“No need to rush,” he affirmed. As they lingered at the threshold of the door, he leant down to kiss her.
“Same time next week?” His usual question instead of farewell.
He really had no idea.
Elain could only nod, her vocal cords deciding they were not party to whatever had just happened inside her head.
His shadows returned to him at last, as they often disappeared whenever she was around. She theorised that they could sense her unease around them. They whisked him into nothingness.
Elain spent the rest of the evening cleaning up after he left, once again taking her mind off what she had unwittingly learned. She drifted over to the sofa where her shoes and stockings lay strewn on the floor, the lingering scent of both her and Azriel. She picked up their wine glasses, drinking the last mouthfuls of both.
Perhaps it was the Autumn Court wine, imbued with some strange herb or spice, that made her lose her mind entirely.
She lay down on the sofa, licking the last drop of wine from her lips, lingering on that spot and savouring the woodsy taste of it.
Elain stared at the ceiling. Her mind was unable to let her move on from what her vision had shown. The bond, despite her attempts to stop its howling, remained louder and more intense than ever. That burning desire roiled within her, wrapping around her ribcage like an errant, unruly vine. The bond vibrated, coaxing her to try again. It was agony.
“When you’re alone, you think of me, don’t you, dove?”
She rubbed her legs together, the insurmountable need taking her mind to places she had resisted.
“Just one more, please.”
Just one more.
Just. One. More.
Peering around the living room to make sure she was alone did nothing to calm her down, but also did nothing to stop her.
She couldn’t summon visions, or rather, didn’t know if she could. But her new power came with near-perfect memory as a boon.
And every single detail of that vision replayed in her mind.
Where it was happening, she couldn’t exactly place—she was far too focused on what she was doing with Lucien to pick out a specific location—but it looked nothing like Velaris. It was too bright, too airy—with large, open windows and a warm breeze blowing through billowing curtains.
It didn’t matter, though. She had no plans to leave the Night Court, and therefore, had no plans to be wherever that was. No desire to see that vision come to fruition. No urge to find out if he could make her feel as good as she had in that vision.
Her blood still blazed at the memory of it, lulling her hand into drifting down the bodice of her dress, as the other pulled her skirts up above her waist.
She lay tentative fingers on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, feeling her muscles quiver under her own touch. As she slipped beneath her underwear, nearing her throbbing sex, Elain allowed herself to moan, just for her to hear. Not as guttural or exhausted as the moans of her vision, but enough for the sound of her own pleasure to make her body roll in place.
Slipping her hand between her legs, palming herself and feeling the slick proof of her arousal, she moved her fingers in gentle, coaxing circles, finding what felt good.
Elain was no stranger to self-love, as the bond would not quiet until she’d done something to satisfy it. She quickly realised that bringing herself to climax was the only thing that worked.
The first time was after she’d seen a glimpse of her mate while he delivered his monthly report to Rhysand. Elain was alone in the River House while the Inner Circle were out for the evening, and the fleeting sight of him was enough to set the bond alight.
That night, desperate for sleep and sweating from the summer heat, paired with the heat in her body, she let her hand wander between her legs, just as she was doing now. After a few awkward minutes of feeling around for what felt good, she brought herself to climax quickly, thankful that it was over. And while she hadn’t thought of Lucien directly, he had, in a roundabout way, been the catalyst to get her there.
It became a somewhat regular habit, particularly when she couldn’t sleep… which was most nights. Again, Elain didn’t specifically think of her mate, but he lingered in her periphery just enough to get her to orgasm, and nothing more.
But now, here in the townhouse living room, with a much more vivid image of Lucien behind her, Elain was deliberate in her pursuit of release. She slid two fingers inside herself, moaning at the feeling of fullness. She rocked her hips as she rode her hand, rebuilding what had shattered only minutes earlier.
“You think of this. Of us together, of me inside you.”
Yes, she did.
She pictured Lucien filling her until she couldn’t take any more of him. Of him pounding into her until she saw stars. Of his filthy mouth spilling curses onto her skin.
“See what you do to me?”
Golden skin tinged pink with pleasure entered her mind as she rubbed her clit with the heel of her palm.
“Ready to come again for me, dove?”
Clutching his ruby red hair, pulling on the strands as she rode his cock, she was ready. So close to coming again with every swipe of her fingers.
“Only I get this side of you.”
“Yes,” she moaned, arching her back off the sofa, breath catching as she felt her muscles coil tightly in anticipation—
“I love you.”
Release washed over her body, as every tightened muscle in her body spasmed, arching off the sofa. Her clit pulsed with each breath, as her hips settled back down to the soft plush cushions beneath her.
She brought her arm to rest over her forehead as she panted, legs still trembling with the last remnants of her climax.
And as she lay there, aftershocks still rippling through her, Elain knew she should feel terrible for thinking of someone else while Azriel pleasured her.
She knew it was wrong, and she should have felt guilty—part of her even wanted to—but that familiar leaden feeling was nowhere to be found. Only lightness and deep satisfaction. The bond, judging by its own lax grip on her rib, seemed to agree.
And Elain knew that whatever this was—this development, nay complication—was a very big problem.