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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T he keening howl still rang in Azrail’s head when he was manhandled through the pale, crumbling hallways of the saints’ abode by two of Samlyn’s new foul-stinking army. Their dead hands on his arms made his skin crawl even through the ragged clothes he still just about managed to wear. He had no dignity, no hope, and barely any sense of self left.

He’d raised a horde of the dead and Samlyn turned them into an army full of things from the other side of the cracked saints' circle. Vessels.

The smell of them filled every corridor they walked down, no longer shambling but purposeful and strong. The grip they had on Az’s upper arms were hard enough to bruise, and he’d had no luck dislodging them the whole time they marched him through the building.

The crumbled halls changed as Az was taken deeper into the palace than he’d been before, in a new direction. The columns were intact, the wild-growing plants cut back so the pale marble was almost pristine. Delicate carvings flowed along the walls, telling stories Az didn’t recognise of queens and legendary animals and heroes. Where the fuck were these vessels taking him? Was this where the dark saints lived, among this grandeur and carved opulence?

A little chill went down his back when the vessels hauled him through a doorway whose lintel was carved with sweeping, sloping script in a language Azrail didn’t recognise. He dug his elbow into the ribs of the vessel on his left, to no avail, and stepped on the instep of the vessel on his right, to no effect. He couldn’t explain why his soul reacted, lighting up like the moon sliding out from behind a cloud, or why awareness skidded down the back of his neck, but he had the sense he was being led to his death. This next room would contain a guillotine, he’d be forced down onto it, and a blade would cleave his head from his neck.

But when the vessels strong-armed him through the doorway, it wasn’t an executioner's block but a lake waiting for him. Azrail had never seen a pool as large as this, and especially not indoors. The roof was high and sloping above them, hewn of the same pale marble as everything else, but the green water that spread out from where the vessels ungraciously dumped Az was like something from an old fae glen, still and peaceful with flowers floating on the surface where trees hung over the edges.

Az whipped around to stare at the dead as they released their grip and turned, leaving him there. What the fuck? Was this a new mind game, something to break him once and for all? There was a saint here, waiting to kill him or force him into another bargain that would shred his soul. He wasn’t sure he had much of that soul left after the slaughter at Kraeva.

Az dragged a hand over his face, exhaustion tugging on his eyes, weighing his shoulders. He didn’t have the strength left for another task, but that wouldn’t stop him fighting. There’d been days in Vassalaer where he wanted to stay in bed for days on end, but that people needed him, and giving up didn’t keep Evrille safe. It didn’t stop the Foxes from mistreating beastkind or people starving. Az had the power to help them. The world didn’t stop turning because he was tired.

So he sighed, expelling as much stress as he could, straightened his shoulders, and strode around the paved banks of the lake, scanning the strange room. Trees hid the corners, giving the illusion that he was outdoors, and he might have believed that if not for the doorway and the roof. It smelled real, like nature and living things and relief. He dragged a deep breath of it into his lungs and waited for the hum and flicker of power to hit his veins. But the darkness and blood he’d been forced to choke down prevented it without a direct command from a saint.

The howling inside his head finally went silent.

Ahead of him a large white rotunda hugged the banks of the lake, as beautiful as anything he’d ever seen in the Delakore Palace gardens that one time he and the rebels blew it up. Shapely statues of women lingered around the columns of the rotunda and Azrail tensed, waiting for them to spring to life, to attack him.

Movement came instead from the banks of the river across from him. He hadn’t noticed a figure splayed on the ground, but his head whipped around now, eyes narrowing in assessment. A tall, slim woman lunged to her feet, putting her arms out when she wobbled, wings fluttering silvery teal at her back.

The world stopped turning.

Even his breathing ground to a halt.

For a moment she froze too as she noticed him, ragged and messy-haired and covered in grime, and then she exploded into a run. Az burst into movement at the same time, his shoes hammering the ground as he ran as fast as his bruised, battered body would allow.

They collided upon the steps of the rotunda, Maia’s too-slight frame knocking into him, knocking life back into his heart. He backed her up the steps and under the domed canopy, his hand fitting itself to the back of her neck, cradling her against him as they wound up against a marble statue of a fae woman.

“Az,” she breathed, her voice like drops of sunlight on his soul, her hands frantic as she touched as much of him as possible. “Az. Azrail. Az.”

He bent his head, sliding his nose into her hair and dragging the scent of her into his lungs. Blood and sweat and honeysuckle, with an overture of… raw fish?

“Is this real?” he asked, choked by the lump in the back of his throat.

She fit against him like she was always meant to be there, her whole body trembling as his trembled.

“I don’t know,” she laughed, fingernails digging into the back of his ruined shirt. “Why are there cuts in your clothes?”

“Knives,” he replied, not wanting to get into any of the Brightwrath’s work right now. It couldn’t be allowed to mar this perfect moment. “Why do you smell like a fish market?”

“Because I was at a fish market,” she replied with another ragged laugh, her fingers sliding through one of the slashes in his shirt to press to his skin. Az bowed over her, the touch turning him weak, comfort hitting him as directly as any throwing knife.

“Maia,” he rasped, dragging more of her scent into his lungs and feeling something in his soul settle. “Sweetheart, fuck, tell me this is really happening.”

She tipped her head back to look at him and the sight of tears on her pale cheeks, cutting through layers of grime, knocked all the air from his lungs. Maia didn’t cry, even when the world fell apart, even when she was in pain, but she was crying now. “Maybe it’s a dream,” she rasped as he dipped his head to kiss the salt from her skin. “I thought I heard you in my dreams last night. You were shouting my name.”

He rested his forehead against hers, soaking in the warmth of her skin and gazing at her. Maia’s eyes met his, so close that they crossed a little, and a rough exhalation of laughter left him, feeling strange and alien. “I’ve felt you in my dreams, too. I’ve felt your pain, Mai, your suffering. What are they doing to you?”

When she hesitated, her mouth opening and closing, he pulled her tight against him, her head tucked under his chin. They were both a mess of dirt and blood and pain, clothes dark around the neck and armpits, but Azrail wouldn’t have cared if they’d been caked in mud and organs.

Maia shook her head against his chest. Az sank deep into his soul, flinching at the dark, twisted mess it had become. But there she was at the other end, shining as bright as any star, guiding him out of a storm. She slumped against his chest with a groan as if she felt the same rush of comfort, of connection.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she replied after a moment, her words careful and soft.

He curved a hand over the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair, careful not to tug on a knot. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“I will if you will,” she replied in a raspy voice, rough with emotion. “But you—you might not like me much after you find out.”

“Nothing in this world could stop me loving you, Maia Delakore,” he said fiercely, scanning the still lake before them, listening to the quiet hush of the trees. Still alone, still safe.

Maia made a small, choked sound, and then she was shaking violently, her chest jumping against his, heartbroken sobs clawing from her lips.

“Nothing could turn my opinion against you,” he continued, the words low and just for her, the lake hushed and reverent around them. “You are brave, and kind, and deserving of love, no matter what the saints have done to you.”

The last words were almost abrasive against his tongue, forcing him to accept they were true about him, too. But Kraeva was too recent, too raw. He could still smell the dead even with Maia’s scent in his lungs, could still see the horrible generals of Samlyn’s army rising from below the deck of the ship. Part of him was back there, in the moment when the true horror of what he’d done dawned on him.

“I killed everyone in Eosantha,” Maia whispered against his chest, her whole body tensed. Braced, he realised, for his reaction. She probably wasn’t expecting the slump of his shoulders or the sudden rush of air that hit his lungs.

“Just hours ago I was in Kraeva with the Provider,” he admitted quietly, the roughness in his chest making his voice gravelly. “There are no survivors. Because of me.”

Maia drew a sudden breath and stared up at him, reaching up to curve the warmth of her palm over his stubbled jaw. “Saints, Az, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you,” he croaked, kissing the bridge of her nose. “We’ll survive this, Maia. I don’t know how, but I swear to you, we will survive this. We’ll be safe again. And when we get back to the compound, we’ll never leave.”

A wry smile added some life to her face, though her eyes remained dull and haunted. “You could never sit back while injustice happens. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

He almost staggered under those words, his eyes fluttering shut as he absorbed their warmth and strength. Maia loved him. He was loved. Even after Kraeva, even after mass slaughtering innocents.

“What happened in Kraeva?” she whispered, her thumb stroking the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

Azrail swallowed and told her every last detail. And when he was done, she told him everything that had happened since they were separated. When they both fell silent, he held her as tightly as he dared, not wanting to hurt her even more. Her iron poisoning was healed, but fuck, what a cost.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” he murmured against her hair. “That he’d kill people to heal you. That he’d sully his own soul to protect yours. That’s the sort of person Bryon is.”

“He’s my mate, Az,” she confessed in a whisper, a weight leaving her shoulders when the words hung between them.

“I know,” he murmured. He hadn’t noticed the bond between them forming but looking back now he saw the signs he’d missed. And he was glad Maia wasn’t alone.

“Does it… change anything? Between us?”

“No,” he replied honestly. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war of saints, maybe it would. Maybe jealousy would get between us. But as far as issues go, Bryon being your mate doesn’t even rank among them. He’s a good man, and he protects those he considers friends. I’ve known him years, and sure he’s a grumpy bastard—” Maia laughed. “But he cares. Deeply. More than he’d ever let on. He’s a good fit for you. And I’ll never say no to another person keeping you safe.”

Her hand fell to his neck, stroking his pulse. “You’re a better person than me. I’m not sure, even with saints and a war unfolding, I’d be so accepting of another woman being in your life.”

Az kissed her temple. “That’s never something you have to worry about.”

“Another man, however… especially if he were already part of our family, and I loved him more than life itself… if we happened to both love him…”

A barb dug its way into the flesh of Azrail’s throat and refused to be soothed by Maia’s stroking fingers. “You don’t have to worry about that, either.”

Maia settled her head over his heart and murmured, “Alright,” and he could breathe again. “You didn’t tell me if you’re in a room alone, or who’s with you.”

Az dragged her scent into his lungs, filled all his senses with it, though the barb dug deeper. “Jaro.”

“And is he… okay?”

No. Fuck, he really wasn’t, but Maia was struggling, fighting for her life and sanity every day and Azrail wasn’t about to add to her worries. So he kissed the top of her head and said, “As okay as any of us are.”

“Is he eating?” she murmured, dropping her hand to worry the ragged hem of his shirt.

“No,” Azrail admitted, “and I don’t know how to convince him to. When we get out of here—”

“Will we?” she interrupted in a small voice.

“We will,” he said firmly, reaching for magic that ignored his command, aching to unleash it on this place until it collapsed around them. Having her so close but knowing the seconds ticked away, that time would run out and she’d be stolen from him again… it was torture. “I promise, Maia.”

“You never break a promise,” she murmured, tilting her head up to lock eyes with him, hers utterly devoid of hope. It killed him. They both knew this wasn’t a promise he could keep when they were wholly and truly under the saints’ control.

“I won’t break this one either,” he lied. He wanted it to be true so badly. Maia saw the lie in his gaze like he saw the lack of hope in hers. Maybe that was why she surged onto her tiptoes and he closed the distance between them, their kiss long overdue.

Azrail had no control of his hands; they travelled all over her body, frantic to touch every last inch of her, mapping the arch and curve of her spine, re-memorising the way she melted into him as he kissed her. Even in the midst of suffering and pain, she tasted of sunlight and sweetness, and Az devoured her unashamedly. He’d been starving for her, wasting away hour on hour, and here was his cure.

It didn’t matter that time was running out, or soon someone would come to split them up. Maia was here, gasping and moaning against him, kissing him with desperation. Her mouth both pleaded and commanded, and he would grant her every last wish.

“Please,” she gasped, almost a sob, as she clawed at his ragged remains of his clothes, desperately seeking more bare skin. Az groaned when her palms flattened to his back, dragging him closer, the kiss feral in its intensity. It was the kiss of two mates who’d been terrified the other was lost forever, a kiss of relief and love. And awareness that though they were both here, this could be the last kiss they ever shared.

“I love you,” she said, digging her fingernails into his back, slanting her mouth over his to consume even more of him, their lips equally bruised. “I love you so much.”

Azrail tried to haul her closer though it was impossible, his fingers in her hair, winding strands around his fingers, matching her intensity and greed, needy for every last taste of her.

His shirt landed on the steps of the rotunda and Az couldn’t have said how it got there, couldn’t honestly give two fucks. “Maia,” he groaned, his breath hitching when she caught his bottom lip in her teeth and drew blood. He’d give her every last drop in his body if it made her happy.

She reached for the dirty, ragged mess of his trousers next, fingers frantic on the tie, a red line beneath her fingernails. Blood.

“We don’t have long left, sweetheart,” he breathed, catching her hands. He saw the questions in her eyes but she shook her head, dismissing them. She didn’t care why they were on a timer, or why they were here together at all, just that they were.

“I don’t care,” she said and slid her hand under the fabric. In seconds she had his cock free of his pants, stroking him with rough, swirling pumps that made his eyes roll back. “I don’t care if it’s quick and over too soon. I need you, knight.”

Azrail belonged to her so completely. His heart, soul, body, mind—all of it, hers. He didn’t know how long they had left but that didn’t stop him obeying her wishes, gently stripping her trousers and catching her behind her thighs, lifting her against him. She moaned when her back hit the cold stone of a column; Az surged forward to taste the sound on her tongue.

Her hands locked behind his neck, fingers tangled in the messy strands of his dark hair as he lined up his cock with the sweet wetness between her thighs. And then he was inside her, both of them groaning. Maia tightened her thighs around him, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Did I hurt you, sweetheart?” he asked, stilling his cock where it was sheathed completely in her, the heat and suction inducing a heady madness in him. His nostrils flared, fingers pressing into the lean strength of her thighs where he held her against the column.

She shook her head, her brow knitted with something akin to pain. “It doesn’t hurt. Please don’t stop, Az please.”

The bite of her fingernails on the back of his neck encouraged him to move, and the exquisite ripple of her muscles around him made his canines sink into his lip, one directly over the place where Maia had bitten him.

“I just—” she gasped, pulling him closer. “I thought we’d never—”

“I know,” he soothed with sudden understanding. It wasn’t physical pain but an onslaught of emotional pain. He held her closer, fitting his body flush to hers, catching her mouth with a deep, devouring kiss as he rolled his hips into the soft cradle of her thighs. He needed to hurry, but fuck, he couldn’t bring himself to rush a single moment of this.

“My mate,” he said against her swollen lips, meeting her gold eyes when they fluttered open. “My brave-hearted, beautiful mate.”

Her face crumpled. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clutching with desperation. He braced her against him with a hand on her ass and flattened his other over her chest.

“I am here, Mai. Every moment of every day, no matter how far apart we are, no matter what happens, I’m in your heart and soul. You carry me with you.”

When she blinked, tears gathered on her eyelashes and Az’s heart stuttered. This fucked up place, these vicious saints, had made his mate cry, had unlocked the storm of emotion she’d held back for years. He wanted to kill every last one of them.

One of her hands unfolded from his shoulders, pressing to his heart, likely feeling the way it swelled and stuttered. “I’m here, too. I’m with you, too.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, emotion a knot in his throat, a weight on his chest. He ground himself deep and slow inside her, the joining and connection of it a blessing, a gift from a higher power than the saints.

Maia moulded her lips to his over and over, sweet, demanding presses that echoed the way her pussy squeezed around his cock. “Harder,” she urged, her hand dragging marks into his chest he wanted to wear forever. “Fuck me so hard I feel you even when we’re apart.”

“Saints, Mai,” he groaned, filling his hands with her ass and ripping the leash of all the possessiveness and desperate, snarling greed he’d suppressed to take her gently. His mate didn’t want him gentle. It was a relief to snap his hips against hers, sinking deep and powerfully into the dripping heat of her.

One of her hands dove into his hair, gripping at the roots so his eyes watered and his cock jumped. He fucked her with all the ravenous need she’d inspired the second she kissed him, making sure to angle his hips until she gasped on every thrust.

“That’s it,” he rasped when she squeezed frantically around him. “That’s my girl, that’s my mate.”

He gave her everything his weak, aching body could, fucking her hard and fast, and there was a part of him that worried he’d bruise her spine against the column but the rest of him didn’t care. No, that wasn’t true. The rest of him wanted her bruised, wanted that reminder on her body, too.

“Mark me,” he begged, heat and pleasure boiling up in him when she tightened, squeezing his cock, her throbs matching every sharp gasp that fell from her lips. “Scratch me, bite me, I don’t care which, but I need your mark on me, Mai.”

She surrendered to his wishes without complaint, digging her fingernails into the back of his neck and raking them down his spine.

A delicious shudder worked through his body, intensifying his pleasure until he stuttered, “F-fuck.”

She dug her nails deeper, not just carving pink lines into his skin but drawing blood, and his next shudder was so powerful it made his eyes roll.

“Mine,” Maia gasped, yet tighter around his cock until his stomach hollowed. “Mine. You’re mine, Azrail.”

“Yours,” he managed to groan between clenched teeth, his breath strangled in his throat, fingers pressing deep into her skin as he buried himself in her, so rough he feared they’d bring the column down.

Maia’s head whipped forward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. A sharp, delicious pain pulsed in his skin and Az flattened her to the column, grinding as deep as he could get. It was heaven and rapture, all the pain and torture of the past week washed away by a cresting wave of pleasure. His legs were going to cave in, his chest was bleeding where the Brightwrath had cut him, but Maia was crying out, arching against him, and coming so beautifully on his cock that he didn’t care.

He crushed her between the column and his shuddering body until she stopped moaning and throbbing around him, until she drew her teeth from his shoulder and kissed the mark she’d gifted him with.

“Damn, knight,” she said with a breathy laugh. “Don’t let this go to your head, but that was pretty spectacular.”

A smile curved Azrail’s mouth as he drew back enough to lock eyes with his mate, carefully withdrawing from her and tucking himself away even when he wanted to linger. Seconds ticked away too quickly. Maia bent to retrieve her trousers, making a show of dressing, and he was half aware his deep, endless obsession was on display in his expression. “Only pretty spectacular? I’ll have to step up my game.”

“Yes, do.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full and so rare these days. Maia’s expression softened, slack with something like awe. He didn’t feel worthy of it.

“Tell me again we’ll get out of here,” she whispered, pale fingers lifting to trace his features, leaving a trail of warmth on his brow, his cheek, his jaw.

“We will,” he promised, and meant it this time. She’d given him hope, shown him there was still sunshine and warmth in the world even if it was so rarely found. “We’ll get home, and we’ll be safe and happy, with no saints to threaten our peace. I can teach you how to better wield a sword—”

“Hey,” Maia complained, not quite able to smother her smile.

“And you can teach me how to fly.”

Her eyes widened, pools of liquid gold holding his stare. “You’ve never flown?”

“Not once,” he confirmed. “It was always too risky with how high-profile my parents were.” It wasn’t uncommon for a Vassalian fae to conceal their wings all their lives and never once take to the skies. Wings were a vulnerability, a weakness to exploit.

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to teach you,” she murmured, stroking her fingers through his hair, deftly untangling some of the knots. “You might fall out of the sky more than once.”

“I’d break bones just to spend time with you.”

Her laugh was like music, her eyes curving now as she smiled. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He decided not to tell her why he’d slaughtered everyone in Kraeva with the dead he reanimated. All those deaths, those innocent lives taken, for thirty minutes with her. And he’d do it all over again. He’d kill every last person in the Saintlands if it kept her in his arms.

Maia’s hand trailed over his chest, her smile faltering when her fingers glided through blood.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, hating the horror, pain, and rage that flashed through her eyes, emotions firing rapidly.

“Who did this?” she asked in a deep, guttural voice that made his breath catch. She stared at the place Dulan Bryath had cut him, peeling flesh from his muscle. Az knew he hadn’t finished the work, knew he’d be back for more.

He caught Maia’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles, tasting his own blood. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. It barely hurts.” A lie, but after being inside her, pain was nothing. He felt good even with the pain. The throb of her bite on his shoulder was its own sort of tonic, offering him healing.

“It matters,” she argued in that low, gravelly voice. Her eyes narrowed when he smiled. “Who did this to you?”

“Mai, I’m—”

The air shifted, hairs rising along Azrail’s arms, and he grabbed Maia, putting her behind him as he spun, searching the lake and the trees for what had alerted his senses. Four undead vessels waited on the path. Four, as if Samlyn anticipated he would fight.

“I’ll find another way back to you,” he said, turning to face his mate, drawing her close to feel her against him one last time. “I swear, Maia, we’ll have more moments like this.”

She glanced from the rotting corpses of four men to Azrail. Her hands wrapped around his wrists and held on viciously tight. “You’re not leaving me.”

“Only temporarily,” he promised, kissing her brow. The last thing he wanted was to go back, but Jaro was there and he needed him. And Az knew Samlyn would have more tasks for them, and Azrail could use them for more visits with her. “I’ll be back. I promise you.”

She bared her teeth, canines a sharp threat. “You expect me to let you return to whoever carved your fucking chest up? Are you completely ins—”

He kissed her hard and fast, wrenching his wrists from her hold. His stomach compacted into a knot when her snarl became a sob. “I’m strong enough to withstand anything if I have you.”

He brushed his hand over her chest, echoing what he said earlier. Maia shook her head, refusing to let him go.

“Don’t,” she growled, pleaded. “Az, don’t go.”

But the undead were swarming the pale stairs to the rotunda. He caught her wrists and kissed her fists, one after another. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

He let go and quickly backed down the steps, his heart twisting tight in his chest, begging him to go back to her. But if he stayed, they’d both be punished; he knew the way Samlyn’s mind worked now, and nothing good would come of Az pushing his luck.

“Let go of him!” Maia snarled when one of the dead men grabbed his bicep. “Don’t you touch my mate.”

“No,” Azrail growled when she rushed towards them, the surge of dominance in his voice stopping her in her tracks. “I won’t risk you, Maia. Do as they say, return to your cell with Bryon, let him take care of you.”

Bide your time, he tried to tell her with eye contact alone as the dead grabbed him, pulling him away. Bide your time, plan, and when the time is right, we’ll get out of this place.

He just didn’t know how.