Page 65 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

He never truly wanted her to see all that he was capable of.

There was a piece of him that still felt shame any time he allowed himself to feel those demented thoughts.

His status as The God of Death was a guiding light in the darkness of his reality.

Through Teigh, the entity that came before him, he developed a new respect for life.

Aziel did believe that there should be dignity in death and all the souls he claimed that deserved to pass peacefully, he ensured that they made it into the hells as gracefully as possible.

Death worked in mysterious ways. It was a part of him, yet had the ability to be omnipresent.

It was strange being both a physical being and matter all at once.

Parts of his subconscious were scattered from place to place, taking names and delivering souls to their final resting place.

His physical form could grow tired, but death did not rest.

His body was tired today, his mind centered around the look she'd given him when she saw the blood dripping from his hands when he finally turned to look at her.

He wondered what she thought of him—if she saw him as the monster people portrayed him to be or if that look meant something else entirely.

It was similar to how Oran looked at him whenever he decided to participate in a kill or in torture, like he was something to marvel at, but also something grotesque and unnatural.

He'd gotten used to strangers and the people in the palace looking at him that way. It was only within their nature to fear him. Even if they did not know that the embodiment of death walked those halls, any living creature could still sense it and it was an innate reaction for them to run away.

Nymiria did not run away though. Even when he showed her his death and what it could do, she still stood there and watched him, observed him just as closely as he observed her.

Whenever she decided to accept what she was, whenever her own Grace was freed from the chains that'd been placed upon her, he believed that it would be the most beautiful thing to experience.

Dead things craved life just as much as the living. And though Aziel lived and breathed, he'd been dead for far too long.

She changed everything.

When every drop of blood was finally cleaned from the floors and other surfaces, Aziel checked one final time on the revelry below. People were still dancing, still drunk and ignorant to the lack of Seamus's presence.

He had time.

Trio appeared the moment Aziel stepped out of the palace, neither of them needing to speak in order to know what Aziel needed. Trio shadowed him away almost immediately, the world blurring around them until he was released into the private eating area in his rooms in Eadyn.

A single plate waited for him on the table, a cup of wine sitting next to it. Even though his stomach rumbled with hunger, there was another form of hunger that was far more powerful than the one gnawing at his gut.

He slipped the gloves from his hands, tossing them onto the table before shrugging out of his jacket.

There was not a single care as to where it landed, for his eyes and his mind were focused on the light spilling out from the cracked door leading to the bedroom.

When he slipped in through the door, she was sitting on the settee with one of his many books in her hands.

Legs propped on the low table in front of her, bare toes wiggling as she scanned the pages.

She still wore the dress from earlier, one of the many various shades of pink that she tended to wear.

She'd let her hair down, the silver and white strands glowing like rays of moonlight that cascaded over her shoulders.

Aziel hadn't realized that he was not breathing until she lifted her eyes to meet his.

He released it finally, his shoulders sagging with relief when her lips twitched into a small grin.

It was as if nothing happened in that room in the palace—like that bastard hadn't just thrown her against his bed and attempted to fuck her in front of him. Like he hadn't just thrown her into a dangerously compromising position and would have to live with it for the rest of his life.

Everything had changed.

"You look awfully exhausted." She started, feet falling to the ground and the book in her hands snapping closed. At his silence and the stillness of his nature, Nymiria frowned and stepped towards him. "Is something wrong? Why do you look so terrified?"

He didn't move. And though he didn't say a word, she was familiar enough with that look he was giving her just by the few times she'd seen it.

Everything he'd told himself in regards to having her was dangling by a thread.

It didn't matter what he'd agreed to with Camalia.

It didn't matter that they were entering waters that could turn tumultuous within seconds.

His shame, his guilt… none of it mattered at that very moment.

Walking into that room felt like coming home.

Seeing her so relaxed, so carefree, it made him think of what it would be like to come home to that sight every single day.

And because of that feeling, he was terrified.

"You should eat."

"I don't want to." He didn't mean to sound so hateful, but he was doing everything in his power not to cross that line.

Nymiria's brows lowered and when she moved to turn away, the thread finally broke, pulled too taut.

As if flood gates had been opened inside of him, he was filled with a wave of want, an insatiable desire that no amount of logic could tame.

He couldn’t stop staring. She was beautiful.

Exquisite. The true form of life. But it was not just the essence of her power that filled him with that sudden desire.

It was the way she looked at him—the way her eyes moved over his face, trying to decipher what he was feeling, before they settled upon his lips.

He could feel her. That hot, pulsing urge—the satisfaction, the strength, the pride. It was all coursing through her at once. The sound of her heart beat was going to drive him insane. She said nothing when he brought up his hand and slipped it over her cheek, but her body sang.

"You aren't hungry?" She asked.

“I’m starving.” Nymiria let out a single breathy gasp the moment his fingers moved through the hair at the nape of her neck, her eyes hooded as she peered up at him.

“I was born starving, moonflower. And if it hadn't been for you, I would have never known. Having just a small taste of you will never be enough, but I could survive off crumbs if that is all you’re able to give.”

No matter how loudly that voice inside of her yelled to turn and run away from him, she only pulled him closer.

She didn't know when or how this emotion seeded itself in her heart.

Being allies was one thing, but this level of intimacy…

it never ended well for her. "Perhaps we shouldn't be doing this.

As you've said, there is much at risk. If Dorid—"

"Don't say his name. Not in this house." Aziel shook his head, the single movement cutting off any words she was preparing to say. They weren’t important anyway, forever lost in the ether. And she did not care. Not when Aziel’s lips were now pressed against her own.

It was small and chaste, drowning out the flurry of thoughts that swarmed her mind.

His unsureness evident in the way he pulled away from her and prepared to apologize.

None were needed. The moment she felt him starting to slip away, her grip on him tightened, pulling him to her and reclosing the gap between their bodies.

A ferocious and overwhelming desire took root, one that could not be severed by any doubt, nor consequence.

When their lips touched again, every single shred of uncertainty had slipped away, giving way to a passion that had been unfairly denied by the world.

Nymiria’s mind went blank, all senses dulled by the hum of his touch.

She felt him in her bones, his calm blanketing her fear, replacing it with a confidence that had her dragging him to the chair nearest the mirror propped beside the bed.

He fell into the cushions with a fluid grace, their lips never parting.

The feeling of his hands roving over her skin tugged at her attention, turning her head just enough to see his scarred hand nearing her throat. Aziel’s fingers curled under her chin, gently guiding her back to them—back to that moment. “You aren’t afraid?” He asked.

There were many things he could have been speaking of, but there was not a single thing about this that Nymiria feared. She only felt power. She felt him. “On the contrary,” she chuckled. “I have never felt more brave in my entire life.”

Aziel smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

She could feel the warmth of his hand slipped under her skirts, trailing up over the strap of her holster.

“Good. Be brave, moonflower.” His fingers trailed up even higher, her breath lodging in her throat the moment the tips brushed against the inside of her thigh.

“I would love to see what your bravery looks like.”

Those words were enough encouragement. Nymiria kissed him again with bruising force, her tongue sweeping over the swell of his lips, pleading for entrance.

His lips parted immediately, both of his hands now gripping her thighs and his hips lifting just enough to press his hardened length against her.

Good gods.

A moan escaped her lips and while she half expected for him to say something smart at her coming undone on top of him, Aziel whimpered at the sound, fingers pressing into her thighs as if his grip on them were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Nymiria wanted more.