Azriel's head was spinning.
He fought to steady his breathing, slipping into shadow and allowing the cool mist to eliminate the heat in his body. Thankfully, the sight of Nesta had already done a fair amount to evaporate the mounting need in his body.
But it did nothing to quell the rise in emotion within his chest.
It felt like whiplash— Solstice, kissing her in the garden, Elain fleeing to Patras, almost taking her against the wall in that damn alcove... it was so... unstable.
Dramatic.
Emotional, confusing, and unpredictable: experiences that Azriel had not had since he was freed from his prison as a whelp.
The moment Azriel had been dumped in that Mother-forsaken camp amongst those Illyrian heathens, he had taken back control over his life. He had kept a tight reign on his emotions, his body, who he spoke to, and really... who he allowed in. Loving Mor had been an extension of that self-protection— he knew she would always keep him at arm's length, remaining predictable and safe for the rest of his immortal life. Unrequited love was quite a safe place to be stuck in, he mused.
But then came Elain.
Azriel released his body back into fae form, stepping from the shadows and resting against a cool slab of marble on the opposite end of the corridor. Leaning back his head, he raised a fist to his brow digging in his knuckle, desperately trying to release the building headache he felt growing beneath his skull.
Elain.
She had turned his life fucking upside down.
The beautiful Made-fae, quiet in spirit, tenderhearted and loving... if Azriel was looking for a safe place to land, it was her. She was all things nurturing to him: her listening ear, her sweet heart.
But then there was another side to her, which he found completely addicting. This part of her that wanted to drag him into an alcove, challenging him to prove his love for her, drawing her thigh out of her dress, cocking her hip... she was driving him mad. He wasn't certain Elain knew what she was doing to him, only that she clearly wanted some piece of him.
Feeling frustrated, he pushed off the wall and shook out his wings. Wine. He needed wine. And Cassian. Crossing the corridor and stepping through the first curtained archway he passed, Azriel slipped back into the party, spotting Cassian telling an animated story to Helion and Thesan's lover, Amren and Varian draped on one side and an empty spot on his other. Perfect.
Azriel winnowed directly into the seat, and grabbed a glass of whatever was resting on a tray in front of him, downing the it before reaching for another one.
Cassian, startled by his brother's sudden appearance, paused his story. "Where the hells have you been Az? I'm trying to tell the story of when we captured Krystoxa in the highlands of The Summer Court when we were 122. I can't remember... did I cut his tail off or—"
"Come on Cass. It was obviously me. Your sword isn't long enough to slice through the tail of a firedrake like Krystoxa." Azriel ribbed his brother, laughing along with Helion as Cassian elbowed him back, returning to the story, seemingly happy that his brother had joined.
Feigning to be listening, Azriel surveyed the partygoers, his eyes searching for Elain. He found her quickly, standing with Nesta deep in conversation, leaning over the veranda watching the twinkling fae lights of Patras.
His eyes continued to float through the party, Feyre and Rhys discussing something with Cerridwen, no doubt related to Nyx who was sleeping in his bassinet next to a watchful Nuala while his parents enjoyed the party. Azriel's eyes continued, watching the attendants pass drinks, noting as partiers snuck off together behind the curtains. As he had just done, he realized, his ears beginning to heat.
Elain and Nesta were now clinking glasses of wine... damn it, more wine? Really? He should probably stay the hells away from her in that case. But where was the fox?
His question was answered as he felt Lucien approach from the side, his eyes on what he could only assume was the spitting image of heaven in fae female form.
Elain looked up from her wineglass toward Lucien and offered a small smile, allowing him to lead her by the hand to a quiet bench near a particularly tall palm, away from the drums. Abandoned by her sister, Nesta sauntered away from the Veranda toward Cassian, sitting directly on his lap and joining the conversation.
Azriel sighed, his eyes glancing back to Feyre and Rhys speaking with Cerridwen, and then to Elain and Lucien on the bench.
Mates always found their way back to one another, didn't they?
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Elain had nearly gotten back to her rooms when she saw Rhys leaning on the doorframe of her chambers.
"Have fun?" Rhys drawled, opening her door for her.
"Yes." Elain replied with a smile.
And truthfully, she had. Lucien had apologized for making her feel strange for enjoying the wine, and they had had a pleasant conversation beneath the palm, discussing some ideas of how to spend their time over the summer together in Patras. He had made her laugh on more than one occasion, and when Helion passed by offering Elain an invitation to visit his personal Pegasi pasture in the morning, Elain had turned toward Lucien, inviting him along with her as well.
"Feyre tells me that you've learned to winnow." Rhys interrupted her reverie, and she drew her eyes toward the High Lord.
She bit back her smile, nodding to Rhys as she pondered the mating bond. She expected nothing less from her mated sister: she was truly one mind with Rhys. But Elain didn't feel it was an intrusion on her privacy. Rhys was the most magical creature in probably all of Prythian. If anyone would know what to do about her blooming magic... it would probably be him.
Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Sitting down at the vanity and tugging a curl, Elain looked at him through the mirror. "Not particularly. I mean, I don't know how you can help me." She turned to face him, crossing her legs and furrowing her brow. "I've ever experienced it before, true, but it also would make sense... I mean... the cauldron wanted to give me 'blessed gifts'..."
Her voice trailed off, embarrassment and a strange film of shame settling over her as she reflected on her favored position with the temperamental ancient artifact.
"True." Rhys agreed, pacing towards the open veranda which lead down toward the quiet river. "But maybe you could learn to use it.... could be a good skill to have if you're ever in a dangerous situation. And let's be real... being a Made-fae and having connections to the Night Court... you'll probably be in dangerous situations more than you'd expect."
"I guess..." Elain began, staring at the back of his head. His dark hair had a blue glint to it that she had never noticed. "I mean, I was extremely emotional when it happened, and I doubt that will happen frequently enough to really practice."
Rhys chuckled to himself. "Feyre was kind of the same. I got her angry during training, and poof, she winnowed. What happened to you? Burn some bread and end up winnowing to your bedroom?"
It was meant as a light-hearted joke, but the comment stung all the same.
Her life... her hobbies... were so trivial compared to the rest of the Inner Circle. Feyre was taming fear itself while Nesta was literally slaying ancient 15,000-year-old beasts who wanted to make her their Bride-Queen. And Elain? She was making bread. Or burning it... according to Rhysand's impression of her.
Sighing, she turned back to the mirror, pulling out another curl.
"I didn't tell Feyre this, but I was emotional because of something between me and Azriel." Rhys appeared behind her in the mirror without her even hearing his approach.
"What kind of something was it?" His voice was measured, carefully chosen words she mused.
"Just.. well, I guess an argument? Or a misunderstanding? I don't know." She suddenly regretted her truthfulness.
Probably sensing her discomfort, Rhysand backed off, pivoting the subject slightly.
"Well, emotions are a sign that your soul is reaching towards magic when desperate for saving, or power, or a combination of both. In the future, be prepared for the magic to draw to you, ready to be wielded when you are in heated situations. Emotion is a type of magic that many do not acknowledge as such."
Nodding her head and pondering his words. Elain drew her eyes to the night sky, her head beginning to pound from the wine.
"I'll let you get some rest. Have a good night." Touching her shoulder lightly, Rhys vacated the room, leaving behind a trail of glittery night.
Crawling into bed, Elain tossed for a while in the heat, the wine pounding her temples.
Against her will, she felt her mind drawing her back into the alcove: back into the memories of Azriel, his scent warm on her skin, his muscles contracting as he pinned her to the cool marble wall. Elain's body began to heat, the feeling of his hand lifting her thigh to his hip, grinding into his ... ugh.
A long-forgotten memory surfaced, and Elain flipped over in the bed, throwing off the sheet and stared at the floral mural on her ceiling, which was sparkling dimly from the cool moonlight. She sighed as the memory danced in front of her, causing her breasts to peak.
They were enjoying wine around the fireplace– Mor, Feyre, and Elain– celebrating the completion of the riverside mansion in Velaris. The conversation had been turning increasingly silly and alarmingly inappropriate as the wine bottles emptied before inevitably turning toward the topic of wingspans .
Feyre and Mor had been comparing notes, drunk and screeching with laughter, determining that there was indeed a correlation between the span of an Illyrian male's wings and the length of... important male body parts. Mor and Feyre had almost moved onto another topic when Elain's quiet voice carried over from where she was sprawled, laying on a velvet settee near the fire, a drained glass of wine resting on the ground beside her dangling hand.
"I think Azriel has the largest wingspan." She whispered, opening her eyes and turning to face the females, a wicked smile curling on her lips. "I've seen him sunning them in the garden."
And at that moment, Mor and Feyre had turned toward each other, dissolving into another fit of screeching laughter, Feyre rolling off the couch, shoving into Mor as the blonde called over to Elain. "Maybe our Azriel has been showing off to you my dear. I think we need you to take one for the team... it's time to go on a scouting mission to confirm our intel. We could turn our research into a real scholarly article for Helion's library!"
And at the sheer absurdity, Elain had melted into laughter as well, falling off the settee and landing on her ass, Feyre and Mor an arm's length away, rolling on the rug, clutching her stomach, heaving and gasping with laughter.
Returning to the present, she found herself smiling, a hungry need forming deep within her body. She had half a mind to fantasize about him, pleasure herself, and just be done with this insatiable desire. But as she glanced down, drawing her hand toward herself, the moonlight glinted on her hand, catching on a small tattoo; the new addition to her pinky. A rabbit.
Ugh.
Elain opted for a cold bath instead of a self-pleasure session and finally fell into sleep, her dreams coming strong, swallowing her into rich imagery.
Revelers grinding up too close to her, Lucien's hot breath on her neck, Pegasi chewing up lilac bushes, Nyx crying, and an unearthly skeleton-like creature, rising up out of a murky lake, a crown adorning its bald skull, eye sockets completely empty, but somehow staring directly at her. She thrashed, trying to escape the vision, feeling pinned down and helpless as the being drew closer, and closer, until... she felt a soft cooling breeze spreading over her body, wiping the vision away.
She instantly relaxed, falling into the chilled air, murmuring words that only her heart would know.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
He had felt her.
Tossing. Turning. Her body unable to find peace. His shadows had sensed it, attempting to comfort her, informing him that Elain was deep within a drunken dream state, having a nightmare, calling out in fear. Azriel had been trying to sleep as well, his mind playing images from the alcove in front of him, beckoning him into fantasy and away from sleep. Slipping into a shadow form and into her bed-chamber, Azriel came to her side.
Elain was glowing in pure moonlight streaming through the tall arched window, a hot breeze wafting through the night air.
She was sweating, and her foot was twitching under the heavy blankets, her eyes fluttering beneath her lids. He could see the whites of her eyes flicker as her eyes rippled, letting out soft beams of golden light beneath her lashes. Instinctively, he caressed her cheek, feeling her heart slow and breathing pace. She turned her face into his palm, taking a deep breath of his scent, before letting out a sigh, her hair coiled out above her swanlike neck.
Gods she was beautiful.
"Ah..." Elain cooed. Barely opening her mouth, whispering in her sleep. "Azriel." She said.
He froze. Did she realize he was here? He began to lift his hand away from her cheek when his shadows whispered that she was still deeply sleeping... just dreaming.
Dreaming.
He could relate to that. For he dreamed of her as well. But after tonight... seeing her with the fox... he knew that it was time to go.
It was time to say goodbye for real. No more touching. No more playful flirting. It was time to let her discover her future, and he didn't want to hold her back any longer. Stroking her soft cheek, he prayed to whatever gods Gwyn and her friends worshiped, asking that Elain Archeron be blessed. That she would discover a mating bond as loving as the ones her sisters enjoyed, and that she would above all else... be happy.
Kissing her temple gently, he drew back into the shadows, leaving her to slumber. A sleeping beauty.