Elana sat still and upright in the tub, hands wrapped around her knees, her thoughts battling within her.
Even surrounded by warm, mildly fragranced water mixed with a bit of antiseptic for her injuries, she wasn't at ease—body and mind.
Was she really going to challenge Azael?
A man who had threatened an entire kingdom for her safety.
She furrowed her brows. If he were kinder in his intentions and clear—if he weren't always trying to scare her—maybe things would be different.
She clenched her fists, determined to question him despite the odds.
She couldn't let him control her life any more than he had already had, even if he had been saving it.
The audacity of him—saving her life just to own it.
Goosebumps ran through her body, trailing to the sensitive points of her chest as she thought of him coming close.
She had to make sure he didn't come too close.
She sighed, frustrated—for the first time with her blindness.
She reclined slightly in the tub. As the water reached her shoulders, she noticed it had turned lukewarm.
She had been in there for a while; if she stayed longer, her palms would wrinkle and her feet might start to sting.
Elana exhaled and gently rose from the tub. She reached out, her fingers grazing the textured bathrobe placed over her.
She grabbed it and carefully stepped out.
Steadying herself on the plush rug beneath her feet, she slipped on the robe and reached for the smaller towel that was placed next to it, using it to wrap and dry her hair.
As she closed the robe properly over her body, her fingers brushed her nipples, triggering an involuntary wave of sensation. She bit her lip.
The memory of the spring returned…of what had pressed against her while Azael straddled her body.
She bit her lip as excitement coiled in her core, tightening as her body remembered his touch.
She found herself comparing—against her will—the size of what she had felt when he held her, and his finger.
Could something like that truly fit inside?
Elana shook her head sharply.
She was supposed to be angry with him. He should never dare to touch her again.
She scoffed softly and carefully made her way out of the bathroom.
Cold air from the windows brushed her skin, heightening the fresh, clean sensation of her bath.
For a moment, it soothed her restlessness
Then her breath stilled.
The scent reached her.
Wisteria.
Azael.
And he was here.
**
Fen watched from where he sat, the trembling sorcerer brought before him, surrounded by his pack.
The man had yet to recover from his injuries. Perhaps the magic retrieved from Lumere would restore him—if he was as capable as he claimed.
Fen had no patience to spare. His focus remained singular: defeating Azael.
Especially now that Azael was compromised—emotionally.
"Mage," Fen called.
Syrus straightened with effort, swallowing as he steadied himself. "Yes, Alpha."
"Most of what was in your lair has been recovered," Fen said, his gaze narrowing at the brief flicker of excitement that crossed the sorcerer's face, however briefly.
Indeed a true villain—one he could not afford to trust easily.
"T-Thank you," the sorcerer said, bowing his head, his hair matted and unkempt.
"Keep your gratitude," Fen said coldly. "Recover quickly. I have no use for burdens. Three days. If it takes longer, you're better off dead."
Syrus nodded immediately. "I will not fail you."
He had better not.
Two lycans lifted the sorcerer to his feet before escorting him back to the garden of the tree witch.
Fen was skeptical about keeping him there at first, but he trusted the tree witch's loyalty. They had shared centuries, and he had been the one feeding her indulgence and appetite—an exchange for the immortality only she could grant.
Yet now—
For the first time since Nasaer's fall—since the kingdom turned against Azael, fought him, and lost, since Fen himself had betrayed him.
Unease crept in.
Fen's jaw tightened, hating how his sins and ambitions were beginning to clash.
**
Azael had already noticed Elana's hesitation—small, fleeting—but she masked it quickly, as though hoping he hadn't seen her notice him.
She moved slowly toward the bed, her feminine frame soft beneath the lilac robe, her hands folded over her chest.
He scoffed inwardly. How foolish did she think he was?
He teleported on the edge of the bed, settling there with deliberate ease, watching—enjoying her slow approach.
She arrived a breath before him, and the scent of nightbloom teased his senses.
Then she turned—
—and plopped directly on his lap.
"Dear heavens!" she gasped, jerking in shock but his arms closed around her instantly. The towel slipped from her hair, falling to the floor.
"Quiet," he whispered next to her ear, drawing in the faint lavender scent from her hair, already addicted to it.
She quieted for a moment before struggling again. "No—no. I don't want you. Let me go."
Heat surged through him, triggered by her movements.
"Stay put, Elana," he said, pressing her more firmly against him.
She froze, swallowing hard, then clenched her thighs.
His gaze dropped to the slight opening of her robe—the smooth line of inner thighs, down to her bare knees, and curled toes.
"Pretending around me?" he murmured.
"Says you," she shot back sharply.
Azael's jaw tightened at her defiance. He turned her slightly so her knees hung between his legs.
"Self-sacrifice won't save your friends. Push me, and I'll start with Zane."
She scoffed and turned her face from him, though she remained still.
"Why were you in the forest instead of Sirence?" he asked.
Her body stiffened. He watched the flicker of guilt and confusion tangle in her expression, she masked it, turning back with a frown.
"I do not answer to you," she said. "I am a grown woman. I have the right to free will."
Azael held his temper in check.
He was supposed to be the one angry.
"It was your will," he said slowly, "to be held by another man?"
Her fingers shifted in his grip. Her thighs tightened again, toes still curled in.
"At least he sees me as more than a slave," she replied.
Azael said nothing.
Lumere had given her an illusion of control.
He stood, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"Let go of me, you brute!" She struggled.
Azael shot out of the room, still holding her firmly.
The suddenness startled her; she stifled a scream, clinging to him as she trembled with fear while he carried her to his castle.