Elana's grip around Azael softened as she noticed his light descent to solid ground.
She braced herself to jump out of his arms the moment he landed but didn't get the chance before he dropped her gently.
Her bare feet touched the familiar floor of the balcony.
She knew immediately where he had taken her.
It was the room Azael had given her in his home.
The faint scent of lavender lingered, the cool night breeze gradually drying her wet hair.
Elana wrapped her arms around herself, trembling slightly as she stepped backward—hopefully away from him.
If not for the robe, the cold would have dragged her back into her feverish state.
Still, she hated the way her body craved returning to his arms.
"I am not afraid of you," Elana said.
A lie but she needed to—maybe then she would also understand the true extent of Azael's intentions for her.
If she truly was as important as Cara had claimed.
"Why were you in the forest, Elana?" His voice came again.
Still calm—but colder this time, grounding her in the reality that she was now truly alone with him
She paused her movements.
Where she stood now was warmer—further inside the room, away from the balcony.
But where was he?
"I couldn't stay in Sirence," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. "As a common slave under your protection."
"Were you mistreated?"
Elana swallowed, remembering Zelda and Eldric's laughter, and kindness.
She shook her head. "No."
Azael's footsteps sounded—then stopped.
She turned sharply toward where she thought he stood.
"They're not the reason I left." She added quickly, guilt tightening in her chest.
"In your words," he began, his voice closer now, "You couldn't remain as a common slave. It is only logical to assume their hospitality was…lacking."
"No," she dropped her hands, fingers tangling together.
Zelda had been really nice and honestly, Sirence had been kinder than Lumere.
"They will be punished."
His breath brushed the back of her neck. Cold.
"It's not them," Elana said, turning toward him.
She had forgotten how good a manipulator he was. "It's because of you. You're the one who said I was just a slave."
"And you chose to escape," he replied, his voice shifting again—no longer where she faced. "Blind. Of your own free will. With Zane."
She hesitated. She was scared to tell him what had actually happened, fearing what it would mean for Cara and Zane.
But she also couldn't let Zelda and Eldric suffer for something they didn't deserve.
"I…I was the one who wanted to leave," she said instead, curling her toes against the floor.
Holding the lie together.
Her feet were beginning to grow tired.
Cold fingers closed around her wrist.
She gasped—
"No, leave me—"
He pulled her forward without effort.
Fragile beneath his grip, she was led and dropped onto the velvet sheets of the bed.
Her heart pulsed faster with uncertainty. She clutched the robe tighter around herself, aware—too aware—of her nakedness beneath it.
Her anticipation of him grew as well, despite herself.
"Too much courage," his voice whispered near her ear, though she was clearly on the bed by herself. "But not for you to endure the consequences."
"But they didn't—"
"And even when you made your choice," he cut in, "the people you trusted couldn't protect you."
She frowned.
"And if you were so confident about protecting me," she shot back. "Why send me to Sirence at all?"
In a blur, her back hit the bed harder this time.
The motion nearly sent her dizzy before her mind registered Azael's cold grip—one hand holding both of hers above her head, her fingers grazing the pillows as the bed gently pressed down with his weight on either side of her.
**
Azael's patience thinned.
Her provocation had reached a point he could no longer ignore.
And he hated it.
Hated that she wasn't lying.
"Ow…"
Her voice came soft, her head shifting faintly from side to side, sightless eyes closed.
His grip loosened—just slightly, a little unsettled that he might have gone too far.
He observed her—his gaze lingering on her face…and lips.
"Too eager to die, Elana?" he murmured.
Her lashes parted slowly, recovering.
She bit her lip before wriggling faintly.
Azael kept his eyes on her face—for her sake and for the sake of all the chaos already happening around them.
"At least, I'll die by your hands," she breathed. "Pay you for the life you own and protect."
Her movements were slower now, provoking his gaze to flicker downward.
Her robe had shifted.
"How did you leave Sirence?" he asked.
"Why does it matter?" She murmured, turning her head to the side. "You already caught me."
A quiet humorless chuckle left him.
Slowly, he released her wrists and she turned toward him immediately.
"What are you—" she hesitated. "Where are—"
At least it was a perfect chance to kill off Zane.
His suspicion was already heavy with the fact that the bastard had tried to help her escape him—and Caesar's reason?
"A-Azael." her voice called him back—back to where he was still hovering over her.
His eyes dropped again, the robe had fallen further, revealing the subtle curve of her breasts.
He forced his gaze upward, where desire flickered in her eyes.
Her hands were now free, but she only brought them to the sides of her face.
"The ones who sheltered you in Sirence will be punished," he said.
He watched it land.
The fear in her eyes.
Then he smirked and added. "Zane and Cara will be killed."
"It was Caesar," The words rushed out of her, voice trembling and pupils unsteady.
"He offered to help. I agreed. Zane and Cara—they didn't know. None of us did. We thought—"
Her voice fractured.
Azael's expression hardened.
Hating how right he had been about Caesar—an unknown enemy was also at play.
"I want to speak to Trisha," Elana said, her voice breaking and hands rising to cover her face. "You're really unfair..."
Surprise caught him immediately her knees brushed the already growing bulge between his legs.
His breath hitched—barely noticeable.
His attention dropped to her thighs—smooth, nearly bare, save for the robe loosely crossed over her inner thighs, up to her raised knees.
He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling stuck where he hovered above her.
"Trisha is dead."
She gasped. "Oh no. H-How?"
His eyes opened and met hers, where tears had already gathered.
As Azael finally found the strength of restraint and began to pull back, Elana's hands reached out, searching, tears falling.
He should be skeptical. Careful. Trust no one—not even her.
But he could not control what pushed him to lean forward, allowing her hands to find his face.
Then her arms wrapped around him immediately, pulling him down and catching him unprepared.
He missed her lips on purpose and instead pressed his face into her shoulder, trying to control his weight so as not to crush her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against him. "It must have been hard. I miss her so much."
Azael cursed inwardly as his body eased into her warmth and scent .
The pulse beneath her skin stirred him further, and his hands flexed at his sides, aching to hold her.
He wanted—
No.
He should not.
"I'll take you back to Lumere," he managed. "Your body still needs rest."
**
The grief in Elana gave way to subtle frustration at Azael's words.
His breath cooled the side of her neck—exactly where he had bitten her.
The muscles of his shoulders tempted her hands to wander.
Her body already ached for his punishment.
His stubbornness to accept comfort matched his control.
But she was determined.
Curious to know how far she could reach him.
She lifted her knees higher, her chest shifting to meet his body—but he pulled away from her arms, forcing her to let go as he leaned back.
"Zane was warmer," she said.
The words came quieter than expected, her fingers tightening nervously around the sheets as she anticipated his reaction.
He had been more reactive when she provoked him, and she was willing to use that.
"Mind your words, Elana," he growled.
"It shouldn't upset you," she replied. "At least he wouldn't mind being with a slave like me."
Silence.
Then—
"He touched you?" he asked.
"That is none of your con—Ahh!"
He yanked her upright, his grip tightening around both her wrists.
Her breath hitched as his lower body finally settled against hers, making her knees give.
The knot of her rope loosened further; heat from his presence met the chill of his breath against her skin.
"Stop talking," he said harshly, though she caught the restraint beneath it.
Her provocation was working.
This could go two ways—and she was willing to take the risk.
She tilted her neck to the side, hoping to draw his attention to the mark he had left there.
The pressure between his legs against her only grew.
"I do not belong to you and I will give myself to whoever…"
Azael's lips crashed down on hers.
Hard.
The force drove her back onto the bed with him.
She tried to catch her breath beneath him but the heat of his mouth and the intensity overwhelmed her.
And still he held her wrists.
His fingers brushing against her chest as he pinned her hands there, their upper bodies still slightly apart.
She couldn't touch him.
Couldn't hold him.
Could only take what he gave.
Elana squirmed lightly, hoping he would release her wrists.
Then he stopped.
She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling, lips swollen.
The pressure from his groin now rock hard.
"My wrists hurt," she mewled. "Master."
Slowly, he released her and she immediately pressed her palm against his chest.
She was fast learning his triggers.
The voice in her head calling her to order grew faint.
Elana knew the risks of what she was doing—how she was gravitating toward his flame, the flame that had burned him into her memory, into her body.
But her fear was fading—overpowered by the need rising within her.
**
Azael saw it.
The flicker of triumph across her face.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
The pressure between his legs pulsed, reminding him just how much control he was losing.
"You will give yourself to no one," he said, calm—deadly.
"I never needed your permission," she shot back, pushing against him.
Her lips were still swollen from his kiss—meant to warn her, yet it only fueled her.
His temper flared.
Eira's words echoed in his mind.
Could Elana already know the power she held over him and was using it?
He stepped away—appearing at the side of the bed.
His gaze tracked her as she rose, her head turning toward every sound she could catch.
Her robe hung loose—the bare tips of her breasts visible beneath it.
"I'm okay spending the night here," she said quietly.
Before he could respond, she was already removing the robe—and he could not look away.
Moonlight traced her bare skin. Inviting him.
She moved carefully, slowly, and searched until her fingers found the blanket, then slipped under it.
Azael's jaw tightened.
He grabbed her arm again, making her startle. "I said you're returning to Lumere."
"I'm cold," she said. "My fever might return if I go out there again."
Silence.
Neither are you leaving me unsated tonight—Azael froze as the voice of the demon within him stirred.
**
The tree witch observed the sorcerer as he searched desperately through the pile brought before her.
She watched—unseen.
Fen's desperation fed her newly awakened purpose.
To finally leave this stagnant place.
To explore. To dominate. To drink in the souls of men at her leisure.
And one dark truth, she kept to herself:
Fen's soul was doomed if they merged.
He was too empty for her—his essence stretched thin over centuries.
The immortality and power she constantly granted him had cost him everything.
Including his worth as a human.
How could he still believe himself worthy of becoming one with her?
It was also why his resentment had only grown over the years.
Still…
It was a perfect opportunity to end him.
She craved something new.
Something richer.
Coincidentally—similar to Fen's sworn enemy.
Azael.