The velvet sheets did nothing to calm Elana's mind.
Three days and three nights since she hit him—three days since his voice, breath and
presence.
Was Azael really with Eira all this time?
Oh God…Why had she struck him?
The night air was cooler than usual, the faint scent of wisteria drifting through her room—Azael's scent, his arms, his mouth on her chest.
Elana curled her toes and told herself that she only wanted to apologize.
Maybe she could tell a minion she was leaving.
Would he try to stop her?
She sat up; sleep had abandoned her anyway. He was in her mind, and—shamefully, in her body too.
Her feet found the cold floor as she stood up and counted her steps to the entrance.
She traced the door, remembering her first day in this castle…the accidental brush of her hand against his chest…the ice of his skin she had been too stunned to question.
The hallway air bit at her exposed skin before she stepped out. Stepping over the threshold carefully, her heartbeat quickened. One hand gliding along the wall.
Just silence and the thought of Azael.
A presence blocked her path—a minion; she whispered, "Please take me to him."
"He's not in the castle, Lady Elana. Not for the last three days," the minion said in its eerie voice.
Relief and confusion tugged at her. But why would Eira lie about Azael being with her this whole time?
Where was he?
"Can you take me to his room?" she asked softly.
The minion's hand took hers and led her down a lower corridor.
When the door opened she recognized the scent at once—his room, the chamber where he put her to recover after he saved her the first time.
The minion left, the door clicking shut behind it.
Azael's voice slipped into her mind: Come to my voice.
She followed the lane in her memory and bumped the edge of the bed. Her mind recalled the heat of his kiss.
Was this what it meant to miss a lover?
Her hand traced the bed canopy, recalling the wall carvings—where he had pinned her against gently, cold hands that guided her toward the shower.
A tear slid down her cheek, her heart ached with the confusion of wanting a man who pitied her.
A violent gust of cold air surged into the room.
She hugged herself, suddenly too aware of her thin nightdress.
Elana turned toward the exit, one hand sliding along the wall for support when a familiar cold breath touched her neck.
She froze.
He didn't need to touch her for her body to recognize him.
"Azael," she whispered.
He didn't speak. Just swallowed hard—close enough that she heard the sound and the tremor in it.
She turned toward him, her hands brushing solid, chilled muscles.
Warmth flooded her cheeks—she had never touched him like this.
His bare chest rose beneath her fingertips, and her knees nearly gave at the quiet rush of heat that swept through her.
Then she explored timidly, tracing the rigid lines of him—his chest, the dip of his collarbone, the strength in his shoulders, silky strands of his hair drifting over her fingers.
His breath shuddered against her face—colder now, unsteady.
Elana lifted her trembling arms and looped them around his neck, pressing herself to him.
Her pulse fluttered wildly, every inch of her body alive to his touch.
She rose onto her toes, straining to meet him, to close the space between them.
He inhaled sharply beside her ear.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
The usual control in his voice wavered. Was he sad?
"I didn't mean to…" Her voice broke. "…to hit you."
She felt his arms slip around her waist, drawing her against him in a way that felt both protective…and heartbreakingly desperate.
Then he buried his face against her shoulders—almost like he was starved of human touch.
Elana held him, her small frame steadying his.
His tension melted into her, and when her balance finally gave, they fell together into the silk-soft sheets of his bed.
He propped himself above her gently, careful not to crush her.
His breath brushed her neck—uneven, tender.
Elana's thighs pressed together instinctively, overwhelmed by the closeness.
"M-master Azael," she called softly.
"Why did you come to find me, little one?" he said, the sadness in his voice brushing her skin like a bruise.
Goosebumps rose across her breasts, the thin nightdress doing little to conceal their delicate reaction.
"I needed to…" she began as she felt him lift his head, "to apologize."
"Is that all there truly is?" he asked, his cold nose brushing hers.
Elana parted her lips slightly, unsure of the answer herself.
"Tell me, Elana," he whispered.
**
Azael's control faltered, each motion and sigh from her, drawing him in further.
She lay beneath him, her ginger hair fanning across the dark sheets, nightdress slipping, revealing hints of the soft curves he had imagined countless times before now.
He had not expected her in his chambers. After burying Trisha, he had delivered the dandelions himself to her nephew.
The heartbreak in the family's faces had ignited his own grief.
Returning to the castle felt like a burden he couldn't face without Trisha.
He had decided to grant Elana's wish to follow the soldiers, so she could be free of whatever blinding desire and doom fate had for her with him but seeing her here—
in the thin cotton of her nightdress, so tender, so unaware of the effect she had on him was a temptation he had not anticipated.
Her gentle hands traced his chest, her trembling arms holding onto him…the soft weight of her breasts pressed against him.
It was a comfort he couldn't resist.
He could tell what she wanted especially with the quiet aching way her body sought his, her lips parted as though already waiting for him.
He wasn't supposed to give her a choice, he was supposed to turn her away, avoid the cruel fate that would come from their bond.
"Why pretend you're ok?" she asked, startling him. "When you're not?"
"I asked first, Elana," he replied with barely a whisper, trying to maintain his composure. Few could pierce the armor he used to hide his emotions.
Her hands cupped his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
The most innocent and yet heart-shattering thing she could do before the weight of his grief pressed down, and he finally gave in, letting her guide him into a vulnerability he rarely allowed.
He turned them around so she could be on top.
A small gasp escaped her, but her arms remained around him, head resting in the crook of his neck.
"So stubborn," he whispered, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.
He fought the urge to let his hands wander lower, where her legs straddled him.
Aware of the dress now well above her thighs.
Her soft breath against his neck sent pleasure through him.
"Master Azael!" she murmured, voice barely audible.
"Yes, Elana," he responded, fighting the longing raging in him.
"I want to…" she hesitated, "I want the end of it."
Azael`s eyes flew open. "Elana…"
She lifted her head, sightless eyes meeting his. "Where it leads….the kiss."
His restraint faltered as she came closer, her lavender breath teasing his face.
His gaze fell to her parted lips, feeling the soft press against his own.
Her body moved slightly upward, triggering a surge of desire through him.
Her inexperienced lips, sought his, hesitant, curious.
She noticed his restraint and buried her head against his chest. "I'm so…sorry."
Her innocence was his undoing as he let himself go—his hand sliding over her supple backside, kneading, teasing, tracing the soft curve of her skin down to the hollow of her inner thighs.
She lifted her head, breath quickening and heartbeat loud against him, every tremor answering the press of his fingers.
He leaned forward, taking her lips again, kissing her with the same intensity as the touch of his hands echoing across her skin.
Her breath struggled to catch up even as she hovered on top,
gradually slipping into soft moans that tugged at the last threads of his restraint.
The taut points of her nipples pressed through her nightdress, rubbing against the lines of his bare skin.
Azael searched for reasoning in his head, even as he kissed her.
His demon was feral or was it him, the man?
He broke the kiss, leaving her panting for air. "It's late, Elana. You should go to bed."
She gently leaned back, to the horror of his restraint she gradually lifted her dress over her body.
Exposing her bare soft curves, the dark nipples that teased his chest stared back at him, daring.
A tiny patch of ginger hair just above her core pressed provocatively against his bulge.
"I'm sorry master." she apologized again, as if she didn't realize the temptation her body was offering, as if she hadn't seduced him enough.
Azael flung her into the silk sheets, settling hard between her bare thighs as she gasped, uncertainty flickering in her eyes beneath him.
He took the aching tips of her breasts one-at-a-time into his mouth, suckling as her shivers ignited him; his hand traveled lower, and the hunger between his legs surged the instant he found the slippery center of her pleasure.
His mind reminded him to stop but she gripped his hand, arching her back, pushing her nipples further into his mouth.
"Please, master Azael. Don't stop." she mewled.
Her body craved the release only he could give to her.
His mouth trailed down her belly, teasing her with his breath, pressing gentle kisses till he reached the soft, trembling, petal between her legs.
"Azael, I mean…m-ma—."
Azael held her quivering thighs firm, inhaling the musky temptation that pulsed before him.
His mouth watered, and slowly, deliberately, his tongue traced a daring path.
She cried out, fingers tangling instantly in his hair.
Her hands pushed and pulled, only deepening his hunger as he began to stroke her relentlessly, savoring her taste as her moans grew louder, more urgent, her hips lifting unconsciously into his mouth.
"Please stop," she begged, her voice breaking. "I'm going to die, master. It's too… It's too much."
His tongue flicked faster, her sounds and the helpless arch of her body urging him more than she begged for.
The almost violent shaking of her body followed soon, her fingers raking through his hair aggressively as she screamed his name, her release spilling its evidence into the waiting heat of his mouth.
Azael raised his face slowly to meet her shut eyes, her body trembling, ready for him.
The bulge in his trousers strained to spring free on its own from the fire coursing through his veins, threatening to unravel what little control he had left.
He rose and stepped back, realizing the extent he had gone.
He had been careless again—careless, the reason why Trisha was dead.
"Az…Azael," she called softly, her voice still heavy with desire.
Her nipples still taut with attention, the slick shine of her climax glistening between her parted thighs.
"When the soldiers are ready to leave, you may join them if that is what you want," he said, his body still heavily contemplating going back to finish what he started.
Elana slowly sat up, one arm folding over her breasts as her knees pressed together in a fragile attempt at dignity.
"You'd rather someone experienced…someone not little, or blind."
"Like I said earlier," he sighed, still holding himself back from proving to her just how much his body ached to bury itself into her tempting comfort.
"A man like me is no good for a girl like you."
"I hate you," she whispered.
Azael sighed, knowing she was just as frustrated as he was over the rope of desire fate had tied them with, then he vanished.
Leaving her vulnerable, exposed on his bed, wanting more than the safety his castle had to offer.