Azael watched the rise and fall of Elana's breathing from where he stood at the window, his gaze fixed on where she lay.
The moon was brilliant tonight, flaunting its silver glow over Lumere.
Its light spilled softly through the room's windows, where Elana rested.
He moved quietly to the edge of the bed, studying her intently.
Her face was peaceful.
Perhaps she had healed?
Azael debated whether to touch her to see if the fever had finally left her, but he did not want to disturb her sleep.
She needed proper rest before they spoke about why she was in the forest instead of Sirence. Fear could easily worsen her illness.
Then he remembered her feet.
They had been bleeding.
He cursed inwardly at his obsessive concern for wanting to ensure she was properly cared for in Lumere.
Nevertheless, he had to be certain.
Moving closer to the bed, he observed her lying on her back, the blanket draped halfway across her body.
Her crimson nightdress rested lightly against the round curves of her chest.
He bent slightly to watch her face.
She was indeed asleep.
Her warm breath teased him as her chest rose and fell gently.
Azael reached for the blanket, intending to lift it, but his gaze instinctively dropped to her neck.
The slow rush of her blood through her veins.
The taste—
He forced his gaze away and pushed the blanket aside, immediately spotting the bandages wrapped around each of her feet.
Still, he held the blanket, fighting the urge to let his eyes wander higher along her thighs.
"Master…"
Her voice came softly.
His head snapped toward her face, surprised that he had not sensed her waking.
But her eyes remained closed. Her breathing stayed slow.
Still asleep.
Azael leaned closer, observing as she nodded faintly and released a soft moan.
His breathing wavered at how much the tiny reaction pulled at his restraint.
The blanket shifted slightly, drawing his gaze to where the dress ended along her thighs.
He did not release it, even as her knees lifted and drew together beneath the sheets, meeting his hand where it held the fabric.
He looked back at her face.
Her eyes were still closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her brows faintly furrowed.
She wriggled beneath the sheets, the soft curves of her body shifting with the movement.
Dreaming.
She was dreaming.
He had briefly forgotten that humans dreamed when they slept, just as he had forgotten what it felt like to be one of them.
"Azael…"
Elana murmured.
Her breathing quickened, her fingers tightening around the sheets as her body subtly arched.
His undead heart accelerated as the fabric of her nightdress began to reveal the hardening peaks of her breasts beneath it.
Her knees pressed together, her nightdress riding higher until it fell loosely around the smooth, bare flesh of her hips.
His palms itched to caress their softness.
To feel the goosebumps rising across her skin.
The moonlight burned brighter, reaching where she lay beneath him, gently writhing from the memory of him—vulnerable like a doll only he could break.
Azael slowly pulled the blanket over her and stood straight.
But his gaze lingered.
Her breathing gradually slowed again, followed by a faint whimper.
Her fingers loosened from the sheets as her body sank deeper into the bed.
Her face, peaceful once again.
Azael teleported from the room, reappearing midair already shifted into a bat.
He flew over Lumere toward the borders of his territory, where the ghost mediator had once stayed before his sudden disappearance.
Arden's absence remained a mystery.
Ghosts who eventually passed on after serving their punishment on earth usually appeared before their masters before leaving.
The king still had to answer for the sorcerer's whereabouts.
Azael landed atop the highest and oldest tree, overlooking all of Lumere—its mountains and the invisible barrier protecting his land.
Yet Elana's thighs and her soft whisper lingered in his mind.
He imagined himself sinking into the slick warmth of her body.
She was the reason the world around him was falling apart.
And yet he could not let her go.
Perhaps he had lived long enough.
Perhaps one day he would die in her arms.
Fate was cruel.
But like Elana, it was one of the few realities he could not control.
**
Cara hesitated finally opening the door to Victor's chambers.
The man she truly yearned for.
The man who had betrayed her.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
Her eyes landed on him sitting halfway upright in bed, the velvet-wine colored sheets draped loosely across his bare form.
Moonlight from the window illuminated the bandages wrapped around his arm and ribs.
And muscles beneath them.
Cara inhaled slowly.
"How are your injuries, your majesty?"
Victor turned toward her, relief flickering across his face.
"I thought you had run away again," he said quietly. "Otherwise, why take an entire day before you visit me?"
"After all," Cara muttered, folding her arms and turning her head aside, "I am a traitor."
"I was the fool," Victor replied, "I realized too late how much of a pawn I was in another man's game."
His voice softened.
"I apologize for everything I put you through…for making it difficult to want me."
Cara turned back toward him, surprised.
"What does this mean?"
"I want you by my side Cara."
She flinched internally.
The pain of Caesar's betrayal still lingered, and Victor's words stirred the memory of another wound.
"No,"
She looked away.
"The only way you could ever compensate me is by letting Zane and I live peacefully in Lumere."
She paused before adding,
"And I resign from my position as second-in-command of His Majesty's army."
She hoped he didn't hear the tremor in her voice.
"At least tell me you'll think about it," Victor said.
His voice broke slightly.
Cara turned again.
Victor had lowered his head, his fists clenched. Regret and remorse were written plainly across his face.
Cara's heart tightened with the urge to comfort him.
But life had already been cruel enough—and he had been one of the hands that broke her.
"I have to go now."
"Yes," Victor murmured. "I understand. I don't deserve your mercy."
"Goodnight, your majesty."
Cara left, the door feeling heavier than before as she closed it behind her.
She sighed.
Choosing herself felt strangely painful, almost paralyzing her from the inside.
But she had grown.
She had loved, fought, and been betrayed.
Perhaps staying here in peace was better than running into another storm—especially when Lumere's queen was expected to be of royal blood.
This was better.
She had already accepted the truth before anyone would point it out to her.
**
Eira quickly wiped her tears as Theo opened the door into her tavern.
From the way he paused before stepping inside, she knew he had noticed.
"What is it, Theo?" She said, looking away.
The door closed behind him.
"How can you still think my devotion is only about the gold you pay me?"
Eira scoffed, maintaining her arrogance despite the vulnerability beneath it.
"You should know by now I never mix business with pleasure,"
She turned toward him.
"Theo."
He lowered his gaze and chuckled.
He was a handsome man—one she might have indulged if her mind had not been so firmly fixed on Azael.
"Yet you gave it in exchange to Caesar," Theo said calmly.
Eira's throat tightened—how did he know?
"It wasn't difficult to guess," Theo continued. "A man driven by gold would chase reward…not glory."
Eira swallowed.
Her plans were collapsing around her.
Starting over with another mercenary was impossible—especially one like Theo, whose loyalty came from something deeper.
"I was misleading him," she said. "For my advantage."
"But with me," Theo murmured, stepping closer. "It's business…and no pleasure."
Eira looked away, flustered for the first time in a while before a human male.
Theo knelt before her, bringing his face level with hers.
Close enough for his breath to brush her lips.
"Deep down," he whispered, "I know you need me now more than ever."
Hope flickered in Eira's eyes.
"But I want something else," Theo added, lifting a hand to brush his fingers lightly against her cheek.
"Something that isn't gold."
Eira saw the desire burning in his gaze.
She was cornered.
Fen now held her fate in his hands, and Theo was the only one devoted enough to keep her informed within Fen's wolves.
"My body," she said quietly.
Theo looked deeper into her eyes.
"A piece of rare jewel is better than none," he said softly.
Theo tilted his head, leaning closer.
She closed her eyes as his lips met hers.
Yet even as she kissed him back, the memory of Azael's scorching kiss returned.
And though Theo's arms tightened around her and his minty scent filled her senses.
Eira kept her eyes closed.
Still imagining it was Azael who held her.