Content warning: This section contains intense emotional pressure and pleading.
Azael drew in the faint scent of lavender clinging to Elana's hair as she lay against him— her back pressed to his chest beneath the half-draped blanket over their bodies, bare against each other.
She was still.
Too still.
Pretending.
The bed beneath them carried the memory of how much he had taken from her through the night, yet the hunger in him remained—restless, unfulfilled.
He lowered his head, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck as he pulled her closer.
Savoring the warmth of her body, he pressed her back against the unyielding pressure between his legs.
Her body was warm, warmer than before.
The blood rushing through her neck reignited his hunger for it.
His hands moved slowly—deliberately tracing along her stomach before settling over the soft curves of her chest.
He caught her erect nipples between his fingers, kneading and teasing them at the same time.
Elana stirred.
He didn't stop.
Instead, he buried his face deeper into her neck, holding her in place as though she might slip away if he loosened his grip.
It had been one of the most peaceful nights he'd had in centuries.
Having her here.
Alive and within his reach.
His lips trailed upward, grazing her chin as her expression shifted faintly, betraying her awareness, while her lashes trembled.
Azael nipped his teeth against her earlobe.
"Pretending," he murmured, "only makes me worse."
A soft whine escaped her as her hand weakly pushed against his.
"I thought you'd be tired…after so much too," she said.
Azael increased the persistence of his fingers on her chest, relishing her quiet sounds as he slid himself between her thighs—already slick…ready for him.
"Do you do it on purpose?" he asked quietly, lifting his head.
"D-Do what…Master?"
"How you make your words and actions contradict each other…every time."
Her eyes opened then—dull, grey and unsteady, searching blindly, her striking red lips dampened by the cold moisture of the morning mist.
Azael wished those eyes could see him.
Would she still want him?
Would they be the same…if she became a vampire?
"I'm really sorry about Trisha," she said softly, pulling him back.
"I didn't know that was why you didn't want me around," she continued.
Azael scoffed—almost reflexively.
"Attaching importance to yourself because of a moment," he said smoothly, "will only cost you your heart, little one."
She froze.
"B-but you said—"
"I claim to own," he interrupted. "Not give myself away."
Her hands pressed against him again—firmer this time.
"Let…Me…Go," she said. "I don't want you like that."
"It doesn't matter how you want it," he said, softening his voice as he kissed up her neck again.
"The walls of my castle bore witness to your screams of surrender."
He raised his head to hers, their faces meeting as they both stilled.
Lust and hurt dwelled, heavy and helpless in her eyes.
"I understand that I'm not noble enough to be loved by someone like you," she began, her voice trembling. "But if you were protecting me, didn't it mean you wanted to see me alive—or at least happy while alive?
Why would you just wanna own me like this? You might as well have bought me."
Azael moved.
Catching her in his arms as he appeared above her, he settled himself against the slick heat between her thighs.
Her fists lightly pummeled his shoulders as he lowered his head toward her face, a quiet satisfaction threading through him at the graze of her taut nipples against his chest.
"You hate me so much…but not as much as I hate you," she protested, her movements slowing as his face neared hers.
The instant pulse of her core against him made his eyes close from sensation before he kissed her.
And just as he had thought, she kissed him back—legs easing wider around him, feet bracing behind his knees, her toes curling into his skin as they kissed.
Her body, much warmer now.
Her once-pummeling fists were already gripping his shoulders when he pulled back slightly and opened his eyes.
"I decide how you live, Elana. Till the day you die."
Tears gathered in her eyes as she lifted a hand to her mouth.
"You're a monster," she whispered.
For the first time, the word sounded foreign to him.
But the realization of his softening toward her—of being controlled—made him seize both her hands, pinning them firmly above her head.
Her eyes closed, tears slipping down as her face turned to the side, revealing his mark on her neck.
Her fevered pulse beneath her skin sharpened his senses.
His fangs ached.
Then her toes curled again—nudging him upward between her thighs.
"Perhaps in another life that I don't recognize you," he said, sinking into her in one motion—reveling in the loud, unrestrained moan that escaped her lips.
"Then you would be free of me," he added, beginning to move slowly into her.
Her voice weakened as her body adjusted to him, her breathing uneven.
He released her hands, watching her body surrender against her will.
Her breaths shortened, growing more strained.
"The fev…" she breathed, trying to speak but her body tightened instead around him—and he responded at once, deepening his thrusts with urgency he couldn't restrain.
Despite her drained state, her gasps rose with each movement.
Her body grew hotter, the air between them thickening as dusk settled outside.
He needed to take her back to Lumere. She needed to recover.
Azael moved faster.
Elana cried out, her body responding helplessly beneath him.
He buried his face in her neck again, almost desperately inhaling the scent of her blood.
"Master," she called weakly, now shivering.
He drove deeper—her body growing more fluid as she trembled under the pressure.
Azael held back a low sound as release claimed her, her core tightening around him in waves.
He pressed deeper.
And finally—
let himself reach his climax.
**
Cara rolled her shoulders as she moved through one of the halls in Lumere's castle, the soft red and golden rug muting her steps as she approached the room Elana was in.
Maids worked quietly along the walls, dusting aged portraits.
She had gotten a much simpler outfit—trousers and a shirt.
She needed to check on Elana. The girl had calmly stated that the lady-in-waiting wasn't properly experienced in caring for a person like her.
Cara already suspected something deeper behind that statement—especially given the high level of classism amongst Lumere's citizens.
Two soldiers approached her from the opposite direction and saluted, but she only smiled faintly and continued walking, acknowledging them without stopping.
She was no longer their General.
At Elana's door, she paused and exhaled. They needed to leave the castle and if her past life became too unbearable for her here in Lumere, she would travel to search for new beginnings.
Then she pushed the door open.
"I know you're already…"
She froze the moment she stepped inside.
Azael stood at the bedside in a black robe, dawn light spilling behind him as he carefully guided Elana onto the bed.
Elana's hair was disheveled as she clutched her robe tightly, cheeks flushed while she turned her face away.
"L-lord Azael," Cara stammered, bowing immediately.
"Where is Caesar?" he asked.
Cara's hands grew damp.
"I saw him last at the forest," she answered, managing her nerves.
"How did you leave Sirence?" he asked again.
"She didn't…" Elana began, then stopped.
"Speak, Cara," Azael said.
Cara's fear rose. She couldn't afford to lie. It was not just her life at stake.
"I sedated them," she admitted. "Zelda and Eldric were asleep not of their own will while we escaped."
"Where is Zane?" he asked again, his tone lethal.
Cara's fear spiked then Elana's voice came, soft and breathless.
"Please, Cara. I need some help with my medicines. I feel so weak."
Cara raised her head, hesitating before moving to Elana's side.
She stopped almost at the edge of the bed, observing as Azael's gaze lingered on Elana.
Sharp. Knowing.
"Be better prepared for my questions when I return," he said.
Then vanished.
A fleeting moment passed.
"Is he gone?" Elana asked quietly.
Cara sat beside her, placing a hand over hers.
"Are you ok, flower?" she whispered, concern soft in her voice.
"I am so stupid, Cara," Elana sobbed. "I have no one else to blame but myself."
Cara pulled her closer, rubbing her shoulders. "Oh my, you're burning up. What did he do to you?"
There was hesitation in Elana's pause but it couldn't be what Cara suspected.
The bed was too neatly laid for something like that to have happened.
"I really need my medicines," Elana murmured, clearly avoiding the question.
"Food first—and it's on its way," Cara replied, smoothing Elana's hair.
Her voice softened.
"I'm your friend. I would never judge you."
Then Elana broke again into sobs, burying her face in Cara's shoulders.
"I'm sorry. I did something totally different. He touched me and I couldn't—"
"It's fine, flower," Cara interrupted, as her eyes caught Vivianne entering the room, followed by a servant holding a tray of food.
**
Arden sighed at the mess of files in his office—debris scattered too.
His curse was still unresolved, yet to end.
Until then… he served or he burned for eternity.
And now—on top of everything—someone could capture ghosts.
He scoffed.
He should never have sold that graveyard that got his soul in this mess in the first place.
If not for Fen's reckless hybrids—whom he wondered what they were doing in Lumere and in a sorcerer's lair—he would still be trapped in a jar.
He hid instantly when he felt a presence.
Not sure about just anyone since his only mode of defense had last gotten him captured.
A swirl of bats filled the room as Azael arrived.
Arden reformed quickly.
"Where were you, Arden?"
"I was taken against my will," Arden replied.
"A ghost…taken?" Azael's tone sharpened.
Arden met the crimson eyes staring at him—suspicious and angry.
"Y-yes, my lord," he said. "A sorcerer I suspect."
A pause.
"Where?" Azael asked.
"His lair within Lumere."
"Lumere?" Azael repeated but Arden sensed his curiosity.
"Fen's hybrids," he continued. "They broke into it and, for some reason, were clearing out the place. That's how I managed to escape."
"Look at me, pig," Azael ordered coldly.
Arden raised his head, almost shrinking into non-existence as the stare in Azael's eyes grew even more deadly—especially as he used the same insult from before Arden's life had ended.
"This will be the last of your grace if I find you missing again," Azael continued. "You might as well become a minion if you're going to be useless.
Or better still I leave you unsolicited for any demon to consume the essence of your pathetic soul."
Arden bowed completely.
"Please my lord…let me redeem myself."
"You will find your way tonight, back to where you escaped, and show me the lair of this sorcerer," Azael said.
"Yes my lord."
A flutter of wings followed, and Arden slowly lifted his head—realizing Azael was gone.
Arden remained still, thoughts circling.
Something was off.
Azael was on edge.
Even when wolves caused trouble or war loomed, it rarely disturbed his control this visibly—until now.
And all of this had only begun when the paths through Azael's territory were extended.