Azael sank into the bath, the water dense with wisteria oil, its weight pressing against his skin like a sedative meant for gods.
Only then did his body begin to release what his demon had carried.
He had delayed moving from the spot he'd fallen, wary of triggering any more unpredictable reactions to the power coiled inside him.
When he finally rose, his body trembled with the aftermath of the demon's overwhelming power. The Wisteria was necessary—to stabilize him, to quiet the chaos beneath his skin.
Could it be the stake Fen had used to stab him?
The wounds had healed cleanly, yet inside him remained unsettled. Fen was clearly not the only problem.
Azael closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the edge of the tub as the scent and essence of Wisteria enveloped him.
Instantly, Elana's sightless eyes invaded his thoughts—tears slipping down her cheeks. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus despite the images clawing at him.
His demon stirred, in tune with what his body craved—to claim her entirely.
If he let the Wisteria linger long enough, the demon would calm. His body would follow.
"Master…"
Azael could have sworn he heard Elana but when he opened his eyes toward the voice—it was Eira standing in the chamber.
His gaze moved over her helplessly as she slowly slipped out of the thin silk robe, revealing smooth pale skin.
He parted his lips to speak, but before he could, she was already in the tub, pressing herself against him.
Their slick bodies slid together as she climbed unto him, her nipples dragging along his chest while she straddled his unsteady form.
Her lips hovered an inch from his as she looped her arms around his neck, rocking insistently against him.
"Please, Master…" she whispered, her cold breath brushing his nostrils—triggering the memory of Elana's warmth.
"I need you. It's been so long."
Her eyes held his reluctant gaze before dropping to his lips as she leaned in.
"Stop."
The word was barely voiced. He leaned back, breaking her hold, sinking deeper into the bath. There was no point forcing desire that wasn't there.
"I know…" Eira murmured, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest, drifting lower. "I know you'd never stoop so low as to desire a common slave."
Azael's temper flared. He caught her wandering hand and forced her to meet his eyes.
The firmness of his grip made her bite her lower lip, anticipation flashing across her face.
"Bold of you," he hissed, "to assume I require permission—from you or anyone—to decide who satisfies my urges."
"Then punish me," she breathed, leaning closer. "However you wish. I want to feel the weight of your words on my body."
He released her and leaned back again, his voice sharpening.
"I don't have the time for this, Eira. Leave."
"But you'd touch her," she said bitterly, a low chuckle slipping out.
"Probably because she doesn't throw herself shamelessly at me," he replied, not bothering to mask his disgust.
"So you admit it," Eira said quietly. "That you favor her over me."
Azael closed his eyes, ignoring her. His body was too exhausted to pretend interest.
"Perhaps if you tried moving on," he said flatly, "you wouldn't concern yourself with who I favor."
"But she's a slave. She's nothing."
"Then there's you," Azael replied coolly, his patience thinning. "Comparing yourself to a slave."
Eira vanished from the tub.
There was some truth in her words—but if fate meant to undo him, it would not be with anyone other than Elana.
An obsession like his was never earned lightly.
**
Fen knelt before the moontree, shame pressing heavily against his spine.
The humiliation of defeat made standing unbearable.
He had fled amid the chaos Azael had unleashed—losing more wolves. None of his new hybrids had survived.
"When would I ever be enough?" he muttered, his voice weighed down by failure.
Even with numbers and strategy, he had lost. Again.
He had come close to victory—twisted as it was—but nothing had worked.
His fists clenched.
"Azael has no weakness in the physical," the tree witch said, her deathly voice echoing through the dark forest where her roots spread. "He is more demon than man. You continue to underestimate that."
"But I am too," Fen insisted. "Your powers made me strong, didn't they, Mistress? Man and wolf."
She laughed softly.
"You never needed to die to be stronger, Fen. We merged only to enhance your immortality and shape-shifting."
"Then merge us again," he said, lifting his head to meet her blackened gaze. "Completely."
Her bark-etched grin widened.
If he had to give himself away to defeat Azael completely then so be it.
"That is not done at will," she replied as her branches slid around his bare shoulders, caressing. "There is a reason mediums exist."
"Mediums?" Fen asked as the branches tightened around his arms.
"Sorcerers," she whispered against his ear, pulling him down onto the earth, her branches coiling to restrain him fully as he lay exposed and vulnerable before her.
Fen swallowed, knowing what she wanted.
"Do I need a sorcerer?" he asked as her branches explored him. Coaxing heat and hunger through his veins.
"And your soul must be compatible." She continued, her strokes growing more deliberate.
His lips parted as sensations overtook him, restrained groans escaping as the branches tightened.
"Anything," he murmured, his eyes drifting half-closed as he stared at the crescent moon, the tree witch exploring his pleasure as though it were her own.
"Anything you want."
**
Thorne's desire flared as he hovered over Diana, his gaze drinking her in as she lay trembling between Evren's legs.
Golden hair spilled across Evren's chest, red silk crumpled beneath them. Confusion and want warred across her face—half-lidded eyes, lips still wet from their kiss.
"You no longer resist, my queen," Evren murmured, kneading the sensitive peaks of her breasts.
His hands no longer restrained her, a sign of her surrender to the prowess of their desire.
"P-please!" she whispered, her legs parting further around Thorne.
He leaned close, the heat of his desire pressing against her drenched entrance as his voice dropped.
"Tell us, your majesty," he said softly. "What mercy do you beg for? Your people's…or your own."
She whimpered, eyes fluttering but never fully closing—not without their permission.
"Either way," Evren whispered against her ear. "You're the bargain."
Thorne brushed a kiss across her parted lips.
"The willing surrender of your body and mind for the protection of your Kingdom. Or its destruction."
Her tears fell as she nodded desperately, tightening the heat coiled between them.
"The defiant queen of Titan surrenders," Evren whispered as his lips traced her neck, "to be ours."
Outside the chamber, the guards shifted as Diana's moans echoed softly through the tower walls.