The bedstand creaked, faint but persistent, stirred by the woman straddling Azael with relentless intent.
The woman sent to entertain his pleasure for the night.
She rode him with a hunger that bordered on desperate, her eagerness surpassing even his own.
Azael allowed it for a moment, indulging her urgency, savoring the control before reclaiming it.
With a sudden shift, he flipped her beneath him and drove deeper, a muted gasp escaping her as slick walls stretched to welcome him fully.
He began moving with a deliberate rhythm—fluid, controlled—syncing with his breath as his gaze locked onto her face, partially hidden by the mask.
He watched her pupils flutter as her restraint crumbled, the moans she had contained spilling free at last.
Her hands fisted the sheets beneath them, knuckles white, taut nipples arched instinctively toward him as his thrusts surged with feral precision.
Azael wanted her louder. Wanted her undone.
Just as her voice peaked, trembling and raw, his pace slowed.
Then stopped.
That voice.
In one sharp motion, he tore the flimsy mask from her face. She gasped, breath hitching as air rushed back into her lungs.
Azael swallowed hard as he registered the face.
Fen's wife.
Lumi.
**
Azael watched Fen walk past in his human form, dead leaves crunching under his feet, the despair of defeat evident in his posture as the moon shone above his territory.
A lone wolf who feared isolation, not knowing it was already within him.
"Fen," he called.
Fen turned abruptly. Anger and anticipation flashing across his face. A faint scent hit Azael—one he knew all too well.
Fear.
"You've come to finish me, brother!"
"Why do we have to live as enemies?" Azael said, keeping himself hidden. He thought it better to reason with Fen alone—perhaps redirect the feud to just him—or kill him.
His demon whispered.
"It's been ages," Azael continued. "Centuries. I offer peace brother. I vowed that I would never have the blood of anyone from our kingdom on my hands ever again."
There was a pause.
Then Fen began to laugh—hysterically, spiraling into a crescendo as he gestured around him.
"You might as well bow and lick my claws first, Azael." Fen spat out. "Even if you kill me today, the repercussions of your sins are only just beginning."
Azael gritted his teeth, frustration tugging sharply at his temper.
"You're willing to die because of your ego."
"No," Fen said immediately. "I'm willing to kill for it. I've been possessed, Azael."
Fen walked cautiously toward the shadows where Azael stood.
"Possessed," he continued, "by the blood you spilled centuries ago—by the spirits who died beneath your wrath. Tell me Azael—how dare you forget who you are?"
"You never knew who I was, Fen," Azael said, his gaze calculating the wolves subtly slipping from the shadows around them.
It was obvious Fen's army was wounded but—Azael couldn't risk escalation. Not now. Not with his demon stirring.
"That is why it was easier for you to betray our friendship," Azael continued, the pack now fully surrounding them.
"You were never a friend," Fen snapped. "More like an oppressor. Even when you were human—so full of yourself the rest of us had to step back."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
Even if Azael wanted to end the feud now, his demon could also awaken. The memory of Elana's blood—sweet, intoxicating—slipped into his thoughts.
He would crave her next.
"I think out of all of us who dabbled in sorcery," Fen laughed again. "You had the worst fate. But don't worry—I've decided to die trying. Even if it makes me a coward."
Azael ascended silently to the highest tree, remaining invisible as more wolves closed in.
"And if you leave," Fen called. "Know this—my obsession with ending you, still burns."
Azael's mind flashed with the cloaked human he'd seen at the borders.
The black magic radiating from him was intense, forcing Azael to approach cautiously. Yet the man had escaped faster than expected.
Arden, the ghost mediator, was nowhere to be found. Fen couldn't read spells or seal ghosts, hell—mythical beings could wield magic only with a sorcerer's aid.
The human's image collided in Azael's mind with that of the army's sorcerer. Their merged presence sent a sharp sting through his memory.
"Now you get to experience what it means to lose a person you love," Fen's voice echoed.
Azael teleported from Fen's territory before his mind darkened further.
The warm scent of spring filled his nostrils—lavender, faint but not present.
He lifted his gaze to the moon.
"Perhaps this was the only way to bring hell to me. Redemption and destruction,"
He lowered his eyes to the spring water, meeting his own reflection.
"As Trisha would say."
**
Cara followed the faint chatter drifting between Elana and Zelda after freshening up for the morning.
She guessed they were already awake.
She admired the vibrant yarn knittings draped over blue parlor sofas, sunlight spilling through the windows as the sweet scent of magnolia mingled with the aroma of bread baking in the oven.
The curtain before the back door was also woven from rich yarn.
Elana and Zelda sat on a bench. Elana pouted, her fiery strands falling over her face as she struggled to roll a knot, while Zelda guided her carefully.
Cara smiled, as she watched until Zelda turned to her with a warm expression.
"Good morning Cara. It's good to know you wake up like a regular tired person."
"Good morning Cara," Elana said cheerfully, before returning to her pattern under Zelda's guidance.
"Good morning," Cara's chest lifted, a rare lightness stirring.
She traced the edges of the grass with her eyes, mist lifting as the sun climbed higher, rocks and flowers glowing in the early light.
Such a prosperous view.
"It's beautiful," Cara whispered, lost in the calm around them.
"Indeed it is," Zelda said. "You should join us and knit while we wait for breakfast."
"I might have to decline," Cara said with a light laugh. "I'll just sit and watch. I really don't wanna knit."
She settled beside Elana, still struggling with her first knot.
The poor girl looked frustrated but determined.
"Well, I heard Lumere women excelled at yarn crafting," Zelda said, puzzled and amused.
Cara sighed, noticing the dress Zelda had given to her. She never liked dresses—she preferred men's wear.
"I was a soldier, Zelda. Most women in Lumere weren't," she said. "And when I was younger I found friends more easily among men. Life on the edge always appealed to me."
Cara's thoughts drifted to Victor—the night they'd kissed after sparring privately.
She was barely twenty and he was almost a young adult.
His admiration had always been masked beneath overwhelming strictness.
"I did it!" Elana said triumphantly, drawing Cara from her thoughts as she looked down at the single chain of yellow yarn she'd completed.
"So impressive—you got it so fast," Zelda said, glee lighting her face.
Cara pressed her hand to Elana's, still holding the pin and yarn, connecting to the blind girl's resilience.
"It's beautiful," Cara said, tracing the spaces between the yarn chain.
"I'll go set the table for breakfast now," Zelda said, leaving the yarn.
Elana smiled, subtle surprise in her eyes melting into hope. She closed her fingers around Cara's.
"We will be fine," Elana said, her voice gentle, prompting Cara to collapse into her shoulders, the scent of lavender almost comforting as her tears slipped free, hoping that one day her heart would mirror the serenity of Sirence.
**
"We cannot let you fight alone, my lord," Thorne said, hands clenched at his sides.
Evren's eyes never left Azael, noting the rare restlessness the Count tried to mask as he sat on his throne, the moonlight spilling across the room.
"There are no more humans to protect," Azael said coolly. "Fen cannot come to Sirence. He is bound to these lands."
"But he still lives," Evren said. "He's still infectious and would likely create more of those things we faced the last time."
"Now we fight better, without distractions," Thorne said.
The count threw back his head.
"We wait. I can handle Fen as long as no one else falls."
"The girl," Evren said, unable to restrain himself, watching the composed man stir subtly on his throne.
Azael's eyes met Evren's.
"Perhaps your reluctance to fight, my lord, is tied to why you haven't claimed her completely."
His look turned lethal; Evren lowered his own.
"Pardon me for the insinuation."
Azael rose.
"I decide when we battle. Until then, protect your kingdom—that is your proof of allegiance."
"We will protect her, my lord," Thorne said, bowing on one knee. Evren followed suit. "But our loyalty stands—to lay down the lives you gave us if the threat to yours escalates."
Azael vanished from the throne room.
Evren had confirmed his suspicions. Azael's defense had revealed everything.
Elana was far more than she seemed.