Dark Light

58. Two Sides of the Same Coin

Azriel looked back and regretted it for the hundredth. Fucking. Time. He was torturing himself, plain and simple. He, of all people, would know.

(Y/n) was disappearing over the black horizon with every. Passing. Second. And Azriel hated it. With every fiber of his being hated it.

"Again," Devlon said over the wind — he and Azriel were still soaring west to the war camp, the still starless sky hanging over their heads, "she'll be okay."

Azriel heard The Burning One in the back of his head. "She does not need you, Azriel, nor will she ever again. Right now, she is more powerful than even you, and we're almost one and the same. Her just being in my offspring's world awakens its old magic." (Y/n) would be okay. Of course she'd be okay.

Azriel knew this, and yet . . .

"It's time to winnow," Devlon said, flying nearer. "You said we could as soon as you couldn't see her anymore."

Azriel looked back again, and Devlon was right. He only saw perfect darkness. Too perfect.

Azriel pressed his lips together thoughtfully. He hadn't wanted to immediately winnow to the war camp because he'd been anxious about leaving (Y/n) behind, but . . .

He'd also just wanted to stare at her. And could anyone blame him? He'd been bewitched by her.

The corners of Azriel's mouth twitched up.

There was that word again. Bewitched. Again and always, bewitched. Back in Rippa Harbor, he'd used that word to describe the effects of his and (Y/n)'s mating bond because he'd panicked. But looking back, he hadn't been that far off.

(Y/n) was all he thought about.

(Y/n) and her coquettish smiles. (Y/n) and her sharp wit and sharper tongue. (Y/n) and her teasing laughter. (Y/n) and her patience and forgiveness. (Y/n) and her godlike giant form and spear of light. (Y/n) and her pliant and yielding body. (Y/n) and her kiss-swollen lips. (Y/n) and the way she tasted and the way her thighs quivered and clamped around his head—

Devlon cleared his throat.

Azriel adjusted himself through his leathers, shameless. When it came to Devlon, Azriel had nothing to lose. Mainly because when it came to (Y/n), shame was the last thing on his mind.

"The sooner we get to camp," Devlon said, side-eyeing Azriel, "the sooner you can see her again."

Azriel took some offense. "I'm not some horny fledgling."

Devlon gave him a tired look. "I didn't say you were."

". . . All right." Azriel tucked his wings back and out of the way and then leaned toward Devlon, grabbing his forearm. They free-fell for a second, and then Azriel winnowed them west, rummaging through his shadows until he found the camp, and then he parted the darkness with a single thought.

Almost immediately, someone noticed Devlon. They shouted for him, so he nodded at Azriel and then went down first.

Azriel took his time — but definitely not because he still had an erection . . . Definitely not.

He soared over the camp, wondering why it'd been started in a mountain range of mesas and gorges — until he spotted golden rings, portals, on the west coast about a half a mile away. Everyone and everything was coming out of them: faeries from every Court, supplies, Helion's pegasi — you name it.

"Azriel!"

Oh fuck.

He looked down and immediately made a face. Of course it was Cassian. Azriel would never hear the end of it if his brother knew what . . . condition he was in.