Shadowsinger

Chapter 37

Everything hurt.

There was nothing but darkness and pain.

Pain radiated from his back, his wings, lancing up and down his spine in an endless torrent of fire in his flesh, burning with each too-shallow breath. Vaguely, he became aware that he was lying on his front, his wings resting on some support beside him. He couldn't figure out where he was, the last thing he remembered was seeing Gwyn across the battlefield, devastation and determination marring her beautiful face. She'd tried to reach him. She'd been too slow, someone had tried to kill him, perhaps they had succeeded and this was the next world. 

I never dared to dream that it could be you. I love you.

There was only one thing that she'd meant then, and he'd never dared to dream, but what did it matter now? He was dead or dying, he hoped she was wrong, if only so that she could find her mate and have a long future with them, because if she was right, if it was him, she'd lost that future.

I love you, Azriel.

As long as she was safe, he didn't care about anything else, and he welcomed the fading of the pain, the warmth starting to seep into his muscles, the way his body felt disconnected, like he wasn't in control of it anymore. He didn't have to do anything, not anymore, he could just rest. Some instinct told him there was a sound, he didn't care, he didn't want to hear it, he just wanted to sleep, for everything to go away. The instinct didn't shut down, it only ramped up, and a distant part of his mind, the only part still connected to his body screamed at him to listen. There was something there, a touch, his hand, something was touching it, no, someone was holding his hand, and it felt right. He wanted to feel it, to go back to his body, but he couldn't, there was something stopping him. He clawed desperately at the invisible blockade, but to no avail, nothing worked, nothing until,

"Azriel." That was his name, and the voice, feminine, light, it was like a mountain breeze, but it was pained, the female who spoke was in pain, but it was more than that. She was, her voice at least, was full of anguish, and, and it was hoarse, as if she'd been screaming. She had, he remembered her voice, she had been screaming, she'd been screaming his name, because she cared for him, she loved him. There'd been a battle, yes, that was why he'd been hurting, he'd been injured, badly, and this female, she'd saved him, she'd been too late. If he could just remember her name.

Azriel's eyes snapped open,

"Gwyn," he breathed, his eyes open but unseeing, not able to register the sudden influx of light.

*****

He'd been unconscious when she woke an hour ago, and too still, far too still, if an instinct hadn't told her that he still breathed she would have feared him lost. Apparently, it had been 5 days since the battle, she'd slept the whole time, out of reach of even Feyre and Rhys, though she knew they'd tried, she knew that Rhys had sat beside her for hours at a time, desperately trying to reach, to even find, her mind, to make sure that she would still be herself when she awoke. Nesta had said that he'd only left each time when he had no other choice and he couldn't have someone else attend to whatever task needed doing, but that he'd returned every time. 

The respect in her sister's tone shouldn't have surprised her, she knew that, despite herself, Nesta did care for him, but when he'd returned shortly after Gwyn had woken, Nesta had truly surprised her. Brother. That was what she'd called Rhys, and maybe it was her frayed nerves, but Gwyn hadn't been able to stop the tears, the tears that weren't just for her friends, but for the male lying on the brink of death beside her, for everyone who'd been killed in the battle, for Nesta, knowing that her blast of power could have saved Azriel, for Cassian, knowing that Nesta had chosen to save him, not consciously perhaps, but she'd reacted, and hadn't had anything left to do the same for Azriel. But yes, she cried for herself too, because gods it hurt. It hurt so much. Her ribs ached viciously, as did her back, but more than that, it was like a piece of her was empty that had never been before, it made moving, thinking, breathing difficult. She'd overdone it with the magic, she hadn't realized she could do any of that, but how could she not? Her mate had been bleeding out into the mud, and she had refused to see him die. The tears were for him, for the pain that she'd been unable to stop, and for the fear that she would lose him anyway, the grief for what could be, because if she lost him, no, she couldn't start down that path, if she started, she'd never return.