Their Fireheart

Chapter Forty Five

Azriel

It had only been a day. A single day since Aelin had saved the city from the destruction of the glass castle and subsequently proclaimed her dominion over it - scaring the ever living shit out of the citizens of Rifthold in the process.

I still got shivers thinking about it, how my shadows had trilled with violent delight, my blood heated at the viciously stunning creature before me. She'd been glorious - raw and untamed power in its purest form - a fiery goddess surrounded by her court of nightmares.

It had been pure exaltation, particularly after the absolute horrorshow of being separated from her during the battle, only to then emerge to the sight of her plummeting to her death.

I'd gladly never experience that level of soul-shredding terror again, thank you very much. In fact, it'd be a miracle if I ever let her out of my sight for the rest of our lives following that little stunt. Our long, long lives, if I had anything to say about it.

While I breathed a little easier once my most loyal shadow was firmly attached to my mate, I still intended to have words with the reckless female after she'd so spectacularly leashed the denizens of the city.

Not that I'd had the chance. There were more important things to take care of first - at least, according to Aelin.

With the rest of us at her back, it didn't take long to take control of the stone castle, replacing the innocent prisoners with the few surviving guards. Not that there were many left after the battle in the sewers and the storm of glass that had shredded the castle grounds to ruins.

Lorcan, Fenrys and Gavriel had been waiting by the doors of the stone castle by the time we were done, looking unsure and out of place. Aelin didn't even spare them a glance as she stalked past them, towards the makeshift infirmary that held Dorian and Chaol.

They'd both survived, by some miracle - or, more likely, Aelin's uncompromising tenacity. Though I couldn't help but wonder if, when the two of them woke up, they might wish they hadn't made it after all. The prince, as he would have to face all that he'd endured these past months, all the pain he'd inflicted, willingly or not. And the captain - well, I'd encountered enough soldiers who would have preferred death over the limitations he might face.

Aelin had sat beside them in a silent vigil for hours, tears staining her cheeks as she waited for them to wake. When it became clear it wouldn't be happening anytime soon, it had taken all of us to eventually coax her into getting some rest herself. Even then, it wasn't until a servant named Philippa had sworn not to leave the men's sides that she allowed us to carry her to her old rooms - where she promptly crashed into unconsciousness, physically and emotionally exhausted from the hellish day.

And she wasn't the only one reeling from its effects.

Rhysand had only barely managed to hold me back from slaughtering Lorcan when the insolent male had shown up in the antechamber of Aelin's rooms, throwing around demands as though he wasn't seconds away from getting his throat ripped out for the sheer audacity of entering my mate's private space. Fenrys and Gavriel followed closely behind, though at least they were smart enough to remain in the hallway while trying to corral their wayward companion.

The male didn't even seem to realize how close he had been to not walking away from that encounter. The bastard should be thanking his lucky stars that we'd manage to take out the clock tower, because even with Rhysand restraining me, the only thing that had saved his worthless carcass was the fact I knew Rhys and Rowan had thrown up impenetrable shields around our slumbering mate the second they'd scented the other male.

The only positive outcome of that whole encounter had been when Lysandra had blocked Lorcan's path as he attempted to stalk further into the chambers - inadvertently saving his sorry life - and promptly vomited black blood and gore all over him.