Olethros

sixteen - azriel

I had many vices: Murder, torture, indulging in violent pleasure. I thought those would be the worst of my sins, but lying had become the most painful. Each time I had to tell Rhysand or Odessa that there was no hint of Freyja, it blackened another piece of my shadowed mind. It got more difficult with each day.

Rhysand had finally stayed in the House for more than an hour. Throughout the past week, he had been flying over every stretch of the Night Court, trying to connect with Freyja's mind. Cassian had been at the camps, questioning any seasoned warrior and sending them out over Illyria. I'd been sending my shadows out in a fruitless attempt to listen for any word. Mor had been marching every street of Velaris and nearly tearing down every door.

There had been no word from Alcaeus, but I had my suspicions that he was forming his own searches. I hadn't been back to Freyja in a week, but if he had found her, an announcement would've been made. I was afraid to see what she had become in that time. It didn't miss me that she'd already spiraled so far in one night in Velaris. I kept telling myself that I had no responsibility past ensuring she is hidden, but I continuously had an urge to just check on her.

I hadn't slept each night. I was fucking delusional. Instead of laying in bed and feeling the churning in my stomach, I unleashed myself upon whichever male chose to make a mistake in Windhaven. I'd spent more time coated in blood than in Velaris. I needed a distraction from the agonizing gnawing at my stomach and head.

It was late, the moon and stars laying their light across the village. I stumbled from the small house I'd heard screaming from. The female was long gone, the two males were in pieces beside the bed. I couldn't even remember what they'd looked like before they met my blade. I'd succumbed to the damning desire to forget yet another night, snatching a bottle of whiskey from
the dining table. I'd stood there and appraised my work until the bottle was half gone.

Now, I didn't want to return to Velaris and the sickening sorrows of the House of Wind. Mor had been sent back to the Hewn City, so Cassian and Rhysand were drinking themselves stupid. I shakily lowered myself to my knees in the front of the property, shoving the whiskey into the snow and gathering handfuls to wash the blood from my leathers and knife.

It took far too long to finally stand again. By the time the bottle was back in my hand, I'd spread my wings and shot off towards the moon. I wanted to fly until I was swallowed by her light and became a silent star, but life was my torture. I'd done enough to deserve this agony, I just wanted to breathe. I hovered above the trees of the Illyrian woods, taking swig from the whiskey.

I could fly until the sun rose, tire myself out and drink until my body failed me. Or, I could take the chance to visit Freyja. My pulse quickened as my eyes snapped in the direction of the cabin. Two mountains over, Freyja sat in a week long solitude. I wet my lips before bringing the bottle back to my mouth. A drunken mistake, perhaps, but who was I not to check on the female I'd stowed away?

I shot in the direction, letting the bottle hang from my fingertips as my wings brought me closer to her. I didn't know what it was about her turmoil that intrigued me so much. Just knowing that she was falling apart just beyond the range, I wanted to be there to watch. I wanted to see it, hear it, taste her tears. A drunken mistake definitely.

I kept my composure as my boots crunched the snow in front of the dark cabin. I wasn't a messy drunk, but the whiskey and the adrenaline from my last kill had my lips twitching as I shoved the door open. The cabin was silent. The chairs empty. My hazy eyes moved to the corridor. As I silently stepped, I sent my shadows to the rooms. Freyja was still here, in the biggest room.

I pushed the door open in time to hear a gasp and the swish of liquid against glass. I smelled the whiskey immediately, an older and more pungent type than the one I'd drained. I smelled the jasmine and lilacs beneath it, the sweet scent of her. Freyja was on my mind more often than Mor, these days. Her scent was far more addicting.