A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ The Makings of a Disaster ☆

He’d found her other attackers.

Cold ran through him like the hoarfrost of the Winter Court, and he stared down at the assembled group of eight males. He’d found them in one of the many rooms of the Hewn City, their minds shattered and various wounds coating them. Rhysand had been quick to join him and search what was left, though, it was not very much. From what he got, there had been more of them. 

The others had gotten themselves killed within hours of the incident. 

Azriel stood with Rhysand, both of their fists white-knuckled as they cursed in unison. “I can’t believe she did this while drugged,” Rhysand said, staring over the husks before them. They seemed drained and pale, eyes glassy as if dead. It’d already been several days since the party—several days of being too numb and dumb to feed themselves. It already smelt like piss and something far grosser. But each male was de-weaponed, minds turned in on themselves, and scattered around across the stone floor as if they were the ones drugged.

“Perhaps she didn’t,” he replied, but he already knew it wasn’t true. As Rhysand had reported, her mark was on each and every one of them. 

Rhysand just shook his head. “We need to figure out what they drugged her with. It might’ve done something to her daemati abilities; maybe even her mind and she doesn’t even know it yet.” The possibility frightened him. 

“Rhys.” Azriel grabbed his High lord by the arm as he turned to leave, both clad in their Illyrian leathers. The male paused, his violet gaze far colder than the night sky. “She was attacked by more than eight people and she survived it. She’ll be fine.” 

Rhysand took a deep breath and nodded sharply. “I still want you watching her, however. Who is watching her now?”

“The wraiths.” 

“Alright,” he responded, eyes training on the door, “I’ll speak to Keir and bring these men before him. And—Azriel?” Azriel glanced up and met Rhysand’s gaze. “What happened this morning?”

He sighed very deeply. “Eblis was gone from the Townhouse this morning. She went out with a friend and it caught me off guard.” 

“Friend?” Rhysand asked, perhaps just as nosy and worried as he was. Azriel just shook his head, and the male took a deep breath. “I might keep searching through their minds a little longer; see what I can find. I don’t really want to deal with Keir at the moment.”

He grumbled his agreement before nodding his goodbye to Rhysand. Just an hour later, he was back in the Townhouse. The scent of Eblis enveloped him, and he paused to inhale it. 

Azriel had decided, in the end, to go to the Hewn City and begin his search since the Steward had finally agreed to let him. It had been a breath of fresh air to chase his thoughts away, but now, alone in the house, he found they creeped back at him.

Instead of heeling completely to the thoughts, he went to his room and stripped of his clothes. Some swirl of desire twisted through him when he saw himself in the mirror—his dirty mind imagining the equally scar-mangled female peering at him from behind his wing, a hand trailing down his arm lovingly. In his imagination, he almost thought that she pressed her stark body against his and simply sighed at the warmth emanating from him. But as soon as violet eyes swept a cat-like glance towards his, he flared his wings and dispersed the illusion in his head.

She did not want that from him. Not yet.

He growled. 

Azriel caught himself sharply and redirected the strain of emotion. He pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed his knives, and was about to set off to one of the other houses—namely one with a training ring in it—when Eblis made her way back into the Townhouse. Her hands fidgeted together, the bottle nowhere in sight.