𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Arwen tossed and turned well into the night. It was a wonder that Rhysand managed to fall asleep with her constant shifting against the sheets. She sat up, blankets piled in her lap as she hung her head between her knees. There was no apparent reason for her sleeplessness. No nightmares, Rhys was only feet away and it wasn't cold inside. Yet there she sat.

It was lonely in the middle of the night, with nobody but the shadows to talk to and the cabin's creaking wood to answer.

Arwen laid back down, pulling the blanket to her chin and closed her eyes. Then she felt him. It was like something had been invited back into her soul and finally, there was more than just her there. Arwen sat up. The sound followed seconds later. Someone shifting about in the main living space.

Slipping from her bed, she padded across the small room and into the hall. The fire was still alight from the last log she had placed before heading to bed. Just in case Azriel had decided to return that night. And he had. She tiptoed around the corner to peer into the sitting room.

Azriel now sat on the lounge, his back hunched and his wings drooping as though they had been holding his weight in the sky for hours. They might have been. Shadows, both his own and that cast by the fire, danced around him. His skin turned almost burnt orange under the firelight.

Arwen waited until she was sure he knew she was standing there before stepping out of the hall. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her. So she kept walking closer until she stood before the lounge and him. Turning around, Arwen sunk down next to him, her shoulders easing as his scent overpowered any other.

"You came back."

"I didn't want to be away any longer."

His forearms rested braced along his thighs, hands hanging between his knees. She reached for one, skin barely grazing his when he snatched his hand away. Arwen froze, looking into his face to see what signs she had missed where he did not want her there. But there was only a pained furrowing of his brow. Like her touch had hurt him. Azriel dropped his gaze from the fire to the floor.

She reached for him again. This time he did not pull away. Arwen felt the scarring beneath her fingertips and rather than ignore it, she used her thumb to trace the ridges of the marring. Leaning back into the spine of the lounge, she pulled her legs underneath her and then guided Azriel's hand into her lap so she could hold it with both her own. Arwen stretched then furled his fingers, playing with them. Memorising them.

She looked down into her own lap. "What you did today, was..."

"I know." The two words came smooth and low. "But I saw your face when he was holding you. I didn't think, I just moved."

She kept her sigh soundless. As minutes passed between them, the fire the only thing with any sign of movement, Arwen leaned into his side. She rested her cheek on the rounded end of his shoulder. "I don't want to thank you for killing someone," she whispered, "but thank you for... Seeing that I needed help and coming. It's not the first time you've done that for me."

"You're my mate," he simply said, his voice still low and flat. Yet Arwen could read through it like a picture book her mother used to show her as a child. Every image splattered with colour painted before her, every sentence plain and clear. He stared at the glowing hearth. "I'll protect you with my life. Or take the lives of others."

"And if I tell you that's not what I want?" Arwen whispered, tilting her head off his shoulder to observe his answer. The hand in her lap finally started to move. Her eyes slowly fell back down to watch as he lengthened his fingers before enveloping one of hers. Arwen continued watching, enthralled by the way it felt.