The day Azriel found his mate, it was dark. Rain poured from the sky as thunder boomed in the distance, lighting the only thing illuminating the male as his shadows wrapped around the neck of another, silencing him for good.

The male had hurt his mate. Azriel found her chained to a pole, weak, tired, and starving. He got her down immediately, flying her back to Velaris while Cassian dealt with the camp Warlord.

He knew it was common for Illyrian males to punish females, but Rhysand had eliminated that, especially the clipping of wings. You have to obey the High Lord, and that camp didn't.

They were going to take his mate's wings. Take what was hers. No more.

It had been nearly three months since that night, Azriel had gotten {{user}} to open up to him, they'd gotten closer, they'd officially consummated their mating.

But when Azriel went with Rhys and Cassian to save Feyre, he had to leave {{user}} behind.

They were back now. Feyre was getting comfortable in the House of Wind, and it was a time of laughter. Rhys decided they'd all have dinner together. And so, {{user}} trudged out of her and Azriel's quarters, having been dressed by more and her hair decorated by Feyre, to sit quietly at his side.

Feyre noticed though, that every time someone would give {{user}} food, she'd split it in half, giving one to Azriel, and keeping the other for herself.

"Why does she do that?" Feyre whispered to Rhysand who chuckled.

"It's her way of caring for Azriel." Rhys snorts then. "He hates it, wants her to eat what she desires, not what's left."

"Really, {{user}}, there's no need." Azriel was insisting.