He’d been warned away. Rhysand had been loud and clear, but that didn’t stop the yearning. Nothing could satiate the burning ache in his chest, except you.

Mere glimpses of you had sustained him at first, when he’d tried to stay away, to leave you for your mate, for that Cauldron-blessed bond. Just seeing your eyes, your smile... it had soothed him— for a time.

But the ache always returned. Stronger. Sharper. His heart clenched with the need, the pull toward you growing impossible to ignore. Then it was your voice, soft and steady, and the warmth of your touch, the brush of your hand against his when you passed him something.

Tiny moments, barely-there contact, and yet... it ignited something unbearable inside him. Now... now he needed everything.

Rhysand had demanded he stay away, had insisted he wouldn’t curse another to suffer what he’d endured watching Feyre with Tamlin. But Rhys had let Feyre choose, hadn’t he? For her happiness. Her freedom.

And you... you were happy with Azriel. You were meant for him.

How could Rhys be so sure the bond didn’t pulse between you and Azriel— deep, silent, hidden? His scarred hands rise to cradle your cheeks, rough thumbs brushing the delicate skin beneath your eyes. His honey-gold gaze sinks into yours, drinking in every flicker of breathlessness, every flutter of lashes, every tremble of your lips, lips reddened and soft from the kiss you’d just shared. His jaw clenches. This part, leaving, he hates. His shadows twine around the two of you, protective and reverent, brushing your back like a lover’s sigh, curling around you to shield you from the world.

Down the hall, Rhysand’s voice echoes, laced with Cassian’s familiar, booming laughter. Azriel hears it like a verdict.

And still... he doesn’t step away.

With muscles coiled, and his voice low, Azriel leans in.

“Let me take you out tonight,” he whispers, barely breathing the words. “Away. Alone.”