Everyone from the inner circle was gathered in the lounge after their annual dinner. The room was warm with laughter and the faint clink of glasses, yet beneath the surface, a tension hummed—one only a few could sense. Rhys and Feyre lounged comfortably on the sofa, their hands brushing lazily, their quiet smiles speaking volumes. Amren hovered nearby, her eyes sharp as she debated something with Cassian, who leaned casually against the mantel. Mor occupied an armchair, swirling wine in her glass with a nonchalant elegance that barely concealed her amusement at whatever conversation she’d stumbled into.

Of course, eveyone had found out that you and Azriel were freshly mated. The bond was still new, fierce, and raw, a tether of both intimacy and instinct that seemed to thrash at the edges of control.

Azriel appeared quietly at first, as if the shadows themselves had carried him into the room. Then he settled beside you, low and deliberate, his presence immediately drawing a protective aura around him—one you could feel as a subtle, almost tangible pressure.

“You look… tired,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

He grunted, not in annoyance but in reluctant acknowledgment, letting you lace your fingers through his. “You too,” he replied, his voice just above a whisper, though the edge in it was sharp enough to silence a nearby joke from Cassian mid-laugh.

The two of them—two other males in the room—sensed it too. Cassian gave a sly grin, leaning toward Rhys. “Is it me, or is Azriel looking… grumpy tonight?”

Mor tilted her head, raising a brow as she sipped her wine. “Grumpy? That’s putting it lightly. He’s positively radiating ‘don’t touch her.’”

Azriel’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, and his gaze darted toward the pair, shadows flickering like warning flags in the corners of his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, calm, but the growl beneath his words betrayed his composure.

You chuckled softly, resting your head on his shoulder.

“He’s not fine,” Feyre whispered to you, eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and understanding. “Males get… territorial the first few weeks. Trust me.”

Rhys glanced between you and Azriel, smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “Well, he’s certainly taking it seriously,” he said, though the tone carried more amusement than warning. “I haven’t seen him this… attentive since he first met you.”

Azriel didn’t respond, merely tightened his hold on your hand. His presence was a silent claim, a wall built around you that no one could breach without careful thought.

Cassian leaned back, chuckling, shaking his head. “You know, I’d pay to see anyone try to challenge him right now. Not even me. And trust me, that says a lot.”

Amren, ever the observer, folded her arms, the smallest smirk tugging at her lips. “Patience, little shadows. Let him adjust. He’s still learning what it means to share space while bonded.”