You and Azriel had been together for a year now; you worked in the inner circle along with him. You found out you were mates a couple months after you met. He loved you dearly and would never let any harm come to you. One afternoon, you were in the Night Court Library picking out books to read. He wraps his arms around your waist and hugs you from behind, still dressed in his Illyrian leathers.

"Hello, love," he murmurs, burying his face in your neck. “I made you supper,” he says gently.