Calculating.
"Then I suppose," she says quietly, "We should be grateful."
Bram releases her with a satisfied smirk.
And I realize—she's waiting for something specific. Some moment I can't yet see.
So I wait with her.
She doesn't wait for Vaelra's permission or Bram's dismissal. She simply turns and walks out the door.
I follow through shadow, staying just beyond mortal sight as she climbs the familiar path behind the house. The afternoon sun casts everything in amber and gold—too bright, too warm for creatures like me. But I don't retreat.
When she settles on the hilltop overlooking the settlement, I let the shadows peel away.
"You were watching me." Not an accusation. Just fact.
I don't answer. Don't need to.
She stands there, profile silhouetted against dying light. The wind catches loose strands of black hair that escaped her braid, whipping them across her face. She doesn't brush them away. Her shoulders carry tension like armor now—rigid, defensive. But her hands hang loose at her sides, fingers unclenched. The bruises on her left arm are already darkening from pale pink to yellow. Four distinct finger marks. His finger marks.
My jaw tightens.
"How often are you here without me knowing?"
"Often."
The word hangs between us.
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't turn. Just keeps staring out across the settlement where smoke rises from evening fires and dark elf patrols move like sharks through water.
"Does it bother you?" I step closer, stopping beside her. She barely reaches my chest—small, mortal, fragile. Breakable.
She shakes her head.
My shadow swallows hers completely.
"He touched you." My veins swell with heat, burning like fresh boiling magma. "You didn't call for me."
Finally, she looks up. Dark eyes meet mine—silver-sheened now in certain light, proof of our binding. "You weren't far. I could sense it."
Impossible.
Only I should feel the thread between us. Only contract-holders carry that awareness.
Something in this deal has shifted. Twisted into territory covenant law never anticipated.
But the thought dissolves beneath something hotter, sharper.
Bram's fingers digging into flesh that isn't his to mark.
"Ilyra," I murmur gruffly.
Her eyelids flutter as she looks up at me like an innocent doe before its predator. "Yes, Azrathiel?"
"Who is permitted to touch you?" My voice drops lower, dangerous.
Her breath catches. "No one."