"Enough talk." Vaelra's voice cuts sharp. "Get dressed properly. And fix your hair. You look like you've been rolling in hay."
They leave together, voices fading up the stairs.
I stand alone in the kitchen.
Three days.
My fingers find the pendant again, tracing its delicate chain.
Azrathiel.
I don't speak his name aloud.
But I feel the summons pulse through our connection like a heartbeat.
"Are you there?" I whisper into empty air.
Shadow coalesces like smoke gathering density. I feel him before I see him—heat radiating against my spine, his presence solid and unmistakable behind me. The warmth spreads down, pooling low in my belly and between my thighs in a sensation that makes my breath catch.
"I'm here, flower," he murmurs, voice like gravel scraped over velvet.
I shudder involuntarily.
"Azrathiel, I…"
His fingers sweep my braid forward over my shoulder, running down its length with deliberate slowness. Knuckles brush against fabric covering my spine—not touching, yet the sensation sears through layers of cloth and skin.
"Say the word." His breath stirs loose strands at my temple. "Command me, Ilyra, and I will dispose of all three of them."
The offer settles heavy in the space between us.
Vaelra's calculating cruelty. Mariselle's vicious taunts. Bram's possessive circling. I could end it all with a single order. Watch them dissolve into ash and shadow, their plans crumbling with them.
But then?—
The contract would be satisfied. His obligations fulfilled.
He would leave.
I turn slowly, forcing myself to meet those gold-flecked eyes. My heart pounds so painfully that I feel it may explode.
"I don't want you to leave."
The words emerge barely above a whisper, admission and confession tangled together.
Something shifts in his expression. The cracks of red fractured across his midnight black skin flare brighter.
He leans down, close enough that I feel each word against my lips. "Then what do you want instead?"
My breath stutters. Every nerve ending ignites.
I've never touched him. Not once. But I've wanted to.Wantto.
My fingers stretch out slowly, trembling with hesitation and want and something unnamed that burns hotter than either. I press my palm flat against his chest.
Electric current slams through me from crown to sole.
His skin radiates heat through the shadowed fabric. Beneath my touch, his heart beats—steady, ancient, impossibly real. Thecelestial chains marking his shoulders pulse with faint light, responding to contact.