I manifest directly behind her, shadows condensing into solid form that only she can sense. Her spine goes rigid the instant my presence registers.
"Mine," I whisper against her ear, low enough that only she hears.
Her words stutter mid-sentence. "I was just—the weather has been?—"
I touch her hip first, fingers splaying possessively across the curve. Then higher, tracing her waist, counting each individual rib through the fabric. My palm flattens against her spine.
She shivers. Full-body tremor that makes heat pool low in my gut.
Bram keeps talking, oblivious. Something about ceremony preparations and appropriate conduct for dark elf households.
"Excuse yourself from the conversation," I murmur, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
Ilyra straightens immediately, cutting through whatever drivel he's spouting. "I need to get this food back home before it spoils."
"Of course." Bram's smile turns sharp. "Soon enough we'll be going home to the same place. No more rushing around markets alone."
She doesn't answer. Just turns and walks away with measured steps, basket held tight against her body.
I watch her retreat, satisfaction curling through my chest like smoke.
"Good girl." The words drift after her on shadow-wind only she can hear. "I'll see you tonight."
The house settlesinto quiet as I step through the veil between planes, shadow-form condensing into flesh. Her room materializes around me—simple stone walls, threadbare rug, the lingering scent of lavender.
Ilyra lies curled on her side, dark hair spilling across the pillow. One hand clutches the moonbeam lily I'd brought her, fingers wrapped delicately around the crystalline stem. She's still dressed, hasn't even bothered to change into nightclothes.
Exhausted.
A low chuckle escapes me as I crouch beside the bed. "Long day, flower?"
She doesn't stir. Deep asleep, breathing steady and slow.
I ease the lily from her grasp carefully, setting it back in the open giftbox on the small table. Her fingers curl into the empty space where it was, seeking. I pull the blankets up to her shoulders, tucking them around her frame with more gentleness than I knew I possessed.
"I'm not sure what you've managed to do to me, Ilyra Dain." The confession whispers into the darkness. "But I can't stay away from you."
Ilyra shifts, rolling toward me slightly. Her lips part on a sleepy murmur. "Azrath..."
The chains flare white-hot across my shoulders.
Pain lances through me—sharp, burning, celestial bindings pulsing in rhythm with her voice. But beneath the agony runs something else. Something that feels dangerously like belonging.
I brush the strands of hair that have fallen across her closed eyes, tucking them behind her ear. "I'm here," I murmur against her temple. "Rest well, delicate flower."
Her breathing evens out again, tension melting from her features.
I sink onto the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, studying her sleeping face. Bram's violet eyes flash through my memory—the way he looked at her like inventory. Like something to acquire and display.
Killing him would be simple. Satisfying. I could rip his soul from that arrogant body and leave the corpse arranged in the settlement square as warning. Let every creature in this territory understand what happens to those who touch what belongs to me.
My fingers curl against my thighs.
But she hasn't given the order.
She wants him undone publicly. Wants to remain here in her father's house without suspicion or retribution.
I exhale slowly, banking the murderous rage.