"The connection remains." His voice carries that familiar weight, controlled but strained at the edges. "Despite the contract being complete."
I should step back. Should demand answers. Should ask why he's violated the terms of our agreement, why he's returned when the debt was settled and the bond released.
Instead, I drink in the sight of him. The way shadows cling to his frame like living things. The faint glow of celestial chains across his shoulders, dimmer than before but still present. The careful distance he maintains, as if afraid I'll bolt.
"I cannot sever it." The admission costs him something—I hear it in the slight roughening of his tone. "I have tried."
"Maybe I never released you." The truth spills out. "In my heart, I mean."
He shakes his head, a sharp denial that sends dark hair shifting across his shoulders. "There's more than some contract here, flower."
The endearment is sweet and aching. How many nights have I replayed that word in his voice? How many times have I caught myself listening for footsteps that never come?
"I believe it's fate."
The declaration hangs between us, stark and impossible. Fate—such a mortal concept, such a fragile thing to pin hopes upon. Yet the way he says it, with the certainty of one who has presided over infernal courts and witnessed the unbreakable weight of cosmic law?—
"Fate." I taste the word, find it strange on my tongue. "You don't seem the type to believe in such things."
"I didn't." His gaze never wavers from mine. "Until you."
"I never wanted you to leave."
The confession slips out raw and unguarded, carried on the cooling evening air between us. His stillness sharpens, every line of his imposing frame going taut as bowstring.
"Then why—" He stops himself, jaw working as if the words taste bitter. "Why did you never say so?"
I can't meet those gold-flecked eyes. Can't bear the intensity burning there while my own truth sits so exposed between us. Instead, I bend down and begin gathering the scattered herbs with deliberate care. Lavender stems between my fingers, chamomile heads crushed but still fragrant.
"Why didn't you stop me?" The questions keep coming, each one sharper than the last. "Why did you never call me to return?"
A laugh escapes me—short, hollow, lacking any real humor. "I already told you that I chose you." I straighten with an armfulof salvaged blooms, finally meeting his gaze. "I wanted you to choose me this time. But you left anyway."
Something flickers across his features. Surprise, perhaps. Or recognition.
"You made your decision clear enough." I turn away, focusing on the remaining herbs scattered across the path. "Duty fulfilled, contract complete. Back to your realm of shadow and flame."
"Ilyra—"
"I never called for you because I feared it would be too painful." The words tumble out faster now, carried by momentum I can't stop. "For you to see me knowing that one day..."
The sentence dies unfinished, hanging in the space between us like smoke. I clutch the gathered herbs tighter, their stems leaving green stains across my palms.
He moves closer—not touching, but near enough that I feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Near enough to catch the faint scent of sulfur and starlight that clings to him always.
"Knowing what?" His voice drops lower, gentler. "What did you think would be too painful?"
I shake my head, unable to voice the rest. Unable to say that watching him visit out of obligation rather than desire would have broken something inside me I couldn't afford to lose. That calling his name would have felt like begging, and I'd already sacrificed enough of my pride.
"That watching me would hurt when you'd eventually have to collect your price."
The admission hangs between us, stark and final. In the growing darkness, his ember-veins pulse brighter, casting faint light across the herb garden we stand in.
40
AZRATHIEL
Istep closer, studying her as if seeing her fully for the first time. Not the desperate girl who summoned me in shadow and terror. Not the defiant bride who stood unafraid before my wrath. This woman—earth-stained hands holding crushed herbs, silver threading her dark eyes, spine straight with earned strength.