1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A zriel was not familiar with the concept of peace. For so long it had evaded him, hidden beneath the rubble and ash of his past. The very notion that such a thing could be born from his trail of carnage and agony didn't sit quite right.

Nonetheless, he'd gotten everything he wanted. From his brother on the mend to his wife accepting him for who he was, everything was perfect. All around him, his life flowed with ease and grace and simplicity. Not a whisper of Ehrun or his renegade band of dhemons since their encounter over a fortnight prior, not a hitch in the plan to move with Ariadne back to Eastwood Province.

It was no wonder, then, that something dark and foreboding curled in his gut. Any semblance of tranquility never lasted long in his life. Sooner or later, something was bound to happen.

He leaned into his palms on the rail overlooking the foyer of his Laeton manor, the servants below moving with swift purpose. Petre, the red-headed butler and head of staff, directed the vortex of Rusans to ensure the carriage was stocked with supplies sufficient for the long journey ahead. They'd stop at inns along the way for meals at the start and end of the night, of course, but provisions for midnight eating were necessary for Azriel, Ariadne, and their small company.

Madan had left a week prior, eager to return to Monsumbra to be with Whelan. Though Azriel had been apprehensive about his solo travel, his brother assured him that he'd be just fine once he and Brutis met up.

Brutis and Razer, their faithful friends, had been separated from them for months, charged with protecting the clutch from Ehrun alongside Mhorn. Though they could usually communicate with them through a telepathic link, the distance between them was too great. Between Razer moving the clutch through the Keonis Mountains with Brutis and Azriel's residence at the heart of Valenul, there'd been no opportunities to so much as talk since becoming a guard, then Lord Governor. He missed Razer, and not hearing from him for so long weighed heavily.

Keeping such a massive secret from Ariadne—gods, from everyone —had been difficult. He'd continue to do so, however, until he knew it was safe.

Ariadne's floral scent announced her approach before he heard her footsteps, shoving all thoughts of his friends aside. His bond purred in contentment as her hand drifted across his back, light as a feather, then down his arm. She slipped into view beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, following his line of sight down into the foyer.

"Are you excited to go home?" She looped her arm around his, curling in even closer.

He grunted by way of response, then followed up with a gravelly, "I'm ready to be there with you."

Ariadne hummed in approval. "I admit…I am afraid. I have never lived anywhere but in Laeton. My family and friends are all here."

His heart sank. He knew all too well what it felt like to have his world ripped out from under him. It'd happened entirely too recently when Ehrun threatened his brother's life, forcing Azriel's hand so that his bond to Ariadne had clicked into place and caused his father's death. He'd left everything and everyone he loved to start anew, and it'd been difficult.

"We'll visit as often as we can," he assured her, leaning a cheek on top of her head. "You'll come anytime I'm called to meet with the Council."

Tension seeped from Ariadne at the words. "You promise?"

He chuckled. "As if I could stay away from you for that long."

She echoed his laugh, but something dark twisted in Azriel's chest. He knew all too well what happened when separated from her, and it'd been nearly disastrous for him in the year he'd refused to help Madan in Laeton. His attempted suicide had been the least of his concerns.

Dhemons were meant to bond with other dhemons; such a connection allowed them to physically feel their other half. They'd know if they were injured, sick, or had even died. Without such a shared link, Azriel's bond had assumed the worst: death. It'd been millennia since the dhemons' connection to the Underworld had been severed, and as such, dhemons whose mates had died or whose bonds weren't reciprocated lost all sense of themselves.

Azriel had watched that precise decline twist Ehrun into the wretch he now was. Then he experienced the beginning stages for himself after Ariadne's rescue from the bastard. Only Madan's shared blood with her had kept him tethered to the world, the same way he and Madan had kept the Crowe from Ehrun's fate.

To go through such horrors again would never be high on Azriel's agenda. As little as a mere week apart could start the patterns of memory loss again, the beginning of the end. He wouldn't dare risk it.

"I look forward to meeting your grandmother," Ariadne said after a beat of silence, dragging him back from the memories of those dark nights. Coming back into contact with her at the Vertium ball had revived everything he'd forgotten, and too much of it had been terrible.

Too often, he'd reverted to his old ways as one of the Crowe's most trusted soldiers.

Azriel nodded, lifting his cheek . "She's quite ready to meet you as well. Something tells me she's missed having a lively house, much as she claims to be content with solitude."

"No one truly wishes to be alone." She tilted her head back to look up at him, her oceanic eyes glittering. "Perhaps we can host a ball before the end of the Season."

"Most potential attendees are here in Laeton," he reminded her. The Season was hardly halfway through, yet those families of the Society still clung to hope that their sons and daughters would find their match. It'd be weeks before they returned to their main homes in Eastwood Province.

Ariadne stuck out her bottom lip in a feigned pout. "You are ruining all my fun."

A quick, soft kiss turned her mouth upward, but all too soon, the fun dissipated from her face as the realization of what it all meant set in once more. She would be just as alone as Dowager Margot Caldwell without her friends and sister. Emillie had been by just the night before to say her farewells. They'd all been sad to part ways before dawn, though Azriel had had far more practice in such goodbyes with Madan. Centuries more.

"The carriage is ready, my Lord!" Petre called from the foyer, his hair shining in the light of the chandelier.

Taking Ariadne's hand, Azriel descended the stairs to where the head of staff stood tall and proud of his work. "Thank you, Petre."

"A meal has been prepared for each night of travel," he explained and gestured toward the front door for them to lead the way. They did so, and he continued, "I requested a few extra in case it takes longer than expected or if an inn has tawdry choices."

Ariadne bit her lip to keep from smiling when she glanced up at Azriel, no doubt recalling her escapade at the Drifter's Inn and Bistro which had become something of a joke between them. She'd later explained that the whole ordeal had been a way for her to cope with the prospect of marrying that horrible excuse for a general . The scar below his eye from where she punched him, however, remained a matter of discomfort for her.

"You're too kind," Azriel said, giving Ariadne's hand a squeeze.

She squeezed back and added, "Thank you for your diligent care. I look forward to visiting you all soon."

Petre's face flushed, and he bowed low. "We shall keep the manor in top shape while you're away."

Azriel held out his hand to the Rusan, who stared at him in surprise before they clasped forearms. He never did like the distance vampires put between the Society and…everyone else. After all, he'd started in Laeton as one of them. Rising to the title of Lord Governor had never been his plan, yet there he stood on the elite end of the embrace.

"Thank you," Azriel said and inclined his head to Petre before turning down the front steps. It was all he could think of to say to the man who'd spent a fortnight molding him into a half-decent Caersan following his ascension.

Ariadne followed, her dark blue traveling dress still beautiful despite it being sewn for comfort. Madame Revelie Ives, her good friend and Laeton's finest Caersan seamstress, had delivered it, along with a few others, several nights prior. There would be no comparison in Monsumbra, he was certain. Revelie's eye for fabrics and style led the charge in Society's fashion.

He knew why. He saw it each time Ariadne put on one of the gowns designed by her friend. His stunning wife could make a potato sack look good, but those dresses emphasized every perfect curve in just the right way.

Azriel helped Ariadne into the carriage first, taking his time to inspect those curves as she moved before sliding in after her. She gave him a small smile as the door closed behind them. He'd need to lighten her spirits with such a long journey ahead of them.

Good thing he knew just what to do.

Ariadne watched the Laeton manor disappear as they trundled down the drive. When she had first stepped into the Caldwells' small estate, she had been filled with anxious anticipation. After a night of sweet elation and excitement, the encroaching day presented much different feelings. Until, of course, Azriel had proven his love and devotion to her in more ways than one.

Now as she left the place she had come to love and call home, a new sensation rose in her chest. While she could not wait to get to Eastwood Province—an area of Valenul she had only visited a couple of times in her life—she also dreaded it. Her father had brought her and Emillie there not long after their mother's death, tainting its beauty with heavy grief. The only other time she glimpsed the lights of Eastwood's villages and towns had been from the saddle of Azriel's horse after he had abducted her.

The memories of those nights with him, though stricken with fear before, were now tinged with a strange sadness. Of course, she still woke from nightmares of the dhemon keep, of being violently dragged from her bedroom. But waking beside the one who had caused that pain with all the understanding she now had lessened the fright. He always awoke with her and whispered the same words: I'm so sorry .

He would spend the rest of his life apologizing. She would spend the rest of hers curling into his arms to reassure him that she understood, even if all that occurred over the course of those nights had hurt her in more ways than one.

Now she rode in the carriage with the same man wearing a different face. He studied her from the seat opposite her, his knees wide to accommodate his long legs in the small space. Something sad stirred in his peridot eyes as though he knew her thoughts and was judging how best to beg for forgiveness once again.

Yet as she opened her mouth to put him at ease once more, Azriel closed the distance between them and silenced her with his lips. The tension melted from her in an instant, replaced with the gentle heat in her core. He had already been out of bed by the time she woke that evening; his ability to withstand the sun allowed him to move about the house as the servants readied it for the night by opening the curtains. She had wanted to find a release for the worry knotting in her chest but had been given none.

So Ariadne welcomed the sudden strike of passion as her husband wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her onto his lap. She grinned against his mouth, straddling his hips and finding him just as ready for her as she was for him.

"I missed you when I woke up," she confessed breathlessly while he drew his lips across her jaw in a way that made her shudder with anticipation.

Azriel tugged the carriage curtains closed as he kissed her neck. His hands pushed her blue skirt up her thighs, past the dagger strapped to one leg—something she would never travel without again. The touch of his rough palms on her skin sent lightning through her in all the right places. So much so that after a moment, he inhaled deep and growled his approval. Fae senses were incredible.

"You should've called me back to bed," he said in a husky voice, hands shifting to grab her rear and grind her against his erection. "I would've been happy to oblige."

She released a soft breath, catching his mouth with hers again. He groaned against her as she rolled her hips. "Oblige me now?"

"As you wish, my love." Azriel reached between them, pushing all fabric out of the way so he could reach her bare skin. A hand slid down from her hip to the taut bud. The breath seized in her lungs at the delightful way he swirled his fingers, soft and enticing. When he slipped them between her folds, he hummed and said, "You're already so wet for me."

Without a word, she shifted so his fingers were poised at her entrance. He did not hesitate to slip them into her, slow and steady. The heel of his palm worked against her mound as he moved, each stroke gentle to ready her for more. More. Always more .

Moving with him, Ariadne nipped at his lip, drawing just enough blood to lick away. The sweet metallic taste of him energized her. She slid her lips to the shell of his pointed ear before readjusting to his neck and pausing. He tilted his head away, a silent invitation, and she struck. His blood rushed across her tongue before diverting up the hollows of her fangs to seep through her body—the closest thing a vampire had to a bond. Feeling the life source of the one she loved most mixing with her own was a rush no one else in the world could understand. Combined with his fingers pumping in and out of her, she knew of few greater pleasures—except maybe his cock.

When she withdrew a moment later, licking up the trickle that slid down his throat, he cursed under his breath. It would take longer for him to heal than a Caersan vampire, but he never complained. He only looked at her with a fiery intensity before digging his free hand into her hair and pulling her in for another kiss.

Azriel eased his fingers from her, using one hand to unbutton his trousers, each skilled movement brushing along the apex of her thighs and sending jolts of anticipatory pleasure through her. After a few rapid heartbeats, he freed his erection. She rolled her hips again, this time to rub herself along the long, thick length of him. The shift drew a low groan from him. When she reached between them to grasp his cock, she drew her thumb across the wet tip before stroking him long and slow, savoring his velvety skin.

He tilted his head back against the carriage seat, eyes hooded as he watched her bring her thumb to her mouth to lick it clean. "Fuck, Ariadne…"

Returning her attention to his cock, she angled the head of it to her slick entrance and lowered herself onto him. Every inch stretched her so perfectly that she could not contain her soft cry of bliss. His eyes shuttered, and he groaned as she took all of him inside her.

The angle was divine. She moved languidly at first, each rise and fall paired with the perfect pressure of his pelvis on her bud. Each gentle rock of her hips slid the tip of his length along the twin spot in her sex that only heightened the fiery pleasure building in her core.

Azriel let her work, one hand on her waist to hold her dress up and away. His heady gaze followed her as she moved, lips parted just enough to show the tips of his long fangs. How he kept himself so controlled as to not move with her, thrusting hard and deep, she had no idea. Perhaps he merely waited for the right moment. Perhaps he just enjoyed watching her ride him, finding her pleasure through his body. Either way, she knew how much she struggled to do the same, though he never seemed to mind when she begged him for more .

It did not take long to find her release. It swept through her like an inferno, curling through her core to explode out through the rest of her. Her legs trembled as she stilled, her sex gripping him as she moaned his name and dropped her forehead against his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, taking advantage of her stillness to slowly rock his own hips up, riding out her undulating climax.

They were not done. He had yet to finish, and by the way his grip tightened on her, he was prepared to keep going. Ariadne would not complain. He often pushed her over the brink multiple times before they were done, and they had plenty of time to spare in the carriage alone.

Though the space was small, he shifted forward, arms supporting her back as he laid her out across the bench seat so their bodies never parted ways. He bent one knee beneath him, the other leg steadying him from the floor of the carriage, and pushed her skirts higher out of the way. When he spoke next, it was in a dark, gravelly tone. "Come for me again, my love."

Ariadne had no time to respond—gods, she had no time to think —before he angled her hips up and thrust into her deep. Her cry of pleasure was sure to be heard from outside the carriage. She did not care. Let them hear the way he made her feel. Satisfied. Complete. Full—so very full.

He brought his mouth down on hers, silencing the next loud moan as he pumped his cock into her. Every stroke coaxed that inferno back to life and pushed her closer and closer to her breaking point. His free hand worked its way up her side to grasp her breast and tease her nipple through the tight fabric separating them.

"Do that again," he growled against her throat, dragging his fangs over her artery. "Moan for me."

She did as she was told. The sound, which usually spurred him into a frenzy, had him slowing his movements. The building tension in her core plateaued, and when she tried to thrust her hips up and gain more friction, he held her firm. "Azriel…"

He chuckled, low and dark. "Yes, my love?"

"I want more ."

"Mmm." He nipped the shell of her ear, sliding his cock in and out slow and controlled. "Tell me how much more."

His thumb rolled across her taut nipple just enough to send pleasure rippling through her body. She writhed under him, again trying to take more of him in her. "I want all of you."

They had been the same words she said the morning of their wedding. He groaned in response and unleashed himself. Pounded into her, just as she had wanted, he drove her straight to the brink of release. She cried out again, taking every thick inch, and when he dug his fangs into her neck, she shattered—the feeling of him inside her in so many ways was more than she could handle.

He pulled the blood from her throat, his body tensing as he rode out her climax with his own. His low, throaty moan and tight grip on her hips punctuated the pinnacle of his pleasure. The final, urgent thrusts pushed deeper, nearly splitting her wide.

Azriel sat back, wiping his lips on the back of his hand, and looked down at her—taking in every exposed inch—with a curl of his mouth. He eased his cock from her and pulled his trousers back up to his hips to fasten them again. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

With a soft laugh, Ariadne savored the heat between her legs and pushed her skirts back down. "Never forget it."

"Never," he promised and helped her to sit up again so he could kiss her gently. "Until the very end, my love."

She bit her lip as she leaned her head against the back of the carriage seat, eyes roving over him. Perhaps moving to Monsumbra, away from distractions, where she could indulge in him anytime she wished, would not be too bad after all.

They sat in contented silence for a long time after that. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder, and he curled a lock of her dark hair around his finger absently. The carriage jostled beneath them, keeping either from fully relaxing for a long time. Still, Ariadne somehow found sleep through the bumpy rhythm of the uneven highway. She drifted through a dreamless darkness until two knocks from the driver jolted her from the peace. Two knocks.

She knew what two knocks meant.

Her heart launched into her throat, eyes flying open, and she gripped Azriel's arm. They had not heard of any dhemons near Laeton since the attack weeks ago. After Ehrun nearly died, he had left them alone. Why would he risk sending any of them back now? Revenge?

"Azriel, no," she said and looked up at him with wide eyes.

But there were no screams as they trundled to a halt. Words in the common tongue were exchanged outside, and when Azriel peeked out the carriage window, his face paled. Not with anger. Not with hate. Not with disbelief.

With fear.

"What is it?" She leaned forward and glimpsed a crimson uniform just before the carriage door flew open and Azriel was dragged out.