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sarahsoba · 7 months

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Just in case you haven’t read this masterpiece

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

“No,” Azriel moaned, thrashing beside her. Gwyn blinked, eyes adjusting to the inky darkness swirling around her. “Don’t touch me.”

“Az?” she whispered, rolling to her back. It took her a moment to truly see him, but there he was, prone and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. This, she realized, was a nightmare. “Az, wake up.”

He didn’t, mumbling something unintelligible. His shadows swarmed around him, lethal and vicious as they blotted out any light that might have slipped from the open window.

Reaching carefully through that fog, Gwyn didn’t hesitate. They wouldn’t hurt her, of that she was certain. Azriel, on the other hand? Well, the moment her hand touched his bare chest, he had her on her back again, wrists pinned over her head.

She blew him back, calling up magic before she could truly think about what she was doing. The momentary panic of being restrained was overridden by the knowledge that no one could ever hurt her again. Azriel groaned, slamming through the closed door in a shower of splinters.

“Fuck,” she heard him mumble. Gwyn swallowed, sitting up in bed as Azriel clambered over the ruined wood to stare her down. He looked like a demon in the dark, eyes glowing gold in the moonlight. Shadows swarmed over his shoulders and though Azriel wore nothing but a pair of sleep shorts, his weapon closer to her reach than his own, Gwyn thought even battle hardened warriors would have cowered beneath that stare.

She met his gaze. “Don’t put your hands on me,” she whispered, hoping she sounded just as lethal as he looked.

“Did it feel good?” he questioned, cocking his head like a curious cat. “Knowing you could best me?”

Gwyn nearly groaned in irritation. Of course he’d circle right back to training. All he’d seen was that she could take him, which meant he’d been twice as punishing the next time they were on that little island.

“Answer me,” he ordered, the words laced with some twisting, pulse of magic.

“Yes,” she breathed through clenched teeth. Azriel’s smile was lethal as he prowled back to the bed, ignoring the scent of blood coming from somewhere on his skin. The coppery, salty tang in the air was doing something to her, though. Arousal bolted through her like a lance, rich and warm until Gwyn thought she might have licked it from him if she could have found the source. Instead, she pressed her thighs together, determined to keep him from realizing what was happening to her.

“I’m far more powerful than most males,” he reminded her, determined to turn everything into a lesson.

“Yes, Azriel,” she agreed, yanking the blanket back over her body. Maybe she should have gone back to her bed—it was too late for it, now. Azriel had her back pinned to his chest, nose back in her hair. If she was lucky, he’d fall right back into sleep without noticing a thing. “Go to bed.”

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered and she knew he smelled it, then. Gwyn wanted it, too, just as much as she knew letting him lose himself this way wasn’t helpful to either of them. She wouldn’t be the salve to this wound just as he refused to be the same for her.

Gwyn rolled onto her back and when he tried to kiss her, she turned her head. “Tell me about the dream, Az.”

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pain lacing her name.

“I think I deserve to know. After…after everything we’ve been through,” she added, hating how her voice warbled. She was starting to care about him and in that moment, she wondered if maybe it was just one sided. Unreciprocated. If she’d just become another job to him, duty bound to help because that was the role he’d assigned himself.

She wasn’t going to beg him. Stomach churning with anxiety, skin suddenly cold, Gwyn swore she’d walk away if he denied her. There would be distance between them again. Polite, but firm. No more kissing, or touching, or the emotional vulnerability she’d been pouring into him.

But in her mind, she pleaded with him all the same. Please.

“In the first war, Rhys’s father separated us,” Azriel said after an agonizing wait. Rolling onto his stomach, he tucked his wings tight against him, his tell for when he was preparing for a fight.

“Rhys led a regiment and Cassian was relegated as a mere footsoldier on the front lines. And I…I became his spy. He never cared much about the freedom of humanity—his interests lay in protecting his home and the commerce coming in and out of Night. He made a lot of decisions that wiped whole human settlements off the face of the map and he did it without concern or care. They were animals to him, but freeing himself of Hybern would enrich him, and he had long stopped utilizing slaves. They were too hard to trust.”

Gwyn didn’t say a word, didn’t dare to even touch him.

“Rhys doesn’t know, but I was spying on him back then, too. Sometimes I think…I think his father half hoped Rhys might die. He wanted Cassian to, too. He saw how powerful we were together and it was a threat to him. And when Rhys was captured, I…I was told to ignore it. He directed troops elsewhere.”

“Az…”

“I knew Tamlin’s father was preparing an attack against the High Lord. I’d learned of it months before. Rhys had taught me to guard my mind against his kind and so when the High Lord would pull into my thoughts, I’d push everything else to the forefront but I guarded that secret like a lifeline. I didn’t know what they planned, exactly. Only that a trap had been sprung, and that Tamlin was integral to it.”

Gwyn wasn’t breathing at all, listening to this confession in the dark,

“I didn’t know Rhys had told Tamlin where the Lady and princess were going. That he was meeting them. And when I found out—”

Azriel sucked in a jagged breath. “It was too late, then. I got what I wanted. Tamlin slaughtered Rhys’s father, and Rhys, Cassian, and I were reunited. And I’ve never told him that I could have stopped it if I wanted to. That I…that I let his mother and sister die because I wanted to escape his father.”

“Az—”

“Don’t you dare try and make this right—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, grabbing his hand before he could stop her. “Don’t you tell me what to say. You didn’t do anything. That lies on the men who killed two innocent females in the middle of a war. You can’t…gods, Azriel, you can’t blame yourself for what other people did.”

“But if I had told him—”

“What if? What if you had? You still wouldn’t have known Rhys told Tamlin about his mother, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop them from killing her. You can’t…it’s not your fault.”

“I dream about them all the time. She was like my own mother. She took me in. And Rhys’s sister was so little. A girl. She had wings—not like Rhys’s, but actual Illyrian wings and we might have had an Illyrian princess on the throne. I think, sometimes, what she might have done if she’d lived. How she could have changed things and I took that from everyone and they must hate me so much for it—”

Gwyn reached for him, sitting up just enough that he could bury his face in her lap. He didn’t cry, though his breath came in great, gulping pants. “You should hate me.”

“I couldn’t hate you if I wanted to,” she admitted, running her fingers through his hair. “And neither would Rhys. Or his mother, for that matter. No one would, Azriel. You were in an impossible situation, but killing the ladies of the seven courts is a war crime that doesn’t belong on your shoulders. You were his prisoner.”

“I dream about them all the time. Bloodied and alone. Afraid. I wish I could have changed it. I would have served him a thousand years to prevent that.”

Gwyn leaned forward, kissing his scalp. “Their deaths are not on you. You don’t get to claim them, Az. That burden belongs to another High Lord, who is long dead and can’t atone, but that doesn’t mean you have to. Look at me. Az, please. Look at me.”

He looked up, eyes glowing gold in the dark. They were suspiciously wet and glassy, but no tears. She almost wished he would give himself permission to wholly feel everything rumbling through him.

“Tell me that you know that.”

He pressed his lips together and Gwyn fought back the urge to laugh at him. “Stubborn,” she chided, brushing her fingers over his soft mouth. “But I know what you would say if I was in your lap, blaming myself for things I couldn’t control.”

“What would I say?” he asked hoarsely, his expression a mix of yearning and desperation.

“To forgive myself,” she murmured, wishing now that she’d let him kiss her. Next time she swore she wouldn’t deny him. “That I wasn’t to blame for other people's cruelty.”

“That’s different. You’re so…and I’m…”

“We’re the same,” she insisted, holding his face gently in her palm. “You see it so clearly when its me, just as I’m starting to think I see it so much better when it's you. And maybe…maybe it was the Mother who brought us here. Maybe she’s tired of seeing you suffer, Azriel. It’s been five hundred years of torment. And I think, as her avatar on this plane, that I speak for her when I say that she’d like to see you smile again. Really smile.”

His eyes were so big, so filled with unguarded hope that Gwyn felt her heart break a little. “Yeah?”

In truth, Gwyn hadn’t tried to speak to the Mother in years. Not since Catrin died. It seemed almost like betrayal to agree to it now, and yet she thought she would for Azriel. That she had to. Something soft thrummed in her chest, humming with approval. That was the goddess then, clearly delighted that Gwyn would try again.

It's not devotion to you, Gwyn thought quickly, as if it mattered.

Because the truth was far more terrifying.

It was devotion to him.

AZRIEL:

“Are you busy?”

Gwyn looked up from her book, scribbling notes in the margins with ink stained fingers. She’d tied her hair off her face messily, the ribbon coming loose. Her dress was rumpled from sitting in the same position for too long and Azriel was fairly certain she’d never looked lovelier.

He ached to touch her. Had been thinking of a million different excuses to sweep her up in her arms and take her flying far from this palace. Time was ticking down. A week, and then he’d take her back to Velaris and an uncertain future that terrified him. He still didn’t know entirely where they stood or what she even wanted from him.

And he was half certain she was going to realize she could do better and that he was just as broken as he kept trying to tell her he was, and she’d go running.

Right then, though, Gwyn’s eyes snapped to his face. “I could take a break,” she admitted, stretching her neck.

“C’mon,” he said, offering her his hand. Any excuse to touch her. To pull her close. To take them far away from this miserable, fetid palace that grated against his senses. Kai still hadn’t returned and if Azriel was lucky, he never would. He enjoyed not having competition for Gwyn’s time and attention, and none of the courtiers paid them any mind anymore.

All he was waiting on was a report from the shadow he’d sent to Koschei’s lake to give to Rhys and then he was free, too. Montessere was strange, but whatever was going on here wasn’t his problem.

Gwyn followed him out to the balcony, squealing quietly when he swept her up into his arms without warning or preamble and kicked off the ground. It felt good to stretch his wings, to be airborne with the sun on his face and his mate clinging to his neck.

“Dramatic,” he teased, lips against her temple.

“You did that on purpose,” she accused.

“Are you suggesting I didn’t warn you so a beautiful female would press herself against me?” he joked in return, letting her see him smile. Gwyn’s expression softened, though he knew better than to try it twice in a row. He was certain she had a knife hidden somewhere on her person, besides.

“Flirt,” she retorted. No one had ever said that to him. Azriel huffed out a laugh. Everything was just easy with her. It was easy to let his guard down, to tell her the truth. And after the night they’d shared, where he’d admitted one of the things that haunted him and she’d been so understanding, he wanted more. Wanted all of her. Every little piece. Every smile, every laugh, every scowl. He wanted an eternity of her sass, of her pretty, dark hair and those jewel bright eyes.

Even if he didn’t yet believe he deserved it, he still wanted it. He thought he could spend a lifetime proving to Gwyn and the Mother that he deserved her, too. He could earn his mate by taking care of her…which, he had begun to suspect, meant taking care of himself, too. They were broken and carefully piecing the other back together.

The words he wanted to say burned in his throat, trying so hard to claw their way out. I love you, I love you, I love you—

He swallowed the impulse. Not yet. Not now. Not until he was certain that wasn’t just the mating bond talking, and definitely not before he knew where they stood.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” he said, soaring over the open sea until the palace was merely a pinprick in the distance. Wind kissed his wings, the world melting away until he thought they were the last two people in it.

“Don’t you get tired?” she questioned, peering around him to look down at the sparkling water below.

“No,” he scoffed, though he did let himself drop just a little so Gwyn would scramble again and wrap her legs around his torso.

“Prick!” she accused, swatting at his chest while Azriel howled with laughter.

“I told you I was trying to get close to a beautiful female,” he managed through gasps, wiping the tears streaming from his eyes on his shoulder. “It’s not my fault you’re too busy ogling me to listen to me talk.”

“What has gotten into you today?” she asked, a smile spreading over her face.

He only shrugged. Azriel felt light today. Easy. He said, “I’m happy.”

Gwyn looked at him, eyes bouncing back forth between his own as if looking for some hint of dishonesty. “It looks good on you, shadowsinger.”

“It’s your doing,” he admitted, pressing his mouth against her own. He’d imagined this moment before—holding her against his body, wings spread wide with nothing but the open air around them. He wondered, briefly, if this was the kind of simple joy his brothers had found. There was nothing like flying in the entire world. It was, at times, the only freedom he’d ever had. But flying with his mate wrapped around him, kissing her with no one but the gods themselves as a witness, well. That was bliss.

And he was happy. Happy in a way he’d never been in his entire life. Azriel was starting to believe that he could have her and it wouldn’t need to be complicated or end in disaster. He was also starting to think that she could love him too and he would be worthy of it.

Azriel deepened the kiss, swallowing the urge to moan when she sighed softly against his lips. She was sweet, fingers digging against his shoulders. Azriel left his hands drift down her spine until he cupped her ass, pressing her firmly against him so she could feel his erection. There was, probably, some mechanics to having her in flight that his people knew but was a mystery to him, even if the thought thrilled him.

That didn’t stop him from kissing her, drifting lazily in the sky so he could have this moment with her. In the back of his mind, he was well aware he was taking them back to the palace and that what he wanted was to rip that dress off her and bury himself so deep inside her that she felt nothing but him.

Azriel wanted her to feel their shared soul, and couldn’t figure out another way to bring it to her awareness. Gwyn was, of course, blissfully unaware of this. She arched her neck for him when he trailed his mouth down her throat, eyes open so he could see her hair streaming behind her, face glowing in the sunlight. She was so absurdly beautiful he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

She was his just as surely as he was hers. Did she even realize? Azriel wanted to lay himself at her feet, to swear himself into her service and hers alone. Gods, but Azriel needed to tell her everything. Was he a male who prided himself on keeping secrets?

Not this one, he thought. It was killing him to keep it to himself. Even as he buried his face between her breasts, hands kneading her ass until she began rubbing herself against him, Azriel was convincing himself to just tell her everything. Lay it all out there, remove this final secret between them.

No more lies.

Only the truth.

Azriel’s feet collided with the balcony. “Gwyn, I need—”

“I know,” she breathed, sliding down his body only to rise up on her tiptoes, fingers pulling at the laces of his tunic. “So do I.” What?

Azriel’s mind emptied of all thoughts the moment heard her say those words, unable to process, let alone comprehend. All he knew was her tongue in his mouth, her fingers pulling until she had his shirt on the ground, palms rubbing up and down his torso. Those same fingers slipped into the band of his pants and Azriel didn’t do a damn thing to stop her.

She wanted him.

It could wait, he decided, pushing the two of them into their shared room. Fuck, but it could wait until he finished. And maybe he’d get lucky and she’d feel it too, she’d tell him and he could pretend he was just now learning. A small deception in the scheme of things, one they’d laugh about in a century when everything was well established between them.

Or, she’d at least accepted the bond.

“I want you,” he whispered, teeth sinking against her bottom lip as. Gwyn moaned, hand gripping the base of his cock. “I want you so fucking bad, I—”

“Well isn’t this cute,” an all too familiar voice sneered from another part of the room. Azriel and Gwyn froze, heads whipping to the side. Hot fury burned through Azriel, made all the worse by the threat to his mate.

Though he never needed a reason to want to rip apart Eris fucking Vanserra.

The Autumn Court male strolled into full view, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his exceptionally punchable face.

“Who knew Night Court politics were so sensual? Rhysand certainly undersold what you two were doing here.”

“Get out,” Azriel whispered, swallowing the urge to remove Eris’s head from his body. They weren’t in Prythian. He didn’t need to abide by their laws. If Eris died here, well…whoops.

“Come now,” Eris crooned, eyes sliding to Gwyn. Azriel’s wings flared, wanting to hide her from view. He caught the shifting look on Eris’s face, nostrils flared and then the delight as he realized what Gwyn hadn’t yet.

No.

Gwyn didn’t say a word, eyes never leaving the male before them. Eris had Azriel captive now and he must have known it.

“We have a lot to catch up on. Meet me in the dining hall in ten minutes.”

He turned, having given his order, and left without another word or glance backward. Azriel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

He knew right then and there that he was so utterly and absolutely fucked.

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