Chapter 35 Ilyra
ILYRA
Ireach up and pull the veil from my head, letting the delicate lace drift to the cobblestones like a fallen ghost. The pins holding it in place scatter with tiny metallic sounds that echo in the empty square.
Despite everything—Bram's retreat, Vaelra's humiliation, the victory written in shadow and flame across this place—I feel hollow. Scraped clean like an empty bowl.
What is all of this for, if it only ends in my death? I've traded one cage for another, one master for another. The only difference is that I chose this one willingly.
The irony tastes bitter on my tongue.
Azrathiel stands motionless, watching me with the careful stillness of a predator who doesn't want to spook his prey. His golden eyes track every micro-expression that crosses my face, cataloguing my thoughts like he's reading a book written in a language only he knows.
"You stood unafraid before me when everyone ran." His voice carries that familiar weight, each word deliberate and measured. "You looked at me like I belong to you."
The observation hangs between us, neither question nor accusation but something more dangerous—recognition.
I meet his gaze directly, feeling the silver fire in my irises respond to his presence. "Because I choose you, Azrath. Contract or not. I choose you."
The words surprise even me with their certainty. They rise from somewhere deeper than logic, somewhere that doesn't care about consequences or prices or the inevitable collection that waits at the end of our bargain.
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something more fragile. The careful composure cracks just enough to reveal the being beneath the demon lord's mask.
"Hold on tight to me," he says, voice softer now but edged with command.
I don't hesitate. My arms wrap around him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest beneath my palms, the play of muscle and shadow that makes up his inhuman form. His skin radiates heat like a banked fire, and I press closer, breathing in the scent of smoke and distant storms.
The world tilts.
Reality fractures around us like shattered glass, shadows warping and stretching into impossible shapes. Sound distorts—the distant crying from the houses becomes a low hum, the wind turns into something that sounds like singing, and my own heartbeat thunders in my ears like war drums.
I clench my eyes shut and squeeze him with all my strength, anchoring myself to his solidity as everything else dissolves into chaos.
The sensation is like falling upward while the ground rushes past in the wrong direction, like being turned inside out and reassembled in a different configuration entirely.
Then—peace.
The world settles with an almost audible sigh, and I open my eyes to the sound of birds chirping and wind rustling through grass. We stand atop the hill behind my father's house, the sun glowing peacefully overhead like nothing extraordinary has just occurred.
"Ilyra."
His voice draws my attention back to him, away from the scattered remnants of what was supposed to be my wedding day. The torn veil lies forgotten at our feet, and the elaborate dress suddenly feels like a costume I'm eager to shed.
"I feel drawn to you in a way no other being has ever compelled me." The admission comes rough, like he's dragging the words from somewhere deep inside himself. "I can't resist you. I can't tell you no."
His hands hover near my face, not quite touching, as if he's afraid I might disappear.
"It doesn't matter that we're bound by some ridiculous contract—I want you. I burn from the inside out for your touch, for your kiss—"
I silence him by grabbing his face and kissing him deeply, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips against his. His surprise melts into hunger as he responds, arms coming around me like he's trying to memorize the shape of me.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his. "I need you too."
The words come out as a whisper, but they might as well be a shout for how they affect him. His eyes darken, pupils dilating until only thin rings of gold remain.
His hands find the intricate lacings at my back, fingers working with deliberate slowness. Each loosened tie feels ceremonial, reverent, as if he's unwrapping something precious rather than simply removing clothing.
"These fastenings are absurd," he murmurs against my ear, voice threaded with amusement and desire. "How many layers does one human require?"
I laugh breathlessly. "Bram insisted on traditional styling."
His hands still for a moment. "Don't say his name. Not here. Not now."
The corset falls away, followed by the heavy skirts that pool around my ankles like spilled cream. Cool air kisses my skin, but Azrathiel's touch burns warmer than any fabric. His lips follow the path of his hands, pressing kisses along my collarbone, down to where my pulse flutters frantically.
Foolishly, stupidly, I imagine this is our wedding night. That the dress I'm stepping out of was meant for him, that the vows spoken today bound us together instead of nearly tearing us apart. The fantasy is dangerous and sweet, and I let myself drown in it for just a moment.
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, the exact spot where Bram had stared with calculating eyes.
"Azrath," I whimper, my hands tangling in his dark hair.
"Yes, my flower?"
I meet his gaze, seeing myself reflected in those burning gold depths. "Are you going to fuck me again?"
He smiles, sweeping the hair from my eyes with fingers that tremble slightly. "This time, I'm going to make love to you."
He lays me back until my unbraided hair fans out across discarded silk and lace, my gown now nothing more than a makeshift bed of fabric scattered beneath me.
His mouth descends first to my nipples, sucking each peak until they're tight and wanting, and I arch against him, my hands gripping the rumpled skirts beneath me.
"Azrath," I pant, already writhing by the time he trails lower, his tongue swirling lazy circles around my navel before dipping lower still.
The first touch of his tongue against my clit is electric—sharp, wet, and so deep I see stars. He teases me, flicking and circling, humming against my sensitive flesh until I'm twisted in the fabric, my thighs trembling around his head.
I grip his horns, desperate and wild. "Please. Enough teasing, I need you inside me."
He rises over me, smirking, his cock slick and thick against my entrance. "Such a greedy thing."
He enters me slowly—agonizingly slow—each inch a fresh burn that blossoms into pleasure. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect rightness of it.
Something shifts inside me—not just physical, but deeper, like my soul's geography is being redrawn by his presence. A warmth blooms in my core, spreading tendrils of heat through my veins until my very bones feel alive with fire.
My eyes flutter closed. "Azrath..."
"I know, flower. Just take it."
His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, each plunge hitting a place inside me that makes my vision tunnel. "Move with me," he rasps, and I obey, meeting him stroke for stroke until our bodies slap together wet and frantic.
"More," I sob, clawing at his shoulders. "Fuck me harder."
He groans, driving into me with a force that steals my breath. "That's it. Take all of it. Such a good girl for me."
"You feel perfect." His voice breaks across my skin. "So tight and wet. Were you made for me?"
"Yes," I gasp, nails digging into his back.
"Good slut," he praises, biting my shoulder. "Mine."
I come screaming his name, already so sensitive.
"Awe," he says tauntingly as I tremble beneath him. "That was so good, flower, you did good. But I'm not done. I need more this time."
I try to focus my gaze, blurred with pleasure, on his face. Handsome, fierce, and with such lust-filled eyes that I feel the arousal begin all over again. My arms and legs are still tingling as I meet his stare.
"Can you take more of me?" he asks. I nod immediately, earning a sexy smirk. "Good girl."
He leans back on his haunches, gripping my hips and yanking me down the length of his cock.
My mind goes blank, a thick, syrupy haze of pleasure that only he can stir up inside me. He's relentless, his hips slamming into mine with a force that rattles me to my bones. Each impact sends jolts straight to my core, and my head lolls back against the tangle of silk.
"Look at me." His command is guttural, feral. "Look at me while I own this cunt."
My eyes snap open. His expression is stripped bare—no composure, no control, just pure possession. There's something terrifying and exquisite about seeing him like this, about knowing I drew this out of him.
He leans over me, bracing himself on his elbows, and bites down hard on my lower lip. "Say it."
The taste of copper blooms on my tongue. "Yours."
"Again."
"Yours, Azrath. My cunt belongs to you."
He laughs, dark and low, and rears back up. His hands dig bruises into my hips as he pounds into me, his pace brutal and punishing. The world narrows to this—the slick, wet sounds of our joining, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the ragged symphony of our breathing.
"You think anyone else would touch you like this?" His voice is pure gravel. "You think that pale-blooded bastard could ever fill you up this deep? Could ever make you come so hard you forget your own name?"
He drives particularly deep, hitting a spot that makes me scream.
"No," I gasp. "Only you."
"Fucking right." He snarls the words, his hips pistoning faster now, driving me mercilessly toward another peak. "This tight little cunt was made for my cock. Fits me like I was carved for it. Like you were born just to take me."
His words should shock me—should send embarrassment heating my cheeks—but they only make me clench tighter around him, my body responding to his crude declarations like they're the sweetest poetry.
He leans down again, his lips against my ear. "I'm going to breed you so full, flower. Going to pump you full of me until it spills out of you, until you're dripping with my come for days. Marking you. Claiming you."
I sob, pleasure coiling impossibly tight. He's going to ruin me, wreck me, and I want it more than I've ever wanted anything.
"Please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for anymore.
"That's it," he growls, his rhythm faltering. "Take it. Take all of me."
His release hits like a storm, hot and endless, flooding me with his essence. I shatter around him, my vision whiting out as pleasure ignites every nerve ending.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs breathing hard.
Something is different. Something feels… different. Like it will never return to the way things used to be.