32. Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EMERIC
T he metal floors of Azazel’s house feel colder today, all the walls hollowed of their once-imposing warmth. Az’s place always carried a strange blend of menace and comfort—a paradox only Azazel could pull off. Now it feels empty, a mausoleum of memories I’m not ready to confront. The high windows, once darkened by heavy metal fixtures and decorated with polished sanguimetal shards, hold only dust motes in the nascent light.
Morte stands in the center of the room, her miles-long stare lingering on the broken pieces of a small trinket Az used to keep on the mantle. I want to reach out, to pull her close, but I hesitate. I’m not yet her mate, and the burden of that reality crushes me. Tension knots within me, a wall of doubt keeping me from giving her what she needs.
While she said what she could to get us to allow her to mate with King Valtorious, there’s a large part of me that believes the cruel words she’d muttered yesterday.
They linger between us, carving wounds I can’t close. Coward. Weak. Fae not fit to call himself a mate. She said them to save us, to convince the king she’d turned against us, but I can’t stop the venom from sinking deeper, poisoning everything I’ve tried to believe about myself.
I never claimed her when I had the chance. I told myself it was to give her space, to let her choose when she was ready. But had that been a lie I fed myself to hide from what I really am—scared? Not of her, never of her, but of being everything she doesn’t need. Of not being enough. Of failing her the way I failed everyone else.
Doubt tightens its hold and steals my breath. Morte turns then, her gaze catching mine, and for a moment, the raw ache in her eyes shatters every barrier I’ve tried to keep standing. She steps closer, and all I can think is how I don’t deserve her. How I never have.
But gods help me, I want to be better. For her. For us.
“It doesn’t seem real,” she rasps, the words blending with the emptiness of this place, Az’s larger-than-life presence absent. She’s looking at Azazel’s throne-like chair, still draped with his worn leather coat. Her fingers flex by her side, as though she’s resisting the urge to reach for it.
I swallow the tightness in my throat and step closer, just enough so she knows I’m here. My heart aches for her—for us. “He loved this place. Hated it, too, I think. Said it reminded him of everything he lost. But it was his,” I murmur, my eyes tracing the sharp lines of metalwork Az had crafted himself, the artisan edges, the filigreed patterns.
She nods, but her attention never leaves the coat. “What do we do with him, Em?” Her voice cracks, and it shatters something deep within me. “How do we just ... leave him here, knowing there’s nothing left to return? He’s not even in here.” Her hands move to her chest, fingers curling over her heart. The X-mark, still black and angry on her skin, pulses beneath her touch.
I watch as her shoulders shake on a sob she tries to stifle.
I take a careful breath, my hands itching to soothe her, to wipe away her tears, but I can’t — not after what she said back at the cave. Her words still cut at me, because this is how she really sees me. Undeserving of her .
She’d called me weak, and it had stung in ways I hadn’t expected, burrowed into the insecurities that had always lingered. My cowardice had held me back from her, from truly binding myself to her like the others had. And it might have cost me everything.
“We don’t have to decide now.” I close the gap between us. “Not today. Let’s ... just be here. With him. Whatever’s left of him.” I move closer, tentatively reaching out until my fingers brush against her arm. Her skin’s cold—colder than usual. It makes me ache for her warmth, for the fire that’s always defined her.
I settle for feeling her silk strands between my fingers, studying the crimson tresses.
She turns, finally meeting my stare, and the emptiness there nearly sends me to my knees, as though all the light has been snuffed from her eyes.
Absolute despair.
He’d been my best friend, but he’d been her mate.
“I don’t know how I can live in a world without him in it.”
The raw anguish in her voice tears at my heart. But what can I possibly say to ease her pain?
There are so many words, but none of them seem fitting, so I cobble together the best I can.
"You won’t be doing it alone."
She falls into me, her hands clutching at my shirt, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight against me as her legs give out. Her sobs tear through the room, raw and unfiltered, shaking her small frame. I hold her, burying my face into her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, something that’s always felt like the sun to me. Sugar and the ocean.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her temple. “I’ll always be here.” And I mean it, more than I’ve ever meant anything. Even if I’m not bound to her, even if I’m not enough—I’ll stay. I’ll be the rock she needs, the shoulder she can lean on.
Her fingers clutch at my shirt, twisting into the fabric as her sobs quiet to soft, broken gasps. She lifts her head, her tear-streaked face searching mine. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice hoarse. “For what I said. For making you think I didn’t want you. ”
The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t speak. My chest constricts, the pain of her apology mingling with something that feels like hope. “I know why you did it,” I manage, my fingers brushing her cheek, wiping away the tears. “But it doesn’t matter now. We’re here. We survived. And we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Her eyes drift to the heavy canvas covering Azazel’s body, lying on a stone slab they’d brought in from the castle. They don’t have cemeteries in the Underworld, because once you die here, your body disappears, too. But Az?
He was more metal than fae. So, it only seemed fitting that we bring him back to the home he’d painstakingly made his own over hundreds of years. Where every nail was crafted by hand.
Her eyes linger on the covered form of Azazel, and I can see the pain etched in every line of her face. “He deserved better than this,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “He didn’t deserve to die alone.”
“No,” I agree, my own grief robbing my words before I swallow hard. “He didn’t. But he did it for you. He chose this, knowing what it meant.” I pull her closer, my fingers tangling in her hair. “He loved you more than anything. That’s why he did it.”
Her tears soak into my shirt, her body trembling against mine. I close my eyes, resting my chin on her head, and let my own grief wash over me. Azazel had been my friend, my brother in all but blood, and now he was gone—truly gone. And nothing would ever bring him back.
“We’ll find a way to honor him,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “We’ll make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” I tilt her face up, my thumb brushing her cheek. “But for now, let’s just be here. With him. Together.”